#“of course!” fist in the air the amused bravado in his voice

[snurtsnurt]

y'all i dont understand why everywhere i look Simon "ghost" Riley is portrayed as this big broody stoic guy... Just watched the game and that mans ass is goofy as all hell

[emoerotica]

Power Play

・❥・ Wriothesley x Fem Reader Smut ・❥・

I got this idea from a playlist(Aelia on YT). You and Wriothesley decide to take out some tension with a little boxing match. This contains sexual themes and uses explicit language. Enjoy, you little freaks <3

・❥・ ・❥・

Power Play

The dull thud of fists meeting gloves echoed through the training room, each hit measured, deliberate, but filled with the underlying tension that always came with sparring against Wriothesley. It wasn’t just practice—it was a test of control, of skill, of who could outmaneuver the other. The two of you had a working rhythm at the Fortress of Meropide, maintaining order among prisoners, but in the ring, it was a constant battle to prove who was sharper.

You slipped past his guard again, your fist connecting solidly with his ribs. Wriothesley grunted and staggered back, his lips pressing into a thin line as you advanced.

“You slowing down, Duke?” you taunted, grinning as you shoved him back to the mat. He hit the ground with a thud, lying beneath you as you quickly straddled his hips, hands planted on his broad chest. A rush of triumph spread through you, your heart pounding. “Looks like I win this one.”

His chest rose and fell with his steady breath, and for a moment, he stayed there, pinned beneath you, the hint of amusement dancing in his sharp blue eyes. Then, just as your grin widened, he spoke.

“I gotta say…” His voice was low, smooth, laced with something wicked. “You look good on top of me.”

The words hit you like a jab to the ribs, throwing you off your rhythm. A flash of heat crept up your neck, and in that split second of hesitation, you lost focus.

Wriothesley took full advantage. With a sharp twist of his body and a well-timed shift of his hips, he threw you off balance. In the blink of an eye, the world flipped, and suddenly, *you* were the one pinned beneath him, your back against the cool mat.

He gripped your wrists and pinned them effortlessly above your head, his knees bracketing your hips as he loomed over you. His face was close—too close—and that damnable smirk was back, tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Got distracted there, didn’t you?” he murmured, his tone rich with amusement. The smugness in his gaze was almost unbearable as his grip tightened just slightly on your wrists, reminding you that, for now, he had the upper hand.

Your heart pounded wildly, half from the fight, half from the proximity—and, of course, that insufferable grin.

“Better keep your focus next time, or you’ll end up just like this again,” he added with a chuckle, leaning closer until his breath brushed against your skin.

Before you could muster a retort, the buzzer rang, signaling the end of the round. Wriothesley released you with an easy grin, standing up and offering you a hand like nothing had happened.

You stared up at him, still catching your breath, heat crawling up your neck and into your cheeks. Damn him. Even when you thought you had him, he always found a way to turn the tables—and leave you completely flustered in the process.

“Come on,” he said with a playful gleam in his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up already.”

With a huff, you took his hand, swearing under your breath that next time, you’d be ready. But even as you stood, the lingering smirk on his face told you he knew just how deeply he’d gotten under your skin.

The sweat glistened on your brow as you wiped it away, throwing him a defiant look. But no amount of bravado could ease the tension between you—it clung to the air, taut and unyielding. Wriothesley’s words echoed in your mind, and as you turned toward the showers, the heat of his presence lingered, stubborn and consuming, much like the memory of his breath, close enough to steal.

The hot water poured over you as you stepped under the showerhead, steam coiling around your body in a suffocating embrace. You closed your eyes, determined to wash away the moment, but his teasing grin haunted you. The way he’d pinned you so effortlessly made your pulse quicken even now. His confidence wasn’t just a weapon—it was an invitation, dangerous and alluring, and no matter how much you fought it, you couldn’t help but be drawn in.

You ran your hands through your wet hair, trying to shake him from your thoughts, but they only returned with more vivid clarity—his sly smirk, the mischief lurking behind his gaze, and the way he loomed over you like a hunter sizing up prey. The memory of him pressed against you stirred something primal, making your heart pound for all the wrong reasons.

A sigh of frustration escaped your lips, and you leaned back against the cold tiles. Heat bloomed low in your belly, and without thinking, your hands drifted downward, instinct guiding you to where you ached the most. Fingers dipped between your folds, teasing the slickness that had gathered there. A soft moan slipped from your lips, and you bit down hard to muffle it, but the sound still reverberated through the steam-filled room.

Your fingers circled your clit in slow, desperate strokes, your hips twitching to match their rhythm. But the more you thought of him—how rough his hands might feel, how easily they’d command your body—the deeper your desire grew. You imagined his fingers in place of your own, filling you, making you unravel under his touch, and the thought made you wetter. You quickened your pace, chasing the release that hovered just out of reach.

With every thrust of your fingers, the knot inside you tightened, pleasure eroding shame until only need remained. The air thickened with your whimpers, and his name slipped from your lips before you could stop it. The sound of it—Wriothesley—filled the room, raw and unguarded, carried by the echo of your voice.

“Hey, you almost done in there?” His voice drifted through the door, smooth and casual, though the underlying edge made your pulse stutter.

Your hands froze, tension rippling through you as the soft sound of footsteps approached. “Y-yeah. Just a sec-.”

The faint creak of the door made your heart leap into your throat.

“Careful,” Wriothesley warned, his voice laced with a sly undertone. “It’s slippery in here.”

Before you could react, the curtain shifted, and there he was, stepping into the shower, steam swirling around him like a cloak. He leaned against the tiled wall, arms crossed over his chest, a knowing grin playing on his lips.

“What are you doing!?” you stammered, heat rushing to your cheeks, a mixture of indignation and embarrassment swelling inside you.

He shrugged, utterly unfazed. “Thought I’d join you. Training’s exhausting, and a little steam never hurt anyone.” His grin widened, infuriatingly charming. The space between you seemed to shrink, the air thick with something unspoken, something dangerous.

Your heart raced, and you tried to steady yourself, keeping your voice light. “This is—”

“Don’t act like I didn’t hear you.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “I heard everything.”

A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes as he brushed a droplet from your cheek with his thumb. The simple touch sent a shockwave of heat through your body, and the tension crackled between you like a live wire.

“Wriothesley…” His name left your lips in a breathless whisper, a plea tangled in the weight of the moment.

He tilted his head, the grin softening into something more dangerous. “Too much?” he murmured. “Or just enough?”

The intensity in his gaze pinned you in place, and for a heartbeat, you felt like prey again—cornered, ensnared, and dangerously willing to stay that way. “Maybe,” he whispered, leaning in, “you need a reminder to keep your guard up.”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his body radiating warmth against yours. Every nerve in your body screamed to pull away, to resist, but you couldn’t move. His eyes dropped to your lips, and suddenly the world outside the shower ceased to exist.

“Just one kiss,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The offer hung between you, thick with unspoken promises and simmering tension. You knew you should push him away, but the hunger in his gaze made it impossible to think straight.

“Just one,” he repeated, his breath fanning against your skin as his lips brushed yours, featherlight, testing the boundaries. The heat of the water drummed against your back, but it paled in comparison to the fire building between you.

When you leaned in, surrendering to the pull, the kiss ignited like a spark catching flame. His hands tangled in your wet hair, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until the line between want and need blurred.

Every inch of restraint shattered under his touch, and as your lips melded with his, you knew you were exactly where he wanted you—where you wanted to be.

Wriothesley’s kiss deepened, stealing your breath, his grip tightening in your hair. The moment you let yourself fall into it, he moved with startling force, pinning you against the cold shower wall. The sharp chill of the tiles against your back contrasted with the scorching heat radiating from him, and a gasp escaped your lips.

"That’s better," he murmured, his voice low and rough as his body pressed firmly against yours, leaving no space between you. His hands roamed possessively over your skin, mapping every curve, every inch.

Before you could say anything, his mouth descended on your neck, teeth grazing over the delicate skin before he bit down—not hard enough to break, but enough to send jolts of pleasure-pain spiraling through your nerves. A helpless whimper escaped you as he licked over the mark, soothing the sting, only to sink his teeth in a different spot, creating a trail of heated bites and kisses down the side of your throat.

Each mark he left sent another wave of arousal through you, and your moans echoed shamelessly in the steam-filled bathroom. But Wriothesley didn’t ease up. He growled softly against your skin, clearly pleased by how easily you melted under his control, by every noise you made that betrayed how much you wanted this.

"Making all those pretty sounds for me," he whispered, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. His lips ghosted over your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "And we’ve barely started."

His hands slid lower, fingers rough and deliberate as they traveled over your wet skin. When they reached between your legs, he didn't hesitate. Two fingers pressed through your folds, spreading your slickness, and his chuckle was dark, satisfied.

"You’re soaked," he murmured, voice husky with amusement as he dragged his fingers lazily through your wet heat, teasing you. "Were you thinking of me this whole time, huh? That’s cute."

Your hips jerked involuntarily toward his hand, desperate for more, but Wriothesley clicked his tongue, denying you any control. "Patience," he warned, though the smirk tugging at his lips made it clear he enjoyed watching you squirm beneath him.

With excruciating slowness, he circled your clit, coaxing soft whimpers from your lips. The sensation was maddening—just enough to make your toes curl but not enough to push you over the edge. "You like this, don’t you?" he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. "Being under me, letting me play with you like this."

You bit down on your lip to stifle a moan, but Wriothesley’s fingers moved faster, circling with merciless precision. "Don’t hold back on me now," he growled. "I want to hear you."

Your head tipped back against the tiles, a moan ripping from your throat as the pleasure became unbearable. His fingers slipped lower, teasing your entrance, and with a deliberate thrust, he sank two fingers inside you. You clenched around them instinctively, and the sound he made—a low, satisfied groan—only fueled your need.

"That’s it," Wriothesley murmured, curling his fingers just right, hitting a spot that made your knees buckle. "Let me feel how badly you need this."

Your hands scrambled for purchase against the wet tiles as his pace quickened, his fingers thrusting deep, relentless and knowing. Every thrust drove you higher, pleasure coiling tight in your belly, your moans now loud and uninhibited.

"Look at you," he muttered, his voice heavy with praise and command. "Falling apart on my fingers like this. You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?"

The knot in your core tightened with every word, every stroke of his fingers inside you, and you knew you were close—so, so close.

"Come on," he coaxed, his tone dark and velvety, his thumb brushing your clit in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. "Let go for me. I want to feel you."

And with one final thrust, the coil inside you snapped. You cried out, the sound raw and unrestrained as you came hard around his fingers, your body shuddering uncontrollably. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, dragging you under, and Wriothesley didn’t let up—he kept his fingers moving, drawing every last bit of pleasure from you as you trembled in his grasp.

"There it is," he whispered, watching with dark satisfaction as your release coated his hand. "Look how messy you’ve made yourself."

You panted, trying to catch your breath, but Wriothesley didn’t pull away. His fingers slid out of you slowly, purposefully, and he brought them to his lips, licking them clean with a smirk that made your stomach twist with anticipation.

"Good," he murmured, his gaze locked on yours, heavy with intent. "But we’re not done yet."

Wriothesley’s dark gaze remained fixed on you as he freed himself, his hand wrapping around his length. He pumped himself slowly at first, dragging out a low groan from his throat as he stroked from base to tip. The sight of you trembling, chest heaving against the cold tiles, only seemed to spur him on.

“You look so good like this,” he muttered, voice rough with desire. "And I’m not even inside you yet."

His tip brushed against your entrance, teasingly slow, and you squirmed, your body already sensitive from the high you had just ridden. You whimpered, hips instinctively shifting toward him, craving the fullness only he could give.

Wriothesley gave a soft chuckle. “So needy,” he mused, positioning himself at your entrance. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

And with that, he pushed inside, inch by inch, filling you so completely that it knocked the breath from your lungs. The stretch was exquisite, a sweet ache that had you clenching around him, and Wriothesley let out a guttural groan as he sank into you fully.

“Fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth, pausing for just a moment to savor the way you felt around him. "You're so tight... taking me so perfectly."

He started slow, his thrusts deep and deliberate, but it didn’t take long before his restraint began to slip. His pace quickened, hips snapping forward with a brutal rhythm that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your overstimulated body.

"Too much?" Wriothesley asked, though the mischievous grin on his face suggested he already knew the answer. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "You're doing so well for me. Look at you, still taking it."

Each thrust was harder than the last, driving you higher and higher, and you could do nothing but cling to him, lost in the overwhelming sensations that threatened to consume you. Your moans turned into gasps, a mix of pleasure and desperation, but Wriothesley wasn’t slowing down.

Suddenly, he hooked his hands beneath your thighs and lifted you with ease, pressing you firmly against the shower wall. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, locking him in place as he pounded into you with relentless force. The new angle had you crying out, pleasure surging through you with every rough stroke.

“Look at you,” he growled between ragged breaths, his voice thick with approval. "Taking me so well, even like this. You like it when I ruin you, don’t you?"

Your mind was a blur, your body trembling uncontrollably as he drove deeper, hitting every sensitive spot inside you. His words sent a wave of heat through you, and you felt the knot of pleasure coil tight in your belly once more, impossibly close to snapping again despite the overwhelming overstimulation.

“That’s it,” Wriothesley groaned, his pace becoming more erratic, his own release drawing near. “Come for me. I know you’ve got one more in you.”

His thumb found your clit, circling it roughly in time with his thrusts, and that was all it took. Your release crashed over you, a violent wave of pleasure that tore a broken moan from your throat. Your walls clenched around him, dragging him deeper, and Wriothesley let out a strained groan of his own, hips stuttering as he chased his own high.

“Fuck—" he hissed, driving into you with one final thrust before he came, his release spilling deep inside you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning against your skin as he rode out the aftershocks. His grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you pinned against the wall as you both trembled through the fading waves of ecstasy.

For a moment, the only sound was the shower water pattering against your skin, mingling with the sound of your ragged breaths. Wriothesley stayed there, still inside you, until his breathing steadied.

Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His expression softened, the mischievous grin replaced by something almost tender. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips—soft and unhurried, a stark contrast to the intensity of moments ago.

“You good?” he murmured against your lips, thumb brushing a stray droplet from your cheek.

You nodded, still catching your breath. Wriothesley chuckled softly, giving your thigh a playful squeeze before setting you carefully back down on your feet.

"Alright," he said, his tone lighter now. "As fun as that was, we both need to actually get clean now."

He gave you a crooked grin as he grabbed the soap, handing it to you with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Come on, unless you want me to take over again."

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension melting away as the warmth of the water continued to cascade over both of you.

[cyllres]

Im curious how yn reacts to todo’s “what’s your type” question

“What's your type?” Todo asked, his voice carrying a challenge as he stood across from you, unyielding. His towering frame cast a looming shadow over the sunlit field, muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike, but you didn’t flinch.

Your eyes narrowed, your hand raised, formed into a gun. The tension was palpable, thick in the humid afternoon air as if the atmosphere itself were anticipating the collision of wills. A bead of sweat trickled down your temple, but your gaze remained unwavering, cold and sharp, the multiple red rings in your eyes glowing eerily in the sunlight. You were calculating, waiting for the slightest misstep.

“My type?” you repeated slowly, voice dripping with mockery, the absurdity of such a question in the heat of battle making you scoff under your breath. The corner of your mouth tugged upwards in a mocking smirk, but your eyes stayed locked on Todo.

“That's a dangerous question to ask a girl holding you at gunpoint, don’t you think?” Your words slithered out, soft and venomous, as if daring him to take a step forward.

Todo’s grin widened, almost maniacal, his excitement growing. His massive fists clenched, but he didn’t move, savoring the tension like it was part of the fight. “I bet it's someone strong, someone with lots of muscles and a big body” he boomed, chest puffing out slightly as if to emphasize his point, his voice carrying across the field with a weight that could have crushed most people's spirits. But not yours.

You tilted your head, a predator sizing up prey, and let his words linger in the air, thick with challenge. “Strength?” You mused, dragging the word out, tasting it as you watched the faintest flicker of hesitation cross his face. “Perhaps. But that’s not all.”

Your smirk deepened into something darker, your finger twitching ever so slightly, and the invisible force you commanded seemed to thrum against your skin, ready to strike. “I like someone... obedient. Loyal. The type who knows their place.” Your voice, calm and icy, made the very air around you drop in temperature.

Todo’s bravado faltered, a slight shift in his stance as the weight of your words hit him. His muscles tensed, but you could see it—the crack in his armor, the slight unease that had crept in.

“But unpredictable,” you continued, voice soft and lethal. “Someone dangerous, like a rabid dog that doesn't know when to stop biting.” Your smile now was all teeth, cold and cruel. “But when I tell them to stop—they will.”

“And of course, they’d have to look cute,” you added with a twisted, playful tone, your voice cutting through the moment with a jarring lightness. Yet, despite the playful veneer, the underlying menace in your words remained. The ground seemed to hum with energy, the breeze dying completely, as if the air itself waited for your next move

Todo’s grin tightened, forced now as he sized you up, his playful game not as amusing as before. You could see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out whether you were serious or playing along.

You took a breath, and then with an icy, almost playful laugh, you added, “Boring answer, isn't it?” You raised an eyebrow, taunting, enjoying the way he shifted, clearly unsure of whether you were bluffing.

“But then again…” Your voice dropped, the sharpness in your tone cutting through the silence like a knife. “Good thing I don’t have to answer to dogs.”

-

*Todo right after the fight.*

*Todo in the infirmary*

*Todo talking to himself*: “yn said she wants someone strong but obedient, she even said that she wants someone that's like a rabid dog but they have to be cute. But right after that she called me a dog. Are there any chances I am that dog?”

*Junpei, who was forced to take care of Todo because yn doesn't want to deal with him*: “....I'm pretty sure she just insulted you.”

*Also junpei in the inside*: ‘I'M NOT Y/N’S TYPE?!’

*Megumi, also in the same room.*: “yea she just insulted you…”

*But also Megumi mentally*: *aggressively recalls the times yn called him cute.*

[honeyxmonkey]

@fluffubunny23 your addition to the douxie hates superman post made me wanna write this

Douxie had a tipping point. Superman was very good at almost getting him there multiple times but this time. This time was the last time.

"I will not be ordered around by some petulant child!"

Douxie snapped. He slammed his hand down on the table, a flash of blue fire shooting off his fingertips, rolling over the table, scaring the shit out of everyone seated. The lights in the room dimmed to the point where the only light in the room was from the blinking computer screens and the pissed off glowing wizard.

"Child?" He growled, voice echoing in layers in a way that sent chills down the congregation. "You keep telling me I'm a child, you keep treating me like a child!" He leaned forward, wisps of blue fire curling off his body, hair floating listlessly around his face, eyes glowing electric blue in the effortless display of power. "I'm not a child. I'm an ageless being who's seen more war, more bloodshed, more pointless violence than any of you will ever live to see. I've seen the rise and fall of millions of countries and kingdoms. I've seen so many good men become corrupt and evil. I've fought in more wars than I care to count." He fixed a collected, steely glare on Superman who, despite all his bravado and talk, cowered slightly beneath the look. "I'm the lone survivor of an age none of you were even alive to remember. I am the successor to Merlin Ambrosius and protector of the realm." He stood straight, fists clenching at his sides. "When you all look at me you see a boy, a naive teenager who needs your help to find his place in this world. I'm well over centuries old, so to me, it's you who are the children." Douxie glared out at the gathering of heroes. "Let me ask you this. Do you know how the world has stayed safe for all these years before the Justice League was formed?" He tilted his head, raising a brow at them. "All these dangers didn't just appear. They've always been here."

Diana was silent, staring grimly at her colleagues. It took a special person to get Hisirdoux Casperan this angry.

"Its been me." He said, bringing a hand up and flexing his fingers, watching his magic dance off his fingertips. "I've been protecting the world, this realm for centuries. I've been keeping all these horrors you're all so terrified of at bay and still you continue to treat me as if I'm an idiot child."

He gave Superman a pointed glare, leaning forward on the table again. "I want you to know that I could end you if I wanted to, Man of Steel. There are many things your powers protect you from but I'm not one of them. The only reason I haven't is because I'm nice." He slowly curled his hands into fists, the table cracking and splintering as Douxie's magic coursed through it. "But don't mistake kindness for weakness. Weak is far from what I am."

With a snap in the air the lights came back on and the terrifying glow faded from the wizard. He stood straight and crossed his arms, hazel eyes looking somewhat amused at the horror and fear on everyone's faces.

"Dont worry," he said, shrugging as he turned on his heel. "You get to keep your title as the League's most powerful member. I have no intrest in joining your band of over-glorified cosplayers."

[jingabitch]

A Deal with the Devil

SUMMARY: You’re not sure whether the demon in front of you is real or a hallucination, but you don’t really care.

RATING: Explicit

PAIRINGS: Hoseok x reader

WARNINGS: smut | loss of virginity | demon!hobi | kinda dark stuff | talk about death and execution | potentially offensive religious references

WORD COUNT: 6.6k

A/N: For the demon!au prompt for the BTS Ghostie bingo challenge.

Thank you to the lovely betas who looked over this @lunarlxve and @sungiesangel, and to @jkeuphoriadreamland for listening to me whine about the backstory!! 

This room – damp, smelling like mold, cold. It was all you knew. All you’d ever known. Tomorrow would be your first and last time leaving, to be publicly executed in front of the entire city.

The unfairness made you want to scream. Instead, you sat by the window and sobbed. You didn’t understand; you’d never understood. The people who’d come to give you food and water had just said that you were here for the protection of yourself and the kingdom, but you didn’t understand why it had to be you who got locked up and then butchered like an animal.

The sound of the heavy door scraping against the ground as it opened made you turn around hopefully. For what though, you didn’t know. Maybe for the father, you’d always been told you needed to be here to save, to take his turn saving you?

“Oh, it’s just you,” you said dismissively to the new entrant, turning back to rest your chin on the windowsill. You weren’t exactly in the mood for company today.

Hoseok tsked at you. “That’s no way to greet someone.”

You didn’t bother to respond. Surely you could be forgiven for your lack of manners on the eve of your death. Besides, it was just Hobi. He was your best (and only) friend, and you were sure he would understand, given the circumstances. You didn’t quite know where he came from, but he’d been around since you were a child, probably just a couple of years older than you.

Hearing you sniffle miserably, he drew closer cautiously. “Hey,” he said tentatively. “You okay?”

“What do you think, Hobi?” you snapped.

“Someone’s in a mood,” he said lightly.

“Well, someone is going to be burned at the stake tomorrow, so unless you have something that can help, save it,” you snarled.

“It seems like today is your lucky day, then,” he almost sang.

“What are you talking ab—” you started, turning to face him, before screaming at the sight you saw in front of you. In the time that you had looked away from him, he’d somehow sprouted horns and wings. Massive, black leathery wings now bracketed his body, taking up almost all the space in the small room.

Your eyes, panicked, shot up to his, discovering that his warm brown eyes had changed. He now gazed back at you with eyes a deep emerald green, with black slit pupils. Panicked, you fell onto your knees sobbing, not even feeling the pain of the impact reverberating through the joints.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, spare my soul, demon.” Your hands were clasped in front of you as tears slid down your face.

“Y/n, please stop screaming.” Hoseok – or the demon wearing Hoseok’s face – held his hands out placatingly, coming towards you. He was speaking to you the way one might an injured animal, but far from being soothed, the sight of the demon coming towards you terrified you further, and you scrabbled backward until your back hit the wall, cowering away from him.

Realizing that this wasn’t working, Hoseok folded his wings behind him and got on his knees to be on your level. “Y/n, please, please stop. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You’d stopped screaming, but you were still terrified, pressing your shoulders back into the wall so hard that you could feel the indents of the rough stone wall almost cutting into your skin. Still, Hoseok recognized this as progress.

“I’m just Hobi, okay?” he said, using your childish nickname for him. You’d given it to him the first time you met him when you were five, and he was (you’d thought) seven because you couldn’t pronounce his name properly, and it had stuck.

“Who—” you paused to swallow hard, then tried again. “What are you?” Your voice trembled, as did your hands, fisted in your skirt.

He grinned. “Can’t you tell?” he asked, opening his wings slightly with a flourish. Startled, you jerked back and hit your head on the wall. Realising that this wasn’t really the time for jokes, he folded them back against his back contritely. “Sorry,” he apologized, shuffling closer on his knees. “Are you okay?” He reached for you, wanting to cradle the back of your head and check that you were okay, but your eyes flared in terror at his outstretched hands, and he dropped them by his side.

