#And unfortunately I caught him before he opened the whiskey while he was still on beer :/ my mistake honestly

[aw-bean-s]

Gotta say as someone whos been out since they were young, I'm really sick of having to defend the existence of queer people in media and explain how it's 'useful' or 'plot important' when straight ppl i know can like whatever trashy het romance they want no questions. Like does it have to be useful? Can it not just be there? It doesn't 'cheapen' anything its just there and suddenly you have to fight for your life to explain why it should get to exist. And it's always the bloody 'pandering' 'it's a trend' argument and I hate it because is it so terrible if they pander to ME for once instead of you?? Is that so terrible?? But you can't say that because then you're a fool who doesn't understand good storytelling. And then if they're real annoying, they'll pull the 'well i don't like when ANY romance is just pushed in' so then why. Is it always queer stuff you're complaining about?? And then I'm forced to be defending a (honestly poorly written) queer romance because all I said was that it couldve been handled better and somehow to straight ppl that translate to 'yeah they shouldn't have done it at all' and they don't even REALISE their bias and that SOMEHOW the ONLY FUCKING TIME we have this arguement it's about a queer character. Can I not enjoy the fact a superhero I like is bisexual while also admitting I don't like how they flattened their character after it? Can I not say 'yeah it's trashy but theyre cute' to some crap TV show? Does it always have to be perfect? Because yeah. I want good shows. I want complex dynamics. But sometimes it just feels nice when the silly comic book character is bisexual. And these motherfuckers will ALWAYS find some way to argue that it wasn't relevant and therefore they shouldn't have come out at all, which is just another way of saying that queerness should be kept away from the things they like and only be included if 'plot relevant' so then they can avoid it. I'm just so tired, so so fucking tired, of having the same argument over. And over. And over again with the same people about the same things when all I wanted to do was talk about a bisexual character WITHOUT some asshole jumping down my throat. I've been doing this shit since I was 12 and I'm just tired. Christ.

[moonlightspencie]

‘cause look at your face!

Request linked here!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader (implied bisexual rights)

Warnings: implied cheating, drinking, smoking, very minor sexy references

Word Count: 1.6k

There he was.

The famed Dean Winchester.

Well, fame by hunter standards, anyways. Regardless, the guy had saved the world multiple times, and happened to be even more beautiful that anyone could capture with words.

Unfortunately for me, I had to pull my gaze away when he caught me staring. Though not before he shot me a smirk at my being caught out.

I looked towards the bartender, asking for another fifth of whiskey in my glass. She obliged with a smile and a wink. At least I could still keep my cool with her, cause I certainly was loosing it after seeing him.

It worsened significantly when he sat in the seat next to me.

I panicked, the fact that he smelled good on top of being a smoke-show was too much to handle. I decided to strike up conversation with the bartender again.

“How’d you end up in a place like this?” I asked, raising a brow.

She leaned in. “I could ask you the same. You’re a little too pretty to put up with all the folks in here considering you’re not getting paid.”

I chuckled. “Good point. Maybe you could help me get a job. If I’m gonna be here as much as I am, I may as well get some cash for it.”

“I’ll help with whatever you want, sugar,” she said with a wink.

Dean cleared his throat, raising a hand. She looked at him expectantly.

“Could I just grab whatever beer you’d recommend?” he asked, trying a wink at her.

She nodded, giving him an unamused hum. He leaned in a little closer to me after that.

“You’re doin’ better than me,” he said with a small smile.

I nodded, then saw a familiar face behind him. I attempted to strike up conversation with practically every other person in the bar except for him. Really, he should’ve taken it as a compliment. If he wasn’t so unbelievably hot, it would’ve been much easier to talk to him.

After a while, he seemed to have lost interest in talking to me anyways. Especially when I spent half an hour straight chatting it up with some grumpy old hunter who really had an affinity for non-haunted vintage items, and really loved to talk about it.

The second that conversation was over, I decided on a new course of action. I needed to forget about a certain cheating boyfriend for the night anyways. A smoke outside felt like it’d do just the trick.

I leaned against the building in the cool night air, pulling out my pack of cigarettes and lighting one up. I was a few puffs in when the door opened a few feet over, footsteps getting nearer.

“You know, smoking’s bad for you,” I heard a rumbling voice next to me say.

I glanced up and over, a light smile on my face.

“So is drinking. Didn’t stop you, huh?”

He smirked, nodding lightly. I held up the pack, resigned to the fact that I could no longer escape this male-modeling son of a bitch and his perfect face.

“Want one?”

He sighed. “I almost never do, but since you offered…”

He took one out, popping it in his mouth. I flicked my lighter, holding it up to the end of the cigarette until he puffed out a little cloud of smoke. I watched him for a moment, enthralled with how someone could look so pretty smoking. He glanced back at me after a few seconds.

“What?” he asked, voice suddenly lighter.

I shrugged, looking away. “Guess I’m a little surprised to meet you. I’ve heard stories, but never expected to bump into you or your brother.”

He chuckled humorlessly.

“Stories?”

“Mhm,” I nodded. “You can’t be surprised. Words gotten around in a lot of hunting communities about all y’all have done.”

He sighed, staying quiet. I chanced a look at him again to see him staring off into the parking lot.

“Did I strike a nerve?” I asked.

He shook his head, looking back at me with a partial smile.

“No, don’t worry about it. Just— Guess I don’t think much of it all.”

“Much of what? Saving the world?”

He puffed on the cigarette again, merely smirking at me as I found myself watching his lips as he did so.

“Seems you’re thinking something,” he said.

I looked away suddenly, bringing my own cigarette back my lips. I took a moment to collect myself.

“Not a damn thing,” I said at last, turning towards him. “Why don’t you get out of here. I’m sure your girlfriend’s looking for you.”

“Don’t have one.”

“Ah,” I nodded.

I almost wished he did. Out-of-bounds would be much easier to deal with than temptingly-single. Especially when I still (technically) had someone.

“What about you? Any boyfriend that’d be mad I’m out here with you?”

I shrugged. “He went out to some club tonight to do… I don’t even know what. I don’t think I want to know.”

I laughed at myself, a little bitterly. He simply stared with his brow set.

“Excuse me?”

I cleared my throat, dropping the butt of the now-gone cig into the ashtray atop the garbage can.

“He goes out a lot. Doesn’t usually come home until the next morning,” I said, letting out a soft breath. “Or until a few days later.”

“Why do you put up with that?” he asked, voice sharper now.

I raised my brows, not expecting the reaction.

“I don’t know. Security, I guess. We’ve been together a few years now…”

“You deserve better,” he said, eyes terrible and beautiful and sincere.

I groaned. “You suck.”

He furrowed his brow, taken aback.

“What?”

I didn’t know what to say with him looking at me like that. His gaze was intent. It felt like he was looking right into my soul. Everything about him was horribly picturesque, especially in the neon lights from the sign above us.

I shook my head, “I should probably go.”

“Why?”

“Why?” I mimicked, a small smile on my face. “What’s up with the twenty questions, anyway?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like avoidance.”

“Again: you suck.”

He put out his cigarette on the ash tray, then turned back to me, hands on his hips.

“Alright, pretty girl, let’s get you back inside. It’s cold out here,” he said, looking towards the door.

I fought a smile from showing up, and fought butterflies even harder.

‘Pretty girl’. He’s one to talk about being pretty.

“What if my boyfriend shows back up?”

He raised a brow. “You’re gonna dump him anyways.”

“How can you be so sure?” I asked, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of the sentence.

“Cause,” he shrugged. “Would you let me go home with you otherwise?”

I froze, my eyes widening. “I’m going home to my cats, actually.”

“Ah, I see,” he nodded, a borderline-shy smile on his face. “You can really just say no, you know?”

I hummed, giving an unsure shrug.

“I don’t really want to say ‘no’, is the problem.”

His smile morphed into a smirk again, hand brushing against my lower back to lead me back into the bar.

Rather than going back to the bar, he led me to a table in the dark. I followed along, letting him guide me with his hand still on my back.

“What are you up to?” I asked at last when we sat down.

He sat on the same side of the booth as me, an arm slung over the back of the seat. He smelled even better now that he was closer than ever.

“I’m gonna convince you to break up with him,” he stated simply.

“Why’s that? Why not just take me home?”

“Not into cheating.”

“Huh,” I nodded. “Who would’ve guessed? Dean Winchester has rules about revenge when it comes to fidelity?”

He rolled his eyes, somehow still looking sexy doing it.

“So, you just want to use me to get back at your boyfriend?”

I paused. “Actually, I don’t. That would just be an added bonus since he’d totally be pissed I moved on with someone like you.”

“Someone like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He brushed his hand against my shoulder, leaning in a little closer. I realized there was no use in pretending I wasn’t giving into him now.

“Someone absolutely gorgeous.”

His smirk faded a little, eyes looking into mine more now.

“You’re really too sweet to let some crap-bag walk all over you, you know?”

I watched him a moment longer, then readjusted myself in the seat. I pulled out my phone, typing out a quick message.

- we’re done. you can get your crap out of my apartment later this week :)

I hit send.

“Here, look,” I said, handing him the phone.

He read the message, nodding lightly as he did. He then turned it off, set it on the table, and had his lips on mine so fast my head was practically spinning. Those lips were softer than they looked, and finally having his hands on me felt better than I thought it would.

He rested one palm on my thigh, letting the other stay around my shoulders. His tongue tasted like lime salt and smoke. I ran one of my hands up his arm, nibbling at his bottom lip as he started pulling away. The gravity of making out with him in a crowded bar probably would’ve embarrassed me if it weren’t for the fact that he leaned in closer to whisper to me:

“Think I can meet your cats when I’m out of your room tomorrow morning?”

I smiled. “Oh, they’ll love you.”

—————

dean winchester taglist:

@deanwithscissors @hyunjaebaby @simp4olderm3n @king-of-milf-lovers @allonsy-yesiwill @xoxovienna @grapejuicestand @lyarr24

[whim-prone-pirate]

The Moment Each Disruptor Realized Benoit Blanc Was Gay As Hell: A Masterpost

I wasn't kidding when I said I'd do it.

In chronological order...

HELEN

Though Helen isn't technically considered a Disruptor by the rest of the group, I personally believe she's the only real Disruptor among them. That's a different post. Obviously, Helen realized first, as she met Phillip before she met Benoit. I think she assumed at first she had been greeted by some sort of housemaid because Phillip was wearing an apron—Then she saw the sourdough starter. That sold it. She saw Benoit in his stupid little robe and was like Oh fucking of course.

LIONEL

Lionel was obviously studying Benoit on the dock before the Disruptors and Benoit boarded the boat. While Lionel doesn't have the greatest gaydar in the world, as in, he's not looking for it upon meeting most people, he was looking to pick up on anything upon meeting Benoit. Here's this strange dude that none of us know and didn't expect to be here, what's his deal? As Lionel is trying to pick up something from Benoit, Claire starts fangirling over Benoit's previous case about the ballet dancer and Benoit says, "I'm obviously familiar with you all as well—Governor, Dr. Toussaint... Miss Birdie Jay." The way he talks to Birdie and says her name... Lionel understood. Unfortunately, Birdie did not. At all.

PEG

Also not a Disruptor but she's so important to me. Peg is a lesbian. She clocked Benoit as soon as she saw his outfit and heard his accent, but she was absolutely sure of it when she saw how he reacted to the anti-covid throat spray.

MILES

Miles' moment was difficult for me to pin down, mostly because he's fucking stupid and there is certainly a chance that he never realized at all. But, for the sake of the post, let's say that Miles noticed something was different about Benoit when he pulled him aside into the Glass Onion to ask why Benoit was there. When Miles said, "Someone reset the box. They sent it to you as a gag," and Benoit was so shocked that he raised his hand to his chest like a southern woman clutching her pearls... Miles still didn't get it, he was so caught up in his upset. But, after the ordeal in the Glass Onion, off-screen and on his own time, Miles thought about the interaction again, specifically that exact moment that I mentioned, and had the realization. Miles is so full of himself that he thought he was a genius for realizing.

WHISKEY

Whiskey saw him wearing a matching top-and-bottom bathing suit and a little scarf thing in a pool and absolutely understood. She didn't care at all, but she understood. Benoit was also the only one to have an open glass while walking (WALKING) through the pool. While I can't say for certain, it looks like the drink itself is just iced water with a lime. I think Benoit is one of the only people there who isn't drinking alcohol at the pool. That's not very important but I think it just adds to his whole ensemble.

BIRDIE

Of course, Birdie was one of the last to realize, or at least get a little hint of it. She had been hitting on Benoit since the first time she spoke to him at the dock. But, the moment that he said, "I'm going to embarrass myself here; I adore Sweetie Pants. I live in mine," she never made a move on him again. I think, based on the name, Sweetie Pants is a feminine clothing line and Birdie likely intended for women to wear the pants. After Benoit admits to not only wearing them, but loving them, she finally backs off. Immediately after Benoit says that, Miles begins talking about Birdie's career, and Birdie kinda smirks and bumps her eyebrows while gesturing towards Benoit. This could be taken to be her reaction to Miles' praise of her, but given Birdie's character and the context in which Miles is talking about this, I think it makes more sense for this to be Birdie's reaction to Benoit being very obviously gay. She gestures to him, like, "Oh my God, he wears Sweetie Pants, that's so gay. Benoit is gay, guys, do you see what I'm seeing?" Yes, Birdie. They do see it. You were the last one to see it.

CLAIRE

Claire was hard for me to define as well. She was so caught up in Klear and the aftermath of Andi's trial leading up to Duke's murder that I really don't think she was paying enough attention to Benoit to actually get it. I honestly believe that the first time she ever thought about Benoit as a person instead of as a detective that she thinks is really cool is when she was drunk in the minutes leading up to Duke's death. She didn't talk much because Miles was making his speech and dancing with Birdie, so I think she was looking around the room, landed on Benoit, and was too buzzed to really think about it too hard, so she had the very fleeting, yet eloquent thought of, "He's... gay. Yeah." She always kinda knew in the back of her mind, ever since the dock, but never got the chance to think about it.

DUKE

Duke never realized. I think he was on the cusp of getting it every time he was in an area with Benoit since the pool scene, but he's so alt-right that he thought in his head, "Haha! Benoit's kinda weird. That's so gay," because we all know he uses gay as a playful insult, but he never actually considered it a possibility. Then he died. Womp womp.

This is the most important post I've ever made. I appreciate the three people who asked me to make it.

(inspired by @mylasttwobraincellsandi and their post about the sweetie pants scene)

[chuuyaspinkmotorcycle16]

Day 16: First Times

They’re been drinking, verging that line between tipsy and wasted as the borders collide and the world starts spinning a little.

It’s a winter night, one of the colder ones for Yokohama, and they’re seventeen and stupid.

Dazai can handle his alcohol better than Chuuya — that’s been proven over and over, time and again — but even he’s starting to reach a limit.

He doesn’t know how the chibi hasn’t passed out yet. Maybe the redhead’s been training for this moment, hoping to one-up Dazai.

Unfortunately, his dreams will be crushed under Dazai’s heel. No one beats Dazai Osamu when it comes to drinking, not even Odasaku.

Dazai’s confident he can get the chibi to give up soon.

“Ne, chibi, who sells seashells by the seashore?” he asks in English, purposefully saying it as fast as his liquor-laced tongue will let him.

Chuuya looks at him like he just asked him to solve all of man’s problems, cup halfway to his lips as his eyebrows pinch together enough to be mistaken as one. 

Dazai forgets that with each glass of wine, Chuuya loses one of the languages he speaks.

Dazai repeats the tongue twister but slower, deliberately highlighting the question with his voice. Chuuya doesn’t usually lose English after drinking, but perhaps that one got swapped out for Korean tonight.

“Has the slug drunk away his language proficiency?” Dazai taunts, switching back to Japanese just to watch Chuuya’s expression morph from confusion to outrage.

“Fuck off, I’m sure you can’t speak a few either, like Korean or some shit.” Chuuya scowls, taking another sip from his wine. Dazai smiles like a cat who caught its prey.

“어, 진짜? (Oh, really?)” Dazai asks, delight overtaking him as Chuuya’s glare worsens. He takes a sip of his own whiskey. See, sometimes Chuuya can’t speak the language, but that doesn’t mean he can’t understand them when he listens. “So, who sells seashells by the seashore?”

“Will you shut up? I’m sick of hearing your voice,” Chuuya says, finishing off his glass. His cheeks are flushed, near matching his hair. It makes his freckles stand out more. Dazai wants to count them.

Wait, what?

Maybe he’s had a few too many, too.

He looks up to catch Chuuya’s eyes on him, his brow raised as if in challenge. Dazai narrows his eyes, the words coming out before he has a chance to tell his brain to hold them back.

“Make me.” He smirks. Anything to make Chuuya angrier, even if his words were idiotic – a perfect match to Chuuya’s stupidity.

All of a sudden those freckles are within counting distance, and Dazai has the chance to count exactly three before there’s something warm pressing against his lips.

Oh.

Chuuya’s kissing him.

Chuuya’s /kissing/ him.

Huh.

His eyes are still wide open when Chuuya cups his face, pressing a little more, insistent on a response of some sort.

It’s when Chuuya releases something like a disappointed whine and starts to back off that Dazai’s brain restarts enough to actually do something, throwing his arms around the redhead to stop him from leaving.

With eagerness he didn’t know he had, Dazai surges into the redhead, pecking him on the lips once, twice, before attempting a longer kiss. The response from Chuuya, a smile that he can feel so clearly against his own lips, is enough for his brain to get one thought across.

Dazai /likes/ kissing Chuuya.

A lot.

It’s been a while since he’s liked something like this.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, lips locked and barely breathing – it could have been a minute or ten or an hour, he wouldn’t know – but it’s only when Chuuya slumps fully against him that they break apart.

Tilting his gaze down, he finds the slug looking proud of himself, face still flushed and touching his lips as if they were sacred.

Blue eyes meet his, and the redhead releases a giggle, reaching up to poke Dazai in the cheek.

“Shelly, and you’re blushing,” he hiccups, voice high and eyes hazy, grinning wide. “I win.”

And with that said, he passes out, curled up in Dazai’s arms with a smile still on his lips.

Dazai can’t even argue. Not because Chuuya wouldn’t hear him, but because the chibi’s right.

Chuuya did shut him up and Dazai lost the game.

Staring down at the admittedly adorable redhead in his arms, Dazai can’t help but laugh as he throws himself backwards to get comfortable on the floor for the night, Chuuya positioned on top of him as a good weighted blanket.

If Dazai’s being honest, he’s lost the game since day one.

[madhatterbri]

Rewrite the Stars | Hangman A.P. Part 2

Summary: A near tragic ending pushes them together.

Author's Note: I tried to make this serious. 😂�� I may rewrite a more serious one in the near future. Anyways, happy Dynamite Wednesday.

Part 1 can be found here

@theworldofotps @coleskingdom @plentyoffandoms

Mentions of: Hangman, Swerve, HOOK, Adam Cole, Matthew and Nicholas Jackson, and Doctor Sampson.

Pure fiction

Sheriff Page tried to get his mind off of Y/N the moment she told him they didn't have a future together. He wouldn't call his actions reckless, but he certainly started getting into activities that were dangerous. His friends tried to convince him to talk to Y/N one last time, but her mind was made up. Besides, he had a job to do.

As a sheriff, he had a town full of people he swore to protect. A long list of outlaws needing to be brought in for justice. A couple of lowlife criminals were brought in, but one would prove much harder to bring in.

Swerve Strickland loved to make his life a living hell. The man was always two steps ahead of him. The Hangman came up with a plan that was sure to work. He would bring down the biggest outlaw that haunted his beloved state. He took a shot of whiskey and walked out of the sheriff's office.

Y/N walked around the small town giggling with the other girls from the brothel. With the sheriff out of town, several men took to the streets to fight. The fights were the older men against the younger men. The older men were winning.

"Isn't that HOOK? Looks like a rather nasty hit to the head with a bat," one of her friends laughed. The young man laid in the streets. He was out cold while the older man collected money from those who bet against him. The young man's father waved a hand over his son's face to help him come to.

"Maybe the sheriff being out of town isn't so bad after all," another friend giggled. Y/N smiled sadly. She missed the sheriff coming to visit her. It was only a week, but it felt like eternity. Life without her sheriff proved to be rather gloomy.

"Cheer up, Y/N. Come on, I heard a medicine man is in town. Maybe Mr. Cole will walk again with the right elixir,"

The three women laughed and rushed towards a stand. A quack was promoting some of his most recent elixirs. Adam Cole sat in the wheelchair in front of the crowd. His leg propped up where his ankle was still slowly healing.

Commotion in front of the sheriff's office caught Y/N's eye. Matthew and Nicholas Jackson looked around nervously. They didn't want to attract any attention from the townspeople. Matthew's brown eyes locked to Y/N. He placed a finger over his lips to show her to keep quiet.

She watched in horror as Nicholas lifted the unconscious Hangman over his shoulder. The younger brother carried him up the stairs to the second floor of the office. Y/N looked at her friends, who seemed to be more interested in the elixirs than what was going on around them. Y/N scurried off without anyone noticing.

She opened the door to see the brothers standing around the corner. Matthew was telling his brother what a good job he did and gave him a fist bump. The scene on Adam's bed looked more serious. Doctor Sampson was checking over Adam. He cleaned his wounds and patched any injuries that he deemed needed extra care.

"What happened?" Y/N asked them with worry. The two brothers looked at each other before turning their attention to her.

"Tough fight with Swerve. It would have been worse if we hadn't come in," Nicholas answered. Matthew nodded his head and shrugged.

"Unfortunately, we are probably going to have to suspend him from his duties. We can't play favorites," Matthew shrugged and looked at her. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Although you are doing a great job. Keep it up,"

The brothers left without another word. Y/N walked to the desk and grabbed a chair. She placed the wooden chair near the side he laid and sat down. The doctor instructed her to send for him when the sheriff woke up. Doctor Sampson bid her farewell and left.

Y/N scooted the chair closer to him. She took his hand in hers. Her thumb rubbed his flesh softly. She examined his wounds. All the bruises and cuts that were left on his body. Tears pricked her eyes before they streamed down her cheeks. A few tears landed on his bed.

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have given up so quickly," her voice cracked. She stared at his handsome face. "On us,"

Time passed painstakingly slow. Y/N rarely left his side. Nervous paces around his room also took up his time. She found a couple of pictures of herself in various parts of the room. Prayers were spoken that he would eventually wake up and come back to her. The last thing she did for the night was sit in the chair and lean forward. Her head hit his bed, and she drifted to an uneasy sleep.

Y/N stirred when she felt fingers brush through her hair. Her name is called out in a weakened tone. She stirred and slowly sat up. Sheriff Page was watching her closely.

"You are alive!" She exclaimed. The woman was unable to hide her excitement. He attempted to chuckle yet grimaced from his sore ribs.

"I will always come back to you," he whispered and took her hand. His green eyes stared into hers. "Run away with me,"

[cocotaetae13]

A Deal's A Deal: Yoongi(M)

Warnings: Demon behavior. Smut. Creampie. Baseless allegations to further the plot. mutual masturbation, questionable consent practices, vomiting, heavy(?) drinking, drink spiking

Word Count: A little over 5k

Summary: Yoongi has some questions you need to answer.

