#<- has a white screen curse with asks and the search bar

[downwiththeficness]

The Guarantor-Chapter 36

Summary: Frankie went to work every day knowing that there would be an end. A deadline. Reconnecting with her adoptive father, Godric, throws that deadline into question. Teaming up with Godric’s child, Eric, obliterates it entirely. With an uncertain future ahead, Frankie has to learn if she can trust the people around her, let alone herself. Eric Northman/Bisexual!Fem!OC

Word Count: ~4,100

Warnings: None

Taglist:  @mousee555  

A/N: This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence, and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. Anyone under the age of 18 should not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.  

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Frankie ended out doing a lot more than try to reach out to Godric’s extended family. She bused tables, she worked the bar, she told off drunk, angry humans. She counted the register at the end of the night, and she occasionally manned the door. For three days, Frankie did everything that was asked of her without complaint.

On the fourth day, the urns came in.

She unpacked them carefully, unwinding the bubble wrap and placing them one by one on the kitchen island. Four potential urns in relatively good condition, especially for their age. Each had a top that sat cleanly into the body of the vessel. The styles ranged from plain to elegant, small and squat to thin and tall. All in all, it was a good selection.

Thinking that they might benefit from a wipe down with a wet cloth, Frankie angled around the island and dug around in the cabinets to find a towel. She paused her search when she came upon an open white box that was sticking out of the snack bin.

Smiling to herself, Frankie leaned down and picked it up, turning the box over so that the last zebra cake fell out into her palm. Setting down the box, Frankie opened the plastic packaging and pulled the cake from it. Tentatively, she sniffed it.

The smell of crystallized sugar was overwhelming, almost sickening. Frankie frowned and broke the cake open with her fingers. More sugar. And fat. And something vaguely grain-like. Against her better judgment, Frankie took a bite.

She wouldn’t go so far as to call it rancid, but the cake was so jarringly sweet that it hurt her jaw. She struggled to chew it, giving up quickly. Frankie leaned over the sink and spit it out, washing her mouth out with water.

As she wiped her face, Frankie picked up the leftover cake and box. With resignation, she threw all of it in the trash, “Well, at least that answers the question I didn’t know that I had.”

Her cell rang in her pocket, and when Frankie fished it out and looked at the screen, she almost cursed. Pam had been calling her nonstop for things that needed to be done, and Frankie was at her limit. She only had so many ‘I can do that’ responses before Frankie had to start saying ‘no’.

When she answered, Pam’s voice came through with an authoritative tone, “You need to get down here.”

The snarky retort was halfway between her brain and her mouth when Frankie’s gaze fell on the four urns. She reminded herself that she wasn’t the only person grieving and that  she had to be supportive. Still, she was running out of steam.

Resting her forehead in her palm, Frankie sighed, “Pam I really need a night off.”

“Too bad,” Pam shot back, “The Magister wants to talk to you.”

“Why?”

Frankie could think of no viable reason why the Magister would want anything to do with her. She didn’t know anything about Eric’s side business, or what the Queen had to do with it. Frankie wouldn’t know how to begin to answer any question the Magister might have.

“He wants to talk about what happened when Masha’s father was killed.”

Ah, fuck me, she thought.

Eyes closed, Frankie said, “What did Eric tell the Magister?”

“He hasn’t said anything,” Pam answered, sounding annoyed, “The Magister won’t let him talk about it. He wants to hear it directly from you. Apparently, he doesn’t trust Eric to tell the truth about how he started walking in sunlight.”

Frankie sighed again, deeper, “I’m on my way.”

“I’ll let the Magister know,” Pam replied, “And, Frankie?”

“Yeah?”

“You better come up with something good.”

The call ended. Frankie put the phone back in her pocket and stood there as she tried to figure out what kind of lie she was going to come up with to cover for them. She understood just enough about the hierarchy of vampire culture to know that a misstep with the Magister could lead her into some deep shit—deep enough that Frankie might not be able to dig herself out.

Deep enough to meet a true death.

Steadying herself, Frankie thought about all the lies she’d told over the last year, all the things she’d done to keep both her and Eric safe. It was just one more lie, one more thing, that she had to do.

Grabbing her purse and keys, Frankie got into her cor and drove down to the bar. She practiced different explanations along the way, talking to herself out loud and working through every sentence the same way she’d done when she was called to talk to the Mediator. By the time she got to Fangtasia, she had the bones of her explanation in place.

It was a weeknight and the crowd was sparse. She spotted Ginger hoisting a serving tray onto her shoulder that was loaded with cocktails and waved, earning a nod in return. People milled about, some of them dancing to the music.

Frankie could smell the alcohol and salt and sweat in the air. She could hear the varying heartbeats of the humans, some of which were soaked in adrenaline. Her throat burned with thirst, and she realized that she hadn’t yet eaten that night. Frankie forced herself to stop breathing so that she could focus on getting away from the temptation as soon as possible.

Pam met her as she crossed the dance floor. She was wearing a beautifully tailored suit, her hair pulled back from her face in a severe ponytail. In the last few days, Frankie witnessed just how determined Pam could be. Every detail was taken care of, tasks delegated with swift and decisive action. There was nothing that escaped her attention, least of all how Frankie struggled to keep her fangs from dropping.

Turning on her heel, Pam walked to the back hall. She looked over her shoulder to see that Frankie was following, her eyes narrowing when she noticed Frankie was still rooted to the spot on the dance floor.  The glare in Pam’s gaze spurred Frankie into action and she rushed to catch up.

In the break room, Pam rooted through the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of blood. Taking a mug from the cupboard, she tore the plastic and poured a serving, then popped the mug into the microwave.

Frankie watched carefully, knowing that she might need to do this in the future. Pam took the mug out in twenty second intervals, stirring it with a spoon, until it steamed. She handed Frankie the mug, gesturing for Frankie to drink quickly.

As Frankie gulped it down, Pam said, “Don’t go in looking guilty. Don’t fidget. Look him in the eye, but don’t stare. And, for fuck’s sake, keep to your story.”

Frankie licked her lips, glad for the burst of energy she got from the meal, “I can do this, Pam.”

Eyeing her, Pam gave a little nod and led Frankie past Eric’s office to the bar’s meeting room. Inside, the Magister was sitting on the sofa, waiting. He was a thin man with a gaunt face and eyes that lacked all emotion. His expression did not change as she walked in, but he watched her move from the door to one of the high backed chairs with interest.

“You are Francesca Meek?”

She nodded.

He hesitated, briefly, then said, “I won’t belabor why I brought you here. You were told months ago that the Council would want an explanation for the unusual events around Anton Morozov’s death.”

Frankie waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, she said, “I’m sorry, can you clarify which parts were unusual? It was kind of a traumatic event for me, all around.”

Behind her, Pam coughed lightly as she fiddled with her phone. Before her, the Magister’s mouth thinned.

“The part where a vampire walks in and out of Anton Morozov’s house in the sun.”

“Ah,” Frankie replied, “that. Well, its very simple—are you aware that I was dating his daughter?”

“We are,” he drawled, with impatience.

“Then, you’re also aware that she was turned not long before Anton’s death.”

The Magister drew in a breath that was annoyed, “Yes. We are aware.”

Frankie continued, “Okay. Then, what you might not be aware of is the fact that Masha Morozov was employing what she called an ‘occult expert’.”

“What does this have to do with my question?”

Leaning forward, she rested her forearms on her thighs, her gaze focused on the Magister, “Carissa also worked for me at the laundromat. Masha had her under a pretty serious contract and was applying pressure. She said she could help me get Eric in the house.” Frankie paused for dramatic effect, “She was right.”

The Magister laughed, all teeth, “You expect me to believe a witch’s spell?”

“I expect you to believe the truth.”

He cocked his head to the side with a sneer, “Magic?”

She found it hard to believe that a literal vampire, an immortal being that drank blood to survive, had trouble accepting that magic existed.

Frankie shrugged, “She said it would work, and it did.”

Sucking his teeth, the Magister asked, “Where can I find this Carissa? I’ll need to corroborate your story.”

More like torture her until she gives you the spell you’re looking for, a spell that doesn’t exist, Frankie thought.

What she said was, “That’s gonna be a little difficult seeing as I killed her last week.”

The Magister rolled his eyes, “You just so happened to kill the witch who would make you walk in daylight again. That’s what you’re telling me?”

“She tried to kill me first,” Frankie said, her voice low, “Couldn’t let that slide.”

His eyes narrowed, “Alright. We’ll bring in Masha, see if she knows anything about it.”

Frankie straightened, “I killed her, too.”

Scoffing, the Magister sneered, “Well, isn’t that tidy. Got all the loose ends, did you?”

“Masha also tried to kill me, first,” Frankie explained, “And, she killed Godric.”

The Magister, for the first time, seemed genuinely surprised, “How?”

“Same way she tried to kill me,” Frankie answered, “Magic.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicious intrigue, “Explain.”

She shrugged, “I can’t. I don’t know anything about magic spells or how Carissa figured it out. All I know is that I had to watch Godric die, and someone was going to pay for it.”

Frankie was using the same tone she’d used with Masha right at the end. It was steely, even to her own ears, but Frankie didn’t care. She’d been through hell, and she would be damned if this asshole was going to make her life any more difficult.

The Magister stared at her for a moment, then looked to Pam, “Bring him in.”

“Of course,” Pam intoned quietly, moving quickly out of the room.

In her absence, the Magister caught Frankie’s eye, “I don’t give a fuck about what actually happened. I don’t care about your relationship drama. I’m here to do a job. I have questions, and all I need are plausible answers.” He stopped for a moment, then, “That you avenged the murder of an ancient one will work in your favor—but, listen to me when I say that the Council is not forgiving. And, if Eric’s story deviates in the slightest bit from yours, you both will answer for it.”

Frankie couldn’t think of anything to do but nod. She absolutely believed his threat, but her emotions were so strung out that Frankie couldn’t bring herself to react to it.

That seemed to frustrate him, “I could recommend that you meet the sun, you know?”

Frankie nodded again. She’d already been there, done that, and she wasn’t afraid to do it again. In light of everything that had happened over the last week, the true death was not the threat the Magister thought it was.

Eric strode in, wearing a black track suit and sneakers. It was something that he might lounge around in at the house, and the casual attire made Frankie pause. So did Eric’s smile when he looked at her.

Eric was up to something.

He sat in the second chair, folding his hands in front of him as he waited for the Magister to say something. It didn’t take long.

“Tell me what happened the night you killed Anton Morozov.”

Eric’s chin dipped, “I maintain I had nothing to do with his death.”

The Magister’s eyes narrowed, “You know what I’m asking. Don’t make me ask again.”

Licking his lips, Eric considered his answer, “Frankie knew a witch. We used a spell—a temporary way to keep me from becoming extra crispy.”

The Magister was undeterred, “What kind of spell?’

Eric rolled a shoulder, “I wasn’t in a position to listen during. It was pretty fucking painful.”

“You didn’t ask questions about it beforehand?” the Magister sounded skeptical, “That seems awfully reckless, even for you.”

Eric cast Frankie an affectionate look, “What can I say? I trust Frankie.”

“How quaint.”

Eric said nothing in return, but he sent a shit eating grin the Magister’s way. Frankie sensed the Magister’s rising anger even though his body language was relaxed. She didn’t know what he expected, but this definitely wasn’t it.

“Was Carissa the kind of witch to write things down?”

Eric looked to Frankie for the answer, all confidence.

“I,” Frankie hedged, “really don’t know. I never saw, like, a book of shadows or anything.” When the Magister’s mouth turned down, Frankie added, “She had a lot of books in her apartment, if that helps.”

The Magister was silent for a while, and Frankie reminded herself not to fidget. She chanced a glance at Eric, who looked just this side of bored. Behind him, Pam was leaning against the wall, her phone in her hand.

“I think you’re lying to me.”

It took all of Frankie’s energy to keep her expression still and her mouth shut. Eric, for his part, only laughed lightly with his head cocked to the side. Frankie cut off the urge to swat at him for purposefully goading a representative of a group that had the power to kill them all.

“But,” the Magister continued, “since you’ve solved a rather large problem for me tonight, I am inclined to let it go.”

Eric smiled, “That would be generous of you.”

“Yes. It would.”

There was a lot underneath those three words, but Frankie couldn’t parse it out. She found her eyes looking between Eric, Pam, and the Magister as the tension in the room rose to physical discomfort.

Somebody please say something, she thought.

Pam, coming to the rescue, looked up from her phone, “The Council is welcome to explore Carissa’s apartment. I can send you her address, if you don’t have it already.”

The Magister’s eyes remained on Eric as he replied, “That would be acceptable. I’ll also want to speak with Masha’s Maker. Perhaps she will know where Carissa kept her archives.”

Frankie’s mouth opened and closed quickly as she bit back what she was about to say. The Magister, of course, noticed. He lifted his brows in question.

“Uh,” Frankie said, “She’s also dead.”

Head whipping to the side, the Magister’s mouth thinned in irritation, “Is there anyone involved in this mess that you haven’t killed?”

“Technically, it was Masha who killed Prudence.”

In all the chaos around Frankie, she had forgotten that Prudence was gone. Her mother was gone. Even that felt strange to say. Frankie had barely processed the fact that she had a mother and now she had to figure out how she felt about Prudence’s murder.

One thing at a time.

“You’re telling me,” the Magister sneered, “that a Child killed their Maker. Its unheard of.”

“Tell that to Prudence,” Frankie said, earning another cough from Pam.

“If I ask ‘how?’ are you going to reply with ‘magic’?.”

Frankie grimace and made a kind of helpless gesture with her hands, “Yeah. That’s what happened.”

The Magister’s expression hardened, “And, I’m supposed to believe it was magic that killed Godric, too?”

Eric chest rumbled with offense as he leaned forward aggressively. Frankie reached for him, laying a hand on his arm. The muscle beneath her fingers trembled with rage, and she feared he would actually attack the Magister.

“As I said,” Frankie reiterated with venom in her tone.

Pam, again, came to the rescue, “Our family is grieving.”

Her words were laced with derision, both acknowledging and condemning the jab without having to address it directly. Pam’s spine was very straight, her gaze narrowed, her jaw set. Like Frankie, she’d placed a hand on Eric’s arm, both supporting and subduing her Maker.

“Of course,” the Magister replied evenly, “my condolences on your loss.”

Not one of the three of them said anything in reply, but that didn’t seem to bother him. He simply leaned back into the sofa and crossed his angle over his knee, “I have quite the story to tell the Council. I’m sure they will have more questions.”

More silence.

He took his cue, standing and buttoning the jacket of his suit, “We’ll be in touch.”

Pam walked him out, leaving Eric and Frankie sitting together in silence. She started to pull her hand away and he caught it, threading their fingers together. They sat like that  until Pam came back, a disgruntled sigh already on her lips.

“Well,” she said, “the prick is gone, for now.”

Frankie looked at her, “Thanks, Pam. For everything. Really.”

Pam’s face opened up into surprise before she could catch herself. She quickly schooled her expression, “You’re welcome.”

“I gotta know,” Frankie said, “how did you figure out what I was going to say? To cover for us, I mean.”

Eric seemed to come out of the daze he’d been in, “Easy. Pam put you on speaker.”

Frankie frowned, “The phone? You don’t think that’s a little ballsy?”

Pam huffed a laugh, “The Council, and their lackeys, are pretty insulated. Some of them, like the Magister, struggle with modern conveniences like phones.”

“Ah.”

Eric smirked at her, “You did well, by the way. Mixing the truth with the lies. You even managed to make following up on it practically impossible.”

“Thanks,” Frankie said, “I can’t believe it actually worked.”

“It didn’t,” Pam replied, bursting her bubble, “But the story bought us time, which is more than I expected.”

“What do we do now?”

Eric stood, pulling Frankie up with him, “Let’s go home.”

“The urns came in,” Frankie offered, not wanting him to come home to a surprise reminder that Godric was dead. “They were packed really nicely, none of them came broken.”

He nodded, eyes looking to Pam, “Want to help us pick one?”

Pam ran her hand over her ponytail, the hair falling like water over her shoulder, “I do. I’ll have to let Ginger know she’s closing alone, tonight.”

Eric rolled his eyes, “Make sure she remembers to lock the back door, this time.”

“I’ll put a sticky note on the register,” Pam deadpanned as she strode from the room.

Leading her by the hand, Eric walked Frankie from the meeting room to the side entrance and out into the staff parking lot. When she veered off towards her car, he stalled.

“What?”

Eric was looking down at her with something like mischief, “I was thinking about flying home.”

She smiled, thinking about the last time they’d flown together and how utterly terrified she’d been, “Yeah?”

“You want to come with?”

Frankie pretended to think about it, “It would be faster.”

Eric caught on to her tone, “Faster than your rust bucket car.”

“Hey! I like that car.”

He shook his head as he grasped her hips, “I don’t understand why.”

Frankie draped her arms over his shoulders, “You don’t have to understand it. You just have to accept it.”

“Sure.”

In the next moment, they were in the air, leaving behind only the sound of Frankie’s startled laugh. The sight of the world becoming smaller and smaller was no less frightening now than it had been when Frankie was much more fragile. She buried her head in Eric’s chest, closing her eyes against the wind.

Once the fear had worn off, Frankie found herself feeling elated. She was being held securely by someone she trusted and she was flying. Flying. Through the air. The stars spun around her, trailing long tails of light. Below, the earth rushed away so fast that it was dizzying. Frankie was overcome with good feelings, something that hadn’t happened since that night at the ball field.

They landed on the front yard not long after take off. Frankie ran her hands through her hair, trying to tame the flyaway strands even as her feet wobbled as she worked to regain her balance. Eric laughed at her, taking her hand and helping her up the stairs and into the house.

“You’ll get used to it one day,” he said as they keyed in.

“I hope not,” Frankie replied, meaning it.

Eric stalled near the kitchen and Frankie didn’t have to wonder what he was looking at. She angled around him to stand at his side, following his gaze. Four urns stood exactly where she’d put them all in a row.

“I thought they put together a nice range of choices,” she murmured, hoping to jolt him out of whatever he might be thinking.

Eric made a non-committal sound, approaching the island slowly. She followed, but kept her distance. He took them one by one, turning them around for inspection. Just as he’d reached the last vessel, Pam walked in.

Like Eric, her steps slowed as she caught site of the urns. Unlike Eric, she did not approach. Folding her hands in front of her, Pam stood in the doorway and waited.

Looking over his shoulder at Pam, Eric asked, “Which do you think is best?”

Pam’s mouth opened briefly as she thought about her reply, then, “The Bucchero.”

Eric’s brows lifted, “You don’t think its too plain?”

Frankie eyed Pam’s choice. The smooth, almost black, surface had dainty fans carved in rows around its circumference. The top was simple, no more than a clay disk attached to a thin cylinder that fit the diameter of the opening. When compared to the porcelain vase to its right, it could be called plain.

Pam approached, reaching out to brush her fingers lightly over it, “Godric once told me that he had a fondness for the Etruscans. He said that he found their preoccupation with fate and destiny refreshing.”

Eric took that in, “Alright. This one, then.”

Without ceremony, he picked it up and carried it to the living room where Godric still sat on the coffee table. He knelt next to it and very, very carefully opened the bundle. Frankie stood next to Pam, the both of them watching Eric open the vessel and begin to pour Godric inside. He didn’t seem to mind the small plume of ash that rose up towards his face, simply kept tilting the bundle over until it was empty.

He replaced the top, looking at the vessel seriously, “I guess that’s it.”

Hearing the crack in Eric’s voice, Frankie moved to sit next to him. In her periphery, Pam dropped down beside her. The three of them stared at the urn, thinking their thoughts, until Eric asked, “Where should we put him? He should have a place of honor.”

Frankie nudged him lightly, “We don’t have to decide that now. He can rest here for a while, if you want.”

He seemed to be grateful for that, wordlessly agreeing. Next to her, Pam hummed in the affirmative.

“You know,” Frankie said, “I wasn’t lying when I told you that you were the best friend I ever had.”

Eric smiled softly, “I wasn’t lying when I told you that it didn’t say much for your choice in friends.”

She returned his smile, “Still, if it weren’t for Godric, we probably would have never met.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m glad I did—meet you, I mean. You, too, Pam.”

Rolling her eyes, Pam levered herself to standing, “Alright. That’s all the warm and fuzzy shit I can take for one evening.” She ran her hands down her slacks, “Call me tomorrow and we’ll catch up about notifying the rest of the family.”

“Sure, I can do that.”

Pam walked quickly out of the house, her hair swinging with every step. Eric and Frankie were left alone on the living room floor.

[cwilbah]

hello i’m here to chitter chatter in your in box. like a little chicken (chitter makes me think of birds and also chicken starts with a c like chitter and chatter)

chickens are mediocre animals tbh. like everyone in my family has or used to have chickens. why. well i get why but also why not any other farm animal. probably because chickens are easier but still

they just make a lot of noise and such. they’re pretty alright i guess. i suppose

here have a sheep, i like sheep at least a tiny bit more

such a polite looking sheep i think. it’s got a good face!!

i do hope you’re having a good day and or will have a good day tomorrow!!! remember that you are deserving of good things, the universe does love you!!!

[arrowflier]

Can you write Mickey proposing to Ian. Like they are already married but Mickey finds himself thinking about how he would have done it if he proposed so he just does it 🥰

Mickey's hands are sweating.

So is every other part of him, but he's used to that.  The hands, though: that's a problem.

Sweaty hands make it awfully hard to hold the ring.

He feels like he's been planning this forever.  The proposal.  Trying to make it perfect, trying to make it special.  Trying to keep it them without having to punch somebody out in the middle of a crowded bar.

That seemed like the kind of thing that only worked once, anyway, and Ian had beaten him to it almost five years ago.

He looks around the room as he fingers the ring in his pocket, skin-warmed metal slipping between his clammy fingers. 

The restaurant is busy, and loud.  The Gallaghers alone are stretched over multiple tables: Fiona and Carl with Debbie and Franny at one, Lip and Tami feeding Fred at the next.  The Balls are in town, something about a kid's birthday party, and take up their own four-top.  Even a couple of the better Milkoviches have shown--Sandy and her new girlfriend, studiously avoiding Debbie's eyes, and Iggy, fresh out of lock-up.

He has Mandy on speed dial in his pocket, for after. She still hasn't gotten over missing it all the first time.

Ian is sitting at their own table, sipping at his fancy draft beer and poking at the screen of his phone as he waits for Mickey to come back from the bathroom. Liam says something next to him, and Ian laughs, tilting the screen so his brother can see. Liam looks past the phone, catches Mickey's eye, and smiles.

Mickey swallows. It's time.

He grabs a glass from the tray of a passing waiter, not caring what's in it or where it's headed. In lieu of a piece of silverware, he pulls out his pocket knife to hit against it and make it ring.

The tables nearest him quiet, but the room is still to loud. So he taps the glass again, then sets it down, and bangs his fist on a stranger's table instead.

"Yo, listen up!" he yells, and the conversations around him peter out. "I got somethin to say."

Eyes are watching him from all over the room. Eyes he knows, and eyes he doesn't. But he doesn't give a shit about them.

He only cares about the bright green eyes of his husband, wide and curious, and fixed on his.

"I'm fuckin gay," he starts out, voice catching on the curse. "Just thought you all should know that, first."

A few mutters make their way through the room, but he ignores them. Ignores the loud, "Yeah, we know," from Carl, too.

"So it shouldn't be a surprise," Mickey continues, his voice strengthening with every word, "that I'm in love with a man."

"Hell yeah he is!" Kev whoops, and Vee slaps him on the back of the head.

"Sorry, man," Kev says, just as loud. "Keep goin, you got this."

Mickey breaks to roll his eyes, and when he's done, Ian is smiling.

"Like I was sayin," Mickey pushes on, "I'm in love. With a guy." He lets his lips twitch up in A grin.

"A guy whose idea of foreplay is poking me in the back with a tire iron, who thinks a first date is banging in the cooler of a convenience store on break."

An old lady gasps off to the side, but her white-haired friend hits her with a too-large purse.

"Quiet Beth," she hisses. "Like you never screwed Daniel in the bathrooms at the corner store."

Mickey chokes on a laugh, hiding it behind the hand not clutching the ring.

"Uh," he says. "Right, anyway...turns out that guy was actually pretty fucking romantic."

He smiles, soft.

"Think he knew I couldn't deal with that back then, though," he admitted. "So we did other stuff instead."

Ian's eyes already look wet. His hand has fallen to Liam's shoulder, holding tight enough to turn his already pale knuckles white. Liam takes it like a champ, barely wincing.

"He was the first guy I kissed," Mickey says, and watches Ian bite his lip. "The first guy I let spend the night. His hand was the first one I ever held, without somebody else puttin it there."

Ian's free hand curls on top of the table, empty, searching. He grips the tablecloth, little wrinkles spiralling out from between his fingers.

"We were together for so long that even apart, I felt him there. Put him right on my skin," Mickey adds, hand over heart," so I'd never be without him."

He moves forward, past tables of strangers. Past tables of friends, of family. Stops in front of Ian, eyes never parting.

"And now I never will be," he finishes, "because he's my husband."

Liam forces Ian's hand off his shoulder, and scoots away. Ian is left clutching desperately at air.

"That's still not enough, though," Mickey says, circling the table.

Everyone is quiet, now, enraptured; Ian most of all.

"It'll never be enough," Mickey states, and slides down to one knee.

Ian is gaping at him, now. But he doesn't hesitate when Mickey reaches for him, offering his hand immediately.

Mickey takes it.

"I'd marry you a thousand times if I could, Ian," Mickey whispers. His voice still carries through the eerily silent room.

"But right now, I'll settle for twice."

He pulls his other hand from his pocket. Shows Ian the ring, the dark braided metal he placed on Ian's finger at their wedding, freshly cleaned and engraved for their anniversary.

"Ian Gallagher-Milkovich," he says, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt when Ian's breath hitches at the name, "will you do me the dubious honor of not divorcing me?"

Ian chokes of a laugh. A few others giggle across the room.

"Is that really what you came up with?" Ian asks giddily. Mickey nods.

"I mean, I figured we'd do the whole vow renewal thing too, make it official..."

Ian is still laughing, even as he starts to cry.

"Fuck you," he gasps out.

Mickey raises his eyebrows, gives them a wiggle.

"Only if you say yes."

Then Ian is falling into him, over him, chanting "Yes, of course, yes, you asshole,"; and their family is crowding around them, cheering; and strangers are clapping, shouting congratulations, offering to buy them champagne; and Ian pulls him up, and kisses him, and all of it fades to a dull roar in the back of Mickey's head.

"You're such a jerk," Ian whispers as they part, face wet with happy tears. "You made me cry, you asshole, and Lip is never gonna let me forget it."

"Think Liam took pictures," Mickey offers back, and Ian leans in and bites his bottom lip in retaliation.

"Your own fault," Mickey murmurs after Ian soothes it with his tongue. "You proposed to me in public twice, it was your fuckin turn."

Ian just smiles. The noise around them is dissipating, people going back to their meals, but they'll stay in their little bubble for as long as they can.

"Really up for doin' it all again?" Mickey asks. "Wasn't exactly easy the first time, and I ain't gonna go any easier now we can afford shit."

Ian's smile turns soft.

"Yes," Ian whispers, and kisses him.  "Always."

[haztory]

hi mcdonald’s can i get uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh nanami + “nice tits”

“Nice tits.” from my writing event that ends today! 

 warnings: adult language and sexual themes, but that’s about it!

a/n: 3k words all for sanju that probably strays from the prompts but its fine bc i love you biiiiitch. thanks to everyone that requested a prompt! they will be out momentarily!!

nanami kento x gn!reader

There’s a universal understanding amongst the adults in the general realm of well-formed maturity and a sense of responsibility that there is no situation to ever exist in which listening to Gojo Satoru’s advice is a viable option. 

Much less any advice about love.

“You know,” His voice sings to your left, interrupting the tranquil silence of your office by his surprise warping, “If you needed help in satisfying your urges, you only had to ask. Looking at porn during school hours is a bit of a cry for help, (Y/N).”

“Go away, Gojo.” You reply, hardly perturbed at his unannounced visit and continuing the matter at hand. Your index finger continues its motions, pushing the wheel of the mouse downwards and studying the plethora of Google Search images the float past your eyes on your computer monitor.