“Okay,” he said, sitting on the ground cross-legged. “I’ll just stay here, okay? Will you please listen to me now?”

Pressing your lips together, you managed the tiniest of nods.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he started. “In fact, it’s the opposite. I want to save you from the stake.”

“But—why? And how?” You were losing your mind, you were sure of it. “And, are you really Hobi?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

You blinked. “But Hobi was a little boy when I met him.” That tiny detail was the only thing your frazzled mind could hold on to.

“I came to you as a child and manipulated my appearance, so it looked like we were growing up together.” He shrugged.

“Oh, right, just like that,” you said in a mocking tone, laughing sarcastically.

Instead of answering you, he transformed in front of you, a puff of smoke dissipating into the air to reveal the boy you remembered from your childhood. “Do you believe me now?” he asked in a high-pitched, childlike voice, blinking up at you.

“Why are you telling me all this now?” you asked faintly.

“I told you, Y/n-ie. To save you.” He transformed back into his original appearance and shook his wings out.

You pulled a skeptical face. “Why does a demon care what happens to me?” You’d never left this room, but one of the few books you had access to was the Bible, and you knew that demons were evil, manipulative creatures.

“Y/n, come on. I’ve been your friend all your life. Is it so difficult to believe that I want to help you?”

“Well, I don’t even know why you were hanging around me all this time, so yes,” you said, folding your arms across your chest.

Hoseok huffed. Where had you gotten all this attitude? You’d been stuck here all your life. You truly were your father’s daughter. “Fine. If I explain everything, will you let me help you?”

Standing, you brushed the dirt off your clothes. “Fine,” you sniffed, walking past him to the one chair you had in the sparsely decorated room. “But only because it’s not like I have anywhere to be.”

Even in the face of everything going on in your life, you found it in you to sass him. He wanted to kiss you as much as he wanted to slap you silly, and thankfully, if everything went according to plan, he’d get to do both. Standing, he turned to face you, perched on your chair with your back straight and chin up. He could see the princess in you, and imagine you seated on an ornate throne, dressed in the most lavish of gowns rather than the slightly frayed linens you wore now.

In another life, that would be your fate. But in this one, you were his. He knew he had you in his grasp, he had spent a lifetime (well, your lifetime) getting to know you. You were backed into a corner now, and as much as you tried to pretend, he knew you had nothing.

“I was sent to you,” he started.

The laughter bubbled out of your chest. “Wow, my guardian demon!” you mocked.

“If you’ll let me finish,” he gritted, annoyed. He knew you were hiding your fear behind bravado, but it was still irritating as hell. He heard your father had been the same way, though, laughing in the face of the enemy who had vanquished him, telling him he would never amount to anything, that he would damn the kingdom. He’d turned out to be right, but still.

You subsided, sulking. The Hoseok you knew had always been so jovial, constantly smiling, and laughing. This demon standing in front of you could not be more different.

“God and Lucifer had a bet,” he explained, “over whether or not the humans would put you to death. God thought that people would be good and kind, not treat people as a means to an end, all that good stuff. Lucifer… has a very different take on humanity,” he said dryly. “I was sent to make sure you were delivered to your execution.”

“And yet you are offering to save me from the clutches of death?” In your distress, your tone turned snippy, reverting back to the formal language that you so rarely had the need for, cloaking yourself in your royal lineage.

“Yes, my lady.” Two could play at this game. He would indulge you for as long as you wanted.

“You would disobey your master? Why?”

He stepped closer, forcing you to crane your neck to look up at him. "I have acquired a certain fondness for you over the past fifteen years, my lady.”

“Is that so?” you murmured.

“Of course, my lady. How could I not, after watching you blossom into such a beautiful woman?” His rakish grin as he ran his hand through his hair would be your downfall, you just knew it.

Instead of answering, however, you redirected the conversation, although the colour that appeared high on your cheeks showed your discomfiture. “And what will happen if I am not at tomorrow’s execution?”

“Lucifer will lose,” Hoseok replied simply.

Your sharp gaze let him know that you were not amused by his non-answer. “The kingdom will be turned upside down to find you. As long as you remain missing, the rule of the king will not be secure.” His second attempt was far more informative.

“So civil war, then.” Your voice trembled as you said it. You knew that the kingdom had just emerged from decades of internal conflict. Your disappearance would throw it back into disarray. Could your conscience handle it? Wasn’t the death of one prisoner girl a just price to save thousands of innocent lives?

Hoseok could see the hesitation in the way your hands clenched anxiously into fists, wrinkling the linens you wore. As respectable as your altruism was, it was wholly unnecessary in this case.

“Y/n, do you know why you were locked up here? Why do you have to be killed publicly tomorrow by burning?”

Your gaze snapped to his. “Of course,” you replied immediately. That had been the question on your mind ever since you were aware of your surroundings when you’d wanted to go out and play, and the servants and guards had told you no. You parroted their words now to the demon standing in front of you. “It’s for my protection and the protection of the kingdom.”

“Yes, but why?” he pressed. “Why you? How does you being here accomplish that?”

It felt like there wasn’t enough air in the room. He was pressuring you, voicing aloud the questions that had tormented you, kept you awake at night, staring deep into your soul and forcing free all the secrets you didn’t dare acknowledge for fear of what it would cost you.

“Stop it,” you hissed, attempting to remain composed, to show him that you weren’t affected by his sinful words. But despite your royal blood, you were untrained in the art of decorum, and your distress was visible in every inch of your body, from the clench of your jaw to the set of your shoulders and the tears that you couldn’t force back.

“Your father,” he continued, undeterred, “was the king. He was overthrown and given a traitor’s execution by the man who usurped him, the current king.”

“Stop it!” you cried, abandoning all pretense of nonchalance as you threw yourself from your chair, pressing your hands against your ears. “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” you sobbed. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

“Y/n, I understand that it’s difficult, but you must know all of this. If you choose to die a martyr for your people tomorrow at dawn, that is your decision. But you should know why.” He bent to you, placing his hand on your shoulder as he sought your gaze.

You glared at him with teary eyes. “Why?” you demanded. “Why do I have to know? What am I supposed to do with this information? I’ve been locked in this room my whole life, for God’s sake!” you screamed. Hoseok sat on the ground in front of you, holding you close to his chest and rocking you back and forth.

“Shh,” he consoled you as you wept, letting you cling to him as you had so many times before. No matter what it was – a scraped knee, a scolding from a guard when you’d gotten too curious about the outside world – he’d been the one who was there for you. As he was now. The familiar embrace was comforting, reminding you of the years you’d spent together when his words failed.

“Okay,” you finally said, sniffling as you raised your head off his chest to look up at him. “Tell me.” With your jaw clenched and your chin determinedly raised, your birthright shone through your face.

Nodding his assent, Hoseok took a moment to sort through his thoughts before he spoke again. “You are the daughter of the old king, and any son you bear will have a claim to the throne stronger than the king’s own heir. This is why you have been trapped here.”

In a softer voice, he continued, “This is why you are to die a traitor and a heretic.”

“A traitor?” you repeated in a tremulous tone. “A heretic?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“They would drag my name through the mud for having been born?” Your voice rose, but he met your gaze unflinchingly.

“Yes, my lady.”

“And what if I do not do as they will?” you asked.

“There will be civil unrest here, my lady. And… the bet will remain undecided.”

“What does that mean?”

“The devil will not win, because you were not executed.”

“So by leaving, I will be saving the people?” you asked, raising your brow.

“Not exactly, my lady. The devil will not win, and control over the kingdom will not be transferred to him. But…” he paused for dramatic effect.

“But what?” you prompted impatiently. Now was not the time for theatrics, you thought.

“The people will have shown, even if you are not executed, that they will not follow His will. He will no longer watch over them.”

“The kingdom will be forsaken,” you murmured, the cogs in your mind spinning rapidly. At least if control was transferred over to Lucifer, there might be some form of guidance.

“Yes,” he confirmed with a nod.

“I—I have to think about it,” you said, lurching to your feet as you backed away from him. You paced the entire length of the room restlessly, your hand resting against your forehead. Hoseok watched you, sitting on the ground like the little boy you could still remember him as. His lanky frame looked borderline ridiculous sprawled out on the ground like that.

Although he looked like he was watching you lazily, without a care in the world, Hoseok was actually paying close attention to you. After so many years by your side, he could basically read your mind, and he knew just what to say to sway you.

“Are you really thinking about sacrificing yourself?” he asked, propping his chin on his hand as his catlike eyes followed you around the room.

“No… maybe… yes?” Your tone grew increasingly confused, trailing off quietly.

“Haven’t you done enough for them?” he wondered in a deceptively light tone, sounding like he was just musing to himself instead of trying to convince you. He didn’t want to scare you off, after all.

“What?” He knew you would hear him and was satisfied when you refocused your attention onto him, your eyes wide.

He shrugged, looking embarrassed that he’d been overheard. “I mean, you lived your whole life for them stuck in the tower. Do you want to die for them too? When they’ve done nothing but hate and curse you all your life?”

Your chin wobbled. “They cursed me?” All this time, you’d believed that you were a hero for sacrificing your freedom for the protection of the people.

Hoseok’s green demon eyes filled with sorrow for you. “Y/n… you had to have known. What were they supposed to say about the bastard daughter of the old king?”

“If I’m a bastard, why am I here? My children wouldn’t have a claim to the throne anyway.” Your brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Your parents’ marriage was annulled after your father was executed. They said the marriage was made under false pretenses.”

Shocked, you sank down on your bed, your hand blindly reaching for the mattress before you lowered your body heavily down onto it. “They took everything from me,” you murmured. Your birthright, your freedom, and, tomorrow, your life.

“They don’t have to,” Hoseok said, watching you carefully. Would you fall into his clutches now?

“What’s your plan?” you asked quietly, looking up at him. Your expression was open now, trusting and curious, and he felt the triumph of victory curling in his stomach.

“I’ll take you away, of course.” It sounded simple, because it was. There was just one catch.

“And then what?” That wasn’t it, though.

“The world is huge, Y/n,” he said, spreading his arms wide for emphasis. “We can travel around the world. No one will ever find us,” he promised with a wink.

“Really?” Your eyes filled with hope, your back straightening slightly. He could see your mind filling with dreams now of seeing all the places that you’d only read about in books.

He nodded, smiling tenderly at you. Demon he might be, but your childlike wonder soothed his damned soul.

“Wow,” you marveled. He was promising you everything you’d ever wanted, tempting you with your deepest secret desires. Just like the snake in the Bible. As you remembered that, your mood plummeted. There was definitely a price to pay for all of this.

“What’s the catch?” you asked cautiously.

The sweet smile turned into a sinister smirk. You’d always been a smart cookie, he thought. Of course you would realise that none of this came for free.

(You forced yourself to ignore how sexy that expression was on him.)

“The devil will probably look for you,” Hoseok admitted. “He only wins if you’re actually executed so he’ll want to deliver you back here.”

“For fuck’s sake, Hobi, you should have started with that!” you snapped. “How can we run from the devil himself?!”

“No, I have a plan, trust me!” His eyes widened earnestly, the picture of innocence. You glared at him. How many times had he said that right before he got you into trouble? He’d always disappeared right before anyone came in and caught what looked like you alone in the middle of a mess.

Come to think of it, was any of this real? Was it all just a giant hallucination dreamt up by your desperate mind? The guards and servants had never acknowledged Hoseok’s existence, instead indulgently smiling at you and calling you an adorable child when you told them about your adventures with him.

“How do I know this is real?” Your voice trembled. What if you were just crazy, the isolation having driven you mad?

“I don’t know how to convince you,” Hoseok admitted. “But does it matter?”

Your gaze shot up to him. Of course it matters, you wanted to snap. But really, did it? If it wasn’t real, you’d be slaughtered tomorrow, a pawn in a game you’d never even known about. But if you believed, you’d have one more night of peace. Of hope.

Your shoulders slumped as you sighed, your face buried in your hands. Why did you have to be the one caught in this situation?

“Fine,” you conceded, mumbling the words into your palms. “What’s your plan?” The words were said without enthusiasm.

“The devil is… lazy and distracted,” Hoseok said, trying to put it delicately. In truth, Lucifer was so preoccupied with chasing his erratic impulses and desires that he barely concentrated on anything too difficult, preferring to let his minions (like Hoseok) take care of it. “It’ll be easy for him to find you as you are because your soul is so pure, it kind of glows.” You were basically a beacon for the devil.

“And I suppose you know how to stop it from doing that?” you asked dryly.

“Of course.” His eyes glinted. “We just have to tar your soul.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Your brow arched. “You don’t have a lot of time.”

Standing, he stalked with purpose towards you. His pupils narrowed into slits, unsettling demon eyes focusing on you like a predator on its prey. Coming to a halt right in front of you, he bent down, bracing his hands against the mattress on either side of where you were sitting. You swallowed and looked away, leaning back slightly. Unfazed, he followed you, his forehead almost touching yours as he stared straight into your eyes.

“I don’t need a lot of time,” he breathed, the warm air falling on your lips.

You exhaled shakily, clenching and unclenching your fists in your linens. “Hobi…” Your voice was weak and unsure, fading like the light streaming in through the window as night descended upon the kingdom. “What are you doing?” He’d never taken such liberties with you before.

“You know what I’m doing,” Hoseok asserted. His voice wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. He knew he was right, could hear it in the quickening of your breath. You might be innocent, having been stuck here all your life, but your body knew and reacted.

This would be easy.

“Is this—” you paused to gulp “—part of your plan?”

His right hand lifted off the mattress and slid along your bare calf, right under the hem of your linens. “What better way to ruin your innocence than bedding a demon?” he asked, one side of his mouth quirking up in a half-smirk. His hand went up, up, past your knee, to the side of your thigh. “What do you say, my lady? Will you run away with me?”

Your decision took only a split second to make. “Fuck it,” you decided, before leaning forward the fraction of an inch that was necessary to press your lips to his. Your hands settled around his waist, but you quickly realized that for all your bravado, you had no idea what you were doing. Just as you were about to pull back in embarrassment, however, Hoseok made his move, the hand that wasn’t caressing your leg reaching up to cradle your jaw as he tilted your head upwards to make it easier to deepen the kiss.

“Good girl,” he growled against your lips, the hand holding your chin travelling down to your neck. Gripping it tight, he pushed you back so that you fell on the mattress, crawling onto the bed and hovering over you.

“Hobi,” you gasped as he started trailing kisses over your jawline, sucking a livid bruise into the sensitive patch right under it. Your hands scrabbled helplessly at his sides, not sure what to do.

“What is it, love?” he muttered against your skin.

“Hobi, I don’t know what to do,” you confessed.

He stopped, lifting his head to stare down at you. “Don’t worry,” he told you, his tone full of dark promise. “I’ll show you.” He drew his hand up from your thigh to your hip, taking the hem of your linens with it. Your lips opened as you drew in a shuddering gasp and he grinned down at you before crushing his lips back onto yours.

Another time, probably, he would kiss you deeply and savagely, all teeth and tongues and raw need, but for now, he held himself back, reining in his beastly urges out of consideration for your inexperience. The slow, gentle kisses he traded with you instead, running his tongue along your bottom lip and feeling you shiver underneath him, were fun in a different way.

He was a demon, after all. He loved stealing your innocence.

His fingertips ghosted across your lower belly, down to your core. You closed your eyes tight and bit your lip as he stroked his fingers across your slit, gathering up the fluid that had leaked from you, but couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped you as you felt the pad of his finger brush over your clit.

“Y/n… open your eyes for me,” he compelled. You obeyed helplessly, watching, transfixed as he knelt astride you, sucking the fingers coated in your essence off. “You taste so good, love.” The sheer enjoyment in his expression as he tasted you made you clench involuntarily.

“Good girl,” he praised you. He shucked his shirt quickly and then started unlacing his breeches, while you watched with wide eyes. You lifted your hands to his abdomen, then paused right before you made contact, unsure if you were allowed to.

Hoseok quirked his eyebrow at you, his hands pausing their work. “You know, the whole point of this is that you’re allowed to touch,” he commented dryly.

You flushed, your hands drawing back slightly in your embarrassment. Rolling his eyes at you fondly, he took your hands in his and guided them to his abs. “Don’t be shy,” he encouraged in a softer tone as your eyes widened.

“Wow,” you breathed, trailing your fingers down his abs. You’d never felt a man before, so warm and solid, all hard edges and ridges. Soon, you reached the edge of his breeches, and you took over his previous task of undoing the laces as he smirked down at you. While he’d been fast and purposeful in his movements, you took a leisurely, unhurried pace, happy to take your time uncovering the mysteries of his body.

When you were finally done, you raised your gaze to meet his, and he stared back at you, silently asking what you were going to do next. Emboldened by what you perceived to be a challenge, you hooked your fingers in his waistband and pulled his breeches halfway down his thighs. His length sprang free, and you stared at it in wonder before looking up at Hoseok again, this time unsurely.

“Go ahead,” he said, nodding, as he tried to hold back his laughter. Virgins were so cute, and you were the sweetest one, because you were his, all his, because you knew him and wanted him, instead of as a result of some trickery. He sucked in a breath as you brushed the backs of your fingers gently across it, then took it in your hand hesitantly. The surface was smooth, but hot and hard in your grasp, and you were instantly entranced.

He nodded encouragingly at you and, emboldened, you started stroking him lightly. “You can go harder, love, it won’t break,” he said, startling you slightly.

When you did as he asked, he let out a low groan, throwing his head back. “You’re a natural, love,” he said in a low, raspy voice, making heat pool in your core. He wrapped his hands around your wrists gently, pulling you away from him, before tugging your linens over your head. You looked away and swallowed, embarrassed by your nudity, and Hoseok tutted, gently holding your jaw and turning you back to face him.

“Don’t look away from me, love. You’re beautiful,” he told you before kissing you again, one hand bracing his weight above you while the other slid down your body to your core. With his leg, he nudged yours apart, exposing your intimate flesh to his touch. He circled his thumb over your clit while slowly pushing one finger into you.

“Shh,” he soothed against your lips when you started to cry out in discomfort. “I know it hurts, love, but I have to prepare you, okay?” You’d never heard Hoseok speak to you this gently before, and you settled your hands around his hips, holding on tight for comfort.

He slowly stretched you out, with one finger, then two, his thumb never ceasing its ministrations on your clit. Slowly, the discomfort was replaced with pleasure, tightening in your lower belly. You brought your knees up to bracket his body and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Hobi, please,” you whimpered, holding on for dear life. It felt like you were building up to something, but it was too big and new and a little scary, if you were being honest.

“It’s all right, love, you’re doing so well,” he said, pressing kisses to your lips, your jaw, your neck, paying special attention to the spot where he’d left his mark. You threw your head back, your hips following the rhythm of his hand as you bit your lip to hold back the gasps and whispered moans. His erection felt like a brand against your hip, and you could feel him squirming slightly, his body impatient despite the honeyed words he whispered.

The slick sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you echoed throughout the room, reaching a crescendo as you approached your climax. “Good girl, so good for me, you’re going to cum all over my fingers and then on my cock, aren’t you, love,” he encouraged, keeping up a filthy litany that was endlessly titillating to you, until with a shaky moan, you came, clenching down hard on his fingers as you shuddered under him.

He patiently worked you through your orgasm, only withdrawing his hand when you slumped back onto the bed, breathing hard as sweat beaded on your brow. With the hand covered in your essence, he reached for his own hard length, stroking himself to take some of the edge off as he regarded you. So beautiful, delicate and vulnerable under him, and his, all his.

Hooking his arms under your legs, he pulled them further apart before releasing them. You knew to stay in the position he’d manhandled you into, your arms still locked around his neck. “I’m going to fuck you now, my sweet princess,” he whispered against your lips as he positioned himself. “I’m going to fill you up and stain your beautiful, pure soul. Would you like that?”

“Yes, yes, Hobi, please,” you begged in a breathy voice. You meant it, too. What good was purity and goodness when the God you’d been taught to worship had made a bet on your life, thinking you so insignificant and unimportant that it was a game to him? You wanted to stick it to him, and to everyone else who’d betrayed you before you were even born, punishing you for the sin of existing. Hoseok had offered you an outlet for all your hatred and anger, but it was you, all you, who’d harboured those feelings for years, who’d silently cursed those who imprisoned you when you’d done nothing wrong.

“Please fuck me, Hobi,” you whined before pressing your lips to his in a kiss, something you’d picked up remarkably quickly – but then, like your parents, you’d always been intelligent. He smiled against your lips as he slowly started pushing into you, taking his time and letting you get used to it. He’d prepared you with his fingers, but he was longer and thicker than even three of them together, and there was some discomfort as you were breached for the first time.

You whimpered, blinking back tears as he shushed you with soothing touches and soft kisses, keeping himself under rigid control as you rippled and flexed around him while you tried to adjust to the intrusion. “You’re doing so well, love, just a little more,” he cooed, rocking his hips gently as he brushed some hair off your face.

Eventually, he was fully seated inside you, and he paused to let you catch your breath. “That’s all of me, love, you did so well taking it all in.” He kissed you gently, biting back the urge to thrust, although he couldn’t quite keep himself from grinding his hips slightly for some delicious friction. “You feel so good, so hot and tight around me, so perfect,” he whispered, panting slightly. His breath came out in puffs against your temple, tickling you.

“Hobi…” you groaned, your hands raking down his back until you couldn’t anymore, having reached the point where his wings extended from his body.

“Fuck,” he panted, rearing back slightly to thrust into you. That was a sensitive spot for him, and you’d found it without even knowing. As he pushed his way into you again, his pelvis bumped your clit, causing you to moan as your legs wrapped around him.

“Hobi, that feels good,” you whined. In response, he did it again, and again, building up a gentle rhythm. The sound of his skin slapping against yours filled the room together with your combined moans and pants, a dirty, beautiful, sinful symphony.

“Y/n, you’re so good, shit,” Hoseok swore, his nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists. He was skating too close to the edge, and he knew, even without asking, that you weren’t there yet. He was thousands of years old and had bedded countless women; he would not be unmanned by a human, and a virgin at that.

“Hobi,” you moaned in response, your fingers brushing across the base of his wings again. You opened your eyes and marveled at the sight of your only friend and now lover, his jaw clenched and teeth gritted as he concentrated. His wings had spread open over the both of you, blocking your view of the rest of the room. It felt like there was only you and him, and nothing else in the world. And, in this moment, that may well have been the case.

“Fuck, you need to cum soon, Y/n,” he said in a strained voice as he reached down to rub at your clit with his fingers. He was less gentle now, forcefully bucking into you like he couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t even noticed the change in his tempo, but you had, and you loved it.

“Hobi, harder,” you begged, your hips rising to meet his.

His teeth bared in a snarl in response. “Yeah?” he panted in a voice gritty with need as he did as you asked, never letting up on your clit. “If you want me to fuck you harder, my lady, you need only ask.” The sound of the barren wooden headboard hitting the stone wall joined the sounds of your fucking.

“Are you close, love?” he asked, dipping his head back down for another kiss.

“Yes, Hobi, yes, yes,” you cried, tightening your arms and legs around him as you hurtled towards your climax.

“Cum for me, love,” he commanded, and almost on cue, you did, your mouth opening in a silent cry as your back arched. Your expression as you were stuck in the throes of your climax was beautiful to him, and so were the sounds of your helpless breaths and choked moans that streamed from you.

The feeling of your core tightening around him, squeezing his length, drew his own orgasm out, and he shuddered over you, his head dropping so that his forehead rested on your shoulder as he came inside you, filling you up with hot ropes of his seed. You stroked the back of his head as he groaned through it, your eyes half-lidded with contentment.

When he was done, he slumped over you, his wings falling to the bed like every part of him was exhausted as his softening length slipped slowly out of you. He tended to you with soft kisses and whispered nothings until you both caught your breath before rolling onto your side.

“So,” he prompted, causing you to turn your body so you were facing him. “Do you have any regrets?”

You giggled. “Why would I have regrets?”

“You know,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “You’ve ‘damned your soul’ and all that.” He didn’t do air quotes with his fingers, but you heard it in his tone.

“My soul was already damned.” It was true, you knew. Even the powers that be had decided your life was unimportant enough to risk on a gamble, and you were condemned on this earth for the crime of being born to a deposed king. “My birth was a mistake.”