A/N: I'm dedicating this one to Dark-Heart Anon since Yoongi is their bias (omfg the PRESSURE I put on myself). I had a specific idea for this encounter and I'm not sure I pulled it off..additionally, I apologize for the super long wait! I've already started working on the next one so hopefully the time in between won't be as long.

As always, thank you for taking the time to read my story, I appreciate all of your hearts/likes, reblogs, and follows. I hope you enjoy :)

You groan, rolling to your side while fighting the very last heave your stomach is trying to force out. You lose and spill the last bit of your stomach contents on the floor below you. Remnants of your energy are now fleeting and thus your powers with it. You wished there was evidence of you vomiting all over Taehyung’s and Yoongi’s floors as revenge. Unfortunately for you the emotions you convert to energy and power are on a different plane of existence and only visible to a demon’s eye.

“I’m going to make sure you all die slow, painful, torturous deaths...” you mutter, struggling to get up.

You’re actually the one who is probably going to die right now. At least that’s how you feel. Your insides burn from vomiting. That has never happened before. The idea of a demon becoming too full is ridiculous. Your body aches and your muscles are sore. When you sit up you let your head drop to rest against the wall and take deep breaths to gather your thoughts and think of your next move. Taking stock of your body your skin still burns from those markings popping up again. The weight at your neck stays untouched and a constant reminder of your imprisonment.  You grit your teeth against a painful pang of hunger rolling through your belly, irritation following shortly after considering how well you’d fed from Taehyung. If you couldn’t go home and you were developing a limit to the amount you could consume, what would eventually happen to you? Finally when you feel like you’ve caught your breath you glare at Yoongi who is still looking back at you impassively.

With a start you realize Yoongi has been sitting behind this table the entire time, looking at you and waiting. You can’t tell what he’s thinking with the lack of expression he has on his face. It’s neither here nor there, you have bigger problems anyway. For example, thinking back on what happened to you at Taehyung’s, Jimin’s, and Hoseok’s. You need a better game plan. You put your back to the wall for security.

Yoongi takes a drink and his lips smack softly after swallowing his mouthful of whiskey. “I see.” He says finally as he glances into the glass before setting it down, his cat-like eyes peering at you.

He looks incredibly comfortable in sweats, a t-shirt, and a zip up hoodie that’s hanging open. His hands are clasped together on top of the table and he looks every bit like a CEO on his day off. He meets your gaze again and you growl at him from the safety of your corner. You didn’t need him thinking he had any sort of opening to get closer to you right now.  He briefly cocks an eyebrow at that before busying himself with pouring another drink. He reaches for the bottle again when he finishes his second refill. He only holds on to this one before giving you a steady look. 

“Come here.” he says finally, index finger pointing down across the table in front of him at the table where you’re supposed to take a seat. 

“I’d rather not.” You snap, bracing yourself for the pull with your hands against the wall. He wasn’t going to win this time.

“Fine. Sit your ass on the floor across from me right now.”  A second later, you’re yanked by the neck towards Yoongi and you yelp in surprise. There’s nothing on the floor like a rug or carpet for you to grab onto so you give up and let yourself be taken to him.The indignity of being dragged along the floor like a petulant human child in a grocery store isn’t lost on you. You shriek when you reach the table and are then hoisted into the upright position. He pours you a glass of whiskey before holding his glass up to you to toast.  

“Let’s call a truce.” He gives his glass a little shake invitingly. “Just while you’re here. I’m looking for information.”

“Get fucked, Yoongi.” You cross your arms and scoff.

Yoongi shrugs and takes a sip from his glass before staring up at the ceiling in thought for a moment. Once it has passed he looks at you with a cheeky grin. “It’s been a long while so if you’re offering…”

“I’m offering to rip your head from your shoulders and bathe in your blood.” You say darkly. Yoongi only chuckles in response. You narrow your eyes as your breathing evens out and your skin finally stops burning.  He takes a drink from his glass and sighs.  “You aren’t afraid of me...” You search his eyes for a second. “What are you all doing to me?” You demand. Suddenly you’re just fatigued. You’ve done too much.

“Do you think you have the right to ask that sort of question after everything you’ve done?” Yoongi says. “We’re defending ourselves.”

“This is not defense,” You take a deep breath as the last of your aches stop. Now there's just a creeping, growing hunger in your belly. “If it weren’t for the fact that your…attacks have all been on me I’d commend you for creativity and cruelty. But I’m petty so I won’t.” Despite yourself you grab the glass of whiskey and tip it back, swallowing it like a shot. You taste all of the flavors without the burn. When you set your glass down Yoongi is there to refill it without hesitation.  When you lift the glass to your lips you pause, eyes widening in realization. “A witch.”

Yoongi’s lips press into a line and he’s looking at you with a furrowed brow. “A witch?” 

“You went to a witch to do this to me. To get this spell.” You say and set your glass down. 

“No, we didn't go to a witch.” Yoongi waves you off.

“I already know I’m bound to you all through it. What else does it do?” Memories flash through your head of the number of times you’ve been yanked here and there over the past few days.

Yoongi’s tongue travels across his teeth in thought before he takes another sip from his glass. “What are the actual terms of your agreement with Jungkook?”

Fine. You’ll play his game. “Simple. Jungkook’s wish was to keep the seven of you together in hopes of reaching stardom. He never specified the specific height of stardom he wanted you all to reach, so here I am. You stay together. I get his soul when he dies.” You take a drink and glare at him. “Your turn.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

“So your job is to keep your end of the deal no matter the cost?” He ponders. “So that means…”

When he gives you a look you lift an elegant eyebrow at him as you drain your glass. It’s helping make your stomach feel a little full. All you need to do is gather enough strength to get out of here. That means you’re going to have to entertain Yoongi without upsetting him into coming at you. There’s only a small problem with your relationship with Yoongi: a goddamn workaholic who willingly sacrificed his sleep and sanity for his chance to make his music known to the world. Yoongi was a tough egg to crack for you, you nearly avoided him entirely and focused on the others because of it. The memory makes you a little bitter as you continue to glare at the man in front of you. 

“Listen,” You pause to swallow the mouthful of whiskey you take in before he can finish. “I don’t want to be here as much as you don’t want me here. As soon as I have enough strength to do so I’m going to leave.” 

“Oh so you are open to a truce?” He smiles sweetly.  

“How about a one-sided deal?” You say thoughtfully, ignoring his gummy grin. “You let me go and I don’t kill you where you sit and devour your soul.”

He shakes his head softly. “No dice. I need to know something and I’m not allowing you to leave until you tell me.”

“I’m hungry and the longer I’m here the worse it’s going to get. I don’t want to feed from you.” You pout. 

“Specifically me?” His eyebrows lift curiously. 

“Specifically you. How do I put this…you taste bad?”  It suddenly dawns on you how ridiculous this conversation is. What in the fucking first date situation is happening right now? 

He recoils. “I what?”

“You haven’t been all that edible to me for some time, Min Yoongi.” You mutter. You throw back another drink and gesture for him to fill your glass, only continuing once he does so. Fuck it, you’re stuck here anyway. You test the amount of strength you have and freshen yourself up from your encounter with Taehyung. You’re pleased to find it doesn’t leave you winded or feeling weak to use your power this much.  “Guilt, shame, loneliness. These are some of the emotions I feed off of.  Lust can be especially tasty if there’s a negative emotion attached to it.”

His brow furrowed in confusion.“I experience those emotions.” You notice his gaze flickers from your face to your chest where the ample swell of your breast under your dress invites his attention. Yoongi’s eyes flash to your cleavage twice before he shrinks away in embarrassment, trying to cover it with a hand over his mouth and looking away entirely. 

“You said so yourself,” Yoongi is silent while you drink half of your glass in one sitting, using your arms to squeeze together and lift your breasts. He swallows and then quickly follows with another sip from his glass, face flushing deeply.  “You’ve accepted these negative emotions as a part of who you are and that you have to deal with them. It isn’t particularly appetizing tasting your depression when you aren’t letting it control you like you used to.” You glance down at his fingers and find the cuticles intact. The corners of your mouth pull down at the sight. You’re going to run out of time if you aren’t careful.

“You don’t dwell on your shortcomings. I know for a fact you feel lonely sometimes, but you squash it before it can grow into something edible.You used to bury your loneliness and sadness in your work. I definitely fed from you then and you tasted fine. But now…” You shrug and use a little of your power to increase the size of your breasts and deepen the cut of the neckline of your dress all without having to lift a finger. They bounce softly with the growth, making you smirk when they catch his attention while he’s supposed to be listening to you. Keep staring, Yoongi. “It’s especially delicious and filling if you’re still wallowing on a traumatic event I’ve caused in your life.” 

Yoongi blinks a few times and you can see the gears turning in his head before he looks at you in surprise. You grin thinking he’s going to call you out on making your breasts bigger. He had to notice when you moved your arms and let them drop back into their natural position. “So you…”  You’re not sure what he’s talking about until you see him touch his repaired shoulder.  “I’ve been wondering…if you’ve been behind everything.” 

“Of course it was me. Remember how you thought that car just came out of nowhere? And don’t forget your fucking ear.” You grin devilishly. You begin to salivate at the briefest taste of his bitterness while he’s remembering those events and the associating pain. Especially with that shoulder. 

“You caused both of those incidents so you could feed off of me?” His eyes seem to be searching for the answer on the table instead of the demon in front of him who is starting to get hits of the growing sadness in his chest.

You hum. “The fear you experienced worrying about whether or not anyone would find out and kick you from the group, oh, Yoongi.” You nearly moan at remembering it. “Then when you were unable to perform because of your ear? I remember you being pretty upset about that as well.”

“I could have died!” He says sharply. You bite the inside of your cheek to hide the pleasure you’re getting from the rush of sustenance coming to your needy body. “Do you have any idea how much I suffered because of that?”

“No, I didn’t want you dead so you didn’t die. My intent was to feed and not kill you. I was there the whole time to watch you suffer. You fed me so well during those times.” You laugh. “Though I originally planned for you to break an ankle or something instead of the ear thing. Even your neck would have been better than your damn ear.”

Shock, hurt and pain briefly flash over his features and you almost wish you could hear what he is thinking. Instead you’re too busy bracing yourself with your palms on the floor as you breathe him in deeply and quietly so you can take the deepest of dregs. There’s tingling in your fingertips and toes as you take bit by bit. The cramping in your stomach is beginning to cease as it recognizes it is being fed, and you can even feel your mood starting to lift at the prospect of being full again. You had to hurry though, you knew you wouldn’t be able to feed off of Yoongi this way for very long. 

Just as you have that thought Yoongi’s eyes close while he takes a deep breath as if to settle himself, lifting his shoulders up to his ears as best he can and then releasing the breath through his mouth. You panic as the mouthful you’ve just taken weakens. He’s taking your chance at sustenance away! You’re so close to having enough power to try to escape it makes your body quiver in anticipation.  He does it again and as soon as you see his shoulders relax you find yourself lunging forward to try and catch the last wisp of his pain, crawling atop the table and spilling your glass of whiskey in the process. He’s definitely learned to deal with his trauma and that’s not good for you, especially right now. 

“No, no, no, YoongipleaseI’msohungry…” You beg, ravenous, shocking him by sitting on your knees on top of his table, grabbing his hand and rubbing your cheek against it. “Please just give me a little more.” You’ve acted so fast your brain hasn’t had time to catch up to your actions. It can take its time since all you care about is eating right now, any way you can.

Yoongi gapes at you for a solid minute. He’s never even dreamed of seeing you like this before. The demon that’s been tormenting him and his friends over the past almost 10 years on top of his table rubbing her cheek against his hand and begging to be fed like a cat.  He’d be lying if he said this didn’t do things to him. There’s a small part of him that’s loving the sudden amount of control over you that you’ve given him. An entity that has done her very best to hurt him without killing him is now on her knees before him and begging him to provide her with sustenance. The thought makes his cock stir in his pants.

“You could feed me with your arousal as well.” You purr, already onto the faint scent that’s tickling your senses. It’s precisely when that realization hits him that your own eyes slowly open and you guide his hand down your neck, along your breast, where you allow his palm to rest briefly to cup the weight of it. You hold his hand at your breast when you feel him trying to pull away in embarrassment. “I know you’ve been staring, take your time…”

He swallows and continues groping you so you make a show of it, moaning softly and closing your eyes. Then you take his wrist and guide his hand down your torso. When his hand goes over your hips and thighs you spread your legs, sliding his hand between them to your warmth. Yoongi looks up at your face when his fingertips come in contact with your center. 

“How hungry are you?” Yoongi asks, eyes looking into yours briefly before flicking down directly into your cleavage. You’re close enough he could nuzzle into your breasts to his heart’s content. He’s sure you’d be warm and soft and he wants to experience this so badly. Arousal makes his skin tingle where he’s touching you and you absorb it into your body quickly. 

“I need to eat, I need to eat very badly.” You gasp, ready to lose your damn mind. “It’s so bad I can’t think straight.”

He licks his lower lip and tucks it between his teeth for a brief moment before staring directly at you. “Beg for me.”

“Please Yoongi, I need…I need you. I’m so tired, I don’t know how much more of getting to feed and then being starved I can take.”

“You know….none of this is really my problem.” Yoongi hums in thought despite the fact that he’s moving his fingertips between your labia slowly, enjoying the way you tremble. He watches a thick droplet of your slick hit his tabletop and his eyes narrow.  “As much as I enjoy the feeling of you on my fingers, I want to watch you. How about you feed yourself? Masturbate.”

Without hesitation you’re giving Yoongi a full view of your glistening cunt, tucking the hem of your dress under your chin. “It doesn’t work that way! I can’t feed off of myself.” You’re already rubbing your clit though, unable to stop yourself because of his command. Your thighs twitch under your own ministrations, your hole clenching under his stoney gaze.  

“Hmmm perhaps you should figure out a way to do it then.” Yoongi shrugs, reaching for his glass and sitting back with it. He drinks from the glass at his leisure, eyes fixated on your fingers. Angrily, you lift your dress just a bit higher to expose your breasts and you can feel Yoongi’s wall of stone crumble a little. That’s when you’re able to feel the smallest of tastes of Yoongi getting turned on again.  Spurred on by this little victory you wrack your brain for an idea. 

“Show me how wet you are.” Yoongi says after another sip. His gaze has yet to meet your face which definitely meant you were pulling him in. You use your index and middle finger to part your puffy lips for him, middle finger rubbing small circles into your clit and making lewd noises that make the skin on the back of Yoongi’s neck prickle in excitement. He slides his sweatpants down his thighs, giving himself a few good strokes before using his own saliva to help start a lazy rhythm.  Oh if he was going to participate then this would be such an easy meal! 

A steady supply of Yoongi’s arousal flows into you while the two of you use each other to get off, even though one of you was compelled to do so. You’re a little surprised Yoongi would even want to, considering you’ve physically injured him multiple times, however you weren’t going to argue. He agreed to feed you a little and you weren’t going to waste it. 

You’re not the only one making lewd noises. Yoongi’s moans almost sound like purrs and the sound sends shivers down your spine. Yoongi tastes delicious this time, no doubt about it. Your body wants more of what he’s giving you but you can’t be greedy. It’s been a really long time since you’ve gotten a taste of this side of him. 

“Such a good girl.” He smirks.

“Fuck you, I don’t have a choice.” You snap. Even if he is doing you a favor, this whole situation was bullshit and once again out of your control.

He clicks his tongue in irritation and sets his glass down. “Of course you have a choice: listen to me and get fed, or starve. Which would you rather do?”

You reach out and grab him by the hair with the intention of slamming his skull onto the edge of the table so you can watch him bleed out. However once your fingers are tangled into his soft locks you suddenly don’t have the strength to push him backward. Instead you’re pulling him toward you.  Quickly, you let go of him in shock when you realize what you’re doing. He gives you a knowing grin and rests his weight on his hands while giving you a once over. 

“Is there something you’re trying to tell me?” He chuckles, tilting his head to the side cutely. “Do you need my help?” 

“Never.” You snap.

“Then you’d better get back to masturbating if you want to be fed.”  Your fingers go back between your legs. You clench to prevent any of your arousal from dripping out for his hungry gaze and are rewarded with a sharp spike of his lust. He must be misinterpreting your actions but it looks like that’ll help you in the end. “You’re more sensitive now that I’m watching you right? It feels even better since I’m here?  Use both hands so I can watch you cum without touching you.” He sits back again and relaxes while you obey, pumping himself again in time with your fingers. You’re shocked. He’s willingly feeding you? Why? “Don’t look so surprised. I’m not a monster.”

“I’ve tortured you for years and almost killed you today  and you want to just let me feed from you?” You’re panting because he’s made you more sensitive. Yoongi offering himself up to you brings you so much pleasure your mouth starts watering. 

“You can’t kill me.” Yoongi shrugs. “Despite the fact that you’ve done your very best to make our lives a living hell since you’ve been in it, you’ve also helped us. You’re unable to change your existence as a demon. I accept your nature. So I will feed you a little just this one time.” 

You grit your teeth for a second and decide to let your building anger go. You’ve managed to lose control of the situation again and this motherfucker has the audacity to try and say he understands you? Your thighs are trembling and your body is awash with the amount of arousal rolling off of Yoongi and into you. With every passing second you’re tumbling closer to an orgasm. It feels really good and the thought of getting to feed off of Yoongi making you feel good makes it feel even better. 

“Yoongi,” You warn, thighs twitching. You’re so far gone in your pleasure you don’t realize how out of the ordinary this is.

“Stop.” 

You release a shuddering breath, hands frozen where they are. But you want to keep going. Deep down you find yourself wanting to cum for Yoongi, curious to see what he would do next if you touched yourself until you came right in front of him on his own furniture after nothing more than a verbal command. 

“This isn’t doing it entirely for you is it,” You say softly, knowing that look in his eyes. Half-lidded and heated, you can see clearly he wants to be involved in your undoing. You’ve seen that look many times on Taehyung’s handsome face. “Go on, take it.”

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate and leans forward to latch onto your heat, lips wrapping around your chubby clit and suckling. Quickly your dress is gone and your hands are in his hair again, rubbing your fingertips into his scalp. He hums in approval and your legs start shaking, his own hands traveling up the curve of your hips and right to your breasts, as if he’s been holding back on attempting to touch them this entire time. 

You coo at him when he expertly curls his tongue around your most sensitive place, forcing you to twitch and shake with each stroke just as a wave of his arousal fills your belly. You should stop him here, you don’t want to get too full and vomit again. But you don’t know what the limit is and he’s way too fucking good at this for you to call it quits just yet.

“Ah fuck!” You gasp when he pauses to hold you open further for him, mouth glistening with the evidence of how well he’s eating you out, eyes dark and heavy-lidded before diving right back in. He’s using his lips and tongue in tandem, forcing you to lay back to grip the opposite edge of the table, eyes melting black in your own pleasure. He gives you a particularly hard suckle and you splinter the edge of his table in your grip, unable to control your strength in the heat of the moment.  “Yoongi, I want you to fuck me…”

He pulls away and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand with a thoughtful expression. “I didn’t even have to command you to want me to fuck you,” he grins. “Should I be proud?”

“Try again when you haven’t commanded me to be sensitive to your touch first.” You pant. 

“That command wore off ages ago,” Yoongi murmurs as he leans over to lick your nipple slowly. “This is all you and me now.” You shudder at the thought but know he’s full of shit. He’s using both his hands and mouth on your nipples now and all you can do is squirm and moan.  He has to be full of shit. You can’t imagine he’d be truthful at this point. Of course he compelled you to feel like this!  You weren’t sure if you should continue to eat and find yourself torn on wanting to cum on Yoongi’s dick and fill your stomach. 

Ignorant to your current thoughts, Yoongi’s removing his jacket and sliding his sweatpants further down, thick cock slapping against his lower belly. Hooking your ankles around his hips you urge him closer, ignoring that smile he gives you while he steadies himself with one hand on the table, using the other to rub himself against your glistening, puffy lips. You try to pull him forward in an effort to hurry him along, breach your walls, and fuck you until you’re drooling but he stops you with a click of his tongue. 

“I said I’ll help you a little.” He says and it nearly makes you whine. “This is all you’re getting, and you’re going to lay back and fucking enjoy it like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” 

Your eyes roll shut and you groan when he starts rubbing the head of his cock along your slick-covered lower lips.  This has you shuddering without being able to control it, your voice doesn’t sound like your own to yourself when he starts rocking his hips. His hand is moving along his length with each of his thrusts but he’s keeping himself against you instead of inside. It’s more than you can take, his command making your thoughts unclear and any calls to action disappear without a trace.

“You’re so fucking warm,” Yoongi moans, hand moving faster. “Would you just lay back and let me do whatever I wanted to you if I asked? You would, wouldn’t you?” 

You have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from responding with a desperate yes to his questions. The thought of just laying back and being under Yoongi’s control sounds delicious. 

“Not that kind of demon, Yoongi.” You murmur. “You guys keep confusing me with a goddamn, ugh, Succubus.” 

Yoongi’s devilish tongue curls in his mouth at the thought of getting to taste you, fuck you, or do whatever he felt like at the time at the drop of a hat with you under his complete control and cums, moans sounding like the sweetest thing you’ve heard since leaving Taehyung’s. It’s only then that he fucks into you, using his thumb on your clit to finally bring you to the orgasm you’ve been working for since his first compelling.  He keeps you grounded with a hand on your stomach while rolling his hips into you lazily as he comes down from his own high with a deep shudder. 

Yoongi’s hand slides lower on your belly just below your belly button. His touch is cool for just a moment and then his expression changes and it burns, almost to the point of making it uncomfortable for you. It makes you squirm. Then your whole body lights up and you have to arch your back just to expel the pent up feeling you get.

“I’m going to puke again aren’t I?” You mumble miserably, not noticing Yoongi’s weird actions from a moment before. You’re too caught up on what’s going to happen to you next. 

Yoongi chuckles and runs his free hand through his dampened hair, pulling out of you with a hiss in oversensitivity. “Not this time.” 

You perk up at that. “What do you mean not this time? What do you know?!” 

He shrugs. “I am the genius Min Yoongi. I know everything.”

You can feel vitality flowing through your body once again yet you hesitate to celebrate the feeling. Could you trust Yoongi to tell you the truth about this session? The others tricked you, and it’s obvious these fucks have a goal now that you can’t put your finger on, so the odds of him telling the truth are not in your favor. Yoongi straightens himself up and gives you a look that says not to try any funny business. 

It has already been a few minutes and nothing has happened. No symbols, no burning, no pain, and most importantly, no vomiting. You roll over onto your hands and knees to stretch like a cat and have a satisfying groan when bones that make up your spine and hips pop. 

“You kept your word.” You say in surprise. He gives you another look that says no shit and you snatch his hands and clutch them to your chest, smirking when his face flushes despite what you two have just done. “Yoongi, marry me.”

He scoffs and pulls his hands out of your grasp, eyes searching your face for a moment. Suddenly, you feel your strength leave you and you flop onto your side, banging your temple against the table. You’re too weak to even lift your head. It’s as if whatever brief sustenance you got from Yoongi has been taken away just as quickly, leaving you hungry and fragile again. You know this feeling…the fucking whisky. 

“Yoongi,” You groan. “You poisoned me with Angel’s Trumpet.” 