Gojo leans his elbow on your desk, perching himself on the left side of your body, “Hey, I don’t judge! I’ve done it once or twice myself. I just always pictured you as more of an ass-person.”

Landing on an appropriate image for your task you click it, enlarging it on your screen. Gojo whistles.

“Now that’s just obscene, isn’t it?”

A finger enters your line of sight, pointing itself obnoxiously at the screen, specifically at the rather large pectoral belonging to that of a male model. An image that is necessary for your study of a new cursed technique that you witnessed on your last excursion with Nobara, and not at all the focus of sexual release as Gojo might insist. Even if they are rather admirable in their size. 

You would rather die before ever telling him that, though.

“They should really put a warning on those honkers—”

“Is there a reason you’re bothering me?” You ask bluntly, printing the image and retrieving it from the printer tray beside you.

“I just wanted to see what my second favorite teacher was doing, but never did I think I would catch you in the act of making a shrine to tits, so—”

You roll your head to the left, meeting Gojo’s shit-eating grin with a deadpan stare. With a sigh, you shake your head, “I’m studying.”

Even beneath the blindfold, you can see the waggle in his brows as he props his head on the bent elbow. “Oh suuure.”

Huffing impatiently, you swivel your desk chair to face him, placing a singular finger on his chest to push him back from your immediate space. He only continues to grin in his usual unabashed manner, as though he’s caught you red-handed. It makes you roll your eyes once more.

 You didn’t need to explain yourself; it wasn’t like you were doing anything immoral. Sure, staring at a number of pectoral muscles might seem inappropriate to the passing eye, but it was easily explainable. 

But as it always is with Gojo, he manages to rub that small part of you that just has to fight back. Fuckin’ prick. “We came across a cursed technique two days ago that targeted the chest. It caused—”

Gojo waves his hand in your face, “Seismic tremors in the pectoral muscles that affected a cursed energy point, yeah, yeah. Nobara told me all about it.”

“If you knew what I was doing why are you making me sound like such a creep?!” You exclaim, kicking his chest with the heel of your shoe. He catches your foot with a laugh, dropping it and holding his index finger upward.

“Because it’s fun to tease you.”

Huffing, you turn back to your monitor and point at the door, “Leave.”

“Oh, come onnn,” He warps in front of your computer, leaning himself over the top of the screen, “I’ve brought you a little gift of knowledge to help your studying.”

Even as he desperately tries to insert his gangly arms into your line of vision, you continue typing into the search bar. Some variations of “pectoral”, “muscles”, and “large men”. For research purposes, of course.

“Oh yeah?” You ask noncommittally, knowing full well the manner in which Gojo dangles his plots of mischief disguised as help, “And what would that be?”

Smiling largely once more, he lets out a giggle, “The larger the muscle, the more potent the attack on the cursed energy.”

Sparing him a quick glance, you mumble, “Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”

“No, but it does take a genius to figure out how to reverse the effects.”

He stops the statement there; grin audible in his words. After having spent years in the presence of the obnoxious Gojo Satoru, you already know there’s an ulterior motive to his words, something that is going to bite you in the ass rather aggressively.

And as much as you want to avoid being in the line of fire, especially the one directed by him, you’re simultaneously dying to know where this is going.

You hesitate to ask, but it comes out. Dripping in all of its cautiousness. “And?”

“And it also takes a willing participant to study.” His smile, in all impossibility, became even wider.

“I’m still not getting the picture.”

“A participant with rather large pectoral muscles.”

Oh.

Oh no.

“Someone who would willingly participate for the sake of education.”

Of all the people to have figured out about your (not so) little crush on a fellow sorcerer, it had to be the world’s largest idiot and nuisance. You had to end this, now. Before he does something so irrevocably stupid— 

“Shall we go ask Nanami?”

And that’s how you find yourself flushed with absolute mortification, gripping your clipboard with tight knuckles against your chest, wondering how you ever managed to forget the utmost important rule when it comes to Gojo Satoru.

Never listen to him, especially on the matter of love. 

Maybe that’s indicative of the state of your crush as a whole, something you should probably pay more attention to, seeing as the minute Nanami Kento was mentioned, you’ve forgotten the extent of logic and reason and followed the whims of Gojo without hesitation. 

It’s problematic, horrifying, and ultimately a monumental issue at the moment considering your mouth is as dry as a desert and your brain absolute mush, rendering you completely unable to formulate any words.

“Wow, Nanami,” Gojo shamelessly says, one hand shoved in his pocket as he stands beside your frozen figure, “Nice tits.”

Nanami hums unenthusiastically, unbuttoning the last button on his blue shirt and elegantly removing it from his large, muscular frame. Folding it neatly on the expanse of the couch beside him, he turns his stoic gaze back to you, hardly even concerned about his half-nakedness. 

Whereas you felt yourself almost drooling at the revealed expanse of firm muscles peppered with sparse hair. The fact that it was that easy to get to see this, to almost be able to touch it— 

Maybe listening to Gojo isn’t a bad idea after all.

“Shall we begin?” Nanami asks, pulling his glasses off of his face with his (large) hands and folding them on top of his shirt. A strand of blond falls onto the front of his face and his gaze trails from the impassive stare at Gojo, to you. 

And by all that is sweet and holy you swear that you’ve ascended to an ethereal plane and before you sits an angel waiting to take you to the pearly gates. No longer stares a man unamused at the teasing of the white-headed idiot beside you, but instead a celestial being with a body made of pure stone and dare you say, looking at you with a tenderness in his gaze that was absent only a moment before.

An elbow digs into your side, pulling you rather dramatically out of your stupor and towards the smug grin of the man beside you. 

“Well?” Gojo asks, “If you’re not going to touch him, I will.”

“Thank you, Gojo, but I can take it from here,” You all but hiss, pushing him once more away from your body, accompanying the action with a pointed glare. Beginning a backward trek towards the door, he holds his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright. I can see when I’m not wanted. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

Opening the door and stepping out of it, he halts, turning his head to look over his shoulder and says, voice coated in that familiar tone of teasing, “Remember to use condoms, lovebirds!”

He shuts the door quickly, hardly giving you a chance to spear your ire at his retreating figure, but you have half a mind to chase him down the hall when you hear his echoing laughter ring out. 

An awkward silence settles between you and the man of your horrid fascination that not even an uncomfortable laugh can ease. Clearing your throat and trying to remember your sense of professionalism, you straighten your shoulders and take a deep breath, facing the handsome man with a confidence that was growing incredibly difficult to face. 

“I’m going to touch you. For research. Your chest, specifically.”

In a move you’ve never quite seen before, Nanami sheds that formidable air of quiet stoicism and lets a small smile grace the features of his face. It gently pushes against the corners of his mouth and his bare shoulders move the slightest bit with the exhalation of his amused breath. 

“For the tremors in the pectoralis.” He says, leaning his body to rest against the backing of the couch, straightening his legs wearing their usual tan slacks to rest naturally in the position and hands folding in his lap. 

You gulp. “Y-yes.”

“I read your report.”

“You did?”

“I always do,” With his eyes still trained upon yours you can see them widen a bit at the realization of what he’s said as if that were an intimate detail he hadn’t meant to make you aware of. He quickly brings his fist up to his mouth, clearing his throat, “You are one of the few sorcerers here that fill them out correctly. I learn a great deal from your detailing. It’s… very helpful. You’re very thorough.”

Blinking repeatedly, you only nod at the compliment. Despite wanting to combust internally at the growing flames that burn inside of you, you take a step forward. Then another until, in an unforeseen reversal of circumstances, you’re towering over the man of great strength and respect. The man you’ve admired for the longest time.

The man that continues to stare at you with a softness you’ve never seen him reveal before. 

You can see the spattering of freckles that have intricately placed themselves over his broad shoulders resembling that of an artistic constellation and the delicious protruding of his biceps, great in mass yet telling of his of strength as your try to conservatively trail your eyes over his torso.

He’s beautiful, incredibly so. Baring himself to you in this way only affirms that.

 “Thank you,” you breathe out, and it’s more intimate than you intended it to be, but truthfully, it’s as fitting a phrase as it can be considering the proximity and the intensity behind his stare.

It’s all you can give him without crumbling at his feet. Placing your fingertips against his shoulder, you gently push him back, silently instructing him to lay on the couch. He follows suit like the dutiful sorcerer he is.

“I’ll just be examining the way in which your cursed energy extends from your chest. It shouldn’t hurt, but if you feel uncomfortable, just let me know.”

He hums once more from his supine position on the couch. Despite being much larger than the couch allows, he hardly looks uncomfortable. Only watches the way in which you press your fingers into his chest, pushing into his muscle and slowly massaging your finger in a circle. You circle around the left side, trailing around the outer edge of the muscle and above the rib cage, stopping and pressing rather firmly when you feel a surge in an energy presence beneath the skin. Almost on the center of his chest.

You snort a quiet laugh when you realize where it is.

“Should I be worried?” His deep timbre vibrates your indented fingers drawing your focus to his interested stare. He looks relaxed, the usual crease between his brow hardly recognizable. A stark refute to the question he posed.

You quickly shake your head, smiling growing wryer, “No, not at all. I just… think it’s funny that your energy presence is strongest where your heart is.”

Nanami quirks an eyebrow, “Isn’t that the same for everyone?”

“Would it be much of a surprise if I told you Gojo’s comes from his mouth?”

Nanami rolls his head, a breathless laugh exhaling as he stares at the ceiling. “No, I guess it wouldn’t.”

“Everyone has a different point from which their energy roots itself. Each one gives a different feeling of sorts. It doesn’t really mean much in terms of power and technique, but it is noticeable. You have an overwhelming presence as is, I just…” Your shoulders drop with a sigh, one stemming desperately from loving admiration and instead try to disguise as just an exhalation, “…never realized it came from there. Kind of fitting if you ask me.”

His brows furrow in contemplation, unsure if whether he could accept the statement. Unsure of whether it was a fitting examination or compliment for him. He must deem it something insignificant of his ponderance because he quickly moves on.

“And yours?” He asks, alight with curiosity, “Where does yours come from?”

You hum, grateful to finally shed the last remnants of awkwardness and engage in the usual friendly conversation you tend to have with him. The brief discussions that always prod a little too close for friendly discovery, but never breach the line of professional respect. That self-imposed limitation that you desperately wish he’ll cross, that this conversation is once again coming toward.

“Take a guess.” Allowing that lilting tease to infiltrate your words, you watch as Nanami adjusts himself on the couch. Bracing his arms against the cushion, he pushes himself into a sitting position and crosses his arms. Trailing his eyes over your seated body next to him, he leaves a burning trail in his wake.

He fixates on your face for a second and your breath hitches, before he travels downward over the column of your neck, then your chest, to your legs. Drinking you in as per your consent and request. Then, he extends his hand. Palm facing upwards in a silent request. You understand.

Placing your own hand in his, he turns your hand upward, allowing full access to the center of your hand and tracing his finger over the lines.

“Your hands. That’s your center.” He says with finality, monotonous but confident. With a small smirk, he looks up at you, “You are a healer after all.”

You give a small nod, “I’m not sure if it comes from my fingertips or my palm, but yeah. My hands.”

Looking back down at your hand in his, he traces the finger in a circle, “Palm. That’s where I feel it the most.”

“What does it feel like?” You ask with a laugh, expecting something asinine and noncommittal considering Yuuji once said your presence felt like a cool wind on a summer’s day and Nobara insists that it feels like a warm shower.

Two entirely opposite feelings, yet somehow categorized in the schema of comfort. You hardly expect Nanami to give something so introspective, nor anything that reveals too much considering the extent to which he tends to maintain the boundary of respect in the conversations of explorations. The kind in which two people teeter on the thin ice of interest, yet never voice it.

And yet, his eyes connect with yours again, and it's entirely too overwhelming for you to process. Too interested, too warm. His face betrays no nervousness nor any hesitation as he stares, entirely convinced that this is what was meant to happen. As though he knew from the moment Gojo asked that it was going to unfold this way.

Like he prepared for it. Like he decided today was the day that he crossed that line.

“Home. Warm and comforting.”

Slow heat the creeps its way up your spine that makes your brain halt thought altogether and sputter intelligently, “Gojo’s kind of feels like… tar. Thick tar. Super gross.”

His hand, large and warm, encompasses your hand once more, lays it flat against his chest to feel both his exuding energy and the steady beat of his formidable heart.

“And mine?” He asks, low and gravelly. Like sweet honey that has you captured entirely, unable to escape. Not like you want to. No, you’d rather drown in this overwhelming redolence than ever live without it.

You don’t even realize your breathing heavily, nor that his face has gotten closer to yours. When did he move there? Did you move there?

Either way, his face is in front of yours, noses almost touching and the compulsion to answer him on the tip of your tongue.

“Addicting,” you whisper.

And then his lips are on yours, molding sweetly into you, and it's everything you have ever imagined it to be. Slow, yet firm. Warm and craving, and you can only fight for more, more, more.

His hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you in impossibly closer and you place your hands on his bare chest, the great reason as to your current predicament entirely, to steady yourself and your erratic heartbeat. Time seems to slow in the passion of his kiss, and yet when he parts for air, you feel as though you only had him for a second.

All the months of pining could barely make up for that singular moment.

“I’ve been meaning to do that for a while,” He says, leaning his forehead against yours, breath fanning over your aching lips. You scoff in laughter, meeting his smile with one of your own.

So, maybe, just maybe, listening to Gojo wasn’t a bad idea. And maybe, sometimes, he’s right about some things.

“Hey Kento?”

“Yes?”

“You really do have nice tits.”

“Likewise.”

[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290​‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass​​ (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural​‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant​‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo​ and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes​ Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.  

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.  

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @carryonmywaywardbucky​ @swiftlymoniquesblog​ @moosewinchester​ @sams-sass​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @jotink78​ @winifrede​ @writingforthelonelysoul​ @turtletaylor98​ @lyarr24​ @deanwanddamons​ @peridottea91​ @tvdspngirl314​

TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern​

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[hopeamarsu]

Of potions and myths

This is for the lovely @clydesducktape​ and her CDT celebration challenge. Congratulations on your milestone my darling! ❤️  

I thought I was just going to write a small blurb, but it got out of hand a little, oops. I also decided to try my hand in something else entirely, namely a whole new character. I hope it’s not rubbish.  

My picks: Mythical creature - Love Potion - Blind Date

Will Miller x f!reader (eventually if I can manage a chapter two of this)

Word count 2,1k

Warnings: Predatory behaviour, dangers of date rape drugs and drugging (nothing happens, don’t worry!), alcohol, magic, mythical creatures are known, strong tension. Please let me know if I missed anything! 

Chapter 2

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you,” A deep voice rumbles behind you just as you straighten your body to get back to your drink and continue your date. Your eyes widen, flitting between your drink still on its coaster, your date who looks like he’s about to sweat through his button-up and the stranger standing to your left, one huge hand hooked around his belt buckle and the other twisted outward a little, displaying his intricate tattoos. 

He looks calm on the outside, posture all relaxed as he holds your gaze for a moment before turning his eyes to your date and you can practically see them turn into ice and stone. You follow his gaze and take in your date, how the collar of his shirt looks a tad too tight and the perspiration gathering at his hairline. He’s very nervous for some reason, you think but remain silent, waiting for more information.  

The blond stranger nods towards your drink, sitting all innocent at the bar top, water pooling around it. “Saw him drop something in your drink as you were turned away.” Despite his calmness, the voice is laced with venom, the ice in his eyes burning as he regards your date with disdain. With slow, deliberate movement, he picks up your drink and gives it a small whiff. 

“Love potion.” Two words that turn your world upside down. 

It had been a blind date, set up by your co-worker who had assured you that their friend was good and kind and cute, when you first hesitated accepting the invitation. And it had been an okay date so far, if a little lacklustre in conversation. He’d talked more about himself and his work than engaging you in conversation during your two-hour in the bar together. You’d already given up on the idea of a second date, but tried to humor yourself and him by not cutting the date short even if only to please your co-worker, trying to at least make it work. 

But to hear he’d tried to lace your drink with love potion? Oh hell no. 

“Give me the drink,” You order in a low voice, holding out your hand for it. The blond man agrees, passing the drink to you and you bring it to your own nose, picking up the notes under the alcohol. Once you are certain the stranger is indeed right and you know exactly what the potion was supposed to do to you, you turn your body to look at your date fully. 

In a flash of a movement you tip the drink upside down and pour it down his crotch, ice and all. When he yelps and jumps up cursing, trying to salvage the light chinos, you stand up as well and push the empty glass into his chest, growling in his ear.

“You absolute fucker! Next time when you try to use a potion to make someone fall into bed with you, do it with someone who doesn’t study potions for a living. Or better yet, don’t do it at all.”  

With another push at the date, you step around him, not sparing him a second glance. Your mind is screaming for you to run, hide and maybe get shitfaced at home to avoid the humiliating feeling already creeping up your spine and you rush away out the door. 

The cold air hits you full force and you need to lean back towards the brick wall, trying to gather your shields and thoughts as your mind wanders into unsavoury grounds. Had it not been for the stranger looking out for you... Like called upon, the blond man steps into your eyesight, arms loose and his posture unthreatening even when he fills the air around him with restrained power. 

“Are you alright?” 

His deep rumble feels like balm against your bleeding wounds and you lift off the wall to fully look at him again. He is taller than you, his blond hair cropped short and his full beard trimmed close to his skin but showing how full it is nevertheless. His eyes search for signs in yours and you feel your mental shield drop a bit as you drown in his blue orbs. Your hand shakes by your side when you let out a soft sigh. 

“I’ll be soon. Thank you, for what you did. I didn’t even notice.”

“He was sneaky, using the moment you checked for your phone. I’m glad I caught it, it was very fast.”

“The phone!” You exclaim and dig hastily through your pockets to find the object in question. You turn the screen to him, showing the blank email notification still up on the phone. “The bastard had this all planned. I can’t believe it.” You shake your head in disgust, another wave of cold fear running inside your veins. 

“Do you wish to report him?” 

“I don’t know…” 

“Unauthorized use of a Class B potion is a felony,” He points out casually and you have to nod at his words. It’s true and given that you could also smell the undertone of aphrodisiac potion in the drink as well tells you the man was either playing with fire combining these two potions together or had done it before and gotten away with it and he should be brought in for his offenses. 

“If only I hadn’t poured it down his pants. Now there’s only my word against his and who will believe a researcher over… whatever hell he is. I don’t even know if he is mundane or someone who practices the arts.” You feel dejected and upset at yourself. Even after all these years mingling with the supernatural you still don’t know all the clues you need to pick up upon to pinpoint someone.  

“Don’t worry, it’ll all turn alright. You have me as a witness, I have a pretty good idea on what he practices,” The stranger tells you, offering you a wry look. He holds out his hand and introduces himself as Captain William Miller, part of the Delta Force and you suck in a surprised breath. Delta is known all around as the elite of the elite, almost exclusively recruiting non-mundanes and mythicals into their ranks and if he’s made Captain within them, he must be at the top of the chain.

“You’d do that for me?” You manage to ask after introducing yourself. William, Will as he asks you to call him, give you a reassuring nod and you find yourself relaxing a little more. He steps closer and suddenly you feel tendrils of something wrap softly around you, offering you reassurance and protection. You find yourself leaning into the sensation, lowering your shields even further to enjoy them snake up your arms in soothing motions. 

Your eyes flip up to his and as they lock into place, you swear you see something red flicker in them for a second before the dark ocean-blue hue hides it. Almost like the opposite sides of a magnet, you are pulled closer to one another until your back is pressed against the wall again and he stands right in front of you. 

The tendrils are followed by his hand ghosting up near your bare arm as he cages you into the wall, one hand up over your head. “I don’t know what it is, but… Something draws me into you,” Will murmurs as his lips nearly graze your forehead. “I feel it too,” You answer him, your eyes falling shut as the sensation on your skin turns from soothing to electrifying. Something powerful hums between your bodies, just waiting to claim its prize.

He doesn’t touch you and you don’t touch him, both of you knowing unconsciously that the second you do, all bets are off. Your body calls to him and he is clearly having a tough time not answering the song. You can see how he struggles to keep his composure, his eyes flickering to your lips and your neck and back to your eyes. One of his hands curls into a fist as he breathes your scent in, his nostrils flaring at the combination of your natural musk and the bar you’ve left behind. 

You struggle against the pull too, trying to gather your shields again but it’s so hard when you want to drop them completely for him. You desperately want him to swoop down and just kiss you, erase everything and anything that is not him. It makes your head spin, the intensity of it all and you are glad of the wall offering you support and grounding you so you won’t fly away.    

“Allow me to take you home and come pick you up tomorrow? We’ll go and report the creep first thing but now I need to know you are safe. I need to keep you safe,” His voice grows husky, tender and possessive and you shiver under his whispered words. 

“Please,” you mumble, unable to deny his plea. With great effort Will pushes himself off you and steps away a little, your head clearing as the distance grows between both of you. It seems to have a similar effect on him as the hue in his eyes lightens. You can still feel his presence tingling in the base of your skull and you are already itching to explore your books to find more about this unexpected and intensive connection you seem to share with the handsome Captain.  

He gestures towards his car and you walk side by side to it. As the engine roars into action, you can feel the air get thicker as you are once more in close proximity. You want to open the seat belt and touch him, sink your fingers into his hair and feel the beard scratch along your chin and neck. One look at his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel tells you that you are not alone in your thoughts and it makes heat flare up inside you. 

By some miracle, or his ironclad will, he gets you home, following your quiet instructions to a tee. As you step to the curb, you feel the intensity simmer down again and file it away for later research. You turn to the open window after closing the door and offer your thanks for the ride and for catching the would-be predator. He has one hand still on the wheel anchoring himself in place, and just as you are about to turn around and walk to the front door, he speaks out your name.  

“After you’ve filed the report, can I, uh, can I take you out for a coffee?” Will sounds almost bashful as he speaks. Is he afraid you’ll deny him now that your mind is a bit clearer? You know he felt the magnitude of whatever it was surrounding your bodies earlier too. You can clearly see the remnants of it on his body pulled so tight, the muscles tense and poised to pounce under his Henley. You chuckle softly before offering an affirmative. 

“I would love that.” 

“Good! Great. Wonderful.” Will coughs to hide his eagerness. “I’ll pick you up in the morning then?” Now it’s your turn to nod, before bidding him good night. You feel his eyes tracking your every move as you walk away from the car, every cell in your body rebelling against the movement of your legs. It takes all of your concentration not to rush back but to finally open the door and step inside.

The lock clicks into place and you sigh as you rest your forehead against the wood, hoping you’d invited him in. But for now, this is for the best, you remind yourself. You have some research to do. You need to get to the bottom of this connection before anything rash can happen. No matter how much you wish for it to. 

Hours later you step into your bedroom and a soundless whisper calls to you from the window. You walk next to it and push the curtain to the side a little. Will’s car is still parked on the same spot where he left you and even if you can’t see his face, you see his figure in the front seat, reclining a little as he’s gotten comfortable.

He’s going to be there all night, you realize suddenly. It should feel creepy, but it only fills you with warmth. He’s going to keep you safe, just like he said.    

[wwilloww]

sugar | ksj

A/N: This story was commissioned by @jamaisjoons​ through @ficswithluv‘s Changes With Luv project. Thank you so much for your donation. I had so much fun writing this Jin and exploring these characters so—I hope you enjoy it! A million thousand hundred THANK YOUS to @unlikelylittlemiss​ and @ot7always​ for beta’ing this! 

After many hours of technical difficulties, I’ve formatted what I hope will be the final version of this story. So far I think it’s the favorite one that I’ve written, so if you like this piece, please let me know! It means the world to me when I hear from you all. 

|| masterlist || moodboard || ao3 ||

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

Seokjin traces the rim of the crystal glass, absentmindedly watching the crowd around him swell and sway like a tide. His eyes sweep over the sea of faces, but he doesn't find what he's looking for.

He swirls the golden liquid around the glass and takes a slow sip, wetting his lips with his tongue as he relishes in the comfortable burn of peaty scotch sliding down his throat.

Finally, his gaze captures what he's been searching for.

You. Dressed in a slim asymmetrical white number, sheer fabric draping delicately over one arm. You're unmistakable.

Above you, thousands of shards of crystal hang as if suspended in midair, the art piece paling in comparison to the presence you command. The venue is dimly lit, but the blend of candlelight and starshine is enough to illuminate your face and paint your features in a dance of shimmering light.

He watches the million-dollar sculpture light your slight smile and curious eyes with a silver radiance. The pinkish light of a neon sign had bounced off of your features in an almost identical fashion the night you met.

ONE YEAR AGO

It was chance. Two strangers, anonymous in your settings, both searching for an escape. After finishing your first ever commission, you were desperate to get out of your cramped, barely-affordable studio, while Jin wanted to slip away from the pressures and strict culture of his high-end gallery. Neither knew who the other was, but you gravitated to each other nonetheless.

He sees you first as you shoulder through the front door of the dive bar, your rain-drenched jacket slung over your back, your eyes bright and intelligent. But you were the one to approach the tall, broad shouldered man first, riding off the high of a completed project. You buy him a drink—and then a second. You don’t talk about work tonight. Don’t talk about your lives. You’re both so absorbed in the other that you’re oblivious to the scent of tobacco smoke drifting over you, or the sounds of a rowdy pool game behind you. After four hours cozied up at that bar as the rain pours down outside, you invite him back to your tiny, paint and plant addled apartment.

Once you arrive back home, your roommate nowhere to be seen, you quickly offer him a drink. You  hurried to the kitchen to dig through the fridge to find something— really, anything—to serve the handsome man standing in your living room and curse yourself for not getting groceries this week.

“Who is this?” Jin asks.

“Huh?”

“The painting. Who is it?”

You turn to find him staring starry-eyed at your most recent project, hanging above your couch.  

“Oh, that. Moi.”

“Who?”

“Me, dummy.”

“You? You paint?” He’s looking at you, eyes wide and curious.

“Yeah, if you can call it that.”

“You can definitely call it that,” he says sternly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He reaches out as if to touch it, but freezes, fingers held an inch away from the canvas.

“You can touch it, if you want,” you offer.

He shoots you a flabbergasted look, as if to say really?, and you nod at him as you pull out plastic cups from your sparse cupboard. You pour two glasses of wine and hold one out to him as he comes back to you.

“I was always told not to touch the works of art,” he says, taking the glasses out of your hand and setting them down on the counter. “But this just makes the experience all the more memorable.”

You hiccup at his attempt at dirty talk, not used to men who know what they want, who are willing to spread their desire so plainly before you.

He kicks apart your legs, pressing a thigh against your heated core. He lowers his lips just enough that they almost brush up against yours.

“May I?” he breathes against you. You nod and suddenly he’s captured you in a kiss, the plush of his lips moving heatedly against you. You wrap your arms around his neck and he sighs at your touch. When you break apart, his eyes dark with lust and your breath quickening in your chest, you don’t hesitate to take his hand and lead him to the bedroom.

Before you can step inside, he swings you around and picks you up. Your legs wrap around his waist and you can feel his length pressed hard against you. He backs you against the doorframe, your spine hitting the wood—but you don’t even notice it. All you can feel is the way his cock is jutting against your clit.

“Look at you, grinding yourself against me.”

You groan as he thrusts his clothed cock against you.

“Bed. Now,” you demand.

He walks towards the bed, still holding you, still kissing you, until his knees hit the mattress. And then his grip is loosening and you’re thrown onto the soft surface of the bed, a gasp rushing through your lungs. You watch as he pulls his shirt off, revealing a toned chest. You didn’t think the man in front of you could get any hotter, but as he crawls up the bed to hover over you, you’re proven wrong.

“Please, god, fuck me,” you groan as he kisses you.

It’s all he needs to hear.

The next morning you wake to an unfamiliar arm wrapped around your waist and morning breath tickling your ear. You smile as the details of last night come flooding back.

“Morning,” you grumble, feeling the man shift behind you.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he replies, a heavenly rasp edging his voice.

His hand comes to trace your waist and you let out a quiet moan, your senses softened by sleep. A smile flickers across your lips as his hand dips lower, casting warmth over your hips, your pelvic bone, and finally, your lower lips as his hands explore your body.