“No,” Hoseok said firmly, cradling your face as he leaned in to kiss you. “You were not a mistake. The politics that takes place outside the walls of this tower have nothing to do with you. The civil war was not your fault, and your imprisonment is yet another sin committed by the imposter king.”

“Okay,” you accepted, snuggling close to him. You acted nonchalant now, since you were high on endorphins and sleepy from your physical exertion, but he knew that it would take you time to truly understand what he was telling you. It didn’t matter – he would be there with you every step of the way.

“So what’s the plan, Hobi?” you asked, your words distorted slightly by the jaw-cracking yawn you couldn’t hold back.

Hoseok leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. You really were too cute. “Well, we’re going to take a nap for a little while,” he said, hugging you close. “Then you’re going to get dressed in the robes they had prepared for you to die in, and we’re going to scare the shit out of your father’s murderer.” After a lifetime dressed in what amounted, basically, to undergarments, the clothes that had been prepared for your execution were the only clothes that suited a lady of your rank, and you weren’t leaving without them.

“Okay,” you said, your voice dipping slightly towards the end as you slowly succumbed to sleep.

“Then, we can go anywhere you want, love. Travel the world, see the great wonders, eat all sorts of delicious things.” Tenderly, he brushed your hair behind your ear.

You drifted off to sleep easily – perhaps too easily, for someone who had just damned the kingdom to civil war and caused them to be cast adrift from the embrace and protection of God. Yet you didn’t feel bad. After all, who was truly evil? Was it the demon come to steal a virgin from the tower? The harlot who was in bed with a demon, who’d chosen her own selfish desire to live a free life over the protection and safety of the people – people who, in a different life, would have been hers? Or was it the man willing to sacrifice an innocent child for his own power? The people willing to turn a blind eye to justice for stability and riches? The God so detached from the lives of those who worshipped him that he was willing to turn a blind eye on the suffering of innocents?

For the first time in your life, you truly didn’t care.

If you liked it, please leave a comment and/or reblog. It goes a lot further than a like. Thank you!

[welllpthisishappening]

First-Line Defensive Pairing

Of all the things they’d done in the last few months, spending the afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream was one of the more ridiculous. Mostly because of the wooden spoons they gave out on the tour. Partially because it seemed Will Scarlet could not stop casting furtive glances at Belle French. Or the heels that always matched her dresses. Maybe because she kept answering his hypothetical questions. And maybe even because he was willing to drift far closer to genuine these days. At least when it came to his feelings for her.

————

Word Count: 3.7K AN: Take two! Ok, so apparently yesterday when I posted this Tumblr thought it’d be a really cool idea to just...reformat the entire story. With whole graphs in totally wrong spots. Anyway, here it is again. Just as ridiculous as yesterday. With just as many Will and Belle emotions. Because that’s a thing I’m doing now, apparently. Writing Blue Line-era Will and Belle. If you’d like more of these flirt-prone idiots, here is their first date and Belle getting annoyed that Will fought someone on the ice. Technically, this was part of the kiss prompts and was “height difference kisses.” I hope the five of you who are interested in this enjoy it. That includes @shireness-says​ and @eleveneitherway​ who are mostly to blame for this.

————

“I’m going to ask you a hypothetical question.”

Belle lifted her eyebrows. Let some of that light creep back in her gaze, a flash of amusement that regularly made Will’s stomach leap dangerously close to the base of his ribs. That’s why he did it. Maybe not the rib thing, partially because he wasn’t even sure that was the correct technical term. The rest of it, though. The eye thing. Sure. Definitely. One-hundred percent. Why he’d also made sure the little wooden spoon they’d been given at the start of this tour was still in the corner of his mouth; to guarantee absolute absurdity, and he figured that started when they decided to spend their afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream, but he was willing to take it all a step further. 

In the absurdity factor, at least. 

Other things were—

Well, it wasn’t as if they explicitly decided to keep the relationship a secret. Not on purpose. Not really. Or come to any sort of legitimate agreement regarding the use of the word relationship. It never seemed...important, honestly. And that was a potentially problematic and lackadaisical approach to someone who made Will smile with an almost alarming consistency in the last few months, but she’d also sort of snuck up on him, and Ariel was going to be so annoying. 

About the whole goddamn thing. 

She’d never shut up about it, he knew. 

So he didn’t push. Belle didn’t, either. An unspoken agreement, that’s what it was. He had other things to do, anyway. Like get ready for a playoff run and ignore the lingering ache in his calves after the echo of Arthur’s whistle stopped ringing in his ears, and, ok, his apartment was starting to feel a little bit larger than it had in a long time, maybe since Killian had moved out, but that was fine. Cup runs did not come because someone was in a relationship. Will had seen that first hand. With Cap, of all people. 

Watched the way his whole life had fallen apart around his ankles, little shards of hope and possibility that, Will knew, still threatened the structural integrity of Kilian’s internal organs and all four ventricles of his heart, and he did not understand enough basic biology to be making those sorts of sweeping observations, but Robin had lost someone too and that had been horrible and tragic and—

If Will simply did not want to jinx things, then that was neither here nor there.

Relationship’y speaking. 

It was good. They were good. He hated the wooden spoon they gave them to taste test half a dozen ice cream flavors. 

He was legitimately worried about getting splinters in his tongue. 

No excuses could possibly reason away that problem pre-game. 

Belle’s eyebrows were still in the same spot. “You going to follow up on that, or…” “Would you burn a Gutenberg Bible? To stave off the apocalypse and or potential frostbite?” “Those two things go together, do they?” He shrugged. “In this instance, yeah, because—” “—Well, it wouldn’t matter,” Belle said, eyes flitting towards the overly enthusiastic tour guide and the seemingly never-ending history of ice cream, “because I wouldn’t allow myself to be in that position. And I don’t live anywhere near the Public Library. What would I be doing there when the freeze-wave came?” His stomach. Did that thing. Jumped and twisted, got a ten from the Russian judge on its floor routine. He was cautiously optimistic he’d be able to pull off a flawless beam performance too. It was an exceedingly convoluted metaphor. Wrong Olympics, too. 

“Does salt air give you mind-reading powers?” “You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” Belle grinned. Moving her hand faster than he was entirely prepared for ensured that he nearly dropped his small plastic cup of churro churro ice cream. He made noise. Without trying. A hiss and a grunt in the back of his throat that then led to a sound escaping between Belle’s half-hearted scowl, and that sound was closer to a giggle than either of them would ever admit and just enough to mess with his mental faculties a little and the tour guide stopped talking. To stare straight at them. 

Color lifted on Belle’s cheeks, ice cream-covered spoon held awkwardly between them. 

“As you were, ma’am,” Will said, all false bravado, and that was something of a trend. In several different capacities. It was far too depressing a thought to have while eating cinnamon-flavored ice cream. 

Belle elbowed him. 

And the tour guide got back to her to spiel. Without a reprimand. 

“Say freeze-wave again without laughing.”

Her eyelashes were more of a problem, honestly. Than the eyebrows. Or the specific jut of her chin Will had rather quickly learned meant she was ready to challenge him on some ridiculous topic, fully prepared to argue a position she might not have otherwise agreed with. Only because it wasn’t what he was arguing, and it was easy to understand why she won that Model UN award. 

Plus, her eyelashes were just stupid long, and he thought she was really pretty. 

Like in a fundamental sort of way. 

“Freeze-wave,” Belle enunciated, pausing between syllables for maximum effect, “are you asking me Day After Tomorrow questions because of the ice cream, because I’m a librarian or because you’re the strangest man alive?” She finally ate the rest of the ice cream. It was starting to melt, that was why. This was very melt-prone ice cream. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled, “this is really good. Better than mine.” Something popped in his shoulder when he reached towards her plastic cup. He wouldn’t tell Ariel about that, either. 

“Which kind is—” Fighting off the objections of a small librarian who resolutely refused to wear anything except heels, no matter what the weather was like, was not usually as difficult as it was in that moment. Will assumed it had something to do with sugar. Or the force of his smile. Robbing the rest of him of energy and the ability to fend off either one of Belle’s fists. “Why are you like this?” “You didn’t want to try peanut and pretzel. With peanut butter swirl.” “Swallowed the flyer for this place while I wasn’t looking, huh?” Sticking her tongue out was distracting. Almost enough that he didn’t notice the absolutely atrocious attempt at impersonating his voice. “Oh, no, no, babe, I don’t want that; you can get peanut butter anywhere. That’s not special.” “Well, it’s not.” “I’m a big fancy hockey player, and I know everything there is to know about ice cream flavors and the potential life-changing palette moment that comes from the sublime combination of salty and sweet.” “Oh, now you’re just taunting me.” Her eyes narrowed, that time. His smile was going to permanently stretch out his cheeks. “You have a disgusting mind.” “You can’t get churro ice cream everywhere, babe.” “I’m going back to get honey later.” Will hummed. Stuck his lower lip out. Noticed that flash return. And hoarded it. Like a relationship—

Ah, fuck. 

“Would you burn the Gutenberg Bible?” Her laugh was quickly becoming his favorite sound. Which wasn’t bad, per se. Was just kind of passably concerning. God damn. It was the heels. All of them kept matching the dresses she wore. She kept wearing dresses. 

Of course, that was going to mess with Will’s head. 

Belle shook her head. “No.” “Historical significance?” “Well, once again, I would not be in that position, would have listened to science and fled to warmer climates, so as not to make myself prey for escaped...what were they? Tigers?” “I honestly can’t remember,” Will admitted. 

“This was your hypothetical!”

Heads snapped their direction. Frustration creased the tour guide’s forehead, and they’d paid extra to learn about the history of ice cream. Will had already known about the origins of the ice cream cone, though. So, the whole thing felt almost like a raw deal, and he was far more interested in preserving the color in Belle’s cheeks. He saluted. Who he was saluting was anyone’s guess, but it very likely was the otherwise unengaged teenage kid trudging behind his family who absolutely recognized Will. 

“That’s going to end up on sixteen different social media sites,” Belle warned, not quite able to get her voice to an appropriate whispering level. 

“So long as he got my good side, you won’t hear me complaining.” “Do you have a good side?”

“Sweetheart, the self-confidence. God.” She squeezed her eyes shut. While practically beaming at him, and Will had to bend his knees to reach, something else creaking in the process, but that was fine, and good, and pretty goddamn fantastic because her lips tasted a bit like chocolate. 

“‘S’not your best work,” Belle mumbled, almost entirely into his mouth. 

“Brain freeze.” “I would burn no books. That’s my final hypothetical answer.” Her eyelashes must have existed purely to torment him. Leaning back made it clear when they fluttered back open, and he swore there were flecks of gold in her eyes. Maybe he was melting, too. With the ice cream. That was almost poetic. “None at all? What if you were going to die?” “Maudlin.” “I don’t know what that means.” “Liar,” she challenged, another smile tugging at her mouth, and Will was clearly staring at her mouth. Stained slightly with chocolate, as it was. “I stand by it, though. The book stuff, not the commentary on your burgeoning intelligence.” “You want to find a corner to go and make out in?” Different laugh. The kind that came with her head thrown back, hair tickling Will’s forearm because at some point his arm had found its way around her, and touching Belle was becoming something almost close to second nature. “I could keep complimenting you if you want,” Belle said, “or I could give you my reason for not burning books.” “You’re a giant nerd, that’s why.” She clicked her tongue. “Very, very cute nerd, though.” “Betcha say that to all the girls.”

His stomach stilled. Dropped a few inches, for good measure. Below where it was supposed to be, and inching dangerously close to his feet, and what Will could not imagine was a very sanitary floor. The Museum of Ice Cream had a giant sprinkle pit. Nothing about that seemed very sanitary. 

“I think stories have a purpose,” Belle said, still not quite whispering but definitely getting there, and he knew. Knew she knew. What he was thinking and feeling and unspoken understanding was quickly becoming the name of this particular game. With them. 

Where it wasn’t a game at all. 

Damn. 

Ariel was going to be so annoying. 

“No matter what they are. Shitty as they can be, all those ups and downs, and ridiculous, often unnecessary melodrama. It’s going to matter to somebody. Someone, somewhere, will be living their life and read those words or see those letters, and they’ll think, wow, whoever wrote this, gets me, and it will change everything for them. They’ll go back to it. Find solace and safety in it. Themselves, maybe. They’ll believe everything will be ok. Even if they only think that while they’re reading.” “Don’t forget audiobooks,” Will muttered, voice strangled and tinged with emotion. In the ice cream museum. Figured, honestly. 

Belle pinched the side of his wrist. 

“Ow. Avoid the bruise further up, please.” “Did you get hit?” Nodding took more energy than it should have, too. She hadn’t been to a game. He hadn’t asked her. What an idiot. “Not bad though, that’s just—” “—Par for the course.” “Mixing idioms, mon trésor.” “Oh, I got that one, actually.” “Slow pitch softball, that’s why,” Will reasoned, some of the tension he wasn’t especially pleased by loosening. 

“I think we’re on a roll now.” He hummed. Nodded, again. Curled his fingers into the back of Belle’s dress. Blue, that afternoon. With matching heels. “It all matters,” she added, soft and earnest, and his eyes snapped. To her and with her and that second one didn’t make sense, not really, but he was and wanted to be and that absolutely terrified him. 

Of it all falling apart again. Of it not being enough. 

He wasn’t enough. 

A story no one was ever all that interested in finishing. 

“You think?” Belle nodded. “Why’d you start playing hockey?” “Quite a transition.” “Tit for tat, or—no, no, c’mon don’t look at me like that.” Red stained her cheeks, now. Making it difficult to concentrate on anything else, although the desire to kiss her again was a fairly strong second, and that kid was taking more pictures. “That’s not fair.” “You’ve brought this on yourself, babe,” Will argued, and he hoped Lucas didn’t yell. At him. He’d never really listened to the social media rules. “It’s a very long, occasionally depressing story about a kid and his single mom, the second of whom often worked her ass off and her fingers to the bone, and all those other delightfully visual clichés. But then! Who would guess, she got a job picking up extra shifts cleaning at the rink in town. Home to the world’s shittiest ice and loudest Zamboni, it instantly drew the attention of our kid-like hero. 

“He was...infatuated, let’s say. With the sounds, especially. Nothing sounds like that first scrape of skates on fresh ice. Full of possibility, you know?” Belle didn’t answer. Will kept talking. “Best noise in the world. And then he learned there were other noises. Pucks hitting the back of nets. Sticks clanging together. Grunts and groans and the game itself, how loud it was. Helped silence some of his thoughts, none of which were ever very good. Lots of worries, some about his very dead sister, then a few more about that mother and her predilection toward clichés.”

“Good word,” Belle murmured. He kissed the top of her hair. The kid was openly staring at them, now. 

“Anyway, the crux of the story is that the guy who owned the rink agreed to let the kid play on the rink. Knew the mother, understood her situation, and hockey is expensive. Like, well, we spout all that bullshit about hockey is for everyone, and I’ve got to stand up there and smile and nod and agree, and it’s fucked up because it’s not really true. Hockey’s for rich kids and families with regularly functioning alternators in their car.” 

He shook his head. Had to. To chase away the memories and the cobwebs, and Cap knew this, too. Understood it, even. Remembered a life before the Vanklads, and not every kid got the Vankalds, and sometimes Will let himself wonder what would have happened if he’d found the Vanklads. Or their upstate New York equivalent. 

Gotten better shin pads, probably. 

“Hockey’s an exclusive sorta club,” Will continued, “gotta know someone who’s related to someone else, and they know someone who played, and it’s six degrees of increasingly desperate separation. By some lucky twist of fate, though, Jimmy Newell knew some bastard who knew somebody else, who saw me play, and you don’t say no to USA Developmental. Spent two years in Minnesota, way before Cap did, so he doesn’t get to claim that state as his own.” Belle’s lips twitched. “Good to know, for argument’s sake.” His stomach was becoming a problem. 

Heart, too. 

Sputtering and slamming, uneven beats that were going to leave another bruise. Will licked his lips. 

“I went to Developmental, declared for the draft, got picked by New York, went to college, stayed in college, and the rest is history. As they say.” “They do say that, yeah.” “What’s the next question, then?” “How do you know there’s another question?” “Shot in the dark,” Will shrugged, but that was a lie, and it was getting increasingly easier to read that pinch between her eyebrows. “So, hit me.” “Literally?” “Please do not literally hit me. Locksley’s been feeling the forecheck the last couple’a practices.” “I know what that means!” Someone shushed them. Will couldn’t imagine the color will ever leave Belle’s cheeks. 

He kissed the bridge of her nose. 

“Who’d you get to teach you French?” “Who said I didn’t just learn French on my own?” “Babe,” she chided, and, well, that was the tipping point. As they say. To his heart and his stomach and—

“You wanna come to a game this series?” Belle blinked. Once, twice. Leaned back. Tilted her head. Likely waited for the camera crew that was inevitably lurking in the corner he was cautiously optimistic they’d make out in eventually. Didn’t happen, though. There was no camera crew. 

Just Will Scarlet, professional hockey player, and part-time sap. Standing in one of the more nonsensical museums they’d been to in the last two months. Although they did go to the transit museum on three separate occasions, and he could honestly say he didn’t expect that. 

So, maybe this was all just—

Par for the course. 

He’d have to make some sort of deal with Eric. To make sure Ariel didn’t proclaim her relationship-plotting victories from a variety of rooftops. Someone in front office had to know someone else with Empire State Building connections. 

Zelena probably did. 

Ariel would use that. 

“Where would I sit?”

He pulled her. Up. With an almost violent amount of force, threatening the safety of both of Belle’s shoulders in the process. But she’d asked the one question he hadn’t totally considered in his half-plotted plan, and getting his mouth back on hers was an acceptable diversion. Plus, she looped her arms around his neck pretty quickly. 

Which had to count for something, he figured. 

One hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him closer. Like he had any intention of being anywhere else, swiping his tongue against Belle’s lip and swallowing her sigh. They were still in public, technically. Her feet trailed the multi-color carpet beneath them, Will’s arms tightening and his palm flat against her back and her spine, and if she kept rocking up like that, he was going to do something drastic. 

Something in the same realm as melting, probably. 

Strands of hair tickled his skin, making him tilt his head and alter the angle, and that was entirely appropriate, but getting kicked out of the Museum of Ice Cream would probably make an absolutely fantastic story. Once they told people they were—

Doing whatever it was they were doing. 

They’d get there eventually. 

“Cap’s sister-in-law is coming,” Will said, not entirely able to catch his breath, “wants to see Kris and—” “—Should I know who that is?” “Works in equipment, and that’s not really the point.” “What is?” “That Little Vankald isn’t super interested in listening to Cap be full older brother on her and, far as I know, is fully capable of getting tickets wherever she wants. Can sweet talk the gold out of anyone’s pockets, and—” “—Wait, wait, are you equating hockey tickets to gold?” “When I’m playing, ma choupette.” “Is that cabbage?” He hummed. Nearly tripped over his own feet trying to hold onto Belle and the mostly melted cup of ice cream and paying for more churro ice cream made perfect sense. At the moment. “One of the kids at school was French Canadian,” Will explained, “used to swear all the time on the ice, and then he’d use stuff like that.” “You’re sharing endearments with a trash talker.” “More or less, yeah. Used to infuriate other guys.” “Who wants to be called a cabbage?” “I think you’re super cute.” Belle scowled. Didn’t argue, though. And Will refused to linger on the beat of his pulse. “I’d really like it if you were there,” he added, “Little Vanklad’ll be cool about it. She owes me. I fed her for a very long time.” “Did you just?” “I make incredible garlic bread; ask anyone.” “Wow,” Belle drawled, “just like people on the street, or…also, do you call her Little Vanklad all the time?” “To her face and behind her back with startling regularity. Not everyone gets my French endearments, babe. Consider yourself lucky.” 

She scrunched her nose. 

Stayed silent. All Will could hear was the soft explanations of the tour guide, and the questions from tourists who probably also thought going to the Museum of Sex made them edgy. After they bought a STRAND tote bag. God, maybe he was a dick. A judgmental dick, who still had too many thoughts and used an occasionally violent game to silence them by making sure he was the one dictating the noises and the trash talk and—

“Hey, uh, Will...Mr., uh—Mr. Scarlet? Do you think we could get a picture?”

Belle’s lips disappeared. Behind her teeth, and that didn’t do anything to temper the sound of what might have actually been joy. At the prospect of the staring teenager and his photo request. 

In the goddamn Museum of Ice Cream. 

Giving a jerky nod, Will quickly scanned the kid for any team-branded, but it didn’t look like he was wearing merch and that was a rather small miracle. Far as those things went. 

Still, he had been in the middle of a pretty intense internal dialogue and potential freakout, and there was going to be ice cream on his hand if he didn’t throw this cup away. 

Belle took the phone. 

The kid’s phone. 

“Smile,” she instructed, and Will tried. Really. He hoped he didn’t end up looking like a murderer on Twitter or Instagram or whatever kids used, and he had no idea when he got that old. When things started to freak him out, and he let the nerves claw back in, and the worry take root and—

“Hey,” he said before the kid could walk back to his parents and their matching STRAND tote bags. “You think you could take a picture of us, real quick?”

No one had ever moved faster. 

In, like, the history of photography. 

Circling an arm around Belle’s waist, Will’s smile came a bit easier and that was good because he was totally unprepared for what happened after that. Another instruction and flick of someone’s thumb, but then Belle was on her toes, even with the heels, and her lips were pressed against his cheek and it was like some sort of really exceptional sugar high. 

Without the threat of inevitable crash. 

Will didn’t think so, at least. He was also pretty positive it wasn’t tigers in The Day After Tomorrow. Wolves, maybe. 

“Tell Little Vankald to save me a seat.” “I mean, I don’t think you should call her that.”

Her teeth grazed his jaw. Both of them were laughing in the picture, the kid’s eyes going impossibly wide as Will thanked him. “How hard you think it is to set up an Instagram account?”

[voidstilesplease]

This is weird but a demigod prompt: "we can save water by showering together" after training or capture the flag or a camp tournament maybe.

🙈

So, I tried.

Word Count: approx 1.1k words (of another demigod au)

---

Caked in mud and exhausted, Stiles grudgingly joins the queue of filthy, stinky demigods waiting their turn to the shower stalls. Having lost the week's cabin's special games, Military Obstacle Course: Demigod Edition [with special participation from Select Monsters and Dryads. There are Disfiguring Hexes and Deadly Booby Traps, too!] that Camp Half-Blood adopted from Camp Jupiter's Training Manual, all the cabins (except for Apollo, Aphrodite and the modular cabins from (14) Iris to (20) Hecate that have their own bathrooms) are in line to use the public showers.

Well, Ares is also an exclusion since they won - specifically Theo - the games and thus have first shower privileges. Which is why they are all being dicks about it and purposely stalling, cackling in glee as everyone else grumble and complain, and shiver and itch from the drying mud on their bodies.

Remind Stiles to file a formal motion to Chiron to install private bathrooms inside the other cabins that don't have it because this is ridiculous.

Ridiculous.

A high-spirited howling signals their arrival. The demigods turn to see the Ares cabin jogging in a single file while chanting their cabin's name triumphantly as they leer at the others.

Theo stops in front of Stiles, grinning so brightly it will send the Apollo cabin running for their money. "Babe," he says with malicious glee, eyes positively dancing with mirth. One of his hands comes up to brush thick, pasted strands of hair from Stiles's face. "You look dashing."

Stiles is, needless to say, not in the mood for it. He swats Theo's hand away without a word, wishing to convey his ire by glaring.

Theo chuckles, enjoying his moment of having the upper hand, but he obediently backs off, nonetheless. His eyes soften on the corners despite the arrogant curl of his lips. "For what it's worth, you always do."

But there's an itch on his lower back that he desperately needs to scratch, so he will not have this behavior and the compliment is worth a missing drachma - that is to say, virtually useless. Not today. Stiles narrows his eyes and crosses his arms tightly across his chest. "Don't make me punch those perfect set of teeth off your smug little face, Theo Raeken."

The threat, though they both know is only half-empty, makes Theo laugh even harder. His half-siblings within the hearing range also chortle their amusement. Yeah. Their asses will be so sorry next Capture the Flag; Stiles will make sure of that.