“Very good,” Yoongi chuckles. “We can’t have you pulling any more of your usual tricks going forward. I did get the information I needed though, so thanks for that. Oh, and for fixing my dry spell.”

“Fuck you,” You snap even though the usual venom isn’t there. You were stupid, so stupid to trust one of them again. Was this it then? Was Yoongi planning on using some sort of spell he found in some dusty ass book somewhere that told him how to break the deal between you and Jungkook? If that happened…what would they do to you? “This isn’t over! As soon as I can get my strength back your life is going to be-

“Go to sleep.” 

Everything goes black before you can do anything else. As soon as you go limp, eyes closed and breathing evenly, Yoongi pulls out his phone just as it starts ringing. 

“Hyung? She’s ready.”

Prologue Jimin J-Hope Taehyung

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: current LOCATION: worm row PARTIES: @vanoincidence & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: while tracking a ghoul near the goo, emilio runs into van and experiences her stress response tactics. CONTENT: vomiting tw

His head hurt. It usually did, these days. Between the constant hangover he only ever managed to stave off with more whiskey and the stench of the goo that was clinging to everything in town, it was hard to escape the constant pounding in his head. Some things made it better for a little while, sure, but the list of things that made it worse was a lot longer.

And one of the things that tended to land on that longer list was walking towards him now. 

Emilio bit back a groan as she approached, trying to remember that she was still just a kid, no matter how annoying she was. Right now, unfortunately, she was a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

He’d been tracking a ghoul. Nothing too challenging, with the headache and all, but driven from its usual graveyard haunt by the goo and dangerous enough that he was hoping to off it before it ran into anyone else. Someone like Van, for example, who was just as fucking stubborn as every other twenty-something in Wicked’s Rest.

“You should be going home,” he called out to her as she approached. “There is sludge.”

—

Van had been on her way home from work when she got stuck. 

Not literally, but a door had opened and some of the goo spilled out onto the street, causing her to (badly) parkour over it. She caught the cuff of her jeans on a piece of metal and it ripped halfway up her leg. After she moved away from the goo, she managed to tear the other side as well to at least seem presentable. Whether or not the goo was traveling or somebody had put it somewhere downtown, she wasn’t sure. 

She didn’t care to know, either. 

The sound of footsteps, and then– Emilio’s voice, cut through the constant turning of thoughts in her head. Her gaze snapped up to meet his and a deep frown pulled at the corners of her lips. 

“I can see that, and like, I can’t go home because home is covered in sludge.” She thought to tell him where she was staying, but wasn’t sure it’d be worth it. He’d probably tell her she was lying. “If I should go home then you should definitely go home.”

—

He crossed his arms over his chest, because he’d been expecting this. If there was one thing kids in this town enjoyed, it was an argument. Emilio was pretty sure he’d bickered with just about every one of them at least once now. That might say more about you than it does about them, Milio, said the voice in his head that sounded like Juliana, the one that always came to the forefront of his mind when he was being stubborn and stupid. It always made a little too much sense for his liking. 

“And you sleep in the streets now? Is this it? It’s November.” He was, in fact, using the same argument Zane had hit him with, though he’d deny that and call it a coincidence if pressed. The last thing Emilio wanted to do was admit to anyone that Zane made good points sometimes. It felt wrong just thinking it. “My apartment is gone. Lost to el pringue. Now I haunt the streets and tell people to go away. So go away.” He liked to think of this as speaking Van’s language. Juliana would say it was more along the lines of being a dick. It was all a matter of perspective, really. 

—

Emilio was crossing his arms and Van mirrored his pose, pulling her own tightly against her chest. She stared across the distance to him, lips quirking to the side as she tried to seemingly size him up. 

“No, I don’t sleep in the streets, but I wouldn’t judge anybody who did.” She squinted at him. He smelled a little less like alcohol from the last time she’d seen him. She wasn’t really sure what that meant, all things considered. Van blew her hair out of her face before continuing, “and I know it’s November. It’s one of the best months. Why wouldn’t I know it’s November?” When it came to most people older than her, she couldn’t seem to form an argument. Whether it was repelling from any possible approval they might offer, she wasn’t sure. But she knew Emilio wouldn’t care if she dropped dead right in front of him, so that’s what made it easy. 

Van frowned as Emilio spoke. “You haunt the streets? It’s not October, so that doesn’t really  fit the theme, but you are like, kind of scary.” She waved her hand in front of her face, “visually, I mean.” 

—

She stared at him, and he stared back. He wasn’t sure if it was a contest or not, but it was safer to treat it as one so that he wouldn’t lose. Very mature, Milio, Juliana’s voice sighed in his head. He ignored it. Better to be immature than to risk losing a staring contest to Van.

“It’s not judging to ask if you are sleeping in the streets.” It was more along the lines of concern, though he thought they’d both be happier if he didn’t admit that. “I just mean — It’s cold in November. I know you know what month it is. I’m saying you shouldn’t sleep in the streets when it’s cold, so you don’t end up in a hospital with annoying nurses and stupid beds. They have better things to do, you have better things to do. Everyone has better things to do.” All right, so maybe Zane had been better at this argument than he was. Emilio would never admit to that.

He blinked, looking half-offended. “You think I’m scary?” He looked down at himself, trying to clock what it was. His jeans were too dark to make out the bloodstains on them. His shirt was… cleaner than most of the shirts he had. His jacket was half-zipped, and the pockets were lumpy but not in a way that revealed that they were full of weapons. “I don’t look scary,” he decided. “Maybe you’re bad at knowing what’s scary.”

—

“Hey, nurses aren’t annoying. They’re the backbone of society.” She’d learned that on Tik Tok. Van didn’t like hospitals, as it was, but she didn’t feel the need to tell Emilio that. It wasn’t like she’d ever really been in one, anyway. Maybe after her parents passed, but that’d been the morgue, and she wasn’t even really sure it was a hospital or if it was the police station. She liked to block out those memories, anyway. 

“I have jackets. A lot of them.” She didn’t– they were lost to the goo inside of her house, “but like, that’s besides the point.” Was it? She wasn’t sure. Van maintained eye contact, not willing to lose out to the person in front of her. It was childish, sure, but he was matching her energy so what was she supposed to do? Pretend it wasn’t happening? Be the bigger person? Yeah, right. 

Van rolled her eyes at his question. “Obviously you’re scary. When’s the last time you shaved? Why are you walking around in the dark?” A lot of people walked around in the dark. She was walking around in the dark. A brief pause, before she continued, “and I’m good at knowing what’s scary. I have nightmares all the time.” Not necessarily needed information, but whatever. 

—

“Someone can be important and still be annoying,” Emilio pointed out stubbornly. He thought Zane did decent work at the hospital. He still thought he was annoying. It had little to do with his profession and much more to do with the way he was always asking Emilio incredibly annoying questions, like Are you okay or Do you need stitches. No one wanted to deal with that shit; he figured Van wouldn’t, either. But she didn’t seem particularly swayed by the threat, and Emilio rolled his eyes in response.

She had jackets. Did that mean she was living on the streets? A hint of traitorous concern ebbed in his chest, and he eyed her carefully, trying to determine if she looked like someone who’d slept in an alley the night before. It was hard to tell. She said she wasn’t sleeping in the streets, though, so he figured all he could do was believe her. “Fine,” he relented, throwing his hands up. She was easily one of the most frustrating kids in this town, and that was saying something.

Reaching up, he touched his own face experimentally. “Not shaving doesn’t make me scary.” Though he had gone a little longer than usual. He obviously hadn’t done much of it in the bar, and something about shaving in Teddy’s bathroom felt… strange. Like he was imposing, like he was doing something he shouldn’t have been doing. “I’m walking around in the dark because I wanted to go for a walk. And it’s dark.” Not entirely true, but… whatever. “And am I in those nightmares? No? Then I’m not scary.”

—

Van didn’t really have much to say about that, because Emilio was right. She hated that he was right. She knew a lot of important people and they were annoying. Some she cared about, and some she didn’t. Like Jade, she was annoying, but Van found herself caring for her. It was the harsh reality of making connections outside of the internet. 

It seemed as though she won one part of their argument, and she had to do everything from pumping he fist into the air in response. Van turned her attention to the street they were on, gaze wandering over the streetlights, and then back to Emilio. “Fine.” 

She thought about her dad for a brief moment, about the way he would walk up to her mom and rub the stubble on his chin against her cheek. He knew that she hated it, but he did it anyway. They would argue— about that, and not about the bad things. And Van would laugh. Van pushed the memory away out of desperation as she shrugged at Emilio’s comment. “It does. You should look at yourself in the mirror.” She felt her chest tighten. 

“It’s dark, and you’re going on a walk, don’t you think that’s weird?” He asked if he was in the nightmares and she shook her head. “No, because that would mean I’d need to think about you, but facial hair is in—“ She heard a noise then, from the shadows behind them. Van squinted into the darkness, nearly jumping out of her skin when a raccoon tipped over a trashcan in the alleyway. “Dude!” 

—

“I look at myself in the mirror plenty.” He noted the strange shift in her expression; small, minute, probably barely noticeable to someone who wasn’t a detective, someone who hadn’t been trained to look at the world like a fighting ring and the people around him as opponents. Change in expression was an important thing to track. It told you when a vampire was about to attack, when a zombie was shifting between reasonable and feral, when your mother was about to raise her fist.

It wasn’t as vital, in this case. Noting Van’s momentary change in expression here wouldn’t save his life, but it also wasn’t a thing he knew how to turn off. That was the problem with Emilio, really; he was endlessly trapped in a state of fight or flight that never entirely went away. The whole world was still a battleground. He was still fighting. He had no idea how to quit.

Which came across as stubbornness more often than not. It saw him arguing with kids in goo-filled streets because that, too, was a fight he didn’t know how to walk away from. “I can see in the dark,” he said flatly. A true statement. A mostly irrelevant statement. A great argument to make.

There was a sound from the alley, and Emilio positioned himself between Van and its opening instinctively. Sharp eyes cut through the darkness, making out the shape in the trashcan. “Raccoon,” he announced. “But you should —” He saw it as he turned back to face her; the real threat, the one he’d actually been hunting, coming at them from the opposite side. “¡Chingados!” Emilio readied his knife, prepared to leap into action.

—

She wanted to make a comment about how most old people couldn’t see, but she didn’t want to come across as mean. At least, more mean than she was already being with Emilio. Van  wasn’t really sure how to react, though, when Emilio put himself in between herself and the alleyway from where the noise had come from. 

Van took a small step back, peering around him. He spoke and she lifted her gaze to his, or tried to— why was he so tall? She felt small compared to him. Small in ways she didn’t feel small with other people. She didn’t like it. 

Just as she was about to open her mouth, he was shouting and he had a WAIT– was that a knife?! Van spun around to see what he was looking out and her scream filled the night air, terror plucking at her as if she were a marionette. She stumbled backwards, crashing into Emilio’s side before she fell to the ground, elbows pinned at her sides, marred with grit and asphalt. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Whatever it was, whatever this was, it reminded her of the rat in the kitchen at Sly Slice only bigger, meaner, scarier. It smelled like death, the closer it got. Van pushed backwards, arms dragging against the ground as she tried to get far away from it. 

—

She was terrified. It was hard not to feel a pang of sympathy towards her as she screamed. Van was a little annoying sometimes, but she was still a kid. As far as Emilio could tell, she was a kid who didn’t know an awful lot about the supernatural, even if Perro’s fondness for her meant that she probably wasn’t entirely human. Ghouls were scary-looking creatures, if you weren’t used to them. Emilio still remembered the fear in his gut when he’d been locked up with his first one.

He stepped in front of her, trying to block the ghoul from view. He doubted it’d do any good; she’d already seen it, so the fear was already there. Blocking something from sight might help a younger kid stave off the fear — like putting a blanket over your head and pretending nothing could hurt you if you couldn’t see it — but for Van? Things were probably going to be a little more complicated.

Which meant the solution, of course, was to kill this thing as quickly as possible. “Stay behind me,” Emilio ordered gruffly. “I won’t let it at you, all right? I’ve got you, you’re safe.” And he got to kill something which, admittedly, he did enjoy. 

—

She hadn’t expected Emilio to block the creature from view. Whether it was because it was creepy looking, or because he intended to take care of it, she wasn’t sure. Van felt the soreness in her elbows, and she could tell they were bleeding. That was the least of her worries though, especially right now. 

Van wasn’t really sure what she was looking at, even if it was no longer in front of her– at least, not within direct view. Emilio was speaking and Van’s gaze tore from his back to the space in front of him, but she could only smell it, not see it. He was reassuring her and she had to trust him, even if they didn’t see eye to eye. Even if she annoyed him and he annoyed her, he was putting his life on the line for her. 

It was time to wake up, she realized. The world was not what it once was, and she had magic and the creature in front of Emilio was not some idiot in cosplay fucking around and finding out. This was real. Nora was a bugbear, she had magic, and other things existed. Things like this, and it was about time she accepted it. “Okay,” Van managed out, breath shaky as she continued crawling backwards. 

—

It was strange, sometimes, to think about the experiences of people like Van and how they compared to his own. By the time he was her age, Emilio had killed so many ghouls that the sight of one filled him with something more akin to irritation than fear. They were pests, more than anything; like a mouse who’d gotten into the kitchen or a cockroach crawling out from under the sofa. Something to be dealt with, but not something to fear.

And yet, he could feel Van’s fear behind him. He couldn’t quite bring himself to blame her for it. To him, a ghoul was a cockroach. To her, it was something far more sinister. It was tangible proof of a world she may have only known vaguely about before now, an undeniable truth sitting in front of her in the street. And a dangerous one, to people who didn’t know how to deal with it. People were killed by ghouls, even if slayers typically weren’t. 

He flipped his knife in his hand, taking a step towards the ghoul. In any case, Van wasn’t in any danger of dying to this. Not while Emilio was around. He was built for this, after all, was trained for it. This was what he existed to do, and he’d do it without complaint or problem. Sparing another glance backwards to make sure she was at a safe distance, Emilio sprung forward knife first to attack the creature.

—

When Emilio had told her he wouldn’t let whatever was in front of them hurt her, she had assumed it’d mean that they’d both run away. That he would drag her and she’d lag behind, out of breath. They’d turn a corner and she’d make a joke about how that thing needed to get its hair cut. Did it even have hair? Van couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t think so. Or maybe there wouldn’t be a joke. Maybe she would start to cry, or maybe things would start to melt, exactly as they were now. 

The crotchety man in front of her lunged forward, a knife at the ready. It glinted beneath the light of the streetlamps and she felt a shiver run down her spine. It reminded her so much of the knife that Debbie had drawn on them. Then again, she wasn’t really all that great about identifying weapons, not if they weren’t from video games. 

Van sucked in a breath as she watched the asphalt beneath the ghoul begin to melt away, just as things when she became overwhelmed did. The ghoul staggered, as if ready to attack Emilio back, but instead it fell to the side, losing its balance. In doing so, it managed to fall face first into some of the actual goo that was off the roadside– something Van would have definitely stepped in if she weren’t careful. Van stared wide-eyed as the ghoul became statuesque, unmoving– unthreatening. 

—

Something strange happened as Emilio lunged forward. The ground beneath the ghoul’s feet seemed to shift, bubbling and sizzling in a way that was… definitely not normal. For a moment, the hunter feared that the goo was spreading, that it was about to overtake him, too. He felt a brief flash of irritated rage at the thought, sparing a moment to hope that Van would have enough sense to run before it got to her, too. But it wasn’t goo that bubbled beneath the ghoul’s feet; it was asphalt. 

The ground was melting, somehow. Going from solid to more liquidy, throwing the creature off balance. It still tried to lunge for him — ghouls were stupid things, which was why they were mostly used as practice for kids in Emilio’s line of work — but it was much less successful than it otherwise might have been. It stumbled and fell off to the side, landing in the goo and quickly being overtaken by it. Within seconds, it was turned to stone.

Emilio stood in place, just… staring for a moment. The adrenaline his body had built up in preparation for the fight was still surging, but it had no place to go now. He felt… a little disappointed, if he was being honest. Blinking, he turned back towards Van, who was… looking a lot less shocked at the melted asphalt than he might have thought. “Ground melting now?” He asked experimentally. Maybe this was something that had come with the goo and he’d missed it in all the stress of escaping his apartment and moving in with Teddy.

—

Van stared at the statuesque being, not quite sure what to say or do. She didn’t even really know what it was she was looking at. Emilio seemed to know, but she didn’t know if she could ask him the question that burned beneath her tongue. She finally managed to get to her feet, though her legs were shaking beneath her. She felt like she might throw up. 

The back of Emilio’s head seemed angry too, and Van wasn’t sure how that was possible– how somebody could look angry, or disgruntled from behind. Emilio made it look easy, that was for sure. Finally, he turned back to face her and she forced her gaze to meet anywhere but his. His words spun around her like stupid comical little cartoon birds. Bile rose in her throat and she twisted, spilling the contents of her stomach onto the side of the road without the goo. 

Whether it was from the anxiety or the fear, she couldn’t tell. She stayed bent over for a moment longer before nodding slowly, wiping the spittle away with the back of her sleeve. Van clenched her jaw and closed her eyes. Her nose and eyes burned from the act prior, and she just wanted to leave, but Emilio was sure to find out. “Why were you just going to attack it?” Instead of answering his question, she decided to ask one of her own, though her voice was shaky. 

—

Van expelled her lunch onto the ground, and Emilio wondered if maybe he’d misread her lack of shock about the melting asphalt. Maybe she responded to the surprise differently than he was used to; after all, Emilio had been taught to take such things in stride, but most people weren’t. Most people didn’t respond to impossible situations with dry humor. 

He sighed, half wanting to take a step forward and steady her on instinct alone. Fatherhood, as it turned out, was a hard thing to shake, no matter how long it had been since you’d had an actual kid to practice it on. Van didn’t want his support, he knew; she’d made that much clear more than once, and he could respect it. So he stayed where he stood, a few feet in front of her, between her and the gooey statue that was no longer a threat.

“What else was I supposed to do? Would have chased us if we ran.” It was a better answer than the real one, than because I’m supposed to. Van was more likely to understand one than the other. “Not much of a threat now, though. Guess I’ll have to come back and take care of it if the statues ever… stop being statues.” For Arden’s case, he hoped it would happen, but as time went on he became less and less sure that it was within the realm of possibilities. Emilio considered himself a realist, even if others would dub him a pessimist. Often, he found the two words to be interchangeable. “You good?”

—

Van couldn’t believe that this entire time, her life was like something out of Scooby Doo. None of the good episodes either. Not hot goth rocker chicks, no really good sandwiches. No, just the trauma and the tears. She inhaled sharply, immediately regretting it as the burn in her nose made itself known once more. Van tugged at the sleeves of her sweater and looked towards the creature that was now solidified. What would happen when the goo became not goo? Would it come back to attack them? To attack other people? She wasn’t even sure what it was, really. Just that it was real, despite her attempts at dissociation. 

But Emilio was answering that, too. It was like he was reading her mind. 

She blinked a few times, trying to make sense of whatever it was that had nearly attacked them. Van hadn’t ever seen anything like it. “Am I good?” She looked at him, distraught. “I just threw up! We almost died! I melted the–” She stopped herself, expression going blank. “Never mind, yes, I’m fine. Great, perfect, super fucking cool, Emilio.” Van inhaled sharply and waved away the question she knew would come, “you can– just– ignore the last part.” 

—

She was clearly panicking, and Emilio was ill-equipped to deal with it. He knew how to kill monsters, but he didn’t know how to comfort people when the threat had been eliminated. He’d never been taught that, never had such useless things added to his arsenal. He didn’t even have an example to follow — no one had ever done much to comfort him, after all. He couldn’t do much more than stand and stare as Van spiraled, shifting his weight awkwardly and trying to resist the urge to simply walk away.

But something she said stuck out, though she cut it off before it came out. I melted the– What was that supposed to mean? He glanced back to the melted asphalt that had tripped up the ghoul, then settled his gaze back on the kid. Not completely human, he reminded himself. Not if Perro’s sharp senses could be believed. And Perro had called it with Ren, with Leti, with every other not-quite-human person Emilio had met. He’d assumed Van was some kind of shifter, maybe a new wolf, or a hunter who’d somehow been raised as a human but… Maybe he’d been wrong about that. “No,” he said flatly. “What do you mean? You did this?”

—

“You think I did the goo?!” Deflecting was the best case here, Van thought. “You think that I, Vanessa Zhou, known as Van–” She stumbled over her words, “twenty years old, and cashier at Sly Slice created the goo? No way!” A sarcastic laugh filled the air, and it was loud enough to hurt her own ears from the previous silence. She was fumbling now, with her reasoning, with the excuses– with the fact that all of this was real. 

“You had a knife. Let’s talk about that, because I think that’s like, super important!” Nora had a knife too, didn’t she? And Ren? She didn’t know anyone else who had one. Maybe Nora got her knife from Emilio, especially because Van knew that her friend worked for him. “I didn’t do the goo, Emilio. I’m good not goo-d.” That didn’t make any sense, but she didn’t know what else to say. “So um, if you’ll–” She made a grand motion towards the sidewalk that was goo-less. “I’m going to just– yeah, I’m going to go.” 

—

“No, I don’t think you did the goo.” Frustration was clear in his tone. “I’m talking about the melted shit. You said you melted — Your name is Vanessa?” Not the thing to focus on. He shook his head. “You started to say you melted the ground. I heard you.” What did that make her, then? He knew an awful lot about the supernatural, but he often floundered when trying to guess what exactly someone might be when the answer wasn’t obvious. His family had never focused much on anything outside the undead, after all, and he didn’t always know the full capabilities of those that were considered ‘friendly.’ Why learn about something that wasn’t a threat when eliminating threats was all you were good for? 

Emilio crossed his arms over his chest, tucking the knife out of sight. “Lots of people have knives. A knife is a normal thing to have.” Maybe not quite as many knives as he had on his person, but it wasn’t as if Van knew about those. “Jesus Christ. I’m not saying you did the goo. Goo wasn’t what tripped that gho — that thing up.” He made no move to stop her, but also made no attempt to move out of her way. “You know, it would be easier if you just tell me what’s going on. If you don’t, I’ll have to look into it. Do you want me looking into your business? I’m very good at it, you know.”

—

Was he going to start calling her Vanessa? God, she really should have just shut up. Her nerves were shot and her mouth tasted bad and she just wanted to go home. “Yes, but don’t call me that! It’s Van.” She bit the inside of her cheek as she watched his expression. Was he going to be terrified? Would he attack her like he had tried to attack the creature? No, that wouldn’t make sense. She wasn’t anything like that creature, and she didn’t smell bad. Emilio smelled bad, maybe he didn’t care if she didn’t smell bad. Then again, he mostly just smelled like stale cigarettes and liquor. 

The knife was out of sight and she felt a weight lift off of her. Something in it reminded her so much of that fateful night she came together with the other allgoods, even if this was very different. Emilio nearly slipped, naming the very thing that had attacked them, but Van was too focused on everything else to catch it. “Don’t look into my business! I don’t even own a business!” Van wasn’t sure how this had started, and how she couldn’t just keep her stupid mouth shut. “Why are you so nosy? You have your secrets! Should I ask how you know how to use your knife? Do you want me to ask those things? I don’t think so!” But he wouldn’t grant her the same decency, that much was obvious. With another sharp inhale, Van stomped her foot onto the ground. The asphalt that had melted just stayed like that, as if rubber of some kind, only more liquidy. 