“You’re so wet I could just slip right into you, no problem,” he says as he runs his finger along your slick folds. You twist yourself around so you’re on your back now with Jin pressed against your side. Without breaking eye contact, you reach down with one hand to wrap around his length. With your other hand, you grab his hips, pulling him towards you—he takes the cue and straddles you, his hands coming down on either side of your head. You pull him closer so that the head of his cock is pressed against your entrance. “Now?” he asks.

“Now,” you reply.

Despite your wetness and the stretch from last night, he’s still a tight fit as he slides into you. A delightful ache threads through your belly and you arch your back to better accommodate him.

“God, how are you this perfect?” he groans once he’s buried entirely within your walls. He settles his weight against you, giving you a moment to adjust to his girth. “What would it take to get you like this again?”

“Get me into the Whitney,” you joke.

“Done.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. “You’re hysterical.”

“I’m not joking.”

You search his expression for any sign of a joke, but you find none. “Wh-what?” you fumble.

“I’m serious.”

His gaze is calm and collected as if he had just agreed to buy you breakfast—not kickstart your art career.

“Do you not know who I am?”

“Why the fuck would I know who you are?”

His eyes widen for a moment before he breaks out in laughter.

“Oh, well then, don’t worry about it.”

As his chest shakes as he chuckles against you, you’re reminded of your current position. You look down to where your bodies are joined, his cock hard and not even fully sheathed within you.

“You’re not, like, some kind of serial killer right?”

“Uh, no.”

“Okay, well then I literally couldn’t care less who you are.” He smirks at you and you pout. “Can you please just fuck me now?”

He chuckles. “It seems you have to keep asking me for that.” He thrusts into you with enough force that your body slides several inches up the mattress and the two of you groan as you adjust to his girth. He relishes in the tight throbbing of your cunt.  and he relishes in the tight throbbing of your cunt.

He fucks you slow and hard, each thrust slamming into your body, making your toes curl and your back arch. You both come quickly, relishing in the feeling of one another and the pleasure rippling across each other’s face.

“I’ll be honest,” you say, as you pull your shirt over your head. “I kinda liked it when you pushed me around last night. We should do that again.”

“After breakfast though?”

“After breakfast.”

A month later, you had been scrolling through your email when you saw a message from an unknown sender.

Subject : Acceptance to Whitney Museum of American Art.

————————————————————-

Thank you so much for your submission to our open call for pieces exploring “identity and landscape.” We are thrilled to inform you that your art has been accepted by our committee and will be displayed in our upcoming exhibit. Your piece explores these themes in a manner that took the committee’s breath away…

Your phone slips out of your grasp and drops to the floor, cracking the screen in the process.

You’d been submitting your art to them for years, and yet why was it that only after that strange comment Jin had made that you got in? Could it be more than just a coincidence?

The rest of the day is filled with half blossoming excitement and half mortification. Had Jin done this for you? You had been frequenting the museum since before you could hold a paintbrush, and trying to get into their gallery since you began painting professionally—but then all of a sudden as soon as you meet this mysterious stranger, your dream was placed right into your hands.

Three days later, you’re standing in front of the biggest art event you’ve ever been invited to, staring at a very large, very expensive banner that features none other than Jin.

CURATOR OF THE YEAR, the text reads.

Oh. Oh.

It all makes sense. Do you not know who I am? he had asked. You should have known. His name was plastered on every major art exhibit in this city. You had heard about him a thousand times before, but never even thought to connect the dots between the Kim Seokjin who visited your apartment several times a week and reorganized your fridge and the Kim Seokjin. He was a curator, but more than that he was a mentor of sorts. His approach to work was one of a kind: he led the artists he took under his wing with a gentle, guiding touch. Instead of shackling them into contracts or monetary and social debt like others in his position did, he gave them the tools they needed and allowed them the space and support they required to flourish on their own. This kind of business structure not only led to artists all over the world adoring him, but came back to repay him a thousand times over.

You never got into the Whitney on your own merit, you think. It was all Jin’s doing.

After you collect your jaw off the floor and enter the building, you almost immediately spot Jin.

Taking a deep breath to calm the swirling emotions in your belly and mustering all the courage you had, you tuck your painting underneath your arm and stomped up to him.

He’s standing, admiring a large mural. His face is painted in contemplation. For whatever reason, it reminds you of the feeling of standing in a spring clearing, in the middle of nowhere, letting a gentle breeze wash over you. You shove that feeling away as you stride up to him, stopping a foot or two behind him.

“Jin?”

“Hm—?” Jin spins on his heel. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes light up. “I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days, I was worried something was wrong.”

“I got into the Whitney.”

“Wait, what? That’s amazing!”

“And I figured out who you are.”

His eyes widen.

“Before anything else, I wanted to thank you for your help. I…” You shake your head, trying to wrap your mind around what’s just happened. “I’m not really sure how to thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I didn’t do anything.”

“I’ve been submitting to the Whitney for years and I’ve never even gotten a rejection email from them. And then I met you, and—and then it’s done. I’m in.” You look to him for an explanation.

“Okay, I admit,” Jin says, running a hand through his hair. “I put in a good word for you. But I did nothing more than mention to the board that I had seen your art and that I was very impressed by it.”

“That’s too much,” you frown.

“It’s not. It literally took thirty seconds of my time. And I did it because I genuinely believe in the vision of your projects.”

“If they believed in the vision of my projects, they would have accepted them without your name attached to it,” you snap.

“I—I’m sorry,” he says, looking down. “I didn’t realize it would upset you. I thought it would make you happy.”

You sigh, putting your hand on his arm. You only speak when he looks at you. “I’m upset, but I’m also really excited. I just—I want to do this on my own. I don’t want it to because of someone’s name. I want it to be because of my work. And I know that’s romantic and maybe not super realistic, but I need you to understand that that’s what I want.” You take a deep breath before continuing and he slips his hand into yours. “And more than that, I want to make it clear that I’m not just seeing you because of your status.”

“I understand,” he says softly, squeezing your hand. “So you’re seeing me now?”

You flush at your slip of tongue.

“I-I mean—”

“I’d like to see you,” he says. “If you’ll have me.”

Seokjin quickly became a constant fixture in your life. While he stopped involving himself in your work (and immediately after your conversation in the gallery, had quickly excused himself to make several calls to call off different projects and potential buyers) he did insist on buying your art supplies, moving you into a larger studio, and helping you work through the complicated process of finding grants to apply for. And of course, Jin was always ready to take care of your other, ahem, needs as well.

Your relationship quickly developed. You talked about the ins and outs of sex and your roles in the bedroom, but somehow never seemed to move the conversation about what you were to each other outside of your sheets—or the closet in the gallery, or the bathroom of your now-favorite bar.

PRESENT DAY

Jin sets his half-full glass down to make his way over to you. As he stands from the bar, an arm slides into his elbow, forcing him to turn away from you.

Your heart thrums in your chest as you stood at the top of the marble stairs, looking down into the outdoor amphitheater where tonight’s gala was being hosted.

You had arrived solo on your own instances. Even after a year together, you were still hesitant to show up as Seokjin’s date, knowing you were more likely to garner the title “girlfriend” than “artist.” Still, the thought of seeing Seokjin sent goosebumps chasing down your skin and you smiled softly to yourself as you searched the crowd for the tall man. You had come straight from your studio and there was still paint and paper mache stuck beneath your fingernails, a fact that didn’t quite fit into the posh environment you were in, but one that made you feel grounded nonetheless.

"Hello, darling," a deep voice sings into your ear. "You're looking particularly ravishing tonight."

You turn, expecting to see Seokjin. Instead, a strapping young man, unfamiliar but recognizable to you, stands in his place.

"Jeon Jungkook," you address the famous photographer as he takes your hand and presses a kiss to it. You suppress the urge to grimace as his lips meet your skin. The young man is undoubtedly handsome—there's no denying it—and you shyly look down as his eyes rove over you like you are a piece of art to be appraised.

"I've seen you at these events for quite a while now."

"Have you now?"

"Always on Mr. Kim's arm, too. Don't you think he's a little... maturefor you?"

It’s not like we’re together, you want to respond, but you hold your tongue. There was only a seven year age gap between you and Soekjin. And yet, because he carried himself with such discipline and stature, this was a constant question you had to navigate whether it came up in terms of your relationship with, working or otherwise.

“Speaking of Mr. Kim, have you seen him anywhere?” you ask, smiling tightly.

Jungkook takes your arm and turns you, pointing through the crowd.

There he is. Jin is dressed impeccably in a light-colored suit, the cut accenting his tall frame, broad shoulders, and narrow waist. You smile upon seeing him and wave, but he doesn’t see you.

There’s a flash of blonde hair and suddenly you realize what’s occupying Jin’s attentions.

You frown as you watch the woman's arm snake around Jin's. Tonight was supposed to have been a chance for the two of you to spend some quality time together, surrounded by beautiful art and artists, to see each other without interruption — but then again maybe a gala wasn't the best choice for quality time.

"There's something about you," Jungkook muses, oblivious to your distraction. "A light in your eye. Passion. You know, I would love to photograph you some time."

You glance over Jungkook's shoulder to see the woman with her hand gripping Jin's bicep, obviously trying to capture and hold his attention. And yet Jin's gaze is fixed on you. You meet his eyes, only to let a ghost of a smirk dash across your lips, before returning your focus to Jungkook. Even though you know Jin’s attention is only focused on you, you figure you might have some fun with the current situation.

"Oh really?" you say, blinking up at him flirtatiously. "And how would you have me?"

Jeon Jungkook was known for his abstract and mythological concepts. His photos were stunning, portraying story and eroticism at their most intellectual and beautiful.

"Aphrodite. No doubt."

Original, you think, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

"Hm," you hum, as if mulling it over. "Tell me more." Your switch from professional to outrightly coquettish startles him and he stumbles over his words for a moment before regaining his composure and leaning in.

"Pink lighting. Texture? Hm, dove wings. I've been playing with fabric lately—" Jungkook falls into the description of his concept, flowing so quickly through the smallest of details, almost as if he's thought this through before, specifically for you. Instead of listening, you watch Jin out of your peripheral vision. "I can almost imagine the magazine spread now."

Your attention snaps back to the young man in front of you and as an idea flashes across your mind, you do your best not to giggle and to remain serious. "You know, I would love to be spread out for you." You smile innocently and Jungkook gulps.

"I, ah—” Jungkook is stopped mid sentence as a hand is clapped on his shoulder.

"Jeon," Seokjin nods at the younger man, a stiff smile painting his face. "I see you've met my—" Your eyebrows shoot up at the slip, but Jin quickly catches himself. "YN. One of the best painters I know."

Jungkook scoffs. “Uh, yeah, obviously.” When he looks up to find you and Jin staring confusedly at him, he clears his throat. “I mean—what I meant to say is her talent is underrated. Which you probably already know.” He smiles sheepishly.

“Alright, then,” Jin says.

“Aw, thanks, Jungkookie,” you say, swatting his shoulder and you watch as the young man flushes while Jin’s brow raises in question at the use of the pet name.

“Drinks?” Jin says, breaking the quickly rising tension between the three of you. Taking your elbow he leads you towards the bar and Jungkook quickly trots behind. He orders another scotch and you shake your head, “Nothing for me.” As Jungkook leans over the bar, Jin steps behind you, his hand coming to rest gently on your waist.

“Behave,” he whispers.

“Hm?” you hum innocently, brushing your hair over your shoulders.

“At this rate, you’re asking to be punished,” Jin growls.

You smile sweetly up at him, pinching his cheek playfully before realizing where you are and who might see. You quickly snatch your hand back, hoping no one saw.

Jungkook turns back with a martini in hand. Interesting choice, you think.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” Jungkook asks you.

“She already said she didn’t want anything.” Jin answers for you.

“I can speak for myself, thank you very much,” you cut in, crossing your arms. “But no, maybe later.”

A long moment of silence hangs between the three of you.

“Well, don’t mind me then. I have a couple of people I need to speak with.” Jin nods at the two of you and turns on his heel. You watch his tall frame, tracking where he’s going. The game is on.

It seems as the night drags on, Jin is purposefully ignoring you, knowing it’ll rile you up just enough. He continues to engage with artists and experts from all over the globe and Jungkook hangs at your side. Beyond the awkward flirtation he keeps throwing your way—which you don’t blame him for, considering you keep egging him on—he’s quite an intelligent young man with a vision.

After half an hour of Jin’s lack of presence, you’re bored and tired. The two of you wander around the gala, looking at the art pieces. When you see Jin hovering near one in the corner, you gently guide Jungkook over. As you approach, you realize why Jin has been spending so much time over here.

The eight by ten piece that you had sold to an anonymous buyer last week is hanging on the wall. The bright oranges and deep blues seem to shimmer and swim within the space compared to the crystal, silver, and gold pieces that pepper the event tonight.

“This is yours, right?” Jungkook asks. “I’d recognize the style anywhere.”

“Uh, yeah, I just didn’t expect it to be here. I sold it to an anonymous buyer last week. I have no idea how it got here.”

Jungkook looks confusedly at you. “Hm. Weird.”

You stare blankly at your own art for a while, puzzling over how it could have gotten to this level of a gala. The buyer from last week had said nothing about the gala. But here it is in front of you, big and commanding—and marked with a $500,000 price tag? The proceeds of tonight’s event were going directly to charity and still your mouth hangs open as you ogle the string of zeros in front of you.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?” Jungkook asks, breaking through your reverie. “I don’t mind getting it for you.”

“That’s so kind of you,” you smile, knowing that tonight’s event hosts an open bar. At that moment you notice Jin’s gaze finally, finallyresting on you. “Actually, your drink is looking pretty good to me right now.” You take a step closer to Jungkook, meeting his gaze and resting one of your hands gently on his elbow. He shudders under your touch.  As much as he puts on a confident front, you know your forwardness unravels him just enough. Without breaking eye contact, you reach into his martini glass and pull out a green olive. Opening your mouth slowly, you purse your lips around the round fruit before sucking it into your mouth. You open your mouth just enough for Jungkook to see how it rests on your tongue.

Jungkook’s jaw is hanging open.

“Oh my god.”

Suddenly, a hand is clasped onto Jungkook’s shoulder. He spins around to see a towering Jin. Jin’s features are relaxed and calm, but you catch the hard edge in his tone, even as it slips past Jungkook’s awareness.

“Jeon, I was just talking to an up-and-coming dancer earlier tonight. He’s looking to partner with a photographer for a project. I mentioned your work to him and he would love to talk to you.” Jin turns Jungkook to point to a handsome man standing across the room, a sun-filled smile dancing across his lips.

“Wait—really?” Jungkook looks flabbergasted.

“Of course, I admire your work,” Jin says.

“Wow, thank you. I really appreciate it.” He reaches out to shake Jin’s hand. “Thank you so much, sir.” A smirk threatens to break Jin’s calm demeanor.

“Anytime.”

Jungkook turns to walk towards the dancer but spins back towards you. “Don’t, uh, don’t go anywhere, yeah?”

“Sure.”

Once Jungkook is out of range of hearing, Jin steps closer to you. "Upstairs. Now."

Because tonight's gala was in part hosted by Seokjin and his company, it took place in the courtyard of one of Seokjin's highrises.

With the ghost of a smirk playing on your features, you turn on your heel, head held high, and make your way to the elevators.

It’s just like him to make you wait.

Twenty minutes after you arrived in the penthouse apartment, Jin was nowhere to be seen. So you kick your heels off and make your way to the fridge, finding an open bottle of your favorite wine that he kept in stock just for you. You pour yourself a glass and make your way to the gigantic kitchen island, leaning over it and scrolling through your phone. You know Jin would expect you to be waiting ready and in position for him, but tonight you feel like pushing the limits.

A gentle ding echoes through the living room. You click your phone off and look up just in time to see the silver door of the elevator slide shut behind him.

Seokjin runs a hand through his hair, loosening the strands from his perfect slicked-back look. You nearly salivate at the sight of him unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt, even as your heart beats like it is ready to jump straight out of your chest.

You gulp as his eyes land on you. Finally.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” you say.

“Have I?”

“Are you punishing me?”

“You won’t need to ask me if I’m punishing you when I’m punishing you. You’ll know.” Despite the coldness of his words, there’s a playful glint in his eyes. You know his anger is for show and not genuine. The direction you're headed is a space the two of you have carefully mapped out, experimented with, and discussed over the course of your relationship. When he slips into this role, it's for both of your pleasure, and never as an outlet for his anger. "So no, I'm not. At least, not yet."

"Jin—" you say.

"Sir," Jin corrects.

"—Sir," you repeat, standing up from the island and walking slowly towards him. You bat your eyes and saunter over to him, pressing yourself against his chest as you take one of his hands and guide it under your dress. His eyes widen when he realizes you're not wearing any underwear.

"God, you're wet."

"I wanna cum," you state matter of factly. You thought your directness might startle him, but instead, his composure remains unaffected.

"You misbehaved all night long," Jin murmurs in your ear. "But maybe if you're a good girl for me and take your punishment, we can talk about you cumming."

And just like that, his hand is gone.

"Are you gonna be good?"

You don’t respond. Instead, you smile sweetly at him. You meet his gaze but don’t move. He cocks an eyebrow and pulls you tight against him with one hand as he pinches your chin with the other.

"You thought you could use this pretty little costume of innocence,” he says as he plays with the sleeve of your dress, a sneer painting his face. “Dressed all in white, and so elegant too. You thought you could hide the whore you are beneath a dress like this?"

His grip on your hips tightens as he pushes you forward, turning you forcibly. It shocks the breath out of your lungs. He pulls you back, your ass flush against his hard but clothed cock. His hands grab your shoulders, steadying you.

"I'd like to fuck you in one of these cute little outfits sometime. But not tonight. Tonight I want you entirely bare." The next thing you know, the sound of ripping fabric fills the space and your dress falls down in shreds at your feet.

"My-my dress," you gasp.

"A shame.” He feigns a pout. “You looked so good in it. But you look even better like this."

It briefly flashes through your mind that you're not sure how you're going to be able to leave, as you hadn't brought a change of clothes—and then that concern is quickly replaced by the confusion as he bends down to examine you.

"When was the last time you touched yourself?" Jin asks as he runs a finger over your slit. You shudder at the sensation.

"You were the last one to touch me."

“So you’re telling me you’re ready to flirt with any man who approaches you, make him think you’re gonna let him fuck you, but then it’s all for show?” He slips a single finger into your cunt. “What a tease.”

“For you,” you gasp as he hooks his finger and hits a particularly sensitive spot. “I would never.”

“Never what?”

“Never fuck another man.”

“Your actions tonight tell me something else.”

Your brow furrows as Jin adds a second finger.

“I-I just wanted you to pay attention.”

"That’s all you wanted, hm, little one? My attention?"

"Yes, sir," you mumble back.

"Good. You have it." He pulls his fingers from your dripping entrance and stands.

Your brows furrowed in frustration. "I want more," you say.

"And I want you to behave yourself when we're out in public together. It seems like neither of us is getting what we want, hm?" When you pout, he chuckles. "But I bet you can make it up to me. Take your punishment like a good girl. And we'll see if we can't both have what we want." You nod, eagerly. "Go bend over the couch and wait for me."

You quickly lay yourself over the arm of the black leather couch that stretches across the sprawling living room. Jin disappears into one of the back rooms for a moment, but you soon hear his footsteps echoing on the marble, approaching you from behind. He rests a hand on your bare ass, roving over it in slow circles before coming to kneel down beside you.

"Safeword?"

"Peaches."

His eyes search yours—checking, making sure you're really okay with this before he continues, that same awareness never leaving his eyes. "Good. You'll use it if you need to."

You nod.

“You know why I have to do this right?” Jin asks, his voice calm and clear as he stands and steps out of your line of vision. You can hear the clink of a belt buckle as he doubles it up in his hand.

“I disobeyed you.”

“And?”

“I didn’t listen when you asked me to stop.”

“And what exactly did I want you to stop doing?”

“Flirting with him.”

“Who? Say his name.”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

He chuckles. “I want that to be the last time his name leaves your lips tonight. Understood?” You nod, wholeheartedly. “The poor boy. You left him so hard and eager for your pretty little cunt. I bet he thought he was going to get to fuck you after all that teasing. Tell me, is that what you wanted him to think?”

“Yes,” you admit.

“And yet, after all that work and you were so quick to drop him just for me. I’m going to spank you and you’re going to take it like a good girl. Seven hits. Count for me.”

That’s when the first hit lands. The air in your lungs whooshes out of you in shock. After the initial pain, a soft warmth spreads through your cheeks.

“I said, count.”

“One,” you say, your voice strong.

The belt comes down on you a second time, cracking against your other cheek. “Two.” Your nails dig into the leather of the couch and his hand spreads across your ass, soothing over the spots where he’s hit you. The feeling of his fingertips against your skin brings coolness to the surface of your burning skin and the contrast sends arousal spiraling through your core.

“Good girl.”

Smack.

“Three.”

On four, you realize you’ve been holding your breath. The number comes out as a gasp, a puff of air and you realize you’ve been holding something else in. Shame. Guilt. Upset.

On five, you let out a particularly loud yelp, your cry of pain mixing with emotion and cutting through your pronunciation. Jin's hand immediately brushes across your sore ass to smooth over the most recent hit.

"Color?" he says softly.

"Green—green, please, keep going," you pant, tears threatening your eyes.

“Only two left.”

On six, you feel something split within you. You know it isn’t just about tonight, about your disobedience or your flirtations with a strange man. It’s about holding back. It’s about letting your brattiness build a wall between the warm thing that’s been building in your chest and Jin, the man who keeps showing up for you.

“Seven! M’ sorry!” you call out as seven comes down on your ass. The wall splits open within you, sending a flood of emotion and endorphins through your body. All you want is to fall into this sensation. The one where he’s here for you, and you can let him be here for you.

Jin smoothes his hands over your ass one final time. You wince slightly, knowing it’s going to be painful to sit for the next couple of days. And yet all you can feel is a golden glow, pulsing through your veins, tinting your perception. Your body feels lighter, the space around you more spacious, and the look in Jin’s eyes is glowing.

Jin pulls you up to your feet, searching your eyes to make sure you’re alright. He finds a strange, new warmth in them, one that spills out completely for him. And something close to daze.

“No hands.” Still, you can’t help but reach out to him, lacing your fingers into the front of his shirt. “I said, no hands.” You refuse to remove them. He’s suddenly stepping back from you.  "You can't seem to listen, can you, little one? Hands behind your back." You stare blankly at him. "I won't ask you twice."

You bring your hands behind you, clasping one hand around a wrist. He circles around you until he's out of your range of sight. You hear the tearing of fabric and then the cool brush of what you assume must be your dress wrapping around your wrists as Jin expertly ties them together. When the knot is tight and secure, he walks slowly back around you so you're face to face.

"Kneel."

Your knees hit the cold marble floor.

"Suck my cock."

"But—" You attempt to protest, your hands still tied behind your back. Your voice trails off as his eyes harden.

His belt is already open and you take the cold metal in your mouth, leaning your head back as you pull it out of the loops. It's an awkward angle, but you do your best and soon it falls to the floor with a clink. You glance up at him, searching for validation. His gaze is still hard, but there's a glimmer of a smile—pride? delight?—hanging at the corner of his lips.

"Keep going."

Leaning forward, you nudge your nose along the hard length sporting in his pants. His arousal is more than apparent through the fabric of his pants: thick, and long, and impossibly hard. Without breaking eye contact, you stick your tongue out of your mouth and slowly trace it up the length of his covered cock.

His hand tightens in your hair and you yelp as pain shoots into your scalp.

"I asked you to do something. Are you getting distracted?" What was once painful has quickly turned into a delicious pleasure as your face flushes, the hand in your hair teasing tingles down your spine. "Answer me." He grips your hair tighter, forcing your head back even further.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

He releases his grasp just enough that you're able to lean back to the tenting bulge in his pants, but still does not release you fully.

Carefully, you suck the button of his slacks into your mouth, expertly sucking and tonguing the cold metal until you feel it slip through the hole, before moving down to pull the zipper between your teeth and tug it all the way down. You gasp as you realize he's not wearing underwear and your cunt contracts around nothing. You're face to face with his bare cock.

"Sir, may I?"

He nods and you immediately lean forward to lick a broad, wet stripe up from the base of his cock to the tip. Without the use of your hands, you find yourself relying on the movements of your upper body and your mouth to pleasure him.

Slowly, you lick around the angry red head of his cock, teasing a light gasp from him. You continue to do this until you know he’s just on the edge of frustration and before he can say anything, you purse your lips around him.

As you take him into your mouth, you’re particularly aware of the remainder that you’re unable to fit. Usually, you would wrap one or both of your hands around him, stroking him where you couldn’t reach. But now that’s inaccessible to you.

Relaxing your throat, you attempt to take him deeper but choke at the sensation of his thick head hitting the back of your throat.

"You're so good at this, almost as if you were made to have your mouth stuffed with cock."

His praise urges you to take him deeper and press past the urge to gag. Taking a deep breath, you edge forward, allowing him to slip into the tight confines of your throat. He hiss at this and his hands tighten in your hair, this being the first time you’ve deepthroated him. Tears well in your eyes, blurring your vision as you continue to ease him deeper within you.

He begins thrusting into your throat. If you could reach up to wrap your hand around your throat, you would feel the protrusion of his cock pressing forward through the skin of your throat, visible and bulging.

You choke around him and he audibly groans at the sensation.

Jin looks down to find tears streaming out of your face, chin wet with drool. The sight of you, so lost in your actions, strikes something in his chest. As you meet his gaze, your lips so pink and pouted around him, the glaze in your eyes filled with adoration, his hips buck and he thrusts into your throat.

“I’m gonna cum,” he growls. “And I want you to swallow every last drop of it.”

He grabs your head as he fucks up into you one last time, pushing your nose against his pubic bone. You can feel his cum, hot and bitter, sliding down your throat. He doesn’t release you until he’s done. Finally, he pulls you off of him, your lips releasing from his spent cock with a pop.

Air comes rushing back into your lungs, replacing the black spots that had started to pepper your vision with starshine as you look up at Jin clearly. His forehead is shining with sweat and his cheeks are flushed in pleasure. He’s never prettier than he is now, spent with passion.

Jin quickly regains his wits as he pulls you up and takes his thumb to wipe the combination of drool and cum from your chin.

Something gleams in his eye.

“Up against the window,” he orders.

“Wha—”

Before you can finish your sentence, Jin is walking you backward until your back hits the cold glass. You gasp at the sensation of your heated ass cheeks mixed with the cold spark of the smooth surface.

With your back against the glass, hips pushed towards him again, he kisses languidly up your stomach. There is a gentleness in the way his lips whispered against your skin that shoots something through your chest and leaves you wanting more of whatever it is.

You gather yourself enough to look down and see his plump lips pursed around a nipple. As your eyes meet, he bites down around the swollen bud, and you whimper. He continues to bite and suck your breasts, drawing increasingly lewd sounds from you.

But then his lips leave the tender flesh of your breasts and kiss their way upwards to your neck. For a moment you think his gentle side might return, only to squirm beneath him as his teeth graze the delicate skin. Before you know it, his lips are pressed against you and he's sucking the skin in between his teeth.

"You'll leave a mark!" You exclaim, bound hands struggling to escape from where they’re still tied behind your back But he's quicker and stronger than you and he holds you down, stilling your movements, before continuing to suck and bite at your neck.

"Good." He moves his mouth to the hollow of your throat, sucking a bruise to the surface of your skin. "I want everyone to know exactly who you belong to. I want you to wear me, so no one even has a doubt in their mind whose slut you are."

As you look down, you realize he’s hard again. It’s not uncommon for him to be up and ready to go for a second or third round. His cock is red and rock-hard, and as he realizes what you’re looking at he smirks.

“Like what you see?”

“Yes, sir.” You swallow. “Want it—want you.”

“Do you think you’ve earned it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You took your punishment well,” he muses languidly. “And you sucked Sir off so well, too.”

He drags a finger through your slit, forcing you to buck up into his touch.

“Please—” you gasp.

“Since you asked so nicely—” abruptly, he spins you around so you’re facing towards the window. “I’ll fuck you. But I want everyone to see exactly the kind of slut you are for this cock.”