"Stiles," Theo takes a small step forward, enough to bring him right on the boundary of Stiles's space without touching him. "I beat you." He emphasizes it with such joy that could knock even the Lord of the Underworld unconscious. It only makes Stiles vibrate with rage. "That doesn't happen very often. I'm allowed to celebrate." He splays his palms up with a shrug, trying to sound reasonable while being obnoxious.

"Will you just take a shower?!" Liam, the only son of Hades in the camp and with an impressive anger issue, shouts impatiently from all the way at the back of the line. He does not look happy covered in grime.

Theo only shoots a dismissive glance in Liam's direction, then shrugs again. He looks back to Stiles with an impish grin. "Well, I'm sure my siblings won't mind if I share the baths with my runner-up," he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively like an utter dimwit. "We can even save water by showering together."

Stiles almost doesn't care that it's his boyfriend in front of him. He will karate-chop Theo back to cabin five in three successive motions if he doesn't quit his douche-canoe schtick right this instant. Kira had taught him some very mean striking techniques.

Fortunately, Theo still has some sense of self-preservation because he takes a step back, another one, winks and turns around to fall back in line with his siblings. They continue their merry jogging, yelling an awful battle-cry to the shower stalls while at it.

"Your boyfriend," Haley, his head counselor, shakes her head. There's a distasteful curl on her lips as she watches the public baths where lots of guffawing and whooping is happening. "is a dickhead."

Stiles sets his jaw and fists his hands. He turns to Haley, an idea taking shape in his head. "You know what?" He's not usually a petty loser because, well, he's not usually a loser, not here at camp especially after his first summer, but he just can't let this go. He refuses to let Theo have the last laugh. A small smirk pulls from the corner of his mouth, drawing Haley's brows in a mix of confusion and interest. "So am I."

As if reading his mind, his head counselor nods and beams proudly at him as he marches past his siblings on the line, straight into the baths while the rest of the queue cheer for Stiles in a strange case of solidarity. Inside, he immediately finds Theo's stall despite the opaque partitions. He opens the door and slips right in with no hesitation.

Theo - a very wet, very naked, very shocked Theo - gapes at Stiles as he locks the stall behind him, inserting his dagger, Eirènè, in the bolt and proceeds to peel his dirty clothes off without taking his eyes from his boyfriend.

Stiles can tell that Theo's trying hard not to follow the descent of his clothes to the floor and trace the miles of skin that reveals after it. Theo visibly swallows, though, looking up to the ceiling consciously, as if expecting to see a particular goddess of battle strategy materialize out of thin air to smite him into smithereens.

Stiles steps out of his discarded clothing and into Theo's space, who promptly moves away and backs into the wall like a scared animal. Huh. Now, where's your bravado, Theo Raeken.

A startled squeak escapes Theo's lips. His eyes are round with alarm, and his voice is rough when he speaks as if his throat and mouth have just dried out of saliva. "What are you doing?"

Theo's siblings have caught up on what's happening and have started hollering and wolf-whistling in approval of Theo's embarrassment, filling the room with uproarious laughter. Yes. Sibling loyalty.

Stiles smiles at Theo's flushing and disgruntled expression, reaching up to his head to rub the mud from his hair. He winks cheekily, following Theo's earlier example. "Taking you up on your offer, babe."

Stiles has never had a more satisfying shower.

~•~

[universalfanfic]

Oh boy. Here it is. The last part of the Mind-controlled Owen AU. This one has a fight scene and emotional conversations. :)

Mary belongs to @inkoutsidethelines <3 (I’m sorry for hurting her!)

---

By the time Mary finished cleaning herself up as best she could Connor already had the name of their target and was closing in on his possible location. His search was made easier by the fact that only one of the “Fish Oil Gang” had escaped custody. 

But now Mary had a name. 

Elliot Moran.

He’d been escaped from police custody for over a week with nothing from authorities but a quiet notice that he was on the lam and that citizens shouldn’t approach him. 

Mary was going to do more than approach him. She was going to decimate him. 

Connor was able to narrow down his location to a business district on the other side of town. There were a few buildings in particular that were vacant or under construction, and they focused on those. Maddie and Mary teamed up to search the buildings closest to the city center, while Connor split to look at the ones near the docks and industrial district in his suit. They’d meet up in the middle if neither party found anything.

Maddie made quick work of searching buildings. Her face was set in a grim expression for once and her eyes held an edge, her mischievous sparkle dulled. Mary was used to using the shadows, relying on the element of surprise and her visions to guide her, but Maddie, while quiet, sped through each room with a force just barely restrained. Normally Mary would have no problem keeping up with her, but after fighting Owen, she was bruised and aching and tired. 

None of that was going to stop her, of course. The rage under her skin fueled her, crackling in her veins and licking up through her muscle. 

The only thought that threatened to dowse her fury was the possibility that she might have to fight Owen again. 

“Possibility”. “Might”. She was going to have to fight him again and the knowledge hurt. 

They found him in the third building. 

A dark haired man stood in the shadows of an empty office floor. He was unassuming, with a square-like face and average build. But his eyes held a sharp sort of vindictiveness that put Mary on edge. Mary had fought people like him before.

“Where is he?” 

Maddie’s voice echoed harshly through the room and her tone betrayed her inner turmoil. The man, Elliot, smiled. 

“Come a little closer and I’ll tell you.” 

Maddie bared her teeth but, amazingly, kept her distance. Mary took a step forward and his attention switched to her. 

“Ah, and there she is,” Elliot said. “The epic love, right? You know, I’ve never had someone fight against me as hard as he did when I made him go after you.”

Mary could feel her restraint fray as her fists clenched and knuckles whitened. 

“Though I’m intrigued you brought a civilian along to face me,” he commented. “Doesn’t seem very heroic of you, Miss America.”

“I’d be careful.” Maddie grit out. “I’m not feeling very heroic right now. Let my brother go before I hurt you.”

Elliot gave an exaggerated grimace and shrugged as he shifted to the side. 

“No can do, I’m afraid. See, unfortunately, I’m not exactly the forgiving type and I’ve found your brother rather useful. He can get into so many places without all the trouble I have to go through. And, of course, there’s the bonus of it bothering you so much.” 

“You’re outnumbered,” Mary finally spoke up.

Elliot looked at her with a scathing smirk. 

“You really think you have an upper hand here?” 

He took another large step to the side and the shadows shifted. Owen stepped into the light and Mary thought the rage would boil her from the inside out. 

He was ragged, one of his eyes was starting to swell and his knuckles were dripping red like he’d been punching a brick wall. He held himself up, hunched at the shoulders, and his breathing was more strained than it had been during their fight.

His nose was broken, Mary realized. It sat crooked on his face and blood ran down, staining his beard red and splattering over his shirt. Her rage only roared further, as if it could escape her and burn down the building itself. 

“What did you do to him?” She demanded. 

“I didn’t touch him,” Elliot said. There was far too much amusement laced in his voice.

Maddie was deathly still. Her eyes roved over her brother and seemed to take in all the injuries Mary had already catalogued.

“When I get my hands on you,” Maddie said, her voice unnaturally even, “I’m going to rip your arms clean off your body and let them pickle in that fish oil you're so fond of. Let’s see you control people without limbs.”

Elliot gave another exaggerated grimace and his face puckered. 

“You hear that, Star Jumper? Pretty vile things your sister said. They sound kind of illegal to me. Downright criminal, actually. You should do something about that.”  

Owen stepped forward. 

Owen stepped through a portal and appeared behind Maddie. She spun around and threw a kick at his chest. 

“You think I don’t know what my own brother’s power feels like?” She yelled. 

But Owen grunted as he caught her foot and twisted sharply. Maddie leapt up and spun to stop him from breaking her ankle. He jumped positions to punch her in the abdomen mid-spin, into Mary which sent them tumbling across the floor. 

Mary groaned and Maddie gave a wheeze as she pushed herself up. Her eyes were already on fire. 

“Alright.” 

Mary pulled Maddie by the arm as she spun them away from Owen, behind him to try and flank him again. 

“We have to work together if we want to stop him,” she said in a rush. “Owen’s not our main target; remember.”

“Oh,” said Maddie. “I know who the target is.” 

“You can’t let him get a hold of you either.” 

“I’ll break all the bones in his fingers first.” 

Mary couldn’t say she disagreed with the sentiment. 

Owen eyed them both impassively as they all took each other in; waiting to see who would make the next move. His face still betrayed nothing, but one of his hands trembled. 

“I’m stronger than Owen,” Maddie said. 

Mary took that as Maddie’s suggestion she be the one to fight her brother while Mary went for Elliot, but Mary could see all the holes. 

“He can move faster than you can.” 

She left out, you’re too impulsive. You get too competitive and it clouds your judgement. Instead she added,

“Have you contacted Connor?” 

“N-”

Owen lunged for Maddie specifically and Mary cursed under her breath. He leapt and brought his fists down from above his head as if to smite her; Maddie dodged to the side as she brought up a knee into his already broken nose. There was a crack and Mary’s heart lurched. 

“Maddie!”

But Maddie didn’t remove her eyes from her brother. 

“Snap out of it! How hard do I have to hit you to knock you out of this?” 

Elliot clapped at her display from his corner. 

“Oh, I’d love to find out.” 

Maddie took her eyes off her brother to snarl at the villain. 

“I’ll feed your liver to Connor’s ferrets.” 

The moment of distraction was all Owen needed. He rushed her and gripped her around the waist as he forced her through a new portal. It opened near the ceiling and Mary watched helplessly as he pressed into Maddie, making sure she hit her back against the floor with full force. The floor cracked under them with a vibrating boom. 

Mary took the given opportunity. 

She ran and jumped onto his back, throwing her arm around his neck and locking it in place with the other right as Owen’s hands were going to his sister’s neck. Her arms burned against the strain and wear from their previous fight, but she tightened her grip as much as she could. 

“Owen.” She breathed into his ear. “I love you.” 

His whole body shuddered beneath her as he took in a ragged breath of air. 

He elbowed her violently in the solar plexus and-

He elbowed her violently in the solar plexus and her hold broke as she went stumbling back, the air knocked from her lungs. A blinding pain in her torso warned her that she may have a broken rib.

Maddie launched herself up from the ground with a gasping grunt and shifted to throw herself in Elliot’s direction. Owen, still on his knees, grabbed her leg and yanked it out from under her. Maddie landed in a practiced fall, her arms out and body arched so she didn’t slam her face into the floor. Her free leg shot out, catching him in the shoulder, and she managed three heavy strikes before he let her go. 

Mary swiveled and bit back a cry of pain as lightning shot through her body. She had to keep moving. They had to finish this. 

She rose to her feet and stomped a foot down as hard as she could on Owen’s calf. Before he could move she once again wrapped her arm over his throat and locked it in place. This time she squeezed against the sides of his neck, trying to cut off some of the blood flow from his arteries. 

His body shuddered again. 

Owen struggled and arched. He reached back and grabbed Mary by the hair. 

“Maddie now!” 

Maddie pushed up from her hands, landed on her feet and didn’t stop; she spun and the heel of her foot struck Owen’s temple. He crumpled and sagged in Mary’s hold. 

The room went still. 

Mary loosened her hold and the shifting of fabric, the garbled wheezing of his breath, was deafening. Mary’s eyes heated and she grit her teeth as she locked eyes with Maddie. Maddie’s face was pale and her eyes were wide and red. For a moment it seemed like she was frozen to the ground. But Mary saw the crack in her eyes as Elliot, suddenly uneasy and lacking bravado, tried to move towards the exit. 

Maddie rounded on him with a feral cry. It took her only three strides to reach him and she bounded up and threw down a punch to his face with enough force to send him flying back. It knocked him out instantly. But Maddie either didn’t realize or didn’t care. With another yell she grabbed him by the arm and yanked him up, over her head, and slammed him down like he was a rag doll. He hit the floor with another sickening crack. 

Mary didn’t feel sorry for the man. The anger in her raged too hot. But she could still feel the tingling dread for Maddie. 

It seemed she wasn’t done. 

“I told you. You think you can touch my brother? You think you can hurt him and I won’t wipe you from existence?” 

“Maddie, he’s down.” 

She didn’t respond to Mary’s call as she stalked towards Elliot’s prone body. 

“Maddie, you don’t want to do this.” 

A window shattered and glass went flying as a streak of red and gold flew into the room. Connor grabbed Maddie, pinning her arms to her sides, and her feet left the ground as he flew across the room before coming to a halting stop away from the immediate scene. 

Maddie seethed and squirmed in his hold, but to Mary’s relief it didn’t look like she was putting real effort into breaking away. 

“I know, I know. It’s over.” The tinny voice of Connor murmured from the suit. “It’s over, Maddie. I’ve called for help.” 

It was like all the energy and adrenaline left Mary’s body at once. She slumped down further as she cradled Owen’s head in her lap. Her fingers shook as she brushed some sweaty, tangled hair from his forehead. Her stomach twisted as she ran her hand along his jaw, over his bloody face. 

The fight had ended. Owen would be free. 

But the hard part was far from over. 

[][][]

The hospital smelled like chemicals and latex. A nurse had already patched Mary up and gently suggested she go home and rest. 

That wasn’t going to happen. 

Mary limped down the hall back towards Owen’s room and stood silently in the doorway. His parents were sitting at his bedside. Mrs. Rogers had her hand clasped over his limp one and tears streamed down her face. Mr. Rogers’ jaw was tight and his eyes were flinty as he kept one hand on his wife’s back and the other on Maddie’s arm. Maddie’s leg rapidly bobbed up and down, up and down, as she stared blankly at the opposite wall. 

Mary let the quiet linger. Her family would burst through the hospital doors soon enough, and then she’d be swarmed by them and peppered with probing questions she wasn’t sure she had the voice to answer. At least not without her family recognizing the simmering anger that she was using to push back the lingering tendrils of fear, of hurt, of heartbreak. Anger was easier. It always was. 

Someone cleared their throat behind her and Mary spun around, only barely keeping herself from lashing out, to find Tony Stark standing behind her. 

“Whoa there.” He said, hands going up. “Don’t beat the messenger.” 

Mary let out a breath. 

“Mr. Stark.” 

“You look rough, kid.” Mary made a face and his gaze softened. “You should go home, see your family. They’re going to be keeping him sedated a while longer.” 

She shook her head. 

“My family is already on their way.” 

The Rogers’ turned their heads and Mrs. Rogers took a shuddering breath. 

“Tony,” she said. 

She stood and embraced him, burying her head in his shoulder as he hugged her back. 

“He’s gonna be alright, Small Fry. I got people on call and this guy’s going to The Raft, if he makes it.” 

Maddie’s head snapped up and her eyes were wide and tight.

“If he makes it?” 

Mrs. Rogers stepped away and Tony Stark leaned back, a flash of pity and uncertainty crossed his face. 

“He’s under security in the ICU with a broken spine,” he said. “For the moment he’s stable-ish, but he’s not in great shape.” 

Maddie’s expression shuddered. 

Mary knew, then, that Maddie, despite her confidence and bragging and mental snap, was a Rogers. She took her parents’ ideals to heart more than she probably cared for. 

More noise erupted behind her and Mary turned to see her family rushing towards her. Her breathing hitched and she met them halfway. She was still too angry to cry. To break down. But she held onto her father as he stroked his hand over her hair. She let her mom sob into her shoulder. 

[]

Mary was still in the hospital hours later when Owen fully woke up. She stayed out of the way while his family had their moment with him. The blinds had been shut, but she knew it was messy when Maddie came stalking out, trying to remain more frustrated than upset. 

“How is he?” 

Maddie clicked her tongue behind her teeth. 

“Stupid,” she said. “He has the audacity to think this was all his fault, or something. Like he had a chance at defeating us and I didn’t beat the crap out of him.” 

Mary pursed her lips and looked back towards the room. 

“Mom and dad are going to run and get him a change of clothes and a few things in a second,” she continued, softer. “He’ll heal fast, but- they just want to monitor him for a bit. Apparently mind control recovery isn’t a widely explored medical field.” 

“I want to talk to him,” said Mary. 

Maddie eyed her, looking uncertain for the first time since Mary met her. Mary refused to budge and Maddie tipped her chin down in acceptance. 

“Just- wait until my parents leave. I don’t know if my mom can handle seeing him the way he’s going to be around you.” 

So she waited. 

The minute they got into the elevator Mary moved. Maddie gave her a solemn nod and left the hall, following a sign that pointed the way to the cafeteria. 

The door opened with a small whine and Mary froze in the doorway as Owen’s eyes landed on her; his face twisted in despair and horror. 

She was patched up, but there was still plenty to see. Bruises and cuts. Her hand was wrapped and her limp was obvious. He’d find out about her ribs sooner or later. 

“Owen.” 

“No.” 

He sat up in bed and his movements were sluggish compared to his normal ease. 

“Mary, you need to go.” 

“Go?” Mary snapped. “You’re here, where else would I go?” 

His eyes were already bloodshot but between his irises brightening into a more vivid blue and his chest heaving, she knew he was trying to keep himself from crying again. 

“I’m sorry.” He gasped. “Mary, I can’t- you need to stay away from me.” 

“Stop that right now. Owen, that wasn’t you. This isn’t your fault.” 

He gazed over her injuries one more time before he actually turned his face away from her and squeezed his eyes shut. His knuckles shone white as he gripped the hospital sheets. 

“I did it.” He grit out, still refusing to look at her. “And I was aware of every sickening second. I know what I did. I know how I hurt-” He choked on the words.  

Mary grit her teeth and stormed towards his bed. 

“Don’t you dare,” she said. “Don’t you dare give him one more second in your head.”

He kept his head turned away and it irked Mary even more. His shoulders rose and fell in a steadying breath before he spoke again. His eyes were still closed. 

“I understand this changes everything.” He said. Mary’s hackles rose at the tone of resignation. “I understand there are consequences. But if- if you could just leave the ring with my mom, I can’t-” 

It was the last straw. 

Mary grabbed his hand and forced it against her cheek. He flinched harshly when their skin touched and she managed to keep herself from doing the same.

“Shut up and listen to me,” she said. “We’re the children of heroes and fighters and we decided to follow in their footsteps. We made those choices knowing the risk. But we made it out and now we get to heal together. You already gave me your love and you don’t get to take it back.” 

Owen hiccuped and crumpled.

“I don’t want to go back,” he murmured. “I can’t. I never wanted-. I wasn’t even strong enough for you. I should have been strong enough.” 

Mary climbed up in the bed and stamped down the moan of pain the effort caused. Owen didn’t shy away, but he didn’t move closer. He was afraid to touch her. Gently, she guided his head down until it rested on her shoulder and ran her fingers through his curls. His tears for her finally broke through and he openly sobbed. Mary’s heart cracked and she hated Elliot Moran even more. 

“I’m sorry, Mary. I’m sorry; I’m so, so sorry.” Owen managed between cries. He curled into himself and covered his face with his hand. “Never to you.” He said. “And never by me.” 

She sat and held him until the crying stopped. 

[]

When Maddie returned, Mary finally excused herself. Her family would want her to come over and they deserved the full story. 

She went out the front of the hospital, where the cameras could see her leave. 

In the Army, there were certain truths a soldier had to learn to accept. Casualties were often unavoidable. As a soldier, it was your job to be the one who got your hands dirty so others didn’t have to. 

She rounded the hospital and found another entrance; this one dark and rarely used by medical staff. Mary zipped up her dark jacket. Tied up her hair. 

Found her way through the ceiling to the ICU. 

Sometimes adversaries were too dangerous for a capture mission. 

Elliot Moran lay broken in his bed. The various tubes and braces attached to his body made him look like a science experiment.

He couldn’t be allowed to do something like this ever again. To anyone. 

Perhaps The Raft could hold him. But people like him sometimes had a way of getting lucky. 

That was assuming he lived. Mary glanced briefly at the heart rate monitor. The chart at the foot of his bed listed internal bleeding. Cranial swelling.

If Maddie was the cause of his death, no matter the evil, she’d probably never fully forgive herself. She’d never really seen battle. She didn’t know how to compartmentalize it away and try to forget and move on. 

Mary did. 

Her jaw ticked. 

And he’d hurt Owen in the worst possible way someone could. He’d turned Owen into a weapon against the people he loved. He’d driven a wedge of fear and trauma in their relationship that they’d have to chip away at until Owen learned to forgive himself. Until she stopped remembering what his hands on her causing pain felt like. 

In a world of ever expanding abilities, some were too dangerous to let the evil men who wielded them live. 

And wasn’t that what she’d signed up for? She was the Daredevil. Judge and jury.

Executioner.

Mary picked up a pillow.

[yetanotherhoeforpedro]

Sinfully Armored

Chapter 5 - I have a bad feeling about this

Chapter 4

You weren’t sure how much time actually passed since Mando left you in a completely disheveled state. Predictably, brooding in silence didn’t calm you at all. When you awoke hours later from a fitful sleep, a storm was still raging inside of you. To your pleasant surprise, the warrior didn’t search you out, which made it all the easier to avoid him as well.

After a modest breakfast, you spent the entirety of the morning meditating, which quieted your raging mind a little. While the cause of your mental unrest remained obscured to you, reaching into the Force allowed you to settle yourself. Waves of tranquility surrounded you and you mustered up the courage to step into the cockpit a few minutes later.

Mando was siting motionlessly in the pilot’s seat. Instead of getting offended – much less hurt – at his unresponsiveness, you pulled your chin up and strode up to the seat to his right.

“Anything new?” you inquired, hoping that your voice didn’t betray any feelings. “No,” he responded in an equally impassive tone. Suddenly you felt quite awkward again. You rummaged your head for any topic besides what happened between the two of you and “How are you feeling?” was somehow the best you could come up with.

Mando’s helmet turned towards you slowly and your mind conjured up a vague image of his most-likely expression. Before your mental eye, you saw him furrowing his brows while the humor was visible in his warm eyes and the soft upward curve of his mouth. You shook the image off in confusion before it became any clearer. Fantasizing about the true appearance of your masked companion was a dangerous idea. Somehow, his armor gave you the false comfort of emotional distance, even when you were certainly beyond that.

“Fine,” he murmured before turning his head back forward. Against your better judgement, a sharp “great” escaped your throat. Mando’s helmet snapped back towards you. You immediately regretted how vulnerable you made yourself with a single word and avoided his intense stare.

“Are you alright?” Mando asked you tentatively and the sudden change in tone made you face him again.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m great. Amazing, actually. Never been better,” you stumbled over the words awkwardly, “Well, not great. I mean, with…Grogu and all… but there’s no other cause for me not being…great.” You swallowed hard to stop your awkward babbling as Mando simply continued to stare you down.

“Could you stop that already?” you all but snapped at him before you could intercept yourself. “Stop what?” he threw back in an amused tone. “Staring at me like that!” you exclaimed exasperatedly. “How do you always know when I’m looking at you?” The humor had left his tone and had been replaced by pure curiosity. “Well…I don’t know…sixth sense? I guess animals know when they are being watched as well, don’t they? So, it’s only natural…” you trailed off, realizing how stupid you probably sounded. Maker, you really didn’t know how to act around him anymore…

“I’m a predator then?” There it was, that tinge of humor in his voice. He was enjoying this, seeing you struggle for clear thoughts. A small mercy was that you were too confused to be embarrassed by the fact that he was aware of the effect he had on you. He inched a bit closer to you, as much as his seat allowed. The sudden proximity made his stare all the more intense.

“Wh-what?” you stammered as you tried to reorder your treacherous mind. “That was only a…metaphor? Simile? Ugh, what do I know?” You sighed and wished for some mysterious force to suck you into the cold depths of space. Anything to end this suffering.

“Just stop talking,” Mando chuckled and rose from his seat. Your eyes trailed his movements in confusion as he stepped in front of you. “What are you doing?” you asked him in bewilderment.

“Being a predator,” Mando teased. You looked up at him as the sensation of his glance became physical, you felt it prickle across your skin. “So, I suppose I’m the helpless prey in this scenario?” you went along and rolled your eyes theatrically. Finally, your bravado had returned to you.

“Now, now. Not helpless. That’d be incredibly dull.” His broad shoulders hunched as he leaned in towards you. “Fight me, Jedi,” he whispered into your ear and you couldn’t suppress the shudder the soft caress of his breath sent through you.

“Mando!” you exclaimed in feigned shock, “I wouldn’t have thought you to be so kinky.” A wide grin spread across your face. Maker, why was it so easy to flirt with him? Five minutes ago you were unable to keep up simple small talk, but somehow this was…natural. Safe. At least now you could pretend it was a merely physical rather than emotional scenario.

