#Gun can't even maintain eye contact

[07043012]

Gun shut the fuck up this ain't those Kdrama where the girly rejected the second male lead for the plot

[reiderwriter]

hii I absolutely love your writing!! I was wondering if you could write a one shot with gun kink? maybe not really something *aggressive* but just gun kink in the plot !! and please smut with no angst, also maybe aftercare in the end? it's totally okay if you're not comfortable. im loving your kinktober one shots! have a good day :)

A/N: This being one of like... three gun kink requests I've received, we are all not seeing the pearly gates lmao. If you enjoy reading this, even 50% of how much I enjoyed writing it, then I'm happy 😚

Warnings: Undercover FBI Agent reader, gun kink, interrogation room sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, some BDSM themes, Spencer has to 'rough up' the reader etc.

Masterlist

Being rough-housed by a group of FBI agents and pushed against a wall before being handcuffed was never your idea of a fun Tuesday night. It wasn't exactly high on the list for any night of the week, really, but here you were. 

“Caitlyn Grant? You're under arrest for being an accessory to a felony and evading law enforcement, whatever you say…” You drowned out the rest of the statement. It was nothing you didn't have memorized. 

“You're not the usual drug crew, and you don't look sturdy enough to be on most of the other teams either. What part of the Bureau are you in?” You asked the lanky man currently pinning you to the wall as he made sure your handcuffs were aptly tight. 

“You have the right to an attorney, if you can't afford one-” 

“I waive my rights. It's not human trafficking. You wouldn't be working this case if you were human trafficking.” 

The man just stared at you in vague disapproval as you grinned back at him. His closeness meant you could see every detail of his face up close, the five o'clock shadow, the dark circles from lack of sleep. On most of the agents you'd encountered, it had the effect of making them look older, a little haggard, and depressed. On this man, it was honestly very hot. 

He started your pat down by spreading your legs, though honestly, if he'd asked nicely enough, you'd have done just that for him. You near enough told him just that as he reached the two pockets on the ass of your jeans. 

“Watch it, Agent, my bite is worse than my bark.” 

“Turn around.” 

You pouted at his solid resolve, wondering what it would take to get the man to crack a smile or even a frown. Something that wasn't just disinterest slapped on a face and called a day. 

You did as he asked, making sure your body pressed nicely up against his the entire way until your shoulders were resting on the wall and he was feeling along your waist. 

“Come on, what kind of weapon are you going to find there?”

“Standard protocol, please let me do my job.”

“Standard protocol is calling one of your female agents over here to maintain the boundary, Agent. This feels more like you're just trying to cop a feel.” 

Those words finally got a reaction. The subtle clench of the jaw as his hands tightened slightly on your waist had you suddenly regretting your decision to be put in handcuffs. Your hands should've been free to tuck the stray lock of hair that had fallen in his eyes behind his ear, free so your fingernails could trace a path down his face and neck and chest. 

His gaze landed on the simple silver chain you wore around your list and he delicately pulled it out of your shirt, careful not to touch you (and avoiding you even as you arched your back into him). 

With a quick tug, he pulled the necklace clean off your neck, not pausing to bother with the clasp at all. 

“Clever boy. I'll see you in the interrogation room, shall I?” He said nothing as the female agents you'd mentioned earlier stationed themselves on either side of you as you walked away. You didn't break eye contact until the doors to the police van closed behind you. 

Six months undercover on a case, and this was the first time you'd stepped foot in a police precinct since you'd ditched your real name and life. 

The interrogation rooms hadn't changed in that time, at least, still grey and depressing. Time felt void as you waited for company, and thankfully, you weren't waiting long.

“Agent Y/N, sorry about the arrest, we wanted to make it look as real as possible while pulling you out.” The woman who greeted you obviously held the authority, and while you wanted to respect that, the sight of the man trailing behind her actually caught her full attention. 

“Pleasure to meet you….?” You let the question hang open for both of them but kept your gaze fully focused on the man, who stood himself next to the door, keeping surprisingly quiet. 

“I'm Unit Chief Emily Prentiss, this is Doctor Spencer Reid, we're from the-” 

“Behavioural Analysis Unit, of course. I was close, you know, earlier. A face like yours wouldn't last five minutes in cartel land. I almost guessed cyber, but you looked a bit too bookish. Doctor Reid, hmm.” 

“This interview is taking place with Agent Prentiss. Please direct all your questions to her.”

“Oh shit, sorry, where are my manners. I didn't mean to disrespect you like that, Agent Prentiss. It's just been a long few months.”

The other woman just chuckled and shook her head, leafing through some documents to pass you over the information on the case they needed assistance on. 

“We think there's a serial killer in the drug ring you infiltrated,” the woman explained, passing over the files with the case details. You took a moment's breath before opening to the crime scene photos, steeling yourself for what you might encounter. 

“There are probably a lot of serials in the organization. It's a drug ring. What makes this one worse?” You said, just as you flipped the file open and answered your own question. 

“Shit- Okay, that's what makes this one worse. He can't be more than 15, right?” 

The answering grimace on the two agents' faces suggested you'd been generous in your estimate. “Okay, how can I help?” 

xxxxx 

A few hours passed in the interrogation room, and you'd walked them through all of your up to date information on your case and cover. The chair wasn't exactly comfortable, but you were glad to be finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. The interview was ending, and you could see an end to your undercover work swiftly following too with the BAU's assistance. 

You weren't looking forward to having to acclimatize back into the real world. You'd gone from pushing papers at a desk 9 hours a day to rubbing shoulders with drug dealers and junkies, a lot of whom were kids, young people like you who had no other options than the streets and crime. 

You made a mental note to give a few warnings to the younger kids on the streets to stay alert and then started getting back into character. 

“Thanks again for your help, Agent. We appreciate your time.” Prentiss nodded at you as she gathered the folders, getting ready to leave. 

Spencer Reid stood, too, stretching himself out as he rose from the chair, giving you quite the show as your eyes dragged from his face, down his chest and down further still as you appreciated the view. 

The last few hours had been strictly professional, and you'd enjoyed bouncing ideas off of him, running through theories. Now, trying to get back into your ‘lusty barmaid’ persona, you thought instead about how much you'd like to bounce on him yourself, possibly while running your hands through his hair. 

A girl could dream. 

“Hold on a second, I'm still in cover, I can't go back out there looking this pristine, it's too suspicious,” you said, the two agents turning back to you curiously. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Someone needs to throw me around a little. Rough housing, you know, a few bruises will do it.” 

Prentiss looked at you, caught halfway between impressed and amused. The good Doctor however seemed to darken slightly, covering his shock with a tensed jaw. 

“She's all yours, Spencer,” Wmily winked at the man, turning the door handle and beginning her exit.

“What? Why?” 

“I don't hit women.” 

“And I do? Emily, wha-” 

But the door to the interrogation room has already closed with a small cackle, and you're already being drawn closer to the man like a moth to a flame. 

Turning to face you, you see the shock of the situation on his face before he looks away in a flash, refusing to meet your eyes as he keeps himself close to the door. 

“Doctor Reid, I'm not actually a criminal, you know?” 

“I thought you wanted one of us to treat you like a criminal now.” 

“You make a good point, shall we begin?” 

He signed and rubbed his temples as you advanced, letting you get a little bit closer before holding his hands up in surrender. 

“Wait, wait, tell me first, what should we be doing?” 

You took a deep breath and expelled it, then took the time to think about it. 

You would need some visible marks of the FBI's unkindness - wrists red, a bruise or two on your knees, maybe, from falling. The problem was, you couldn't think about how to get the marks without driving yourself insane. 

There was a quick and easy way to get tender knees, an even easier way to mark up your neck and chest, but you couldn't figure out how to ask Spencer Reid to do those things without spreading your legs and letting him do whatever he wanted. You weren't sure you wouldn't do that eventually, anyway.

“Let's start with my wrists. You were too generous with the handcuffs earlier - just grab them really tight, pin me against the wall if it helps.”

He nodded and took a hesitant step towards you, thinking for a second, before grabbing one wrist and spinning you around. Before you could even process the action, he had you pinned, chest against the wall, arms above your head. 

“Is that okay?” He asked, his grip tight  but not bruising yet. 

“A little tighter, I want the marks to last a while. Why is my face against the wall?” 

He gripped tighter, the pain sending a jolt through your wrists that trailed all the way down to pool between your thighs. 

“I thought you'd be less uncomfortable like this.” 

“With your dick pushed up against my ass? Yes, Doctor, great decision.” 

He let out a cold, quick laugh, leaving you flushed as he pushed your upper body into the wall, too, finally getting to the grip strength he needed to get attention. 

“I'm sorry to disappoint, Y/N, but that's my gun,” the words whispered in your ear were the last straw as you shuddered in his grasp, his hands releasing your wrists as he stepped back a little. 

You shook out your hands a little, trying to momentarily relive the stiffness in your joints. 

He took a few paces to the desk and upholstered his weapon, placing it on the desk before joining you again. 

“So you don't get confused again,” he explained at seeing your raised eyebrow. 

“Oh so next time, it will be your dick?” You whispered, moving back to the desk and sitting yourself on the edge or it, picking up the gun and studying it for a few minutes. 

“Y/N, put it down.” 

“Ooh, possessive, are we?” You giggled, aiming it at him for a second before grabbing it by the barrel and holding it back out for him to grab. 

“Hold it, point it at me or whatever. Maybe it'll help you rough me up.” 

His brow furrowed, but he grabbed it anyway, not immediately slipping it into the holster as he stepped forward. 

“What now?” He asked, and you shrugged. 

“Whatever feels natural. And looks visible, I guess.”

It took him a few minutes to decide, surveying your body like it was a puzzle. Professionally, of course. You were about to speak up and urge him to get on with it when his hand shot out and wrapped around your throat. 

You tried to gasp, but the grip was firm, and boy, was it driving you crazy. Your legs had naturally parted as you sat yourself on the edge of the desk, and he walked into that space now, his free hand still holding the gun. 

Your body pushed forward into his, suddenly awash with arousal as your chest heaved with tiny breaths, lungs burning. 

“Are you enjoying this, Y/N? Or is it Caitlyn Grant that's enjoying this?” 

You felt the gun touch your thigh gently, and you moaned, just as he softened his grip on your throat. 

“Answer me, please. This is an interrogation room, after all.”

You met his eyes, checking to see how far he would take this, how far you could push back. 

“I'll admit, I'm not against mixing pain and pleasure.” 

His gaze flicked down, slowly pushing his gun up the skin of your thigh, raising your skirt with the barrel to catch a quick glimpse of your panties. 

“I can tell.” 

If it weren't for his grip on you, you'd have lunged for him right then and there. The cool metal against your thigh had you shuddering against him, growing wetter by the minute. 

“I read somewhere once that we can't pretend to be someone else without actually becoming them in some small way. You've been a cartel whore for six months, I wonder if this is a lasting effect.” 

He was so close now all he needed to do to close the gap was change the angle of his head, but he kept you in place with that gun, pointing up from your pussy, flush against your stomach. 

“I'll tell you a secret - the part of me that's aroused right now definitely predates this cover.” 

His lips drop to yours, tongue clashing with yours furiously as he grabs the back of your head to angle you better. 

Letting his hand drop back to your thigh, he gently coaxed you further open, skirt riding up. Putting down the gym momentarily, he pressed a wandering finger against your pantie-clad pussy, feeling your arousal before he used it to coat his fingers. 

A second later and the offending pair of underwear lay discarded on the floor. 

“Fuck, Spencer,” you said, gasping for breath as he again picked up the gun. 

“You wanted this so badly, didn't you? You've been needing someone to treat you like this for months now. It didn't even have to be me.” 

He traced circles on your thigh with the gun, and you twitched, years of training not letting you relax around the weapon and months of sexual frustration, making you desperate for something to touch you. 

“Yes, yes, please touch me.” 

The hand at your throat slid down to your chest and pushed gently  urging you to lie back and let him do whatever he wanted with you. The desk was cold - metal biting at your bare skin - and it only sent more shivers down your spine as he lowered himself to his knees and parted your legs for his tongue. 

The first touch was heaven, a state of bliss you'd been without in what felt like forever. His tongue danced across your folds as he tasted every inch of your exposed cunt, grip still strong on the gun pointed now to your chest, pinning you between the machine and the table. 

You tried to be as still as possible, to take the pleasure he gave calmly, but you couldn't. You writhed, moaned, chest heaving as you tried to hold off the first orgasm you'd achieved with someone else in probably a year.  

Like a man on a mission, Spencer Reid did not care. He gladly suffocated between your thighs as you squeezed them together, wrapping them around his head so you could keep feeling the insurmountable pleasure of his tongue on your pussy. 

“Spencer…Spencer, fuck-” you said as he finally pried your legs apart, lifting them just slightly so his tongue could reach further inside of you, curling with each wave of passion. Your hands fisted his hair, desperate for something to ground you to the moment as your pleasure spilt out of you, orgasm jolting through you in tiny sparks of pleasure. 

The gun moved first, coming level with your chest as you untangled your fingers from his hair. Spencer stood, wiping his face with the back of his hand as he kept the gun on you. 

“I think this turns you on even more. You've been ruined by this cover, Y/N, you're so used to being in danger that you can't even get off without someone threatening you.” 

You attempted to scoff, to brush off his words somehow, but his hand was suddenly back around your throat, picking you up off the desk and pulling you instead towards the room's one-way window. 

“Look at yourself,” he said, again twisting you around so you were pressed into the wall, wrists above your hair, raising your shirt to expose the cold skin underneath. He ran the barrel across the fresh skin, leaving a field of goosebumps along his path. 

“I don't think it would've mattered who came in to rough you up. I think you'd just as happily have convinced Emily to fuck your little pussy raw, right Y/N? As long as there was a gun…” 

Your moan was the only response as he used the weapon to spread your legs. You naturally arched your back and kept your hands in place as he holstered the weapon momentarily to unzip his pants and let his cock free. 

You couldn't see it, but you saw his reflection in the mirror as he slowly stretched you out with it, mouth dropping in a lustful ‘o’ as he fed his dick to you, hard and thick. 

As soon as it was in, the gun came back out, this time to rest against your temple. 

“Get yourself off,” his voice was so low it was practically a growl. “Use my cock, and pleasure yourself.” 

Your body listened immediately, beginning to move back and forth on his cock as he held himself in place. His moans and groans were all the encouragements you needed, the gun at your temple was just made the pleasure more profound as you approached your release. 

But he kept you pinned to the glass, your full range of motion limited, and you whimpered in frustration that you couldn't feel every inch of him. 

“If you need something, use your words, Agent.” 

“More, need more, please..please,” you gasped, breathing ragged. 

The hands at your wrists released, and he fisted a hand into the flesh at your hip, your wrists resting on the glass next to your face as he took over your thrusting. 

“Can't even do this anymore, what a spoiled little whore,” he said as his hips began snapping into you, reaching that spot deep inside you as you drooled against the glass, wondering if anyone had just happened to step into that room and what they must think about you. 

“Cum for me, Y/N. Cum on my cock,” he said it, and entranced, your body did just that, your orgasm taking the last breath of strength you had as he too plunged himself deeper and stilled there, his cum coating your walls. 

Neither of you moved for an eternity, but the first sign of clarity returning was the careful return of the gun to the holster. 

Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, Spencer minimized the mess you made together, cleaning you up as he slipped out of you. Discarding it momentarily on the floor, he pulled your clothes back into position and led you back over to the chairs. Just as he moved to sit you down, though, you turned and wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him into a hug. 

His arms hung suspended for a minute or two before he let them rest on your back, stroking your hair. 

“Sorry, it's been… it's been lonely, and I didn't realize how hard it had been until-” 

“It's okay. Take your time,” he said, sitting down in the chair and letting you curl up in his lap, burying your head in his neck

“We’ll catch this guy, and then you're out, okay Y/N? We'll come back and get you out soon.” 

Lifting your eyes to his, you nodded, pressing your lips to his with a smile as you again worked yourself back into character, regaining your earlier composure and lifting yourself from the man's too comfortable arms. 

“Well, Spencer, what do you say we get me back into panties and handcuffs and cut Caitlyn Grant loose?” 

[ikeuverse]

CRIMINAL LOVE — p.sunghoon

PAIRING: killer!sunghoon x rich!fem!reader GENRES: angst, smut, maybe fluff WC: 4.6k+

WARNINGS: weapons, drink, drugs, swearing. mention and execution of murder, blood, fights (physical and verbal). unprotected sex (the details of the sex parts i'll add as i post the chapters), but there are more than two, for sure. lmk if i forgot anything else.

SYNOPSIS: paid to kill people, sunghoon finds himself in the biggest dilemma of his life. getting paid the most money his profession has ever given him to kill a woman. but he can't do it because it goes beyond his principles, who has never laid a finger on a woman. what will he do when the twist is right in front of his eyes?