“But—”

“Color?”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. From this far up, you can see the gala, still in full swing. Even from this height, you can see their individual faces and you know if any of the people in sparkling gowns and tailored suits were to look up and squint, they would see your fucked-out form pressed against the window of the penthouse, your hands bound behind your back thrusting your chest forward obscenely. The thought sends a flood of arousal to your cunt.

“Green.”

“Good.”

At that, you feel the head of his cock brush against your dripping entrance. Jin looks down to see his huge cock resting against your red cheeks. You look tiny compared to him, and the sight makes him even harder. As he grips the base of his dick, he pushes gently against your entrance, the bulbous head slipping inside. His cock twitches as he hears you moan.

Jin is undoubtedly the biggest cock you’ve ever fucked. Even after months of him filling you, he was still a tight fit. While you often used lube to ease the slide in, tonight you were dripping wet, your arousal coating your swollen lips and beginning to run down your inner thighs. Slowly, he pushes into you. The sensation of being filled, of being stretched by him has you moaning, the sound filling the spacious apartment.

“You’re such a good slut for me, you take this cock so well,” Jin says as he presses the last inch of his length into you.

Kim Seokjin is a man of control. Despite the painful ache in his cock and the burning desire to pound into you, he isn't done drawing out your pleasure. Torturously slow, he slides his cock in and out of your tight cunt, his thick head dragging against your walls. You whine wantonly, pushing back against him.

He stops.

"Please. Sir," you nearly sob. "Need you."

"And I need you to use your words. This is mine." He reaches down to spread his palm over your sore ass, spreading you even further open for him. The sight of you impaled on his thick cock is one he’ll never get used to. "And I'll do what I want with it."

He can feel you shudder at his words, knowing that his possessiveness affected you just as much as it did him.

"You like that?" he growls. "Knowing you're mine? You're stuffed full of cock and still you want more. What a greedy slut."

"Please, Sir. Need you to fuck me," you beg. Still, Jin makes no indication of moving. "Please. Need you to show them who I belong to."

That does it.

“You. Belong. To. Me.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust, his cock spearing through the tightness of your walls.

“Fuck,” you hiss as he lifts your leg. The head of his cock begins to hit the knot of pleasure that’s tightly wound within your cunt. “Sir, you feel so good.” It’s all you can think about.

“He’s down there, isn’t he?” For a moment you’re not even sure who he’s talking about, so lost in pleasure and the sensations he’s teasing out of your body. “He could look up at any moment and see you like this, tits out, pressed up against the glass, letting me ruin you like this.” You moan at his words. “I bet you would like that, slut.” He punctuates the final word with a particularly hard thrust.

Your pussy clenches around him and he moans as he feels your tight walls grip him tighter.

“I think there’s a part of you that loves the idea of the world watching you get fucked.”

"Gonna—gonna cum," you gasp, your words stuttered out of your mouth by Jin's rough thrusts. "Sir, please, can I come?"

"No."

"Sir, please."

"Did you not hear me?" he growls. "Listen, or I'll stuff that pretty little mouth with something less pleasant than my cock."

You throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut and clenching your abdominal muscles in an attempt to hold back the waves of euphoria that threaten to wash over you any moment now.

“Please, sir, need to come. I’ll do anything.” The tears that have been threatening to run down your face finally spill over as you’re split in pleasure and discomfort. “Please, anything.”

Jin releases your leg with a grunt and pushes your legs together, making it a tighter fit for both of you. With one hand he pushes down on your lower back, arching it for you. His other hand comes to wrap around your bound wrists, using the grip to power his thrusts into you. Somehow the new angle makes him seem even bigger than he already is and you mewl.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Jin,” you force out, trying to find your words through the pleasure that he’s pounding into you. “Only you.” Too late, you realize that you had used the wrong name for him and you gasp, ready for whatever correction he deems fit for you.

But it seems that’s exactly what he wanted you to say.

“Good girl. Cum. Now.”

As soon as the sound has left his lips your orgasm barrels through you.

“Jin!” you cry. You throw your head back, white overtaking your vision. Your cunt pulses around his hard length, spasming for what feels like minutes. Your breath freezes in your throat as sparks of pleasure flood your body.

Watching you come unraveled around his name is what does it for him. He groans as his orgasm washes over him, sending waves of pleasure throughout his whole body. He shudders against you, releasing ropes of cum into your still-pulsating cunt. You can feel his cock twitch against your oversensitive walls as he empties himself into you. His breath is heavy against your neck as his arms tighten around you. As much as you love the Jin in control, these moments when he releases all pretenses are precious to you.

Even as he stays sheathed within you, you can feel his cum begin to drip out of your cunt, running down your thighs. When he finally pulls out, the mix of your combined orgasms gushes out of you and you frown at the proceeding sensation of emptiness.

As you slump against the window, your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure and exhaustion, you feel Jin’s large hands ghost down your arms, releasing the fabring binding your wrists together. When he’s done, his hands come to rest on your hips, turning you as he kneels down in front of you. You gasp as you feel him swipe two of his fingers through the swollen folds of your cunt, as he collects his own cum. The sensation splits you in overwhelm.

"Open," Jin commands, standing up. You open your mouth and he slides the two cum covered fingers past your lips. "Suck." Dutifully, you press your lips around him, swallowing around him until he pulls out, not a drop of cum left on his fingers. His eyes burn in desire, and if it weren't for the exhaustion apparent in your posture, you know he would be ready to go for a second round. "Good girl."

You smile softly up at him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He holds you close and the two of you simply breathe together. You feel comforted against his large frame, his breath flowing easily and freely through him, your own body finding solace in the soft rhythm. He holds you like that for what feels like forever before he tips your weight into his body and leads you to the sleek leather couch. There, he sits down, pulling you into his lap. You curl up against his wide chest, nestling your nose into the crook of his neck.

"How are you?" he asks as he brushes the hair out of your eyes.

"Feel so good," you murmur, eyes fluttering shut in the afterglow that radiates throughout your whole body. Every muscle in your body feels warm and stretched.

"Do you want me to bring you to bed?" After all this time, Jin knows how sleepy you get after a scene like this.

"Mm, surprisingly not sleepy. Just... happy."

He holds you for a while, and you bask in the feeling of his arms wrapped securely around you and the light brush of his steady breath against your hair.

“Earlier,” you begin slowly. “You slipped. You started to call me ‘my’—and then you stopped. What were you going to say?”

Jin is quiet and for a moment you wonder if you misspoke.

“Honestly?” he finally says, his voice brushing over you like a soft breeze.

“Honestly,” you repeat, twisting into him to look him in the eyes. There’s something desperately gentle in his gaze. You could fall into it.

“Honestly, I don’t really know where my mind was going in that moment.” He pauses, chewing over his words. “But, I would like to call you mine—in some way.”

“Yours?”

He nods, shyly. “Mine.”

“Sure, I’ll be yours,” you grin, snuggling into his chest.

“Yeah?”

“But only if you’ll be mine, too.”

“I think we can arrange that.”

Seokjin pulls you tighter and just holds you like that for several minutes before he stands up and disappears into the bedroom for a moment. When he returns, he's holding a slim black box, which he hands to you.

"Put this on," he says.

You open the box to reveal a small black number.

"We're going back?" you ask.

"Only to get our winnings," he grins back to you, pushing his hair back again. "And to show everyone just exactly how much I won tonight."

“What do you mean, winnings?”

“I made a purchase tonight.” He presses a kiss to your lips. “The most colorful piece in the whole building.”

“—You?”

Jin smirks and comes behind you to zip up the beautiful piece of clothing. He traces over the bruises blossoming on your shoulders and neck with a gentle touch before pressing his lips to each and every one of them.

"Only if you're comfortable," he adds softly as you melt against his touch. There's no doubt you're tired. But still, the idea of finally walking into an event with Jin—no pretenses, no questions, no secrets—just together, has a thrill sparking in your core.

“I’m always comfortable with you,” you grin, taking his hand and leading him to the elevators.

|| masterlist || moodboard || ao3 ||

taglist:  @velvetwicebang​​ @spicykoreantatertots​ @usuallynervoussheep​ @dulcaet​ 

[treasureswordsgirl55]

Red Lipstick

Character: James "Bucky" Barnes

Pairing: James Bucky Barnes x Profesor Fem!Reader.

Inspired by: Ojos Negros - Ricardo Montaner

Warnings: First Meetings. Rainy day. Storms. Fluff! So Fluff. Funny. Bucky!White Wolf. Mentions of New Avengers. Post!TFATWS. Post!Endgame.

Author's Note: Hello everyone. I hope you're doing well. I just pass here to post this fic in thanks for all the replies, all the mentions in a lot of recs fics, and this is 'cause you likes my writing.

So thanks you! It means so so much.

I'm not having a good days and I need to clear my mind and stop thinking because otherwise I will continue crying ... Your replies always makes me smile. Is a caress from my broken heart in this moment.

I hope from the bottom of my heart that this fic likes you and thanks you for all the replies. Thank you. 💖

XOXO 😘

🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹

Ojos negros en el cielo de una noche fría, labios rojos que me hablaban y yo no la oía. ¿Tienes cuántos años? Pregunte, de repente con una excusa le invite un café....

- Damn storm! - I quickly stop under a small awning of one of the few shops that are open at 9:30 on a Saturday and I see how on the other side of the window, the clerk looks at me with a pout as if I were a hindrance to your local. I beckoned her to the pouring rain outside the awning, but all she does is ask me "delicately" with her hands to leave. I let out a sigh as I look for a place to take refuge without being kicked out and I remember the small coffee shop that is a block from here, so I manage to put the little black patent leather bag on my head and go for it. With each step I take, the rain seems to get stronger, and I notice it in my red jacket, which begins to be seen from the water that comes into contact with it. When I feel a kind of bump against my head, I give up, took the bag off my head knowing that it is already a disaster that will be accompanied by frizz in less than an hour and I walk the last stretch until he pushed the small door of glass of the place, feeling sure that God is not trying to drown me with so much water on my head.

My burning throat and my lungs that thank me for not running, calm my heartbeat that seems about to indicate that I am going to have a damn cardiac arrest. I approach the bar while I look for where the bathroom is and when I see my reflection against one of the windows of the small bar, I feel that my soul falls to the floor: the only makeup I'm wearing, which is mascara and eyeliner, are running down my cheeks as if I were the weeping woman coming out of the TV of an abandoned house. There is hardly any trace of my waves and my lipstick is barely smudged, apparently it is the only "waterproof" thing that sticks to its work.

Once I locate the bathroom, as soon as a waiter approaches, I ask him politely if I can come in, but he shakes his head as he sees me somewhat scared.

- Sorry, but only clients can use the bathroom.

Sure, of course. Did the rain make you an idiot?

- Of course, a cup of tea will be fine. Thanks.

The man in his 70s walks away muttering a Chuck Berry song that plays through the small speakers as I reach for my wallet to pay for my drink, but can't find it in my pocket. Maybe I dropped it when I ran here? Just thinking about it feels like the blood escapes from my body.

I open the backpack quickly while I feel that someone is watching me from my side, and as soon as I look up from the bag to see who it is, I do not find any curious attentive to my actions. I go back to my search and when I don't see the little white wallet on the black background, I release a curse.

What I was missing .... I remembered the last moments before leaving home and I remember that Alanis was practically inside my bag, looking for something to entertain her and I only have a second before seeing that the screen of my cell phone lights up and a Rose's message confirms that Alanis has my wallet.

It is impossible to curse a 3-year-old girl.

Before the waiter comes over with the drink, I peek around one corner of the bar and wipe off the rest of my makeup with a napkin so I don't look scared again.

- Sorry to bother you, but I won't have that tea. I hope you did not prepare - He barely smiled as I feel the heat begin to invade my cheeks. Suddenly I feel like everyone is looking at me even though they aren't, yet I mutter under my breath - I've forgotten my wallet.

The man just nods and I turn around while I wait for God to have mercy on me and I dispatch a taxi as quickly as possible to prevent me from getting any more water-soaked to college and for Cameron to be there to pay for it for me.

I will be the laughingstock of my students.

I quickly arrange things in the bag, I looked at me for a second in the reflection of the bar and when I feel that I do not look scary enough, I let out a long sigh, but instantly I feel a noise in front of me as I see that a small cup of white color with hot tea is in front of where I am leaning.

- I told you I can't afford it, sir.

- And I don't say that you have to do it - The man smiles at me as he indicates to the other side of the bar - The young man who is there invites you to tea.

I look in the direction the man is pointing and there are more than four men at the bar, all too old to be young. Before I even asked him who it was that took pity on me, I realize the meaning of the cup and run to the bathroom.

As soon as he entered and I see the mirror, I take off the rest of my makeup, try to erase the traces of the disaster that the rain caused with a little foundation and put the glasses back on while I feel like a person again. I do what I can with my hair and go out to have that drink quickly, but I realize that it is from a stranger.

What if someone is trying to poison me? Or kidnap me?

- This doesn't have poison, does it?

The man next to me, of the same age as the waiter, laughs before turns at my side and gives me a light tap on the arm - Stay calm, dear. Here if we want to get a woman we do not use those methods.

The blush rose again and I shook my head as I pushed the mug to the other side of the bar.

- If you say so, but I'm still late.

- I would not say no to the young man.

- Is he some kind of gangster? - He murmured in a knowing tone while the man only let out a laugh.

- No, he's a good man with a job ... Something particular. But he is a good man.

He smiled as I took a drink of the tea and let out a sigh at the feel of the herbs and the warmth of it. Is incredible. I drink the rest of it in one go and notice that in the distance, a man is watching me intently behind his coffee cup, a man I did not notice on my previous inspection. I cannot utter a word but I cannot deny that he is attractive, very attractive although with an aura of fear or perhaps pain. And with blue eyes that I think are capable of making anyone forget words.

I finish the tea with a smile and I thank the man next to me, who murmurs to me that I am good to him, for the young man with blue eyes, I imagine, because he is somewhat "rusty" regarding women.

I walk away from the bar and as soon as I get to the side of the man in question, he turns to me, frowning as if he hadn't been looking at me for the last five minutes.

- Thanks, you shouldn't have bothered.

- About what? - His voice makes a chill run through my body and I nervously finger the strip of my bag.

- The tea.

He shakes his head while he leaves some bills on the bar to the waiter and he smiles at him, as if they were accomplices of something. - You'll thank me later, Wolf.

- If you say so, Grant

Wolf? The stranger is completely turn himself until we are face to face, and at the same height.

- Why do you think it was me?

- Because you did not stop looking at me as if I was going to fall round at the first sip of tea.

The "blue-eyed prince" as my mind calls him from this moment on he begins to laugh at the same time as he drops his head, with a hint of shyness.

- I heard you needed to go to the bathroom, and that you lost your wallet.

- You are very attentive to conversations.

- Unfortunately I have a very developed hearing.

This time we both laugh as he stands and I mentally reprimand myself when my mind reminds me of my weakness for tall men. He is wearing a leather jacket with a blue t-shirt and I notice that one of his hands is wearing gloves. Gloves in the middle of summer? Who knows ...

- Really thanks. I did not want to be forced to present myself in front of my students as if I were La Llorona.

He frowns at the mention of the movie as if he doesn't know it.

- La llorona is from a horror movie. Haven't you seen it?

He shakes his head as he takes a few steps away from me and he starts to walk towards the door with me, but he gets close enough to take the little doorknob and open the door for me.

Oh god ... This has to be a joke. A man with gentlemanly manners?

The torrential rain makes an appearance and I pray that a taxi will show up before I return to join the water, but the stranger next to me sees me and touches my shoulder as he shows me a blue umbrella.

- You haven't brought an umbrella from what I see.

- That happens to me for not paying attention to my cousin. She had warned me about the rain ... I thought it was a joke.

I admit as I see the blue-eyed man extend the umbrella towards me and I shake my head, walking away as if it were hot iron.

- Take it, you need it more than I do.

- No, no. I can not accept it.

- Come on, at least have it until you get a taxi - I shake my head and I see that his gaze becomes opaque, I would even say slightly annoyed by my answer - Please. I can wait here.

- Why are you doing this? I don't know you and you don't know me.

- I simply wanted to help the beautiful young woman with red lips - I feel the air escape me and I forget for a minute about the class that I am already late for, that there is rain outside and that I am talking to a stranger who he might as well be a psychopath - I shouldn't have said that.

- What's your name? I am Emily.

Against all odds, and against my mind, I stop thinking and take a little leap into the void.

- James - He extends his hand to me and I take it without hesitation. A kind of electricity jumps between us that makes us laugh as soon as we separate, and I see that the rain begins to subside, as if some of this had been the key to stop it - But everyone who knows me calls me Bucky.

- Well, thanks, Bucky. Seriously, you saved this woman from being the laughingstock of college.

- I don't think you can be ...

- My students are difficult. Very difficult. More than 20-year-olds look like 13-year-olds.

He laughs again as soon as we see a taxi peek around the corner and I rushed to try to get out, but Bucky goes ahead and stops him for me. He walks over to where I am and places the umbrella over my head. He walks with me silently to the door of the taxi, which he gently opens and I turn to him before entering.

- I don't know how to thank you for what you did for me.

- It's nothing, doll. Lately, I am very good at helping people.

He downplays it and my cell phone starts ringing. I see the screen light up and Cameron's name invades it.

- I have to go. Duty calls me - I smile at him as I approach him and in a small impulse of courage, I give him a kiss on the cheek to hurry into the car.

- Bye Bucky.

- Bye. Hope to see you again, doll.

"Me too" I murmured as soon as the taxi got away from that little cafe.

🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹

- What do you have with rainy days? - I listen to Cameron through the earpiece as I approach one of the huge windows of a building that serve as a mirror to put on my red lipstick.

- They're special.

She just laughs and I hear footsteps behind me. I know who is it. He looked away from my reflection in the mirrored glass to see how he's leaning against one of the stoplight posts, watching my movements intently.

- I'll leave you, Cam. Let's talk tomorrow?

- Of course, you leave me for an Avenger. For that alone I allow it. Enjoy it for me - I laugh as he cuts the call and ditch the earpiece without paying attention to him.

- I'll never get tired of seeing you do that. You know?

He smirks as I watch him move closer until I turn around and wrap his arms around me. I feel his lips against my hair and I focus on the here and now. I feel the little raindrops falling down his jacket onto my face and I enjoy them.

- I'll never get tired of seeing you - He tightens his grip around me even more and only pulls away to rest his lips against mine in a soft kiss.

- You and your weakness with seeing women put on makeup.

- Only you - I separate from him and take him by the hands while I pull him towards the light drizzle towards the small coffee shop where we met - Will you invite me a coffee once and for all?

- Just because I want to show off about you - I scoff and hear him laugh behind my back - I really like to show off that my boyfriend is part of the Avengers.

- Is that just why you love me?

- For many other things, but it would be very scandalous to say them aloud in the middle of the street - He laughs at my tone of complicity and lets himself be carried away by my somewhat accelerated steps - We do not want that you lose the image of authority that you have, Sergeant.

- Tell me again, Sergeant, and I promise you that I wouldn't mind losing my authority here in the middle of the street.

The change in his voice makes a chill run through my body and I know that he will not have the slightest compunction in fulfilling his promise.

- Maybe, if you hurry, we'll talk about it later.

- Don't play with me, doll.

- Never, White Wolf.

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

📽📼LET’S (NOT) KEEP IT PG📼📽

Prompt: Y/N feels bored to death with her life and the absence of her boyfriend Drew. Until he decided to break her routine a little bit, by sending her a not so PG friendly video..

Word count: Long-ish

Pairing: Drew McIntyre x Reader

Warnings: +18, nsfw video, masturbation(male and female), dirty talking, cursing and just pure filth!

Tagging: @blondekel77 , @jibbles26 , @lustyromantic , @drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan , @akiko-tanaka , @new-zealand-chic @drew-is-boo

Notes: I was going to wait to post this until later this week, but I just couldn’t help myself! This man fucks me up big time... Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories typing ‘masochist writes’ on the search bar on my page and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

“I cannot be the only person who feels bored to death with her own life, right?” I ask Drew through the webcam

“No, love” He chuckles “You’re not the only one. I feel quite bored myself”

“You? Bored? About wrestling? Thanks for the support babe, but I thought we agreed on not lying to each other on this relationship”

Wrestling was Drew’s life! And I mean it! What kind of person has for a hobby what he does professionally? Drew. What kind of person talks about wrestling all the time, everyday, tries to teach you about it and loves to convince you to watch wrestling matches with him? Drew!

He laughed “I didn’t said I was bored about wrestling, love...” He deviously smirked

“What are you bored about then?” Oh my, this could be fun...

“Not having you with me” He take his shirt off “I miss you babe, I miss kissing you, touching you” His right hand roams down his jeans “I miss waking up to your ass pressed against my cock, I miss the way you ride me” He palmed his semi hard bulge “I miss eating you out, I miss fucking you from behind, I miss how you moan for me to go faster” He unbuttoned his jeans, pulling the zipper down

“Fuck Drew, why are you so good at this?” I was already feeling my lace panties dampen with pleasure

“Show me what you’re wearing, princess” He lazily smirks

I stand up to remove the oversized t-shirt I was wearing (which was one of his) and revealed my baby pink lace bra and panties, one of his favorite.

“Fuck me, lass! You’re gonna kill me..” His hand sank down inside his jeans and I could see him grabbing a handful of his erection

“Drew...don’t be selfish” I whine “I wanna see it” I pouted

“Yeah? You want to see what you’ve done to me?” His hand is slowly moving up and down

“Drewy please daddy, l want to see you jack off baby, don’t be mean to me”

He grinned at me and began to take his jeans off, when his fingers hooked on his boxers to pull it down, I heard

“Hey man, why are you taking so long? We’re going to miss the party!”

Dolph bursted through the door and Drew quickly covered himself with a blanket

“BLOODY HELL, DOLPH! DON’T YOU KNOW HOW TO FUCKING KNOCK?” Drew yelled

“Why should I knock if it’s my room too?” Dolph asked confused

“I’M BUSY, DAMN IT!” Drew yelled again

“Oh! Are you jacking off?“ Dolph giggles “Uuuhhh I’m so gonna tell Y/N that you’re jacking off to porn like a 15 year old boy” His full on laughing now

“Shut up!”

“What are you watching anyways?” Dolph turns the screen to him and sees me (now dressed back with Drew’s t-shirt)

“Oh fuck! Y/N...hi”

“Hi Dolph, how’s going?”

“Good, good. You?” He awkwardly says

“Peachy, just peachy”

“Wait, so if it isn’t porn then....oh my fuck, I just interrupted something didn’t I?”

Drew answers yes and I say no at the same time

“Sorry guys, it really wasn’t my intention”

“It’s ok Dolph, we know you didn’t meant it” I say and Drew just huffed

“Well, I’ll talk to you tomorrow then babe” I say “Tell Bayley I’m wishing her a happy birthday”

Drew sighed “I will, love. I love you”

“I love you too, D.”

“Love you more, bye bye” He says

“Bye Y/N” Dolph waves at me and I can’t help but chuckle

“Bye Dolph, have fun at the party”

“Sure thing ma’am!” He winks and Drew stares at him with a deadly glare.

Before I finished the Skype call I saw Drew punching Dolph’s arm, calling him a fucking cockblock.

Later that night, I was getting ready to go to bed when I received a text

❤️Drewy❤️: I can’t stop thinking about you...

With a video attached to it

*A video? Maybe is from Bayley’s birthday party* I thought, since sometimes we would send each other’s videos whenever something was worth watching.

I press play on the video and my jaw dropped

Drew was in the hotel bathroom, naked. He smirks and winks at the camera and roamed it down to film his hand going up and down his deliciously thick hard cock. Every once in a while he would squeeze the head of his cock and made his way down the shaft again.

I texted him back.

Y/N: Are you really gonna tease me like that McIntyre? You’re playing so dirty right now...🔥

He answered in less than 5 seconds

❤️Drewy❤️: You asked me earlier, to show it you...I’m just giving you, what you asked for baby 😉 But if you don’t want to see it anymore, I understand 😔

Y/N: Don’t you dare! I want to see everything! Until the very last drop..🤤

❤️Drewy❤️: I got you baby 😉 I’ll give you something to help you out, while I’m not home 😏😈

20 minutes later, I received a 10 minutes video from Drew. I lay down the bed and pressed play.

Drew has settled the phone on the bathroom countertop, his right hand working a figure 8 shape on his length, his left hand would every now and then cup his balls or slide down his long silky dark hair. The sight of him, that way, was the most lustful thing I had ever seen, in my whole life! I always saw myself as so damn lucky for having that man, but now? I was more than certain! I was even thinking about going to church and properly thank God for creating this man (and giving him to me, of course)

His grunts and moans were making me wetter and wetter to the point where I was envying his hand for being wrapped around his cock.

My own hands found my slick slit, two fingers sliding in easily due the wetness of my core.

Drew turned up the pace of his hand and squeezed his dick harder. Suddenly I hear

“Oh fuck Y/N, I wanna fuck you so bad right now baby. My hand is not as good as your pussy, not as tight, not as warm and definitely not as wet” He stopped his actions on his length, gathering a glob of spit on his mouth, Drew let it fall on his cock making me moan at the rawness of it.

He closes his hand around his thickness and I can hear how wet it is, as it slides through his shaft so easily.

“I can’t wait to go home, so my cock can make you feel real good” He grunts “I hate to think that all of my cum will be wasted on my hand when it could have such a better use inside your pussy” His accent grew thicker by the minute

“Or would you like it inside your mouth? I bet you do, love...We both know how much you love giving me head. And you’re so fucking good at it! The best blowjob I’ve ever gotten...Taking it all in, chocking on it like a good little slut”

My fingers were now imitating his pace and I could already feel my orgasm quickly approaching.

“Fuck baby I’m gonna cum” He moans and I see spurts of thick white cum, shooting down his hand, dripping on the floor.

The vision was enough to make me cum as well, my walls clenching tightly around my fingers.

Drew takes the phone off the countertop and zooms in his length and release.

I felt a mini orgasm rush through me as I saw up close the veins of his cock and his cum slipping down his shaft.

“I wished you could lick me clean right now, princess” He focus on his face again and says “Fuck babe, I miss you so much, see you when I get home” He winks and smiles, ending the video.

I decide to call him, he answered on the second ring

“Wow, you should open an OnlyFans account, you’re too good at this!” I joke

He laughed loudly before saying “Oh no baby, that’s just for you eyes only”

“So I have the ok to save it and watch it every fucking day?”

“Yeah, I want you to watch it every fucking day because then you’ll have no time to think about any other man” He teased

“As if I could think about any other man but you” I huffed “You ruined me McIntyre”

“Not the way that I wanted to, though” I can listen the malice on his voice

“Oh but you did! I’ve never came so hard with just my fingers”

“That was my intention, lass” He chuckled

“But you should be careful though, you know?” I say, my voice filled with worry

“Why? Are you gonna post it on PornHub?” He cackle

“You know I would never do that! But I’m just saying you should be careful because... I might send you one while you’re at the gym” My voice low with lust

“Y/N, don’t you dare to do that!” He warns me, but I can hear the excitement behind it.

“Oh you wait and see, baby, you just wait and see...”

God, I love this man!....

Please tell me how many Holy Mary’s should I pray for this devious Scottish sin I just committed? 🤣 Please leave me some feedback if you’re comfortable with it, is always welcomed and appreciated 🥰😘

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Quarantine: A Love Story: {That Fourth Of July👀}

Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cursing, Lite Angst, Plot, Stand Alone/Addition Chapter, Flirting, Slow Burn, Tease

Words: 2.7k

Note: This is a standalone/addition chapter. I wanted to give you guys a glimpse of what Fourth Of July was for Chris and Reader as it is referenced a lot and does hold significance for both of them. This is where it all began.