“That’s kinky to you?” he replied in a low voice, “What a shame. I would have enjoyed doing far worse to you.” Your breath hitched slightly at the images your stupid head protruded.

“Let’s make a deal.” You bit your lip and secretly admired your own bluntness. “You don’t want me to be helpless prey? You want me to fight? Then let’s fight. Whoever wins gets to do their worst.” Mando’s posture stilled abruptly.

“Shit,” he breathed out after a moment. “Okay.” You smiled softly at the evident eagerness coating his voice. “But you can’t use that…Jedi thing.”

“Jedi thing?” you mocked him. “Mando, you’ve spent…how much time exactly with Luke? And he never taught you anything?”

“Oh, he did teach me some things,” he replied quietly. You didn’t quite get the implication in his voice, but you didn’t want to discuss Luke at this point. Actually, you didn’t want to talk at all. “Anyway, alright. No Force. And no weapons, of course,” you added.

“Deal,” Mando proclaimed. Instead of replying, you kicked your legs out to push him away from you, resulting in him slamming against the controls forcefully. Exploiting the time it took him to recover, you quickly scrambled up from your seat and took a fighting stance.

“You’re so gonna regret this,” he promised you as he rightened himself and took a couple of steps towards you. “Are we gonna chat here or fight?” you challenged him with a grin.

Mando made a fast move towards you, but you were faster, so he staggered into thin air. He turned to you and sized you up for a moment. You were crouched into a fighting position, your elbows parallel to the front of your body in a defensive stance. “Baby, I don’t think you realize how much you are turning me on right now.” In response, you punched out at him, hitting his beskared shoulder with so much force that he stumbled back a step. “Don’t call me baby,” you spat at him as you felt the adrenaline curse through your veins.

“I’ll call you baby as much as I want later, once I win this,” he drawled. You let out a mocking snort. “Now where does all that confidence come from? You couldn’t even beat me in your dreams,” you retorted.

“Maybe I don’t want to beat you. The way I see it, this is a win-win-situation. Maybe I’ll let you win just to see what you dream of doing to me…” You interrupted his monologue with a high kick to his side. “Ouch,” he murmured.

“Do you always talk that much when you fight? Is that your bounty hunting technique? To just bore them to death?” You blew a stray lock of hair from your eyes. “Fine, I tried to play nice, baby, but that’s it.” With far more velocity than the first time, Mando swung at you and his fist connected brutally with your sternum. You fell back into the wall and it was all you could do to hold on to it before you could sink down.

“Now we’re talking,” you huffed out with the little breath left in your chest. You pushed yourself off the wall and launched yourself at him in a whirlwind of punches and kicks. Still, you barely gained an inch on him as he deflected almost every single one of your blows.

Frustrated, you ceased your attack and took a step back. “My turn,” was the only warning he gave you before advancing on you. Suddenly closer to the wall again, you were in the defensive position, trying to prevent his harsh blows from landing. Grudgingly, you had to admire the accuracy in which he delivered them; he used every little opening to land some punches. It was all you could do to deflect them slightly to make them less fatal.

But even you couldn’t hold your own against him for long, after a couple rounds of cat and mouse, he managed to get a good hit at your ribs, which were still slightly sore, and you stumbled sidewards. He used to opening shamelessly to tackle you to the ground.

“That wasn’t fair,” you complained as he settled his weight on top of you and pinned your arms to the ground with his hands. “Oh, but it was. ‘No weapons, no Jedi-magic’. Remember?” he reminded you, a grin audible in his voice.

“You wanna be like this? Alright,” you replied with a devilish grin before kicking him right where it hurt most with your knee. His grip on your wrists relaxed out of reflex while he howled in pain. Not thinking twice, you pushed him off of you and switched your positions, so that he was flat on the ground and you were on top of him.

“Well, Jedi. I must admit, now I am even more impressed. And turned on.” His low baritone resonated deep within you and you felt your core heating up. “You’re disgusting,” you replied in a voice that was all to found to support your words.

“Come on baby, you can’t deny you are turned on by this just as much as I am,” he challenged you. And…maybe it made you incredibly sick, but you were. Maker, you were pooling down there right now…not that your position was of any help, as you were basically straddling his lap, which allowed you to…sense the physical proof of his arousal.

“Shit, you really are, aren’t you?” he groaned in surprise as he took in your expression. You nodded softly, beyond trying to deny anything in front of him. “Do you want to…” he suggestively trailed off. “What?” you asked him in confusion. Wait, was he…

Before you could reach your conclusion, he had already flipped you over again. Shit, you had totally let your guard down because of this…distracting conversation. This time, Mando pinned your legs with his knees and fixated your wrists with his right hand. You struggled against him in fury, but he didn’t budge. “Ten…nine…eight,” he began to count down, “seven…six…five…” You continued to push against him with all your force, but your muscles were too weak to fight him and the tons of beskar weighing him down. “Four…three…” In spite of the futility of the gesture, you didn’t cease fighting him. You would not just give in. “Two…” Shit, his ego would get so inflated after this…How could you let him trick you? “One…” Well, at some point even you had to accept defeat. You relaxed your muscles and braced yourself for his triumphant voice, but instead you heard a shrill beeping. Both of your heads snapped up and focused on the map.

The dot had stopped moving. Without another thought, Mando scrambled off of you and rushed towards the controls. You joined him shortly after, needing a moment more to compose yourself and drown out the fire in your veins.

Mando pushed a few buttons and the engine shut off. “They’ve stopped,” he stated the obvious, probably to get his grip on reality back. “What do we do now?” you ask him carefully. Maybe you should have spent the previous days plotting instead of…Well, too late to contemplate that now.

“We go in and get him out,” his voice sounded controlled, all of the arousal gone. He was in full bounty hunter mode, there was nothing that could break his focus on his target now. “Yeah, but…how?” You felt kind of stupid asking again. Did he expect you to just…know his plan?

“We walk in, get him and walk out,” he said as if it was the most logical conclusion. “I’ll just…follow your lead,” you decided, not wanting to ask for a third time. He nodded. “We are drifting in space now,” he explained. “That gives us some time to plan our next move. As much as you hate how unaesthetic and ancient our ship is, it has a cloaking shield. We’ll be invisible until we pass into hyperdrive. I don’t think their radars can sense us and even if they did, it would be too late. We anchor on the side of their ship and enter there.” You were a bit baffled; he never delivered a monologue this long before…But you simply nodded in relief, thankful that he chose to elaborate.

“R2?” you called and shortly after, the familiar beeping of the droid greeted you. You gestured to Mando and he hesitantly explained the plan to the him. Artoo beeped excitedly at the fact that he was part of the operation, although he once again complained about always having to be the one left behind on the ship. “Artoo,” you sighed. “Do I need to remind you that that is your job? That, and of course, getting our asses out of waste chutes et cetera.”

“Do I even want to know?” Mando asked you in an exasperated tone and you put your arms up defensively. “Hey, that one wasn’t me, it was Luke.”

“Alright, I do not want to know,” he decided. “Anyway, we need to be really quick. We have to get close enough to him for you to feel that Jedi thing, get to his cell, get him out and get all of us back out while remaining undetected.”

“If that’s it, no problem,” you joked. “That’s it,” Mando echoed softly.

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright,” you tried to reassure him as you noticed the strain in his voice. “We’ll get him back.” You put your hand on his shoulder and he slowly dropped his glance to it. “Sorry.” You pulled your hand back. Somehow, this sort of touch felt like overstepping a boundary. Yeah, he had been inside of you hours earlier, but this was far more…real. Intimate.

Needing to put more distance between the two of you, you stepped towards the cockpit window. As you looked out into space, your commitment issues suddenly seemed small. To your right, one of the biggest space stations you had ever seen appeared to expand infinitely. “Fuck,” was all you could get out. “What is it?” Mando asked as he stepped up next to you, but his view made the question redundant. “Fuck indeed,” he muttered in agreement.

“Mando, I…I’m not sure if our Force bond is strong enough to guide us to him…not if the station is this gigantic,” you admitted. After all, you had only been with Grogu for a couple of days. While you might recognize his Force waves, you weren’t sure if his would recognize and invite you. “Well, we just have to try,” he offered and you nodded solemnly.

“Artoo, can you somehow navigate us towards that tower?” you asked the droid. “Possibly after activating the cloaking shield?” Mando added and you glared at him. “He’s not stupid, Mando,” you defended your friend.

“Yeah alright,” he uttered quietly, but you decided to let the comment slide due to his anxious emotional state. “Why that tower?”

“I don’t know. I just…have a feeling,” you told him. “A feeling is what we’re basing this mission on?” he asked incredulously.

“Sometimes following your gut is the best you can do. Plus, you based us finding Grogu entirely on my feelings,” you reasoned and he shrugged, though you knew he wasn’t too convinced.

Artoo beeped softly. “I guess we’re invisible now,” you translated to your droid-despising companion, “but how do we stay that way once we’re inside?”

“A little stealth and a little violence.” In spite of the grimness of the situation, you couldn’t help smiling at his answer. “Sounds foolproof,” you agreed playfully.

“You know, once we get him out…” Mando began in a conspiratorial tone and you tilted your head towards him curiously. “I won.” Your jaw dropped. How could he be thinking of this right now? “No, you didn’t,” you protested, though without much conviction. Maybe this was exactly what the two of you needed right now to ease the tension slowly building up. A bit of teasing and flirting couldn’t hurt, could it?

“You know I won, baby,” he drawled in a sensual promise. “Oh, you are on thin ice,” you shot back with a glare that would have sent lesser men running. “What are you gonna do about it, Jedi?” He turned to face you, his broad frame obscuring your view of the station you were slowly shifting closer to.

“Kick your ass again?” you suggested innocently. “The way I remember it, I was on top of you.” Mando leaned in a little, making the height difference between you a bit less extreme. “Only because I let you,” you shot back.

“What I’m hearing is that you wanted me on top of you?” he exploited your poor phrasing. “Well, maybe I did,” you stated, deciding this was the best possible course of action. Mando clearly didn’t expect this response, given how silent he went. Suddenly, the tension in the air shifted into a wholly different direction.

“Um…Grogu,” you reminded both of you after a moment. “We’ll get back to this later.” He took a step back and turned towards the space station as you refocused on it drawing closer as well with a loud swallow. Apparently, the two of you had gotten too good at this little game of distraction.

Up close, it was even more impressive. How did this go so long undetected from the New Republic? Well, probably because you were in the middle of nowhere. It was quite unnerving to realize how vast and endless space was. There could be just about anything lurking in the depths of the outer rim. You shook the uncomfortable thought off. For someone who spent so much time surrounded by nothing but stardust and asteroids, you sure got easily creeped out by space.

As if he sensed your unease, Mando grabbed your hand. You looked up at him in wonder, but against your better judgement, you let your fingers entwine with his. How did he always know exactly how to pull you back to the ground? Maker, he was like your personal gravitational force, every time you felt like you lost contact to earth, he caught you. A wave of gratitude surging up in you, you squeezed his hand. Immediately, probably out of muscle memory, he squeezed back. You felt the odd urge to…to do what exactly? Hug him? Kiss him? Make proper love to him?

Whatever it was, you shouldn’t have felt that. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, but having no other choice, you pulled your hand back. He didn’t indicate he was hurt in any way; he didn’t even turn look at you in response. So, he didn’t care either. Good. Great. Amazing, actually.

You realized you were full on staring at him, so you quickly snapped your head back to your goal. It felt weird to just fly up to it, your brain couldn’t comprehend that you were invisible. But you most definitely were, considering the fact you were still alive. Still, your heartrate picked up to unprecedented speed levels as you shamelessly passed the first control tower.

If you were to die by the hands of the Empire, it would be in direct combat. Not like this. Not defenselessly, trapped in a fucking ship in space. It could all be over in a heartbeat. You wouldn’t even have time to realize it was over. There would be no life flashing before your eyes. Maker, you were spiraling again. Only this time, there was no Mando to catch you. If he didn’t know or realized and didn’t care…

Your brain decided to let your life flash before your eyes now, just in case you wouldn’t get the time later. Wonderful. You saw your mother, fierce as ever in her fighting gear, ready to protect you at all costs, you saw her sitting in the cornfields at your farm, smiling softly, her skin basically radiating with the bright sunlight illuminating her. You saw your father gently helping you up after you fell from yet another tree you thought you were tough enough to climb, saw him kissing you goodbye, the love in his eyes…You saw your sisters, the three of you whispering to each other from your beds way past your bedtime, playing tag on the farmlands…you saw your big sister’s eyes widen in shock and surprise as the blastershot went through her…

“Hey,” a soft voice intercepted, “Come back to me.” You blinked against the tears you hadn’t even noticed forming and beheld Mando standing in front of you once again. One of his gloved hands trailed your cheek tentatively and wiped some of the wetness away. Catching your breath and gulping your sadness down, you nodded. You focused on his hand touching your skin while calming your breaths.

“It’s alright,” Mando assured you softly before pulling you in for an embrace, which was oddly comforting despite his armor. You pressed your cheek against the beskar while his fingers drew soothing circles on your back. “It’s alright,” he repeated softly and you started to believe him. Maker, this was the second time he saved you today. You needed to get a grip, now was not the moment to crumble.

A small tremor shook the ship. You must have docked on the tower. Mando released you reluctantly. “Do you think you can do this now?” he asked softly, though you knew it wasn’t really a question. You had no choice. “Of course,” you murmured, your voice almost even again. You quickly wiped the tears from your eyes with slightly trembling hands before gripping the hilt of your lightsaber for comfort. Focusing on the Force surrounding you, you completely regained your composure.

“I’m ready,” you promised him and he nodded before heading out of the cockpit. You followed suit as he guided you through the tunnel connecting your ship to the station. “We’re in,” you whispered to Artoo through your commlink.

At least it looked fairly normal on the inside. The same dull metallic walls that decorated every ship greeted you, though you weren’t sure you wanted to know how many there were in total. You threw your Force senses wide out, but no signal ricocheted. Mando looked at you expectantly, but you shook your head.

“Okay, then…left,” he decided and you carefully approached the ending of the hall. You poked your head around the corner. There was no one to be seen. “Clear,” you murmured to Mando and the two of you entered the hallway.

You kept projecting your Force in any direction you could, but no response came. Still, he had to be in this tower…your gut was rarely wrong. “I can’t sense…anything,” you said out loud. Usually, there was always something…right now, you couldn’t even sense life around you. There had to be some sentient, breathing being on this station…

“Something’s not right,” you uttered, “There’s no life here. Nothing at all.”

As if on cue, battle droids rounded the corner at the end of the hall. “I have a bad feeling about this,” Mando agreed before pulling out his blaster and shooting at them. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t hesitate to return the fire. Out of reflex, you reached for your lightsaber and covered Mando as he kept shooting them down. Damn, he had good aim. The Maker knew how hard it was to kill those things, especially with blasters.

Shortly after, they were within reach for your lightsaber, which was a fight they were bound to lose. You relished in the feeling of getting lost in the fight, cutting droids down left and right. It didn’t last long. Standing in the remnants of the machines, you looked at Mando, who was standing a few feet away, blaster still in hand.

“What?” You grinned at him, but it quickly faltered as you took in his stillness. “This is a trap,” he breathed out. “Maybe, but we’ll fight our way through.” You shrugged and for the first time in a while, the gesture truly reflected your sentiments. “If they’ve pulled out the big guns, Grogu must be here.” Mando nodded once in agreement. “Alright. Lead the way.”

Stepping over the pieces of metal, you stalked to the end of the corridor, Mando at your heels. “I guess we just go…where they came from?” you suggested and turned left. His lack of protest was affirmation enough for you. For a few turns, everything was quiet again. Still, you didn’t dare to sheath your weapon again. Statistically, the likelihood of another attack rose with every step you took.

Sure enough, another dozen droids greeted you at the next turn. “Seems like we’re on the right track,” you said to Mando before unleashing yourself.

“I feel kind of useless over here,” Mando mumbled once you were done. “Nonsense. You’re my backup,” you teased him, on a complete high from the fight.

As you passed the next paths, droid attacks became more frequent. “We must be getting closer,” you panted after finishing another row of aggressors. A blastershot went off and you turned around to see a droid topple over. “Thanks.” You nodded towards Mando before you continued to make your way to Grogu.

You were not prepared for the five droidekas facing you as you rounded the next corner. “I didn’t even know they still made these,” you said, part in terror, part in fascination. “Leave that to the bounty hunter,” was all he replied before activating something on his glove. You recognized the thing he threw at them as a thermal detonator and fortunately, it did the trick. The droids were in pieces once the smog of the detonation cleared. A minor setback however was that your position was now painfully obvious to your enemies. “Are you out of your mind?” you yelled at him. “What ever happened to ‘a little stealth’?”

Mando seriously had the audacity to shrug. “I guess we’ll have to substitute stealth with speed now.” You groaned in anger before quickening your pace to match his.

Instead of confronting the next droids in your way, you simply speeded past them while cutting a few down and deflecting their shots. You all but sprinted when you saw the row of cells expanding in front of you. “I still can’t sense him!” you panted in fear. “So use your other senses.” Mando’s reply was so dry that you had the bizarre urge to giggle.

The two of you quickly made your way through the corridor while checking the mostly vacant cells.

“Of course, they had to put him into the very last one.” You sighed as you approached it cautiously. “Artoo?” you spoke into your commlink. A beep came in response. Thank the Maker. “Can you open cell 2483 in the left tower? Pronto?” He beeped in confirmation.

Quicker than expected, the cell door slid open. Mando was about to enter, but you pulled him back by the shoulder. “Wait. This is too easy.” You looked around warily. “I don’t care. I’ll get Grogu.” And…he was actually in the cell, wasn’t he? You peeked inside. Yep, there he was, sitting in on a metal bench at the back of the small cell.

“But…I can’t sense him,” you murmured in confusion while Mando stepped towards his child. “Maybe your Jedi senses are broken,” Mando answered absentmindedly. Was that a thing? You lost contact to the Force the second you entered this ship…there was something elementarily wrong with this. But what…Grogu was there. In flesh and blood. How?

“Mando, wait. Please.” But he wouldn’t listen. He was right in front of Grogu now and reached for him…only for his hands to go right through him. He stumbled back in confusion. But…Grogu looked so real. No hologram looked that real…Unless…you remembered another day, a day that wasn’t all that long ago, but felt like a different lifetime to you now. The meeting you watched…all of them just disappeared…Had they been meeting their digitally or…Or has this whole mission been a trap? And you fell for it…

“We have to get out of here.” You stepped into the cell to pull Mando, who was still stupefied, back out. But you didn’t get that far. The door shut the second you were past it. “Nononononononono.” You slashed at the door with your lightsaber, but it wouldn’t budge. In a desperate attempt, you reached out blindly for the Force, but it didn’t respond to your call. “No,” you breathed out in disbelief. Did you seriously just let yourself get fooled by the Empire again?

You looked back at Mando, who was still facing the hologram of Grogu. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him and put your hand on his shoulder. “It was all a trap. I am so stupid, I let them trick me…I… I failed you and Grogu. Again.” Your voice broke. “This whole mission was probably a scam and I…I didn’t even question it. Didn’t even think straight.”

Mando’s helmet turned to you slowly. “What do you mean?” His voice was strained. “I…I don’t know why – or how, for that matter – exactly, but I think they wanted us to follow them. They expected us to be on Kashyyyk. They somehow planned all of this…and now we’re trapped here and it’s all because I didn’t fucking think.” You threw your lightsaber at the wall in frustration.

Mando silently went towards your discarded weapon, picked it up and handed it back to you. “We’ll get out of here,” he assured you, his fingers brushing yours while he passed you your lightsaber.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of this. This cell is foolproof and as you probably already noticed, there’ll be no Force tricks happening here,” a female voice sneered. You spun to face the wall in agitation. Where the Grogu replica had been sitting seconds ago, the red-haired woman was now sprawled. “You,” your voice held the promise of a brutal, slow death.

“Me,” she replied with a wicked grin. “An old friend of yours?” Mando asked sarcastically. “Who are you?” you demanded from the stranger, ignoring him.

“Gosh, where are my manners?” the woman replied in theatrical horror. “Veoma Gad. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” A serpentine smile curved on her lips.

Chapter 6

Masterlist

[randomguywithwords]

As The Dust Settles: Chapter 22 (Geten X Dabi Slowburn)

Chapter 22: Lost Memories

AO3 Link

Previous Chapters: 21, 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

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On Friday, Dabi found himself surrounded by four figures, recognising only one by his still-long silver hair like strands of moonlight, his hardened, battle-scarred face and calm expression. 

“This is a nice reunion. I can’t say I remember all of you – mostly because I don’t care to do so, but if Nine let you guys into his special club, you guys are likely decent.” Dabi smirked, eyeing each of them in turn. 

The rightmost one, an imposing wolf-man gave a growl. “Decent? I’ll show you decent.”

“Chimera,” Nine, to his left, spoke softly. To Dabi’s surprise, the subordinate huffed and stayed silent. Turning back to face Dabi, Nine said, “It has indeed been a while. You understand the logistics of this experiment?”

“Shigaraki put me to it, of course I do.” 

“Then let us proceed.” Nine stepped towards him, while his minions tensed up. 

“Nine, are you sure about this?” The skinny man directed a glare towards Dabi. Dabi didn’t need that to tell him they were suspicious of him. 

“I’ll be in safe hands. We will meet at the location I’ve given you all. Take care, friends.” Nine gave a wave of dismissal, and with some reluctance, the remaining three departed in silence. 

“Alright, let’s go.” Dabi pocketed his hands and began leaving the forest clearing, heading back towards Deika City. He heard Nine’s footsteps behind him. 

“Your demeanour has certainly shifted. What happened to the old Vengeance?”

“Who?”

“You, obviously.”

Dabi racked his brain, but the name didn’t ring a bell. “Well, I don’t call myself that horrible name now.”

“I’ve heard. Numerous cases of burnt corpses or piles of ashes, blue flames. They call you Dabi now. I thought it was peculiar, but it made sense when I could no longer contact your old mentor.” 

“Your squadmate.” Dabi corrected, the fact returning to his memories. As Nine’s voice entered his head, it hummed in resonance with old recollections where he had met the man in his teenagehood. He now recalled the one encounter, out of the few, where Dabi had first seen that calm, controlled countenance contort with rage, born from the ideology he stole. 

“It confused me initially. I wondered why a man you respected and perhaps even cared for would be subject to your flames. The possibilities ranged from hallucinogens to collateral damage. But no.” Nine murmured. “You killed Dabi intentionally, didn’t you?”

Dabi was silent for three seconds, the air cold as winter storms. “You were right,” Touya said. “He left me for dead, but I escaped, and then...yeah.”

Nine sighed. “How poetic. To die by his partner’s hands, as he let his squad die all those years ago. But that brings me to my other question.”

They were drawing near to civilization, weaving through pine trees and stepping over brooks. 

“Why take his name?” 

“Figure it out yourself,” Dabi said with a forceful tone of finality. “We’re almost reaching the place.” 

To his credit, Nine dropped the subject. Perhaps he did so because he needed what Shigaraki had to offer. Antagonising Dabi wouldn’t be smart.

They were reaching one of the tunnels that led to the Liberation Front’s assembly square, now empty. It was empty, likely only watched by Skeptic’s surveillance. But a few raised eyebrows is all it would draw; Skeptic was too cowardly to question Dabi’s tasks or Shigaraki’s plans. 

“Here?” Dabi heard disgust in Nine’s tone as the musty air rushed out of the opening doors. 

“Can’t let anyone see us. This is good.” Dabi shut the doors behind them. Tapping his earpiece, he said, “We’re good, Doc.”

“I’ve been waiting for a while now,” Ujiko huffed on the other end of the line. “Give me a second.”

“Have a safe trip, Nine, I’ll see you on Monday.” Dabi waved, concealing a grin. 

Nine gave a nod, before Ujiko’s teleportation took hold of his form, and Nine’s body disappeared within the swampy goo. 

Dabi leaned against the wall, feeling more memories return of the other Dabi. The first Dabi. Did I ever know his name? I don’t think he, nor Nine, ever told me. Special forces… all that secrecy. 

He felt his fire ignite on his arm out of instinct. He willed it to die, and instead, let the past engulf him. 

––––––––––

“What’s your name, kid?” 

“Touya.” I rubbed my hands out of instinct. What time is it? How long did I sleep?

“Quirk?”

“I can shoot fire.” 

“Was it you back there? The fire at that mall in the afternoon?” 

“No,” I lied. 

The stranger cocked his head. “I ain’t gonna report you to the police, kid. I’m not exactly on best terms with them myself.” 

“Are you…” The word on the tip of my tongue was like a matchstick to a fuse. 

“A villain?” He scoffed. “I just fixed you up and gave you a place to sleep for the night. Do I look like one?” 

I looked him up and down. Grey coat, green goggles on his forehead, a cigarette in his hand. “No,” I said. 

“Well, your perception needs some work.” He leaned back on the creaky folding chair. “Officially, I’m considered one, but unlike the thugs in alleys like this, I have standards. And I don’t take kids hostage, even if you’re Endeavour’s kid.” 

I backed away, my back slamming against the mouldy bricks. “How did you —“ 

“Please, a fire quirk, and recent sightings of Endeavour at the same mall that was set on fire? Don’t play dumb with me.” 

“That was his doing,” I argued. 

He took a puff and clucked his tongue. “Now you’re blaming it on your dad? Not very filial.” 

“I hate my dad.” The venom coursed through every word I spat out, which seemed to startle even the stranger.

“Hm, some spirit in you. Well, take that bravado and run off now, why don’t you?” 

“What?” 

He quirked his eyebrow. “You heard me, shoo.” 

“But…” My head drooped. “I’ve nowhere to go. I’m running away.”

“Well, you should have thought of a plan before setting fire to a mall, using that as an escape, and nearly choking to death in the flames you made.” Every word in that sentence made my skin shudder. 

I was desperate, I wanted to say, but desperation would only paint me as prey in the underbelly of society, my next stage of hell that the gods were benevolent enough to throw me into.  

“I can help you,” I decided to say, raising my head, mustering the drops of defiance in myself.

The man snorted. “How exactly does a 13 year old kid benefit me? I don’t do teams, boy.” 

“What if I beat you in a fight?” I clenched my fists, which still stung from the wounds. 

He scanned my form and the guise of confidence on my face. “Oh, so you were trained by Endeavour. I thought you were one of those prissy boys enjoying a rich life.”

My face drained of heat and colour. How did he know?

“Look, I’m not a smart guy, but I’m smarter than you. I can make my own assumptions, one of which is that I’d win you in a fight. No contest.”

“I…” My voice trailed off.

“How about this?” The man said, throwing his cigarette behind him. “You know hide and seek?” 

I frowned. “Yes. It’s a childish game.”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s one of the best strategies for its simplicity. Let’s play that game. Give me a minute, then go to the nearby park. It’s midnight, no one will see you. And if you get caught by a stray policeman, I’m not saving you again. Anyway, if you can find me, I’ll let you in. Got it?” 

I gulped, hoping this wasn’t dangerous for myself, but considering how I’d be unconscious for a couple of hours and he hadn’t done anything, I felt a sense of trust in this stranger. 

“Ok, tha – thank you. How long do I have?”

“60 seconds. Start counting.” With that, he left the alley. 

1...2...3

Ten seconds in, I wondered if he was simply leaving me as a twisted joke. How far could he run in a minute? What was his quirk anyway? 

Twenty seconds in, I contemplated scrounging this hideout for whatever I could find and running from him, but the guilt of betraying his hospitality stopped me. 

Thirty seconds in, in a moment of panic, I thought he was going to turn me in. What if people died in the fire? I would be held responsible, wouldn’t I? What if everything he said about himself being a villain was a lie?

The minute felt stretched into eternity with the unceasing torrent of worries flooding my mind. But after being frozen in one spot throughout, I heard myself say 60. Taking a deep breath, I got up and left the hideout, entering the cold night. 

––––––––––

Dabi heard the door groan open. He opened his eyes to see a familiar form, shrouded by a recognizable parka hood.

“You?” Dabi frowned. “What are you doing here?”

Geten’s form went rigid, like a burglar who had been caught by a flashlight. 

“I thought...there was a meeting,” She said. 

“And you chose to enter by this tunnel?” His tone was acidly amused. 

Geten didn’t reply for a couple of seconds. “Yes.” 

Dabi sighed. “For a lieutenant, you’re shit at lying. You were following me, weren’t you? Why would you enter an empty place where you know your entrance would be heard so goddamn clearly?” 

“You were in there for a while. I thought,” She caught herself, but relented. “I thought something happened to you. That man. He looked dangerous.”

Dabi’s breath was stuck in his throat. It was his turn to be stunned. “I was fine, alright. I’m just thinking. So, how much did you hear?” He folded his arms in annoyance, but he found it suddenly difficult to muster anger against her.

“Next to nothing, apart from your farewell. What are you doing when the Festival starts?” 

“I’ll be there during the Festival. Don’t worry.” Dabi figured Twice could simply generate a copy of him. Technically, it was the truth. 

“You’re a liar.” The emotion in her words took him aback, as if that really struck a painful chord in her. “You wouldn’t sound so reassuring. What’s going on?” 

Ugh. Shigaraki won’t be happy if I told her. 

“I’m not going to divulge this to anyone. I’ve no intention to, anyway,” She added.

“It’s just a side task, okay? You can handle the regiment just fine.”

Geten was quiet, then she spoke, “Can we continue this somewhere else?”

“Why?”

“Wouldn’t want to make the amateur mistake you did when speaking to that man.” She gestured around them. 

Ah. Dabi had an idea what she intended to say. “If you say so. Where’s a good place?” 

But Geten responded only by opening the door and motioned for him to follow. 

[nightashes]

Anxceit!! With Virgil having stood up for Janus, Virgil got hurt, and Janus now has to help him!!

You Help Me. I Help You.

a/n: Thanks so much for suggesting this! You’ll have to let me know what you think!

warnings: bullies. blood. violence.

ao3 version - writing masterlist

The sun is high in the sky. A few clouds drift by, wispy in appearance. As if an artist had taken a paintbrush and lightly blended them into the blue of the atmosphere. Janus sits amongst a collection of philosophy books, full of sticky notes and highlighter. His computer lies open in his lap, an empty word document stares out from the screen, mocking the student. Taunting him with the blinking of the text cursor, as more and more minutes pass without anything new to add to the page.

Janus has plenty to say on society. On morals he could rant for hours. Gender roles, he might as well clear his schedule for the day. But, the philosophy of love? He just couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Marriage is just a made up cultural obligation that society forces everyone to care about. Oh, these people love each other! Let’s spend all of our money on an unnecessary ceremony that will force the couple to stay together or face tons of debt to undo. And that’s just marriage. Romance in general is completely overrated, overpraised, and overdone. 

Janus sighs, shifting his capelet on his shoulders in agitation. With spring slowly turning to summer, his signature outfit was beginning to grow uncomfortable in the heat. But did Janus care? Absolutely not. Beauty was pain and he loves his bowler hat and capelet more than society loves its billionaires. 

He stares out across the campus lawn, scowling. The warm weather not only threatens his comfort but it has attracted hordes of students, crowding together to distract people like him that actually have papers to write. Warm weather is just awful. Truly horrid. Nothing good about it. He thinks to himself, watching a nearby group of students push and prod each other, their laughter loud and obnoxious. And to his left, another student, similarly dressed in dark clothing lounges beneath a tree. He spies Janus watching him and gesturing to the loud group rolls his eyes in annoyance. Janus smiles back, nodding in agreement. The purple clad student smirks. Flipping to a new page in his notebook. He begins sketching, quick and messily he runs his pen across the lined paper. Drawing hurriedly, and sneaking glances at the group before them. Catching Janus’s eye once done, he grins deviously. Flipping the notebook over, the student dramatically reveals a rather rough sketch of the three being attacked by a giant snake. Their shocked and terrified expressions caused the philosophy major to burst out into a deep and ruckus laughter. Booming out through the area, it shocks the offending group into silence. They turn around seeking the source of the sound. “What the fudge, you laugh like a Disney villain.” The one wearing a puka necklace calls out.

Janus stifles his chuckles, as the three make their way over to his position. “What are you even laughing at? Did your imaginary friend tell a joke?” A guy in a baseball cap, who thinks himself clever, speaks with bravado.

His friend with the sunglasses continues. “Are you seriously wearing a cape right now? What are you, some kind of nutcase?”

“A cape, I have no idea what you could possibly be referring to? I’m wearing a perfectly boring and unoriginal outfit just like you three fashionistas?” Janus speaks, sarcasm dripping with each word, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Did he just insult us?” Baseball cap questions. Genuinely looking confused. Janus can’t help but chuckle at the poor fellow.

“Oh, of course not. It was a compliment. I love it when people think wearing jeans and a t-shirt makes them an individual. You three must be so brave. I applaud you.” He slowly claps his hands, emphasizing each word. ”Good job on being so unique.”

Baseball Cap grabs the front of Janus’s jacket, lifting him up to a standing position. The brute leans in closely, his breath stinking of onions. He whispers menacingly. “You think you’re smarter than us? You think you’re better than us? You're wearing a frickin’ Halloween costume in April. You’re a freak.”

“Takes a freak to know a freak.” Janus breaks in. The brute throws him to the ground. He lands on his computer, a loud crack filling the air as the screen digs into his back. He winces painfully.

“HEY!” A voice, rough and angry, yells over the commotion. Janus rolls his head to the side, seeking the source of the shout. The darkly clad student is marching over, his fists are lowered to his side, his face dark, and his features pinched in rage. “GET AWAY FROM HIM!” His voice booms, venom dripping from his words as he shoves his way through the group, trying to reach Janus. 

Puka necklace grabs the hood of his jacket. Yanking him back into the center of their crew. Sunglasses grasp the student’s chin, “Well, well, well, What do we have here? Does the freak have a friend?”

The student glares back daggers, opens his mouth, and seizes Sunglasses’s hand between his teeth. He bites down hard, eliciting a scream of pain. Puka Necklace yanks him away from Sunglasses, while Baseball Cap gives him a right-hook to the check. The student collapses to the ground. Sunglasses kicks him in the ribs, clutching onto his bleeding hand. He lets loose a string of curse words. Kicking out again at the already down student, before stomping off. His buddies follow, angrily yelling and gesturing maddeningly.

With them gone, Janus rushes to the fallen student. The injured man lies on the ground, curled into a fetal position. His arms wrapping around him in comfort and protection. Janus kneels beside his fellow student. 

“Hey, hey don’t worry. You’re okay.” He whispers assurances as his gloved hand rests on the boy’s shoulder.

The student weakly shoves his hand away. “Leave me alone.” He snarls, trying his best to rise. He manages to crouch onto his knees. His palms pressed into the fertile green grass of the campus lawn. He bends his fingers, digging his nails into the soil, breathing heavily from his mouth. A drop of blood is smeared across his lower lip. “I’ve got this.” The student sighs.

Janus appraises the stubborn student. “Yeah. I can see that.” He shakes his head in exasperation. The philosophy major sits there in silence, his chin resting in his hand as he watches the much too proud student attempt to stand. The purple clad man clutches his ribs as he brings his legs up beneath him. Trying to shift onto his feet, only to wobble and fall to his side. 

“Ugh, everything hurts.” He groans.

“Oh really? Because I thought you were doing great? But, please, do let me know if you need a hand?”

“I’m fine.” The student spits, lying on his back, clearly not fine.

Janus rolls his eyes at the obvious lie. “Are you always this stubborn or is it only on Tuesdays?”

The student shifts his eyes to the side, examining his odd companion. “Just Tuesday and Thursdays. Although on Sundays I flip a coin.”

An amused tsk escapes Janus’s lips. “Well, I do appreciate the help with that gang. Running in like you did. You’re a true hero.” Janus bats his eyes, while his “savior” scrunches his face in annoyance. 

“Oh har-de-har-har. You’re a real comedian.”

“No, really, I mean it. You… well.. You tried to help. And I suppose, that’s a nice thing to do. It’s a shame it backfired so spectacularly.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the story of my life, I suppose.”

“Things would probably go a little better if you’d let me help you. The name’s Janus by the way.” He sticks out a hand to the supine student.

“Virgil.’ His attempted savior answers, giving an odd two-finger salute in response.

Janus smiles, refusing to withdraw his hand. “Will you let me help you, Virgil?”

Virgil stares into the sky, genuinely considering his options. “I suppose I’ve already made a big enough fool of myself.” The purple student declares to the universe, finally taking hold of the offered hand.

The philosophy major growls at the self deprecation. “Wow, you truly are a fool.” Janus pulls his “savior” into a sitting position. 

Virgil winces at the movement. “Thanks for the motivation.” 

“No, really, you are an absolute fool. Stay here, I have some napkins in my bag.”

“Uhh...How am I a fool?” Virgil questions, watching Janus grab his bag and return, holding a napkin up to Virgil’s face. 

“The fact that you think accepting help makes you a fool.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I get it. Everyone needs help. Oh, thanks.” Virgil winces as Janus applies the napkin to his lip. 

“No, you clearly don’t get it. Hold that there.” Janus releases the napkin into Virgil’s grasp, pulling out his phone to text Remus. “My roommate is pre-med. I’ll see if he’s free. Can you lift up your shirt? I need to see your ribs.”

“Uhh.. is that necessary?” Virgil blushes red and well… Janus just couldn’t pass it up. He leans in. 

“Is something wrong? You’re flushing red?” He hurriedly removes a glove from his hand. Pressing his bare palm to the forehead of the injured student. He leans in close, smiling. “You’re not feverish. Could it be… that you find me attractive?” His smile is wicked.

Virgil scowls pushing him away. “Please, just because you’re dressed like a Disney villain, does not mean I think you’re cool or attractive or anything.”

“Wait.” Janus reels back. “You like my outfit?”

“I mean, yeah. It’s just so unashamedly you. And well, Disney villains are just cool.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Janus leans in close again. “But I still would like to check your ribs. If you’d allow me.”

“Ummm… okay.” He lifts his shirt up slowly. Revealing bruises that are already beginning to show. “Is that bad? That looks bad?”

“Absolutely not. Ribs are supposed to look like that.” Janus jokes. Virgil does not find it funny in the slightest. He sighs. “You’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I’ve seen worse than this.”

“You have?”

“Yeah. The roommate I mentioned. He gets into quite a few scrapes. He’s a lot like us. Unabashedly himself.” Janus speaks gently pressing his fingers to the ribs as Remus had taught him. 

Virgil winces at the touch. “Maybe that’s not the best thing to be.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Virgil. Being myself is why you find me attractive.”

Virgil blushes, spluttering. “What??”

“It’s okay.” Janus smirks. “It’s why I find you attractive too.”

Virgil is practically gasping for air, the poor fellow. Janus pulls Virgil’s shirt back into place. He rises to stare into his savior’s eyes. “Well, I think you’ll be fine until Remus gets here. Until then, do you think I could have your number?”

The purple student gulps, nodding his head vigorously. He attempts to speak. His voice cracking. He pauses. And tries again. “Yes. Yeah. Um… okay.” He speaks quietly. 

Janus unlocks his phone. Handing it over, he leans in to watch as the student types in his number, trying his best not to smile from ear to ear. “Thank you for letting me help you, Virgil.” He whispers as his phone is returned to him. Taking it back, he lightly lifts Virgil’s hand to his lips. Kissing the back of his fingers. “I think you’ve just helped me write my paper.”

awesome people to tag: @stop-it-anxiety @rainboots-are-for-snobs @hexatrash @ollyollyoxinfree @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @leiasolo77

[readerinsertfanfiction]

Dear Penpal,

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Character: Shigaraki Tomura / Tenko Shimura 

Prompt: Childhood friends to enemies

Part 1 | Part 2

Endeavour. Is. Scary!

Not how I wanted to start my letter to you, but he really does give me the shivers. Anyway, to start over: 

Hello Tenko, 

I hope you have been better than me. 

My first week in Japan has actually gone past quite peacefully. Quite. Because Endeavour has gained the super special skill to terrify me with his mere presence. I think he disapproves of me, but next week we will have the summit in which the whole team will be introduced and there I shall prove myself. 

Will you be there? I know that we are supposed to keep it a top secret, but will you? You never gave me your intended hero-name, so I can’t scan out your list, nor do I have a clue what your quirk is. 

This is difficult. Will you know me? Will I even recognise you? You better have kept the bracelet I made you! I know, it must have long since fallen off, and everything, but you have kept it, right?

Otherwise, I have kept your present! The charm you sent me is still hanging onto my bag, I’m very proud to say that I have never lost it and I hope that you will come to recognise it, even if I won’t be able to recognise you. 

Tenko, what happened? I tried visiting your old address, but no one seemed to know you anymore, or your family even. When did you move? When did you leave? Is this the reason why you never wrote me back?

Tenko, I miss you. I really do. 

To be fair, life hadn’t passed quite so easily at all for you. While they gave you the time and space to settle in the new country and strange environment was a huge shift. The less than stellar welcome at your new workplace, the mysterious circumstances under which your friend had disappeared. They were all too strange to you, too much for you to process who had looked forward to being reunited with your penpal. 

Fortunately there was still a bright star at the horizon. Though it had been the part you had looked forward to the least, the U.A. Academy had quickly risen to be one of your favourite workplaces as well as places to be. The fresh air, the zeal of the students, the constant appearances of famous heroes that went around so casually, it all felt so surreal to you. 

“[Name], how has it been, teaching the students statistics?” All Might one day asked you, startling you pretty much witless at the approach of the huge bundle of muscles and whatnot. Though the two of you had been introduced formally upon your entry into the school you still hadn’t grown used to how large the hero actually was.

“You’re startling [Name], overzealous bulk of meat.” Aizawa popped up from behind the man, his eyes glaring as ever before passing the hero into the cafeteria for his lunch. 

Yet another famous hero you couldn’t help but to stare after at.

“Ahaha, sorry for that, I will take a step back,” the hero guffawed, rubbing the back of his head as he took a step back. “It is just that after me you are the newest addition to the faculty, so I was curious how you are settling in.”

Deflating you let go of a sigh, a smile crossing your features, the man had only meant well, though his size was still a surprising sight to behold. Nudging towards a table you thus invited the man to sit with you for lunch, quietly inviting All Might to join you. 

“It isn’t anything impressive like the hero course, but the students really are of a different level and type,” you started out generic, figuring that the hero wasn’t sitting here to hear a review over each student you had, or what your techniques were. 

Nodding the male boasted another proud smile, seemingly growing even more in size (if that were to be possible) as he nodded in agreement. “They are all fine students to be proud of!” he started enthusiastically before deflating a little, concern crossing his eyes as he leaned forward, seeming almost demure as he whispered: 

“Though, I was wondering about some particular students. You know, students with an amazing skill at statistics, maybe even an overzealous ability to analyse and with a tendency to go overboard with them?” 

Giving the man a look you smiled at the very-specific description, chuckling a little before you nodded, pretending not to have noticed All Might’s obvious attempt at checking up on a particular individual. 

“There is one student who is excelling in my class, though not surprisingly. He is a hard worker, though he seems rather average,” you started, noting how the glimmer in All Might’s eyes were brightening up as he nodded enthusiastically along. Amused you could almost see the student reflected in the hero’s eyes before you decided to tease him a little longer. 

“He is a good guy, needs some work in his confidence, but he greatly reminds me of a childhood friend of mine,” you continued, a fond smile crossing your lips as an idea lit up within your mind. 

All Might was a famous hero, everyone knew him, just like that his network was surely to be great as everyone wished to be associated with him. Gathering up your courage you sighed to yourself in nostalgia, mind wandering off into another daydream. 

“That friend of mine wanted to be a hero as well. The best of the world!” you reminiscenced. “Though I haven’t heard of him in a long while, I don’t even know his hero name,” you threw out the bait. 

Intrigued All Might crossed his arms, thinking deeply to himself before another broad smile crossed his features. 

“What is the name of this friend of yours?” he offered, catching the trap as you smiled inwardly. “I know many heroes, maybe I can help, though I can’t of course tell you whether I truly know your hero by their civilian name for security reasons,” All Might quickly added, a condition you didn’t mind one bit. 

“Really?” you veered up excitedly, clasping your hands together as if praying to a god. “I understand that you can’t really say anything, but I will really appreciate it if you could tell Tenko that I’m looking for him!”

“Tenko, huh?” All Might repeated after you, none of his features indicating that the name crossed him as familiar. Though, never one to give up you nodded vigorously.

“Tenko Shimura!” you beamed. 

The look of horror that crossed All Might’s expression stilled you into silence, scaring you as much as the fear that seemed to gather within the deepset eyes of the usually so strong hero. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can help you, [Name],” the hero eventually admitted, his voice stern as his expression returned to its usual bravado. “Not because I don’t want to,” he added, though the way his fist clenched suggested something else. 

“There really is no hero with that name.” 

With that the bell rang, signalling the end of the break and forcing everyone to return to their respective classes. 

You remained frozen for a few moments, your heart stuck in your stomach as you wondered what All Might’s reaction had meant.

If Tenko truly hadn’t gone on to become a hero there would be no reason for All Might to react like he did, right? 

Feeling a shiver travel up your spine you hugged yourself, a terrible foreboding feeling brewing up from the pits of your stomach as you didn’t know what to think.

[wickedyan]

can I have a possessive/dominant Yandere Levi Ackerman please? Like really dark or sum. You can do whatever you want! Thank you I love your blog! 💖💖

I got extremely into this,,, which is why it became the 2.3k monster that it now is. I mean, I would be lying if I said this was safe for work,,,, but u hhh– i’ll just let you all decide.

-

Character: Levi Ackerman, Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan

Warnings: Stalking, Noncon, Violence, Hickey’s/Marking, Possesive, Dom/Sub themes, Swearing

-

You were stronger than most, and you knew that. You had no problem boasting about the amount of titan kills that you had, strutting through the lunch hall with a cocky grin painted on your face. Your superiors had tried and failed to put you in your place, they knew they couldn’t beat you, all they could do was continue to glue their envious eyes to your form.

You spent your free time training, building up muscle and stamina. Squats were a favourite of yours. To push up from the tree branches and into the air, you needed the strength. So, you built up the muscles in your calves and thighs (of course you worked on your upper body too)… and your ass. Come on, if everyone was going to stare at you, you would give them something to stare at.

But that was okay, you liked the stares, thriving off the attention that your bangin’ body and capable-self attracted.

Though, you had to admit, you were pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t only the stares of the younger cadets like the 104th that wouldn’t leave you be. When you noticed the icy stare of the strongest in the camp, Corporal Levi, trained on you as you sauntered through the dining hall, you were shocked… and a little embarrassed. He continued to watch as you made your way to the front, picking up a tray and loading your dinner on, hands shaking as you felt his watchful gaze situate itself on your ass.

You hurriedly made your way to your table, greeting your gobsmacked friends as you sat down politely, and definitely not with the usual boisterous attitude you usually had. They began to shout questions at you, wondering why you were acting so unusually shy. You did your best to calm their worried selves, and they reluctantly let your behaviour slide.

Peeking behind you, you stared into Corporal Levi’s hooded gaze that had refused to leave your form. Red flushed up your throat as you whipped back around, before shoving a mouthful of bread in your mouth, muttering an excuse before retiring to your bedroom. But as you turned around, he was no longer in his seat.

-

Striding into training the next morning, you greeted your friends as normal and began to stretch as everyone awaited instructions.

A buzzing not unlike bees began to spread throughout the field, and as you turned around to check what all the commotion was about, your jaw dropped. Corporal Levi was speaking with your usual instructor, who grinned before addressing the crowd. “Alright everyone, Corporal Levi will be your instructor today. I’m sure you’ll obey him as you would me, because he’s not as… lenient with punishments as I am.”

You turned to your friends, all of them sharing a similar look of ‘Oh fuck.’

He seemed to give similar instructions to your usual squad leader, but each word left no room for refusal with each demand. His deep voice commanded the crowd with ease, with everyone being too afraid of punishment to slack off in any way.

Soon, the warm-ups were over, and it was time for sparring matches. You paired up with your usual partner, but before you could begin, a pale hand slid over your shoulder with impeccable grip.

“Cadet Y/n, you will not be sparring with Cadet Leonhart today.” Shivers erupted down your spine as the deep voice mumbled in your ear, his hot breath causing you to force your eyes closed, and you nodded stiffly. “I’ve seen your potential,” his hand slid down your arm, squeezing your biceps, “and I think you’re ready for a real challenge, hm?”

You nodded, “Who do you have in mind, Corporal?”

Retrieving his hand from you, he twisted you around until you faced him, amusement shining through his hooded gaze. “How about me?”

You laughed, “Perfect.”, your usual cocky smile finding its way back onto your face. Finally, a challenge!

Corporal Levi replaced Annie’s place, bending his knees and raising his fists lazily. “Are you ready, Cadet?” With one sharp nod, Annie called the sparring match to a start. Ready as I’ll ever be.

His eyes closed until they were only slits, watching every minimal movement you made, as your chest rose and fell, your weight shifting from each foot, hands clenching into fists. You knew he wouldn’t make the first move, so you decided you would.

You lunged forward with precise movements, throwing hard punches only for the Corporal to block them. You advanced on him, taking the offensive, swift movements helping your foot to make contact with his ribs. Hands gripped your leg before you could pull away and pulled you off balance. You didn’t bother to stare back at him, only trying to catch yourself before you could be pinned, but it was too late.

A strong grip grasped your wrists as his knee dug into your back, pushing your chest into the dirt. He forced your hands together behind your waist, holding the position long enough for Annie to call the match to an end. But he didn’t pull away just yet, no.

Leaning into your ear, he spoke softly, his voice a deep grumble that had you gasping silently. “You think you’re tough shit, don’t you, Y/n?” He pushed your arms further into your back, painfully so. “I had to put you in your place, and I think we both know how much you’re enjoying it…”

It was true. A blush had made its way up your throat, staining your cheeks a deep crimson. A hot burning feeling filled your groin, lighting up your insides. Rubbing your thighs together, you weren’t aware of the jealous stares that were trained on you. “Listen to me, Y/n. Tonight, before supper, you will meet me at my office. Do not be late, or a punishment will be awaiting you, and you will not enjoy it.”

And then the heavy warmth was gone, and Corporal Levi was leaving you on the dirt, scrambling to stand up.

-

Your dinner would be served in roughly an hour and a quarter, you decided it was enough time to clean yourself up and make your way over to the Corporal’s study. You had a hasty bath, the cold water not helping your sore muscles in the slightest. You fetched a bar of soap, lathering it before scrubbing away the dirt that marred your skin. As the water turned brown, swirling around the drain, you allowed yourself to relax, massaging soap through your hair, making sure to leave no rubble behind, less you wish to be scolded by your Corporal.

You twisted the handle, ceasing the water before stepping out of the safety of the bath.

Dressing yourself in your uniform, you decided to leave the manoeuvre gear hung up neatly for the rest of the night. You combed your hair, attempting to tame it before deciding it would do, leaving the room in a hurry. You wandered through the halls, realising that you had never actually set foot inside of the Corporal’s office. Not many had. A bubble feeling arose in your chest. You were special. With this new information in mind, you straightened your posture, pushing out your chest, smug sneer evident on your face.

Arriving at his office, you took in the silver nameplate. ‘Corporal Levi Ackerman’ it read. A quick glance behind you informed you that his nameplate was impeccably clean without a speck of dirt. You hadn’t expected less.

“Are you going to keep me waiting, y/n? I’m not a patient man.”

You swallowed down a gulp, hand approaching the door handle slowly. What did the Corporal need from you? Were you in trouble? Was he going to punish you? You stuttered back as the door swung open. “I’m—!”

“Cadet Y/n. Please come inside, I am tired of waiting.” Corporal Levi was shorter than you, but in this moment, you were certain that he was towering over you, steeled eyes staring into your soul.

He stepped aside, pulling the door open wider as you slid in past him. The thumping of your heart was so loud that you were worried that he would be able to smell your fear. Too concentrated on calming yourself, you missed the heavy thud of the now-closed door, deft fingers locking it in place.

Long strides carried him around the desk, taking a seat in front of you. He gestured to the chair placed in front of his desk. You took a seat, smoothing out the creases in your pants. You avoided his eyes.

“Cadet, are you aware of the reason I’ve called you into my office this afternoon?” You shook your head.

“No, sir.”

Levi nodded, leaning back in his chair, sitting in a more comfortable position. You could feel his eyes take in your form. He looked almost… hungry.

“I’m sick of your behaviour, to be very fucking honest with you. I’ve had it with this high-and-mighty attitude.” His fruity voice demanded all attention be on himself. His fingers tapped against the plush-looking leather of his chair, four taps that continued in a pattern.

Taptaptaptap. Taptaptaptap. Taptaptaptap.

Your breathing quickened, anxious hands wringing together awkwardly. You focussed your gaze unto the clock sitting in the corner of the room. You had about a quarter of an hour before supper. The empty feeling in your stomach was suddenly much more noticeable as you thought about what the kitchen would be serving that night. Perhaps a stew?

You didn’t usually get so distracted, but as you sat there, blankly staring at the clock, you neglected to notice your Corporal standing rising from his chair.

A shrill squeak escaped your throat in an embarrassing fashion, the seat you were perched atop scraping harshly against the polish floorboards from an impressively strong kick. “I did not summon you into my quarters for you to daydream, idiot. Pay attention.”

You could feel the heat fill your face, shame forcing you to lower your head. Your apology was greeted with a scoff. “Where’s all your bravado now, cadet? Lost your nerve?”

Leaning down on his leg that was still pressed on to edge of your chair, he invaded your personal space. He smelled nice… was he wearing cologne?

“Aw, shy now? That’s too bad, pet. I happen to love putting brats like you in their place.” Your shocked expression met his amused grin, malicious intent burning in his gaze. He was straddling you and you choked on your own saliva, hand shaking as you lifted them from your lap as to not have them squashed. Where should you put your hands?!

A rough hand travelled up the length of your spine, nails scraping gently against sensitive skin. “Here’s how things are gonna work, pet. You’re gonna wanna fight me, and I know you’re gonna want to pin me, but that’s not gonna happen. You’re mine to touch, to tease. You’re gonna be my little plaything, and you’re gonna take all that comes my way.” A strong grip grasped your hair, pulling your hair to the side and eliciting a groan of pain. Teeth grazed the joining between your shoulder and throat. “I don’t give a shit about how you act in the yard, cadet. But with me, you’re gonna submit to me. Fight me, and I’ll be forced to punish you.”

Your hands settled on his shoulders, eyes squeezed tight. Levi’s other hand came to rest on your hip, constricting and causing you to writhe.

Lips pressed hotly against your shoulder, leaving wet marks behind as his touch travelled up your throat. He nipped at a particularly sensitive spot, eliciting the sweetest moans. His tongue peaked out, licking and sucking and biting until your grip on his shoulders was almost bruising. Almost. You shook your head, pushing away at his shoulders, but the grip he had on your hair restricted your movement, tugging sharply as a warning. He began nipping below your jaw, hips grinding into your own.

At a notably loud moan, he stopped, hot breath whispering into your ear, “Enjoying yourself, Cadet? But I’ve barely started.” A hand dragged down your stomach as his mouth continued its ministrations, unbuckling your blouse without a word. He slid down, latching on to your collarbone, leaving a trail of dark marks in his wake.

A cold hand pulled at your undergarments, exposing your breasts. The cooling feeling against your exposed nipples was jarring. You bucked your hips, biting your lip in embarrassment. “Corporal Levi, you should stop… someone could catch us!”

He ignored you, biting into your throat in reprimand. But, it was as though the Gods were on your side… or not.

“Levi~!” the rambunctious voice of Squad Leader Hanji cut through the silence. Levi pulled away from your throat with a wet pop, wiping away saliva with his sleeve, clearly irritated at the interruption. “Levi, why is the door locked? Ohhh~ are you in there with someone…?” Her tone was dramatic and suggestive, the amusement only furthering your embarrassment.

You used Hanji as a distraction to push away from Levi, pulling up your bra and dashing for the door. You unlocked it with ease and ducked past a surprised Hanji. You ran for the dorm, patting down your hair and buttoning up your blouse. You did your best to recover your composure before facing your dorm-mates.

It would have worked too, if the array of pink-purple bruises covering your throat hadn’t immediately given you away.

(And when you came to training the following morning with makeup concealing each and every one, lets just say that Levi wasn’t pleased…)

[98prilla]

Abductions, Past and Present

Next

Previous 

AO3

...

He wakes slowly, this time, like drifting upwards, through soft clouds, and he yawns, stretching, barely wincing at the pull in his right side as he blinks his eyes open, rolling over onto his side. He smiles softly, meeting Remus’s eyes, who is sitting by his bedside, eyes widening as he sees what’s in his hands.

 “Rem… Rem is that… is that a book?” He whispers, almost awestruck. Remus nods, smile wide and brighter than it’s ever been.

 “yeah. It’s a collection of Shakespeare plays. Patton brought it to me, a gift from Logan.” Remus frowns at that name, unconsciously rubbing up and down the spine, the feel soft and so distantly familiar beneath his fingers.

 “Logan… Logan’s the one who saved me.” Remus frowns a bit harder at that, sighing.

 “I am aware. He’s also the one who kept us apart for nearly three days and let me believe you had died.” His mouth drops open in a silent ‘oh’, shifting so he’s sitting up in bed.

 “is that what it was? Right before they brought you in here I… panicked. I could feel something was wrong, with you.” Remus snorts, leaning back in his chair.

 “Yeah, me having a complete breakdown and listing all the ways I could kill myself would probably trigger that for ya.”

 “WHAT?!”

 “I thought you were dead, ok!? I don’t… you’re the only thing I have, Ro. And I thought you were gone.” He softens, reaching out a hand, Remus instantly intertwining their fingers, squeezing tight.

 “I’m not. You can’t get rid of me that easily, Rem. I promise.” Remus smiles, a sad, small smile, as he presses their foreheads together.

 “good. You’re a fighter, Ro. You always have been. You’re so much stronger than me, brobro. So much better than me.” Remus pulls back after a long moment, setting the book aside on a small bedside stand.

“If you’re feeling up for it, we can take a little walk. Patton’s been showing me around, and I almost know where I’m going, now.” He laughs, relishing the soft grin across his brother’s face, hand pressing against his injury as he sits up, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed. For a moment, the world spins at the change of elevation.

 “Ro? You good?” He nods, letting Remus sling an arm around his shoulders for support as he stands, legs a bit wobbly, but he balances out after a moment, his wound barely protesting as they head out the door and down the hall.

 The ship is made of smooth, softly luminescent metal, that must mimic the day/night cycle automatically. There’s a soft electric hum in the air, a faint hint of static making the hair on his arms stand up.

 “Ro. It’s ok.” He hadn’t realized his breath was speeding up, his hand fisting the fabric of his shirt, and he forces himself to take a few deep breaths in and out. Still, he feels like the corridor is too small, the walls pressing in on him, and he’s endlessly relieved when they reach the end, and the hall widens out into a large communal living space.

 There’s couches, two deep sofa chairs, a few small tables, arranged around the far end of the room. Against the other wall is cabinets and cooking utensils, storage units, obviously the kitchen, an island with a few stools arranged around it. Softly glowing globes sit in alcoves along the walls, lighting the space soothingly, and he gathers from their dimness it must be early evening.  

 “Hey kiddo. It’s good to see you up and about!” He stumbles at the peppy voice, Remus’s arm keeping him steady. “Oh, sorry, bud, didn’t mean to startle you.” The winged man apologizes from the kitchen, where he’s cutting up some kind of fruit.  

 “I-it’s ok.” He mumbles, suddenly shy and nervous, in front of this new person. When was the last time he met an actual new person? What does he say? What is he supposed to say? God, the silence has gone on too long now, anyway.

 “Easy there, I can feel your stress from way over here.” Remus stiffens slightly at that voice, barely repressing a hiss as he glares daggers at the person sitting in the corner of the room, barely visible from the shadows.

 “Play nice, Virgil, or I will make you.” He relaxes a tad at that voice, coming down the hall behind them, as Janus sweeps into the room, giving him a small smile as he passes, draping himself across one of the chairs.

 “I wasn’t doing anything!” Virgil protests, Janus scoffing.

 “Stop it, both of you. Or no dessert.” Both of them sigh dramatically, sinking back in their seats with muttered ‘fines’ or ‘whatevers’, and Roman finds himself smiling again, because this he knows, this bickering back and forth, this instant shutting down of debates, he understands those dynamics.

 “Roman, you already know Janus,” Remus says, and Janus gives a lazy wave and a small smirk, “that pile of shadow in the corner is Virgil, he’s a Wraith.” Remus continues, Virgil giving a small two finger salute. “And that is Feathers! He’s a Seraph.”

 “My actual name is Patton, but you can call me feathers if you like. Or Pat. Or any other nick name you can think of, really!” Patton chirps, wings fluffing happily.  

 “Oh. Okay. Um. Nice to meet you all.” He mumbles, gaze flitting from person to person, before settling on the ground in front of him.  He lets Remus guide him to one of the couches, laughing as he pulls away from his brother’s fussing, wrapping him in a blanket and cushioning him with pillows until he bats his hands away.

 “I’m fine, Rem, I swear. If I’m not comfy I’ll tell you!” Remus laughs as he stops, ruffling Roman’s hair, who splutters indignantly. Remus smiles, leaning back against the soft cushions of the couch, taking a moment to bask in the softness, the warmth, the comfort. Roman leans against him, resting his head on his shoulder, as he reverently picks up the book from Logan.

 “Where should we start, Ro? Romeo and Juliet? Macbeth? Othello?” He inhales the smell of paper and ink, remembering when they would watch performances online, analyze the costumes, the production, they had always loved theater.  

 “No. none of the tragedies, Rem. Something funny.” His eyes light up, as he flips through the book, nearly gasping at the feel of parchment against his fingertips. “There we are. Twelfth Night.”

 “Ah. Good one, Ro. So, shall we pick our characters?”

 “I call Viola/Cesario!”

 “Aw, she’s the best one!” Remus whines, and Roman nudges him.

 “Shut up, you can have Orsino and Olivia.” He placates, Remus sighing dramatically.

 “Fiiine. Let’s go, then!” Remus agrees, excitement lighting up his eyes as they divvy up the rest of the characters.

 It starts off as just reading the lines, but both of them have always been dramatic, and soon they’re creating different voices for the different characters, Remus ends up jumping off the couch, so caught up he starts acting out his scenes, Roman doing the same as best he can from his seat, laughing at Remus’s antics so hard his stomach was aching before they even made it to act two, Remus’s smile and laughter feeding his own.

 Remus is positively aglow, watching Roman laugh, and act, and read, when was the last time he looked so happy, actually laughed, a full bodied, belly aching, laugh? It sounds sweet, so sweet and light and… and carefree, it’s everything he’s ever wanted for his brother, and it makes the knot in his stomach loosen a bit more, because if he’s laughing like this, he really is going to be okay.

 “Don’t mean to break up the party, kiddos, but I’ve got some supper ready, if you feel up to eating.” Patton says, breaking the spell they’ve been weaving of comedic misunderstandings and misplaced crushes, the cobble streets and arcing castles fading away into the metal walls and dim lights of the ship.

 Virgil is looking at the two of them, faint amusement tracing itself across his lips. Janus is still languid in his chair, but his head is tilted ever so slightly towards them, clearly having been watching their performance. And Patton is grinning from the kitchen, six plates sitting on the counter.

 “That was actually… pretty good.” Virgil comments, surprise in his voice.

 “Of course it was! I may be rusty, but once an actor, always an actor! It’s like riding a bike!” Roman blurts out, striking a pose, the bravado of his characters giving him a bit of courage. He’s rewarded by Remus’s snort, gently bumping him with his shoulder.

 “More like drama nerd than actor.” Roman gasps, mock offense on his face.

 “You’re lucky I’m injured, Remus, or I would be challenging you to a duel right now!”

 “You’re lucky you’re my brother, otherwise I wouldn’t go easy on you and let you win.” Remus bites back, rolling his eyes.

 “um, am the only one caught up on the ‘bike’ thing? The hell is that?” Virgil mumbles.

 “It is a human form of transportation, consisting of a metal frame, which two wheels are attatched to. It is powered by the human peddling, and steered by handles attatched to the wheels, upon which pressure breaks are also mounted to allow for an easy stop to the kinetic motion.” Remus freezes at that voice, stiffening instantly, eyes turning cold and hard, and Roman knows instantly it must be Logan, as he peers over the top of the couch.

 “Oh, that’s neat!” Patton comments, oblivious to the tension in the room, or just ignoring it. “Suppers done, if you want some! I just made mac ‘n cheese.”

 “holy shit.” Roman whispers, eyes wide. “that’s… I can… can I have some?” He asks, hesitantly, immediately wincing at his question, waiting for the shoe to drop, waiting for the pain.

 “of course, Roman! I made plenty for everyone.”

 “I’ll go get you a plate, yeah? You wanna stay out here, or go back to our room?” Remus asks softly.

 “Out here. It’s… nice.” Roman answers, smiling smally as Remus ruffles his hair again, kissing the top of his head.

 Remus instantly hardens as he turns away from Roman, making a wide berth around the hallway entryway, where Logan is standing, unable to help glancing at him every few seconds.

 It wasn’t only that Logan had been the one to make the decision to keep them apart. He didn’t like that decision, but he did appreciate the obvious attempt at keeping Roman safe, the care for his injury. He’d been harsh in his words, in the moment, cruel in them, but he’d been hurt and not thinking clearly, and though it was the cruelest thing that had ever been done to him, it hadn’t been intentional.

 But there was something about him that reminded Remus much too much of The Scientist, as they called him, the way he stood, the formality of his speaking, the… the aura, he gave off. He doesn’t trust the way he moves, the way his gaze seems to see through him, the way he seems to analyze and take mental notes of every movement, every word, everything about him sets Remus’s instincts ablaze, screaming at him fight or flight, and it takes everything in him not to do either, just to steadily scoop some of the gooey, delicious smelling food onto two plates and walk back to Roman, settling stiffly onto the couch beside him, every muscle tense and breath hissing in and out.

 “I should… retire back to my chambers. Apologies, I didn’t know the two of you were out here.”

 “It’s fine-“

“You should go-“

 Remus exchanges a look with Roman, who’s frowning at him, head tilted slightly, as he always does when he’s serious.

 “You should stay.” Roman says firmly, voice brooking no argument, and Remus scowls, looking away, but not disagreeing.

 “I appreciate the sentiment, but I would rather avoid causing either of you distress. I had noticed several times in the past, that my presence caused a stress reaction in Remus, and I would not want to intrude. I… will continue doing my best to not be nusaince, to either of you.” Logan states, quickly grabbing a plate and leaving the room. Several moments later, they hear the click of his door shutting, and Roman huffs, glaring at Remus.

 “What? I didn’t say anything?!” He protests, and Roman’s eyes narrow.

 “You didn’t have to! You looked like you were gonna jump him at any second! He saved my life, Ree, you have to give him something for that.” Remus sighed and looked away, idly pushing the food around on his plate.

 “I know. I know I’m not being fair, Ro.” Roman softened, bumping Remus’s leg with his.

 “So what is it that’s really upsetting you?”

 “he scares me. The way he speaks, moves, talks, acts… it’s all… it’s Him. And I can’t not see Him, when I see Logan. I keep waiting for… for His voice, for Him to announce this experiment over, for Him to… to take you away again, and I know it’s not Him, and I know this is real, but how do I even know what real is anymore?” His voice cracks, and he realizes he’s crying again, and he shakes his head. “It’s all… it’s so fucked, Ro.”

 “I know. I… I’m sorry.” Remus frowns, looking at Roman, who’s pushing around the food on his plate, still too pale, and far too thin, and he nearly laughs.

 “you’re sorry? What the hell for? None of this is your fault! Definitely not the getting kidnapped and dragged to space thing, and certainly not the almost dying part, and definitely nothing in between!”

 “I should have been braver. They… they split us up, and I know you were so afraid, I was too, but they used that against you, and I should have stood up to them, like you always did, I should have fought, since you couldn’t anymore, I shouldn’t have let them keep taking you, I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have been relieved every time they took you instead of me! I hate it Ree, I hate that, that, I was such a coward! I was glad it was you and not me! How… how selfish is that?” Roman laughs, but it’s a pained, broken sound, and Remus instantly wraps his brother in a hug, slotting his head against Roman’s shoulder as he shakes.

 “it’s not. It’s not selfish, Roman, you don’t need to be ashamed of that, you were plenty brave, brobro, you were plenty strong. They never broke your smile, they never stole your laugh, and that defiance made them angrier than anything, Ro. You kept me going, every day, you’re the only reason I never just gave up, and I would never have let you fight them, Roman, no matter how badly you wanted to, I would never have let you take that chance. Don’t be guilty because you were happy not to get hurt, that’s just self preservation, Ro. I would never fault you for that. All of it is their fault. All of it.” He feels Roman shaking harder, can feel the tears dripping onto his shirt, and he just squeezes Roman tighter, wishing he could absorb all of Roman’s pain, wishing he could take it all, even if it would kill him, he would take it all.

 “I think I wanna go back to bed.” Roman mumbles, voice trembling, and Remus pulls back, nodding.

 “ok. Can you eat a bit, for me, first? You’re still healing, and we don’t want you getting sick on top of that.”

 “yeah.” Roman whispers, the life and spirit from the play reading nearly completely gone, and it breaks Patton’s heart a little more, seeing that glimpse of who Roman could be, should have been, would have been if their lives hadn’t been ripped out from under them. He exchanges a glance with Virgil, whom is frowning as well, likely feeling whatever sadness or hopelessness is radiating off the two humans. It must be strong, his eyes are darker than normal, his form flickering black at the edges. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but he knows Janus can, he has better hearing than the rest of them, and from the focused tilt of his head, subtly leaning towards them from his chair, he’s listening to every word.

 Eventually they pull apart from their hug, and Roman eats some of the food, his eyes widening, delight lighting up his face, some of the life sparking back to his eyes as he digs in, absolutely devouring the mac ‘n cheese. Remus rolls his eyes, eating his own a bit slower, though the taste of actual, real, true food still nearly sends him to tears.  

 “You want more?” Remus asks softly, but Roman shakes his head, already fighting to keep his eyes open. He’s warm and full and can almost believe he’s safe. He blinks open his eyes at Remus’s soft chuckle, brushing back his hair. “it’s alright, ro. You can go to sleep.” He murmurs, careful as he scoops Roman into his arms, who immediately lets his eyes drift closed, nestling his head against Remus’s chest.

[venusxxlangdon]

How would Outpost Michael react to someone he’s interviewing being not afraid of his scare tactics? She’s not intimidated whatsoever and challenges him in his game of wits? Like I need a Drabble. Would he be turned on? Would they fuck?

words: 2.1k

warning: lots of talking lmao

gif: @micheallangdons

You’d been sitting in front of him for what it seemed like an eternity. The man behind the desk studied your folder attentively, long fingers flipping through the pages pensively, eyebrows frowned in concentration. The only sounds disturbing unpleasant silence between you two were the ticking of the clock and his occasional hums when he would find something particularly interesting in your profile and circle the lines with a red sharpie, adding little notes here and there with intricate handwriting of his. You wondered why he had not done his research before having invited you. “It would have saved so much time”, you thought in annoyance, lacing your fingers together and placing them on your knee. 

Trying not to stare at his chiseled face caressed by the flames of numerous candles that were all over the room, you still could not help yourself but occasionally shoot snotty little side glances at him, eyeing the way his chest clothed in a black jacket and a dress shirt rose and fall heavily. You sighed and rested your head on your hand, tapping the fingers of your left hand against your knee impatiently.

“What’s the hurry?” his low, velvet baritone suddenly thundered through the room. He asked without lifting his eyes from the papers and put another checkmark on the sheet.

You immediately straighten your back and put your chin a bit too high than it was necessary, hoping that your body language would trick him into believing that you weren’t bored to death with an endless waiting. Sliding your hand down your thigh, you adjusted your dress, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles out.

“What? No, nothing,” you said and leaned back on your chair, ready to meet the stare of the icy blue eyes. Michael, however, did not spare a glance at you. He hummed in response, put the papers back in the folder, and placed it aside on the oak table.

“I can sense your body vibrate with impatience,” he finally looked at you, and for a moment it felt like the floor disappeared below you.  You licked the corner of your mouth with a tip of your tongue and squeezed the corner of the lace that was adorning the hem of your dress with your fingers, trying to remain calm and unbothered, or at least to seem that way.