NOTES: i had this initial idea for jay, but i don't know why i thought i'd write it for sunghoon. i've modified a few things and i'm thinking of making it a story with a few chapters. i hope you like it!

TAGLIST: i don't know if i'll do it, but…

masterlist | prologue | part 1 | part 2 [...]

None of this was new to Park Sunghoon. The eyes stared at him in fear, shining with a pair of panicked features as they begged for their lives. His index finger against the trigger of the gun before he asked to speak his last words and then fired. Seeing the body slowly collapse in front of you, the eyes losing life and the blood dripping through the fabric of the clothes and onto the floor. This was a very familiar scenario, even more so as a hitman.

If anyone ever asked him why he lived this life, the answer would come quickly: easy money.

Sunghoon got used to being on the streets in search of a job to maintain his almost miserable life after the death of his parents. His grandfather, an alcoholic who barely stayed at home, was the only living relative he had. And the only person who could give him a roof over his head at fifteen.

Wandering the streets in search of something solid led Sunghoon to meet all sorts of people and ways of making ends meet. He worked with a bit of everything until he found the job he had settled into today. It was through Jake, one of the first people he befriended, that he learned what it was like to kill for money. His friend's father had a scheme and paid him well enough to eat, dress, and live in his grandfather's house, which he barely saw.

Jake and his father became a family to Sunghoon, even if it was in the worst of environments, but it was the only thing he could get close to that bordered on a good feeling. The boy couldn't call it love because he'd never heard it from any of his friends, although they could say that they respected and cared for each other, but love, for Sunghoon, was too strong.

Who would say about love when, in fact, he was hired to kill? Often people from his own family and for financial reasons. So how could he believe that love existed when his job showed otherwise? Of course, everyone had family problems… Look at him! Sunghoon wasn't the greatest example of this, but come on, he would never have his grandfather or anyone else killed in his own home. It was bizarre, but unfortunately, that's what he dealt with most of the time. And that's what filled his pocket and made him change his life.

Moving into his apartment after his grandfather died, having more contact with Jake and his father about the business, and even getting on a bit more when things started to expand. This was all thanks to Sunghoon's skill and eye for instigating Jake's father to think bigger. It was risky for him to try to suggest that they think big, such as killing some CEO in debt or someone high up.

You've got to be crazy, he heard Jake mutter once, at an informal meeting they had after a successful case. Sunghoon could be crazy, but when it came down to it and money, the highest cases paid well. And that's what he asked Jake's father about until they had their first diplomat client. The amount to be paid was so high that they had never thought of having it in their bank accounts.

"We need to kill about four people to get that" Jake muttered after looking at the amount. A sigh left his father's lips before he agreed.

And so began the great social affair between Jake and Sunghoon – along with Jake's father – for bigger cases with fat sums in their money accounts.

It was dangerous, but Sunghoon lived for it. He didn't have anyone else, he didn't have anything to think about except his well-being and how he could have what he wanted more peacefully after living in poverty for years. He didn't want to go through the insecurity of not having anything to eat, or having to wander the streets looking for something to do or somewhere to stay so that he wouldn't have to be alone in a house where he didn't know who would come back. But now, in his apartment, he shared the peace of knowing that everything was his. Every little thing in there had been earned by him, even if the money wasn't in the cleanest way, but someone had to do that kind of work.

And it wasn't as if Sunghoon would kill just anyone either, he had strict criteria about this that he made very clear to Jake and his father before things got as strong as they are today. Like killing people who had only done some kind of harm to those who had asked for it. Like women who had been beaten by their husbands, or someone in particular who had physically or mentally hurt whoever was hiring the service. Or that person posed a risk to the society in question and they knew that no authority would do anything about it. So they did. And the most important thing of all was that under no circumstances would Sunghoon lay a hand on a woman.

But the universe seemed to play tricks on him that morning, arriving at the office and seeing Jake's eyes light up. It would be pointless to ask why, considering that he was one of the first to receive clients and their proposals, so someone had probably come to Jake to talk to him and give him a huge sum of money.

"Dude, I think we're rich" he threw himself into the leather chair that initially belonged to his father. But as long as the older man didn't arrive at the office, Jake took possession of it until that happened.

"What do you mean?" Sunghoon held back a laugh as he walked a little further into the office, throwing his body into the small armchair opposite the desk Jake was sitting at "A client with good money?"

"Better than that" he sighed, throwing his head back "This client wants to hire our services for two people, but the price is—"

"Jake, spit it out" Sunghoon said quickly.

"Bro, she'll pay two million" he looked directly at Sunghoon. That amount would cheer the boy up if he hadn't heard it before, or even been paid for it "For each of us, and for each of the two people we're going to kill."

Wait, that was new to Sunghoon. Two million for each of them, totaling two people to kill, so… Four million for him, and four million for Jake?

"Man, that's…"

"Insane, I know" Jake interrupted him as if he already knew what his friend was going to say. But something seemed a little off because he didn't have that much energy to say that amount. Normally Jake would have been bouncing around the room literally like a child, totally losing his hitman pose as he commented on the four million that would be playing around in his bank account for the next few weeks.

"What's wrong?" Sunghoon asked at once, noticing the change in his friend's mood as the seconds passed. Jake now looked a little uncomfortable in his father's chair and shifted his body a few times to try to find a comfortable position, opting to lean his elbows on the table and tilt his body a little.

"You know it's four million each, right?" he asked, watching Sunghoon agree "And that the percentage we give my father on each client is very small because, well, he already has a lot of money…"

"Speak up, man. You're stalling on something." Sunghoon wasn't out of patience, but he knew that Jake tended to talk too much when he was nervous. What could have happened to make him like this?

Jake nodded in agreement and continued to lean on the table, leaning towards Sunghoon, who settled into the armchair and imitated his friend's position on the other side. Leaning his elbows on the table and looking at the boy in front of him, who was now looking at his hands.

"A woman wants us to kill her brother and…" Jake slowly closed his eyes "Her niece."

Sunghoon felt a ringing in his ear and then his whole body tensed up. He couldn't explain why he had that reaction, but just mentioning that there was a woman for him to kill made everything seem completely out of place to him.

"You're kidding me, right?" Sunghoon asked.

"I really wanted to, man, I swear" he whined, watching Sunghoon's withdrawal appear little by little as he slid his arms off the table and leaned back in the armchair.

"And what did those two do to make her want to kill two people at once?"

"I don't know" Jake shrugged. "She hasn't told me yet, she's arranged a meeting and my father wants to go along. It's too high…"

"You two do it" he stood up, walking to the middle of the room before he heard Jake calling after him. Without turning around, Sunghoon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He waited a few seconds before finally turning to his friend.

"I can't do this without you, bro. You know we've been working together forever" Jake began.

"But what are my conditions?" Sunghoon asked, and for a moment he saw a glimmer of regret in Jake's eyes. For mentioning or even thinking that his friend might do this kind of thing. Maybe the money had messed with his head a bit and he wouldn't deny it, but Jake knew Sunghoon well enough, he just wanted to try until he couldn't anymore. Even though he knew it would come to nothing because Sunghoon would never accept.

Silence was Jake's way of responding, not knowing exactly what to say because he knew Sunghoon's terms well. Everyone was aware and in agreement, so why change their minds at that moment?

"I just need your help, then" he said after some quiet time.

"I'm not putting my hands on either of you, be warned," Sunghoon said, a little angry about the whole situation until he saw Jake nod silently, implying that he had nothing more to say.

Then, as if on cue, he left the room and walked around the building in search of something to clear his mind of what had just happened. It was an unimaginable amount for him, but Sunghoon wouldn't go against his principles for it.

For the first time, he had refused something that Jake had asked of him. And he felt immensely awkward about it.

You could feel the migraine invading you little by little. The side of your head ached like never before, while your eyes stung and you tried your best to pay attention to people and their words of condolence.

It had been a week since your grandfather's death, and the only sincere tears you had seen – apart from your own – were those of your uncle. He was the closest thing to real family you had after your father's death a year ago. Having him around was comforting, especially as your family was driven by money and scandal. Everything revolved around social and financial status. Your grandfather's company was the focal point of all that arrogance in the family members.

But now, with his death and the will read, you had to assimilate that the only beneficiaries were you and your uncle, the one who was still crying over his father's death and trying to understand how it had all happened. And then there was him, a well-groomed gentleman who eschewed the stereotype of the rich old man and business owner who walked around with a glass of whisky in his hand. On the death certificate, his grandfather had died of cirrhosis, but you were surprised. Even though he wasn't a health professional, you could assume that this would be different, to say the least, since the old man had never drunk a drop of alcohol.

“This is terrible for your health” he once said. “Try never to drink more than necessary. And at parties, I promise to serve you the best natural juice.”

Those words always lingered in your mind because your grandfather was serious, in his own right, but he was very loving. You became so attached to him that you took an interest in the affairs of your grandfather’s company with a genuine gesture of helping him, which he appreciated.

Maybe that was what had made him put your name on that paper, inheriting half of the family fortune. While your uncle got the other half.

Millions and millions, or should say billions? It was so much money that you swore you would die and the amount would continue to yield in your account even though you used it almost every day. That was why you knew that some people who had always been there for your grandfather’s money were now furious because they couldn’t enjoy a single cent of it.

“We are so sorry for the loss of your father, Yvone” someone’s voice took you out of your thoughts, making your eyes dart around the people around you. A well-dressed woman with a tired expression was greeting your aunt. She didn’t have a trace of sadness on her face. That stranger seemed sadder than your aunt over the loss of her father.

“I’m sure you are too” she tried to fake a sad voice that you recognized from afar. Your stomach almost churned as she hugged the other woman.

Suddenly, your embarrassment became even greater, because your aunt's gaze was immediately on you. She seemed angry, with something bad inside her that immediately wanted to be directed at you. Your gaze soon turned away from her to try to find your uncle who was desolate.

Your steps through the environment were fast and precise, the sound of leather shoes against the devastated floor was inhibited by the sound of other people's voices and laments. You weren't running, but the things inside your body said very well that you seemed to be in a hurry.

Your eyes quickly spotted your uncle a little further away, sitting on a bench alone outside. You walked a little calmer towards him until you sat next to the man. He didn't need to look up to know that the only person with compassion in that family was you.

"I wish this nightmare would end" he said quietly, a sob breaking out of his voice when your uncle raised his head and continued to look ahead.

"I still can't believe it" you sighed. Your eyes are locked on the events in front of you. Some people were coming and going from your grandfather's mansion with small flowers in their hands or pieces of paper, like written notes of thanks. Of course, he wouldn't read them, he was dead. But it was a way of thanking everyone he knew, and the reading would be up to you and your uncle. The only ones who cared about the sentimental side of things.

"Do you think Yvone hates us now?" your uncle asked, finally looking at you. His eyes looked like they were going to pop out of their sockets and bloodshot from his eyeballs, they were so red. You swallowed a sigh and just nodded.

"For the reading of Grandpa's will? Of course" you laughed humorlessly, listening to him accompany you.

As if summoning a haunting, just saying her name out loud made your aunt's figure appear in the doorway of the mansion. She welcomed people by trying to look sad or convincing whoever was arriving. Her eyes quickly fell on you and your uncle, further away from the house and sitting on a secluded bench. She didn't show any reaction but took her cell phone out of her pocket to do something you didn't even care about. Her attention was on the man next to her.

“I can’t be happy knowing that my father left all this for me and you” he ran his hands through his hair, almost pulling it out if it weren’t for your hands stopping him. You held one of his hands and kept it in your lap.

“It’s okay uncle, I’m not happy about this either” you said. “Money won’t erase anything that’s happening to the two of us, you know that.”

Of course, he knew. You and your uncle could sometimes say that you were born into the wrong family because you were the only ones who didn’t count on money. Even though you knew that your whole life revolved around it. Even though every interaction you had since the day you were born was driven by money. It wasn’t your fault for being born into a family like that, but you could deal with it and think about how you spent what you had.

“How about you come in and get a drink? I bet you’re thirsty” your uncle said quietly, making you look at him after some time of contemplation while still watching people entering and leaving the mansion.

“I think I’ll go in a little while, I want to stay here a little longer” you smiled sadly at the man as he stood up and just waved in your direction. Just as you knew when he wanted some time alone, your uncle was also able to understand when you needed it.

Leaving him and going back into the mansion, you saw him disappear among the little people who had now gone inside the house. You remained there, looking around that immense land that your grandfather owned. One of them, to be more exact. You remember playing with your uncle and your father to guess which was the largest land your grandfather had in his name. Of course, the two older men always let you win, even though it was a rather unfunny game. But it was one of the few moments when the three of you were together, aware of the money you had and trying to make good use of it.

Your body slowly shrank with a small gust of wind, indicating that the weather was changing from sunny to something colder and almost rainy. You looked up at the sky, noticing the clouds beginning to darken. Rain was the last thing you wanted, but maybe you needed it. To wash away all that heaviness you've felt since your grandfather died. Rain could help wash away the dirt that remained beneath your feet and wash away all the bad feelings and burdens you would face in the days to come.

The decision to go back inside wasn't so difficult as your body shrank a little more, curses spilling from your lips as you missed a coat or a blanket that could cover your arms. Just a tank top and silk pants weren't a suitable outfit for the moment, but it was the first thing you could think of to wear when your aunt summoned the whole family to pay homage to your grandfather at his mansion.

You got up from the bench and stretched your whole body, trying to shake off some of the day's exhaustion and thinking about how you wanted to go back to your apartment and take a shower. Get all those sticky, fake hugs off your body. Those words buzzing around in your head lamenting what had happened. No one there really cared, so you at least paid attention to the fake tears in front of you.

You walked in slow steps to the front door, trying to avoid walking in with anyone who might greet you. You didn't want to talk to anyone anymore, just to be there long enough to leave. But your steps were quickly stopped.

Feeling a hand around your waist, you looked up to find your aunt standing in the doorway just as something covered your mouth. It all happened too quickly. Your vision began to blur as you struggled against a body that seemed much bigger than yours. Your hands were useless at grabbing any kind of skin to scratch because the arms holding you were covered.

You don't remember much, but the only thing that didn't leave your mind before passing out was the cynical smile of the woman right in front of you.

“What did she ask for?” Sunghoon was exasperated, pacing back and forth as he looked at your unconscious body on the other side of the room.

“To torture her and get a video of her saying she wants to pass everything on to her aunt…” Jake began.

“First of all, I never agreed to this” he interrupted his friend, controlling himself as much as possible so as not to scream and wake you up. They had just taken off the masks and all the equipment when they laid you down on the small mattress with almost no foam.

“My dad just asked you to help me bring her in, I know.” Jake sighed. “I don’t want to do this either, but—”

“Dude, listen” Sunghoon looked at him. “We can deny this and say fuck you to those four million. Seriously, there’s no way we can continue.”

The desperation in his voice was completely real, Jake could feel it. He was also desperate about all of this, although it wasn’t something new for either of them. But the cruelty in how his aunt was making requests of them without even knowing them or having finished the job. How demanding she was and how she wanted everything to be done as quickly as possible. Sunghoon never had bad feelings about his work, he just went there and killed whoever was necessary. But as soon as he looked at his aunt through the gap in the mask and noticed her smile, the way she behaved in front of the people who were entering the house, without even noticing that he and Jake were carrying her to a black car with no license plate.

He didn't know what he was doing, he didn't know why he had accepted all of that. Sunghoon was breaking one of his biggest rules and all because of money? Four million wouldn't pay for his principles even if his job was one of the worst possible. He already had too much blood on his hands, but that didn't matter when you had a woman unconscious and almost ready to be killed by Jake.

Arguing with Mr. Sim was out of the question, he had already tried since he received the offer and saw the man's eyes light up at the amount. Even though he knew that Sunghoon's biggest criteria were at stake.

"If you're not going to kill her, at least help Jake bring her here" was the only thing he said after finishing the little discussion he had started. He couldn't win this one, he couldn't deny something that he had at least managed to keep going.

Now here he was, pacing back and forth and going over what your aunt wanted Jake to do to you.

For one lousy moment, Sunghoon felt a twinge of regret and compassion for you. Your calm countenance while you were unconscious and the way you seemed harmless, something clicked in his mind telling him that you weren't as bad as the woman said you were. Maybe she'd done the worst kind of propaganda just to make you look bad enough for them to kill you.

"Sunghoon, hey" Jake called out quickly, taking off his black glove and throwing it on the table "What are we going to do?"

"I already told you," Sunghoon sighed once again, stopping walking and feeling his throat irritated because he had already shouted at Jake the whole way "Let's give up that four million, it's not worth it."

"Is that all I'm worth?"

Sunghoon looked in Jake's direction and they both froze. Eyes wide, breathing almost labored as they searched for something to cover their faces. But it was too late. As soon as Sunghoon crossed the room and focused on you, there you were. You were sitting with your back against the wall, your hands tied by the ribbons perched perfectly on your lap. Your hair was completely messed up, but he could still see every detail of your face. How, even so, you looked very beautiful.