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

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

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

Previous Chapters:  Q1 |  Q2 |  Q3 |  Q4 |  Q5 |  Q6 |  Q7 |  Q8 |  Q9 | Q10 | Q11 | Q12 | Q13 | Q14 | Q15 | Q16 | Q17 | Q18  | Q19 | Q20 | Q21 | Q22 | Q23 | Q24 | Q25 | 

~~~~~~~~~~~

-Fourth Of July, 2017- 

“I can’t believe you said that to him,” Tara said as everyone around you busted out laughing.

 You did your best to stifle yours, but it was difficult. You took another swig from your beer bottle and leaned back to brace your elbows on the lounger behind you. Your elbows bumped into someone, making you tilt your head backward to see Scott sitting there. He winked at you before he took a sip from his bottle, and you did the same.

 “What was I supposed to say? Hey, I like the way your swim trunks look on you?”

 “I think that would have been better than you’d look a lot better with them off,” you replied.

 Snickers followed.

 “Okay, Ms., I always know the right thing to say,” Scott began. “Let’s say you approached whoever it is that you’ve been eying all night. What would your opening line be?”

 “Oh no, you will not drag me into this,” you objected.

 “No, no. I think that’s a good question. What would you say?”

 You sighed and guzzled from your beer bottle, trying not to answer.

 “There are many variables. With you, you probably just wanted to get your tip wet,” you blurted out.

 “Okay, let’s say you also wanted what I wanted, the same thing. What would this opening line be?”

 You thought for a few moments staring down the beach at nothing in particular. After a few moments, Chris’s face came into focus as he walked toward the group of you from the direction you’d been looking. Of their own accord, your eyes roamed over him, taking in every detail the dwindling daylight allowed. His khaki shorts fit his frame perfectly, clinging to the right places. You could tell he was slim but also that he had plenty of muscle mass. When your eyes took in the unbuttoned salmon color short-sleeve button-down he wore that showed his white undershirt, it gave you full sight of the muscles he was still sporting thanks to Marvel.

 He was a good looking man. There was no denying that Scott’s brother was a good looking man. It was clear with how many conquests he’d had and how many women lusted after him. You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip and traced the spout of the bottle along your mouth, completely unaware of what you were doing. As he got closer, your eyes met, and Chris’s eyes zeroed in on your mouth.

 “You look like you were made for sin, and I have a long list of ways we can do it together. The list begins with suck, but there is no end to what I want to do to you,” you said as you stared at Chris.

 No one around you spoke, but you wouldn't have known if they had. All you saw was Chris. The way he looked at you made you feel--plain and simply feel, and you hated it. Over the last few months, you’d taken notice of this lingering thing between you. Whenever you looked at each other, spoke to one another, or even hung out together, it was present. You didn’t know how to explain what it was, but just because something couldn’t be explained didn’t mean it wasn’t present, no matter how you wished it wasn’t so.

 Everyone around you erupted with applause forcing you to look away from Chris’s eyes.

 “Impressive,” Tara complimented.

 “Shiit, I’d take you up on that offer,” Scott added, making you giggle.

 “No end, huh.”

 Embarrassment filled you, but something else entirely brought your eyes to Chris, who was still looking at you, and the way he was doing it made a slow tingle journey up your spine.

 “What about a game of football before we lose the light?”

 With that, everyone began to scatter to make it down the beach to begin a friendly game of football. Only this was not a friendly game of football. It was a teasing one. You and Chris were cast on opposite teams. After one play, it was clear to see that everyone was either drunk or very tipsy because no one made a touchdown or even came close to it. All anyone accomplished was stumbling over their own feet, bumping into each other, and nearly losing the ball to the water. It was a mess, but a fun mess.

 Play after play resulted in absolutely nothing but a face full of sand, or your legs tangled with someone else’s and plenty of laughter. Halfway through the game, in a play that Scott formulated, he thought it was a good idea to throw you the ball expecting you to cross the volleyball net being used as the goal point. With the ball in hand and several beers and glasses filled of dark and light liquor in your system, you attempted to run for the goal. You heard the loud cheering of those around you and dodged everyone who was coming at you. You felt like you were Tebow, Romo, or even Sanders. It didn’t take you long to start feeling yourself and begin imitating the Heisman pose every chance you got. Everyone erupted with laughter at your antics. When you thought you were home free, someone threw you over their shoulder and ran you to the water, then threw you in.

 Your scream was loud as you sputtered from the water in your mouth and the sheer shock of the temperature of the water. When you stood, you saw Chris standing there with the football under his arm.

 “Cool off.”

 You couldn’t help but laugh, as did everyone around you. Taking the opportunity of Chris being distracted, you ran to him then tackled him sending him back into the water as an incoming wave crashed over the two of you. When you came up, you saw everyone running to the water shouting as they began flinging water everywhere.

 Chris had a smile on his face watching you stand. “Ha, you cool down!”

 He laughed but then charged you, making you take off down the shore as if you could outrun him. Within a few seconds, Chris managed to throw you over his shoulder again and began wadding out to the open sea. Your laughs melded together until he tossed you over again. The two of you remained in the water playing together, laughing and just enjoying each others company.

 By the time you returned to the sand, you were soaked, and because you hadn’t gotten to take off your clothes before being mercilessly thrown into the water, your clothes were also drenched. In the bathroom, you thought of your options. You could always just walk around in your bikini. It wouldn’t be inappropriate because you were at the beach after all. It may draw eyes to you, though, you thought. You began to regret your bikini choice, mainly the bottoms that left very little to nothing to the imagination.

 As you dried off, you peeled off your clothes off of your body and examined yourself. After contemplating your options for a few minutes, you heard a knock at the door. When you opened it you saw Chris standing there, shirtless. His eyes looked over your body twice before you realized you’d fully opened the door rather than cracked it. Fixing your mistake, you left your head poking out.

 “Hi.”

 Chris cleared his throat, then dipped his head before he spoke. “Em, since it’s my fault, here you go.”

 He held out the shirt he’d been wearing earlier. Just looking at it, you knew it was going to be oversized on you.

 “Uh,” you began while slowly reaching for it.

 “Take it as a peace offering,” Chris added flicking a lopsided grin on his face, a grin you met with rolled eyes.

 “You’re lucky this is my only option, but don’t you think this makes up for what you did,” you teased, taking the shirt

 “Oh really. What do I have to do to make it up to you then?”

 The way he asked had you meeting his eyes, and that was where they stayed. You bit your bottom lip then looked away. “I’m sure you can figure something out with all your—experience.”

 You smiled, then held up his shirt. “Thanks.”

 You closed the door, then threw on the shirt and tried to find a way to rock it without it looking like it wasn’t a planned look. It took you longer than you liked, but when you finally made it out of the bathroom and back to your friends, you were comfortable with how you looked. Everyone was now around a bonfire broken off in their own conversations as a movie played on the projected screen. You didn’t see Scott right away, so after getting your phone, you found a free blanket and laid down, getting comfortable.

 About ten or so minutes, Scott joined you, filling you in on his quick sexcapade. As you listened to him, you thought, of course he’d disappeared for a little fun. You didn’t knock him for it; hell, it wasn’t a bad way to enjoy the Fourth of July. By the time he finished giving you all the details, everyone had begun making their way to the beach to watch the fireworks that would blast out over the water. You told Scott to go ahead and save your spot so you could grab another beer.

 At the back of the lawn, where there was a makeshift bar set up, you rummaged through the bucket searching for the beer you wanted, but you couldn’t find not even one.

 “I think I took the last one,” a familiar voice said.

 You turned and saw Chris standing there in a tank that showed off some of his tattoos and your favorite beer in hand.

 “Seems you did.”

 “If I gave this to you, would I then have made it up to you?”

 You smiled and stepped closer to him, close enough to take the beer with no resistance. “Nope.”

 Chris smiled while staring down at you. You didn’t move and decided you wanted to see what he would do. The way he’d been looking at you all night had finally had your curiosity overflowing. You’d heard the rumors and stories of the conquests Scott’s brother had and how he enjoyed one night stands. You were not above them, especially if the man was good looking and not an asshole. Chris licked his lips, then spoke.

 “So what do I have to do?”

 “I think what you have to do might be the same as what you want to do. If that’s the case, try it.”

Long moments stretched with the two of you gawking at each other, both waiting for the other to make their move. You decided that if he made a move, you wouldn’t reject him, but you would not be the one to make a move. The first thunder of fireworks exploded across the sky, lighting up the lawn with bright red light. Everyone at the shore erupted with applause and cheers, but you and Chris still held each other’s gaze.

 He lifted his hand, hesitated, then lowered it to your cheek. He then slid his thumb across your skin. You didn’t know if he were wiping something away or just touching you because he wanted to.

 “What do you want, Y/N? hmm?”

 He looked lost in your skin as his fingers continued to enjoy its suppleness.

 “For you to take what you want,” you slid in, walking away from him toward the shore.

 Every few steps, you looked back at him only to turn back around in a teasing way. You were teasing him and hoped he took the bait.

  -Chris-

He wanted to take the bait more than anything. He had been watching you all night, and he had seen you staring right at him with what you’d said about your chosen pick up line. He wondered if you were gearing it to him. he wondered about it so much that it drove him crazy the whole day. He purposely threw you in the water, knowing you hadn’t brought a spare change of clothes. It was slightly manipulative, but the part of him who decided was not the logic-driven Chris. It was the desire-driven one.

 From the day he’d met you, he knew you would be a problem. He knew you would tempt him in a way he hadn’t been before, a way that made him uncomfortable and went past wanting to stake a claim sexually. For months, your intellect tempted him. The mental sparring that was so natural with you was attractive as hell. Then the whole night peeks of your body tempted him coupled with your wit and charisma, which made it incredibly difficult to resist you.

 Earlier in the bathroom, he didn’t know if you’d opened the door so widely on purpose or if it was unintentional. He’d imagined pushing you back until your ass collided with the sink, then he imagined hoisting you up and kicking apart your thighs. He’d wanted to push those skimpy bikini bottoms to the side so badly. He’d suppressed the urge, but the sight of you in his shirt didn’t help matters. You looked like his. As he approached the crowd at the shore, he decided he’d claim it because possession was nine-tenths of the law, after all.

 “Oh my god, it’s beautiful,” you said with a gasp as you gaped at the sky in awe.

 The colors that light up your face had him even more hypnotized with you. The wind blew, and the hem of his shirt lofted enough for him to see the almost thong cut of the bikini bottoms you wore, and he moved before he even thought not to. He rested his hand at your pelvis and waited. It took a few seconds, but you placed yours over his and made a swirling “s” along his skin toward his forearm.

 “Fuck,” he whispered.

 The hushed word brought the eyes of Scott and Tara. They both looked at him quizzically, silently asking him what was wrong. That was all it took for him to remember his promise to Scott. When Scott looked away, Tara’s eyes remained on him. They seemed to be sorting through his layers until they found what they wanted. She lifted her hand and tapped his temple, then turned back to the fireworks. Fuck, he thought.

 No matter how badly he wanted you, he couldn’t have you. The facts were simple—you weren’t his. You can’t possess that which isn’t yours and that which does not want to be possessed. Softly he sighed and lowered his hand from your body. You didn’t let it fall, though. Instead, you hooked your fingers with his and held him. His eyes lowered to your entwined fingers, and he hesitated for longer than he should have. When he glanced back up, your eyes were on him, but your lip clenched between your teeth.

 Another crack of fireworks lit up the sky, but your attention was on him rather than the green in the sky. Every color was your color, he thought, then wondered if these colors would still look good glowing off of your naked body. Recognizing his thoughts, wants, and desires were dangerous, he released your hand the minute you directed your attention to something Scott was saying. You kept your hand out, waiting for him to take it again, but he didn’t. Instead, he took several steps back.

 He stood there debating with himself, going back and forth, telling himself to take your hand, but the second he even moved a muscle, he chastised himself, telling him to resist. This was the process for several agonizing minutes. With his eyes glued to your ass and the skin that taunted him every time the breeze blew, he fought the urges that came over him one by one. When he looked up, he found your eyes on him. You looked so good, as if you were the child of two pure angels. There was an innocence about you that he didn’t understand, and something that radiated off of you that had him coming to one final realization. You deserved better than this. He saw you held our hand out to him, but the only thing he knew he should do was walk away. So, he backed away, all the while staring into your eyes. The confusion he found there, he understood. He was confused too. The hurt was what took him by surprise. Unable to stomach it, he turned and walked away from you, the colors and the light you brought.

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

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[secondhand-trash]

“I love you.” “It’ll pass.”

Season 2 ep 6, Fleabag

(more lines I like from things I like as prompts for people I like)

A/N: I reserved this one for Dabi when I was making the list but fuck Dabi It’s Getou time😌✨this scene impacted me so hard when I was watching the show and I knew right then that I had to write something off of it one day

Pairing: Getou Suguru x reader

Description: He left without saying goodbye.

Warning: major manga spoilers (set after the hs flashback arc and connecting to the prequel)

Word count: 3007

Playlist:

Cigarette Daydreams//Cage The Elephant

You Say I’m in Love//Banes World

The Killing Moon//Echo & the Bunnymen

-

It wasn’t until the report came out that you realised Getou was never coming back.

All 112 villagers of the prev. ** village deceased.

The letters printed on the white paper was staring right at your face, but somehow it still felt like it was miles away, like everything you read fell through your ears as an echo.

Residues at the scene could determine that it was Getou Suguru’s curse manipulation.

No one said anything when they saw you staring blankly at the still screen of your phone. The last few messages were still there, sitting there and waiting to be read.

You weren’t sure if you were hoping or detesting a response. He probably never would, like he probably wasn’t your boyfriend anymore.

“Do you know when you are getting back?”

Getou Suguru escaped.

“This is taking longer than your usual missions, is everything alright?”

According to item 9 of the Jujutsu Regulations, he is to be classified as a curse user-

“Suguru?”

-and is to be executed.

The other two saw him again after that, which they had the mercy of not telling you explicitly, but anyone could tell from the heaviness lingering in the air. 

Shoko smoked more than usual.

Gojo got quiet, and sometimes you would catch him fidgeting with the candy paper in his hand underneath his table.

Getou’s table was still there, an empty space starkly standing in the middle of the already sparsely occupied room. You had assumed that they would remove all traces of him immediately, but you could understand why they didn’t when you realised that your gaze still paused at where he once sat whenever it wandered.

The same way crimes scenes were always kept as it was, only the supposed corpse was still out there somewhere.

It was a silence bonding, the unbreakable chain of experiencing the same loss at the same time, but somehow your remaining friends were already there when you pushed open the door to the rooftop where no one usually went to.

That was the first day when he was gone. You had felt an impulse to go somewhere where you were not trapped inside, where you could feel the air entering your lungs as you inhale and it seemed like you were not the only one with that thought.

Gojo was already there, with his back bent forward as he leaned on the rail. He had one foot on the iron bar of the railing, casting a glance to your side when you silently joined him in looking down.

There was no one visible in your sight, but still you looked, and looked. The quiet footsteps getting closer let you know that the third (and last) classmate was here, a soft sigh ringing before there was a click and the smell of smoke made you furrow your eyebrows together.

You remembered that he used to smoke rather often, but somehow always put the cigarette off when you neared. He stopped smoking around you entirely after you got together, because you would push him away if you smelt the tell-tale scent of tobacco on him. But if you caught him at the corner with one between his fingers, he would always pull you close with his eyes curling into two thin strands, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his other hand fumbled for the mints he kept in his jacket pocket.

You wanted to be mad at him, but the chill tickling your tongue when his breath fanned against your lips always had you weak.

“If he had come back for you,” Gojo’s voice was void of emotions, without the usual certainty or cockiness that always dripped from his words, “would you have followed?”

You shrugged.

“I don’t know,” you shook your head slightly, your eyes not once shifting away from the empty courts below.

The reality was that it still took you some time to process that fact that he killed a whole village of people, even longer when you eventually remembered that he did the same to his own parents. It didn’t feel real, like a bad dream that you could wake up from if you beat the thought into your head enough, like you could just close your eyes and see him walking up to you with his usual smile, asking you if you really fell for it.

But the feeling of being left behind, of conflict at the sentiments in your heart that you couldn’t brush away, of doubting if everything you once had was ever truly yours, of anger at how you were supposed to be the closest to him but knew nothing, of not being told anything, of not receiving a proper goodbye, of him running away without even telling you straight up that he was leaving you behind, were all very, very real.

There was a dull ache budding at the back of your throat over the fact that your last image of him was still the way he looked at you with so much tenderness made you sick to the stomach, and twisted even more at the knowing that to you, that was his one biggest crime. 

Perhaps that was what love was. You could look past the fucked up morals or even the murder, but there was no ignoring that you were left behind, and that meant that there was where it all ended.

You chuckled at the conclusion you had drawn, earning you a questioning stare from the boy who raised the question.

Hell, then he might just be the love of your life.

“I don’t know,” you repeated, bitterness lingering on your tongue when you smiled.

Sick, just sick.

They were both looking at you, but you didn’t turn to see what expression they were wearing as you dropped your head. The metal pressing against your forehead growing warm under the heat of your skin as you muttered, this time to yourself and no one else.

“I really don’t.”

-

Time sped up from there. 

Life went on. Eat, sleep, going out on missions before collapsing on your bed when you came back alone and tired, repeat. Gojo and Shoko stayed after graduation season hit, you didn’t. You spent so many years there already, you clicked your tongue as you said, it is time to move on.

You were not really talking about High school, both of them knew it but neither said a thing. The empty table remained as it was until a new batch of students poured into the classroom that was once yours, before they left and another group filled in. 

Occasionally you met young sorcerers on the field who wore the same button that once adorned your collar, and wondered if it was them who sat at that table now.

You did not think about Getou Suguru for years.

Yet, you were not surprised to find the exact same man that once plagued your thoughts late at night standing in the middle of your living room uninvited, without a single hint just as when he left.

“It has been long.”

You had a gut feeling that he got taller since you last saw him, even though you were probably standing too far away from him to truly measure. The edges and corners of his face were more prominant, his hair running down his back in a way that used to happen only when he was at his most relaxed. 

“You should try to let it grow,” you mumbled as you ran your hand through one lock of his hair, letting the black silk fell from your hand onto his chest, “it would look good on you.”

He chuckled, and the vibration seeped into your skin from the way he laid on your lap. The weight lifted from your legs when he sat up, his face right in front of yours as he grinned.

“When my hair reaches my waist, will you marry me?”

You laughed, and the smile on him only grew.

“Where did you get that from?” you hid your smile behind the back of your hand.

“It’s from a poem,” he replied with a tilt of his head, “Never heard of it?”

“No,” you still sounded breathy from the laughter, “but did people teach you not to make promises so easily?”

The one long piece of his bangs had fallen onto his face, covering his eyes just slightly. He huffed as he pushed it away from his view, placing his head on your shoulder.

“Who told you it was easy?”

Ah, your jaw clenched at the waterfall of black that stopped just above his waist, so he did grow it out in the end.

You did not move from your position at the door, standing with your back straight and your keys still gripping tightly in your hand. “What are you doing here?” 

You were just about to head back from a mission when you got the call. “He showed up at Kousen just then,” Gojo did not bother with formalities, or give you any context as to who “he” was but still you froze, knowing exactly what he was talking about right away, “he might go see you.”

(You were sure that he wouldn’t, but it seemed like you truly didn’t know him well at all.)

He chuckled, a soft sound that made your nails dig into the middle of your palm, “Am I not allowed to check up on you because I want to?”

He sounded familiar, exactly the way you remembered him to sound like. The corners of his lips were lifted up in a calculated angle, smiling at ease but not from heart. You suppressed the heat that was near pouring out your throat, swallowing the discomfort back into the pit of your core.

Was it true that this wasn’t how he smiled, or did you only notice the way his eyes were lifeless now?

You replied with a smile of your own, not willing to lose your footing, “Oh please.”

You never bothered to check on me before.

He was not bothered by the dryness in your voice, and if he was then he did a great job at not appearing so.

“When I left,” he asked, “were you mad at me?”

“No,” But I spent nights crying over you. “is that supposed to come out as a mock?”

“No.”

You searched for a hint of wavering in his eyes, any sign that he was experiencing even a bit of the turmoil that was boiling and burning in your chest as you tried to keep your voice still.

You wondered what you had hoped to find.

“What do you want?” you said, and forced yourself to look right into his eyes. You imagined that you could see your own reflection staring back at you if you were any closer to him and the hint of soreness shooting right up to your nasal until it the sting that left almost resembled longing.

If you were to fight, you probably couldn’t win him no matter how hard you try.

“If I say I miss you, would you believe me?” 

 There was a ring in your ear as you shut your eyes tight, forcing the corner of your lips to hold back from twitching.

God damn it.

“Does it matter?” I wish I don’t.

“Perhaps.” 

He was looking at you, and you could taste the blood at the tip of your tongue. You wished there wasn’t some part of you that was near breaking down inside of you, or that you didn’t feel such an urge to let the tears run free.

But you wouldn’t, your pride wouldn’t allow it.

His arms crossed loosely in front of his chest, the fabric of his cassock bunching up around his elbows. You had pondered why the cloak seemed so out of place, and then you remembered that he wasn’t even religious in the slightest.

It was all for show.

“Leave.” 

There was a hint of relief when you heard your own voice landing back on your ear and there wasn’t the shakiness you had so dreaded to hear. You knew you had lost the moment you even cared, but still, on the front you refused to show there sometimes, during the many years after he left, you would still see his face when you couldn’t sleep and all you could do was stare at the ceiling. You hoped the iciness in your expression was enough to cover up the fact that you had no erased all traces of what you once had with him completely, and there was still a photograph or two that you hid away so that no one would know you still hadn’t let go of him, a traitor.

He glanced down at your command, before nodding slightly to himself. Getou Suguru turned around until he was facing your window and his shadow slanted on the opposing wall from the cold hue of the moon.

The pale light blurred his figure, like smoke, like the mint tingling your senses.

“You ruined my life.” 

I love you.

He paused briefly, before turning to look at you once again. You were taken back when you see the look in his eyes, and the downward tug at his mouth.

With the moon and the cassock and the unexplainable depth in his eyes, he did look the part of feeling sorrow for the world and pity for the masses.

Oh, how ironic.

Getou parted his lips slightly, and you could see the shudder but heard no sound, until they pursed, before he finally spoke again.

I love you too.

“It’ll pass.”

You did not realise that you were staring out the window, not moving a step until you saw the dots of snow slowly landing on the glass. Your steps stumbled as you walked towards where he jumped out, your hand touching the chilled glass while the world outside was a scene of white.

He probably came and left on the back of some curse he had, not leaving even a trace.

You stared and stared, and wondered what it would feel like to be buried under the snow that was starting to pile up.

-

Gojo asked you if you want to see him for one last time.

You refused.

Your bones were cracking with each twist of your joints as you finally got back to your own space after the whole fiasco that went down had you drained. 

Of all the days he had to plan an uprising, it had to be Christmas Eve. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips when the door locked behind you, the lights flicking on to show the red number on the calendar hanging on the wall.

It was quiet, the handle of the clock ticking was all you could hear. It matched the pounding in your ear, drumming and drumming as you stared upwards at the ceiling, sucking in a deep breath as the cold air filled your lungs.

So he really was gone now.

“He said he couldn’t manage to laugh happily from the bottom of his heart in this world,” Gojo called you again a moment later after the initial one, and you had to swallow the want to tell him that there was no need to tell you what he said when the other end fell into silence when you didn’t response.

Only there was. You knew there was.

At the back of your head, you had a faint memory of where you had put the old things that you couldn’t find somewhere to store when you moved out of your dorm room. It was hidden under the piles and piles of clothes and blankets that you never used, much like how you had not touched that box since you first put it there. 

You sucked in a deep breath when your fingertip touched the rough corner of the cardboard, reaching in deeper to pull it out. It was covered in dust and slightly crooked from all the things you had stacked on it, but still exactly the same as how it looked when you sealed everything inside with the cover and shoved it in your closet.

There was still an innocent sense of glee when you opened it and saw all the things that reminded you of your youth. 

The student handbook, and your student card that was stuck in there like a bookmark. The gold button in which some of the gold pain had already come off from years of wear and tear. Your graduation picture, which showed the three of you sitting side by side properly in all its rarity.

The familiar ache in your throat returned when you got to the bottom, where you found the sole reason why you dug this out. You smiled, your hand gingerly picking the thin film laying flatly there without a single crease on it.

He was looking at you, who had your face on his shoulder with an arm thrown around your frame. Your hand was on his neck, pulling him down towards you as you laughed and he laughed back at you. You did not remember who took it, or when it happened, but the rush of warmth in your chest as you held the picture in your hand must be the proof that you were happy. 

You should have thrown this away the moment you knew he was not coming back, but you didn’t have the heart to.

How could you when he looked so happy too?

Your thumb traced over the smooth surface of the film, over where his lips were nearly touching your hair, over his eyes that were fixed on you.

Couldn’t manage to laugh happily from the bottom of his heart... huh?

You laughed, at him, at yourself, before the droplet of tear finally fell.

Like there was smoke in your eyes.

Like the chill on your arm was not from the snow outside but from the taste of peppermint on your tongue.

[duckpatrolstories]

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄, tetsuro kuroo x reader - ch. 2

— in which an unfortunate bartender in the wrong place at the wrong time gets kidnapped by one of the biggest crime syndicates in the city.

female reader, original on wattpad, cw; swearing, guns, violence, mention of drugs

word count: 1578 — previous next

You turn back around and look towards the origin of the voice. In the back corner of the small, staff parking lot under the lamppost sits two dark coloured cars. Gathered around them, a bunch of poshly dressed men. Their sharp appearance practically screams how well-off they are.

However, despite what appears to be a similarity in economic class, the men stand apart into two little groups as if they don't want to be in proximity with each other.

In the one group, a man of short stature and short, curly blond hair and a taller, more abrasive-looking man with a bleached buzz cut mohawk.

In the other, three more men; one with short raven hair and a bitter scowl, one with silver hair but has a softer, friendlier look on his face than the previous, and then an abnormally tall one with an analysing gaze behind the glasses on his face. The silver-haired man stands a bit more in front of the other two.

Curiosity slowly overtakes you at the sight and you quietly duck behind the dumpster to keep watching. What's going on? Why are these types of people up so late and hanging out in the back parking lot of a bar?

"Yeah, and we'll be taking what's ours?" the short blond asks.

The silver-haired man nods when he looks up from the contents of the small crate sitting on the ground. "Take it, you've earned it," he says.

You aren't surprised it's a drug dealing, seeing as it's the big city and all, but you're kind of surprised that such well-off people are doing something like this. Isn't it usually scrubs and small town gangs that do this? You narrow your eyes and hum quietly, wanting to find out a bit more.

Hesitantly, the short blond walks over and pops the trunk of the car open. He pulls out a metal briefcase, one that looks like it would be carried by an important scientist in a dramatic, sci-fi movie. He slams the trunk close and sets the briefcase on top of it. His mohawk buddy joins him and looks over his shoulder as he flips the latches and opens it up.