“Well, I’ve been sitting here for,” you glanced at the antique clock above his blonde head, “twenty minutes, and my interview hasn’t started yet. I wonder if maybe I could come another time?”

He arched his eyebrow at you.

“There might not be another time, Y/N,” he mused, and even though you would never admit it to yourself, your stomach flattered at the way he pronounced your name. Plump lips moved slowly, his silver tongue savoring every letter that dripped from his mouth like the sweetest syrup. “If I decide so.”

He leaned back, mimicking your position, and placed his right elbow on the armrest, caressing his cheek with his bony fingers. The flames danced beautifully in the cut of his rubies. You did not say anything in response, waiting for him to continue. It was better to find out what he was up to first: if he used a soft approach or preferred to force his interviewees into obedience. The right strategy was a dangerous thing especially in the skillful hands, and you knew it like nobody else.

Michael nodded at the file.

“You have a reputation of a very short-tempered person,” he opened it on the first page where there was a picture of you and some basic information. “Starting from high school and then through university, your professors described you as “bald, rebellious,” he flipped through the pages lazily, “insurgent, passive-aggressive,” he smirked and slightly tilted his head to the side, blue eyes scanning through the notes he had made.

Your jaw tensed at his words. Was he trying to provoke you?

“I’m aware of what kind of a person I am, Mr. Langdon,” you said, twisting the silver band around your index finger from side to side impassionately. “Is it all you invited me here for?”

Michael licked the inside of his cheek and you saw his tongue outstretching the skin of it, making it look as if there was a cock in his mouth. You mentally slapped yourself across your face for that thought.

Langdon scoffed.

“You wanted to be seen so desperately. Why is that?”

“It’s not polite to answer a question with a question, Sir.” You answered, trying to take the unnecessary thoughts out of your head, and watched him stand up from his seat and with the elegant strands approach your chair. He walked like a predator hunting his prey, slightly bouncing at the knees with each step. It took you some of your self-control to stay in place and not to start turning your head following his direction. Every inch of your body tensed in anticipation at the sound of his boots clicking on the concrete floor. His aura, deep and magnetic, enveloped you like a thick cape, making your heart race.

He stood right behind you; you could not see him, yet his presence was obvious. You missed the moment when you squeezed the armrests so tightly your knuckles bled white, but when his hands fell on your shoulders and you let go off of the handle, you quietly gasped at the stiff feeling in your fingers. His touch, firm and steel-like, sent subtle vibrations all over your body. You had noticed it about Langdon before: he was so tactile; Gallant slept in the jacket he had worn when Michael petted his shoulder at dinner the other day.

“Silly little thing,” he cooed, “you think you can run your mouth so freely?” His fingers brushed against the collar of your dress, outlining the trim of the delicate lace, mere inches away from your neck where the prominent sinew was pulsing from the adrenaline running in your veins. “You, just like any other human, are somewhat clueless about  how fragile your body is,” you were holding your breath as he spoke, the look of your e/c eyes lingering over his fingers. He was so close to you that you could see the faint monogram “ML” engraved on a chunky ring.

You did not know where all that strength came from when you parted your lips and said:

“You claim that you can see through our mundane guise,” your voice came out squeakier than you expected, so you cleared your throat and then continued, “but you are wrong, Mr. Langdon,” you emphasized the letter “M” by smacking your lips together and spitting the word out as if it was filled with poison, “if you think that I’m not aware of the presence of death,” he circled the chair, dragging his hands off of your shoulders slowly, and made his way back to the desk. He turned around to face you and leaned his hips against the table, placing his hands on the polished surface of it for leverage. His hair framed his face like curtains, as he looked at your figure from up and down.

He narrowed his eyes, full lips curling into a smirk.

“Am I?” the man who could call death his best ally, who was bound with it on more than just a spiritual level, felt deeply amused with your bravado.

You nodded.

“Remembering that I could be dead at any given moment was the most important tool I’d ever encountered to make the big choices in life before you destroyed the world and I,” you paused, “we, meaning the humanity, lost everything we could choose from.”

You did not know whether Michael’s eyes lit up on their own at your words or it was the reflection of the flames.

“Then why are you here if you hate it so much? I can end your suffering with the snap of my fingers and free you from the burden of living in the new world.”

“And leave me without a choice? Again?”

A moment of silence followed the question. Your words hang in the electric air. Of course, you would lie if you said that you were not scared at all. In fact, fear chained every muscle of your body and pinned you to your seat, but you were strong enough to control your emotions and at least, pretend that you were unbothered. At least on the facade. Michael leaned forward, bringing his angelic (as paradoxical as it was) face closer to yours. His eyes drilled through you, seeking for your weaknesses. Physically he was present in the room with you, but mentally he was far deep in your thoughts, ravishing the darkest secrets.  

“A man has no choice in his origins,” he hissed, “you all are cursed since the day you are born to sin, to destroy, to sow despair.”

You pushed yourself out of the chair and in a matter of seconds you appeared so close to him that you could smell the musky scent of his cologne. He did not expect this move, and if you had not been mere inches away from him,  you would not have noticed the way his breath hitched. But since you were in his personal space, you saw it all: his widened pupils, parted plush lips and the way his eyelids fluttered.

“Then why are you giving us a chance?” Unintentionally your gaze dropped to his lips and for a second, the thought of tasting them had crossed your mind before you tucked it in the furthest corners of your subconsciousness. To be this close to a man as gorgeous as Michael was equal to experiencing a number of heart attacks in a row. You secretly admired the way his locks flowed down his shoulders, his skin looked so soft and smooth that you wanted to leather it with your lips, caress it with your touch, but at the same time something about him was off. Langdon inhaled sharply, a carnivorous smile touched his lips from ear to ear, and a sudden realization came to your mind. You close your lids, breaking the eye contact.

“There’s no sanctuary, is it?” You said, clenching your fingers in tight fists, your own voice sounded foreign. “You fucker…”

His loud, high cold cackle roared through the room. It was a peal of mocking laughter that was supposed to scare you, make you feel hopeless, abandoned. Michael kneeled down before you and took your face in his palms, forcing you to look up at him. He was so pleased with himself. Running  his fingers through your hair, stroking your cheeks with his ring-clad fingers he said:

“Oh my little pet,” a wide grin on his face made him look like an obsessed madman, his touch leaving burning imprints on your skin. He could not get enough of your resistance, he was thriving off of the anger boiling within you, he looked forward to unleashing, make it flood your entire being with its hellish waters. Believe it or not, but the indifference to the new world he was going to built made you more alive than any other resident of the outpost who had spent hours on their knees begging Michael to choose them. You had nothing to lose, and that was the true definition of freedom. “You’re a fighter, I like that.”

At that moment you wish you had possessed any magic abilities, too. You wanted to read his thoughts, crawl under his skin, become one with Michael Langdon in order to understand if he was bluffing or not.

“If you really think that I’m gonna believe any of your words, you are not quite a perceptive Antichrist that you claim yourself to be,” you fended off, noticing that you somewhat had missed the moment when his hands appeared on your things, the heaviness and radiant warmth of his touch tightening a familiar knot in the pit of your stomach. The tension between you two was excruciating, you could feel it with your skin, burning, igniting every sense of your soul, making your feelings more acute. You wished you could clasp your legs together to ease the ache and need between them, but if you did so, it would expose you and the game would be lost. Just like the remains of your self-control.

“Hmmm,” he smirked, digging his fingers into the drapes of your dress and squeezing your thigh roughly. “What if I told you that I could sense how hungry your wet womanhood is for me right now? Would that make me more of a perceptive Antichrist?”

“Perhaps,” you responded, wrapping your fingers around his wrists to take his hands away from your hips, “you could say that, but in order to check if it’s true,” your voice dropped a few octaves lower as you were about to share a secret, “you have to earn the opportunity. Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet, Mr. Langdon. Aristotle said that, listen to him.”

“Especially if the fruit is between my legs,” you thought to yourself, knowing that Michael was listening to your thoughts.

“He did not say that part,” he smirked, standing up on his feet and going back to his seat. Your heart was about to beat out of your chest as you waited for his next move. Did you cross the line? The swirl of numerous questions was buzzing in your mind like a hive. To your disappointment, the only thing Michael said was, “you’re dismissed Ms. Y/L/N.”

But as you approached the closed door and your fingers touched the silver knob, he called you by your name. You slowly turned your head at him. 

“I expect you to be in my room at midnight for the second part of our interview. I’ll make sure that after it the only man you’re going to quote is me.” 

this is short so I’m tagging a few: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @divinelangdon @sammythankyou @wroteclassicaly @1-800-bitchcraft @ccodyfern @ms-mead @langdvnshepherd @sojournmichael

[bat-losers-inc]

Beat the Devil’s Tattoo: Chapter 2

A Collisions in the Dark AU, where instead of rescuing Tim from her father, Talia chooses to save Jason’s life, leaving Tim at the mercy, and wrath, of Ra’s al Ghul. Tim eventually wins his freedom, but the price he pays for it? Serving as a double agent for Ra’s, who wants to give Bruce a taste of his own medicine.

Author’s Note: I just wanted to give a special thank you to @the-casual-cheesecake, @versatile-me , and @queeniepearls for encouraging me to finish this chapter (instead of falling back on my usual procrastinating bullshit). This chapter goes out to you guys! 

                                                      - - - - -

Nanda Parbat, Tibet 

October 4, 10:02 pm

 Tim awoke and found himself sprawled out on the dark, damp floor of a dungeon cell. He couldn’t say for sure, but he thought it must have only been a few hours since his reunion with Ra’s in the throne room.

 He traced the back of his pounding head gingerly, searching for any sign of a head wound.

How funny, he thought with grim humor, that they would drag me all the way up to the throne room just for Ra’s to throw me back down here again. It was a waste of effort if you asked him, though nobody was.

Tim pulled his hand back sharply with a hiss. His fingers were slick with what he could only assume was blood. Perhaps he should just count himself lucky that he wasn’t dead already. 

He stood on shaky legs and started to examine his new surroundings as best he could in the oppressive darkness of the cell. Reaching out a hand, he groped the empty air until he found the nearest wall and traced his fingers along the patchy lines of grout. He only found the food left out for him after nearly spilling its contents across the floor.

Tim cursed and crouched down, skimming his hands along the dirty floor until he found the plate with its chunk of bread and cheese and the cup of water. By now his eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness, so he took these items and moved back to the dark oblong shape he assumed was a cot. 

There was a strange sparking noise above his head—like a moth flying repeatedly into a porch light. He’d just lifted his head to examine it further when harsh white light blazed against his eyes.

“Fucking— ” Whatever words Tim might have finished that sentence with were muffled into the fabric of his sheets as he curled into the mattress and shielded his watering eyes.

The guards’ laughter rang in his ears as he blinked away the dark spots from his vision.  

“I’m glad that I’m so amusing to you!” Tim shouted at them. “I’m sure Ra’s will find it equally amusing and not see it as you slacking in your other duties when I tell him on our next meeting.” 

Their laughter slowed but didn’t die out entirely. He could still hear the sound of it in their voices as they talked among themselves and left him to continue their rounds. 

When, Tim thought, more like ‘if’. He had no way of knowing if Ra’s had left him down here to rot and the fact that the guards were now confident enough to play tricks on him only confirmed how his position had changed for the worse. He could sense that Ra’s’ guards knew it too and were only waiting for Ra’s himself to confirm how far Tim had fallen. Then Tim’s words would be seen for the hollow threats that they really were.

He had many hours to consider this and more. The drip of melted snow seeping through the corner of the cell’s ceiling counted the seconds like a metronome. Plink. Plop. Plink. Plop. He made a mental note to find the spot of the leak later and place his cup under it. 

He distracted himself as best he could by cleaning his head wound with a strip of fabric he ripped from his sheets and soaked in water from his drinking cup. Most of the blood had dried into a sensitive scab that he didn’t dare pick at, lest it began to bleed again.

The minutes ticked on, and even though he was afraid he might have a concussion, eventually Tim drifted off into a fitful sleep. 

                                                  - - - - - 

He was jerked back to consciousness by the slam of metal against stone. The fluorescent lights were still blazing strongly above his head so he had a clear view of the pair of men standing in his doorway. 

“The Demon Head requests your presence.”

Tim threw his arm across his tired eyes and grunted, “Tell the Demon Head to kindly go fuck himself.”

 His only warning was the rustle of fabric as they rushed forward into his room and grabbed him by his ankles, dragging him off his cot. A boot kicked him in the side, knocking him over onto his stomach before his arms were grabbed roughly and bound behind his back. 

He yelled as the guards hauled him off the ground and dragged him from the room, pain shooting through his still recovering shoulder. Tim thrashed and cursed, as he struggled to keep his feet under him as they made fast progress along the many halls of Ra’s’ compound. 

“Wait— just wait—” Tim panted breathlessly as they stumbled up another narrow staircase that squeezed the guards against his pinned arms and tangled up his feet with their own. He pitched forward, bruising his knees and scraping the skin from his shins against the stone steps. 

One of the guards twisted his hand in Tim’s shirt and tugged him back to his feet. 

They continued on.

After they’d cleared the last staircase they released his arms and shoved him stumbling forward with a hand to the middle of his shoulder blades. He was beginning to think the guards had been told to handle him roughly for this treatment continued every time he slowed to catch his breath or look over his shoulder for a clue as to which direction he should be heading in. 

“If you’d just tell me where we’re going I could—” They’d nearly passed a turn before one of the guards fisted his hand in the collar of Tim’s shirt and used it to yank him roughly to the right.

“This way,” he said helpfully as Tim coughed and sputtered. The other guard snickered behind him. 

It was no use and almost a relief when they finally arrived at the door to Ra’s’ bedroom. 

They entered without knocking. The room was lit with candles and a blazing fire against one wall. Tim resisted the urge to move closer to the fireplace, though the heat it gave off did feel like the greatest luxury after spending many hours in the damp chilly atmosphere of his cell. Ra’s was perched against the windowsill, pouring himself a glass of wine from the antique cut glass decanter at his hip. The foreboding gray mountains jutted into the black sky through the windows that ran the length of the room behind him. So it was nighttime, Tim noted with interest, and with mild unease realized that Ra’s appeared to be drunk. 

“We’ve brought him as you asked, my lord.”

“I hope you weren’t too gentle with him. I sure Timothy can withstand some rough treatment,” Ra’s replied. “You can, can’t you Detective?” 

Tim’s chest worked heavily to draw a steady breath as Ra’s took a long drink from his glass and eyed him with a smile. 

Finally, Ra’s seemed to grow bored and waved off the guards. “Untie him and leave us.” 

The rope fell away from Tim’s wrists and he rubbed the feeling back into his hands, watching Ra’s’ men make their retreat. 

When they were gone, Tim spoke up, summoning what little bravado he had left in him. “Drowning your sorrows?”

Ra’s laughed. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’ve had plenty of time to survey the field now that the smoke’s cleared and it doesn’t look all that bad.”

“How’s that?” asked Tim. “Because I seem to remember today ending with multiple people betraying you and your grand plan being snuffed out like a sad little candle.”

“Well, for one thing, I still have you.”

“Not for long I’m sure.”

“Anticipating a rescue party, are we?” Ra’s cooed. “Oh, Detective, you’re smarter than that. We both know it’ll be a few days before they realize you didn’t make a run for it and longer still until they’re ready to mount a rescue attempt.”

Ra’s pushed away from the wall and walked to a side table where a platter of hard cheese and assorted fruit rested. Tim watched his back as he perused his opinions. “Of course, when they do come I’ll put up quite the defensive effort—  for much longer than I think they’ll be willing to fight for you. Siege warfare is such a strenuous affair after all and they have lots of other battles that need fighting. And then... you know how the old saying goes… out of sight, out of mind.” 

He snapped off a bunch of grapes and turned back to face Tim.

Tim’s fists curled at his sides. “Wanton drunkenness isn’t a good look on you, Ra’s.”

“Oh, now don’t be a sore loser. I think you’re just angry at yourself for not running when you had the chance.”

Tim’s eyes lowered. He watched the grape Ra’s rolled between his fingers. “I wouldn’t have made it far before you dragged me back.”

“No, you wouldn’t have, but I would’ve loved to see you try all the same. Nothing like the thrill of the chase to get the blood pumping.”

Ra’s popped the grape in his mouth. It crushed between his teeth in a burst of juices. “Still, it does mean we get more quality time together. To really get to know each other.

I already know you more than I care to, he thought to himself. And with every new piece of me you reveal, the less I grow to like myself.

“What am I doing here, Ra’s?” His head and shoulders ached something horrible and these frequent battles of wit that they played together drained what little energy he had left. He just wanted to go back to his prison cell and lose himself in unconsciousness. 

“Why, our arrangement of course.”

Tim stared at him. “The deal’s off, I’m pretty sure it died the moment I betrayed you. I can’t be a ‘partner to you in all things’ if I’m locked in a prison cell. And frankly, I don’t care to be.” 

“Oh, is that why you thought I locked you up? Oh no, Detective. That was more of a disciplinary action than any decision to condemn you to life imprisonment. Think of it as a demotion. I still want our partnership to continue, but you’ll have to earn your way back into my trust before I’ll share any sensitive information with you— ”

Tim reached the door in two large strides. He used his already clenched fist as a knocker. “Guards!”

“What are you doing?” Ra’s asked as the door opened and the guards returned, looking in confusion from Tim to Ra’s and back again. 

“I’m going back to my prison cell because I’m not your personal fucking prostitute, Ra’s,” Tim replied. He held out his hands for the guards to bind. “You can take me back down to my cell now.”

“So, I suppose you don’t want to hear about Jason then?”

Bitter anger surged in Tim all at once. He jerked around with a hiss. “You mean the boy that you killed out of petty teenage-level jealousy simply because I cared about him? Why the fuck would I want to hear about that, huh?”

 “Whoever told you he was dead?”

“Stop. Stop toying with me! He was exposed to a lethal dose of anthrax. There’s no way he survived.”

“Oh you’re right about that, but Talia was determined it wouldn’t stay that way. I always told her not to get too attached to her pets, but she never did listen to me.”

“Wha—“ Tim’s hands dropped to his sides. Suddenly his arms felt like overcooked spaghetti instead of muscle and bone.“Are— Are you saying that Jason’s alive?”

“Why should I tell you? Our deal is off,” he eyed him, “isn’t it?”

Tim’s chest felt like it was being constricted, the air slowly being squeezed from his lungs. He tipped his head back and stared unseeing at the ceiling unwilling to believe that even after everything he'd gone through, Ra’s still managed to find strings to pull that forced Tim to dance to his whims like a marionette. He thought he had nothing left to lose and therefore, Ra’s had nothing he could gain. He was wrong.

Tim shook his head, he just needed to keep himself together enough to get through tonight. If he could find out if Jason was alive, it would make it all worth it. With that resolution in mind, he stepped up close to Ra’s, tugged sharply at the older man’s belt buckle releasing the clasp and pulled the leather out through the loops. 

Ra’s hummed, amusement playing on his lips. “What’s this?” 

“I’m renegotiating,” Tim tossed the belt to the floor. “You said to me once that one favor deserves to be repaid with another. So here’s the new deal. If you want me, fine, but in return, you give me a piece of information that I want as payment. Otherwise, you get nothing.”

Ra’s stood close enough to unsettle the hairs at his temples with his every exhale. “Yes, that is one way we could do it. But what gave you the idea that I need your agreement to do anything? If I want it, I can simply take it.” 

Tim tilted his head up and stared him directly in the eyes. “Do we have a deal?”

The silence stretched on for so long that Tim feared he’d lose his nerve before finally Ra’s made up his mind. “Leave us,” he snapped at his men, “and don’t return again until I call for you myself.”

The door shut with a click. Ra’s planted his hand on Tim’s shoulder and shoved hard until he obligingly dropped onto his knees before him. “I’m sure you remember what I taught you on our first night together?”

The knot in Tim’s stomach uncoiled all at once. This was nothing Tim hadn’t already suffered through before. If anything, he was more prepared for it. He could do this, he could.

He unzipped Ra’s’ fly and yanked his pants down around his thighs. There was no underwear to do away with, to no one's surprise. 

 Tim eyed Ra’s through his lashes. “After I do this… immediately after, you’ll tell me what I want to know?”

Ra’s threaded his fingers through his hair and held it in a tight grip. “Yes, now get to work before I change my mind.”

He pulled Tim towards his crotch. Tim’s face was pressed close to Ra’s’ skin, his every inhale breathing in Ra’s’ sweat and singular musk, before Ra’s released the pressure on the back of his head for him to pull back. Tim got to work, pushing his emotions down and away — the way Bruce had taught him to do when detailing with a violent crime scene or while undercover. 

He took Ra’s in his hand, stroking him with a skilled and purposeful movement that Ra’s had taught him himself. It felt like too soon before he was wrapping his lips around Ra’s cock and bobbing forward, rocking back and forth on his knees against the hardwood floor of Ra’s room. Tim knew that the quicker he brought Ra’s over the brink the sooner this would all be over. The noises they made together were filthy to his ears, too wet and sloppy and eager. He worked hard to ignore Ra’s ceaseless rambling from above him, endless words of encouragement that made Tim’s cheeks burn with shame and fury alike.

“Yes, Timothy. Don’t you see? This is where you belong. On your knees before me, serving me—”

Tim was startled when the hand on his head increased its pressure. He was shoved down onto Ra’s cock, felt it at the back of his throat as Ra’s continued to buck up into him. Tim choked around the intrusion and shoved half blindly at Ra’s hip to make it stop.

Ra’s shushed him. “Don’t fight it. You’re stronger than this.”

Tim’s eyes watered and his throat convulsed as he worked to relax his throat and control his panicked breathing. 

It seemed to take forever, but his body eventually adjusted.  

Ra's pumped his hips forward shallowly. “I’m so—”  

Tim was released with a gasp, falling backward onto his elbows, spit trailing from his lips. Ra’s took himself in hand and jerked energetically. Tim turned his cheek away at the last second, catching the trail of Ra’s seed against his cheek and neck. 

Tim’s hand rose to wipe the mess away but was caught fast in Ra’s’ grip. “If you want to know what happened to Jason you’ll leave it where it is.” 

Tim glared and retracted his hand. 

“Good boy,” Ra’s purred. 

 “Tell me,” Tim’s voice was raspy. 

Ra’s slipped himself back into his pants, leaving Tim in favor of searching out his forgotten wine glass. “I sent out men to follow Talia’s trail after I discovered her betrayal. The first pictures came back this morning.” 

He flicked through a stack on a table and tossed one carelessly down to him. Tim snatched it up with greedy fingers, unable to believe his eyes.

“He’s alive,” Tim couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Ra’s didn’t fail to notice it. 

“By all means,” he replied. “keep the photo. Soon, it’ll be the only thing that you’ll have left to remember him by.” 

“Oh,” Ra’s continued. “I know it wasn’t part of our deal, but stay for a bit. Take a glass of wine, eat your fill, or just put your feet up. There’s no reason why we have to keep this strictly business.”

  Tim pushed himself off the floor, folding the picture of Jason up into a neat little square. He moved to the buffet table and picked up a cloth napkin.“I think I’ll head back to my cell if it’s all the same to you. After all, I’m still your prisoner.”

He wiped his face clean and dropped the soiled napkin on the end of the table.

 “You can’t be serious,” Ra’s said as Tim turned and walked back towards the door. “I’m offering you an evening of luxury instead of a night in a cold cell.”

Tim stilled. The door held open before him with the guards standing across the threshold. He half-turned. “I know and I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it.”

Ra’s men looked over Tim’s shoulder at where Ra’s stood behind him, waiting for him to give them their orders. Tim waited too, ready to be escorted back down the numerous floors to a dark lonely room. His wish never came. Instead, Ra’s called out, “Escort him to one of the guest rooms. The door can stay unlocked.”

Now Tim did turn, confusion written plainly on his face, but Ra’s’ face was as unreadable as ever. Before he could ask any of the millions of questions running havoc inside his brain the guards shuffled him out the door. 

All he could think as he was left alone in front of a guest room whose door was free of any locks was, What the hell is he playing at now? 

Once again he was alone and in the dark. Perhaps this was a prison cell of another kind entirely, and Tim was beginning to think that all the lockpicks in the world wouldn’t get him out of this one.