"Shit" Jake cursed softly, turning away while Sunghoon stood there staring at him. He felt his friend pull him a few times so that you wouldn't stare so hard at his face that you wouldn't recognize him if something went wrong. But Sunghoon simply couldn't move.

"It's okay, I've seen you. I've been awake for a few minutes" your voice was hoarse, perhaps from lack of use, and because you tried to scream before Sunghoon put the cloth over your mouth to force you to faint.

Jake hesitated to turn around but did so when he saw that his friend wasn't moving at all.

"If you say anything—" Sunghoon made Jake look like he was speaking rudely when he landed a weak punch on his arm. He didn't know why he was defending you like that, not least because that was Jake's role, to be rude at first and gradually hurt whoever was in front of them.

Knowing this, Sunghoon already sensed that he would start being rude until Jake's hands were on you to hurt you. And he didn't want that.

"What did you hear?" Sunghoon addressed you for the first time. His eyes still glazed over at your completely weak and staggering figure in front of him.

He noticed that your eyes were bright, maybe watery, and if you blinked a little more, tears would fall like waterfalls. He was already weak just knowing that he had done this to you, seeing you cry would do what to him? Sunghoon didn't want to know. That case was getting too emotional.

"Just the four million part" you moaned a little in pain as you moved and felt your back crack. That mattress was terrible and you assumed you'd been on it for a long time, but it wasn't important. Your mind was elsewhere and on how you were here, so before you could even think of anything, you asked "It was her, wasn't it?"

"Her who?" Sunghoon and Jake asked at the same time.

For a long minute, you were quiet, just thinking about the little interactions you had with the woman who was supposed to have done this to you. Your heart ached, that wasn't possible. You never thought she could do that.

"My aunt told you two to kill me," you tried to keep your voice steady, "did I?"

It was the turn of the two boys to be silent right in front of you. Jake moistened his lips and tried to find the words to answer you, pondering whether or not to be rude to you. Not least because he didn't want to be punched again by Sunghoon. He swallowed dryly and looked away a few times, wondering whether or not to tell the truth.

"I triple it."

"What?" Jake raised his voice, echoing throughout the room as he looked in your direction and then at Sunghoon.

"I say I'll triple that amount" you moved again, trying to find a more comfortable position on that shitty mattress that was making all your muscles ache "If you don't kill me."

Jake laughed. Nervously, perhaps, but he tried to look a little more cool as he walked towards you and bent down right in front of you. Knees bent enough to bring him close to your face. If you were in the best condition, you could lift your leg and kick him in the knee, only to stagger and fall backward. But you just wanted answers.

"Do you think we're open to negotiations, princess?" he shifted his gaze between your eyes and your mouth but remained in your gaze, which was still sparkling. Jake didn't want to seem arrogant, but that's how he'd been taught.

That's how he learned to deal with that kind of situation, listening to everything and every possible appeal before doing his job. But he never received a counter-proposal, especially one as high as that.

"I don't think you'll even get paid that four million, actually" you looked at him, your voice becoming more and more shaky, "but since the whole inheritance is with me, I'll triple it if you don't kill me."

For a second Jake looked back to Sunghoon for support at that moment. He knew that his friend would probably accept because it would give him the chance to never lay a finger on you.

"Instead, I want you to kill my aunt."

That turn of events was making Jake and Sunghoon's heads spin. Hearts pounding as you let a single tear fall down your cheek. You tried to look convincing and strong talking to two guys who were about to kill you.

But being able to protect yourself was one of the few things you learned because it wasn't the first time someone had approached you out of interest. So why not use the money you had to your advantage? You never thought you'd be able to do that kind of thing, but you'd try anything to make sure no one killed you.

And if the case was to have those who wanted you dead killed, then you'd start with that.

© ikeuverse, 2024. do not copy, translate or steal my stories.

[forsworned]

USE YOUR HEART ft. NEEDY!SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

Warning(s): Sexual Content, Grinding, AFAB!Reader, Mentions of Narcotics

Synopsis: Simon is high off of morphine and it reveals his true feelings for reader...

Author's note: Idk because @dmitriene told me to do it and i <3 her

"I don't wanna be alone."

His voice breaks as he reaches out to you. His usual stoic demeanor had completely diminished in your presence. For the first time, Simon was needy. You gaze down at his hand gently gripping your hand, "I need you." He says. Pleas even. Dark, stormy, and now conflicted eyes are peering up at you and he tugs you toward him. You didn't know how to react. Seeing Simon so injured and broken makes you feel some type of way. Somewhat wrong, but somehow...powerful?

"You need me?" You finally spoke up. His Adam's apple bobs up and down.

"Yes.” He croaks out.

The morphine that has been coursing in his system finally kicks in and you were experiencing the lowering inhibitions of Simon Riley, not Ghost.

The Simon Riley laying out on the infirmary bed before you at this moment was vulnerable, desperate, and reliant on your presence and aid--insistent even.

But naturally, you're hesitant. A situation like this is compromising and delicate. Given the nature of the circumstances and his stature, he is obviously still at an advantage, but it feels wrong to pounce at the opportunity. You don't want to feel like a predator skulking about as he studies you with reliant, onyx hues.

You look at the time on your watch.

12:38 AM

It was quite late, but the tugging of his hand over yours disrupts your train of thought.

"C'mere. I want you by my side." He susurrates and you're in a bit of a trance at the resonance of his soothing, sleepy tone. It's not its usual gruff and gravelly, but instead a lulling rasp that pulls you in.

"It's late, Lieutenant." You gently chide as you attempt to pry his fingers off your wrist, but he takes his free hand over your own and pulls you flush against him. Goddamn, he was strong. Even in his dazed and confused state, he is built like a fuckin' boulder.

But he's not listening to you as he fiddles with your fingers, tracing over the skin and where it creases and finely wrinkles. Over the nail bed, and the unfiled ridges, down to the chip that you earned from earlier when you reached for your gun in your holster too quickly. He's thumbing over the half-moon on your thumb and then the scar on the meat of your palm before he brings it to his masked lips as if to kiss it over the fabric.

A small, shuddering breath escapes you, and your eyes are glazing over before you swallow thickly. He cups your hand over his jaw and inhales sharply as he closes his eyes.

"Don't care." He replies, curling his bicep around your waist and secures you so have nowhere to go.

Your heart thuds at the contact and your cheeks are teeming with warmth. And suddenly it feels like the heat in there is turning to the max because you're sweating like a dog under his keen gaze and snug hold on you.

"Want you to stay." And it's as if he's speaking purely from the heart when he looks at you like that. You want nothing more but to crumble into his arms and cave into whatever feelings are lurking within you, but there's an urge to maintain your professionalism. And Simon senses that. He wants you to let go.

Why? He didn't know. Be it the drugs, the near-death experience, or the fact that you look utterly gorgeous under the strong moonlight or all of the above; he wants you with all his being.

His bandage-wrapped fingers loop around the bottom of his mask and he's lifting it up to expose just his lips as it scrunches up under his nose. Even if you have seen the sight a multitude of times over the years of knowing your Lieutenant, it is always as awestriking as it was the first time you saw it. His pretty rosy lips kiss at your wrist and you're stunned.

"Stay." He croaks out.

"And then what?"

You can't help yourself from asking such a silly question. You just need to feel needed by him because there is just something about the clinginess in his body language that pulls you in for more. If Simon is being honest right now, he's on cloud motherfucking nine. He's so high that everything feels like tunnel vision right now and you're the only damn thing he can focus on, not that he would want to focus on anything else.

So when he's telling you to stay, he damn well means it. But he also wants more. He's telling himself not to be too hasty, at least the logical part of him, though he is following his heart's desires. And his heart is conveying to him that he yearns for your closeness, for all your regard, and selfishly enough, your own heart.

At this point, all reasoning is being tossed out the window when he fixates on your trembling, shimmering eyes and your quivering glossed lips that are slightly chapped. But he's thinking to himself, one kiss. One kiss would fix that for you.

Simon is no longer struggling to sit up when he's tensing you closer to him feeling the sweat wetting the small of your back. His brows slightly raise and you feel your cheeks flush at his little observation, but he's not halting his motion to close the short distance between you two. He's bringing his hand over the nape of your neck, carding his scarred fingers through the tendrils of your hair and a soft sigh leaves your lips.

And the way you visibly relax draws out a small smile onto his lips as your foreheads collide. You don't even dare to open your eyes. You swallow thickly as you feel your breath become shallow and sharp. It fans against his lips and he's feels even more enticed to just kiss you.

"Dammit, [name]..." He finally breathes out. And you're eyes are on him and he can feel a thrill creep up his chine when he sees the flash of longing overcome your half lidded gaze.

And now you're yearning to bridge the distance, creeping closer to him, nudging your nose against his, and faintly brushing your lips over the stubble on his philtrum. You notice how his chest huffs out, stuttering as it leaves his lungs.

Long blonde lashes tickle at your own as your lips graze and you're heart is thumping out of your chest. You feel yourself holding back from your own hankerings but the moment that Simon brings his thumb to skim over your bottom lip, you feel the tension snap like a rubberband and you're crashing your lips against his. To hell with ethical conduct and decorum, you want nothing more than to satiate your thirst for him.

And with every kiss, you feel like your hunger is being appeased. The ferocity that grows in the depths of your groin is clawing out as you clamber on top of him and you're tuning out the noisy heartbeat monitor that's becoming rapid. And it cuts out, thanks to the swift movement of Simon pulling out the cord so he can nestle his hands under your shirt and slip his tongue between your open-mouth kisses.

He's losing himself in you and he doesn't care because the feeling of your nails digging into his abdomen is more than pleasant. As if the morphine wasn't dizzying enough, he was starting to feel like he was reaching some sort of seventh heaven. Especially when he hears the soft whimper that leaves your lips when he thumbs atop your hardened bud and gently tweaks it between his fingers.

The tent that's starting to feel like it's pitching between his legs is getting ground upon and he shudders at how fucking good it feels.

"Fuck." He murmurs as he lifts your shirt up to expose your breast to him and he's latching his lips to your sensitive nipple. It's a soft probing of his tongue against the erogenous zone and you're instantly arching your back and he grasps at your hips to abrade your clothed sex against him. And it feels so fucking good.

So, naturally, you're not stopping. And Simon can't help but become absorbed in your pleasure. Your milky moans are like music to his ears as he switches over to your other nipple. The friction builds in your lower belly as you get into a good rhythm and it becomes increasingly euphoric with every roll of your hips. And fuck, it's not even much but the way you are so touch-starved makes it all the better.

"Simon, I—hah—gonna—" You moan out, throwing your head back in ecstasy as his tongue swirls around your bud. He's already addicted to the way you're saying his name between your whimpers.

"Cum." He commands, as he clutches your hips to help achieve your oncoming orgasm. His sexy, raspy voice is enough to send you over the edge and a terrific gasp escapes you as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. Your breath is gone and you feel like your voice melts into a deep, hot sweetness that soothes your electrifying nerves.

There is a brief pause of silence as you catch your breath and the embarrassment skulks in and you don't want to withdraw from him. You only focus on his heartbeat which slows and his breath that levels. Your throat tightens as you shift awkwardly and his hand on your hip feels a little limp. You take another moment to memorize how he smelled to help you calm your nerves.

The aroma of his natural musk enmeshed with the faint scent of cypress digs into your brain as you try your hardest to engrave his essence before it slips away. With one more breath of courage, you withdraw from him to face the music but it seems he's fast asleep. His thumb is still hooked into the belt loop of your jeans, and you can't help but giggle at him.

A small sigh leaves your lips as you calm down from your climax and your shaky fingers, lower his mask back down so it's stretching over his neck. Maybe if you slip away right now he'll think that it was just a nice little wet dream...

But you feel his hand cling to you as you try make your sweet escape.

"Thought I told ya to stay." He mumbles under his breath while he wraps his arms around your waist, securing you and making certain you're not leaving his side anytime soon.

There's a feeling of assurance that fluxes over your edginess and you can finally breathe again. Simon's body feels weightless as he lays in this infirmary bed with your toasty form atop his. It feels heavenly to have your figure pressed against him and he hums in contentment. He's replaying the sound of your moans and the way your body writhed under his touch. And you're starting to feel the rigidity of his dirty thoughts against the zipper of your jeans.

"You sure?" You murmur back, feeling the warmth sidle back into your cheeks.

His grin grows under his mask and you can feel it against your forehead. Sleep overtakes him, but he gives you one last squeeze.

"'m sure."

[ravensmadreads]

Unhinged totally unasked for thots about Riding Pedro Boys

Authors Note: So this came from me chugging entirely too many energy drinks and then projectile vomiting in Taylors inbox. I'd like to warn you that: English isn't my first language, I have never written smut before, I'm not a real writer, and also I'm trash goblin levels of unhinged about this. That being said; Enjoy and uhh. Forgive me Fandom

JAVIER PEÑA

Javier Pena doesn't let you do it.

Don't @ me LISTEN! (YES I STARTED OFF WITH A CONTROVERSIAL THOT FUCKING BITE ME.)

That man does not have the time, or the patience, or the good sense (the sense is at the other end) to let you ride. He needs the control okay? And sometimes it's not even about the control ! It's the frustration. It piles and piles and piles until he snaps. He needs to do. He will bend you over and work his frustration away until he has had enough and you let him because he needs it. (And lets be real he makes it worth your while every single time)

BUT. When he finally fucking retires, and gets a ranch, and breaths air not tinged with the smells of death, cigarettes and guns for the first time in however many years, and maybe drinks some fucking water, he takes you out on a date. He fumbles through the entire thing, panics because he thinks he blew it, still manages to get you home, gets ridden for the first time in like 6 years, and can't walk straight for an entire day and stammers every time someone asks him why.

JAVIER GUTIERREZ

Javi G loves it. He loves watching you. Gets all puppy dog wide eyed (remember the pool scene face??? Thats it.) and you have to really focus because his look of straight up wonder and awe and bright eyed eagerness makes you want to cry. He's panting like he's running a marathon, running his big hands EVERYWHERE he can reach. He makes you feel worshipped and adored and so very very loved. Thanks you after. For being so amazing, and so wonderful to him, and thanks the universe that he found you. Cause he's sap. You definitely cry after.

JOEL MILLER

(Watch me be controversial again) Joel is fucking tired okay? He has old man bones and creaky joints and his back is achy. Patrol was agony, Jesse wouldn't shut up the entire time, and Tommy was giving him shit, and he has no energy to drill anyone into the mattress (as much as we all want him to). He's just plain tired. He likes you on top. Likes it slow (like a roast chicken on a sunday slow). Enjoys the gradual build up, likes to lean back, watch with half open eyes as you take your time. Wants to indulge in something beautiful at the end of the world, and that something is you. He makes sexy grunting noises, mutters a whole lot of praise ~and filth~ and just y'know. Savours it. 🫠🫠🫠 savours you. 🫠

DIETER BRAVO

Dieter is a maniac. (Leave him alone he has adhd!!) He can't still still for the life of him so you best believe he changes positions 6 times and the only way you're getting to ride is if you're also putting some weight elsewhere. To hold him down! You squeeze his neck once and he MELTS. INSTANTLY. Loses all sense. Starts babbling and whimpering and making extremely pathetic noises. Will definitely buck up and whine. PRAISES YOU. BEGGING. LOUD NOISES.

MAX PHILLIPS

Max is a heathen. He just likes watching you bounce. That's it. That's the post :p

MARCUS PIKE

Marcus P is a romantic. He will be doing the whole "lean forward and try to get kisses in between" while also "moaning and maintaining eye contact" and he's holding you so tight , squeezing your sides and also muttering declarations of love. About how he wants a life with you, and a family, and a home, and a future. How he's going to "make you so happy baby, I promise I will, I swear to you". Doesn't let you off for from on top of him for atleast a half hour after; kissing all over your face and rubbing your back and petting your hair "I meant all of it sweetheart. I want all of you." shsbzgwgsvsg ilovehimsomuch and I've only ever seen gifsets of this man what is wrong with me

MARCUS MORENO

Marcus M is A MENACE. He wears his stupid glasses, and has his stupid shirt off, while he does stupid taxes/meeting plans in bed. You keep throwing side glances and getting increasingly wound up and he just has this gentle smirk but he's mostly ignoring you. You sidle up to him and maybe start kissing his jaw, laying gentle pecks down his neck, and he's still fukcungh working "Baby. I need to finish this. I'm sorry, you need to wait." But that smirk is still there and it's driving you crazy and maybe you keep kissing until you reach his *coughs* and then you're working on getting him interested. You can still hear the fucking pen scratching though and so you go deeper, and he raises an eyebrow. "be good now honey" You're settling in his lap and he has you sitting there until he has finished his paperwork with you whimpering and trying not to squirm because you want to be good you really do and you know he'll make it so much better but he feels so good and when he's finally finally done you get to move but you're so wound up you can't pull yourself together enough to find a rhythm and you're nearly in tears and he has to grip your sides and murmur instructions in your ear and help you until you're satisfied and just when you think he's done, and about to flip you over, he adjusts his grip and starts moving from underneath you until you're crying and he's finished ~which doesnt happen until you've come 2 more times~

DAVE YORK

Dave. Oh my gosh Dave. Dave is a strict dom if ever there was one. With him it's a punishment. He'll tell you to hold off until he's done which is freaking impossible with how deep he gets, and how he likes to warm up his hands on your butt while you're trying desperately to hold onto that last thread of control. He is muttering absolute filth, holding your arms behind your back with one hand while the other is either laying smack after smack or rubbing you furiously all the while he's got the smuggest look. "Don't you dare baby. Be a good girl now. Listen and obey for once". But you can't because he's not fair and he knows it. And when you do finally fall apart he's clenching his teeth trying to hold back himself and his hands are holding you up as you gasp his name like it's the only word you know. He's running his hands down your back and kissing you softly and helping you catch your breath and when you finally get your heart to stop pounding and look up at him, he's watching you with this dangerously soft smile and he goes "oh you're in for it now aren't you honey?" and kisses your forehead while you try not to whimper.