Upon seeing the contents inside, or lack of, the two snap their heads up at the others with angry looks on their faces.

"This wasn't the deal!" mohawk dude barks.

"Oh, but I'm afraid it is," the silver-haired man says, a sly and confident grin spreading on his lips. "You see, we can't be having Kuroo's goons running off with something so valuable to us, now can we? If he wants the White Crow so badly, he can come and take it from us in person."

"Bullshit! You just wanna kill him!"

Your eyes widen. Okay, so maybe this is more than your average drug dealing. You bite your lip in thought, debating whether you should head back inside while you can or stay and find out more.

Your curiosity was always one of your strong suits, but also your greatest downfall. You never knew when to stop asking questions.

Ultimately, you decide to hide behind the dumpster just a little while longer. The more information you have, the more you can tell the police when you report this.

"You're a smart kid, aren't you?" the tall man with glasses speaks now, looking down at the two with a scrutinising gaze. "It's a shame Kuroo got to you before we did..."

"Shut the hell up and give us what we want," the short blond snarls.

"I don't think so," the silver-haired man says and nods to the ravenette beside him. You watch as the ravenette goes to grab the crate and load it up into the car.

Your heart leaps up into your throat with fear when the short blond pulls a pistol out, aiming it right at the ravenette's head. In response, the silver-haired man and glasses guy pull out their own, holding both the short man and mohawk dude at gunpoint as well.

You swallow thickly. It's illegal for citizens to possess firearms in Japan, and the sight of them being waved around so freely makes fear and adrenaline bubble in your blood.

You need to call the police before this gets out of hand and there's a shooting. You sit behind the dumpster, completely out of view of the men as you pull your phone out of your pocket.

"I'm feeling generous enough tonight to let you boys live another day," the silver-haired man says. "So why don't you quit complaining, put the guns down, and run back to your cowardly boss?"

You can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage as you fumble to slide your screen to the right and pull up emergency contact. Your hands shake with fear, making it hard to dial the correct numbers.

The silence is loud as the men stare each other down, but your pulse in your ears is louder.

Just before you can tap the call button, your phone begins to buzz in your hands and the screen changes, showing Yuta's contact name. The device practically screams the opening theme song to your favourite anime and your heart clambers down your throat and to the bottom of your gut with dread. You hang up the incoming call as quick as you can, praying to whatever divine being above that the men didn't hear it.

But they did.

They quickly forget about each other and the little dispute they're having, now shifting their focus to making sure there aren't any witnesses. They split off from each other quietly with silent nods, searching for the origin of the sound. Thankfully, your ringtone echoed and made it hard to pinpoint your exact location.

Each one of the men stalks the area, guns ready with the intent to shoot to kill. You hold your hand over your mouth to drown out your frightened breaths, listening to their slow footsteps as they search the area. You clutch your phone tightly, mentally cursing at it for bringing about your demise. There's an extremely low chance you'll be able to get away alive, and even if you do, it won't be without sustaining severe injuries.

Shit, shit, shit, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself down. You can hear the footsteps of one of the men slowly make their way closer to you. You need to do something. You need to get him away from your hiding spot. You need a distraction, one that will give you a chance to run back inside.

You open your eyes and glance around you. Maybe you can throw something?

You spot some glass liquor bottles sitting a foot or two away. Carefully, you reach over and grab one, making as little noise as you can. You then crawl to the side of the dumpster opposite of the man. You test the weight of the bottle, calculating how hard you need to throw to get it a good distance away.

You chuck the bottle and it shatters on the ground across the parking lot.

"Over there!" one of the men exclaims quietly as they all take the bait.

The moment the man once sneaking up on you sounds far away enough, you jump to your feet and bolt towards the back door.

But they hear your frantic footsteps making a getaway.

"Don't shoot!" a man shouts. "The whole district will hear the gunshot!"

"What the hell do you want me to do then? Let her get away!?"

"Just grab her!"

More adrenaline surges through your body when you glance over your shoulder to see the mohawk dude giving chase. You force yourself to move faster and reach the back door, only for it not to open. You hit the door with your shoulder, trying to force it open, but the damn thing won't budge.

"Motherfucker! Why you gotta be busted now?" you shout, but then yelp when you see the mohawk dude finally caught up with you. He grabs at you, but you narrowly dodge. Quickly, you spin on your heel and run towards the alleyway leading to the front of the bar.

"Get back here!" he barks at you, getting a hold of the back of your shirt.

He yanks you back and you feel the collar of your shirt dig harshly into your throat. You choke and he wraps his arms around you with a hand over your mouth. He tries to shush you, but you scream and cry out against his hand as you struggle in his grasp. You bite his hand, but that doesn't do much.

"You little shit!" he growls.

Resorting to drastic measures, you bring your leg up and kick it back as hard as you can. Your heel connects with his knee with a nasty crack. His arms drop from around you as the pain of a broken kneecap cripples him to the ground.

"Get the fuck away from me!" you yell, taking the chance to escape.

But the chance is short-lived. As you get a few steps into the alleyway, you collide with something hard. You fall back at the impact, hitting your head on the cold, hard ground. You wince at the sharp pain as you look up, seeing the dark silhouettes of two men hovering over you.

They flanked you.

[yespolkadotkitty]

Conference Room B

A little smutty fix-it for poor darling Marcus Pike, who really got shafted in The Mentalist. I wanted to give him a treat. Special thanks to @alldatalost​ for cheerleading.

Warning: shamelessly fluffy smut.

You stare at your computer screen, willing something to change, so you can leave already. You adore the team here, in many ways they’ve become your family, but you were meant to have been in DC with Marcus for eight days already - well, okay, so he wouldn’t have been there yet, but you could have slept in the sheets that smelled of him and started to organise your home together. Instead, a new murder case dropped and swallowed the lives of everyone. But you’re nearly there, you’re all so close you can taste it. Even Jane is antsy.

You miss Marcus. No, that doesn’t seem enough. You long for him. Marcus’ new job seemed to come with some hefty, dangerous undercover work, and while he’d been on the job, you hadn’t been able to video call, so for six weeks your relationship had been maintained via whispered voice calls and texts at random times.

Sometimes, late at night, you hadn’t seen his face for so long that you wondered if you’d made him up, inside your heart.

Agent Cho drops by your desk, tapping the corner to get your attention. “Agent Pike is in the building.”

Your pulse jumps. “Thanks. But-”

Cho just arches a brow and smiles.

Your heartbeat rockets as you stare at the lifts opposite the bank of desks you work in. What would he smell like, after this time apart? Why was he here now?

“What if I fuck it up?” you whisper to Cho. “What if he’s changed his mind?”

Kimble smiles at you, and his usual calm, stoic demeanour works its magic on your nerves. “If he’d changed his mind, would he be here?” He gives you a little nod, and then swaggers off, no doubt to impart his even-keel advice on someone else who needs it.

You spend a few fruitless moments trying to get back into work, and failing. Lisbon meets your gaze from her own computer and gives you a sympathetic smile. You guess they all know.

And then the elevator doors open and actually, nothing else matters when you see him.

His hair’s grown out, and it curls over his forehead, flicks up at his collar. It looks so soft; you want to sink your fingers into it. And his top lip and jaw are scruffy and the new, patchy beard really suits him. His posture is great as usual - he’s not arrogant, but he won’t apologise for being confident. He wears a suit well; always has, the lines cut sharp, his white shirt striped with grey, cut in half by the wine red tie.

He is a big, tall drink of water, and you want him more than your next breath. He scans the room and you stand up, and your eyes meet. His are that bottomless, dark chocolate brown, and his face lights up when he sees you, that big, goofy, no-holds-barred grin, and you make yourself calm down and try and remember you’re at work, rounding your desk and walking to him slowly across the carpet.

“Hey,” he says softly, and his voice is deep and sexy and everything you’ve ever wanted. Your hands itch with the urge to touch all that soft hair and his scruffy beard.

“Hey.” You search his gaze. He looks thrilled to see you, his expression soft and sweet and tender and unguarded, and your heart aches for all the nights you’ve missed him. “I love the beard.”

Marcus rubs a hand over it. “Thanks. It’s for the undercover thing. It ended last night, and - well. I know it’s sudden, but I had to see you.” He glances around the office, and you turn around to see Cho, Lisbon and the rest of the team quickly duck their heads, pretending to be super engrossed in other stuff.

“Wow,” you mutter. “We’re supposed to be good at subterfuge.”

Marcus chuckles, and takes your hand. Just that simple touch sends licks of want and need up your arm. “Is there… somewhere we can talk?”

Your stomach drops. Is he.. Ending things? “Sure.” You keep his fingers linked with yours, and lead him down the hall to a small, unoccupied conference room. You gesture and he precedes you in, dropping your hand, as you close and lock the door, and release the blinds, so you’re totally alone.

“Marcus, is everything-” your words get swallowed up as he’s on you in a heartbeat, kissing you like a man desperate for air after a lifetime underwater. His tongue traces your lips and you open eagerly, sliding your hands up his chest and into his newly grown hair, and it’s as soft as you imagined. He smells of his habitual black pepper and vanilla cologne and fresh coffee and clean soap, and it’s heady and you could breathe him in forever. He tugs you as close as possible, folding your body into his larger one, his hands running over your back like he’s re-learning you after over a month apart. You fist your hand in his hair hungrily, licking into his mouth. His moustache tickles your skin and it’s decadent and delicious, like a favourite cake with a new flavour added.

He releases you, making this low groan of need in his throat, and you think if he isn’t inside you in the next thirty seconds, you might die.

“Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Couldn’t do that to you out there. And I had to - I had to.  Sometimes I’ve wanted you so much, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me too,” you whisper, cupping his dear face, tracing your thumb along his scruffy jaw. He feels so good. “Is it wrong to get frisky on FBI property?”

Marcus winces. “Most definitely, but…” He pulls you close again, and you thrill to the evidence of his want for you pressing hot and heavy against your belly. “ Fuck, I want you. We’ll have to wait until you get home from work.”

“For what I really want, yes, but… not for everything.” You back him up against the door, kiss him breathless, drinking in his addictive taste, and slide one hand down to his fly, unzipping his suit pants.

“What are you-” Marcus asks, and then footsteps sound on the other side of the door.

You kiss his scruffy cheek and whisper into his ear; “You’ll have to be quiet. Anyone could come past.”

He swallows audibly but doesn’t say anything to the contrary. You nip at his earlobe as you use your other hand to play, too, sliding open the slit of his boxers and drawing him out, palming his length and soaking up the little growl in his throat that’s just barely audible.

“Oh my God , have I missed you,” you murmur, licking at the scruff on his jaw. “And you show up looking hotter than a Laredo night.”

Marcus’ hands clench on the small of your back as you continue to stroke and tease him. He’s steel in velvet, and your hands become slick as you begin to draw an orgasm up his spine, one eager touch at a time. When you pull back to look up into his face, he’s wrecked, pupils blown with lust, teeth sunk into his lower lip in an attempt not to make any sound.

He’s a fantasy wrapped in a Bureau-issue suit, everything you want in a tanned, voice-made-for-sex package - kind, smart, patient, soft, and he’s yours. “Marcus,” you murmur, your head full of love with him, and you slide down his body and take him in your mouth.

A strangled sound escapes his lips just as voices pass the door, and you hear him mutter “ Jesus fucking Christ,” as you start to lick him the way you’ve been fantasizing about for six weeks. One of his hands curls into your hair as you work him steadily close to a blinding climax. He’s slumped against the door now, desperately trying not to let his knees give in, as his hips move incrementally, exercising extreme restraint in not fucking your mouth.

You take him as deep as you can and he makes that sexy little growl again, and your name falls from his tongue, the syllables deep and gravelly, a warning, and you squeeze the hand he’s fisted at his hip, letting him know it’s okay.

A litany of curses barely reaches your ears as he comes like a freight train, his whole body tensing for a moment that seems to stretch to forever, and you drink down everything he gives you, afterwards gently tucking him back into his boxers and zipping his smart suit trousers.

Marcus rubs a hand over his face, and you see his wrist tremble. “Fuck. That was…. Probably not legal.”

You kiss a smile on to his sweet lips, hug him tight, and he pulls you into him, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Thank you,” he rasps, low and sweet in his perfect drawl. “You can’t imagine how many times I’ve come in my hand in the last six weeks, wishing it was you.”

“About the same number of times I’ve imagined you in my bed,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “That’ll have to hold us until I finish for tonight. Do you still have your key? Wait for me at my place?”

Marcus pats his pocket, dark eyes shining. “I will.”

You take time to adjust your clothes before leaving the conference room. The coast is clear and you walk Marcus back to the elevators.

Jane passes with a cup of coffee in hand. “Glad you had time to come, Pike,” he says genially, and you follow Marcus into the elevator, and when the doors close, you laugh in each other’s arms until you’re weak.

Tagging: @pedropascalito​ @pedropasscals​ @paniclana​ @littlemissthistle​ @spacegayofficial​ @tiffdawg​ @keeper0fthestars​ @dindjarindiaries​ @pedrosasscal​ @thewaythisis​ @javierian​ @restingnurseface​ @abuttoncalledsmalls​ @fleetwoodmactshirt​

Please do ask to be added or released from the tags!

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Five): Just To Want It All

Notes: As stated in last chapter notes, i have a decent chunk of chapters done so these are coming out pretty rapid fire. Otherwise, I don’t have much to say other than massive thanks to my friend who reads these over for me and has been cool with me dropping 80+ pages of fic on them in a week. because yeah...I finished another chapter of this. 

Word Count:  7885

Chapter Warnings: mentions of alcohol and cursing, if that counts as a warning in cyberpunk 2077.  

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

Lizzie’s Bar stands out brilliantly in the city; out of all the gangs, she thinks she likes The Moxes aesthetic the best. Vivid pink and bright teal. Their colors splashed across the overpass, along with a neon pink skull sign with hair and a bow. At the side of the building is a towering neon skull girl sign, full bodied with an animated kicking leg and axe held above her head, the same hot pink color.

She parks and gets out of her car, doing a quick scan of the area, searching for more Militech drones. None that she sees, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. The credchip burns in her pocket, remembering some of the stuff T-Bug has taught her. How to crack an encrypted shard and see what’s on it, how to transfer its contents. V rifles through her bag, remembering she had a blank credchip somewhere. If Militech did anything dirty, V should be able to transfer the eddies onto a clean chip.

V makes a beeline to the front door, cement blockers and walls covered in graffiti.  More neon signs, the bars name over the door in glowing turquoise letters. Lizzie Jizzie scrawled across an outside wall; two screens on each side of the double stores, all covered in Nicola ads requesting V ‘taste the love’.  Groups of people loiter in the open outside the bar. V’s eyes are drawn to the two bouncers outside the doors.

Two women, one leans against the outside wall as she puff away on a cigarette. Short slicked back hair that starts blue and then fades to green, eyes hidden behind sunglasses and a gold septum piercing in her nose. The other one stands in front of the doors, a yellow spiked bat held over her shoulders. Long hair pulled up into space buns, purple roots and pink ends. Both of her arms are metal; black with pink and teal accents as well as spikes along the forearms.  Both women are skimpily dressed, no shame in that. The one wielding the bat has a white top with cleavage going beyond her breasts,  showing her almost plastic looking skin and the Moxes tattoo across her chest. The other shorter haired bouncer is wearing neon pink pasties beneath a teal bomber jacket.  V’s been here before, has maybe seen them in passing, both really attractive. She’s not sure there’s a Mox member who isn’t.

“Hey there, dollface!~” The bat wielder greets her with a grin, as if she could actually see V’s face.

“Interest you in a preem BD?” The smoker offers.

“What you got?” V asks to be polite, she doesn’t honestly even like brain dances. But the girls are cute, so… no harm in a little small talk.

“What don't we got? Women and men of your dreams, synaptic acting A-listers. No washed-up virtuporn boytoys or blow-up dolls here.”

“Auteur stuff - It'll grip your heart and blow your nerves right outta your body. Pure bit-based ecstasy - that’s why people come here.”

“Sure know how to sell it, don’t you?” V signs, trying not to laugh as the bouncers give her the spiel.

“Not a sales pitch, it's a warning. I'll give you one word - bespoke. Not for everyone's synapses.”

“Think you can handle it?”

“Think I can manage it,” she tells them, knowing damn well she has no intent to get any sort of virtus.

“Mmhm. Couple of things you need to know first,” she affectionately rubs her bat, “Ahem. Severe penalties for any unauthorized recording… “

“No drugs, no groping. Someone catch your eye, you do not grab 'em. You find 'em in the catalog, ask for a BD and get yourself a box.”

“No worries, not even my first time here.”

“Door's open. Have fun, Doll.”

“Welcome to Lizzie’s.”

The double doors open and V walks through a blue beaded curtain. There’s a front room, a stand where a woman with a bright pink mohawk is selling clothes, under another Nicola ad and neon letters saying ‘Fuck To Death’ behind her.

“My what a sweet face you have,” she says, her tone honeyed but its clear she hasn’t looked up from the counter, not even noticing as the masked merc walks past through another beaded curtain and double doors to the main club.

“Here in Night City~”

Music thrums as she steps in; the room is lit with strobing pink and teal lights. Couches with neon glowing lights on the underneath, some people with BD wreaths and others playing on their phones. People dancing  to the club music and  bar tucked away in the corner.  She doubts the client will be right at the start of opening, so V finds an empty stretch of couch, sitting down on black leather with a pink neon light at her feet.  V slides the Militech cred chip into her mask, it takes a moment, but she manages to crack it and get a look at the inside.

Ten thousand eddies and malware; it was meant to send all of Maelstrom’s data to another server and then fry the systems. Meaning, if V handed it over Maelstrom would get their systems fried, with her and Jackie dealing with the aftermath. V slides the blank cred chip into another slot in her mask’s edge, transfering the clean money over to it. Fucking around with tech and daemons isn’t her strong suit, but if she recalls Bug telling her that fairly simple malware like this could be reworked pretty easily. She works through the coding with her thoughts, the data and interface all on her mask. If she can get the coding right, she might be able to have it send something other than data back to the Militech servers…  Shifting and twisting what she thinks will work… if she’s done it right, instead of sending data back to Militech’s server, it should inject the same malware back into their system. If used, it would spike both Maelstrom and Militech.

She’ll call up T-Bug before they hit Maelstrom, double check she did the steps right. If Maelstrom play nice, they can pay and be done, if not...she can fuck over the gangoons, Militech, and walk away with an extra ten thousand in her pocket.  She puts the credchips in her pockets, spiked one in her left and clean one in the right.

Time to have a look around for the client. V making a beeline for the bar, bartenders always have all the info. Lizzie’s Bar in neon over the drink station, a brightly blue lit corner where a man works at making drinks, shelves of booze behind him.  She climbs onto a blue vinyl bar stool, feet no longer on the ground and unable to resist swinging them a bit. The bartender comes to her; a man with slicked back dark hair,  glowing white cybernetic eyes, and silver embellishments run across his cheeks and jaw. His shirt bright blue with a tropical design and if not for a single button above his pants, it’d be completely open. Beaded necklaces bringing even more attention to his exposed chest and stomach.

“Get you something?”

“Looking for Evelyn Parker,” she speaks the woman’s name, not wanting to waste time fingerspelling it even if the sound feels tight in her throat.

“And you are?”

“V, me and her were supposed to meet here.”

“Well, V,  it’s a pleasure. I’m Mateo.”

“Nice to meet you… any idea where she’s hanging around?”

“Club's big. Gonna have to look around. Can't do it for you-”

“It's all right, Mateo,” a feminine voice calls out and V’s eyes are drawn to a woman at the bar, “I was waiting for this one.”

There’s something about her, distinctly Mox and also not. Her hair is a short vivid blue bob with bangs cut straight across her forehead. Heavy makeup, a tight silver sequin dress with a dipping neckline, red thigh high vinyl boots, a black trench coat that pools around her knees with a pink and white feathered collar.  She holds two fingers up to the bartender and moves to the bar stool closer. There’s a clang and tink of glass; Mateo getting out a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.  

“That won’t be necessary,” V signs before he can fill the second glass, “I don’t drink on the job.”

“Aww, what a good girl,” Evelyn coos, a smile pulling at her painted lips, “Evelyn Parker. I knew it was you as soon as you walked in.”

“And you decided to let me wander around instead of introducing yourself?”

“I wanted to get a good look at you first.”

“And?” V watches as Evelyn takes a swig of her tequila.

“Rest assured, if I didn’t like what I see, you’d know,” she takes another drink, “C'mon. Know a place we can talk where ears won't prick up to listen. We'll be in the lounge, Mateo. Anyone asks we're not here.”

Evelyn takes her black clutch purse and leaves the bar, V puts some money down for Mateo; if nothing else to compensate for his time. V hops down from the stool and follows after Evelyn, through a pair of double doors that goes into a hallway tinted red and pink, booth doors lining the way. The blue haired woman opens up a door, standing to the side as V walks in.

The booth is small, circular with a red vinyl couch around it’s curve, a table in the middle projects a hologram of a stripper who twists and dances. V sinks into the cushions, watching Evelyn stride in and light a cigarette as the door closes behind her. Everyone in the city a smoker it seems.  As Evelyn puffs on a cigarette, V is somehow just noticing the gold nail like finger caps she wears.

“Dex had a load to say about you. Called you professional, effective. And trustworthy. I hope he wasn't overselling…“

“You don’t give a shit what he says,” V retorts, not missing the tinge of disdain Evelyn’s voice. V doesn’t need anyone to blow wind up her ass.

“You have trouble accepting compliments?”

“Flattery’s beneath you.”

“Maybe Dex is beneath you,” Evelyn moves around the table, grabbing an ashtray from the table, then sitting down next to V, crossing her legs, “Have you known each other long?”

“First time working with him.”

“Hmmm, I've heard there are two kinds of fixers. Those with stable crews on long contracts and short leashes. Loyalty and predictability they value above all else. Then there's the other kind- Dex's kind.”

“Meaning?”

“Headhunters. They lay their trust elsewhere, not in people but in a thing- their intuition. They bet on potential. And if they lose that bet…It's the last mistake they ever make. I’m hoping Dex’s intuition served him well in this case.”

“Let's get to the point, why am I here, what’s this about?”

“Your target - I trust you know what it is.”

“Arasaka biochip.”

“Mmmhmm, their Relic, secure your soul technology. Arasaka's poured billions into personality transfer technology. But me - I just want the data on this one. The chip is tucked away inside Konpeki Plaza, the hotel. You ever been?”

“Fancy corp hotels? Yeah, no, way out of my price range.”

“The decor's to die for. As you'll see for yourself.’

So, V and Jackie have to bust into some fancy hotel to get the chip people are arguing about on tv. Understood, so far. But, theres a lot of risks involved in a heist of this scale. Its one thing to rip off a dropped piece of cargo or a convoy from a corp; but this kind of top notch tech?

“You know where the chip is, exactly?”

“In a suite on the top floor. The room's occupied by Yorinobu Arasaka.”

V swallows the lump in her throat, the son of Saburo Arasaka, heir to the entire fucking corp. She’s once again finding herself wondering why Dex thinks her and Jackie can handle a job of this caliber, the Arasaka’s seem downright un-fucking-touchable to a merc like her.

“He’s in NC?”

“Don't you read the screamsheets?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Well, the media couldn't get enough of Yori coming to Night City, it was all over the headlines. He's heir apparent to the Arasaka empire - Saburo Arasaka's only surviving son.”

“So, he trying to take over while he’s in town?” V asks, trying to understand what exactly is going on.

“Only a handful of people in Night City know what the Arasakas' real plans are.”

“And you included in that?”

A smirk stretches across her face, green eyes devious; “Yorinobu is a puppet. He lost all his cards years ago when he failed to do daddy's bidding. Saburo's had Yori's balls in a vise for years. He might just turn the screw and crush them outright if he learns his son's up to no good again.”

“Someone like him is bound to have an army surrounding him, that hotel is probably a fortress by now.”

“Yorinobu keeps exactly no muscle around. Not one guard. Got rid of them a long time ago.”

“Why?”

“Surely you know what they say about Arasaka intel? Sneeze in Night City and a blossom drops from a cherry tree in Tokyo. Yorinobu was convinced his Arasaka security detail reported directly to his father.”

“If you got a spare ache up your sleeve, I’d love to see it.”

“ Now, this should make your tits perk up,” she says, putting the ashtray aside and leans forward.

“My tits are quite comfortable where they are, I assure you.”

“Cute, but more importantly, Yorinobu recently swiped the chip from an Arasaka laboratory. He's made a deal with NetWatch, aims to sell it to them. Have you spotted my ace yet or do I need to spell things out?”

“Okay, no muscle because he has daddy issues and no security on the device because he stole it from said daddy. Any idea where he’s hiding the thing?”

“Likely in a specialized container, one that mimics an organic neural environment. On the outside, it looks like an ordinary briefcase.”

“Which would be where?”

“You'll see for yourself soon enough,” she stamps out her cigarette and stands up, walking to the door, “Provided we're done gossiping about the Arasakas.”

“You know anything else about him?” V asks, wanting to see if she can mine any more useful information about the heir that could help.

“Quite a bit, actually. He studied finance and biotech in Tokyo. Hm, probably didn't have a choice in the matter, come to think of it. Saburo was grooming him to be his successor. But then Yorinobu vanished to chase his own dreams, cut himself off from the corp for years. Long story short, though the black sheep returned, the bitter taste remained. But that's only one side of him. There's another - an intelligent man who has always walked his own path and so has his own designs on the corp.”

There’s no doubt in V’s mind now that Evelyn knows Yorinobu personally, the way she talks and speaks is clearly colored by experience. Some prodigal son who ran away from his father and then came back with his tail between his legs when he couldn’t cut it alone. An odd lump in V’s throat at the thought; running away from shitty dads, being a black sheep…

“Sounds like any other corpo dick to me,” V signs, not liking the parallels her brain is starting to draw.

“Hm. Ever tried to imagine what life might be like for an emperor's son? You have everything, yet you are no one, nothing. At least as long as you remain in Saburo Arasaka's shadow. I…” she scratches almost sheepishly at her neck, her wannabe femme fatale attitude slipping for just a moment, “...sympathize. It's a vulnerability I understand well.”

V is still finding herself finding uncomfortable similarities between herself and fucking Yorinobu Arasaka. Its stupid, she doesn’t know the man and he has the wealth to destroy her for pretending she does. But, a power hungry leader for a father, leaving home, terrified of being under his thumb. Only difference, well many, but most pressing is she’s managed to make it on her own...so far… at least. Not that she hasn’t had her doubts or worries.

“So, what’s next?” V asks, practically shaking her head to dispel the weirdness swimming in her brain. Black sheep or not; Yorinobu Arasaka has a silver spoon in his mouth. She’s a nomad turned Night City edgerunner; their lives couldn’t be more far removed.

“Now comes the best part,” Evelyn opens the door and turns to leave, “Follow me. Got somethin' for you. Should help you plan. Braindance from Konpeki Plaza.”

V follows Evelyn out into the hallway, “ how’s a braindance going to help?”

“Think BDs are only good for fondling virtual tits, jackin' off to in those boxes?”

“Thought that was the main selling point, yeah,” V teases back as they turn a corner in the hallway, headed towards a door.

“No. They can be a very useful tool. Good for analyzing details human perception, even boosted, doesn't grasp. Exactly what you need,” Evelyn teases as they enters a dressing room, a few Mox at the tables painting their faces with makeup and styling their hair.

“What's on the tape?” Through another door and neon lights fade to harsher, darker lighting.

“Yorinobu's suite. The glorious interior,” the walk down a short metal flight of stairs, “You'll need to locate the Relic yourself. Hope I grabbed enough detail to make that possible.”

The stop at the end of the steps, Evelyn turning to look at V with a hand on her hips. Not that V really had any more doubt about it, but she’s been given more evidence that Evelyn and Yorinobu know each other.

“You recorded it?”

“Mhm. BD rec implant. Why, you object?”

“Not particularly, who you know and what you do with them is none of my business, lets see the braindance.”

“Judy'll help. She's a Mox, too,” down another short flight of stairs, deeper into the basement, “Besides, we go back… years.”

Evelyn stops them again outside a pair of double doors, Lizzie’s is starting to feel like a little maze at this point. But more importantly, Evelyn’s paused again, stumbled over her words and showed something under her facade. V felt something was off, a Mox but somehow not, and she’s starting to think Evelyn is purposely trying to put up a front. That she’s trying, a little too hard, to come across like femme fatale or corpo. Evelyn clears her throat.

“V, this is important. Judy's always been there for me. Always helped out. I trust her. But she's a Mox, not the latest member of your crew. Try not to forget. So you'll be a good girl, tread lightly and keep that tongue on a leash.

“Oh, but it's not my tongue you need to worry about.”