—

“Why would you say it if you didn’t want me to call you it,” he shot back. He probably should have been the mature one here; he was older, after all, and he’d been a parent once upon a time. But Van always seemed to bring out the part of him that was nine years old and thrived on irritating his siblings. These days, with everything going on, she was sometimes better at it than Rhett was. Maybe it was that stubborn streak of hers. She knew how to press all the right buttons. She was good at being annoying. He was pretty sure she knew it.

He furrowed his brow, trying to decide if he was worse at English than he thought he was or if she was purposely misunderstanding him. Maybe some mixture of the two, he decided. “It is my job to be nosy. I’m a detective. So I detect.” He said nothing about her point that he, too, had secrets he’d rather not have anyone look into. In all honesty, Emilio wasn’t worried about Van uncovering anything from his past. With her seemingly limited knowledge of the supernatural, it was unlikely that she’d manage to find anything substantial there. He rolled his eyes as she stomped, shaking his head. “You can act like a child if you want. It won’t stop me from figuring this out. So you tell me, or I look. Up to you.”

—

“Because I said known as Van! Do not call me Vanessa.” Though her tone was vaguely threatening, she figured she looked more like a kicked puppy than anything that could actually hurt him. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to think that she could hurt him with the weird melting trick she had done, or if she’d prefer that he not think of her as a threat at all. 

“Stop detecting, or if you’re going to do that, go find some metal or something!” Van was hopeful that by spinning their conversation in a number of ways, he would ultimately drop the reason for why they were discussing this at all. She was good at it, and had been doing it for years. Some people saw her for what she was better than others, but she hoped Emilio would become annoyed instead of continuing to pursue it. 

Unfortunately for her, he seemed ready to pursue. “You’re harassing this child.” It was the first time she had referred to herself as such, usually so ready to define herself as an adult, “about things she doesn’t know about.” Van’s voice wavered, anxiety coiled in her chest like a spring. It was only a matter of time before her head blew off her shoulders and shot into the sky. “What are you even going to look up? My family trauma? Nice try.” The most he would find is that she didn’t finish college, or that her parents died, or that her grandma left her behind. She was bitter about this, bitter at herself for giving information she shouldn’t have. She felt stupid. She had been panicking, and she should have known better. She tried to force her gaze away from the creature in the goo, still statuesque. “This is getting creepy and I’m going home.” 

—

“Sorry, Vanessa, I don’t think I understand,” Emilio replied dryly, just to be contrary. He wouldn’t actually call her by a name that went against her preference — he wasn’t that much of an asshole — but it was a little too tempting to avoid fucking with her in the moment. 

Of course, the confusion that furrowed his brow as she continued was a little more genuine, because what did metal have to do with any of this? Something else he wasn’t familiar with? He resisted the urge to fiddle with the knife in his hand, worried that the motion would be taken as a threat with how high tensions seemed to have climbed between them. He didn’t want to make her genuinely uncomfortable, didn’t want to scare her more than she’d already been scared by the now-harmless ghoul. 

“I thought you weren’t a child. Haven’t I seen you argue with people about this?” Frustration was building. He doubted he’d get any answers from her directly, which meant he would look into it on his own. A mixture of curiosity and a deep-seated paranoia that required him to have as much information about any given situation as possible wouldn’t let him leave things be, no matter how harmless they might seem from the outside. “And you do know about it. You’re the one who said it first.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Could start there. Got your full name now — that’ll help.” This time, he stepped to the side, motioning for her to go ahead. “Go if you want to go. Sounds like I’ve got work to do, no?”

—

If she knew how to melt people, she would have considered melting Emilio in that moment. But her powers are useless here, she realizes. They don’t exist when she’s not endangered. Van is sure that’s good, but what use was she to anyone if she couldn’t figure out how to properly use them? Doing actual research seemed to be the smart way to go about things, but she wasn’t even sure where to start. Not that any of that mattered right now, not with Emilio calling her by her full name. A sour expression peeled across her features as she kicked at a nearby rock. It bounced from the toe of her shoe and hit Emilio’s shoe, but it’d probably do no damage. 

Instead, Van decided to mock him, lowering her voice. “I thought you weren’t a child.” She felt like a child there and then. Scared, anxious, alone. She wanted to go back to Dr. Kavanagh’s apartment and watch a movie with Thea. That’s what she wanted to do. Not stand here in the middle of the street with some weird monster stuck in goo to their left. She still had no idea what it was she saw, but the fact that she had blabbed about her abilities to Emilio was now taking precedence. 

“Whatever.” It wasn’t like he was going to find anything. He’d see that she was an orphan and probably be weird about it, or maybe he wouldn’t care. He’d see that her grandmother left her, that she dropped out of college– what would he really find? “Have fun, detective.” Her voice wavered as she reached up to give him a half-hearted wave. As soon as she turned her back though, she felt the tears spring to her eyes. Who could she even talk to about this? 

[acewritesfics]

Promotion | TOMMY SHELBY

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: No

Fic Type: Imagine, smut.

Warnings: MDNI! 18+ ONLY! Smut. Established relationship. Swearing.

Word Count: 1,849

TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST

“Tommy,” Y/N gasps in pleasure as her nails dig into the skin of Tommy’s back as he moves inside her. His lips are caressing her neck, one hand gripping her thigh against his hip. “I love you,” she breathes as her toes start to curl as she’s about to hit her peak. 

Her eyes snap open when Tommy stills his movements, remaining inside her as he props himself up, one hand still remaining on her thigh. 

“Why’d you stop,” she frowns looking up at him. 

“What did you say?” He asks, his blue eyes boring into her eyes. 

“Why’d you stop?” She repeats. 

“Before that,” He tells her, giving nothing away to what he was feeling or thinking.  

“Tommy,” her frustrated frown turns into one of confusion. 

“After that,” he says. 

She thinks back to to a moment ago and her cheeks heat up realising she'd said those words out loud having been so caught up in the pleasure he was bringing her. “I…I love you?” 

He nods. 

Trying to come up with something to say, Tommy cuts her off snapping his hips against hers, causing a loud moan to leave her lips instead.  

His grip on her thigh tightens as he moves himself deeper inside her. Leaning down again, his lips brush against her ear before he whispers softly, “I love you.” 

Moving his lips to hers, he kisses her deeply as he picks up his pace. Y/N’s leg that isn’t being held by him entwines with his leg as one of her hands grip the back of his head while the other scratches down his back to his butt to try bring him closer and make him go even deeper. 

Breaking the kiss, she moans out Tommy’s name over and over again as hits her peak, her back lifting off the bed as her toes curl against his thighs and - 

“Y/N!” Her father’s shout cuts through her recollection of the night before and brings her back to reality. Her cheeks burn red with embarrassment. 

“Sorry, what was that dad?” She asks turning her away from him, too embarrassed to look his way. If he knew what she was thinking about there would be Hell to pay and Tommy will cop the brunt of it.  

Y/N being Harry’s only daughter made The Garrison’s former owner a little too protective over her. Knowing the kind of men that came in to the pub he wanted to keep her as far from it as he could. Unfortunately for him, her also being his only daughter meant she had him wrapped around her finger from the moment he first held her. After she returned to Small Heath, her husband having run off with his secretary, no matter how hard he held his ground in not letting her work at the Garrison, she eventually wore him down and he allowed her to work there.  

There were some conditions though. 

If someone is harassing her, she’s to let him know and he’ll deal with it. Even though she had no trouble smashing a drunks face into a table when he groped her arse one time.  

The other rule was to not get involved with any of the patrons, especially the Shelby’s, even though she'd grown up around the brother's and their only sister. That rule went out the window when she reconnected with Tommy over a bottle of whiskey after closing time. It didn't take long for the two to rekindle their teenage romance. The two had been seeing each other for six months now despite her father's disapproval at the beginning. He still didn't like it but what he did like was Tommy's loyalty to her, the way her eyes lit up and her smile grew when she saw him, his doing the same when he saw her, how happy he made her and that he treated her well, giving her everything she deserves. Ever since her involvement with Tommy was made known, the drunks that would harass her despite the warnings, left her alone afraid to face the wrath of Tommy Shelby. 

"I need you to go get some bottles of Whiskey from the back," he orders her. 

"Sure thing," she says, putting down the glass she just finished cleaning and putting the cloth over her shoulder. 

"Don't mind her," she hears her father apologize to the people sitting at the bar as she moves past him. "She's been away with the fairies all day." 

Unbeknown to him those fairies are Tommy Shelby and her memories of the night before. Usually her nights with Tommy didn't linger the way last night did. It was the first time they said 'i love you' out loud. Their love for each other was obvious to everyone around them but Tommy being a man who liked keeping his feelings locked up tight, hearing those words whispered into her ear in the throws of passion after she accidentally said them aloud made her fall even more in love with him.  

"Harry said you were back here," Tommy's voice causes her to startle and almost drop the bottle she's holding. 

"Fucking hell, Tommy," she frowns at him, her heart thudding against her chest from the fright.  

"Sorry, love," he apologises moving towards her. The hint of mischievousness in his voice and eyes tells her he's not sorry at all.  

She rolls her eyes and goes to walk past him when he gently grabs her arm stopping her.  

"I need to talk to you," he informs her. 

"I need to take these to dad," she tells him.  

"He can wait, this is important," he tells her. 

"Is everything alright, Tom?" she asks him, a sense of dread making it's way inside her stomach. They'd been on good terms this morning when he left for his office. Was he now having second thoughts after last night. 

"Everything's good, sweetheart," he assures her, though he's wearing the face he makes when he's got something on his mind and trying to find a way to verbalise it. "But I do need you to hand in your apron." 

"Why?" she asks, confused, the dread in her stomach only growing.  

"I've talked to Arthur," he begins. 

A realisation comes over her at the mention of his brother, who now runs the Garrison after Tommy convinced her father to sell it to him. "You're firing me?" she asks stopping him from saying anything more. 

"Yes and no," he tells her, pulling out a cigarette and lights it, ignoring the fact that they are in a room with highly flammable liquids.  

"You're making no sense, Tommy!" she shouts confused and frustrated with the man she loves more than anyone else. As much as she loves him, right now she wants to strangle him.  

"Think of it as a promotion," he tells her. 

"A promotion to what?" she asks. "Arthur's secretary? Book keeper? Supplies manager? Part owner?" 

"Any of those if you want it," he agrees. "But I was thinking my wife." 

The shock that comes over her has her almost dropping the bottles again, her eyes wide as she stutters out a reply. "I-Is this your way o-of asking me t-to marry you?" 

Reaching into the inside pocket of his coat, he pulls out a ring. It's his mother's ring, the one his father had given her when they got married and the same one Tommy saved from being sold by his father after her death. He'd given it to Arthur, him being the oldest son but Arthur had given it back to him this morning when Tommy told him of his intentions to marry Y/N.  

"I am," he says. "If you'll have me, I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, raising a family, growing old together, loving you unconditionally." 

"I'll always have you, Thomas Shelby," she smiles through her tears of joy, relief flooding her body as she puts the bottles of whiskey down before she does actually drop them. "I want all that with you too." 

Tommy grins slipping the ring on to her finger and pulls her in for a passionate kiss, his arms going around her waist and hers go around his neck. "I love you," he whispers when he pulls back, his lips barely an inch from hers. 

"I love you too, Tommy," she smiles kissing him once more before breaking away from him and collecting the bottles she'd put down. "I should take these to Dad." 

"Then we're leaving," he tells her grabbing an extra bottle from the shelf before leading her back out to the bar.  

"You took your time," Harry says eyeing the two as she replaces the empty whiskey bottles with the full ones. He doesn't miss the ring that now sits proudly on her ring finger. "I see congratulations are finally in order." 

"Did you know?" she asks looking at her father, surprised. 

"Did you think I would ask you without getting your father's blessing?" Tommy ask, his voice teasing, a small smirk on his lips from having surprised her once again. 

"You're not the kind of man who waits for people's blessings to get things done," she points out. "I'm more surprised he gave you it." 

"Didn't have much of a choice," Harry scoffs, "First he takes my pub and now he wants my daughter." 

"He had me long before he had your pub," she teases her dad who gives her an unimpressed look.  

"Get out of here before I decide to take my blessing back," he shoos them away. 

Tommy guides her out of the Garrison and over to his vehicle, the bottle he took from the shelf still in his hand as he opens the passenger side door for her. Before she gets inside the car, she turns to face him. 

"How is being your wife a promotion, in a working sense?" she questions looking up at him.  

"In a working sense, us being married legally makes you family and that means you have shares in all my companies and you won't have to work anymore," he explains. 

"I need to work, Thomas, at least until I pop out a Shelby or two," she tells him. 

"It just so happens, I'm looking for a new secretary," he smiles already having planned it this way knowing that she was raised with her father's work ethics and that she would want to keep working. He just wanted her away from the Garrison and the drunk men.  

"What about Lizzie?" she asks. 

"She's been moved to Arthur's office at the Garrison, starting tomorrow," he lets her know, knowing she would feel guilty if he fired Lizzie to give her her job. 

"So does that mean I start tomorrow?" she smiles.  

"That's right," he also smiles. "Usually you would start at 8 but your boss is giving you the morning off. He said something about not being in until the afternoon." 

"Is that right?" she asked going along with it, clutching his shirt jacket to pull him closer as she stands on her toes. 

"That's right," he confirms, kissing her. 

CREDITS: MDNI and Support Dividers created by @/benkeibea

[diamond-coral]

A Game

Summary: Tony suggests a game that you, the unfortunate intern, get dragged right into the center of: who can make a woman cum the fastest?

Pairings: all dark!: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader, Thor x Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader, Tony x Reader, implied natasha x reader

Warnings: DUB-CON/NON-CON (oral: f-receiving, fingering, tiny smidge of analplay) VOYEURISM/EXHIBITIONISM, BLACKMAILING, OVERSTIMULATION. The characters in this story are NOT good people. After reading the warnings, your media consumption is your own responsibility!

As Stark’s party mellowed down and all the guests left, you, the unfortunate intern, were called over to the small group of five Avengers seated in a section of couches.

“Y/n, come!” Thor’s voice boomed.

“Y/n, come!” Sam mimicked, deepening his voice to make fun of Thor’s.

You approached them as the men snickered at Sam’s joke. 

“What can I do for you?” you ask, a fake smile plastered on your face.

Stark cleared his throat and raised a brow at you; a silent command. 

“What can I do for you, sir?” 

“A round of drinks please, and add this to Sir Barnes, Sir Rogers, and I’s drinks.” Thor handed you the flask of his Asgardian liquor and you accepted it, hiding the slight nervous tremble of your hands.

“Of course, sir.”

“Someone’s been learning their manners,” Steve taunted, and it took all your restraint to not snarl at him.

“Easy there, Rogers,” Stark interjected, noticing how your fingers clenched Thor’s flask tighter. “Pretty sure Barnes fucked the brat outta her couple days ago when he came back from that shitshow of mission in Bosnia. Got a lot of pent up rage there, Buck?”

“Mission just put me in a bad mood,” Bucky shrugged. “Either way, I don’t think I fucked all the brat outta her. Got anything left for me, doll?”

“I have nothing for you, you self-righteous, ignorant prick,” you spat venomously.

“There she is. I always love a challenge.” Bucky smirked at how your knuckles were turning white around the flask. “Now didn’t Thor ask you to go fetch us some drinks?”

You huffed, opting to bite your tongue rather than lashing out, and spun on your heel toward the minibar.

Three-months ago, you would never have imagined your internship interview at S.H.I.E.L.D to bring you here. Your interview had been conducted by Captain America himself, and just as things began to look promising, it was interrupted by a sharp knock from Tony Stark. Tony had brought Steve into the hall, leaving the door to the conference room open, and you could only sneak glances through the window of the room, hearing Steve whisper about how it was “a question of morality” while they both kept looking back at you.

You got the position, and the next day, Tony sat you down and gave you an offer.

The Avengers needed to be ‘taken care of’, as he put it, and you being a ‘stress-reliever’ would boost morale around the team. Most of the them never had time for the outside world (apparently saving the world was a big commitment?) and were rarely ever able to make lasting relationships. You could accept the position, be compensated monthy, and get to live in the compound, or you could decline, and walk away with your mouth sealed by the confidentiality contract you signed before the interview.  Something about S.H.I.E.L.D. work being linked to a lot of top secret information, meaning you weren’t allowed to speak any details of the job to outside parties unless you wanted to get sued for every penny you were worth.

You had been on the cusp of taking the second option before Tony mentioned your sister’s job as S.H.I.E.L.D. as an agent. She was half the reason you’d interviewed for an internship. A couple words from Tony about her possibly falling into a fatal accident on a mission, and you took the position offer in a heartbeat.

You almost overfilled the glass while getting lost in your train of thought. Setting down the bottle of expensive whiskey, you placed the last glass next to the others on the silver tray, and picked it up, gracefully yet begrudgingly making your way back to the small gathering.

“Y/n, finally. We were just talking about who here can make a woman cum the fastest.”

The complete utter bluntness of Tony’s words caught you entirely off guard, and you tripped over your own feet, stumbling in your high heels to keep the tray of drinks from falling before Sam reached an arm out to catch the tray and another arm to hold your hip and steady you.

You ripped yourself from Sam’s touch without acknowledging or thanking him, to disturbed by Tony’s previous words to do so. You began passing out the glasses of dark liquid. “And you’re telling me this why?” Your voice was flat in hopes of showing Tony you were completely disinterested in any plans he might have.

“Why, we need your aid, Lady Y/n,” Thor answered a little too cheerfully for your taste.

“I won’t be partaking in your little immature competition of toxic masculinity.” You crossed your arms and continued. “It makes it seem that women are nothing but prizes. Games to be played by boys as they fight over the highscore. Toys.”

“Aren’t they?” Steve cocked his head, eyes glimmering with amusement while a smirk painted his face. The rest of the men chuckled at his reply.

“I think HR would be shocked to hear that Captain America is being a sexist dick to a woman in the workplace,” you bit back, but your threat was weak and they all knew it.

“I think HR would be to busy writing a condolence letter to your sisters family if, let’s say, on her mission with Sam tomorrow in Russia, a stray bullet hit her,” Steve replied. A quick reminder at the stakes. 

Sam clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock sympathy. “Those darn Russians and their careless aim.”  

He abruptly pushed himself off the couch and clapped his hands together. “I wanna go first,” he declared.

“Just remember, you can’t use your dick,” Tony added. “Some of us don’t have super soldier serum enhanced fuckwands.”

“Please never, ever say fuckwand again,” Bucky said, scrunching up his nose. “Besides, the hydra serum didn’t do anything down there.” He waggled his eyebrows while elbowing his enhanced counterpart. “Don’t think I could say the same for this punk here though.”

Steve muttered a ‘shut up’ while the group snickered.

All while they compared sizes like a bunch of teenagers, Sam manhandled you onto the coffee table in the center of the couches. You let out a grunt as you were shoved onto your front, stomach pressed into the tabletop while your pelvis was slammed into the edge.

Sam kneeled behind you and brought up two fingers to your mouth.

“Get ‘em nice and wet for me, baby.”

The men around you went quiet, entranced as you reluctantly took Sam’s fingers into your mouth, sucking on them and swirling your tongue around them.

When Sam finally pulled them out, he looked back at Tony.

“You ready?” Sam asked.

Sam hiked the flowy skirt of your dress up your legs causing you to squirm and pathetically thrash; a desperate attempt at putting an abrupt stop to this stupid game.

“You’re on the clock.”

At Tony’s words, Sam immediately stopped your desperate attempt at worming away from him by catching you by the back of your neck and slamming you back down hard on the coffee table. Much to your disdain, the rough treatment made you wet, and that was the last thing you wanted them to see.

But when Sam pulled your lacy panties down, you could tell it was the first thing he noticed.

“Fuck babygirl, I didn’t need you lubing up my fingers, you’re already drenched,” he noted.

You let out a soft moan as Sam worked two calloused fingers into your pussy. Although they’re thick and long, they were nowhere near the size of his dick and you silently thanked whatever was out there that he wasn’t splitting you in half with it at the moment. Sam released the grip on your neck, moving to settle the hand on your ass before giving it a light squeeze and a slap that elicited another moan from you. While Sam slowly began moving his fingers- twisting, curling, and pumping them- he leaned over you, caging your body under his broad chest, to speak dirty words into your ear.

“Baby, you’re so wet right now, I think you like having them watch you.” Your cheeks burned in shame while he picked up the pace. “You want them to see how well-behaved you are for me? Want them to see how you come on my hand like a good little slut?” he cooed.

Slow pumps now turned to quick thrusts from his skilled fingers and Sam groaned as you fluttered around him.

“That’s it. You’re taking me perfectly.”

Twisting his wrist so his thumb could also strum your clit, Sam was moving so fast you’d easily mistake him for a superhuman.

“Yes, Sam, please,” you cried out, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Uh-uh, babygirl. Wrong word,” he scolded, although his pace never slowed as his fingers brutally fucked into you.

“Daddy!” you screamed. “I’m cumming!”

You chanted those words, cunt clamping down on his merciless fingers. He gave you no reprieve, mercilessly thrusting into you, until you squirted, your release coating his hand and dripping down his forearm. Only when you were almost crying, did he finally remove his hand from your abused cunt.

“Now that-,” Sam stated, grinning while he stood. “-is how you make a girl come.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever Birdbrain.” You don’t have any strength to look at Tony as he speaks. “Give her a couple minutes before whoever’s next.”

Whatever the conversation was between them (you couldn’t hear it over the buzzing in your brain), it was much too short to your liking. The few minutes Tony gave you only felt like a few seconds before Bucky was getting up.

“Guess I’ll take a crack at it,” he announced, rolling his head from side to side.

“No one says “take a crack at it” anymore, old man.”

“Keep talking when your in last place, Sam,” Bucky quipped, however, his tone was still light.

You felt a metal hand on your hip before you were rolled over onto your back, now facing Bucky while your eyes pleaded with him.

“Please dont,” you croaked.

Bucky just scoffed, kneeling down between your legs and wrapping both arms around your thighs as he pulled you closer.

“Tony?” His hot breath fanned your pussy as he spoke and you inhaled sharply at the feeling.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Stark said.

Bucky wasted no time the moment the words left Tony’s mouth. He started by licking up from your hole to clit over and over, the lazy stripes already driving you wild. Letting go of one of your thighs to bring his flesh hand to your pussy, he pulled the hood of your clit back, pausing his licking to blow on your engorged bud.

“Such a pretty pussy, doll,” he murmured before turning his head around and speaking louder. “You guys seeing this?” 

He moved his head out of the way to showcase your glistening folds. A couple groans from the men on the couches had you trying to close your legs, but Bucky’s grip was like steel (especially considering his hand was metal).

“Wasting time Buck,” Steve commented and Bucky just rolled his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I can still beat Sam and have time left over,” he scoffed.

Bucky directed his attention back to your folds, this time, diving in right away. He still had the hood of your clit pulled back as he encased the bud with his lips causing you to writhe at the intense sensation. And yet, you were held down with practically no effort as he methodically played with you. Each time he groaned against you, you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, and by the time he started sucking on your clit, you were wrecked. Your hand found home in his brown locks of hair while he quickly moved his tongue back and forward on your sensitive nub that was trapped in the vacuum of his mouth. The coil inside you wound tighter and tighter, and suddenly, while Bucky began shaking his head from side to side, it snapped. Your clit pulsed rapidly while encased in his hot mouth, and you screamed, legs locking around his head while your hand held his head in place. He worked you while you rode out your orgasm on his face until you could barely move.

Bucky got up from his knees, grinning down at you, so weak, you couldn’t muster it in you to glare back.

“Now I think I really fucked the brat out of you,” he said. “What was that?” He cupped his ear. “Did I hear a thank you sir?”

“Thank you, sir,” you whimpered weakly.

You were so fucked out, all the next events were but a blur.

Thor had feasted between your thighs the same as Bucky but was more sloppy, although, your body seemed to love ‘sloppy’. His tongue was constantly lashing and worming around your clit, the wet muscle accompanied by lewd slurping sounds, and in record time, Thor’s suckling and licking had you tensing and building up so much that your orgasm felt like a waterfall crashing over your body.

Steve was just as methodical and precise as Bucky, also pumping his fingers slowly in and out of your pussy. He was sweetly slow, dragging out your pleasure to the point where you were begging him to come. His warm tongue dragged across your sensitive cunt, while another hand reached up to grab a breast and pinch a nipple. You felt like your body was on fire. It wasn’t until Steve had inserted a thumb into your ass that he finally allowed your body sweet sweet release.

Your head span as finally collapsing on Tony’s floor, listening to the muffled voices above you.

You didn’t even register Stark’s words as he announced Thor had won and Steve had come in last. You barely even heard Steve’s defense that he was just enjoying himself too much in the moment.

Although ten-minutes later you had a somewhat sense of clarity, after hearing their conversation, you wished you were just unconscious. Even better, dead.

“I’m tellin’ you man, I made her squirt. She definitely came the hardest with me.” Sam’s voice rang.

“Dude- she was literally grinding against my face and holding me in a headlock with her legs,” Bucky argued.

“I literally made the brat beg to cum,” Steve inserted.

“I’d say that by bringing her to release the fastest, it was most intense with me,” Thor declared, victoriously.

You were on the brink of tears as they talked about you. Until another voice cut into the room. A female voice.

“What do you boys think you’re doing?”

It was Natasha. Your head jolted up as you felt a glimmer of hope surge through you.

That glimmer of hope was quickly extinguished at her next words.

“Not inviting me to the boy’s party?” she scolded. “You think a girl might beat you by a landslide?”

Nat squatted down next to you, running a soft hand on your cheek.

“Well you’re right. I’ll beat Thor’s record and cut it in half.”

She began unbuttoning her pants.

“And I’ll do it while riding her face.”

[themultifandomgal]

Michael Gray- Return Pt1

Writing this I had no destination in mind so I literally wrote it as it came to mind. Hope it's ok

"YN where the bloody hell 'ave you been?" Arthur shouts as you walk into the Shelbys privet room in the Garrison

"About" you shrug sitting next to John, stealing his cigarette and inhaling

"It's been months since we've see you" Polly comments pouring you a glass of whiskey

"Yeah, well needed to get away for a bit" you sigh thinking of your boyfriend who you walked in on fucking your best friend "anyway, how's everyone?"

"Could 'ave fucking told us where you were instead of leaving that bloody note with Isaiah. Fucking hell YN we were bloody worried"

"Well I can handle myself" you reply to Arthur

"Don't we know it" Tommy mutters. The door to the room opens and in walks a man you've not see before

"Sorry mate, family only in here"  you smirk at the guy while looking him up and down

"Yeah and you are?"

"This here Michael is YN" John places an arm around your shoulders

"And? she said family only in here so what's my relation to her?"

"She's not blood related to us, family nonetheless" Polly tells him

"Im bloody confused"

"Figures" you comment "my sister was Martha Shelby, Johns late wife. Now who the fuck are you?"

"Unlike you I'm actually blood related. Micheal Gray" he places both of his hands in his pockets

"Ahhh Polly's long lost son. So Tommy did find you in the end"

"You knew Tommy was looking for him?" Polly ask sitting down next to you

"Yeah. He told me the day before I found Alex and Marie, bloody backstabbing bitch" you cross your arms in anger

"Hey, they've gone, left. Don't need to worry about them now eh?" Tommy says taking a sip of his drink.

The evening is full of drinks, laughter and card games. When you leave Michael is adamant that he has to walk with you 'be a gentleman' he said to which the Shelby brothers all start laughing knowing you are more than capable of handling yourself

"You cold?" Micheal starts to take off his blazer

"I'm fine, it's actually warm out" you laugh

"Oh, it's just I've seen the others do it for girls they walk home"

"Ah they walk the women home do they?" you stop in the middle of the street

"Yeah they erm..."

"Your still quite naive aren't you pretty boy" you pat his face while smiling

"What do you...."

"They aren't just walking them home. They're getting some action for their troubles"

"Oh"

"The taking off of the blazer is their 'let's have sex tonight' move" you continue to walk down the street towards your house

"I see. Does my mum know?"

"Of course she does" you clear your throat "if you boys insist on fucking these woman at least be somewhat of a gentleman" you put on your best Polly Gray voice making both you and Micheal laugh

"How did you get mixed up with that lot? I know you said you're Martha's sister, but why are you still..."

"Why am I still involved?" Micheal nods his head "well, John married Martha young because she fell pregnant and our parents kicked her out. She was 17 I was 12. I wasn't allowed to see my big sister, but then they caught the Spanish flu. They both died so I moved in with John and Martha. A year later she was pregnant, this time things went bad and she died. I stayed with John but then he went to war so me and the kids moved in with Polly"

"How old are you now?"

"17 nearly 18. You?"

"18"

"Good to know"

"So where have you been?" Micheal asks he actually seems interested

"Stayed with a Ada in London. Told her to stay quiet, couldn't deal with the Shelby boys"

"Wait" Micheal stops me again "you said you moved in with my mum, so where are you living now?"

"With your mum"

"So why are we at the other end of town" he asks face laced with confusion

"Never said I was going home" you smirk

"Your a minx" he points making you laugh.

This time you actually are on your way home after having a nice walk and chat with Micheal. Unfortunately some men approach you

"Hey YN!"

"Here we go" you sigh

"You know them?"

"Alex's friends. Just, let me deal with them"

"And you called Marie the whore" you roll your eyes

"The Shelbys not enough for you?"

"Fuck off James" you try to move past him but he places his hands on your arm

"Get your hands off her"

"Micheal it's fine I can handle myself"

"We're just having a bit of fun aren't we YN" James moves a piece of hair from your face

"I'm going to make this very clear. Fuck off and leave me alone or else you'll be joining Alex and Marie"

"You wouldn't" he laughs

"You know I would"

"I'd like to see you try" James grabs your face with his hands but you take a gun that you had hidden under your dress and point it to the side of his head "I suggest you fuck off" James let's go of you and runs off with his friends leaving just you and Micheal

"Bloody hell woman" Micheal breathes out "why do you have a fucking gun? and what did you mean by they'd join Marie and Alex?"

"Have you met the Shelbys?" you chuckle putting the gun back under your dress "Arthur taught me how to use a gun to protect myself when alone. They worry and I haven't got the Shelby name to protect me so the gun is the best I've got, though I've never actually had to use it thank god"

"You're not what I was expecting" you frown a little as you walk back to Polly's place "they talked about you, well John and Arthur kept asking to find you. Tommy said you'd be back when you were ready"

"He knows me pretty well huh?"

"Seems it"

You finally arrive home

"You want a cup of tea?" Micheal asks you

"Maybe something stronger?" you sit at the table. Micheal takes two glasses and pours a drink in each

"I enjoyed our walk this evening"

"Me to" you smile "thanks" you say as he places a glass in front of you "so how are you adjusting to Peaky Blinders life?"

"Weird. For years I didn't have a family except for mother. Then Tommy found me and now I've got another mum and cousins who argue a lot"

"You get used to it. I'm sorry about your sister"

"Sorry about yours" you both sit in silence while finishing your drink

"I'm going to head off to bed. I guess I'll see you in morning"

"Good night"

"Night" you put your cup in the sink and head off up to bed.

[minamagnolia]

Connected - Stiles x reader

Part one

Summary: The second part to 'Misconnected'. When Stiles comes back to college after you accidentally sent him a text thirsting after him that was meant for your friend, things become a little more real.

Warnings: Smut, fluff, oral sex, vaginal sex, let me know if you find anything else xx

AO3 link

masterlist

A/N: Hi, hope you're doing well, thanks for all the love on the first part I really appreciate it xx

word count: 4346

You sat at your desk on Sunday night tapping your fingers nervously on the wood, trying to focus on whatever was on the screen in front of you.

Stiles: at baggage claim, will be there in about 20 minutes

You were out of your chair so quickly you were worried you'd wake up anyone in the surrounding rooms with the loud noise the piece of furniture made scraping across the linoleum floor. You were pacing back and forth again, phone in hand rereading his text over and over. Then, you were scurrying into the bathroom to get ready, well, more or less ready, for this late hour. You looked at your room from all different angles to make sure everything was in its right place, your nerves rising with every passing minute.

Were you even wearing the right thing? Sure your pajama pants - college-shirt combo was comfy but it didn't necessarily scream sex-appeal. At least you'd put on a matching set of underwear that made you feel a little more put together, and to be honest, that was supposed to be the most important part anyway, right? If he still wanted you in that way, that was. Oh, god, what if he'd changed his mind? You took a deep breath trying to calm yourself down.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you viewed it, before you had any more time to overthink, your phone pinged with a new notification from your favorite former Beacon Hills resident.

Stiles: here :)

You took another shaky breath, your hands getting clammy, as you grabbed the key card and practically flew out of your room, your heart pitter-pattering to the sound of your brisk walk.

You could see his silhouette fidgeting behind the glass door in the dim light of this November evening and you were relieved to see that he was nervous, too.

"Hi," you said with a shy smile as as you opened the door for him.

"Hi," he said quietly back, an equally tentative smile playing on his lips as he looked into your eyes and he walked past you into the hallway of your hall with the flickering fluorescent ceiling lights, already busy taking off his winter coat while trying to hold onto his backpack.

"How's your dad?" you asked as he stopped to detangle himself from the backpack-jacket situation and he filled you in on the happenings in Beacon Hills, following you upstairs to your dorm room as some of the tension between you faded.

You felt more nervous again, though, when you caught him staring at you. Maybe the pajama hadn't been the right choice, you thought, fidgeting with the band of your shorts, tying and untying it and biting your lip before you finally unlocked the door.

"You wanna watch Star Wars?" you asked with a little waver in your voice, both of you walking into your relatively small dorm, and as you looked up at him, you hoped he hadn't noticed your uncertainty.

But then he raised his soft, whiskey colored eyes from looking at your choice in clothing up to meet yours. He had never looked at you in this way before and it nearly made your heart stop.

Stiles smiled at you replying, "I'd like that a lot."

You returned his smile, finally closing the door to your room behind you. The moment you turned back around to him he had moved so much closer than you'd expected, caging you in against the door, one hand on either side of your hips, and absentmindedly licking his lips. Stiles looked down at your lips before meeting your eyes again as you tried to level your breathing. You could smell the faint scent of his cologne, cedar and something warm but sweet, when he leaned down gauging your reaction with raised eyebrows and slightly parted lips, and you were already beginning to close your eyes in anticipation as you could feel his breath fan over your face.

Frustratingly enough, though, Stiles took his time. You opened your eyes again, reaching your hands out to wind them into the hair at the nape of his neck. You didn't comment on the way you could see the goosebumps on his arms and his breath hitched when you leaned up to finally close the distance between the two of you.

This was what it was supposed to feel like. As your lips moved together in harmony and Stiles' warm, big hands gently grabbed your waist to pull you in even closer, you sighed in relief, the anxiety that you had been plagued by for most of the weekend finally leaving your body to make space for axhiliration and anticipation. Stiles felt like home, like you had done this uncountable times before. Comfy, familiar, but exciting; perfect.

You couldn't believe you were able to just do this now when you'd spent literal years wondering what it would feel like to get to kiss him and it was better than you'd ever imagined.

Your lips parted from his and he quietly asked, "So, Star Wars?" with a goofy smile and you nodded, trying to find your words.

"Do you want to sleep over?" you tentatively asked.

Stiles looked at you for only a second, but long enough to make you nervous again.

You began to ramble, "We don't need to do anything, I just thought that it's already pretty late and if we watch more than one movie, we'll probably fall asleep to it, so -"

A quick kiss shut you up. Stiles leaned back to observe your reaction, "Sounds good," he replied with a smile that calmed you slightly, "I'm gonna get changed into my PJs, too," he added. Stiles looked up at you once, trying to figure out what exactly it was that had your mind racing like that, as he kneeled down to fish his clothes out of his small backpack and came back up to stand in front of you. "Relax," he said, "same thing goes for you. Nothing has to happen tonight. I already like you," Stiles reassured you and kissed your cheek briefly before disappearing into your bathroom.

Your shoulders dropped as some of the tension left your body.

In the time he took to get ready for your sleepover, you prepared your room, turning on the fairy lights you had bought your freshman year so that you may never have to use the evil and nearly blinding ceiling light. You put popcorn in the microwave putting the timer on the exact time it would take to pop the most popcorn kernels without burning, to not wake up the rest of the residents of South Hall like that time someone burned rice your sophomore year. You also gathered as many pillows and blankets as you could fit on the bed and set up the TV.

Stiles was so quiet when he walked back into your room as you fiddled with the remote, you could barely keep yourself from yelping out in surprise as he touched your shoulder.

You turned around gasping as he caught your lips in another soft kiss, parting with a smile. You probably wouldn't get tired of finally getting to do that for a long time, if ever. You snorted in amusement when you looked down to examine his choice of sleepwear. He stood in front of you, clad in a Star Wars t-shirt and red-checkered pajama pants.

"This is a coincidence, I swear," Stiles mumbled, grinning softly and you rolled your eyes replying, "sure. This is just proof that you have indoctrinated me."

He gave you this look again, though, and you bit your lip trying not to think too hard about all of this again. The idea of Stiles being just as infatuated with you as you were with him was a new thing to get used to and it made you feel weak in the knees.

The microwave beeped, relieving you for a moment from these nerves circulating through you, somehow making you feel hot and cold simultaneously at the tiniest indication that Stiles was looking at you. No matter what he said, no matter that rationally , you knew this wasn't that big of a deal, your body wouldn't comply and finally stop with the jitters.

Stiles went and took the popcorn out, motioning for you to sit down on the bed already and you followed suit.

"Do you want a blanket?" He asked quietly as he put the snack bowl next to you on the bed. You watched him as he pulled your favorite blanket out of the mountain of pillows and blankets you had thrown onto the bed. There was something so comfortably domestic about the certainty he had with knowing you that you'd never previously felt before with the people you'd liked. Of course there was with Stiles, you'd been friends with him for forever and he had already spent countless days and nights getting to know you, in any room you claimed as yours, watching movies. And yet...

Stiles smiled at you as he pulled the wonderfully fluffy blanket over your lap, his smile softening. He paused, taking you in and whispered, "you're so pretty," and sat down next to you, looking like he wasn't really expecting it when you extended the fabric over to him and leaned against his shoulder, able to hear his quickly pacing heart as he swallowed. You pressed the play button on the remote.

"Do you want to go to that cafe down the street for breakfast tomorrow morning?" Stiles asked when the beginning credits he'd made you watch so many times before started to roll. He pressed a kiss crown of your head that made your stomach flutter.

"That would be nice, Sti."

"Just to eliminate confusion;" his arms tightened slightly around your shoulders, "I am asking you out on a date."

You smiled up at him, "and I accept your request," you said before turning your body to face his, pressing another quick kiss to his lips.

At least that was the idea.

But he felt so nice and comfortable and right, he drew you in like your favorite hot drink after you spent all day in the snow. And he smelled like Stiles and he was soft and so warm, just him. So you leaned in more as Stiles' hands came up to gently brush across your cheeks and you deepened the kiss, letting your hands rest on his built shoulders.

You didn't lean far away from his mouth when the kiss ended, your slightly swollen lips still brushing his as you quietly admitted, "you feel like home, Stiles."

You could feel him smiling into your next kiss, reciprocating the gesture you discarded your blanket when his hands gripped your waist.

"I'm not going to lie, I was worried for the entire weekend that you only wanted me for my body," he joked, "good to know that that's apparently not the case."

You smirked up at him. "Well," you drew the word out, raising your eyebrows in playful contemplation and Stiles' smile grew as he leaned in to steal another quick kiss from you. You shook your head with a smile and rolled your eyes. Your hands cautiously moved to the base of his neck and you told him, "No way. Now that I know, there's no one I'd rather be with in whatever way you'll have me. Your body's just a perk."

Stiles snorted and nodded, his thumbs drawing circles on top of the thin layer of fabric of your shirt that separated his skin from yours, "good," he said, "because now that I know, I'm not letting you go anytime soon."

You stared at his dark eyes in contemplation for another moment. Then, you lurched forward, wanting to engage him in another heated kiss that would turn your world upside down, practically throwing yourself into his lap. Stiles was barely able to catch both you and the popcorn bowl next to you threatening to topple over, placing it on top of the microwave to keep it safe.

Then, he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer into his lap, taking you in before he kissed you slowly, relaxed, as if you had all the time in the world.

Your hands grabbed onto his shirt, pulling him even closer, not leaving a single millimeter between your bodies as you deepened the kiss, the heat between you growing as one of Stiles' hands reached for your jaw, angling your chin up to him.

Your lips parted and you let your hands wander across his torso, his voice raspy when he quietly told you, "I didn't think it could get better than facetime sex, but this is already so much better."

"So you're saying I'm bad at facetime sex?" you joked.

"No, no," Stiles scrambled to defend himself and you pulled his shirt over his head to chuck it in some corner, not being able to control yourself anymore after years of not getting to do this. You took a deep breath when you saw the real deal so close in front of you; those years of Lacrosse had really done him good, you thought, stealing another kiss.

"Just, this," he whispered against your lips, "you right in front of me and being able to touch you makes it feel more real. Like, you actually want me," Stiles panted and you giggled as you connected your lips again.

"I do," you agreed. Your eyes shot up to his and you were impressed when his eyes barely left yours as you pulled your own sleepshirt over your head and you tried to ignore the heat you felt in your face. "For the record," you said, taking your sleep shorts off as well, leaving you only in your panties, and you didn't miss the way Stiles' eyes finally wandered hungrily over your exposed skin. "I really want you," you concluded, leaning forward once more to catch his lips with yours and you sat back down in his lap, Stiles' hands immediately holding on to your waist.

You could feel his deliciously hard bulge underneath you when you adjusted your positioned in his lap and you arched your back with a soft sigh and told him, "I really want you to fuck me, Stiles."

He opened his eyes to meet yours in question. Apparently, he found in them what he was looking for. With more ease than you would have accredited him, Stiles flipped you over, your back flat on the mattress, your head meeting the pillow, and he rolled his hips against your in a fluid motion, your eyes rolling back in your head.

You were positive you let out the filthiest moan you'd ever heard from yourself. You could barely see the brown in his eyes anymore when you looked up at them, but they twinkled so beautifully in the room illuminated only by your fairy lights.

Your fingers scratched down the smooth skin of Stiles' back and he moaned in the back of his throat.

"I," he begins, kissing down your neck and across the swell of your breasts before he looks up at you, "love these," he concludes, cupping your tits.

Your hands wandered down to the strings of his pajama pants tentatively, but they were quickly stopped by Stiles' own.

"Now that I have you right in front of me instead of on a phone screen," he told you, "I'm gonna take my time with you."

His breath fanned over your sensitive nipples and the moment you wanted to lift your hands again, Stiles had pressed them down into the mattress next to you with a chuckle, shaking his head softly at you before moving down your body so his torso found purchase in between your legs, his head suddenly so close to your core, you had difficulty remembering how to breathe.

Stiles pushed your panties down your legs, meeting your eyes for only one second before pushing your wrists into the mattress again, looking at your wet pussy, making you squirm with need.  The anticipation was killing you.

"I want to taste you, babe," he said and your hips bucked up slightly and impatiently feeling hotness pool in your stomach from only his words and the anticipation of finally feeling him.

"Do you want me to?" he asked, his voice sounding strained.

"Please, Stiles," you panted, clenching your hands into fists.

He placed a kiss on your inner thigh, so close to your core just to torture you, you were sure.

Then he nipped closer to where you wanted him and you whined. "Just - do it, Stiles, please, I need you," you begged.

"Where's the fun in that?" he chuckled, "I've been thinking about this all weekend, I'm gonna make it last."

You threw your head back in frustration, your fingers immediately sinking into his hair and gripping it roughly making him gasp, when he finally let go of your wrists in order to you push your thighs farther apart. You yanked on the strands of his hair once to try and direct his face (and more importantly his mouth) to where you wanted him most, receiving a not so light slap on the delicate skin of your inner thigh that made you gasp in pleasure.

"Your going to have to learn to be a little more patient for me, babe." Stiles' voice sounded gravelly but you were mostly concentrating on the fact that his head was retreating rather than moving closer to your heated core.

Then he lowered his head again to trail another line of kisses along your inner thigh meeting your gaze for a moment and you groaned in frustration.

The look he gave you upon the noises you were making should be a federal offense and the sight of him between your thighs was absolutely sinful. This was really happening, after countless times you'd imagined what it would be like, nothing came close. And then his lips drew up into a primal grin that you'd never seen on him before, and he whispered, "beg me for it again and I just might comply."

You huffed in annoyance before following suit, begging as if your life depended on it, "please," you gasped, another kiss placed on the sensitive skin next to your core, "Pretty please, Sti, I want to cum so bad."

"Good girl," he praised caressing your inner thigh lovingly, "your wish is my command."

Finally, he pressed a kiss against your clit. You gasped in pleasure at finally being able to feel his touch on you, as he opened his mouth to let his tongue explore your folds and lap up your juices.

Stiles' hands pushed your thighs even father apart when you absentmindedly tried to clench them together, arching your back at the feeling of having him suck harshly on your clit.

You could feel his grin against you as he laid his arm on top of your lower stomach when your hips tried to buck up in pleasure again and he rasped, "you've gotta stay still if you want to cum, babe. And you've gotta let me hear you, too. You want to be good for me don't you? Wanna be my good girl?"

You replied with a frustrated groan and Stiles lowered his mouth to your pussy again as the cries fell freely from your lips.

Soon though, you could feel the fingers of his right hand wander further and further down until Stiles' index finger entered you slowly, only beginning to thrust in and out of you shallowly and much more slowly than you would have liked. If Stiles kept teasing you like this you were going to explode.

"Please go faster, please," you begged, whining, and as if he had waited for exactly that, Stiles began to swirl his tongue around your clit with more ferocity and in harsher circles before letting his teeth graze it, entering a second finger into your heat and beginning to pick up the pace, hitting your g-spot for the first time. That was exactly when your world exploded and your pussy clamped down on his long fingers, your body writhing underneath him as you screamed his name.

You were panting hard, barely able to catch your breath as you calmed down from the high. You yanked Stiles up to you to capture his lips in a heated kiss, pressing your body against his. Your hands quickly grabbed for his pajama pants, pulling them down so quickly, Stiles barely had time to register it before stepping out of the pant legs.