FRANKIE MORALES

Frankie is a soft boy. He loves it. Craves it. He loves giving up control. Wants you to tie him up and have your way until he has no thoughts left in that pretty little head. He is swearing like an absolute sailor the entire time, calling you ma'am, begging to be released so he can kiss you and touch you, absolutely nearly breaks the head board once he was so desperate. Wants to be edged but also is the biggest WIMP about it. Will pout and swear and beg and plead but then want you to deny him again. Will definitely be mumbling absolute nonsense once you're done. Needs all the aftercare. Blushes pink when he gets it. Wraps himself around you like a HUGE koala bear after. ~and returns the edging favour 3 times over when he gets in his Captain Francisco Morales Mood~

JACK DANIELS

BONUS TWO I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT and tumblr won't let me put gifs for:

Jack makes every single cowboy joke known to man. You have to put your hand on his mouth to get him to shut the hell up. His eyes get all glassy when you do. He puts his hat on top of your head and busies himself in your neck (dual benefits: A. He shuts up and B. HICKIES) will definitely drag you on top of him in his Bronco (he likes to show off) will pull up on the side of the road almost 70% of the times you drive together. Bites you over your clothes. Loves the way you grab desperately at this leather jacket. Definitely makes you bend over and 'clean up the mess sugar' before driving like the hounds of hell are after him all the way back home and doing it all over again because "we gotta make you a mama now love"

PERO TOVAR

Pero got married after he came back and retired as a sell sword. His wife is a soft but sassy thing who's a little (read: not at all, she returns his snark twice over) intimidated by him but also thinks he's a good man because he saved her village from raiders. She has seen him grumble and snark at but then also share his food with the orphans who works at the village inn. She's inexperienced (let me live my victorian life) and he doesn't really think he deserves her but also he's not so much an idiot to say no to someone like her. She's the village "healer" and he met her when he got stabbed by one of the raiders (arm wound: not serious.) He has to teach her. She gets shy and flustered, which is a total 180 from her sassy self, and Pero loves it. She makes the most amazing sounds that have him thinking that maybe he did something right in his life to end up in her arms. She wants to please her new husband and asks her married friends for advice and they tell her about this new position. So she asks him, stuttering and tripping over words, if she could try something she heard about? From a friend? She straddles him and Pero loses his mind. He's closing his eyes and clenching his jaw so hard and she's whimpering in the most DELICIOUS way and he's trying so hard to hold back and let her take her pace and she's so worried "am I not doing it right?" Pero has to take 3 deep breaths before he's centred enough to answer and then he helps her. Puts his hands on her hips to guide her. Puts one of her hands on his shoulder "steady now pequenita" and puts the other low on her belly and presses in so she can feel him. Loves the way she cries out. Bends forward to leave little marks everywhere he can reach. She's scrambling at his chest, leaving nail marks he loves, and finally grabbing his hair and pulling until he groans. And when they're both done and sated and sweaty he kisses her, looks her in the eye and winks. "I'm going to have to go thank your friend now, mi esposa."

DIN DJARIN

Din and you dont have time. The razor crest is finally in hyperspace, you got shot at for the 50th time in 2 weeks, (because Murphys Law seems to be the only law Mando never breaks), you're exhausted, sweaty, and the giggly green monster of chaos only made you chase him down from the top of a weapons cabinet twice before he finally decided to take a nap. You're frustrated, and in desperate need of a shower, and a nap, but also you can't get the image of Mando fighting out of your head. Before you know it, the hormones have taken over and you're attacking him in the pilot seat. The bucket is off (I refuse to look at my own reflection in the tin cans helmet while we do the do), he's got you arching into him, your shirt is half torn from the top because Din refuses to wait for "so many fucking buttons Meshla" the gloved hand is squeezing the back of your neck, his mouth is on your chest, his other hand (you only managed to get one glove off) is splayed out on your back. You're riding him like you're trying to break him and his thigh holster? thing (do i look like i can figure out what they're called?) is digging marks into your skin but you're too turned on to care. It's frantic, it's messy, you're PRAYING the tiny green menace stays asleep as you do your best to muffle your sounds. The refresher isn't big enough for a round two, (you still do your best), and your legs feel like jelly, when you finally pass out; curled up on top of the human space heater while he hums Mando'a in your ear.

*****

TAGGING: @chronically-ghosted (you are a menace but ily)

@fuckyeahdindjarin (here I go trying that writing thing again, stop me pls)

[littlemissclandestine]

Russell Adler Comfort Hcs pt.2

What America's Monster would be like if you weren't feeling 100% (a continuation of this post)

He's very observant meaning he'd pick up on any changes to your body language. How you are avoiding eye contact, seem a little more distant and distracted lately and are a lot more sluggish than usual. It's scary sometimes how he knows your little habits and trends in behaviour.

He'd make you your morning coffee/tea just how you like it, without a word spoken

Adler usually gets you to go on a long walk with him to clear your head. He'll surprise you and take you to a lovely scenic spot too -> "Right that's it. Come on, on your feet. We're going for a walk, sweetheart. Fresh air'll do you some good. I know a good spot. You'll love it. Promise."

He'd let you treat him like a punching bag. He takes those punches in the chest like a champ but he pulls you into a hug, squeezing you until you finally give up, drained of energy from crying. He's never the first to let go.

He cooks you a good ol' hearty meal he knows you love.

Or he asks you if you'd like to bake with him. You both making an absolute mess of the kitchen, making poor Russ wash up since it was his idea but he lets you off

Russ lets you join him in the shooting range/gym late at night if you can't sleep. ->

-"Hope you're not planning to sit there all night, sulking."

-"No, of course not."

-"Show me what ya got then, tiger." *winks and hands gun to you*

Breakfast in bed and him running a bath for you? Hell yes.

He wants to make you smile and he knows one fool proof way of making that happen. He'll get on top of you and kiss you all over until you giggle uncontrollably because of how ticklish it is.

I feel like this man would be the best at giving life advice given what he's gone through, what he's achieved etc.

Adler is the type of guy to pull up a chair and sit next you on the porch out front, lighting a cig and offering you one too and then proceeding to have a really deep conversation with you out of nowhere, whether that's about why you're upset or not . He's good at it. I know he hates small talk.

But just him being there to distract you from whatever you're feeling is nice, even if it's temporary

You might get the occasional dad joke that's hilariously bad but those are reserved for those close to him

Or he might tell you a funny story about himself. Nothing too embarrassing. He's got a reputation to maintain after all

But he'd most definitely remind you of all the times you've gotten through stuff like this before and how you can always come to him, no matter what.

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

I'm on a roll with AU these days, so. Cowboy AU ! Outlaw Dewdrop x Sheriff Swiss...with a twist.

It's been a long fucking day. Very fucking long. Swiss' back aches as he leans back into his seat, blinking when the lines of barely legible handwritting still swim in front of his eyes, even now that he's looked up from all the paperwork.

Yawning, he looks around his office, lazily blinking. A light breeze brushes his face, making him frown and glance at the half opened window. Hadn't he closed it ? Swiss tries to recall, hours blending together in his memory. Maybe he didn't, maybe he forgot.

Once he's locked it, Swiss snatches his hat, delibarating between popping to the saloon or just staying home.

"Be the sheriff, they said, it'll be fun, they said," he grumbles, making his way downstairs, "they just forgot to mention the fucking paperwork."

It's all fake complaints, though. No matter how much paperwork makes him want to hang himself sometimes, Swiss loves this town, loves taking care of it, protecting it, acting for the people that make it such a bright and homely place.

Plus, he rocks the hat he was gifted when he became sheriff. That thing is probably his most prized possession.

Once in the kitchen, Swiss makes a beeline for the nearest bottle, in dire need of a little something to clear the fog in his brain from answering letters, approving or denying demands and signing what needed to be signed for hours.

The bottle leaves the shelf too easily, snatched with too much strenght for its weight. Swiss frowns, looking down at the bottle. It's three quarters empty, which doesn't sit right with him. He's sure, absolutely certain he left it more full than this.

All at once, Swiss becomes keenly aware of his surroundings, his senses sharpening in an instant. Noticing things he hasn't prior.

The rim of the bottle is still wet, a stray drop clinging to the neck, not having had time to reach the bottom. A glass is missing on the shelf. The memory of the window he thought he had closed flashes back in Swiss' mind.

His hand flies to his holster just as the distinct sound of someone cocking their gun breaks the silent, followed by a voice.

"Touch that gun and i'll have to scrub your brains off the floor," it says.

Swiss freezes, slowly raising his hands on either sides of his head. He hears steps, then a hand relieves him of both the guns he carries, as well as the knife hidden in his boot - quite the predictable place to keep it, Swiss will admit.

"Turn around," the voice orders then.

Swiss does, half smiling.

"Very rude way of starting a conversation, don't you think ?"

"Who says I want to talk ?"

Swiss groans as he takes in the man facing him. Long hair, mismatched eyes, sharp features, a scar tugging the right corner of his mouth up in a perpetual smirk ; a familiar face, one plastered on every available wall of every town.

Dewdrop, wanted for a baffling amount of crimes Swiss can't be bothered to remember, dead or alive. Reward : Swiss can't remember that either, with how often it changes.

The outlaw amongst the outlaws.

Swiss raises an eyebrow.

"Well, you see, people love chatting with me, so I just assumed you were as dying to hear my voice as the others."

Dewdrop scoffs, though he's smiling, a thin, sharp thing that reminds him of a blade. The fucker is holding a glass of Swiss' liquor in the hand not gripping the gun.

"Sorry to disapoint, sheriff, but if i had the time to sew your mouth shut, I would."

Swiss tilts his head.

"Rude. Almost as much as drinking my stash away."

Dewdrop downs his glass, maintaining eye contact the whole time, carelessly setting it on the nerby table with a satisfied smack of lips.

"You have enough liquor to drown in it, I'm sure my share won't be missed."

Swiss almost doesn't catch the quick way Dewdrop's eyes rake over him, up and down and up again, pausing momentarily at the silver of belly exposed by his raised arms. Almost.

"What I do miss are my guns," Swiss huffs, eyeing where they've been unceremoniously shoved under Dewdrop's belt. The outlaw takes one out, examinating it with an approving hum : they're very nice guns, well-cared for. Then he puts it back, still at his own belt.

"You'll miss a lot more once i'm done."

Swiss' eyebrows climb up his forehead ; there is a vague innuendo to be made, he thinks, but between the tiredness still weighting on his shoulders and the way his eyes keep stubbornly falling on Dewdrop's lips, he can't find a way to phrase it. Instead, he props his hip against the end of the table opposite to the one Dewdrop stands at.

"So you, a famous outlaw, master of escapism, came to this...tiny town and decided to ransack the sheriff's house ? You won't find nearly as much as you're used to."

The look Dewdrop gives him then, feels like being flayed open, exposed raw to prying, piercing eyes. It takes all of Swiss' carefully crafted self-control not to flinch away from it. When Dewdrop takes a step toward him, he can't help but tense, smile less easy, more strained.

"Oh but you see, sheriff, i pride myself in being nosy. Some might say it's a flaw, I say it's a very useful thing. I have keen ears, you see. I hear a lot, and I love rumors."

The barel of Dewdrop's gun presses against Swiss' chest. The outlaw is fully grinning now.

"And, you see, people say the Multi-Faced Thief - you know the Multi-Faced Thief, don't you sheriff ?- didn't die in that trainwreck years ago. Some say he's still alive, mascarading as a simple civilian, maybe even a figure of authority, hoarding the goods he stole, or aquired thanks to his thievery. "

Swiss swallows, his smile widening. Dewdrop is clever, ruthless, ambitious. He can't help liking it. There's no point in bullshitting him, but Swiss decides he can't give in without fucking with him a bit.

"And why are you telling me that ?"

All the air leaves the room when Dewdrop leans forward, so close his nose almost brushes Swiss'. It's crooked, Swiss notices, the bridge a bit wonky, probably broken once or twice. His fingers twitch above his head with the sudden and irrational need to touch it.

Swiss can barely breath, waiting, Dewdrop's eyes flickering over his face, searching. Pausing on his plush lips for half a second too long.

"I think you know why. You've gone soft, Multi. It was easy sneaking in. Disarming you."

A chuckle escapes Swiss as he drops the act, entertained by this guy's audacity. His confidence. Instead of shying away from the gun, he weights against it, sure to leave a dent in his skin. His eyes darken in the dim light ; oxygen can barely find both their lungs in what tiny sliver of space there's left between their faces.

"I'll admit, I dropped my guard. Didn't expect a pretty thing like you to stumble into my house. Try to steal from me. If we'd met a few years ago, I would either have put a bullet between your eyes or taken you for a ride."

Up close, Swiss is at the front row to see Dewdrop's pupils expand, his chest rising and falling quickly. Despite that, he doesn't lose sight of his objective, something Swiss admires quietly as he's shoved a few inches back by the push of the gun.

"Yeah, well. Here you are today, distracted and gunless."

Swiss nochalently raises his, mirroring Dewdrop's position, barrel against his narrow ribcage.

"You were saying ? Looks like I'm not the only one who's losing focus, mmh ?"

He watches in amusement Dewdrop's cheeks clolouring with both anger and embarrassement, his mismatched eyes flicking down to his belt, where only one of Swiss' guns is left.

"So, we're in a bit of a dead end, but i'll make you a deal, yeah ? You leave, and you leave fast, without doing this town any damages. In exchange, i'll let you have this," Swiss drawls, slipping a hand under his collar to tug on a richly ornemented pendant, one that always stays concealed under layers.

Dewdrop's jaw falls open at the sight of the Multi-Faced Thief's most famous prize, the hold-up of the century. Swiss waits for his answer, grinning, watching rubies reflecting in wide eyes.

"Why...would you offer that ?" Dewdrop manages to choke out, stunned.

Swiss laughs lightly, slipping the jewlery off his neck and onto Dewdrop's, still not letting go of it, precious metal digging in his palm.

"I'm tired of carrying this old thing around, and i'm already plenty rich. Do we have a deal ?"

Greed is always a bad influence, Swiss would know. It's currently shining in Dewdrop's eyes, surely thrumming in his veins. But he's not stupid, either.

"Right. And the real reason....?"

Huffing, Swiss yanks on the pendant, grinning from ear to ear.

"The real reason, is that i'll have a good excuse to hunt you down. I'll get this back. I'll catch you. I've missed the thrill of the chase."

It's not much of deal, more like a threat, or maybe a promise, but it's clear by the look on Dewdrop's face that he's game. Incapable of resisting the challenge.

"If you think you're up to it, it'll be my pleasure to prove you wrong, sheriff. It's a deal."

Swiss let go. They're still holding each other at gunpoint.

"My weapons, or you're not walking through the door," he warns.

"Windows would do," Dewdrop snarks back, though he does toss Swiss' second gun and knife on the table. His eyes flick up to Swiss' hat, hand twitching.

"Unless you intend to take me up on the ridding offer, I suggest you don't take that. You know the rule," Swiss smirks, earning an eye roll.

"Not tonight," Dewdrop breathes, slowly backing up toward the window, still aiming at Swiss' chest.

He's halfway through it when Swiss calls back.

"I'll see you soon, Dew."

The outlaw throws him a daring look, scarred cheek pulling with how wide he smiles, and it's the last thing Swiss sees before he jumps off.

Alone in his kitchen, Swiss laughs.

This will be fun.

[stuckymonkey]

Stolen

Mafia Bucky Au

Pairing - mafia!bucky x fem!reader

Summary - y/n lived an ordinary life as a surgical resident in New York. Her father left when she was young, and her mother recently passed away. Bucky was promised by her father to get his firstborn daughter, unfortunately for y/n, that fits her description perfectly. Kind of enemies to lovers.

Warnings - violence, angst, being taken against will/kidnapping, mentions of death, stitches and medical things, mentions of suicide, mild cursing

Word count - 3.5k

a/n - i was feeling some angst, let me know what you think! feedback is always appreciated!

masterlist bucky masterlist

"Clamp" Joe said from across to table to one of the scrub nurses. "Lap pads" I said. We were doing a coronary artery bypass graft on a six year old patient. Five hours in and Lena was doing really well. She had maintained stability the entire time, making recovery look good for her.

I was about to irrigate when the door to the OR burst open. Me and Joe didn't look up, too focused on finishing Lena's cabg, starting to close up her heart with delicate sutures. "Y/n Y/L/N?" a low masculine voice boomed out. My head shot up to meet Joe's eyes, silently asking what to do. Her eyes were almost as wide as mine.

That voice belonged to James Barnes, head of the Brooklyn mafia. They had access to anywhere and everywhere in Brooklyn, no questions asked.

After having a silent conversation, we both opted to go back to Lena's heart. The voice boomed again, this time louder and much closer. "Y/n, scrub out." Joe whispered. I couldn't scrub out. Not now. Not while it was just me and Joe with a few scrub nurses. She couldn't close alone. "No." I kept suturing, almost to the point where we could start to close up entirely. "What?!" her head jerked up "I said no. You can't close on your own. Lena has been my patient for six months. I know everything about her, and her family. I am finishing this surgery with you and I will be there when they see their baby girl for the first time in six hours." I clipped the last suture, ready to close up her chest. "Y/n, I think you should listen to Joe and scrub out."

I suddenly felt cold metal pressed to my temple. "Put the tools down Y/L/N. I'm not afraid to pull this trigger." I heard the click of a bullet sliding into place at the end of his threat. I was shaking with tears running down my cheeks at this point. "I'm sorry," I said to Joe, it was obvious that I was crying. Through blurry eyes, I saw a tear slide down her cheek too.

What was going to happen to Lena? And her family? What would Joe tell them? I stepped back from the table and let Mike, my favourite nurse, help me take off my gown and relieve my trembling hands from my sterile blue gloves.

Even if I wanted to, I couldn't go back to that table. By pressing a gun to my head, James had broken the sterile field. "Well done," James spoke lowly into my ear. I hadn't noticed when, but his hand was wrapped securely around my arm. He led me away from the table, out of the OR and into the hallway where he stood in front of the elevator. The entire time my sobs never ceased and neither did the grip he had on my arm.

He let go before we left the elevator. Outside, many of what were probably his men waited for us. They lined the hallways. I felt like a sheep being herded by big, powerful, scary wolves. Tears were still running down my face as I made eye contact with my Chief of Surgery and Resident Chief. I had grown close with them over the years, and now they were watching me be escorted out of the hospital.

They knew what this meant. I was taken. The mafia had me now. Tears ran down their faces, and the faces of my coworkers who I loved like family. I tried to keep my head up to let them know I would be okay, but I couldn't help the way my shoulder shook from my sobs.

James helped me into a black car. In the front seat was a blonde, with a driver who had dark skin and short hair. I didn't try to hide the fact that I wanted to be anywhere but here. I felt exhausted, more emotionally than mentally.

"Where are we going?" I asked. "Home." James said, adjusting the cuff of his dress shirt. "I hate you, James Barnes." I said, defeat laced in my tone. "Please, call me Bucky." he said. He sounded sad. That bastard. How did he have the nerve to be sad when he is the one who chose to steal me out of my OR. "What are you going to do when I kill myself?" I asked. "You won't kill yourself." the driver spoke up. "Sam-" the blonde said in a nervous and warning tone.

"She won't." he said, looking at the blonde. "You're y/n y/l/n. You're a surgeon." he said, looking at me through the rearview mirror. Everyone's attention was on him as he refocused on the road. "You saved my sister's life, Sarah Wilson. Pancreatic cancer. Four hours after being in your OR she was cancer free. We were told to start planning her funeral. I was signing paperwork to legally adopt my nephews, but you saved her life." he looked into the rearview mirror at me again. "Thank you."

We arrived at "home". During the long ride to the outskirts of Brooklyn, I learned that the blonde's name is Steve. He and Sam were Bucky's seconds in command. Steve helped with the dirty stuff like interrogations, and dealing with orders and shipments of weapons. Sam helped as well but he was also really good at chauffeuring Bucky wherever he needed to go.

There was a very very long gravel driveway leading up to Bucky's huge mansion. It was pretty, I had to admit. Nice dark brick with ivy, a beautiful garden that I bet Steve helped out with, and a peaceful fountain in the center of the drive. I noticed more fountains in the garden area. We had passed tall black iron gates on the way in, giving me an eerie feeling of what the interior of the mansion would be like. Probably dark and scary.

Boy, was I wrong. The inside was beautiful. White marble stairs, golden curtains and natural light everywhere. It felt soft and safe, while still looking professional and wealthy. I was scared to touch anything, it all looked so clean and like everything was in its place.

Bucky dismissed Sam and Steve, leading me up the stairs and to the right of the hall. We walked for quite a bit before he turned into a room. "This is yours. You are to sleep here and I will have all of your stuff here in the next two weeks." He turned to face me, "My office is down the hall to the left, first hall to your right. My room is down the hall to the right, first room on your left hand side. If you need anything, ask me, Sam or Steve. Nobody else lives here but the four of us." he sounded so calm and collected. Did he steal people often?

"I don't live here." I corrected him. The quirk in his eyebrow let me know I shouldn't have spoken. I didn't care. It couldn't get any worse than this. "You do live here. You will not leave this property until you ask me for permission and you have been assigned an escort." "I do not live here! You do not own me, and I am going home. I have to go to work, and I will not stay here." I clenched my jaw, waiting for him to say something.

"Y/n, you live here. Your father promised me his first born daughter just before your mother got pregnant. He was a horrible man, you knew that. Your mother never knew about the deal. You are mine and you will not be leaving. Are we clear?" I hated how the tone of his voice made me clench my thighs together, but I hated even more how he was speaking to me and how he thought he could just keep me here.

"No! I will not stay here! You stole me out of my OR while I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF A SURGERY! An open heart surgery. A poor young girl's life was in my hands, Bucky!!!! You could have killed her!! She was INNOCENT!! I hate you. She could have died. Her parents have been in and out of hospitals with her for six years!! Six years, Bucky! She is six years old and her whole life has been within the walls of hospitals and I had a chance to change that. You could have ruined her life and I hate you." I was so angry, tears were running down my face again. I felt warm and exhausted. The urge to just sleep and hope this was a really really bad dream came over me. "Get out." I spat through my teeth, daring him to challenge my order.

He almost looked pitiful as he left my room and closed the door behind him.

The bed was uncomfortable, and I had none of my own possessions. Bucky had come in later to apologize, which fell on deaf ears. He had thankfully given me one of his shirts and some sweatpants before he went back to his office. The sheets on the bed were scratchy, and his pants were too warm.

At around 2 a.m, after no luck at sleeping, I slipped out of my room and headed towards his office, just like he had directed. I figured he would be there, being a surgeon I know what it's like to stay up late to get work done, especially if you're stressed. Which I assume he was after kidnapping someone.

I opened the door slowly to reveal Bucky. His jacket was discarded and a few of the buttons on his shirt were undone. "What are you doing here?" He asked after looking up at me. I felt his gaze rake over my body, now only clad in his shirt and a pair of my underwear. "I need your help," I said calmly. I was desperate after only a few hours with this man. I felt pathetic.

Bucky's eyebrow quirked, encouraging me to continue. "My dog, Joe is probably watching her. I wouldn't know because you took my phone, but that's what I'm assuming." he looked intrigued, with his head tilted to the side and his hands still instead of typing. "If Joe isn't watching her, she only has enough food and water for one day, unless she drinks out of the toilet bowl, but I don't really want her to do that, not that it isn't clean! But she's a big dog and-" "y/n." His cold voice stopped me right in my tracks. Shit. This is probably where he refuses to help me get my dog.

"Please," my eyes began to water at the thought of her at home, all alone, wondering where I went, and then possibly starving to death without anyone to take care of her. "She's my best friend, and I promise she won't be any trouble, I'll pay for everything, I'll even pay a rent fee or something! I just really need my dog back." I think he could see my lip wobble because that look of pity from earlier came back.

"I used to have a dog," his voice surprised me just as much as his words. I looked up at him inquisitively, "She was a Great Dane named Nala. I get it. I'll arrange to pick her up tomorrow, and some of your things later in the week." "Thank you." I whispered before turning to leave his office.

"What's her name?" I heard just before I reached the door. "Hazel," I smiled at the memory of her. "She's an Irish wolf hound." I said sheepishly. at my confession, he smiled. "Goodnight y/n." "Goodnight Bucky."

It's been a week since we got Hazel, and Bucky has seemed kinder and kinder every day. It was probably just because Hazel was such a good dog, but a part of me hoped I helped to make him happier too. When I brought it up to Steve and Sam they had both agreed it wasn't just my dog.

Another night rolled around and I still didn't have anything else of my own. I had been sharing clothes with all three of the men, including underwear. The night was the worst time for me, always leaving me frustrated at my inability to get comfortable enough to sleep. Hazel had no problems, sleeping soundly at the foot of my bed just like she would at home. Or my old house? Was this place really my home?

At 1 a.m, when I hadn't heard any movement in a while I snuck out to Bucky's bedroom where I knew he wouldn't be. He was still in his office working, I knew because I hadn't heard him walk to his room, something he doesn't usually do until at least 3 a.m. Hazel had decided to follow me, making this a bit harder to get away with when being followed by a huge Irish wolfhound.

Slowly, I opened the door to his bedroom. It was gorgeous. He had an abundance of pillows, a soft blanket at the end of his bed and thick creamy coloured duvet. Dark wood furniture decorated the room, complemented by dark curtains and hunter green walls. The place was gorgeous and very well decorated. I moved closer to his bed and found an extra soft blanket under the duvet. I slid it out and draped it over Hazel's back so my hands could hold other stuff. I grabbed a body length grey pillow, deciding he wouldn't miss it for one night.

Before he came to his room, we scurried back to my bed as quietly as possible, Hazel not dropping the blanket once.

"That's the best she's slept in weeks, boss." I could hear voices outside of my bedroom. Steve. The curtains were closed, so it was still nice and dark in my room, then another voice spoke, "Really? She hasn't been sleeping well this whole time?". Bucky. "No, she tosses and turns all night. Honestly, I would too if I didn't have anything of my own.". Sam. "She likes your pillow though." Steve commented.

I didn't want to get up yet but I didn't want to be watched either. I slowly opened my eyes and lifted my head to see the three men in my doorway. Steve and Sam smiled before walking away with waves directed at me. I waved back before focusing my gaze on Bucky.

"I see you like my stuff." he smirked, slowly making his way towards my bed. Hazel jumped off to go find food, her bowls had been placed in the kitchen. "You know, it's wrong to steal sweetheart." Bucky was looking down at me now, his hands in the pockets of his neat dress pants. "You left me with no other choice," I said without much confidence.

"I don't have any of my things, and these sheets are god awful and scratchy." "Maybe I just like seeing you in my clothes," he hummed. A warm blush coated my cheeks as he leaned closer. "You're kinda cute sweetheart." At this point I could smell his minty breath, and feel it as well. "Give me my stuff, and you'll get yours back." I suggested before flopping down on my bed and pulling the covers over me, specifically the blanket I stole right off of his own bed.

He laughed before tugging at the blanket to reveal me clinging to his body sized pillow like a koala. I refused to meet his gaze, instead keeping my eyes closed. "I can't sleep unless I'm comfortable." I stated.

"I get that. We'll have Steve pick your stuff up, but you can keep the pillow." he winked.

That afternoon, Bucky had sat down and had lunch with me. He made eggs, bacon and fluffy toast. I helped a little, making us tea and setting the plates at the black marble island.

"So, I was thinking, you can start working remotely until they absolutely need you back at the hospital." his eyes met mine, waiting for a reaction. I was excited, but I tried not to show it too much since I really shouldn't have been taken from the hospital in the first place. "Then, once I'm sure it's safe, you can go back."

"Safe?" How did my safety play into this decision? I was confused, I was always safe at the hospital, save for the occasional confused patient. "Y/n, your father had a lot of enemies, quite a few of them are associated with other mafias, none as well built or known as my own. He promised you to me in hopes that peace could be made, but he betrayed several of his promises and upset more people than he could handle. Because they can't get to your father, they might get to you next."

"Fine. But I need to get to the hospital sooner rather than later. I have a million patients and I've missed so many rounds. For all I know, Lena could be out of the hospital by now. I haven't had contact with anyone for weeks." I sighed, to which he frowned at. "I know, and I do feel bad but I also care about your safety."

I blushed at his admittance, not used to being romantically cared for. Over the days that turned into weeks, we had grown to like each other. Maybe this arrangement would end up working after all.

"Fuck."

Bucky had given me a space to work within his office, so that's where I was when I heard a string of curses and muffled groans near midnight. The door suddenly swung open, revealing a bloody and battered Bucky.

"James?" I asked. "Hey -shit- y/n/n." He clutched his right arm to his abdomen. There was so much blood from so many different places. "It looks like you need my help," I sassed, getting up to help him settle down on the leather couch. His "yeah" was cut off by a groan. "I need to take your shirt off, okay?" Concern was surely painted on my face as I saw his blood soaked jacket.

"At least buy me dinner first," he laughed. "Ha ha. I'm glad you're in a decent mood," I said while starting to unbutton his white work shirt. I rolled up the sleeves of his black Henley that I was borrowing. He had three major wounds: one on his cheek, one on his right arm and one located on his lower abdomen.

"This is going to hurt," I warned, getting the first aid kit from across the room and preparing the peroxide. He hissed as I poured it over every wound, dabbing them after with gauze. "You're doing great," I tried to smile sympathetically while remaining focused.

"I'm going to stitch your face first, okay?" I asked, getting the supplies ready. "I don't need stitches." he countered. "Bucky, this wound is deep and it's not going to stop bleeding until I close it. You need stitches." "Doll, I'm fine, just leave it."

"Right! Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I forgot that you had a medical degree." I said sarcastically. He blushed in return and stayed still while I started to stitch his cheek.

A part of me wanted to make a jab about being out of practice, due to being kidnapped from the hospital, but I held back. Bucky was a good man and we were starting to bond and get along way better than I had ever anticipated. I learned that he had a sister, Steve had been his best friend since highschool, and he had inherited the mafia from his father.

James was a man who loved dogs, and making sure the ones he loved were safe, from his best friend all the way down to Anne, the maid and housekeeper. Another hiss pulled me from my thoughts. "Sorry," I winced. "Almost done."

"Thank you" he said after I patched each site with gauze and polysporin. "Anytime." "I guess we make more sense than I thought." he said as we sipped coffee in the kitchen. "How so?" I laughed. "A surgeon and a mafia boss. I could use you doll." He smiled. I tilted my head to the side in mock offense. " 's that all I am to you? A good pair of hands to tend to your messes, Mr. Barnes?" I asked. "No no no! I just mean that we make sense, you know?" I smiled at him over my mug. "I know."

He started leaning closer to me, to the point where I could feel his breath on my lips. Bucky's eyes met mine over the small table, his flesh hand coming up to cup my cheek, the other resting its cooler touch on my neck, pulling me in. I never fought once, instantly kissing him back when I felt his lips meet mine.

I sighed into the kiss, letting him hold my face and tip it back. His tongue caressed my lower lip before bringing it into his mouth, sucking on it tenderly. My hand moved to cover his flesh one, leaning into his touch slightly. He inhaled me as he pulled back. I felt my face flush and go warm and his hungry gaze, as if I was his prey and he wanted to devour me whole. "Bucky," I panted.

He smirked devilishly. "You like that, doll?" I nodded dumbly at his question. Bucky's eyes creased at the corners when he smiled, tilting his head down to look at me. "I like you," I whispered. He leaned closer, "I like you too, printessa."

Over the weeks, I had started sharing Bucky's room with him. I had an abundance of plush blankets and soft pillows to cuddle with. He had started coming to bed earlier, and I have started back at the hospital. Joe and my other friends missed me while I was away, and I can guarantee that I missed them just as much, if not more. My Resident Chief and Chief of Surgery both cried when they saw me walk back into the hospital lobby, happy and unharmed.

Life was good again, and I finally felt peace.

[brucewaynehater101]

Warning: Hurt no comfort :)

"What."

Jason is in a foul, contemptuous mood. Crime Alley always has crime, but the rates have skyrocketed this week. It's not just the low-level thugs either. Plenty of mobs and higher profile criminals have been hustling around. The whole damn section is rampant with trafficking, murders, drugs, and theft at levels far above their usual rate.

Jason is so fucking tired.

He hasn't had much time to eat, let alone sleep. Every minute, he's responding to another call or scream. He wants a fucking break, but he doesn't trust anyone else to look after his people.

The sound of a boot scruffs behind him again. Jason sighs.

His gun scrapes out of its holster causing an echoes in their silence. He allows the weapon to point at the ground as he still refuses to turn around and face the other.

"What the fuck do you want, old man?"

"Jay."

This causes Red Hood to whip around and aim at the craped crusader. Batman, the hardass himself, would never use names in the field. He especially wouldn't call Jason by that term of endearment when all the man ever mutters these days is "Hood."

Jason's arm doesn't shake, but his grip tightens on the metal.

The shadowed figure takes a step forward. The safety on the gun clicks off.

"Jay."

A bullet wizzes past the cowl. The man doesn't even flinch.

"Who the fuck are you? Talk fast before the next bullet goes between your eyes."

The figure nods in understanding and maintains the distance between them. "I wanted to tell you in person. You deserve to be the first to know."

It's not visible with the crimson helmet, but Red Hood's eyes narrow at this statement. His brow furrows and his jaw clenches. "Spit it out. Stop with that cryptic bullshit."

Batman, or whatever it is impersonating him, shifts slightly. He's uncomfortable and displeased but listens to the demand.

"The Joker is dead."

Muscle memory allows for the gun to be holstered before both of his hands claw at his helmet. He throws the item before stalking closer to the shadow on his roof. Red Hood spits fury at the man.

"If you're fucking lying to me-"

"I'm not."

Jason knows Bruce. It's been years since he's had constant contact with the older man, but he knows the tells for when Batman is being dishonest. There isn't a hint of that within the weathered features. As far as he can tell, the man is being truthful.

Yet, Jason can't believe it. That monster has been haunting him for so long. For him to just die? No fanfare, no warning?

It seems impossible.

Bruce's features morph into a sympathetic grimace at Jason's inner turmoil. "You deserved to hear it first. I'm so sorry it took so long."

Jason's knees feel wobbly at those words.

Bruce, the asshole himself with a maytr and hero complex, is apologizing to Jason for Joker's continued existence. He's expressing regret and remorse that nothing had been done before.

This... This can't be real, is it?

Bruce sighs as he slips the cowl off his face. His electric blue eyes peer into the mask of Red Hood's.

"I am so sorry, Jay. You've been hurting for so long, and I never acknowledged how his continued life haunted you so. I should have done something, anything sooner so that you'd feel more at peace."

Bruce raises his hand out as if he is going to hold Jason's face before he thinks better of it. The limb drops down by his side as his shoulders hunch.

"I've hurt you so much. I'm sorry, chum."

Jason's breath hitches once and then twice as he tries to center himself again. He doesn't bother trying to stop the tears pouring down his face.

Red Hood can't focus on the platitudes that Batman is stating. He needs to focus on the situation at hand and breakdown later when he's alone.

"B-" He takes another moment before trying again. "How did he die?"

Bruce, for the first time that night, glances away. His gauntlets creak under the fists he makes.

"He's dead, Jay. It doesn't matter. I'll never let him hurt you again."

Suspicion starts to weasel itself into Jason's brain, but he tries to brush it off. Like Bruce said, it doesn't really matter how he croaked. He's dead. That's all that Jason has ever wanted. Who cares how that came to be?

Still, the way Bruce brushed off his answer is dangerous. Even with all the sweet words being thrown his way, it's been a long time since Jason's followed the older man's machinations.

Red Hood settles his hand upon his gun, but he doesn't draw it quite yet. The threat isn't subtle.

"B. How did Joker die?"

Batman peers at Red Hood for a long moment. Azure eyes dart along the tenseness in the younger's form before Bruce's chest heaves a sigh. There's defeat in his posture, but his smile is kind.

It's the warmest smile Jason's seen from his father since the fifteen year old was buried.

"I killed him."

Jason's eyes scrunch shut. More tears run down his face as he tilts his head to the sky. His face twists in anguish, and he bites clean through his lips. Watery, teal eyes peel open to stare despondently at the smog filled sky.

Three gun shots ring out. Jason continues to search for answers in the sky as his arm lowers back down to his side. He mutters to the heavens he doesn't believe in.

"I should've known. Batman would never bring me peace."

Red Hood lowers his gaze and confirms the rooftop is and has always been empty.

[luvpookie02]

He's into YOU || Sano Manjiro x Reader || SMUT || YANDERE || 18+

004: In the Grasp of Madness

A loud laugh echoed throughout the room as a pink-haired man with a mullet swallowed two pills, rocking back and forth with exaggerated enthusiasm.

"C'mon, dance, Sanzu!" Ran called out, his phone in hand, recording the now dancing Sanzu. The rest of the executives erupted in laughter, especially the brothers, who couldn't contain their amusement. Takeomi and Kakucho, also recording, lay sprawled on the floor, clutching their stomachs from the intense laughter.

"You guys need to keep it down, or Mikey will get angry again," Kokonoi exclaimed, finally recovering from his fit of laughter, trying to maintain a semblance of seriousness.

Rindou turned his gaze to Kokonoi and smirked mischievously. "Don't worry; we'll just give him some company when he arrives."

Sanzu halted his dancing, confusion written all over his face. "What do you mean?" he asked, his brows knitting together. "Mikey's just going to kill whoever that girl is; what a waste! You should've let me f*ck her first."

Ran furrowed his brow and plopped down beside Rindou. "Mikey's not going to kill her, trust me. Besides, where did you and Mikey go? We thought you'd be here first since you left earlier than us."

Sanzu waved his hand dismissively. "We went to different clubs. Nothing out of the ordinary. Mikey still didn't like any girls, and of course, you know what I do."

Kakucho quickly covered Sanzu's mouth before he could spill any more details about his escapades, but Sanzu ended up spitting saliva onto Kakucho's hand, prompting the man to yank his hand away, cursing.

"What the hell, Sanzu?" Kakucho exclaimed, wiping the saliva off on Sanzu's clothes in exaggerated disgust.

As the two squabbled, Kokonoi looked at Sanzu with disbelief. "I still can't believe you found her and brought her here. It's a risky move."

The rest of the executives nodded in agreement with Kokonoi, their expressions a mix of intrigue and concern. Sanzu, on the other hand, grew curious after hearing Kokonoi's words. He pushed Kakucho away and asked, "Who's the girl you sent Mikey with? Is it Mina?"

Ran and Rindou exchanged sly glances, a smirk spreading across both of their lips. "It's something special, that's for sure."

------ HE'S INTO YOU ------

"Y/N, didn't I tell you that I'd kill you if you showed yourself to me?" Mikey's voice was low, almost a growl as he stared down at you, and your heart raced.

You widened your eyes, your gaze locked onto Mikey's intense expression, and tears began to stream down your cheeks as you mumbled his name, "M...Mi...Mikey."

Mikey furrowed his brow after hearing his name, his emotionless eyes boring into yours as he positioned himself, sitting down heavily on your waist.

He then pointed his gun toward your forehead, the cold metal pressing against your skin, and exclaimed, "You're a fcking bitch, you know?"

You stared at him, your breath quickening as you waited for him to continue. "Are you this desperate to win me back? You even wore my shirt," he taunted, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"I know you're lying about it, Mikey. Even about having an affair," you shot back, summoning all your courage to maintain eye contact.

You waited for his response, but instead, you were met with dead silence; he just stared at you, his gaze unwavering, waiting for you to continue.

A small smile appeared on your face, a flicker of hope in your heart as you continued, "I know you only do that and say those mean things to protect me, right?"

Mikey's dark gaze bore into yours. His hand traveled down your face to your neck, where he began to choke you lightly, but it felt like a vice. "Huh? Can you shut up? You don't know anything," he growled.

You held his hand, struggling against the grip as you fought for air. Instead of crying, you smiled weakly and cupped his cheek, trying to bring his face closer to yours.

"You did all of that not only to protect me but also for everyone, right? It's all thanks to you; everyone is happy, alive, and has a decent job, just like you wanted," you murmured, tears flowing freely from your eyes.

"We're happy, thanks to you, Mikey. Draken and Emma are getting married, Pah-Chin has a girlfriend now, and I have my own boyfriend," you added, your voice trembling slightly.Mikey's eyes widened, his brow furrowing in confusion, and he tightened his grip on your neck, choking you again.

"I...I...can't...breathe!" you cried, your voice cracking, but Mikey didn't stop; he continued to choke you, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

He threw his gun to the side of the room with a clatter and used his other hand to grip your neck tighter, panting heavily as if he were suffocating. You were horrified, recognizing this scene;every time he heavily breathed like this,it was a sign he couldn't control his dark impulses.

You had witnessed it multiple times—how he almost murdered someone due to these impulses—and the fact that he was losing control now indicated he might hurt you in the worst way possible.

"If you're happy now, why do you still show yourself? Y/N!" he yelled, his voice laced with frustration. He tightened his grip, his knuckles turning white as he stared into your eyes, and you tried to touch his cheek to calm him, but it was no use.

Mikey noticed you were about to pass out, so he gritted his teeth and finally released his hold on your neck. You pushed him away and sank to the floor, gasping for breath.

Mikey quickly grabbed the collar of your shirt, jerking you back to him, but he didn't say anything; he just stared at you with an intensity that made your heart race.

"It's not my fault, Mike—" You couldn't finish your sentence when you felt intense pain in your stomach; he punched you hard.

"Did you just come here to say how happy your life is, huh?" Mikey exclaimed, his tone sharp. You tried to respond, but your words failed you as you crumpled to the ground.

You shakily covered your mouth, trying to stop the blood from spilling out, but it was futile. He punched you again, this time with even more force, and you gasped as the pain shot through you.

Mikey's dark eyes bore into your trembling form, showing no sign of remorse. He grabbed your waist, lifting you effortlessly with one arm and roughly throwing you onto the bed.

"AHHHHH!" you screamed as your head struck the headboard, sending a shock of pain through your skull and causing it to bleed.

He climbed onto the bed, pinning your legs down as he positioned himself on top of you. His hand caressed your face, but then he slapped you repeatedly on both sides, leaving you in shock.

You didn't try to stop him; you simply let him slap you because deep down, you knew he was going to end your life right then and there. What was the point of fighting back?

You closed your eyes, tears spilling down your cheeks as you braced for the worst. Mikey noticed your tears and suddenly stopped, his expression shifting. You thought he was going to shoot you, but his next action surprised you—he kissed you.

He forced your lips open by roughly grabbing your breast, his kiss turning torrid and consuming. The kiss lasted for three intense minutes, and you both breathed heavily as you caught your breath, hearts racing. "Why?" you managed to ask, bewildered.

"Do I have to explain everything to you? You're smart, right? Figure it out," he replied, ripping your shirt as if it were nothing.

Just as you were about to voice another question, he captured your lips once again, intertwining them in a heated, passionate kiss, his tongue exploring yours as his hand traveled down to your waist and then to your cunt.

He lowered your boxer and underwear before inserting a finger inside you; a moan escaped your lips, which only excited Mikey further.

He grabbed your breast, massaging it while his other finger slid deeper inside you. Goosebumps erupted across your skin as pleasure mixed with fear coursed through you. You touched your cunt, pushing Mikey's fingers out, but an irked expression appeared on his face. He forcefully grabbed both of your hands, pinning them above your head as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

He removed his lips from yours and spoke menacingly, "Don't fcking annoy me, or else." He smirked, continuing, "I'm going to kill your friend. I believe her name is Yoru, right?" You widened your eyes, unable to utter any words; your gaze locked onto his, fear gripping your heart as you realized the danger surrounding you.

You widened your eyes, unable to utter any words; your gaze locked onto his, fear gripping your heart as you realized the danger surrounding you. "How the hell does he know Yoru? Is she also here? No, that's impossible; she met a guy and left before Ran and Rindou drugged me. Is Mikey spying on me?" you thought, panic rising within you.

You let him play with your body, touching everything and leaving marks from head to toe. The sensation mixed with fear was overwhelming, and you felt completely trapped.

Mikey then removed his shirt, revealing his toned body, a smirk plastered across his face. "Y/N, you love kids, right?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"What does that even mean?" you gasped, confusion mingling with the terror in your heart.

"Just thinking about how easy it would be to break you, and then, well... we'll see who's left standing," he replied, his expression darkening. "It's your choice, really. Either you submit to me, or I take everything you hold dear."

"Mikey, please," you whimpered, desperation coloring your voice. "You don't have to do this! I just wanted to see you."

He chuckled darkly, leaning closer. "And yet, here we are. You wanted to see me, but now look where it's gotten you."

With that, he pressed his lips against yours again, this time with a fiercer intensity. You felt his hands grip your wrists tightly, holding them above your head, the power he held over you palpable.

"Mikey, please..." you pleaded, your voice breaking as you felt tears streaming down your face. "I—I care about you. I want to help you!"

He pulled away for a moment, searching your eyes as if trying to decipher your sincerity. "Help? You think you can help me? You don't even understand the darkness I carry," he sneered, his expression hardening once more.

"You're right; I don't," you admitted, feeling a flicker of bravery. "But I want to. I want to be there for you, no matter what it takes."

His grip on your wrists loosened slightly, surprise flickering across his face. "You really are insane, aren't you?" he said, his voice softer now, though still laced with suspicion.

"Maybe," you replied, forcing a small smile despite the situation. "But I'm not going anywhere, Mikey. You can't get rid of me that easily."

For a moment, it felt like time stood still. Mikey's eyes softened, the rage momentarily subsiding as he contemplated your words. But just as quickly as the softness appeared, it vanished, replaced by a cold, calculated gaze.

"Keep thinking that, Y/N. Just know that the moment you cross me, there will be hell to pay," he warned, the intensity returning. "And your little friend Yoru? She'd be the first to go."

The threat hung heavily in the air, and you felt your heart sink. "You don't have to hurt her," you whispered, feeling helpless. "Just let her go. She has nothing to do with this."

Mikey's lips curled into a smirk. "Is that so? But then where's the fun in that?" He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "I enjoy the game, Y/N. And you've just entered my favorite level."

Your heart raced as the weight of his words settled in. You knew you had to be careful with your next move. "Mikey... just promise me you won't hurt her," you said, desperation creeping into your voice.

He straightened up, tilting his head slightly as if contemplating your request. "Fine. For now, I'll spare her. But don't think for a second that I won't change my mind," he said, a chilling smile on his lips.

The tension in the room was thick, and you could feel the air crackling with unspoken emotions. You didn't know how much longer you could endure this, but you refused to show weakness. "I won't let you turn into the monster you think you are, Mikey. I believe in you."

He laughed, the sound dark and menacing. "Believing in me won't save you, Y/N. But it's cute that you think it will."

You inhaled deeply, steeling yourself for whatever came next. "Then show me your true self, Mikey. I'm not afraid of the darkness. I want to help you find the light."

He paused, seemingly taken aback by your boldness. For a moment, uncertainty flickered across his features, but it was quickly replaced by an unsettling grin. "You really are brave—or foolish. Either way, this will be fun."

With that, he leaned down, capturing your lips once more in a fierce kiss. The taste of danger and passion mingled as you felt your world spiraling out of control. You knew you were treading on thin ice, but there was a part of you that couldn't help but want to delve deeper into the chaos that was Mikey.

"Let's see how long you can keep this up," he murmured against your lips, his tone a mix of challenge and intrigue.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you realized this was just the beginning of a tumultuous journey—a dance with darkness that you weren't sure you were ready for, but one you couldn't back away from.

As the night wore on, the echoes of laughter and chaos from the other room faded into the background, leaving only the two of you locked in a battle of wills, passion, and unspoken fears.

(A/N) lmk if you want to get tagged!

tagged: @itsruki @reiners-milkbiddies @emilymikado @strawberrycheescake3

[keysorsomething]

The Shape

2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Just a little fluff fic I wrote a couple days ago :) I compulsively check the Nikto tag so maybe I can make someone else who does that happy! And it mighttt have a pt. 2 in the works ! Also sorry if the format is weird I was never a tumblr girl

Cross-posted on Ao3

Nikto was hardly a man. Hardly a person. Hardly alive. He was just a shape. Just a thing. All he did was kill who he was told to. But, you didn’t think that. You didn’t believe that. He was a person to you. And you treated him as one.

You didn’t force anything. You didn’t push, pull, twist. You let him do what he wanted. He wasn't sure why. For as long as he could remember, where the memories of childhood - memories before him - become fuzzy, he was never treated like that. No one asked his opinion. Even if it was for something simple, like what was for dinner.

You were always so gentle with him. It was almost nauseating. With you, it was always “Aw, hey, Nikto! How are you?” or “What's the word for that in Russian?” He didn't understand it. You were not friends. He did not reciprocate your politeness. Maybe that was just normal where you're from. But, his current running theory was that you must have some form of brain damage. Perhaps you were dropped as a baby.

He stood in the doorway of the armory, head slowly leaning to the side as he studied you. His bright blue eyes broke through the dim lighting as if they were backlit by two LED bulbs in his skull.

You sigh. You really weren't in the mood for it at the moment. You've had a really sucky day and were just trying to clean your gun before you put it up for the night. His gaze burning through your skin as he studies you like a zoo animal is not what you need at the moment. But, you know him enough. You’ve learned a few things from your interactions with him. You know asking nicely, or even demanding won't do much for him in this state. He doesn't mean anything by it - at least you're pretty sure it's just harmless curiosity. Still, you just aren't in the headspace for it. So you have to shoo him off. And luckily, you know just how. You place your gun on the table, rising up.

He doesn't back away as you approach, instead turning his head more. Slowly, you reach out. He’ll snap out of it if you move to touch him. He'll jump back, then growl and stalk off. You're sure of it, that's how it is anytime anyone tries to touch him.

So when the tips of your fingers meet his chest plate, you're the one to flinch. His eyes look wider from under the mask, but he doesn't move or even open his mouth to speak. He simply blinks at you, one eye closing and then the other. Like a frog.

Okay, he's staying when you touch him. That is completely out of the ordinary. Maybe you could weird him out enough for him to leave you be..? You raise your eyes to meet his, and something about the way they shine down on you is… unusual. You can't tell if he's staring at you affectionately, or with the look of a girl in a horror movie that stumbled upon a dead body. Or perhaps both.

Still, you swallow down your confusion, any reservations you have, and shame. Slowly, while maintaining as intense eye contact as you can, you drag two fingers down his chest, like petting a stingray at an aquarium. Before you go lower than his peck, you pick your fingers up and place them back at the top - where his chestplate covers his neck.

He blinks again, looming over you, his shoulders are squared. He's clearly tense. He'll back away soon. You repeat the action several times over, becoming more confused and frustrated the more he doesn't back away. Eventually, his hand raises, and he places two of his fingers on the squishy part of your neck, where it meets your chest. Your breath hitches, fear creeping into the back of your mind that he was trying to kill you.

Slowly, and with a lot more pressure than you were doing on him, he drags his fingers down your chest. He was mimicking you. You tense up, watching as he drags his finger down your chest before circling back to start at the top of your neck again. His hand is almost suffocating, even if he’s only putting two fingers on your neck. And you’re sure he could put so much more weight into it. He could snap your neck, pin you to the wall and strangle you. He’d probably cock his head to the side as he did it. Like fucking Micheal Meyers.

You shiver, closing your eyes. But the violence never comes. He’s very gentle with you, as gentle as a man of his… caliber in his profession can be. He does take his other hand to yours, dragging your hand down and circling back up. He was trying to get you to do it again. You crack your eye open, meeting his piercing blue stare, like hot water down the back of your shirt.

Slowly, you start to move your hand again. You stand there for a moment, your fingers starting at the peak of his neck guard and sliding down his chest as he mimics you. You look at his eyes, as he looks at yours. It was a strange, somber moment between the two of you. You watch his shoulders fall, relaxing under your touch and gaze. He's breathing heavily, like someone hyperventilating after being jumped out at. Your own hands are shaking, still unsure if this is a vulnerable moment or a trap. And his hand is going to flatten against your neck. And then it was going to be lights out. You swallow thickly, but you don't move your eyes from his. His pupils keep dilating and constricting, which you're not too sure is healthy. You hope this doesn't kill him.

All at once, he pulls away. His hand from your neck, his neck from your hand. His eyes narrow at you. He holds his hand at his chest as if it were covered in some form of filth. He looks down at it like it betrayed him before his eyes turn back to you. 

“Спасибо,” He growls out before his dark form melts into the shadows of KorTac base after dark. Once more just a shape, he stalks off, leaving you standing in the doorway of the armory, shock running through your body. His footsteps fade into nothing as he leaves you all alone, frozen in shock.

You just touched him. He just touched you. And then he thanked you? You stare off into the dark, now bare walls. They are an uncomforting grey. You look down at your own hand, turning it over in your sight. You... pet Nikto. On the chest. With two fingers. Like a stingray, in the pet pool at the fucking Aquarium of the Pacific. 

…How do you even process the moment you just had? Would you ever have another one? Was that a one-time thing, or would he creep to you at night like this, for the most barebones form of touch like that? You close your fingers, rubbing them against each other, before you turned around, slipping back into the armory to put your gun up. Still in some odd trance, eyes distant and foggy as you focus on the various thoughts floating through your head. You don't know if you can call it a fantasy.

 

But, that doesn't mean the thoughts are unpleasant.

[brainwormcity]

Crowley's behaviour in S01xE02 is that of an extremely conflicted demon. He had been in love with Aziraphale for a very long time and though he had never outright expressed it, he tended to wear it pretty openly on his sleeve when it was just the two of them. Then bam, everything starts going to hell in a handbasket, literally:

So he immediately meets up with Aziraphale and makes a plan to stop it and as soon as they plan to work together, Crowley starts to feel optimistic:

Then they spend the next eleven years trying to stop the apocalypse and for a little way they may start to think that it's all going to be okay but then they realize.

So then it's time to switch gears. Things are becoming more dire and he's starting to lose hope so when he and Aziraphale head to Tadfield, he's already switching into his most cantankerous version of himself, knowing that every moment he wasn't uniquely focused on preventing the apocalypse could be catastrophic. He tries to build up an emotional wall between him and Aziraphale and he fails almost right away. At the first sign of Aziraphale's classically trained puppy dog eyes, his resolve cracks.

After he's reminded of Aziraphale's loyalties to heaven, i.e. 'weight to a moral argument,' he tries to double down by giving the humans real guns, yet he still can't bring himself to lie when Aziraphale asks him if they're killing each other. And when Aziraphale points out Crowley's privately good heart, the demon thinks, "This is my chance. Gotta really sell it." So, he does this little number.

He bares his teeth and snarls about how very not nice he is while uncharacteristically behaving in what would typically be seen in a violent manner.

And it doesn't work. Aziraphale sees him growling and hissing and all he's aware of is their contact. He still looks at Crowley like he's kind... He's still looking at him like he might just smile if Crowley ever had the nerve to tell him that he means, not just the world, but also the universe to him.

He tries throughout the rest of the episode to maintain his facade of angst and indifference but after this, it's half-hearted at best. There's a subtle nod to it all right before Anathema hits the Bentley.

It's been suggested that demons are incapable of detecting love as a palpable emotion but it's the specific wording that denotes something deeper.

Why wouldn't it feel out of the ordinary if you were surrounded by love suddenly? Well, maybe if that's something that you experienced all the time in certain company.

Then comes the biggest revelation of them all! His hot and cold attitude, the shoving, the vehement denial of his kindness towards both Aziraphale and humans. It's all for a reason. This is the one folks.

His love, in his eyes, is dangerous to the cause. There's too much at stake and he's so emotionally volatile at the idea of never being able to, uninterrupted, be with this creature he loves that he's terrified to give into it for even a moment, lest that moment be just what Heaven and Hell need to take it all away from him for good. To take Aziraphale from him.

It doesn't work, in the end. In fact, at the end of the episode, Aziraphale actually is the one who manages to hold him at arm's length, and in both the book and the series, it's made obvious that the whole 'tickety-boo' interaction leaves him feeling very lonely. In the next episode, he bares it all anyway when he asks Aziraphale to run away from it all with him, the first of many times. He tried to pretend and push his Angel away but the real Crowley couldn't help but shine through.

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

(during Rooster's original time at TOPGUN, the 86'ers (sans Ice and Mav) have a big video call)

Wolfman:...Alright, this meeting of the "Ice & Maverick Support Group" will now come to order. Chipper, read us the minutes from the last meeting.

Slider: - Sorry guys, but I have some pretty big news that can't wait.

Wolfman: In a MINUTE, Slider...!

Slider: IT. CAN'T. WAIT.

Wolfman: OK, fine. So, what is it?

Slider: Well, you guys know Baby Goose is in Top Gun now...

Hollywood: - His callsign is "Rooster"! I love the bird theme...

Slider: - Yeah, well, anyway - I've been talking to Ice about his progress, y'know since Bradley isn't talking to Mav right now -

(mass grumbling from all the 86'ers)

Slider: - And I've corresponded with some of the instructors over there, also, to get some details that maybe Ice may not even be aware of...

Merlin: - How would Ice not be aware of anything that happens with Bradley?

Slider: - Well, just that there may be some details that Ice isn't aware of because the instructors don't think it's relevant to tell him.

Chipper: OK, and...?

Slider(takes a deep breath):...Guys, Bradley has an Iceman.

(the 86'ers erupt in a chorus of "NOOOO...!" and loud groans, some of them are literally banging their heads on their desks)

Slider: Apparently the two of them like to "maintain eye contact" to "intimidate each other" and "size each other up".

Sundown(grumbling): Yeah, I'll tell you exactly what they're sizing up -

Wolfman: - SUNDOWN!!!!

[harmonyrae]

Power Couple

CHAPTER 8 - Just Dinner

It's time for the tour... You & Sylus finally meet and begin your partnership to find the mysterious protocore. But is it a business dinner or a date? Even you can't tell anymore...

Visuals: https://shorturl.at/3XOoh 

Sylus shows you the house, going into detail about every room. Stopping at every painting in the entryway to tell you about the artist and which pieces were custom made. Every vase has a story. Stories of the countries Sylus visited where he went to a night market and bought a piece from a local artist as a souvenir. Even the chandelier was made by a glass maker in Linkon who never takes new clients. But they dropped everything to make a single chandelier for this house.  

The kitchen was fit for custom marble countertops. Two huge ovens and a massive walk-in freezer. There is even a wine cellar, and Sylus’ collection is impressive. Right off the kitchen is a dining room with a table that could seat 20, easily. 

Up the stairs Sylus shows you a bathroom with a huge round tub with a waterfall shower head above it. His and hers vanities line the walls with matching walk-in closets on each side. 

The bedroom has a massive bed with a mountain of pillows. A small sitting area in the corner facing the floor to ceiling windows. A peculiar stand sits next to a fireplace across from the bed. You hear the familiar CAW behind you and you duck to avoid Mephisto hitting you in the back of the head. Mephisto lands on the stand and flaps his wings enthusiastically. Sylus enters pets Mephisto affectionately. Sylus motions for you to come in. You hesitate but enter and join him next to the fireplace. 

“Open the door to the left.” Sylus motions to a door past the bed. 

You slowly approach the door and open carefully. Beyond the door is a walk-in closet that has been transformed into a small arsenal. Guns of all sizes, most are missing pieces or are broken. You look over your shoulder to Sylus with a grin.

“Impressive.” You enter the room and look through the gun displays. You run your finger along an impressive rifle. Even though the metal is rusted you can tell it is cleaned regularly to avoid dust building up. 

“These are my favorites. A reminder that just because something’s broken doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful.” He leans on the door frame and watches while you examine the guns. You look over your shoulder and give him a warm smile. Was anything he said real? Or was he just trying to butter you up?

“They are. Beautiful, I mean.” You sip your wine slowly, maintaining eye contact. He backs up to let you pass him and re-enter the bedroom. Your eyes linger on the bed. Professional. Remain professional.

There are multiple guest bedrooms, an office, a gym and a fucking library. The house is amazing. From the design choices to quality of the build, this house does not belong in the N109 Zone. Yet here it is. And it’s so cozy. 

Sylus leads you back to the dining room where the first course of your dinner is already set on the table. Like a gentleman out of a storybook, Sylus pulls your chair out for you. You sit and take in the food before you. The chef refills your wine glass while introducing the first course, an Autumn Fritto Misto. The scent of the mushrooms and apples blend perfectly together. The taste is even better.

Before you knew it, the chef brought in the main course, a fragrant Lobster Risotto swimming in butter. Then the dessert, a Coconut Panna Cotta with Passion Fruit. The wine paired perfectly with every dish. Not to mention the conversation was effortless. Sylus asked about your hobbies and favorite things. You returned the favor. The questions may be relatively surface level, but now Sylus wasn’t just a pretty face. And you had more in common than you care to admit.

“When you’re not running an empire, what do you like to do to relax?” Sylus keeps his eyes on you. Watching you swirl the wine in your glass as you think of your response.

“I’m a fan of baking. I wish I had more time to do it, but like you said, my empire awaits.” Sylus smiles and nods his head toward the kitchen.

“Maybe you can bake here? Take one of these nights to indulge. Put me on clean up duty.” Your cheeks are starting to hurt from the smile plastered on your face.

“I noticed you prefer vintage guns and your music tastes are… old school. Is there a reason you prefer vintage over modern?” Sylus wipes his mouth with his napkin. The slow methodical swipe across his lips… They look so soft. No, stop… focus.

“Modern weaponry and music is only what it is today because of how the ‘old school’ styles forged a path. And I appreciate timeless beauty.” He stares at you intently as he says the last sentence. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

“I see what you mean. Does that preference for vintage carry over to movies too?” 

“I keep up-to-date with new films, but yes, older movies tend to be more straight-forward. Bad guys are bad, good guys are good, lovers… They don’t play games. They say what they feel. I appreciate that.” Your stomach tightens, is he hinting at something? 

The chef brought coffee and began clearing the plates. Sylus looks at his watch and sighs. 

“I’m guessing Luke and Kieran didn’t find anything in the shipment?” 

“I don’t believe they did.” 

“I’m sorry.” Sylus looks up at you with a smile, clearly trying to mask his disappointment.

“It’s a good thing there’s an event coming up that might have a better outcome.” He pushes his chair back and crosses his legs keeping his eyes on you. You lean back, raising an eyebrow.

“An event?” You have a feeling he brought this up on purpose.

“An event I would very much like you to attend with me.” And there it is.

“Is this an addendum to our original deal?” Sylus chuckles before finishing his coffee in one sip.

“No. It can count as next month’s meeting.” You lean forward, placing your elbows on the table. You can’t deny your curiosity has peaked. 

“What kind of event?”

“A charity masquerade. There’ll be an auction, well, two auctions. One official and one not so much.”

“And you think this rare protocore will be available at the not so official auction?” Sylus nods.

“It’s next week. So, will you go with me?” You sip your coffee and stare at him for a long time. 

“I’d love to.” 

Sylus has been very composed tonight. In fact, he has very rarely faltered during any interaction you’ve had with him. But when you tell him you’ll attend this event with him, the smile on his face is undeniable. He couldn’t even keep eye contact with you. He looked down at his now empty coffee cup.

“I’ll send you the details.” 

Ding

Your phone buzzes and you look from your phone to Sylus. 

“That was fast.” Sylus chuckles at your joke. You turn your phone over and see messages from Dorian.

(Dorian) Out front. Ready when you are. (Dorian) Unless you’re having too much fun on your “date”.

You scoff and flip your phone back over. Sylus looks at you, his brows raised.

“What’s wrong?” You stand. Sylus follows suit. 

“My rides here.” 

You look up at Sylus. His eyes burrow into you and you don’t turn away, even when your cheeks feel flush. You know Dorian was just trying to rile you up. This was not a date. It was enjoyable and, sure, you wish Dorian had gotten stuck in traffic or gotten pulled over for driving like an asshole. Just a little more time with Sylus would have been nice. But this was NOT a date. 

Keep trying to convince yourself of that. 

Sylus walks you to the door and you stand in the doorway together, illuminated by the moonlight. You see Dorian in the car, staring at you once again. You turn back to Sylus and realize he is much closer than a second ago. He takes your hand and brings it to his mouth, touching a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you, kitten.” You hold his stare. 

The distance between you continues to close until your forehead almost touches his. That smile. That goddamn smile. You bite your tongue and your breath catches. Sylus leans in and you close your eyes. His lips press the whisper of a kiss to your cheek. Not at all what you were expecting. Your eyes fly open and you pull back slightly so you can see him better. You might be seeing things, but it definitely looks like his cheeks are just slightly flushed. You’re probably seeing things. 

“Speak soon.” He releases your hand and steps back into the doorway. You nod at him and flash a small smile before heading to the car.

You’re not even in the car fully before Dorian is peppering you with questions. 

“Did he just fucking kiss you? You can’t say this wasn’t a date after he pulled a stunt like that. Are you going to call off the deal? Did he even find the protocore he was looking for? Or did he tell you anything else about what he is looking for? Are you going to answer me or just sit there looking like a smitten teenager?” That last one hurt a bit.

“Dorian, shut up. For one fucking minute. Okay?” You lean your head back on the headrest. 

“I’m sorry. I just… I want to know if all this is worth it.”

“Do you remember what I told you when we made our first deal and solidified Himitsu in the zone?” After Dorian doesn’t reply you continue.

“We spent four months building a connection and forging a relationship, we secured a partnership that set Himitsu apart. That client is still loyal to us 5 years later. You were just as impatient then as you are now. You tried to rush me and you nearly lost us that contract. So do not rush me now. Understood?” Dorian leaned back in his seat, slightly surprised by your tone. He nods. 

The ride home was silent, which you were grateful for. Dorian was right and you finally admit it to yourself. It was more like a date than a business dinner. But you weren’t upset about that. You are genuinely excited for next Saturday. Maybe things don’t have to be so complicated after all.

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1: https://shorturl.at/Bx95C Chapter 2: https://shorturl.at/3PwTi Chapter 3: https://shorturl.at/a7xnF Chapter 4: https://shorturl.at/fKYgX Chapter 5: https://shorturl.at/7YtTh Chapter 6: https://shorturl.at/cMCj7

[zoeykallus]

Hiii Love you are amazing you know that right?🤩🤩

Can I maybe request one with the Reader being a Jedi and traveling with The Batch and she want‘s to learn how to shoot a Blaster and they do teach her but because of mutual attraction it is very hard to focus for both of them. (Maybe even with Rex?)

Aloha!

Didn't I do something similar to this in a way? But it was with a none Jedi fem reader, I think.

It's not exactly what you asked for, because in my head it didn't work out the way I wanted it too, so I played with a few ideaas. But I hope it's close enough.

The Bad Batch/Rex x Fem!Jedi!Reader HCs - Teach Me

Mostly Fluff

_________

Hunter

"We learn to deflect blaster shots," you say, easily deflecting a shot from the training droid, with your lightsaber at a dummy, "But we don't usually learn to do any shooting ourselves."

Hunter offers, "I could show you."

You smile, deflect another shot and say, "That doesn't mean I don't know how to do it"

The sergeant shrugs.

"Then show me what you can do."

You shut down the droid, put away your lightsaber, and walk over to him. With a small smirk, you stand in front of him. In the Force, you can sense that there is a certain excitement beneath his surface, but you can't quite place it at the moment.

"So, Sergeant, what do you want me to do?"

Hunter draws his own blaster and places it in your hand, your fingers touching for a brief moment. The touch feels like a spark, a small electric shock, as if from a static charge. For a second you feel very clearly how intensely Hunter is focused on you, how fast his heart is beating, and your own makes a small, surprising leap.

You need a small moment to collect yourself. You realize that you don't necessarily see him with Jedi eyes, that you see more in him than you should, but until just now you didn't realize it was also the other way around.

You look at the weapon briefly, then open yourself to the Force, turn briefly to the dummies, and fire several quick shots, each shot a bull's-eye.

Looking back at him and seeing the puzzled expression on his face, you ask, "Are you okay?"

"I-yeah, I'm fine. I just thought you never learned how to handle it."

You smirk and remind him, "I also said that doesn't mean I can't."

He nods and says, "Okay, yes I remember, but…. that good?"

"The Force guides my hand. A big advantage on my part," you say, still smirking.

You place the gun back in his hand, again your fingers touch, but this time you maintain contact longer. You take in his feelings, his confusion, how impressed he is, but most of all, the feeling of how much he enjoys this little touch, how much he longs to let his hand move over yours, up your arm to your face. For a moment, you can almost feel him doing it. But Hunter is decent, playing by the rules, even if he doesn't want to here and now. For the moment, it remains a fantasy.

Very slowly, almost languidly, you finally pull your hand back from his. You hear him sigh softly and almost do the same. Your eyes meet, lingering on each other.

With a cautious smile, you ask, "Can you maybe teach me some other things?"

Hunter takes a moment, blinking, finally he smiles gently and says, "I'm sure we'll figure something out."

Wrecker

He watches you, as he often does. You feel his gaze on you, his fascination, his admiration for you are so honest, so open and intense that sometimes your heart beats faster. Wrecker adores you, and you can feel that abundantly clear in the Force. But he's a good soldier, a decent man, he would never approach you without being asked, even if it's hard for him not to confess how much you mean to him by now. You sigh softly, take a deep breath, try to clear your thoughts. "What about blasters?" you suddenly hear him ask. You turn to face him. "Blasters?" Wrecker nods, pulls out his blaster and holds it out to you. You put your lightsaber away, step closer, and hesitantly reach for the weapon. You look at him questioningly, feeling that he's just trying to make contact with you, to spend time with you, and you feel flattered, but also nervous. You shouldn't actually like him as much as you do. "You know how to handle that?" You nod. "Yeah, I think so" You demonstrate your skills and Wrecker lets out an impressed whistle. "Is there anything you Jedi can't do?" You laugh softly and say, "There sure is a lot. For example, I barely know anything about explosives, grenades, and mines." He laughs happily, thumps the crate he was leaning against and says, "You've come to the right place! I can teach you anything" "You would do that?" You can feel Wrecker radiating pure joy, joyful anticipation, and the feeling passes over to you, putting a smile on your lips. "Of course. Little Jedi, I'll be happy to teach you everything I know"

You like it when he calls you that, it's so loving and full of affection.

Echo

He can't hide from you what he feels, even if most of the time you can't see it in any way, you feel the devoted longing he feels when he looks at you, thinks about you, it is omnipresent.

To the outside world no one would suspect it, Echo has himself under control, he is calm, reasonable, follows the rules. You've already caught yourself thinking about trying to draw him out.

During training, when he is watching you again more or less secretly, you speak to him. Echo almost falls off the ramp, startled, when you speak to him. He didn't expect you to have spotted him already.

He clears his throat, "Uh, yeah? How can I help?"

You pick up a training blaster and ask him to come closer.

"Would you teach me how to use this properly?"

Echo blinks, not responding immediately. His gaze drifts from your face to the blaster in your hand and back again. He seems puzzled, but he nods amiably and says, "Sure. What exactly do you want to know?"

"Well, anything important in theory," you say with a wry smile.

A small smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. Echo begins to explain to you how to load and unload the gun, and how to set the various modes, standing close to you, his eyes gazing deeply into yours every now and then. You can feel him looking forward to being useful to you.

"Understood so far?" he finally asks gently.

You nod.

"I think so"

"Maybe you should try it sometime, General".

There it is again, that impersonal word, that formal address. You know he's just doing what's theoretically expected of him, but you wish he'd call you by your name.

"What's the best way to aim?"

Echo stands close behind you, carefully grabs your hand and guides it. He talks, explains, you hear his voice, but the meaning of his words bounces off you, off the feel of his hand on your wrist, his chest against your back.

"General?" he finally asks in amazement.

"Yes?"

"Did you just hear what I said?"

There's a tingle under your skin, you look for an excuse and say as calmly as you can, "I'm sorry, I sensed something in the Force that I can't place, I'm not supposed to let it distract me, but every now, and then it still happens"

"Oh. I see. Do you want me to explain it again?"

You smile, the tingling under your skin getting stronger.

"'Please do."

A soft shiver runs through your body as his hand closes around your wrist again.

Tech

He's a little harder to read than others, his emotional world seems to function differently than you're used to from most. He is often completely silent, and the next moment he is radiating a thousand things. His thoughts are always in motion, and often you feel he can't quite reconcile his emotions with what he's thinking.

Sometimes it feels like he is stumbling, even though he is calm and clear. This happens more often around you. It takes a while, but you eventually realize that Tech is attracted to you, very much so. His way of evaluating and looking at things logically, gets in the way. He feels intensely, but differently. As said before, it's hard to read him, despite the Force.

But his nervousness always comes through quite clearly, noticeable in the Force. Tech stands near the training area, with his datapad in hand. His gaze wanders back and forth between you and the device in his hand.

He admires you, the elegance with which the Jedi fight, especially you. In his head, he automatically calculates how efficient your approach is.

As you finish and approach him, he says, "You were 20 seconds faster today."

You blink in surprise. But really, it shouldn't surprise you. Tech remembers everything, and it's actually typical for him to evaluate everything.

"Is that so?"

He pushes his goggles up the bridge of his nose with one of his, long, slender fingers and replies, "Indeed"

"Do you have any ideas on how I can be even more effective?" you ask with interest.

He looks at you in surprise, not expecting you to be interested in his opinion.

"Quite," he says with a small, barely noticeable smile.

Tech is on fire with the idea. He explains things to you, shows you a few things, touching your hands now and then to show you what he means. At the moment he radiates pure joy, he feels useful can be close to you, you listen to him.

He has a wonderfully lively moment with you, which you both enjoy very much. When you're done, you smile at him, sensing his curious, affectionate feeling for you.

"Maybe you can show me more things when you get a chance," you say softly.

Tech nods, delighted.

"I'd love to, General."

Crosshair

You perceive him as strangely reluctant. He's fascinated by you, in many ways, and at the same time he seems frustrated by it. There is always a restless wavering beneath his surface. He is attracted to you, but is all too aware of the prohibition of this feeling.

But still, he keeps coming to watch you train, and today is no exception.

"Effective," he says tersely, chewing on his toothpick.

"Thanks," you say with an implied smile.

He doesn't smile back; he almost never does.

You tell him with genuine interest, "I'm always amazed at how someone, without access to the Force, can be as effective as you."

Now a smirk does appear on his lips. He is flattered and that you of all people are giving him this compliment triggers a real wave of joy under his surface.

"Hmm, I was bred, trained and genetically programmed for this," he says, shrugging his shoulders as if it's nothing special.

"Still, your reaction time, your focus, your accuracy, are very amazing."

He laughs softly.

"I know."

He takes the toothpick out of his mouth and flicks it away. Then he takes his Firepunsher and holds it out to you.

"You want to try it?"

You blink in surprise and finally say, "I've never fired a gun like that before."

"I can show you," Crosshair offers.

A nervous tingle travels through your body.

"Okay. Teach me," you say with a small, nervous smile.

At first, you're almost overwhelmed, Crosshair seeking a lot of physical contact as he shows you the proper stance and what to do. Every little touch, every graze of his on your skin, leaves you with a hot, wild tingling sensation. You clearly feel that he feels the same way and have difficulty concentrating.

He is intense, you feel his hunger for more, that every touch is not enough for him, only ignites a longing for more. It makes you nervous, but still, you don't withdraw from him, on the contrary. Every contact is a small fire, a camouflaged caress, chaste on the surface but underneath, hungry and intense.

Finally, you stand there, both quite breathless, hearts racing and neither of you can really name why.

He asks, "You didn't understand a word I said, did you?"

"Hmm?"

Crosshair laughs softly and asks, "Again?"

You nod and say softly, "Again".

Rex

"General, if I may interject, you are holding the blaster far too tense".

You glance over your shoulder, you've felt his presence before and you've become nervous. You like Rex, more than you should, much more. Your desire to impress him has thrown you off track, destroyed your focus, and you've tensed up. You sigh softly.

"Of course you're allowed to weigh in, Rex, I always welcome your constructive criticism. I'm just not used to this kind of weapon."

Rex steps closer to you, removes his helmet and places it on a nearby crate. He smiles, a small, very gentle smile. For what feels like the thousandth time, all you can think about is how gorgeous he is.

He gently reaches out a hand to you and asks, "May I?"

His fingers touch yours, and for a moment, your whole body tenses.

"You need to relax a little," he says gently, leaning lightly against you from behind as he tries to loosen your fingers with his.

First you're too tense, then the blaster slips from your fingers. You laugh nervously and say, "Sorry."

"It's okay," Rex says gently, picking up the blaster again, and placing it back in your hand, "Just handle the blaster like you would your lightsaber, fluid but firm in your grip"

"That makes sense"

You get the hang of it, pleased that he is pleased with you, and at the same moment you regret that his lesson is over. However, you sense that he doesn't want to leave yet.

"Could you maybe show me again?" you ask cautiously.

His brows go up at first, but he nods, gets back into position, and gently guides your hand on the blaster. You sense something deep inside him, an affection so real and deep that it almost takes your breath away for a moment.

"Are you all right?" asks Rex with concern as you stiffen again.

You relax your muscles, take a deep breath, and say, "Yes, everything's fine, Rex."

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@starwarsnerd111

[blue-rose-soul]

A thought had occurred to me. What if whatever living things that come in contact with Lucifer, their souls are tainted and they go to Hell. So with Alastor's mom, Nicaise had interaction with Lucifer, after she die, she went to Hell.

I imagined in one scenario both she and kid Alastor in hell, had to fend themselves against sinners, hellborns and exorcists in every extermination day. Nicaise may have to learn few tricks while kid Alastor go monster on who would dare to harm his mother.

Maybe because I want to see interaction of Nicaise and Rosie while Alastor play with the cannibals children.

Another scenario would be when Alastor die, he reunited with his mother but then feel angry at everything because out of all the people he had known, his mother does not deserved this fate.

He would probably be overprotective of Nicaise leading him to be anonymous radio demon instead of broadcasting his victims. Probably will see the hotel as a haven because exorcists can't harm hellborns and Charlie can use that to her advantage.

Well, first of all, that would be very very unfortunate for anyone who served Lucifer drinks on his vacation. Or just bumped into him in the crowds.

But it would also make for a pretty interesting scenario. I doubt there's anyone who could exist in Hell for any length of time without being changed by it. Even Charlie brushes off getting a bit of some guy's brain stuck in her eye. Nicaise knew how to hunt a bit so she at least already knew how to use a gun. It didn't matter to her that Alastor had these bizarre powers, he was her boy and she was going to protect him!

I do think she'd try to go to Lucifer for help, once she learned who he is. The problem would be that he wasn't really accessible to her. It's safe to assume that Lucifer's home is somewhere in the Pride Ring, but there's nothing in the overhead map of the Pentagram that appears to have some link to Lucifer or any of his motifs, aside from the Hazbin Hotel itself.

It could be his home is somewhere outside the ring of mountains that surround the Pentagram. Or maybe it's up on that red... moon? The body floating near Heaven. Lucifer can create portals so it would be accessible to him, I think. Or his home could be hidden down in the sprawl somewhere but regardless of where exactly Lucifer lives, it's not someplace regular sinners would be able to just stroll up to.

So Nicaise and Alastor are pretty much on their own, but at least they have each other to rely on. And that allows them to at least maintain a sliver of their own humanity. As hard as Nicaise tries to protect Alastor, however, Alastor is so much more powerful that it often ends up the other way around. She gets a job playing piano at a bar, insisting that Alastor remain home and safe, but after the first night Nicaise comes home covered in bruises Alastor starts sneaking out to follow her, and when he sees the bar patrons getting handsy with his mother he goes ballistic. He wasn't trying to turn the patrons into chuck beef, exactly. Or, it would be more accurate to say, he didn't realize he could.

Nicaise lost her job, but worse was the look of abject horror on her face at the carnage Alastor had caused.

Nicaise's expression haunted Alastor. Hell, he scared himself. He was still a ten-ish year old kid at this point in mind as well as body, and he didn't know how to reign in his emotions to prevent more explosive outburst like that. He was scared and vulnerable... Ripe for a deal to be made.

Nicaise meets Rosie while out looking for a new job. She made her way into Cannibal Town by accident, and unfortunately encountered some less friendly residents who zeroed in on her as potential prey. Nicaise was able to kill two of them and in doing so attracted Rosie's attention. Rosie came to see what the commotion was and to try to settle things, by which I mean crush whoever was disturbing her peaceful Cannibal Town like an insect. But when Nicaise pointed the gun at her and declared that she didn't care if Rosie was an Overlord, nothing was going to stop her from betting home to her child, Rosie paused. Child sinners are extremely rare, and don't generally last long in Hell. The only child sinners we've seen so far are in Cannibal Town, so I like to think Rosie might have a bit of a soft spot for kids and takes any child sinners she comes across in Hell under her wing. She calls off her cannibals and invites Nicaise to her parlor for tea.

The meeting ends with Nicaise getting a new job and a modicum of protection. Non-cannibals aren't allowed to be residents of Cannibal Town and Nicaise refuses to eat demon flesh (at first) but Rosie sets her up with a new gig at a music venue in Cannibal Town and a guarantee of safety for her and her kid while they're within Rosie's territory (Rosie's playing the long game here; she's fully intending to recruit Nicaise and Alastor into her following). It's all suspicious but Nicaise can at least return to Alastor with the good news that she has a way to put food on the table.

Only when she returns home, Alastor is gone.

Alastor reappears the next morning no worse for the wear to find Nicaise frantic. She checks him over for injuries while he insists he's fine. He won't tell Nicaise where he disappeared to though. It becomes apparent soon after that something about Alastor is different. As the weeks pass, Alastor gains control over his powers extraordinarily quickly. He stops causing random outbursts of green flame or exploding lights. Suddenly he can melt into shadows at will and pop out wherever he pleases. And creepy little dolls appear out of nowhere to do his chores for him or make mischief around the house. As relived as Nicaise is to see him learning to control his abilities, she can't help but be suspicious of this sudden mastery.

Shortly after, Overlords begin to disappear.