“Hmm, can feel you smirking under that mask, keep it up and I’ll tie those hands down, too,” Evelyn says with a wink as they pass through the double doors into another hallway, then through one more door.

Evelyn leads her through the basement doors, a dark little room with servers, netrunning chairs and screens. In an office chair slouching with one leg on a desk is a woman; late twenties or so with olive skin. One side of her hair is shaved, the other shaggy and down to nearly her shoulder, a deep green color with bright pink ends. The woman is heavily tattooed, bright red roses nestled above her collar bones, a spider web on her right shoulder, a cartoon ghost sitting in a shell, and a large number 13 on her bicep are among the standouts. But V could spend hours describing each artwork.

“Ahem.”

“Hey, there you are…” Judy greets Evelyn, a playful almost flirty tone to her voice.

“This is V. She's here for that BD roll. And V, this is Judy - best braindance editor I know.”

“Enough already, gonna make me barf.” There’s a slight accent to Judy’s voice, not unlike Jackie’s.

“Impressive set up,” V signs, at least, she assumes it’s impressive. Tech is already a bit of a blind spot for her, especially when it comes to brain dances.

“Mhm, Analyzers, sensory sig amps, acoustic and emotive wave monitors, facial expression translators.”

“Ahem, Judy,” Evelyn stops the inked editor before she can tell V more.

“All right, all right… Compiled your BD, Ev.”

“What do you think? Will it do?”

“Still pretty raw… but yeah, oughta do.”

“Mhm. V needs to get deep inside, that's most important.”

“So, let's calibrate, tune it to her,” Judy stands up from the table and moves to the desk closer to the door, sitting down below a neon pink light, “Believe me, I've dealt with worse. Should see the dig-Jig Street porn we gotta contend with sometimes.”

Evelyn has followed behind Judy, standing behind the editor’s chair, “So we drop V inside? Let her look, let her rummage around, right?”

“How 'bout it, V? Raw braindance - ever taken a dip before?” Judy leans forward on the desk, looking at V.

“No, not at all, but I’m a quick learner,” that feels like a lie as soon as she says it, “ and need to know what I’m dealing with. So.”

“Siddown, settle in, and we'll get you goin'.”

V turns around to the chairs, either netrunning or ripperdoc chairs, she’s not sure. But, she climbs into one, settling down into it as Judy comes back out around the desk. Judy is nearby, fiddling with a brain dance wreath.

“Be easier to fit without the mask.”

“Mask has optic tech, linked to my neuroport and biomon, should work just like it does with any set of cybereyes.”

“‘Fraid of ruining the mystery?” Evelyn asks, teasing again.

“Mask is for business, lot harder to track a merc if you got no clue what they look like. You that curious, feel free to try and track me down during my off time.”

“Fine, fine,”  Judy affixes the BD wreath around V’s head, lining it up properly on the merc before walking back to the desk,  “Gotta create your sensory profile first.”

“Go for it.”

“Now, sit still, look at me. Gonna run the analysis soft should feel a slight tingling…”

V’s breath catches as it prickles across her skin, a crackling and warm sensation crawling across every nerve. From the base of her skull, down her spine, across her arms to her fingers, running down her legs to her toes. A vague pulse, a current of something.

“OK now let's set the optics and other sensory sigs. Look smack into these two screens, pretend it's an eye exam.”

The two wreath panels flash and strobe white light, building in urgency and frequency.

“Gimme two more minutes. One more sec, need to get the pain receptor limiters in… OK. All set. Need to test your profile first. Tossing in a sam-”

“We can just use my recording, there’s no point in wasting time,” Evelyn interrupts Judy.

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“I’m fine with just jumping to her BD,” V interjects her opinion, “better to get right to it.”

Judy sighs and rolls her eyes; “Fine, fine, what do I know.”

“Great, I’ll just need to patch Bug in.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Who?” Judy jumps up from her desk, crossing her arms and looks at V like she just asked to summon Satan.

“Runner from my crew, security specialist. She'll tell me what to look for while we analyze. No problem, I assume?”

“Actually, it is a problem! You’re already asking me to cut fucking corners and now you want to bring someone else in?! Not what we agreed, Ev!”

“It’s not a big deal,” V signs, not sure what Judy’s sudden problem is.

“No big deal! You don't quite grasp the risks I took by lettin' you in here! What I'm risking pokin' around with this stuff!”

Judy continues to yell and V rolls her eyes, she’s a BD editor, not part of the actual crew, the client, or the fixer. If Arasaka goes after anyone it sure as shit won’t be Judy, so why is she throwing a fit.

“And you don’t seem to grasp the risk I’d be taking if me and my partner went stumbling into that hotel with no fucking clue as to what we or our runner are up against. I miss one hidden turret and I get pumped full of lead, either my runner links in or I’m gone.”

V makes a point to twist her head and look at Evelyn at the last part; Bug is the most highly trained member of their crew and Dex’s go to runner. Without her involvement and eyes on it, the job won’t be going anywhere.

“Bye then!” Judy yells out, “good riddance and don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”

“Judy, please…”

“Ev, she wants to bring a 'runner in. What part of that don't you understand?! How do I know she'll only perch in this footage, observe, not fuck with anything?!”

“Because Bug is literally involved with the heist, has a dog in this fight, and wants it to go well too,” V signs, hoping the AI voice is getting her annoyance across, Judy does level a glare at her over Evelyn’s shoulder.

“Me,” Evelyn steals Judy’s attention, “I'm your guarantee.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Help me, this one last time. I promise everything'll work out,  just like we planned.”

And it hits V, between the flirting and the soft drop in Evelyn’s voice here. The reason Judy is so worked up about this; her and Evelyn have something. Friends teetering the line into something else, girlfriends already, or maybe even more than that. V’s not sure. But there’s something distinctly not platonic to the way they interact. Maybe that’s the play on Evelyn’s. Scam Yorinobu Arasaka then run away with her porn editor girlfriend.

“Fine,” Judy shakes her head and sits back down, the anger gone, “call Bug and we’ll dive in.”

That issue taken care of V rings up T-Bug, the netrunner answering after a ring or two.

“What’s up, V?”

“Bug, listen. I got some useful footage from Konpeki Plaza. It's a braindance.”

“Konpeki? Ohhh, thought as much…” Judy looks up at Evelyn.

“Someone there with you?”

“Client and her...friend...is what I’ll settle on; that’s not what matters right now, its going to give us a layout of the room, a chance to find where the chip is, and some idea of security.”

“All right, see if I can walk you through it. Jackin’ into your tech now,” notifications alert across her mask’s interface, “Mh, you've gotta give me access. Opening port 1779… Secure protocol? Good, I'm goin' in. Should be getting my request… …now.”

“Got it. You ready?”

“Millisec. OK, connection confirmed, now some quick temp ICE and… we're clear. Ready to dance.”

“Let’s do this.”

And with that the wreath panels begin to flash and strobe in front of V’s eyes, quicker and quicker until the world goes out in white. And in the next snap of a moment, one reality becomes another. Her body is no longer her own, she’s placed in Evelyn’s mind standing outside an elevator. What feels like her body, moves to adjust a purse strap, gold capped nails.

“All right, V - eyes open. Gotta find out where Yorinobu is keepin’ the Relic. Everything is controlled by thought and intention; you can step into editor mode, access everything her cyberware picked up a signal of, can scan, rewind, fast forward. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

The doors open, exposing the hotel room, and a horror show of a man walking towards her. V can feel the spike in fear, whether from Evelyn in the moment or V’s own instinctual reaction; she isn’t sure. He’s around eight feet tall, complete metal and cyberware from his feet to his upper lip; more machine than human. Wire, hydraulics, steel; all branded with Arasaka. The flesh section of his head is sickly ashen protrusive veins, glowing red where eyes should be. As he draws closer there’s a whirr of machinery, hydraulics pistoning to give him movement. How is he alive? How is he functional?

“You look like a cut of fuckable meat. Are you?” He asks as he walks past, voice edged with something inhuman.

Evelyn reigns her fear back in, the past version of her walking deeper into the room, where a dark haired man sits at a table in front of a large screen where another blonde haired man speaks back to him.

“I said no,” the dark haired man speaks out, his voice colored by a Japanese accent and V knows it’s Yorinobu. Evelyn continues to walk closer, her heels clicking against the floor.

“They'll have my head for this…”

“Then you shall perish for a good cause.”

“But I-”

“Make yourself comfortable. I need a minute to finish,” Yorinobu tells Evelyn, sparing just a glance over his shoulder.

“Listen in on that conversation, V! Could be something important.”

She wants to watch through first, do an initial watch to look for things and then go more in depth. Two watches at least should mean she’s covered everything. Yorinobu switches the conversation to his holophone, pacing around the room. Evelyn meanwhile puts her purse down on the chair, then walks behind him, trying to keep him in range

“My father is a tired, visionless old greybeard who thinks nothing will change and he'll live forever in his tiny, frozen bubble! You will listen to this - Saburo is an addled despot utterly removed from reality, stuck in some fossilized vision of a world that no longer exists! Of a world that may never have existed! We have not seen eye to eye for the last twenty years. I am quite sure we won't now.”

Yorinobu continues to talk as Evelyn pours herself a glass full of champagne and takes a drink, the tech allowing V to taste the sweet bubbles as if they were on her own tongue. Glass in hand she takes a slow look around the room and walks back to the center of it, sitting at the table, the plush of the cushion letting her sink into it.

“Noted,” Yorinobu says into the phone as he starts to walk back to Evelyn, there’s something in his eyes, “enough.”

He hands up, putting the phone down on the table. Evelyn looks up at him and V through her eyes gets her first good look at the Arasaka heir. Dark hair with the sides shaved down close to the scalp, glasses perched on his nose. His cyberware is surprisingly minimal for a man of his wealth, two streaks of silver going up his neck to his jawline.

“Sorry, to make you wait,” he touches Evelyn’s shoulder and the woman rises, “business can be stupid.”

They’re close and V can feel his hands on her, Evelyn’s, hips. Evelyn’s hand on his shoulder.

“Mmh, it wasn't long,” Evelyn hums and it feels wholy unnatural to feel like she’s speaking with someone else's voice, “Not even long enough for me to grow bored.”

His hands start to creep and Evelyn goes to pull away, movements playful, when Yorinobu pulls her back in. Then he starts to dip his mouth.

“Fuck no!” V yells out as she pushes the thought to enter editor mode, separating her senses from Evelyn’s before she has to feel Yorinobu’s lips on Evelyn’s neck. She looks down and sees herself, though slightly digital, her bright blue nail polish and not gold jewelry. The scene around her has paused and a digital filter over them.

“Something wrong?” T-Bug asks with a slight laugh.

“Nearly had corpo droolon me,” V signs, happy to find the tech allows her translator to work in editor mode, “was going do a watch through, then a second go in editor mode, figured two look throughs would be best...then”

“Then you nearly had to lock lips with Yorinobu Arasaka.”

“Gag, rewinding back to scan the call fully.” With a thought she watches as Evelyn and Yorinobu move in reverse, getting back to win the heir was starting the call. Once she gets where she needs to be she scans his phone and restarts it from editor mode, thankful for the sensory disconnect. She hears the man on the other end of Yorinobu’s call speak.

“Please speak with your father. He's taken a particular interest in this project, he can certainly explain the risks invol--”

“My father is a tired, visionless old greybeard who thinks nothing will change and he'll live forever in his tiny, frozen bubble!”

“I should not even be listening to such things.”

“You will listen to this - Saburo is an addled despot utterly removed from reality, stuck in some fossilized vision of a world that no longer exists! Of a world that may never have existed! We have not seen eye to eye for the last twenty years. I am quite sure we won't now.”

“Read the documentation carefully. The Relic requires specific storage conditions. You MUST provide them.”

“Noted,” Yorinobu hangs up again and V pauses the BD.

“Heard that? Relic docs gotta be around here somewhere. Look for them,” Bug confirms.

“Once we find where the chip is stored we’ll do a clean sweep of the security, okay Bug.”

“Smart thinking.”

V watches half-heartedly as Yorinobu and Evelyn interact; her range of vision and senses limited to Evelyn. She fast forwards through the two canoodling, only mildly catching Evelyn mentioning something about ‘candy’ though V assumes it’s of the nose variety. Evelyn separates away from Yorinobu for a moment and walks to a control panel, offering to lend music to the scene.

But V’s interest is piqued when she catches Evelyn rifling through Yorinobu’s messages, a few spam and scam emails. Then she pulls up an email from Clouds, a dollhouse in the city. Evelyn deletes it, V rewinds back and pauses. The email thanks Yorinobu for his patronage; hmm, heir has a taste for doll prostitutes. Something, Evelyn doesn’t want that email to be there… Its all beginning to make more sense and V’s not sure she likes it.

The merc fast forwards further through the BD, moving through to Evelyn playing awful music and going to meet Yorinobu in his bed. Where he sits with a tablet, the second the screen is clear. She pauses and scans it, bingo.

“Manual details a special temp controlled container. Relic needs to be kept real cool,” T-Bug explains through the technobabble.

“Chip’s got to be in a freezer.”

“Yep. Could damage it otherwise. OK, switch on thermal layer detection in the editor. Should be easier to spot where Yorinobu's keeping the chip.”

V switches with a thought, the world turning into temperature signatures as she searches for unnatural cold places and spots. An air conditioner pumps out cold air, but that would be a stupid place to put billion dollar tech. One malfunction and you lost it all.  She rewinds back to get more of a view, a ice bucket for champagne, a fridge?

“That’s just a regular fancy fridge, not cold enough,” Bug tells her when she spends t0o long contemplating it.

V rewinds further and an amass of blue ice cold air from behind a pillar catches her eye, It seems to come up through the floor, unlike the AC, ice bucket, or fridge she has no clear idea where this one is coming from. A secret container in the floor? Seems like a much craftier place to hide expensive stolen tech, V scans it.

“Right, grabbed the heat sig. Matches the spec in the docs,” T-Bug tells her.

“Chip has to be here, we got it.”

“Mmhmm, time to scan security.”

V switches back to the regular mode, looking for what she needs to scan. The camera system first.

“Shit, cameras packed with newtech motion sensors, heat sig activators. IFF.”

“Can you kill it?”

“With access to their subnet, but we need the Flathead bot for that.”

They continue on, with Bug commenting on each security measure they scan. Alarm with fresh firmware, Automated turrets connected to the hotels server. Yorinobu’s pistol, loaded with the safety on. V rewinds and fast forward, searching anything else that might be an issue but comes up empty handed.

“Seems like we got everything. Looks like all their security systems are linked to the hotel subnet. We need the Flathead. No other way to shut down these systems,” T-Bug sumises.

“No way around it ourselves?”

“Nope. Least I'm fresh out of ideas. Think we got everything we need.”

“Okay, but hang on the line with me after we get out of the BD, need you to look over something for me, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem.”

V exists out of the brain dance, a flash of white and the world returns. Judy and Evelyn looking at her from across a desk, T-Bug still in the call panel of her mask. Her eyes hurt, her throat feels dry, and she can feel a migraine pushing at her temples. She fucking hates brain dances.

“Get everything you need?” Judy asks, a dark raised eyebrow.

“From the BD, yeah, got to clear something with Bug while I got her on the horn,” V gets the chip she fucked with out of her pocket and slides it into the proxy reader of her mask, “got a chip I fucked around with; decrypted and tried to rewrite the virus on it, so it will spike the people who gave it to me. But I want to make sure, I didn’t fuck up.”

“Need me to grade your work, V?”

“Kind of…”

“Oh, shit, V. You fucking over Militech?” T-Bug exclaims, a little pride in her voice as she reads over the code, thankfully her voice is only audible to V through her hearing aids.

“Mmhmm.”

“And you don’t want to sign and have your translator read it, because you don’t want to risk the client knowing you’re fucking over Militech while prepping to fuck over Arasaka.”

“Mmhmm, will it work?”

“It will fry the servers of any tech it’s plugged in proper and fry the servers it’s linked to, a Militech van from the looks of it. Won’t be a dent in their bottom line, but will surely piss off some reps. That what you meant for it to do?”

“That was the plan.”

“Preem work then, but I do want to make some...edits,” T-Bug edits the chips code in front of V’s eyes, “there we go.”

“Something wrong with it?” Nerves creep up V’s throat, if she fucked up, she’d rather learn her lesson now.

“Nah, I added a bit of a personal touch for you, nothing wrong with a little style added to your hacking.”

“Appreciate the help.”

“You know I won’t always be here to check your work.”

“I know, I know, but it doesn't mean I won’t take advantage while I can. Thanks again, talk soon.”

“Later, V.” With that V hangs up the call and slots the spiked credchip back into its respective pocket. Judgement, suspicion, and resentment are radiating off of Judy.

“I'll wipe the cache and your data. You were never here.”

Judy stands up from the desk and V tries to decipher a few of the tattoos she sees, noticing more sea themed ones, like a dolphin and sharks. V flinches behind her mask as Judy removes the BD wreath, glad to be free of the contraption, but she could have taken it off herself.

“Thanks…” V signs, despite this, just trying to be polite despite their spat.

“Keep it,” Judy hands her the wreath, V getting a good look at the octopus tattooed on the woman’s hand,  “I'll put it on Ev's tab. Portable device for handling BDs. I already uploaded your calibration settings. Not as sophisticated as what we got here, but should do the trick.”

“And it keeps you outta harm's way. Clever.”

“Speaking of harms way, know what I see looking at you,” Judy pins her hands to her hips and gives V that look again, “walking, talking corpses.”

“We needed this recording, just… relax, will you?”

“Relax! If Arasaka finds out you have it, you're dead. I'm dead! If you fuck this up and Arasaka comes knocking on my door!”

“Judy, relax, that’s… not gonna happen,” Evelyn is the one trying to soothe the editors temper again.

“Evelyn, please… no shortcuts. You go that route, city'll always win. So be careful.”

“'Course I will be. Besides, we'll talk in a bit,” Evelyn looks to V,  “lets walk.”

V stashes the new BD wreath into her bag and climbs from the chair, following Evelyn out of Judy’s basement space. It’s not like V is heartless or doesn’t know anxiety; but of everyone involved, Judy has the least skin in the game. V can’t spend her time coddling someone who doesn’t have a whole hell of a lot to worry about compared to her, Jackie, or Bug.

“Well? What do you think?” Evelyn asks and V can see that hint of nerves coming back.

“You’re not worried about this coming back on you, if they start looking through everyone he’s been dealing with?”

“They'll have a long list, then. Packed full of big names. Much bigger than mine. You tell me who they check first. Corpo hotshots and cutthroats? Or a little bedroom plaything like me?”

“Well, then... “ V tries to find her words, this all seems, too good, “intel on the heir, on the place, know roughly where the chip is, and how we should get to it… Seems like a perfect plan and job.”

“Mm. Thanks. Now the punch line, please.”

“Seems too good to be true, there’s got to be a catch…”

“Cold feet? Are you looking to get out of it?”

“I want to know you’re in control here; that there’s no secrets, no catches, no surprises that turns this heist from a cakewalk into a bloodbath.”

“V. I have zero reasons to haze you. We’re in this together. Really. Trust me that I got this.”

“Okay, if you say so, what next?”

“V….” there’s nothing good in the way Evelyn pauses, words stuck to her tongue for a moment, “Do this job for me. I mean me alone. No splitting the payout with anyone else. No middlemen. No Dex.”

Of course, of fucking course, there had to be something. Evelyn’s trying to play cutthroat corpo, fucking over a fixer because she has dollar signs in her eyes. But, she’s too damn naïve to the game to know that no merc with the lead in their gun would pull that shit. Greedy mercs who screw over their fixers end up broke on the street at best and swimming  with cement shoes at worst. And a high profile one like Dex has the means to destroy her.

“Fucking knew there was a catch, you want to fuck over our fixer.”

“Dex is a middleman. And a useless one at this point.”

“You don't fuck with fixers. That's the one rule every merc in this city knows - and actually follows!”

“But if we're smart…”

“There is no smart to this, a mistake like that will cost me my reputation and without that, a merc is fucking nothing in this city. Are you serious about this?”

“Better ask yourself that question. Do you want to spend the rest of your days blasting scavs? Or become a legend overnight? Your choice.”

“He would put me in the ground, if I pulled some gonk shit like that.”

“I could give you fifty percent, V, . Eddies enough to do whatever the hell you like, without needing Dex for anything. With cred like that, you wouldn’t want for anything, you could retire.”

“It’s not about the money.”

“I thought you were a merc. I thought it was always about the money.”

“No, its not actually. He trusts me, he’s taking a leap with me. And even if he weren’t, I’m not the only person I got to worry about. Bug vouched for me too and Jackie is my partner. I fuck over my fixer, it hurts them too. I’m not going to send them down the river for a bigger cut of the pie.”

“Fine. I never asked. But V?”

“Yeah.”

“I just hope you're as good as you are naive.”

“Pff, you think I’m the naive one, here. Cute.

“If you need me, call. I'll send you my number. Now go. I need a few words with Judy.”

“Later, then.”

And with that V heads back up the stairs, tension draws tight across her shoulders. This whole damn thing with Evelyn throwing her off. The BD and everything seems clear cut, if they get the Flathead, the job might even be easy. But, wanting to fuck over their fixer. Evelyn is not the corpo or femme fatale or whatever she seems to think she is. A doll, V’s sure of that.  Evelyn must have deleted the email from Clouds because its’s connected to her and the Mox offer protection to sex workers; must be where she and Yorinobu met. Clouds even has connections to Arasaka through the Tyger Claws. And she managed to become a powerful rich man’s plaything, so now she thinks she’s smart enough to fuck over not only him but Dex too.

She’s a messy client with good intel. V doesn’t want Evelyn to get hurt. The older woman is in over her head and doesn’t know how the merc world works. She doesn’t deserve to get hurt for that, the last thing V wants is for Dex to lose his cool and hurt the woman. But, V also owes it to him to let him know Evelyn put that deal on the table. If she doesn’t, what’s to say Evelyn won’t pull this on another fixer? Or Dex gets another job aligned with her and the next merc she offers this to isn’t so loyal? She has to tell him.

V fumbles with her holo as she walks back through the club, doing some quick research on Konpeki Plaza. Finding their policy on guns. Given the stealth nature of this mission, she can assume the only way they’re getting in is to find a way to get in like regular patrons. Which means they’d be scanned for guns as soon as they get through the door. If something goes south, she doesn’t want her and Jackie left unarmed with a hoard of Arasaka soldiers on their ass.

But they can’t confiscate cyberware.

Might be time to cash in her savings for something. Her holo buzzes in her hand as Dex calls; her stomach drops. Unsure for a moment what to say to him, if she should go ahead and tell him what Evelyn tried to pull. Would he lose his temper? Drop the entire damn heist? Would he hurt her for it? It weighs on her shoulders as she pushes through a blue beaded curtain, considering her options with a finger hovering over the phone.

[wildlittlefoxsworld]

Hey can you do a the old guard imagine about Andy x reader. Where the reader is immortal but ihas a younger doppelgänger and they team finds out and reader has to explain her family bloodline and all that jazz any questions message me. Thanks love the two imagines on the old guard so far. Keep up the good work.

Gene Recurrence | The Old Guard | Andy x Fem!Reader

Author's note: This was a very interesting request. I got instantly an idea and I hope you will like it.

Warnings: light smut, light angst, angry!Joe, fluff

Words: 2.6 k +

Masterlist

Sequel "Mornings in the Carribbean"

***

Vacation. Summer. Caribbean sun. Colorful cocktails. Your family. Your hot girlfriend. What did you need more?

A thin, white cloth was draped about your lower half of the body and your eyes still closed, you savoured how the warm wind felt on your skin.

That days were rarely, when you were just laying lazy in bed and having nothing to worry about.

You looked to your left side and noticed that Andy was still sleeping. You stayed silent, because Andy had a light sleep and you wanted her to rest. Her left arm laid across your stomach and her right served herself as a pillow. The actual pillows were shoved of the bed by her moving in the sleep.

“So beautiful,” you mumbled quietly and carassed Andy's cheek with your fingertips. A small smile started to spread on her lips and you knew she heard you. Andy opened her green eyes and wouldn't you have loved her already, you would fall for her all over again.

“You always say the right words,” Andy praised and shifted closer to you. Rolling your body to the side you were laying face to face. She raised her hand slowly to stroke over your hair and stopped in your neck. The grip was firm like everything about her, she was always ready to fight, but here with you. Here she could be soft and tender, despite you loved her sharpness and precision. She was a warrior in every aspect of her life.

Andy went straight for what she wanted and needed. Now she wanted to kiss you passionately, dragging you back on the mattress, making clear that she was in charge and you loved every second of it. You loved Andy for her careness in a authority way, always having the upper hand and yet she gave you everything you craved for. She hold you tight in her arms, kissed you in a way that aroused both of you and touched your skin with right strength or tenderness to drive you crazy.

The both of you ended up panting with her on top of you laying between your legs. Her mouth trailed down your throat and she sucked slightly on your skin. You gasped when she found your sweet stop, grazing her teeth over the sensitive area.

“Please,” you whispered and Andy knew excatly what you wanted, but before she could start regale your upper body with her kisses, there was a knock on your door.

“We go to the beach. Do you want to join or are you busy?” Nicky's voice came hushed from the hallway and Andy let her head sink on your breasts.

“Hurry up before the best sun lounger are occupied,” Joe shouted laughing. You heard their footsteps dissapearing after you told them you would follow soon. Andy groaned but hieved her body up to stand up, but you grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back down. Andy quirkend an eyebrow and smirked when you shoved your hand under her shirt.

“Are you in the mood for a quick shower? Together? Then going to the beach?” Andy suggested and you were more than happy to let her picking you up.

The shower with Andy let to more than washing away the sweat from a hot night. You felt statisfied for the moment and Andy gave you a last lovingly kiss before leaving the bathroom.

You put on a simple white bikini and a yellow long skirt. With a bag over your shoulder and intertwined fingers with Andy, you went down to the beach near the hotel.

“Only fourty-five minutes, is that a new record, Nicky?” Joe mocked and the the both men laughed including Booker.

“We thought it would take at least two hours,” Booker chuckled and Andy rolled playfully her eyes while you slapped Booker on the back of the head lightly.

“Hey, and what about Joe?”

You looked over to the dark-haired man and he grinned triumphal. You shrugged and gave Joe the same treatment. Joe looked befuddled at you and wanted to say something. “Behave, my love,” Nicky warned him and gave him a meaningful look with a hint of a smile.

“Good Morning, Nicky,” you said warmhearted and kissed him on the cheek.

“Good morning, principessa,” he replied smiling and you sat down on your sun lounger next to Andy and Nicky.

“I get myself something to drink. Anyone wants something?” Booker asked in the round.

“An apple spritzer would be great,” you told him and he nodded. It would take him a few minutes to get your, Nicky's and his drinks.

Meanwhile Andy ordered your services in putting sun screen on her back.

When Booker came back his expression was bewildered and you frowned, because he nearly spilled the drinks. Nicky helped him while you were massaging Andy's shoulders.

“Are you alright?” you inquiried about his well-being and you got worried when he didn't stop starring at you.

“I saw a girl that looks excatly like you. First I thought it was you, but then I looked over to all of you and you were here. She wears a green jumpsuit and looks the same as you from hair to toe,” he explained in hurry and nearly chocked on his own tongue.

“I was sitting on my girlfriend's butt the whole time,” you commentend his words. “And there are many women here that has the same hair and skin color like me. Did you see her face from the front? Maybe she was just looking simliar to me.”

Booker searched for help by the others, but Joe just shrugged and Andy closed her eyes again, she wiggled underneath you to make you continuing with your massage.

“Are you sure you aren't just drunk?” Joe suggested and Booker shook his head furiously. For a second he seemed meditative, but then his head spinned around and he acted like he was searching for someone. “There she is. Still at the bar,” Booker proclaimed.

All of you stretched their necks and in this moment the woman turned around, it was like you were looking in a mirror.

“Yep, that's you, Y/N,” Nicky said deadpanned. In shock you couldn't move, couldn't tear away your eyes. She could be your twin, the same hair, eyes, face, heigh, body figure. But she looked younger. You had been close to your thirties when you first had died, she was probably in her early twenties.

Of course, your family watched you curiously and expecting an explanation maybe, but they weren't sure if you would have one.

Even Andy lifted her body up and studied the appearance of the young girl. “Interesting,” she mumbled and her head turned to you. But you were frozen in your position balancing on your shins. Andy observed you. It was clearly to her how shocked you must been, but something in your gaze got her perplexed. Your breathing increased and your hands were clenched to fists.

Andy rolled herself on her back underneath you and took your hands gently in hers. You got frightened for a second before you noticed it was only your beloved one.

“It's okay, darling. Why are you so tense? I can tell you aren't scared or atonished. This isn't new to you, right?” Andy asked carefully and you were taken aback. She knew you too well and rumbled you most of the time. Frustration grew inside you and let you groan loudly

“Fuck,” you cursed. Andy watched you worriedly and pulled you down on her lap. You scrunched your face in annoyance when she rubbed your back, trying to calm you down. Why did this happen now? It didn't happen in your whole immortal time and so you needn't to explain anything.

“She's your doppelgänger,” Joe murmered still confused.

“I know, Joe,” you said through gritted teeths.

“Tell me, Y/N,” Andy demanded and you sighed in defeat.

“Fine,” you agreed.

“Now I'm curious about it,” Joe exclaimed and folded his arms over his chest. Even Nicky showed interest, but he wasn't demanding like the others, he just wanted to understand.

“I descend from witches,” you began to speak and Nicky's widened in surprise and he exchanged looks with Joe.

“Witches? Like riding-a-broom-witches?” Booker asked shocked and laughed in disbelief. You rolled your eyes and huffed.