He was coming back onto the bed to kneel in front of you, in between your legs, in nothing but his blue boxers with an obvious bulge and a slightly wet patch that had you absentmindedly biting down on your lip in anticipation.

You licked your lips, looking back up into his beautiful eyes as you let your palm wander over his clothed cock, the warmth and weight of it making you whimper.

You dragged his boxers down slowly, finally being able to see him with your own two eyes in 4k, the camera hadn't done it justice. He was heavy and long, easily the prettiest cock you'd ever seen, the tip reddened and glistening with a drop of precum that you swiped off with your thumb. You locked eyes with Stiles when you put your thumb in your mouth to taste the salt and bitterness of his precum, sucking lightly. You tried to suppress your chuckle when he threw his head back and groaned lowly at the image in front of him.

You licked your hand in preparation and Stiles moaned, even more so when your palm finally made contact with the length of his cock. You got to jerk him exactly three times, swiping your thumb over the head of his cock before Stiles told you with ragged breath, "please stop, babe, I want be inside you."

You nodded frantically, "yes, please, I want to feel you so bad, Stiles," you replied clenching your thighs before Stiles pushed them open again, pleasure surging through you as you felt his short nails dig into the sensitive skin.

Slowly, he laid down on top of you and he rolled his hips against yours, his cock brushing through your folds and hitting your clit. Stiles placed a sweet, long kiss on your lips one of his hands coming up to draw soothing circles on your hips.

"Are you -"

"I'm sure," you replied immediately, leaning in to give him another short kiss.

Stiles nodded smiling, "good. Do you have -"

"I'm on birth control," you reassured and he chuckled at the way you knew what he wanted to say.

"Please Sti," you asked, raising your hips to direct the tip of his cock closer to your entrance, closing your eyes for a moment as you felt the heat of his head in your wet entrance.

Stiles moaned and finally he complied without teasing you. You could feel his thick, veiny cock slowly stretch out the walls of your pussy, taking his time and breathing heavily, until he was bottoming out in you. You dug your nails into his broad back trying to ground yourself in this moment, making him groan.

"I never want to do anything but this ever again," you moaned at the way he was filling you so perfectly.

Stiles nodded in agreement. "You feel so good," he sighed, letting his head fall onto the juncture between your shoulder and your neck.

He placed a kiss against your skin there and you smiled. Stiles' hands gripped your waist as he slowly began moving inside of you, the drag already making you unable to think clear. You arched your back at the drag of his hard cock inside you and linked your legs together beneath his ass, getting him to reach even deeper within you.

"Go faster," you demanded short of breath, grabbing one of his hands and intertwining it with yours in order to be able to hold on to something.

Stiles picked up the pace, letting out the most lewd moan you'd ever heard as he began to pound into you in harsh, quick thrusts. The hand that held onto your hips travelled in between your bodies to roughly circle your throbbing clit making you cry out and you gripped the hand joined with yours so tightly you wouldn't have been surprised if you'd sprained it.

"God, you're so tight," Stiles groaned, "so good for me" he sighed, placing another kiss on your neck and driving into you even harder.

You reciprocated the action, screaming his name so loud your voice cracked as he hit that spot inside you just right over and over again making you go crazy, clenching around him, heat pooling inside your core. You were so close.

His eyes met yours for a brief second before he pinched your swollen clit lightly and you came, walls fluttering around his cock, your body jerking uncontrollably underneath him, sending him over the edge as well. You could feel him spilling himself into you with a sensual cry.

You loved the way you could feel him spurt inside you, fucking his cum deeper into you still, his hips stuttering, until both of you calmed down and stilled in each others arms, his head resting on your chest.

Stiles looked up at you with those big brown eyes, his hair all messy from sex and you had never seen anything as beautiful as him. He smiled and leaned up to place a long, lascivious kiss on your lips making your stomach flutter again.

You leant back against your pillow in contentment and Stiles flopped onto his own back to not suffocate you with his weight. Not even having caught his breath yet really, he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, telling you, "I think I've been in love with you since forever," while Star Wars quietly kept playing in the background as you fell asleep on Stiles Stilinski's chest with a soft smile.

Thanks for reading, hope you have a wonderful rest of your day/night xx

[whoree321]

Hey, I believe your requests are open, so, could you please write smth were reader and Tech are friends with benefits?

Also, I’m in the same dilemma as you, cause everyone already forgot tbb and I’m still obsessed??? Like, were is everybody excitement about the show, it was gone so fast…

Anyway, thank ya <3

hello friend! this is a delicious request and i am more than happy to oblige! i’m not sure if you wanted like pure angst or like sexy successful fwb but above all else i am a dirty dirty slut for happy endings so i went light angst, heavy fluff, mild smut to get a little of everything lmaooooo. this also got a little out of control and i’m not sorry.

and literally i am suffering so much in this ever increasing drought of bad batch excitement. like i feel like the person at a party when everyone else is tired and wants to leave who’s still just way too hyped and is like “NO WAIT GUYS LETS HAVE MORE SHOTS AND PLAY TRUTH OR DARE COME ON ITLL BE FUN”. i am in absolute agony. but anyways!

a mutually beneficial arrangement (tech x gn!reader)

it was purely sex. just two friends helping each other relieve some stress occasionally. just two friends who happened to have sex with each other. until it wasn’t.

warnings: fwb, mild smut, reader is gender/genital neutral but they are penetrated by tech (amab)

word count: no idea but it’s pretty long

***

In hindsight, it really shouldn’t have shocked you that this was how things played out.

It’s not like you’d ever been friends with benefits with someone before. It’s not like you didn’t know how easily you could develop feelings for people. It’s not like you didn’t know you were maybe just a little too interested in Tech non-platonically before any of this even started.

No, you knew all of those things going into it. You made the conscious decision to be the biggest dumbass in the galaxy.

When Tech had first suggested a friends with benefits situation, it seemed like a much better idea than it actually was. You had been assigned to Clone Force 99 for a few weeks at that point and had already developed fast friendships with all of them (Crosshair even sometimes acknowledged your presence with neutrality and that definitely felt like at least an acquaintanceship). You were closest with Tech, and one tipsy night at 79’s found the two of you making out in a hallway near the bathroom. You could still remember the way his mouth tasted like whiskey as he pressed you up against the wall

He paused his assault on your lips to look at you, breath fanning lightly across your face. You whined at the loss of contact, not noticing in your haze the intensity in his eyes as he studied you, as though if he took in enough of you he would have the answer to an imposssible question. He migrated lower, planting kisses and sucking lightly on your neck until he made his way to your ear.

“Have you ever heard of people being platonic sexual partners?”, he asked low in your ear. You shuddered at the feeling of his breath and the deeper tone to his voice before you answered.

“You mean like friends with benefits?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I mean,” Tech clarified as he moved to once again nibble on the sweet spots of your neck. Had you had a little more sense, you would have warned him not to leave any noticeable marks, lest you suffer the teasing of the rest of the boys.

“I’ve heard of it, I’ve never done it before though. Why?”

“Well, given our current circumstance,” his response was punctuated by his ministrations on your pressure points, “it may be mutually beneficial for us to enter into that type of arrangement.”

You stopped him for a moment, and lifted his face so that you could make eye contact. Tech stood up a little straighter, hands running up and down your sides lightly as he gazed down at you.

“You think that we should be friends with benefits?”

Tech nodded, one hand moving to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

“I believe it would be an advantageous relationship. We could have relations while still maintaining our successful platonicity, thus eliminating the need to alter the dynamic of the squad with the complications of some trivial romance. It would also be physically beneficial. Sexual intercourse has been shown to successfully alleviate stress, as well as…”

He kept going, explaining the health benefits of sex, but it was hard to pay attention to his rambling while you tried to clear your head of the alcohol and the intoxication of his touch and figure out where you stood on his proposition. In that moment, everything he said made total sense. Granted, that part about “trivial romance” stung a little, but you could still fuck him without ruining the squad or your friendship with him, and Maker did you want to fuck him…

Uncharacteristically cutting off his rant, you responded. “I accept your offer. I would love to be friends with benefits with you.”

Tech grinned, a lust forming in his eyes at the new promise of the benefits the night was leading to.

“Splendid”

From that (mind-blowing) night, sex became a very regular thing. A mission went poorly? Frustrated sex. A mission went well? Celebratory sex. The Batch got leave time? Vacation sex. The Batch hadn’t gotten leave time in too long? Cabin fever sex. It really had started out pretty platonically, but after the first few times you could feel yourself falling head over heels for him. You knew you should stop it, Tech would never hold it against you or be upset if you changed your mind. You told yourself again and again that you would just break it off with him, but then his hands and his lips and his body would be on you, and the hungry way he looked at you would knock the air, and any ideas of making him stop, out of you.

In your defense, it wasn’t like you were the one who had suggested it. Tech had to know the likelihood that your “platonic sexual relationship” would only stay platonic for so long. Actually, you were surprised he hadn’t done a little more analysis of the situation. If he had taken into account all of the factors (the rate of failure in friends with benefits situations, each of your levels of emotionality and past relationships, the effects of living and working in close quarters, etc), you can’t imagine he would have thought it was a smart idea. If Tech had crunched the numbers like he normally would, it wouldn’t have produced favorable results. So for him to want to do it anyway, or to not even analyze it beforehand, must mean he had some sort of feelings for you, right?

This was one of the various problem in your current situation. Tech would always do things that were just on the line between “friends” and “more than friends”. He would go out of his way to do little things for you, he would share info and jokes and side comments with you that he never tried to share with brothers, he would blush when you complimented any of his work, he would stand just a little too close to you or let his touch linger just a little too long. He would suggest a sexual relationship that was highly statistically improbable to be successful.

And while Tech offered nothing but mixed signals, you took it a step further and let those mixed signals fester in your brain until you had warped them into one very clear signal: he liked you as more than a friend. You were so sure of it too. Why would he do all of those things if he didn’t like you like that? It’s not even like he treated you like some one night stand when he fucked you. He cared about making you feel good (usually it seemed like he cared more about you getting off than him), he would clean you up after and you always stayed the night together, cuddled and whispering late into the night about nothing and everything.

There was nothing friendly about your intimate nights together, come to think of it. Friends that just fucked would never treat each other so tenderly or lovingly. It’s not that completely unbelievable to think you would accidentally blurt out that you love him. Tech should have expected that.

But it was out there, unfortunately. You had committed the cardinal sin of being friends with benefits and you couldn’t take it back.

Tech’s brutal pace never faltered as he pumped in and out of you, your moans growing louder and louder as you began to approach your peak. He gazed down at you, locking eyes, and the emotion you could feel behind them was overwhelming. You could tell that he was close, with all the experience you had with him you knew his body better than your own, and he brought his hand up to softly caress your cheek.

“You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe I get to see you like this,” he huffed out, brow furrowing as the rhythmic slamming of his hips against you brought him closer and closer to the edge.

At his words, you reached your climax, and as you came undone words of ecstasy slipped from your lips between wails of pleasure.

“Kriff Tech… ah…. Tech..fuck…I love you”

You didn’t even realize it at first, too caught up in the moment, but Tech did. His eyes grew impossibly wide, and he was finishing inside you before either of you could fully process what you had just said.

As you both came down from your high, the gravity of your admission settled between you. Tech pulled out and flopped down next to you wordlessly, and for a few minutes you both just stared at the ceiling in torturous silence. And then he got up and walked to the refresher, not even looking at you once, and you felt like that was all the confirmation you needed that you woefully misinterpreted your entire relationship with him.

You lept out of his bunk, threw your clothes on, and left as silently as possible, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks. At least you could spare yourself the embarrassment of your words in that moment, and both of you could just forget it and move on.

Of course, you knew that pretending it didn’t happen would be impossible. You told him you loved him, and he said nothing. For several minutes. And then hid in the fresher. That was a clear rejection, and while it devastated you, you were still hoping that the two of you could just move on and be friends like you were before the benefits were added.

Apparently to Tech, you had offended him beyond repair. He never spoke to you (unless it was specifically mission oriented), he rarely looked at you or acknowledged your presence, and he positioned himself as far from you as possible at every opportunity. It had been two weeks since your slip up, and he hadn’t even made eye contact with you once.

It was agony. You missed him. You didn’t even really know what it was like to be on this squad without keeping him company while he made repairs or asking him questions about the next place you were going just to hear him talk. You missed making snide jokes with him. You missed admiring the way his goggles magnified his gorgeous caramel eyes.

The other boys noticed the shift very quickly. They had suspected the two of you had some sort of arrangement, and they knew how close you were, so to see it change so abruptly was concerning. Hunter had tried talking to you about it a few times, but you just reassured him that everything was fine and it was nothing he needed to worry about. Wrecker and Crosshair tried to pick up the slack, and started filling in the holes in your routine that Tech used to occupy. Crosshair would sit next to you in the mornings and during briefings, sometimes trying to make little comments in your ear like Tech would. On missions, Wrecker would always aim to pair up with you, and afterwards would try to do something fun like find a sweet treat or rent a good movie.

You appreciated so much what they did for you. But no matter how hard they tried, nothing could take your mind off the wall of ice Tech had built between you. You loved the other boys, but trying to share happy moments with them when all you could think about was how much better it would be with him was becoming unbearable. You didn’t want to leave them, but you couldn’t stay with Tech being so close to you and yet lightyears away.

As you filled out your transfer paperwork, you chuckled wryly to yourself. Even without the “trivial romance”, the squad was still disrupted. In a bittersweet way, it felt good for Tech to be wrong.

***

Tech had really done his best to analyze the evidence and make an informed decision based on his findings. He had been crunching his numbers with you since the day you joined the Batch, after all. Back then, it was the probability of your attraction to each of them. Tech was fascinated with you, and right off the bat he wanted to know his odds- just out of curiosity of course (for the record, they were pretty highly in his favor).

He knew there were pros and cons to the possibility of a relationship with you. First of all, it was technically against regulation for any clone to be involved in a romantic relationship. Second of all, it was likely that such a relationship would have the potential to cause countless rifts and points of weakness among his squad (regardless of the relationship’s success). Then there was also the very possible chance that the relationship wouldn’t work out anyway, leaving both of you hurt and irreparably damaging your friendship. As much as Tech may have wanted you, the costs unfortunately outweighed the benefits.

But then he kissed you at 79’s. And you kissed him back. And there he was, kissing you at 79’s, memorizing the sweetness of your lips on his. And he knew he should stop. He had studied the data and it’s conclusions were not very good, and if he had any sense at all he would stop. But he pulled away and looked at you, took in the flush on your cheeks and the dazed look accompanying your dilated pupils and the swell of your bruised lips. And he couldn’t bring himself to part ways with you. So he offered the closest thing to a relationship he could think of: friends with benefits.

A friends with benefits arrangement would be a more than adequate solution, Tech had decided. He could be physical with you in the proper moments, and then outside of those moments everything would be just as it was before. The squad’s dynamic and mission proficiency would remain consistent, and technically no regulations were being broken since they only specified romantic relationships. Of course, it wasn’t truly what he wanted, but in this arrangement he would get to enjoy you so much more than he currently was.

Unfortunately, he had made a critical oversight. In the dim haze of the club hallway, Tech had only considered how casual sex would compare to a full blown relationship. He didn’t think to analyze it singularly. And he certainly didn’t calculate the logistics of a friends with benefits agreement when one of the friends in question already had romantic feelings for the other friend.

But Tech knew himself. He knew he could have feelings for you and not let them get in the way. He could accept what he was able to have and make peace with what he couldn’t. Casual sex seemed like a good idea when his emotions were the only ones he took into account.

He wasn’t expecting you to fall in love with him.

When you had said it, Tech thought his heart was going to stop right then and there. In the heat of the moment, he couldn’t have imagined more precious words falling from your lips, and instantly it had him spiraling over the edge into ecstasy. But then the moment ended, and you didn’t say anything. He wanted to end the silence, to find out if you really meant it, but his brain was moving too fast to figure out what to say because he really hadn’t considered this would happen. It was naive of him, he supposed, but he really had thought the two of you could have done it without the emotional complications. Part of him, of course, was thrilled, but the other part of him, the logical part, was thrown into absolute chaos at the implications of your statement and what it would mean and all the statistics and probabilities he had calculated and

And you still hadn’t said anything. Tech could see you out of the corner of his eye, face red and chest heaving with emotion. You looked embarassed, regretful, and the realization that maybe you didn’t mean it hit him like a brick to the face. Maybe it was just something that slipped out, something your orgasm-addled mind had conjured up against your will and now you didn’t know how to take it back, didn’t know the right way to tell him you don’t actually love him.

It was too much for him to process at once, and he ran to the refresher in the hopes that he could clear his head and actually think coherently about the situation for a moment. Tech couldn’t have been in there long, maybe a few minutes, just long enough to splash some water on his face, look himself in the eye, and come to the conclusion that he needed to just have a conversation with you instead of playing with hypothetical numbers in his head. But then he came back out and you were gone, and that seemed like all the answer he needed. You didn’t mean it.

That was good, right? You didn’t mean it, and the two of you could keep going the way you had been.

But the ache in Tech’s heart said otherwise. You didn’t love him. He loved you, he knew he did, and he could be ok with pretending he didn’t when he didn’t know how you felt. But he knew now. And it hurt.

It hurt everytime he talked to you, so he stopped talking to you. It hurt everytime he was near you, so he stopped being near you. It hurt everytime he looked at you, so he stopped looking. The squad’s performance hadn’t been altered, so Tech concluded that the awkwardness could be tolerated until your presence didn’t feel so much like a blaster shot to his chest.

But just like pretty much every other choice Tech had made in regards to you, that plan only worked until it backfired horrifically.

***

The Batch were back on Kamino in between missions. Tech had been vaguely aware of Hunter being called in to a meeting of some sort, but he offered his full attention as Hunter stormed back into their room and huffed his way to Tech’s workbench.

“I don’t know what you did, but you need to fix things with Y/N. Now”

At the mention of your name, Tech pretended to return to his work, fiddling with a tool and avoiding eye contact.

“I do not know what you are referring-“

“Like hell you don’t Tech! The two of you haven’t even looked at each other in weeks and now they’ve put in a request to be transferred to another unit, so don’t tell me there’s nothing going on between you.”

Tech shot up, tools abandoned and stool knocked over with the force of his standing.

“They requested a transfer?”

“Yeah, they did. Now, I don’t know what happened, but I know your little silent treatment has been hurting them a lot. I don’t want to see them go, and you don’t either. So go talk to them and fix it, or I’ll have you transferred instead,” Hunter ordered, finger pointed at Tech’s chest. The threat was empty, of course, but it had fallen on deaf ears regardless.

Tech all but sprinted out into the hall, desperate to change your mind before you left them for good. As much as it pained him to be near you, the thought of being without you was somehow so much worse. He reached your quarters and unceremoniously burst in, barely giving the doors enough time to slide open before he was moving past them.

You jumped at his sudden entrance, hand coming up to clutch your chest.

“Maker, Tech you scared me!”

“Please don’t leave”

You stared at him, taking in his appearance for the first time. His chest was heaving, like he’d just run a marathon, and his eyes were frantic and impossibly wide behind his goggles. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him so disheveled, even when you’d slept with him.

You wanted to look away, but you were conscious of the fact that this was the first time you had made eye contact in Maker knows how long and you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“Tech, I-I can’t stay with the way things are. I’m sorry about what I said, I know it was just supposed to be a friend thing and I shouldn’t have fallen in love with you. I really tried not to, but I did and I ruined everything and you can’t even look at me anymore so how can I-“

Tech took step closer, cutting off your rambling as his brow furrowed.

“You fell in love with me?”

He spoke so quietly, it was barely above a whisper. You nodded, confused at his surprised considering the whole issue was that you told him you loved him and he didn’t feel the same. That was the issue, right?

You could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears as he tried to process what was happening.

“I thought… I thought you didn’t mean it”

Now it was your turn to be confused.

“Why would you think that?”

“Y-you didn’t say anything. You confessed your affections for me while in a compromised state and didn’t say anything else afterwards. Your body language indicated regret and-and you left. I concluded that you said it by accident, and did not actually mean it,” he explained as calmly as he could in his rattled state.

“I left because I told you I loved you and you locked yourself in the fresher! And then you wouldn’t talk to me so I figured you were mad at me because I have feelings for you and you don’t feel the same way!”

Tech’s face broke out in a huge grin, and just as you were about to ask him why he was so happy all of a sudden, he rushed forward and passionately slotted his lips against yours. You gasped into him before immediately reciprocating the kiss, and you tangled your hands in his hair as his fingers desperately clutched your hips. Of all the kisses you had shared with him, none had felt the way this one did. There was an emotion pouring into it, one that had always been on the verge of spilling over but never had before. Eventually you broke apart, and you cursed your lungs for needing air.

He leaned his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath, and broke the silence after a few moments.

“I love you, too. I have for a significant amount of time. When you left that night, I incorrectly assumed you did not share my affections. I avoided you after because I… I was hurt. I apologize for misinterpreting your actions, and for allowing you to think that I was upset with you. I assure you, that could not be further from reality.”

You laughed giddily, bumping his nose with yours as you relished in his confession.

“If you loved me, why did you just want to be friends with benefits?”

Tech blushed and look down, a sheepish look overtaking his features.

“Well, I performed a cost-benefit analysis on engaging in a romantic relationship, and the potential complications were too great. A platonic sexual partnership offered a less risky alternative. Although, I must admit that I failed to properly calculate the possible outcomes of such an agreement between two individuals in our specific situation,” he elaborated.

“We might be the two dumbest people in the galaxy,” you joked with a giggle.

“Technically, it is statistically impossible for that to be true, given-“

You cut him off with another deep kiss, your hands coming to rest on his arms as they kept you in his iron-clad grip. He had never loosened his hold, as though he thought if he let you go, you would disappear.

Abruptly, the kiss ended as Tech pulled back slightly to look at you.

“Does this mean you are no longer transferring out of our squad?”

You grinned.

“That depends. Does this mean we can have a real relationship, not just sex?”

Tech brought one hand to rest on his jaw as he looked upwards and pretended to be deep in thought.

“Well, according to my calculations, we have already experienced nearly all of the possible complications of pursuing a romantic relationship, so I have no objection to enjoying some of the benefits,” he concluded with a playful smile.

You leaned up to kiss him again, pausing just before your lips made contact with his to make a sly comment.

“And we know how good we are at some of those benefits already”

[louweasleymalfoy]

Masterlist

•••

I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater

You said it looked better on me than it did you

Only if you knew how much I liked you

“Why is it so cold outside?” I whined as I pulled my knees to my chest, making Draco laugh.

"It’s winter Y/N/N" He playfully rolled his eyes as he pointed out the obvious "You should have known it was going to be cold"

I hummed in response and he looked at me through knitted eyebrows.

"Hold on" Draco ran to who knows where, leaving me behind.

The both of us were in the courtyard and not bringing a sweater was probably the dumbest idea I had.

Not even a minute has passed and Draco was back with a piece of clothing in his hands and he tossed it towards my direction.

"Here, wear my sweater you dummy"

I caught it, and gave him a smile of thanks.

"My hero" I dramatically said, placing a hand on my chest, as Draco ruffled my hair. "Can't have my dumb best friend freeze to death" I ignored his comment and decided to put it on.

As I pulled the sweater on, I was overwhelmed with the scent of green apples. It was comforting and I couldn’t help but feel instantly at peace.

"How do I look?" I asked him with a hopeful smile and he returned it with his own warm smile.

“You look better than me in it” He remarked and winked in my direction, making my heart melt and have butterflies erupt in my stomach. My words stuck in my throat.

I hated how Draco could make me so flustered like this. But unfortunately, he didn’t notice.

“Look!” I exclaimed, gesturing at the snowflake I caught in my hands.

“It’s beautiful,” I muttered, looking at the snowflake in awe. Unbeknownst to me, he was staring at me. “Yeah, it is,” Draco said

But I watch your eyes as she

Walks by

What a sight for sore eyes

Brighter than the blue sky

She's got you mesmerised while I die

Slytherin hosts the BEST parties, that is a fact. The party was in full swing at the common room as the students mingled with each other. I was standing by the table with Draco as we joked around, watching our friends get drunk.

"Fck you" I said as Draco made a snide comment about something I said.

"Maybe later" He said, giving me a flirty wink and I had to pretend that I didn't hear him, feeling myself blush. Whenever Draco got a couple of drinks in him, he would get in a flirtatious mood with me. I both loved it and hated it. When he was sober, he would never say something like that.

"You know I—" I stopped myself mid sentence when I noticed that Draco's focus was across the room. I followed his line of sight and saw the source of the distraction.

Heather

The girl waved in Draco's direction, making her way over as he didn’t take his eyes off of her.

All I could do was leave. I couldn’t stay there while he flirted with her. It would kill me.

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

But you like her better

Wish I were Heather

I sat near the black lake with an empty bottle of fire whiskey in my hand. I wished I had another drink in my hand, but that would require me getting up from my spot.

Instead I closed his eyes and thought of everything and nothing. I feel someone sitting next to me and yet I made no effort to move, my eyes still shut.

"The stars look beautiful tonight don't you think?” A familiar voice said and I simply hummed in agreement.

"I feel like I don’t get nights like this as much as I want. When was the last time we went out to see the stars?" He continued and I opened my eyes.

"Draco, why are you here?" I asked him with furrowed brows "What? Am I not allowed to hang out with you anymore?" He playfully said with a grin and I rolled my eyes as he started to talk about random things.

"Theo is definitely not handling the break up well" Draco informed as we talked about our friend Theo who got his heart broken by a girl.

"Well trust me, dating is not fun" I said grumpily. He put his hand on my knee, making ne freeze up. "You know what Y/N? I can’t remember the last time you kissed someone"

"W-what?" I turned my head to look at him. "Oh come on, when was the last time you hung out with a guy that isn't me, Blaise, and Theo? When was the last time you kissed someone?"

"That's not true! I hang out with um..other guys?" I defended and yet I sounded unsure, looking away from him. "Oh yeah? Give me a guy's name that you've actually made out with"

There was a long silence to follow, before Draco said ever so casually "Well, you can kiss me if you want to? I don't mind" He offered

My head swiveled to face my friend, my mouth slightly agape in surprise. Draco laughed.

"Come on, I just want you to remember what it feels like. It’s just some fun between friends" He sat up, leaning towards me. "Yeah?" He asked.

I settled with a nod before Draco was inches from me. It felt like one of my craziest dreams as my eyes fluttered shut and I felt Draco's lips on mine.

It lasted no longer than ten seconds, but I could remember every detail. How his lips felt, how he exerted little pressure, and how it was over way before I wanted it to be. Draco pulled away so suddenly, his hand going up to his head.

"Woah. I think my head hurts. I better go to sleep. Goodnight Y/N" He got up from his spot and went inside.

I mumbled an agreement, wondering if I had just imagined the kiss.

Weeks later and I was still replaying those few minutes in my head.

Watch as she stands with her, holding your hand

Put your arm 'round her shoulder, now I'm getting colder

But how could I hate her, she's such an angel

But then again, kinda wish she were dead

I turned to watch them as the pair walked along the hallways. Her hand was nestled into his, he was swinging it ever so slightly. She pointed to something in the distance and they stopped to look. She said something to make him laugh, and he slung his arm around her shoulder. I felt like I was going to throw up.

"You are just going to get more depressed the more you stare at them ya know?" I jumped a little at the sound of Pansy's voice as she gave me a sad smile. I turned to look at Draco. His cheeks were pink as he stumbled for words with Heather beside him, wearing his sweater.

"I wasn’t- I was just-"

"It’s okay Y/N/N, I know that you love him" I exhaled. "Is it really that obvious?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Probably not. I’m just observant. He should just admit that he likes you I’m sorry that he's with that btch."

“She’s not a btch” I said weakly, but couldn’t stop a sad smile form "I bet she's nice. I mean Draco likes her, not me. He'll probably only see me as a friend" I said as I feel my heart ache.

"So? You like her for Draco then?" Pansy asked

I looked back over to the pair where they were growing smaller in the distance.

"Is it bad I kinda wish she didn’t exist?"

"Not really" Pansy replied, placing a hand on my shoulder "We’ve all been there"

"I feel so stupid. Having feelings for my best friend" I muttered

She reached over to take my hands. "You can’t help who you fall in love with Y/N/N. I’m really sorry that you are in this situation. I could've sworn you two would end up with each other, turns out Draco is just blind to see that"

"He never loved me that way Pansy, I don't know what you're talking about, but still thank you for understanding.

I was embarrassed, but I felt tears threatening to fall from my eyes. It was nice to share my struggle with someone else.

"I think I’m going to sleep in our dorm" I said, letting go of her hands, and she gave me a nod. Before I left, she pulled me into an embrace, engulfing me in her arms.

"It’ll be okay Y/N/N, I promise you"

I thanked her and left, thinking of a certain blonde haired boy with grey eyes. I slammed the door shut and walked over to my closet.

I searched for something to wear and saw his sweater. I let my fingers run through the fabric and decided to wear it. I immediately crawled into bed and pulled the covers over me.

I closed my eyes as I cried myself to sleep. Of all the people my heart could have chosen, it decided on a boy who only saw me as a friend and nothing more. All I could do now was imagine what would've happened if he loved me back.

I wish I was Heather

•••

Part 2

[light-yaers]

Fools in the Darkness: Chapter Two

Darkling x Reader

Warnings: Death, violence, drugs (Parem), NSFW and sexual content. This content is explicit and 18+ at some points.

A/N: Once again I am showing off how I have zero self control when it comes to creating stable fic uploads! I simply write another chapter and then upload it immediately. I’m so sorry when this will eventually start to die down, but for now let’s enjoy the start of the story, I guess? I’m astounded at the immense love this got! Thank you all so much!

Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 4k

Chapter Two

Inej returned with three glasses of whiskey. Kaz was sat opposite you at his desk, crow-headed cane secured in one of his leather gloved hands. Inej put the glasses on the desk, before picking up and handing one to you.

“Thank you,” You said politely. Despite the few weeks you’d had to acquaint yourself with the types of people that Ketterdam housed, Inej seemed different. She was a fighter, you could see that clearly, but she also seemed... soulful. Like she had a heart, bursting to the brim with kindness and care, despite the Wraith she had to become living in a place such as the Barrel.

“So, what, the Darkling took you in?” Kaz asked, impatience all over his voice. He grabbed his glass sternly, tapping the sides with his covered fingers.

“This is only the beginning of this story,” You replied.

“Well, get to it,” He said quickly.

“I told you it was a long story, Mr. Brekker. It’ll probably take us most of the night. Can your business wait that long?” You raised a brow at him knowingly. There were men such as Kaz in the Little Palace—impatient, to the point, needing answers immediately.

“Listen, Kaz,” Inej spoke up. “I have a feeling we’ve only skimmed the tip of the iceberg,”

You regarded Inej, taking in her petite frame, the glint of the knives on her body; you counted them quickly, efficiently, until you’d added up fourteen in total. Knives for days, and you’d wager a bet that she knew how to use each one to its full advantage, as if they were an extension of her body.

Kaz breathed out shallowly, shooting Inej a stare. She accepted it gracefully, not even flinching from the obvious tension that had begun to float between them.

“Your sister,” Kaz spoke, his eyes still on Inej, until he finally turned to you once more. He nodded once, sternly and quickly, but you got the message loud and clear—I’m sorry. You swallowed uncomfortably, thankful for the small comfort the tumbler of whiskey gave you as you gripped it in your hands.

“Right, where were we?”

The Little Palace, 1 Year Ago

You woke in a bright room, unrecognisable from where you’d been before—in the snow, the ice, shrouded in a darkness that the Darkling seemed to gravitate towards himself involuntarily. You looked at your hands as they shook; dirt was under your nails, dotted with dried and muddied blood—your sister was still on your very skin.

That’s when you shot up, your heartrate exploding suddenly. She wasn’t here, her body wasn’t on the floor at your feet, nor in the bed next to you. You were trapped inside four walls of creams and golds, with décor that you’d only dreamed of ever seeing.

It was unmistakable—you were in the Little Palace, the one place you’d begged the Darkling not to take you to. He’d done it anyway, after you passed out from your extreme exhaustion.

Now you started to panic, as you looked out of the grand windows of the room. A courtyard was down below, empty of people and carriages. It was still early morning by the sun placement; the palace was quiet. The Grisha lay sleeping in their rooms, the General was in his own—

You were alone.

And saints, you weren’t going to stick around. Not with your sister’s body still lying in the Fjerdan snow, waiting for wolves to find her.

You jumped out of bed, ignoring the way your muscles were screaming at you to return to the pristine sheets. Your feet were bare, and one glance at the floor showed you your shoes had been taken. What for, you didn’t know. Maybe they thought that would be enough to prevent you running.

You almost laughed, imagining the spoilt Grisha deciding to remove your boots—She won’t run with bare feet. She won’t. Little did they know, you’d run with bare feet before. And you’d easily do it again.

You tiptoed to the bedroom door, making as little noise as possible. At the last second, before your fingers curled around the handle, you decided to drop to the floor. You lay on your stomach, shoving your skull to the floor and shutting one eye—there were two feet shaped shadows under the door.

One guard, stood on watch.

This complicated things just a tad, but you were already hatching a plan by the time you stood up again. You gave yourself a few moments to stretch your poor limbs, feeling the adrenaline course through your blood and spur you forward. Without hesitation, you curled your fingers around the handle to your room, and yanked it open—

The guard whipped his hatted head around to you immediately, but he wasn’t quick enough to get into a defensive stance. You grabbed him by the collar, pulling him aggressively into your room, before you twisted him round and placed him in a headlock.

The two of you flopped to the floor, but that allowed you to secure his body to the ground with your legs, wrapping them around his torso so he couldn’t wind his way out of your grip. That’s when you tugged—hard against his windpipe.

He struggled and flailed like a freshly caught fish, but you knew it wouldn’t be long until he passed out and went jelloid. You kept your grip on him tightly, keeping him glued to the ground and his neck secure between your chest and forearm, being pulled taut by your other arm.

Eventually, he stopped fighting. His eyes fluttered closed slowly, his body slipped into a state of sleep.

You left him on the bedroom floor then, opting not to take his uniform in case he woke up while you did, and left the room. You clicked the door shut behind you, before beginning a tiptoed journey through the winding corridors of the Little Palace.

Saints, if you had the time, I’m sure you’d have appreciated the décor. It was splendid; all bright whites and creams with accents of shining gold. There were golden curls on blank white walls, intricate designs of Grisha imprinted in the wallpaper and grandiose windows that let the light flood inside.

You felt that, perhaps, the décor made up for the fact this was effectively an army base. The Grisha brought here were trained non-stop. They couldn’t leave, they didn’t have a choice. You’d heard horror stories of this place, back when you used to be safe in Novyi Zem.

“Zowa adawe,” Your neighbour had said. She was an old woman, living a quiet life on her farm. You called her Nana.

She was stern, but often times soft spoken, with her glorious Zemeni skin and gorgeous personality. When you’d found asylum after an unfortunate incident in Kerch, you and your sister had settled in her barn; parentless. She was kind, she ran the farm and let out the barn next door.

She became a grandmother figure immediately, up until the day she died.

Zowa adawe—Grisha fight. Grisha had to fight if they were sent to the Little Palace. There was no getting out it. Nana had said that your powers were beautiful, but she’d always said it with a hint of distain on her lips, as if you were running out of time.

You turned corridor after corridor, praying that no one would see you creeping around this early in the morning. All you had to do was get outside, and then you’d be able to run—run like Hell. Not stopping to look back or even worry if General Kirigan was on your tail. You’d outrun him, even if it killed you.

When you heard voices and footsteps, you flushed yourself against the corridor wall. You didn’t know where they were coming from, or who they were, but with the rags you were wearing the mud dotted over your skin, they’d know you weren’t supposed to be wandering around.

You held your breath, praying that they’d leave, that you’d get out of this fortress unscathed; and then you started moving again. The next corner you turned welcomed you into a large landing. A spiral staircase was before you to your left, only a few metres ahead of you. You lunged quickly, ducking down as not to be seen through the large windows out to the acres of land that surrounded the palace.

“You,” You stopped, swivelling round as your eyes laid upon two Grisha—one in a purple Kefta and one in white. The lady in white had yelled, but neither got into a defensive stance as you faltered backwards, constantly creeping back to the staircase as your heart threatened to bombard out of your chest. The lady in white shot her gaze down the staircase quickly, while the man in purple next to her all but looked confused.

That’s when her gaze tracked back to you once more, her jaw clenched. “Kirigan!” She boomed. You raised your hands quickly.

“Please—just—,” You pleaded in a whisper.

“Kirigan!” She yelled once more, and as the bash of doors sounded from down the stairs, you knew he’d heard loud and clear. The smack of boots ascended the spiral staircase, until the fresh face of General Kirigan hit your own. He slowed on the stairs, overseeing the commotion, before his expression softened.

He raised his hands calmly, widening his eyes in some kind of silent language, meant just for you.

“Now, just calm down,” He said calmly. You shot your gaze from the two Grisha at the end of the corridor, back to the General, before taking in your surroundings. You were blocked in from both ways; there were no doorways on your side of the grand landing.

But, there was an empty corridor, dotted with closed doors, and at the end—

A window.

It was as if Kirigan could sense the cogs in your brain whirring. As soon as your eyes lay on the window at the end of the free corridor, he began bounding up the steps. “No!” He yelled, reaching out for the flowing fabric of your blouse, but you were already running.

You pumped your arms and moved your legs as quickly as you could, storming towards the window at full pelt. Your heart was in your throat, your limbs screaming for relief, but all you could think of was your sister—alone, cold, left in the snow in a land that had never been kind to her.

That’s when you jumped, flying with all of the momentum you’d charged up from the run up, crashing straight through the window with all of your force. You ignored the sting of shattered glass as it ripped through your clothes and skin, the pain of the wood panelling breaking apart as your body slammed through the window—

And then you were falling, falling, falling—but you never hit the ground.

You brought your hands together with your eyes clamped shut, mustering your remaining energy into creating a cushion of wind to land on. It circled beneath you, spiralling around your body and stopping your free fall comfortably, until you balled your fists and the winds dissipated.

You landed in a large courtyard outside, shaking shards of glass out of your hair as you stood. You dared to look back at the mess you’d made, staring up at the broken window—

Kirigan stood above you, gazing down at you eerily.

You thought he’d be more frantic at the fact you’d just smashed through a window and were still standing. You thought he’d be rushing to get you back inside, but he wasn’t. He was calm and collected, looking at you as if he’d already worked you out completely. And that was the scariest part of this entire ordeal.

You broke into a run, not looking back as you pumped forward. You could feel his stare on your back the entire time, but you chose to ignore it—even if it all felt too easy.

Before you could make it to the tree line, you started to wane. Your limbs felt like lead, your heart felt like a bowling ball in your chest, and all of a sudden it was far too difficult to suck air into your lungs.

You collapsed to your knees, clutching at your chest as you glanced around the clearing. Before your vision began to blur, the unmistakable colour of red hit you. Red and black, with hands dancing before them. A Grisha—a Heartrender.

You struggled against the obvious magic that he was using upon you to slow your heartrate, to stop your muscles working properly. That’s when a blob of black strolled up beside the Grisha, placing his arm upon his Heartrender.

“Enough, Ivan,” Kirigan said, but you could hardly hear him.

“Heartrender...” You stuttered out, as Kirigan began to approach you slowly. “Playing dirty,” You said, as the rest of you collapsed to the floor. The sky above you circled sickeningly, your vision seeing double. Kirigan stepped above you, his face distorted as you fought against the power of Ivan.

“You’ll soon learn that I’m not the enemy here,” He said softly, as he descended to one knee. He slipped his arms beneath you, before rising. You were cradled in his arms, to incapacitated to fight against him.

“Darkling,” You muttered. You would have added more, but even talking was too much to handle.

General Kirigan carried you back inside, as the doors of the palace were bolted shut by his Heartrender. There was nothing you could do—you were powerless, and you were stuck.  

You didn’t fall asleep, but everything felt like a dream. The walk back inside, being carried to a room that wasn’t the one you awoke in, feeling the strength of Kirigan’s arms holding you up without as much as a grunt of exertion.

Kirigan gently dropped you into a large armchair, letting your head fall back against plush leather. He straightened himself, going to sit in a chair opposite you. He picked up a small bell from the table between you, ringing it once, before putting it back down and leaning back in his own chair.

You blinked away the double vision, trying to gain back your composure.

“It’ll ease. Ivan slowed your heart into a death state,” Kirigan said calmly. You were getting annoyed at the way his voice filled the air around you, floated into your ears smoothly. You didn’t want to listen. “That was quite a show,”

You think you scoffed, or maybe you tried too, because the corners of Kirigan’s mouth upturned ever so slightly.

“I told you not to bring me here,” Your words were slurred, almost as if you were drunk. You fought against the want to drift into a sleep, but he was right—it was easing with every passing minute.

“You never told me why,” He replied. You forced yourself to look at him, as your eyes adjusted. There weren’t two of him anymore; just one man. One man who’d dragged you here against your will, leaving your sister alone on Fjerdan soil.

“You left my sister there to rot,” You said, stronger this time. “How could you think I’d stay here when you left her?” Kirigan’s expression didn’t change, but he did look around when someone entered the room, carrying a pot of tea with two cups and saucers. The tray was placed on the table silently, before the attendant left immediately, clicking the door shut.

Kirigan poured two cups of tea, pushing one set towards you and taking one for himself. He didn’t take a sip yet.

“What do you have against the Little Palace?” He asked. You couldn’t help your scowl from devouring your entire face.

“The King hoards Grisha here like he owns them, like they owe him something. It’s a prison disguised as a lavish life. It’s no worse than the whore houses in Ketterdam,” You replied bluntly.

“Yet you were trying to get to Ravka, weren’t you?” Kirigan was quick to the mark, leaving nothing unturned.

“For my sister,” You said, clenching your jaw. “She’d be safe with the First Army,”

“And you?”

You finally looked in his eyes. They were dark, piercing your very skin, but the way they reflected the light gave them the illusion of warmth. You didn’t want to ever admit that the Darkling was a warm individual, not from the stories of his bloodline that you were taught from a young age.

“I was going to lie and stay with her. My abilities have never offered me much,” You said honestly, but you didn’t know why you were being truthful with this man. You swallowed uncomfortably, telling yourself to stop being so open.

“You killed those druskelle. You protected yourself,” He said. He was right, but you felt sick to your stomach. You saved yourself, but you couldn’t save her. You didn’t. “Your power is unrefined, unpredictable, but strong. I’ve never seen a Squaller summon a storm such as what we saw from the Ravkan border. It’s what lead us to you,”

The General finally took a sip of his tea, daintily rising the cup to his lips, before setting it down slowly on the saucer. You glanced at your own cup, wanting to take a sip too, but you couldn’t make yourself reach for it; not yet.

“We train Grisha here for the King, you’re right,” He continued, when you kept your mouth clamped shut. “But we also allow them to refine their abilities and hone their craft. This is a safe place for Grisha, when there are many out there who would try and take advantage of such power,”

“I never asked for this power,” You said quickly.

“No. But you can control it,” He replied, stronger this time. He had a smile on his face, leaning slightly forward, as if he truly wanted you to know why the Little Palace was good. “Wouldn’t you feel better? If you could truly harness your power? Bend it to your exact will?”

You swallowed once, frowning as you looked in his eyes. You wanted to say that you didn’t trust him—and never would. You wanted to splash scolding tea across his treacherous face, but you did neither.

“I’d feel better if I’d buried my sister, before you gave me a life sentence,”

Kirigan stood then, turning his back to you to stand before the window behind him. His hands were together behind his back, his chin high and shoulders broad. He wore all black, but you’d expect nothing different from a man who went by the Darkling.

He thought in depth, calmly, quietly, while you debated having some of your tea. It was steaming and warm and calling out to you. You knew it wasn’t poisoned because he’d already taken a sip, but you were still wary.

“How about a proposal?” He said then, turning back to look at you. You scoffed.

“I’d rather marry a horse than you,” You let out. It was an obvious joke, but you hadn’t expected the words to spill from your lips. Kirigan raised his brows, almost boyishly, taking you by surprise.

“We have fine horses here, I’m sure we could find you a great husband,” He hit back with. Saints forbid, he’d joked back. You hated to admit it, but your shoulders relaxed then, as a small giggle burst from within your gut. He came to sit opposite you once more, taking another sip of tea.

This time, you mimicked him. You picked up your own cup, bringing it to your lips and sipping heartily. Warm tea cascaded down your throat, bringing more strength back to your muscles.

“You train here,” Kirigan began. “You train here and learn to fully control your powerful Squaller abilities, with the help of myself,” You frowned slightly as he mentioned himself, but nevertheless let him continue. “And then, when you’re ready, I’ll... let you slip out undetected,”

That’s when you choked on your tea. You placed the cup back down on the saucer messily, spilling tea on his table.

“You’d let me out?” You stuttered. “No. No fucking way would you let that happen. I know the stories, General. The stoic man, damaged by his bloodline and his image,” As you spoke, Kirigan’s jaw tensed. “You wouldn’t let a Grisha slip out of your ranks,”

He cleared his throat slightly, straightening his shoulders. “I will, if it means you’ll let me train you first,”

You furrowed your brows at him, the cogs in your brain whirring. “Why are you so interested in my abilities? I’m no Sun Summoner, General. I can’t destroy the Fold—,”

“This isn’t about the Fold,” He interrupted you. “This is about you,” He said it with such surety that it almost took your breath away. You were silent, pondering what to say from your rapidly firing thoughts. “Squallers are never as powerful as you have proven to be,” He leaned forward on the dark wood table, coming in close to you. You were too frozen in place to move, too stubborn to back away from him. “I want to see what else you can do, with the right training,”

You stood abruptly, after he’d finished talking. You ignored the disastrous way you looked, with shards of glass still in your hair and small scratches all over your bare skin. Your feet were bad; you could tell just from the way your soles felt; but you pushed through.

“This is a deal,” You said strongly. “A proper deal—a vow,”

Kirigan stood then, too, strolling round until he was face to face with you.

“I’m a man of my word,” He said plainly, before he stuck out a strong hand. You stared at his wrist, his fingers, before slipping your own hand into his. You both shook on it, cementing the deal that he’d offered. If you felt he was lying at any moment, you wouldn’t hesitate to break out of the Little Palace and slip through his fingers.

“Fine,” You said, pulling your hand from his grasp. He looked down at you with an air of knowledge, but his eyes showed you something else; a softness, excitement, sadness. It was so intense that you simply had to look away.

“Your sister,” He said then, causing you to flinch as you scowled back at him. “Men have already been sent to the border to collect her,” He said it so plainly that you were sure he was making it up, but your heart panged as he kept talking. “They’ll bring her here in two days’ time. She will have a proper burial,”

You could have cried, if your body wasn’t on fire. You would have screamed and sobbed if you weren’t stood in front of someone such as General Kirigan. In this world, crying was always a weakness. Emotions were meant to be felt in private. Pain was only to be felt behind closed doors. You wouldn’t give up that ingrained way of life so quickly, as much as you wanted to collapse on the floor when you thought of your sister.

You tried to find the words to say something in response to General Kirigan, but nothing came out. All you could muster was a curt nod, to which he reciprocated with his own.

“Rest. Eat. Drink. You have today to recuperate,” He said sternly.

“Before the Grisha here eat me alive,” You whispered. Kirigan let out the smallest huff.

“Show them your power, and they’ll leave you be,” He said, before his hand curled around your forearm tightly. You gasped at his touch, expecting it to be cold, dark, hostile—but he was just a man. He was just... a fucking man.

With eyes and a nose and a mouth. With shining hair and stubble and broad shoulders. With hips that dipped to his thighs and knees that met his calves.

It was scary, to say the least. You knew what this man was capable of. You knew what he could do, but instead he promised you freedom. He promised to train you, to bury your sister, to keep you safe here while he could.

But that didn’t mean you trusted him. That didn’t mean you weren’t wary—

If only you’d stayed this on edge, this untrusting. Maybe things would have been different.

Tag list: @callitdreamland @bxnnywxtts @elleatrixlestrange @stargirl76 @tartiflvtte @musicconversedance @eprilin @luminous-99 @brynthebulldozer @katedrexel @blackbirddaredevil23 @auggie2000 @not-so-quite-human @notawritergettingtherethough @thinkingth0ts @gabbien @tarkanelima-blog​ @astrosmayhem

I’m sorry if your tag doesn’t work-- I don’t know why they do that sometimes!

[lavellane]

just one date.

mind blind — ambrose kim x f!button (gracie wiseman) | (but mainly platonic nick wiseman x grayson black) | rated T for language | 1198 words | cw for profanity & alcohol.

Nick Wiseman wilts into his malt whiskey. "This is a goddamn nightmare."

"Mm-hmm."

"I'm serious. The end is nigh."

"I know."

"This is like . . . it's a calamity. A cataclysm. This is my fucking Ragnarök, Grayson."

Gray sighs, beer in one hand, head in the other. "Wow. You're really breaking open the thesaurus for this, aren't you?"

Nick glares up at him, appearing about a decade older than he did not two hours ago, back at Unity before he'd first caught wind of the terrible news. "I want to break open something with a thesaurus," he mutters. "Preferably Kim's thick, delusional skull."

"You don't mean that," Gray says.

"Yeah, you're right," Nick snorts. "A thesaurus isn't heavy enough. Rookie mistake. You know, I think Gracie still has that old Miss Marple collection back home. Hardcover, leather-bound, four thousand pages, give or take. That should get the job done."

Gingerly, their waitress sets down Wiseman's third spirit of the afternoon, shooting Gray a sympathetic grimace as she regards the sorry sight of his friend, currently face down on the table and groaning Spanish profanity into the wood. Gray dismisses her concern with a reassuring smile, leaning across to awkwardly pat at Nick's shoulder once the server's out of earshot.

"I think you might be overreacting, somewhat," he says gently.

"Overreacting?!" Nick's head snaps up, eyes glazed over and glaring daggers. "It's Kim! If anything, I'm under-reacting! I'm reigning limbo champion of Reaction Island!"

"It's just one date."

"With my baby sister!"

"Your sister is twenty one, and —" Grayson bites his tongue before it does something stupid. He really needs to stop drinking on an empty stomach.

But the damage is done. Nick's eyes narrow, and he takes a swig of his drink as if there were some vile taste in his mouth needing to be washed away. "You were about to say something awful, weren't you?" he asks miserably.

"Not awful," Gray winces, "just —"

"— Awful. Go on. Say it. She's going to invite him to Christmas dinner with us this year, isn't she? Oh, God."

"No!" Gray laughs. "Well, maybe. And, I'm sorry, mate, but that would be really funny."

"Screw you, too, Black."

"Imagine if they get married. You and Kim — brother-in-laws . . . "

"What the hell happened to 'it's just one date'?!" A visible shudder of nausea rolls over Nick's slouched frame, which only makes Grayson laugh harder. "You're getting some sort of sick, twisted, British satisfaction out of this, aren't you?"

Grayson takes a sly sip from his pint. "Maybe just a little," he grins.

"Great," says Nick. "Where's another coma when you need one?"

The bar's Friday afternoon revelry swallows up any real cynicism in Nick's tone — a small mercy for Grayson, who still has nightmares about the whole messy affair. Music drowns out the thoughtful silence between them for a few brief moments, before Gray, swallowing a handful of peanuts, sighs and opts to give in.

"Look," the taller man say earnestly. "What I was going to say was — and, sorry in advance for this — Ambrose and Gracie make a lot of sense, when you think about it. I mean, I'd be lying if I said I saw it coming, but . . . it also doesn't surprise me, exactly."

Nick blinks, his face drawn and blank and dangerous in that UCRT Commander Justice way that clearly informs Gray he's overstepped. He hasn't been on the receiving end of such an expression in a while, and fights the ever-instinctive urge to apologize. Unfortunately for both of them, the occasional overstep just comes with the territory of being UCRT Commander Justice's best friend. He recants that in his mind as Nick continues to glower across from him.

"My little sister," Nick says quietly, "is an angel. A saint. She's never done one single thing wrong in her whole life, and now you're suggesting that she and Ambrose 'I Get Off On Human Suffering' Kim are — what? Compatible?"

"Sure," Gray shrugs.

Nick shakes his head in dull horror. "I may have to duel you over this. Pretty sure there's a law about it, somewhere."

Gray rolls his eyes and doubles down. He may love Nick, but that doesn't exempt him from any much needed reality checks. "I don't get how you don't see it. They're both ambitious, methodical, confident. They work well together, they get along . . . they both say shit like, I don't know, 'myopia' and 'ennui'. . ."

"That's different! Gracie is eloquent — Kim's just pretentious."

"Uh-huh."

"Ok, we are definitely duelling."

Despite the irritation thick in his voice, Nick shows no intention of moving. Instead he stares absently into the last quarter of his glass, seemingly search for salvation at the bottom of it. He opens his mouth to speak, and then promptly frowns, closing it again. He takes another, more forceful gulp. Gray sighs.

"You've had too much to drink." He scoffs as Nick raises his glass in silent toast to the fact. "You're acting like a right pillock."

Nick rolls his eyes. "What the hell is a pillock, anyway? I'm picturing a bird."

"Picture a guy slumped over a table like the village idiot, instead. Drowning his sorrows in shit whiskey because his sister's going out for coffee. That's a pillock."

"Very informative, Fortitude, thank you."

"Any time."

Nick downs the last dregs of his drink before calling it quits, holding up his hands up palms open to appease Gray and his chiding stare. A moment of comfortable silence passes between the two of them, only interrupted by the same waitress now returned to collect their empty glasses. As she leaves, looking somewhat relieved, Gray spots a flash of something like true hurt shadow the features of his friend. He says nothing, only pursing his lips in understanding and waiting for Nick to make the next move.

Finally, Nick lets out a long slow breath, as if he'd been holding it in for an hour.

"I just don't get it," he says. "I mean — you're smart, funny, nice. Objectively attractive, in a hairy, oversized Beach Boys kind of way — joking, I'm joking! — and you have the added benefit of an actual soul. Why can't she be obsessed with you like every other self respecting young adult in Chicago? Ugh! Why does it have to be him?"

Gray raises a single brow. Waits. Holds Nick's eye until a steady, self aware blush begins to creep up the other man's neck.

"Fine," he concedes. "I sound like. . . ugh, a pillock. I hate that word, by the way."

"It's just one date," Gray repeats.

"And if it's more than one?"

"Then that means she's happy. Which is what you really want, I think. Even if it means happy with Kim."

"That's . . ."

Nick looks down at his hands, splayed out against the sticky cedar wood table. He sighs. "That's obnoxiously insightful."

"That's what I'm here for," Gray laughs. "That, and mooching off your food."

"Do you think I should get Kim coal for Christmas? That would be hilarious, right? Gracie wouldn't be that mad."

"For fuck's sake, Nick."

"Okay, okay. Dropping it."

"Pillock."

[in-ky]

An Old Scent [1] - Negan x Reader (A/B/O AU)

Summary: During summer break, you decide to come back home to visit your dad, Rick. Over the course of your stay, you realize that your dad's friend is pretty hot.

Warnings: Eventual smut, A/B/O dynamics, cheating, age gap, Negan

A/N: yay first fic! this will have four parts! i hope everyone enjoys. this is an au where the apocalypse never happened. 3.2k words

I squinted as I stepped out into the bright Virginian sun. People swarmed all around me, creating the steady hum of airport ambience that I had grown accustomed to over the years. I had just gotten off a four-hour flight home from college and all I wanted to do was shower and curl up in bed. But I couldn't. Oh, no. First I had to endure a fun thirty-minute car ride with my best friend since second grade. I scanned the curb in front of me for her small black car and caught sight of a tall woman waving at me. I grinned and walked forward, tugging along my baggage behind me.

"Ugh, it's so good to see you, Bee." I sighed as I enveloped my friend into a large hug. She let out a laugh and swayed us gently.

"It's good to see you, too," She hummed, rustling my hair "I forgot how short you were." Bee was an alpha; tall, muscular, and very quick to remind me of our differences. Of course, it was in a 'joking with love' kind of way. I was an omega; small, rounded, and very quick to punch her gently in the abdomen.

"I forgot how much of a jerk you are." I quipped, huffing and wheeling my bag to her trunk.

"Oh, come on, babes, don't be like that," Bee laughed, opening the driver side door and waiting for me to walk back to my side. "Now get in, we've got a lot of catching up to do."

---

"How are your heats going?"

"Jesus, that's what you want to start with?" I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. Bee shrugged.

"We don't have to if you don't want to," She clarified, turning out onto the street "I'm just saying, I know they've gotten pretty bad as we've gotten older. Did you try out those tips I sent you?"

"Yea, I did," I said quietly, looking at the trees rushing by on the side of the highway "They worked for a while but..."

"But you need an alpha," Bee sighed, finishing the sentence for me.

"That's the plan for this summer," I agreed "Might finally settle down."

"You know, I'm always here if you need me." She said with a wink. I scoffed at her.

"I'm not that desperate," I laughed, shoving her lightly "Not yet, at least."

"Anyone take your interest back in Colorado?"

"Not really," I hummed, tilting my head in consideration. "There was this one guy. We dated for a few months but towards the end he became a total knot-head. He couldn't keep his hands off me. I thought it was cute at first, but after I started to miss a few classes...well, that shit got old pretty quickly." Bee made a disgusted noise.

"Ugh, men," She grunted, wrinkling her nose "I'm glad I never went through that phase. I'm perfectly happy with chicks, thank you very much. Much less of a pain in my ass."

"Oh, they're not so bad," I smirked "I think it's just alphas in general." She glared at me momentarily and I stuck my tongue out at her. We drove in a comfortable silence for a few moments, just enjoying each other's company. That was always something I loved about Bee. We never had to fill every second with chatter, we could just exist together in the same space and be just as content. She started to hum along to the song that buzzed softly from the radio and my eyes tracked a hawk. Soon enough, we reached our exit and Bee turned the car onto a smaller road, starting the countdown to my arrival home.

"Are you excited to see your dad?" Bee asked, killing the silence.

"Yea, I am," I smiled. We hadn't always had the best of relationships, but the distance that college gave had done wonders for us. A few texts and calls had worked perfectly for us. When he invited me to stay a few weeks during summer I gladly accepted. I wanted to see just how well our relationship had strengthened. Plus I knew he really needed someone.

"How's he doing?" There was genuine concern in Bee's voice. A few months ago, my mom had revealed that she had been having an affair with one of dad's work buddies. She left with him and took my brother down to Georgia.

"I think he's okay. But you know dad, he's not really an emotions guy. He was starting to get some closure but then the divorce papers came in the mail. That really hurt him," I told her, twisting a strand of my hair around my finger. "I just don't know how Lori could do that to him, you know? She won't even let Carl up to visit. The new baby's cute, though. Looks just like Shane." Bee hummed in acknowledgement.

"Well, tell him I said hi, alright?"

"Will do." A few more seconds of silence passed. Until we stopped at a light. Bee looked up and spotted a billboard that sported a very familiar, very handsome face.

"Holy shit!" Bee shrieked, slapping my arm.

"Ow, what the hell?" I hissed, grabbing my shoulder. She pointed frantically at the sign.

"That guy! Isn't that, shit- the hell's his name?" Pulling my eyes from my lap, I let them settle on the object of her excitement. All of the color drained from my face. It was an add for a law firm. There was an old geezer posing proudly on the left, and to his right, was the man who haunted my wet dreams for the majority of high school.

"Negan." I gulped.

"Yea, your dad's hot friend you never shut up about." Bee groaned, pressing on the gas and moving us away from the sign. Negan was a lawyer/make-shift-law-professor and baseball coach at the local community college. He had a sort-of contract with my dad's department. Many times I had come home after school to the two of them puzzling out a case on the kitchen table. Negan was an alpha of alphas, something that got my little omega heart (and other things) pumping until I couldn't breath. His humor and dominating persona made me blush a deep crimson color any time I saw him. Sometimes I would spend hours sitting on the stairs just listening to him talk to my dad. His voice was something else. I had gushed to Bee about him countless times during our times at high school. But I hadn't seen him since my graduation party.

"I wonder if you'll see him again," Bee teased, nudging me again to pull me out of my trance of memories. Then, she did a dramatic gasp. "What if he's your mate?" It was my turn to slap her in the shoulder.

"He's older than my dad!" I squealed, burying my now-blushing cheeks in my hands.

"You're an adult I don't think it matters."

"I think he's engaged."

"Just 'cause there's a goalie doesn't mean you can't scoooore." Bee pulled a face at me and I returned her grimace.

"Whatever, you're lucky we're almost at my house." I huffed, falling back into my seat with my arms crossed over my chest.

"Oh, yea, omega? What are you gonna do?" I rolled my eyes as she laughed off my grumpiness. We rolled to a stop in front of my driveway and a leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks so much, Bee, I really appreciate you," I grinned, popping open the door.

"No problem, babes," She winked, unlocking the trunk "But I swear to the gods, you better fucking call me and give me updates on everything, especially if you run into Mr. Hotcakes." I rolled my eyes once more and promised her I would before closing the door. I retrieved my bag and gave her a wave as she drove down the street. When she was out of view, I took a deep breath and turned around, walking up the driveway to the front door.

I knocked heavily on the dark oak door. While I waited for someone to answer, I decided to look around at the home I had left behind about a year ago. My childhood home had changed now and then over the years, but there were still some iconic pieces of memories in the front yard that could never be forgotten. My personal favorite was Eddie the garden gnome. He was a standard gnome: small and stout with a large white beard that led into a pointy red hat. His eyes were shut and his mouth was curved into a smile. However, he was missing a nose. I grinned as I recalled the unfortunate mishap that caused Eddie to become deformed. I was about twelve, and carl was five. He had gotten a kid's baseball from Negan for his birthday and had begged me to teach him how to play, since I was on the local softball team at the time. I relented and set it up in the front yard. Eddie was our outfielder. Eddie didn't have a mitt. Well, he did, but it was his face. Carl absolutely smashed the first pitch I tossed at him and hit poor Eddie right in the face, shattering his round, pink nose into pieces. Carl bursted into tears and I had to promise him that he did not in fact kill our precious protector of our house. Lori ran out frantically and comforted her son before giving me a thorough chewing out for damaging Eddie. We never used the set again. That she knew of, anyways. Negan always let us play in his yard, though. I smiled at the memory, but the clicking of the lock to the door pulled me from my train of thought. The door swung open and I was met with the smiling face of my father.

"Sweetie, I'm so glad you made it!" He laughed, pulling me in swiftly and squeezing me tight.

"It's good to see you too, dad." I croaked, letting out a small chuckle. I tapped on his shoulder as a signal for him to let go.

"How was the flight?" He asked as he stepped out to grab my bag. I told him it was good but that the screaming kids had given me a bit of a headache. He gave a small laugh and gestured for me to enter. I thanked him and he rolled my bag in behind me. We exchanged a few words but as soon as I walked through the kitchen into the doorway of the living room I was hit by a wall. Not literally, no, but rather a wall of overwhelming scent. It was a delicious swirl of campfire and whiskey, with a hint of cigarettes and leather. I paused for a moment, my eyes forced closed and my lungs taking a deep breath of the intoxicating air. Colors danced across my eyelids. My whole body was flooded with warmth and my toes tingled. I felt safe and calm, and there was something else; something deep within my stomach that I couldn't quite identify, something I never felt before. My eyes snapped open when I felt my father's hand rest firmly on my shoulder.

"I hope you don't mind, sweetie, but I invited company over while I was waiting for you to arrive," He smiled at me. I got a good look at him then. He looked the same, his hair was a bit longer, a bit greyer. But his eyes were different. They were darker, rounder, rawer. I gave a soft smile and told him it was fine. He guided me into the living room. It was then I realized where that deadly smell was coming from. Or, rather, who it was coming from. "Negan, you remember my girl." In that moment, I held my breath as I scanned Negan. He looked fucking amazing, just as he always had. Perfect dimples guarding a charming smile, all surrounded by a gorgeous salt and pepper beard. His hair was longer than it was when I had left, not slicked back, but it still framed his face perfectly. Negan's body was draped casually over the sectional couch, legs crossed at the ankle on the ottoman. His arms were on the top of the couch and his wrists were dangling. He knew he was hot. That bastard. I suddenly became aware of his eyes raking over my form and I shifted from one foot to the other.

"'course I do, Rick," Negan said, voice silky and deep. I couldn't help but let a small shudder run down my spine. All I wanted to do was kneel down in front of him and curl up at his feet. I forced my inner omega down, shaking the thought from my head. "How could I forget the little slugger?" I cringed inside at the nickname. Especially the use of the word 'little'. I begged that he didn't still see me as the kid down the street. Instead as a grown woman. A grown omega.

"Hi, Negan." I greeted with a small smile, swallowing to relieve my dry throat. Now that I was next to him, his scent was clogging all my senses. I gripped onto the couch and lowered myself onto the cushion, hoping to ground myself. It helped, just barely. My heart was pounding, my instincts telling me to submit to this man in front of me. Why, though? Why now? He had never smelled this good before. No alpha had. Was I getting close to my heat? I did have a stomach ache, but that could be from Negan alone.

"Hey, sweetheart. How's college goin'?" Negan asked, sipping on his drink. He kept eye contact with me the whole time. Rick handed me a glass of soda and I thanked him.

"It's good!" I said after taking a sip, thankful for the hydration in my coarse throat "Towards the end it got a little hectic, but I was able to stay on top of everything, thankfully."

"You're studying film, right?" He asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"That's right," I grinned, crossing my legs to relieve some of the pressure the movement caused to build up in my lower abdomen "You still teaching law?" This caused him to chuckle. Literally music to my ear.

"If that's what you want to fuckin' call it." Negan sighed, falling back to his original position, hands resting in his lap "I talk, the kids kinda listen. I just do it for the coaching job, really. You remember how much I love that damn sport, right?"

"Baseball?" I asked, raising a brow "You mean the only thing you talked about at all of the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners you were invited to?"

"Touché." Negan grinned. Goddamn that smile. Butterflies erupted in my chest, beating hard against my ribcage, begging to throw myself at his chest and bury myself in him. Rick cleared his throat and smiled at me to get my attention.

"I want to know more about your college experience!" He beamed, rubbing a hand through his beard "Any special alphas you've got your eyes on?" I heard Negan choke slightly on his whiskey. A small bubble of pride rose in my chest. I laughed at his words.

"Dad, I don't think Negan wants to hear about my love life."

"Shit, doll, I don't mind," He grumbled "I don't get to hear any drama now-a-days"

"What do you mean?" I giggled, tilting my head "You argue for a living. Your job is to literally deal with drama."

"Yea, but that's complex drama," He growled, waving his hand dismissively "I wanna hear simple, schoolgirl 'he loves me, he loves me not' kind of bullshit."

"Well sorry to disappoint," I snorted, running a hand through my hair "but no, there's no one I have an eye on." Dad's smile turned into a frown.

"Shame." I heard Negan whisper. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hear it. It was quiet, barely above his breath, and he said it while twirling his whiskey, following the words with a large gulp.

"You really should start looking, dear." Dad said with a sigh "You know it only gets harder as you get older."

"Dad please, I don't..." I cut him off "Listen, I appreciate you trying to understand this stuff, I really do, but I don't really want to talk about it with my father." He looked at me with an understanding smile.

"Sure," He nodded "But if you ever need anything, anything at all, you just let me know, alright." I nodded.

"Well, this sure has been fun, Ricky-boy," Negan grinned, getting to his feet and stretching his arms far above his head. "We do have that big court case in the mornin', though, and I need my shut-eye."

"Big case, eh?" I asked, rising from my seat as well. Dad nodded and excitement sparked in his eyes.

"You should come! It's an open court and I would love for you to see what I do. I know you always wanted to as a kid, but your mom made you wait until you were older. Well, now's the perfect time!" He rambled, grasping my shoulders.

"W-Well, I dunno, I don't want to be a distraction," I stumbled, taken aback by my father's display of enthusiasm. I turned to Negan, as if asking for permission. He just laughed.

"Oh-o, doll, I don't get distracted. Not in there, not anywhere. Don't you worry about a goddamn thing. You should come, Rick seems like he really wants you to."

"Okay, then," I grinned, nodding in commitment "I'll see you there in the morning then." I looked up to Negan and we locked eyes for a brief moment. But in that moment, something within me quivered. He brushed up against me and smirked down at me.

"See you tomorrow, sweetheart. It was nice to see you. You're lookin' great." It took all my willpower not to let out a whimper as he walked past me, taking his glorious scent with him.

My dad said that he should also get some rest, but that I could stay up as long as I wanted to. I was pretty wiped from my flight so I opted to follow him up the narrow staircase, tugging my bag behind me. I hugged him goodnight and stepped into my room. It hadn't been touched since I left last summer. The forest green bedspread was still perfectly tucked into the mattress and two plump pillows were perched at the head of the bed. My muscles ached for the soft release of sleep. I put my suitcase down by my dresser, taking a moment to smile at some old photos of me and Bee as kids. I showered and brushed my teeth before getting into the comfortable bed. I looked up at the ceiling and giggled softly at the glow-in-the-dark stars shining overhead. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I wasn't thinking of anything in particular, but for some reason, all of my dreams were plagued by the sweet smell, sound, sight, feeling, and taste of Negan.