“So, you are a witch?” Nicky tried to encourage you to tell further.

“I was a witch. I lost my powers after I had died the first time. Seemed nature doesn't allow more than one gift. And I never flew on a broom.” Your last words were full of fury over Booker's mocking tone. You hated that people always had prejudices about witches, but what should you say, people were always scared about supernatural things.

“What powers did you have?” Nicky shared his thoughts and you were glad that he stayed objective.

“Nothing special. I used spells to change weather for a good harvest or that someone found love. I brewed potions for simple illnesses or headaches. A few could more, a few were more powerful.”

“What do you mean? More powerful?” Booker was alarmed and you saw that your story scared him.

“Some could read minds or manipulate minds, able to control time or bring people back from the death, but that was only told. None of my family members could do that. It was simple magic we practiced and even at my time as a human our magic faded slowly away. Many of acient books and journals got lost in a fire when my grandma was a child. Only the knowlegde of basic magic survived and not everyone of us practiced magic.”

You didn't want to look in someones eyes, you were ashamed that you never told them the truth and you were sure they wereü mad at you.

“So witches are real,” Joe determined and stroked his beard. You nodded slowly.

Andy hugged you and you buried your face in the crook of her neck. “You are doing great, babe, you finally told them. I know it's hard, but it's better,” Andy soothed you and her words and presence helped you to calm down.

“You knew the whole time she was a witch?” Booker snorted and shook his head. “Why didn't you tell us?”

“It wasn't my story to tell and she was never a threat for us. She isn't a witch and I don't think she lied,” Andy explained firmly and lose her arms from around you. Gratefully you smiled at her and she mimicked it.

“In 700 years you didn't think once to mention that you were a witch,” Joe scolded reproachful.

“Don't overstate it. That's her past, Joe. It died with her and it wasn't important in her new life. And what she said… it seemed like her family never causes any harm towards humans,” Nicky tried to calm Joe down. He was always to patient, he tried to understand my situation and private motives not say anything.

“I know she would never hurt us and you know I love her like a sister. But she could've told us. She told Andy,” responded still a little angry.

“Do you remember how fast she bonded with Andy and Quynh, it's naturally that she told the people she trusted the most. Do you remember how suspicious she was towards men, it took us a decade to gain her complete trust. And then her past didn't matter, he left her family behind.”

Joe sighed in defeat when Nicky convinced him.

“I'm sorry, Y/N,” Joe apologized, but you weren't mad and you had already forgiven him.

“That doesn't explain why you have a doppelgänger?” Booker remembered on the original topic and you nodded in agreement.

“A long time before my birth a powerful witch of my family wanted the witches to be stronger. My family weren't sure what she could really do, but she casted a spell that didn't end up like she wanted. It didn't make her or any of her sisters stronger. It only made the wisdom and knowledge surviving the centuries. The nature allowed us to be reborn, like an reincarnation. The soul came back to earth in a new life, but with the memories of her past lives. Not all memories, but the important ones to remember all the lessons the soul had learned.”

“You never told me that,” Andy mourned and you quirked an eyebrow.

“I did, but I only told you that I could be reborn. I didn't know that it's possible. I still have my soul, this woman isn't me, she can't remember anything from me or my past lives. But I can remember neither today, the memories faded over the centuries. I think the memories from past lives started to come back when I was sixteen or seventeen, but well… it's a long time ago.”

“That's an incredible story, Y/N, but it still doesn't explain why she is your doppelgänger. Is it possible that you can be reborn without your soul?” Joe considered and watched your doppelgänger, she was talking to few other women.

“The soul goes back to her origin one day, that's my grandma always told me. I could imagine it's only a gene recurrence. Something the nature couldn't fix, because I'm still alive. So the nature gave her or if there were more reincarnations; them a new soul.”

Andy listened attentive to your explanation and it was a lot to process. She knew that witches existed, a long time before she met you and she knew that their magic slowly disappered over the centuries. You were part of a family that originated powerful witches, but maybe the curse of reincarnations guranteed the long survive of the witches in your family. After you became part of this warrior family she never heard again of real witches, because with the witch trials in the medieval time the real witches went into hiding and maybe never showed up again, until today.

“Do you think she's a witch?” Andy asked you and you inclined your head. “I don't think so. If she would have powers, then she has two different eye colours or a piece of a different colour in one eye.”

“You have only one eye colour,” Booker mentioned unnecessarily.

“I know, it was gone after I lost my powers. Booker you saw her closer than we could have. Do you remember her eyes?”

“Only one colour,” he answered and you believed him.

“She could wear contact lenses,” Nicky considered and you shook your head. “It's rarely to have different eye colours. But for our peace of mind Booker could do a background check on her, if she's dangerous, we will find out.”

“I will do it, just for safety,” Booker agreed and took a sip from his drink.

Nicky smirked cynically. “And I thought we could have a uneventful week for once.”

“That's would be boring,” you responded sarcastically and you all laughed.

Booker found out that your descendant wasn't dangerous. You hadn't incommon much, besides your family name and appearance. She was born in the U.S., worked as a nurse and was married. Booker told you that your family emigrated in the eighteenth century from today's Germany in the U.S. and remained there until today.

You didn't care about the new informations. You only cared about your current family. Nicky and Joe, Booker, and of course Andy. You didn't regret being an immortal, you met the love of your life and you couldn't be happier.

“I was weird to see a person that looks exactly like you. Now I look at you and I can tell you aren't the same. You have an old burnt scar on your left hand and your muscles are defined. You are talented with the cross bow and your father's long sword. You always smile when you look at me and tell me how happy you are that you had met me. And I love you so much that I couldn't bear to lose you,” Andy whispered in your ear when she hugged you from behind in the middle of the night.

“I love you, too, Andromache.”

***

What do you think?

[nyxxon]

Borderland (Midoriya, Todoroki, Bakugou)

(A/N: Alice in Borderland AU one-shot with our 3 favorite boys [few others who just, oof] and reader because a friend live-streamed it on Discord and I actually liked it even though it was a live-action by Netflix, nonetheless, lol.

This basically follows the first episode with similar dialogue that has been tweaked with some additions per character I used—you basically replace Shibuki. It's also a bit longer than I usually make my one-shots.)

———

You didn't know how it happened . . .

     One minute you were at home in your room as you finished an essay for your English college class—your family downstairs. The next, it had suddenly gone dark while the power suddenly shut off.

     You had muttered a string of curse words as you called down to your mom and dad frustratedly; however, there had been no answer as you called them repeatedly.

     In great reluctance, you had started down the stairs—it dark and oddly quiet. Once you had made it down the stairs, you called out to them once again—having had been greeted by silence once again.

     Slowly, you had begun on your way to the kitchen, looking in the living room to be sure neither were there though it was obvious they weren't.

     When you had peeked into the kitchen, you were only greeted with the deafening silence and emptiness that had been accompanying the entire house at that point.

     Sooner or later after constant searching and calling out verbally, you had tried the next big thing: calling them on your phone. However, your phone had refused to work.

     But something had felt off about the whole situation.

     Though at the time, you didn't know just how right you were . . .

     During the first few hours, you had left your home—only bringing a jacket and a backpack—because of the feeling. It hadn't taken you long to figure out the emptiness of the whole city of Musutafu.

     It was like everything had stopped.

     It had been suspiciously quiet as well.

     All the cars had been at a standstill—some in the middle of the road and odd places that'd be much safer if they hadn't been—no bustling of the normal city life . . .

     Just nothing.

     That had been three days ago, however.

     You somewhat understood your situation albeit still rather confused at the same time. But you knew that in order to leave this place, you had to play the games that were randomly set up and also random.

     But there was a gruesome catch to them all: there was no guarantee you'd make it out alive through any of them . . .

     The first few days had been rough, you'd admit even though you had only played one game at this point.

     The first game you had played had been one you had to board a train. There had been two other people who were already waiting at the game site at the time—a midget male with balls-like dark purple hair and another male with blonde hair with a lightning bolt in it with phones in their hands.

     They looked about your age, you were unsure nor cared to find out at the time since it had been unimportant information. You had asked them what was going on though they had no idea aside from some building lighting up and ushering them into this area—similar to what had happened to you.

     But they had said you apparently needed to grab a phone on the table that had been beside you that also had three gas masks and nine cylinders of what you had figured to be full of air sitting near it.

     When you had grabbed the phone, it instantly turned on with the words "Facial Recognition" on the screen with a load bar that soon disappeared before a female AI voice spoke saying “ Game difficulty, two of hearts. ”

     You had been confused and asked them what this meant but they just shrugged in response while saying they had no clue either and that their own phones had said something similar. You had also asked about the other two items but they also hadn't known anything about them either.

     They had eventually introduced themselves to you as Kaminari and Mineta—the blonde had been Kaminari and the purple haired one had been Mineta. In turn, you had also introduced yourself as a courtesy.

    However, any more communication between you and the group had been quickly dispersed as the phones suddenly had booted back up, the female AI voice sounding once again as it had said the "game" was about to begin in thirty seconds and to head to the tracks.

     The three of you had looked at each other before slowly complying and making it to the tracks. Once you had, the phone AI voice had resounded giving you a rundown of what was required.

     The requirements were to board multiple trains and to successfully make it to the last one—the fourth one. It sounded relatively easy when you had heard it described to you from the AI voice.

     That was until it had said the end part:

     “ One of the four cargo trains that would come for you to ride would have poisonous gas in them. There are three gas masks and nine cylinders of air beside the table that are required to pass. Each person gets three, use them wisely. ”

     In shorter terms:

          • If you are able to get through all four carriages, Game Clear.

          • One of the four rooms is filled with a lethal poisonous gas. If you open the door and breathe in this gas, it is Game over.

     The game was basic but with a horrible twist.

     In the end, you had made it—somehow.

     But Kaminari and Mineta . . .

     They hadn't . . .

     By the end of the game, you had gotten a three-day visa pass which was basically that you were free from having to participate in games for that amount of time. However, if you didn't play a game once the time was up . . .

     Well . . .

     You'd die.

     So here you were now heading to the next game. You had no idea what it'd be, nor did you want to know . . . but you had no choice unless you wanted to die—at least with no chance of avoidance as doing a game would give.

     You slowly made your way into the tall building, passing a car and a lot of lighted things on the wall as you followed the arrows to the next gaming area while gripping the straps of your backpack. But as you near the corner at the last arrow, you could hear hushed talking coming from nearby—no doubt in the next game area.

     Once you had made it to the corner, you peeked behind it as you spotted three males. One had ash blonde hair, another toe toned of white on his left and crimson on his right, while the final one had dark green hair. They all looked to be your age, maybe younger or older by a year or two at most.

     "What the hell is this fucking shit?!" You watched as the ash blonde practically snarled at the phone in his hand.

     "It'd be a phone. I'm sure you've seen plenty of those before though." The dual haired male stated bluntly.

     This caused the ash blonde to whip around and face the other male, "That's not what I fucking meant, you half-and-half bastard."

     Half-and-half bastard? What an odd name. Though you were sure that wasn't the dual haired male's real name, it sounded like a nickname of sorts and you were sure it was.

     "C-Calm down Kacchan . . ." The green haired male began to wave his hands in the air as he looked at the ash blonde, "If . . . if we're calm, m-maybe we can figure this o-out."

     This caused the ash blonde to glare over at him, "Shut the fuck up, Deku!"

     "He's right . . ." The dual haired male came in.

     As you continued to peek behind the corner as they continued to bicker amongst one another, it was quite obvious this group of males were new.

     Boy, were they in for a surprise.

     You frowned, but that also meant you were stuck with them. Unless you found another game to partake in . . . but you were running low in time and there was no telling when another game would pop up before your visa expired.

     Things weren't looking too hot for you. But there wasn't much you could do. It wasn't like you could really pick and choose your "teammates" for the games that popped up.

     With a reluctant sigh, you soon popped out from behind the corner as you headed towards the group of bickering males—mostly the one dubbed "Kacchan." It didn't take long for the green haired male to take notice of you, his eyes widening as you neared them.

     "Uh . . ." He shakily pointed to your form.

     This caused the other two males to stop as they looked in your direction, watching as you passed the red sensor and headed straight to the phones. You picked it up and it instantly turned on, showing the all too familiar words "Facial Recognition" and the loading bar before popping up a card.

     “ Game difficulty, three of clubs. ”

     A bead of sweat appeared on your cheek as you tightened the grip of your bag strap. This was really going to be "fun."

     "W-Who are you?" You heard the meek voice of the green haired make ask.

     You hummed as you turned to face all three of the males who were staring at you, the ash blonde more so glaring. As you studied them for a moment, you saw no harm in telling them your name."(Last Name) (First Name)."

     The green haired male instantly perked up, "I-I'm Midoriya Izuku."

     "I'm Todoroki Shouto." The dual haired male said directly after.

     The ash blonde studied you for a moment, looking you up and down skeptically, "Bakugou Katsuki."

     It seemed "Kacchan" was just a nickname.

     Midoriya began to shit in place, "Uhm . . . w-what is this..?"

     "A game." You simply replied.

     "Where is everyone?" Todoroki asked.

     You shrugged, "I'm unsure."

     "This is fucking bullshit." Bakugou grumbled, "I don't want to play any fucking game." He began to stomp towards the red sensor.

     Midoriya's eyes widened, "K-Kacchan, wait!"

     You quickly gripped Bakugou's arm, causing him to jerk back.

     "What the hell?!" He glared over at you.

     You didn't falter at his hard stare, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

      He narrowed his eyes, "Huh?! What the fuck do you mean?"

     Sighing, you let go of his arm as you searched for something. Your eyes soon landed on an old name tag that had probably been left from previous competitors. You wasted no time in grabbing it before instantly throwing it past the censor.

     Just as you did that, a laser popped up and instantly shot through the old name tag, causing all three of the males' eyes to widen—especially Bakugou's as he backtracked a bit.

     "What the fuck."

     Todoroki blinked, "What was that..?"

     "W-Was that a . . . a laser?!" Midoriya's eyes began to tremor.

     You looked at them, "Once you cross the borderline, you can never return. You have no choice but to participate in the game."

     "You've gotta be fuckin' shitting me." Bakugou frowned, a bead of sweat on his cheek as he continued to stare at the old name tag.

     "Oh!" A random voice started causing you all to look up from the name card and at the periwinkle haired girl who had just appeared from the corner as she soon began to walk towards you all, "I'm so relieved! I thought I'd never find anyone here. I'm Hadou Nejire, It's so nice to finally see actual breathing humans!"

     "W-Wait, Hadou!" Midoriya outcasted his hand to stop her, but it was too late.

     She passed the censor just as he had said those words of warning, giving you all a confused look from the odd expressions you all were giving her.

     You frowned, "You shouldn't have done that."

     Then again, if she hadn't . . . she'd probably die.

     "Fucking idiot." Bakugou grumbled under his breath though anyone could hear it.

     She blinked, "Huh?

     You sighed, as you outcasted a phone you had grabbed. She continued to blink down at it before slowly taking it from you—it doing the basic start-up before a dinging sound soon echoed throughout the room.

     “ Registration closed. The game will now commence. ” The female AI started.

     "Game..?" Hadou mumbled as she stared down at the phone.

     “ Game, dead or alive. Difficulty, three of clubs. ”

     "Three of . . . of clubs..?" Midoriya mumbled.

     A bead of sweat appeared on Todoroki's cheek, "What does that mean..?"

     “ Rule: select the correct door within the stipulated time. ”

     Bakugou scrunched up his nose, "The fuck?"

     “ Clear conditions: leave the building within the time limit. ”

     As the AI finished saying this, an elevator door dinged. This caused everyone in the room to averted their attention behind them as you all stared at the opening elevator, the word start written on the back wall.

     Not hesitating, you quickly walked towards and inside of the elevator as you refaced the others who had confused looks on their faces "You'll die if you keep spacing out."

     They all looked at each other aside from Hadou who quickly trudged inside though in an almost giddily manner.

     "We probably should listen to her . . ." Todoroki muttered as he glanced back to you.

     In reluctance after a few more glances among themselves, the three males all followed suit as they entered the elevator with you and Hadou. Right as Midoriya entered, the elevator closed as it began sending you all to the top floor it seemed.

     After a few seconds, the door soon opened again—revealing a square room with black and white checkered floors—your phones instantly dinged once more.

     “ The time limit for this room is two minutes. ” Right as the AI said that, a timer popped up on the phone as it began counting down the minutes.

     You all slowly shuffled out of the elevator silently, taking notice of the two doors with two different pictures on them: one with a cute anime angel girl, the words "live" above it, and another that was black with a skull, the words "die" above it.

     "What's this..?" Todoroki broke the silence.

     You looked at the cute anime angel poster, "Live: to live . . ." You then looked at the skull poster, "Die: or to die."

     "Tch." Bakugou began to wander around towards the two doors, Todoroki followed along silently.

     Midoriya swallowed as he did the same, "I-Is this really a g-game..? Maybe . . . maybe this is just an event o-or something."

     "Ooh, an event?" Hadou clasped her hands together as she looked around the room in an almost excited manner.

     “ One minute remaining. ”

     Once all the males made it to the "die" door, Todoroki spoke, "Midoriya."

     "Huh?" Midoriya looked at him.

     "Do you have any idea of which one it could be?" Todoroki started making his way towards the "live" door.

     "Well–"

     "I wouldn't choose the skeleton one!" Hadou interrupted.

     "Shut the hell up, airhead." Bakugou growled at the girl who didn't seem phased by his words at all.

     "You're sure a rude one!"

     "Tch."

     "W-What will happen if we . . . we choose the wrong one?" Midoriya mumbled as he looked back at the rest of you.

     You began to eye the two doors as a heavy silence came over the small group. You could feel your heart practically pounding in your chest and pondered the answer.

     There was a fifty-fifty chance in this case scenario. But there was really no logical way to know which door was actually the correct one . . .

     Actually, there was a way.

     You gripped the straps of your bag, "The answer is 'live'." You muttered as everyone looked at you, "Open the door that says 'live'."

     "How the fuck do you know?" Bakugou gave you a skeptical look.

     You looked down and away from his gaze, "Because it's obviously the 'live' door . . ."

     Hadou began to sniff the air as she looked around the room, "Hey, do you guys smell something?" This caused everyone to look at her before gazing around the room yourselves.

     Midoriya soon gasped, "L-Look down!"

     With that, everyone did as he had said, all looking down and seeing the smoke beginning to form up from the tiles of the floor.

     "Fire?" Todoroki started as everyone began to move away from the smoke and began to cough as it got worse and worse.

     “ Thirty seconds remaining. ”

     "The answer is 'live'!" You stated again through coughs, "Open the door!"

     "Open it yourself, you bitch!" Bakugou managed to cough out.

     "What w-will happens when the time runs out?" Midoriya coughed out.

     "We . . . we have no time!" You continued to cough.

     Todoroki looked over at you, "Why do you think that's the answer?"

     "Clearly, we can't choose 'die' can we?" You stated.

     “ Twenty seconds remaining. ”

     "I-I can't stand this smoke anymore!" Hadou whimpered as she passed you all and started towards the 'live' door.

     She quickly began to fumble with the knob before opening it and hurriedly making her way inside; however, once she passed the doorframe, a laser shot out—instantly percent through her. And just like that, she fell to the ground, her body limp and unmoving as the door slammed back shut

     Everyone stood frozen, eyes wide as they just stared at the now-closed door where the girl had gone through.

     Midoriya's eyes tremored, "Did . . . did she . . ." But he couldn't finish the sentence, he didn't want to.

     “ Twenty seconds remaining. ”

     Hearing this, you quickly snapped your head towards the door labeled "die." It had to be that one . . . there was no other to choose from. Not wasting any time, you quickly raced towards it, opening it, and making your way inside—the other three looking at you while they remained where they were at. As expected, no laser did shoot through you.

     “Five–Four–Three . . .”

     Quick glances amongst themselves, they all raced through the door as well as the counter started counting down the seconds. Once it hit one and everyone had managed to get inside, a large fire exploded in the room right as Midoriya had closed the door.

     “ The time limit for this room is one minute and fifty seconds. ” The AI stated once the door had shut.

     You glanced around, it was a similar room to the one you had been in only seconds before. Two doors read the same above them, "live" and "die".

     "She . . . she really died." Midoriya muttered.

     "You were the one who killed that girl." Todoroki bluntly stated as he looked in your direction, a slight glare.

     You just looked at him, emotionless, "You survived because of me, right?"

     Bakugou suddenly grabbed your shoulder roughly, "You little bi–"

     "If you guys keep doing what you did in the room before, you'll die just like her." You muttered.

     His grip tightened on your shoulder momentarily before he let go of you, "Damn it!"

     "What d-do . . . do we do now..?" Midoriya mumbled as he eyed both the doors, "D-Do we choose 'die' here, too..?"

     "Since we chose 'die' last time, shouldn't it be 'live'?" Todoroki offered his suggestion.

     "It can't fucking be 'die' twice in a fucking row!" Bakugou narrowed his eyes at him.

     "It was just a suggestion." Todoroki muttered.

     "But . . . but it is hard to choose 'die' . . ." Midoriya pondered.

     "I'm sure this is a game for us to choose a sacrifice within the time limit." You came in.

     "Sacrifice?" Todoroki repeated the word.

     "There's probably no meaning to the doors." You stated, "It's probably about who's going to be the first to open it. Basically, they're telling us to choose one person in the allotted time."

     Todoroki's eyes narrowed at you, "Like you sacrificed that girl . . ."

     "Why don't you open the damn door then, huh?" Bakugou glared at you, "If you're so fucking high and mighty."

     You glanced at the doors then back to him, "I believe I'm the best suited to survive out of all of you."

     "Huh?" Bakugou suddenly grabbed hold of you and slammed you against the wall rather roughly as he growled at you, "What the fuck did you just say?!"

     If this game didn't kill you, you had a feeling he just might do the job . . . that is if he ended up surviving himself.

     "K-Kacchan!" Midoriya reached out for him though didn't dare get much closer with the look Bakugou gave him.

     Thankfully the AI sounded, “ One minute remaining. ”

     "N-No ones going to open the door at this rate . . ." Midoriya mumbled as he looked between the two doors.

     "So we're all just gonna die from the fucking fire?!" Bakugou looked back at him, his grip loosening a bit but it remained.

     "Then why don't you open it?" You directed the words to him, "Why ask anyone when you can do it yourself?" But as you said this, smoke began to form—coughing beginning to slowly ensue between the group.

     Though Midoriya soon clenched his fists, "I-I'll open."

     This caused everyone to look in his direction with wide eyes, aside from you, upon the unexpected proclamation. Admittedly you were a bit shocked as well given the personality he had shown so far, but you weren't complaining either. As long as it wasn't you opening the door, it didn't matter . . .

     Everyone—unmoving—watched as Midoriya slowly began his way towards the "live" door.

     "The fuck, Deku?!" Bakugou came in but kept his hold on you.

     Midoriya ignored them, obviously trembling, as he eyed the two doors back and forth before heading towards the one that read "die" on top of it.

     "Midoriya, don't be provoked by her." Todoroki warned.

     Midoriya slowly and shakily reached for the handle, gripping it but not opening it as he just stood frozen in his spot—staring down at it.

     “ Thirty seconds remaining. ”

     "Midoriya!" Todoroki shouted right as the male was about to open the door.

     However, Midoriya didn't move and continued to shake in his spot. But his hand soon fell limply to his side as he just stared down at the handle before dropping to his knees.

     He couldn't do it.

     "See." You started, "You can't open it, you'd've even sacrificed that girl, too."

     "Shut the hell up!" Bakugou roughly pushed you against the wall as he let you go.

     “ Twenty seconds remaining. ”

     "I'll fucking do it." Bakugou soon growled as he walked towards the door with '"live" above it.

     Todoroki's eyes widened slightly, "Bakugou–"

     "He has bad fucking luck anyway."

     Midoriya looked back at his friend as he stopped in front of the "live" door, "K-Kacchan . . ."

     "We'll take fucking turns." Bskugou muttered as he stared down at the door handle—his hand hovering over—before looking over at you, "You'll be next."

     “ Ten seconds. ”

     He looked back at the door.

     "Kacchan . . ."

     Taking in a deep breath and swallowing, his hand hovered over the door handle for a few more seconds before quickly opening it and dashing through.

     "Kacchan!" Midoriya quickly scrambled up but stopped upon realizing his friend had successfully passed through.

     Bakugou let out a sigh of relief as he realized he had passed through the door, unharmed, too. It seemed he had made the right call in the end.

     “ Five–Four–Three . . .”

     Once the second countdown started, the rest of you quickly started towards the door. And like the last time, once you had passed the frame upon the last second, a fire exploded in the room right as you shut the door this time.

     “ The time limit for the room, one minute forty seconds. ”

     Midoriya looked at his phone as the counter began, "The time l-limit is shortening each time."

     Bakugou looked over at you, "Now you get the next fucking door." He soon got up from his spot as he trudged over to you, grabbing your arm rather roughly as he started to drag you to one of the doors, "I'll choose the damn door."

     Your eyes widened, "H-Hey!"

     He instantly slammed you against the door with the anime angel, "Live."

     But you didn't budge as you just glared at him from against the door which didn't bode well with him it seemed as he was getting frustrated—though that seemed to be a natural occurrence with him anyway given from what you had seen thus far.

     "Open it, damnit!"

     Your brows began to twitch, "No . . ."

     "You–!"

     "Bakugou, calm down," Todoroki muttered from the other side.

     "Don't tell me to fucking calm down, half-and-half!" He glared over at him.

     Todoroki sighed as he glanced over at Midoriya who had been silent this whole time, deep in thought while sitting on the ground, "Do you have any ideas, Midoriya..?"

     This snapped him away from his thoughts, "Ideas..?"

     Todoroki made his way towards him, "You always say there's a solution for every problem."

      "Uh, w-well yes, bu-but this isn't a game . . ."

     "You're always solving things that seem impossible, you have to have an idea." Todoroki states.

     "But . . . but this is no game." Midoriya's lips began to quiver as he looked down at the phone in his hand, "It's all about l-luck."

     “ One minute remaining. ”

     "Come on, think Midoriya." Todoroki urged, "There had to be a hint somewhere . . ."

     "A hint . . ." Midoriya's muttered as he began to search his mind for something and as he did this, smoke began to come up from the floor—signaling time was growing short. He began to look all around the room, every square inch. His eyes began to widen, "Oh . . ."

     This caused everyone to look at him.

     "What is it?" Todoroki asked.

     "Wait a minute . . ." Midoriya soon got up from the floor.

     “ Thirty seconds remaining. ”

     He walked towards the middle of the room, "BMW 523rd."

     Bakugou's eyes narrowed at him, "The fuck are you spouting on about?"

     "I-It was a BMW 523rd." Midoriya repeated.

     "So?"

     "What are you implying?" Todoroki asked.

     Midoriya looked down at his hand, "It's . . . it's 'die'."

     "How do you know..?" You blinked at him.

     “ Ten seconds remaining. ”

     "There's . . . there's no time." Midoriya muttered, "I-I'll open the door." With that, he quickly headed to the door he had mentioned.

     "Midoriya, a-are you sure..?" A bead of sweat appeared on Todoroki's cheek as he quickly headed to where the other male was.

     Midoriya squeezed his eyes shut as he gripped the handle of the door, "P-Please . . ." With those words, He quickly opened the door, stumbling through.

     No death laser.

     “ Five–Four–Three . . . ”

     Not wasting any more time, everyone else entered soon after him, Bakugou being the one to shut the door this time as a loud sound erupted behind it—no doubt the fore that had been making a presence every time time would run out.

     “ The time limit for this room is one minute and thirty seconds. ”

     "Do you know which it is now?" Todoroki questioned as he watched Midoriya become frantic as he looked around the room,

     "The . . . the BMW 523rd is four meters and ninety-four centimeters . . . there was one parked outside." Midoriya started.

     "What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Bakugou narrowed his eyes over at the other male.

The remainder of the story because of cut off: