#I found more evidence too but I’ll sort through it later…

[greenfiend]

Mike is manipulating time throughout the series based on his emotions…

[save-the-villainous-cat]

With all the strength they had left, the hero crawled into the villain’s apartment through the window. After surviving the superhero, this should have been easy but it turned out to be exhausting.

The hero had landed in the bathroom and without wasting another second, they pulled themselves up and searched through the cabinets. Unfortunately, their bloody hands left enough evidence of them breaking in already. They supposed they’d have to face the villain sooner or later, even if that meant the villain was going to throw them out again.

For now, they found something close enough to practical — a razor — and opened the first aid kit the villain usually stored under the cabinet. Before they could take out the blades, the villain opened the door.

“You’re not as quiet as you think.” The hero looked at them and smiled softly. Teeth stained with blood, heavy limbs.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” they said. With no hesitation, the villain helped them up and took the razorblades out of their hands.

“What happened to that pretty face?” they asked. With one hand on the hero’s hip, they reached for a clean towel and turned on the sink. They let the soft fabric drench in warm water and gently cleaned up the hero’s face.

It all happened so fast. The villain didn’t seem to mind that the hero was here in the middle of the night.

And they were close. So close.

Whereas the villain was focused on the hero’s face and getting rid of all that blood, the hero stared into their eyes. Maybe it was this cruel change: brutal violence coming from someone they had adored to gentle tenderness from someone they had loathed.

The villain looked down at them. Their thumb traced the hero’s jawline and the hero looked away, almost ashamed.

“You look like shit,” the villain whispered. “And you woke me up.”

“I’m sorry,” the hero said. They looked at the villain’s clothes — their underwear and a shirt. The hero blushed a little. They took the villain’s hand and reached for the razorblades. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

The hero let go of them with a gaze that lingered a little too long.

“They chipped me,” the hero explained. They cleaned the blade with some rubbing alcohol and took in a deep breath. “Chipped me like a fucking dog.”

They cut into their own forearm, watching as the blood ran down their skin. It burnt even more than the open wounds on the hero’s back. They supposed they just had gotten used to that sort of pain, even if that was impossible.

With the blade, they dug through skin and muscle, clenching their teeth until they found the little tracker. They cursed when they pushed their fingers into the wound to fish it out.

Once they had the bloody device in their hand, they let it fall to the ground and crushed it under their boot.

“I knew trackers are useless at your place. You’ve slipped through my fingers quite a few times that way.”

The villain didn’t say anything. They just stared at the hero who cleaned their arm.

It wasn’t exactly easy to crawl to their nemesis and beg for shelter. The hero was too proud to do that anyway and they had planned to leave after cutting out the microchip.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” the hero said.

“You didn’t bother me.” The villain took a step forward and took the hero’s hands. “Are you alright?”

The hero frowned.

“Of course I am. I’m fine. I’m doing great.”

“You’re sure about that?” The villain let their fingers intertwine and suddenly, the hero felt very tired very quickly. “You’ve been so busy these last few days. I barely got to see you. They sent over some other lame heroes.”

The hero chuckled tiredly.

“I mean, why would they think I am satisfied with all the other rabble?” One of their hands glided down the hero’s forearm where they put pressure on the wound. “You always wanted to be a hero. When did that change?”

“I don’t know,” the hero said but the desperation and the hopelessness were already settling in. It didn’t even buy them time to lie to the villain. One way or another they found out anyway and most of the time, they asked the hero questions they already had the answers to.

The hero couldn’t really take it anymore. The pain was too much, their mind was breaking more and more.

“Oh, so many tears on such a pretty face,” the villain said. They pulled the hero closer and wiped their tears away with the back of their hand. “Don’t you know it’s not your fault?”

“They turned against me,” the hero said. Their voice trembled. “All of them. They chipped me, they put a bounty on my head. They’re trying to kill me because I don’t agree with…with all this shit.”

The villain cupped their face. “With what?”

“With all this stupid collateral damage and these dumb advertisements. Most of the time I feel like a mascot, I’m barely saving any people.”

“Oh, darling.” The villain tilted their head. Their presence was comforting in a way the hero hadn’t had experienced before. Whatever they’d done to each other in the past, the hero didn’t care. They were familiar, they were warm. The hero wasn’t going to let anyone take this moment away from them. “And who exactly beat you up like this? Your boss, I assume?”

“…yeah.” They could play pretend. They could pretend the villain was closer, that they were more than acquaintances. Even if it wasn’t real, even if the villain was using them, the hero needed some affection right now. They’d gladly give the heartbreak to their future self.

“My poor hero,” the villain said softly. “Would you let me stitch you up?”

The hero nodded.

“I’ll protect you,” the villain promised. They pulled them close to hug the hero. The hero didn’t understand why they were so gentle, so kind. Most of the time, they insulted each other like children. But the hero needed this. They really did. “They will pay for this.”

[yaespook]

Canines.

✧ Room Content: Dom! Top! GN! Werewolf! Reader x Sub! Bottom! Wriothesley, no gendered terms used for reader, reader has a cock with a knot, oral (reader giving), snowballing, rimming (reader giving), gratuitous mentions of spit, muzzle and leash with collar used on Wriothesley, knotting. Leave a note if anything was missed out. ✧ Retrieved Notes: [The bottom paws of the fortune cat appear on the front desk.]

Getting a new rookie transfer under him this late into the year wasn’t exactly what Wriothesley was expecting.

His office door opens abruptly but you seem almost as bewildered as he is at this surprise. No biggie, the issue is sorted out quickly and seeing that you don't have any case files or inmate registration papers on you (or any sort of personal records at all for the matter), he runs through the essentials before sending you off with a list of duties. 

He watches as you leave his office, you'll undoubtedly be an interesting case to handle.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Wriothesley finds you nice enough to be around during work. You're considerate and you work hard to get your job done. It's pleasant to have another regular familiar face beneath the depths and he's not above sharing his tea with you during your shared breaks. And growing closer, he asks you to box with him.

“Just some training, for fun, that's all.” He's lounging in his chair and cracks an eye open to gauge your reaction. “Feel free to say no if you don't want to. I won't die from the rejection.”

Wriothesley is assured in his combat skills, given his experience in the ring and his daily training. So how is it exactly that he's found himself in this position? 

Dragging out the spar by starting off defensive, dodging his attacks, it seemed as if you were going easy on him.

“Come on, don’t tell me you’re going easy on me?” He throws a series of hooks and a particularly forceful uppercut.

But he wasn't interested in winning this friendly battle, he wants to see what you're truly made of. Hence, kicking it up a notch, he doubled the speed of the punches he's throwing, forcing you on the offensive. 

“You’re asking for it, Wrio!”

He's caught off guard when you start reciprocating and meeting him with the same speed and intensity in your attacks. Sure, your footwork and pivoting could use some work, but there's something surprising in the force behind your punches.

It ends when you manage to wrestle him into a headlock, the both of you sweaty and panting, his head pressed against your chest as he's suddenly aware of how close the two of you are. Tapping twice on your bicep hooked around his neck, he admits his defeat this time around. Freed from your restraint, he takes the time to massage his trapezius muscles as he gives you a once-over. 

“That was a good one, another next week?” 

You cough, “I think I’ll need more than a week to recover,” your tone sheepish.

It’s not often he’s beaten during spars, and for a rookie like you to do so? Extremely interesting. What exactly is your background? The secret to your seemingly supernatural strength? Since this incident, he’s found himself drawn to you even more.

However, keeping an extra vigilant eye on you means that he picks up on the smaller things that might be signs. The next Friday, you clock in later in the day, missing your shared tea breaks with him, and you clock out far earlier than usual, evident from the little note you leave at your desk when he looks for you.

“Sorry Wrio! Something urgent came up!”

He quirks an eyebrow up at this. What could have been so urgent that you had to leave immediately? Are you alright? Glancing around, he notices a bag left on your chair. Perhaps you left it here in your haste while leaving, but what if its contents are important to you? No matter, he'll see if he can pass it to you after work, it's a good chance to check up on you too.

But since you aren't around for the rest of the day, Wriothesley has strangely discovered that he's getting through his mundane paperwork and administrative duties a lot slower than if you were present. His brows furrow as he sighs to himself and sips his tea alone before continuing his work.

By the time he's done wrapping everything up and leaving, the full moon is already high up in the night sky. When he tears his eyes away from it, he spots you out of the corner of his eye. Though he would call out to you, your behaviour is suspicious, slinking around the shadows sneakily as you try to stay hidden. Wriothesley decides to tail you, just to make sure that you don't get into any trouble that he'll end up having to sort out. (And that he's also worried about you.)

His guard is up when you step into a wild forested area. The dim moonlight breaks in through the leaves of the canopy area, just enough for him to make out the ground beneath him. He watches where he steps in order to avoid generating any noise that might alert you but the second he looks back up for you, you’re nowhere to be seen.

Uneasiness starts to kick in. Wriothesley is uncaring of all the ruckus he’s making while rushing past trees and brambles as he scrambles to search for you. The thorns scrape and tear at his clothes but he pushes on, launching into high gear.

However, the deeper he gets into the forest, the more Wriothesley begins to notice things going terribly wrong.

There’s a heavy presence lurking amongst the dark shadows, one that has its eyes trained on him, watching his every move. Lumbering footsteps echo throughout the forest around him, as if getting closer and closer to his location. The sound of twigs nearby snapping sharply and the rustling of dry bushes. Trying to get to a better lit area within the forest, the chase is on.

He’s being hunted.

The vegetation begins to thin out slightly as he skillfully weaves between trees and he reaches a clearing. Catching his breath, he surveys his surroundings, keen eyes looking for any signs of movement. The moon hangs overhead, sharing its pale light.

And from the treeline, something pounces.

He stumbles back at the sudden impact, the wind knocked from his chest as he collides with the ground, eyes clenched shut. A beat passes before the weight on him suddenly lifts and he hears a gravelly yet oddly familiar voice, “...Wrio?” 

Forcing his eyes open, he finds himself at a loss for words. 

“I’m so so sorry. I assumed you were some kind of hunter stalking after me and…” your words spiral and trail on but he can’t seem to process anything you’re saying since he’s preoccupied with taking in this sight of you.

In this form, you’re a lot taller than he is and your physique is nothing short of intimidating. Is this where your impressive strength comes from then? Raking his gaze over your body, he pauses at your flexed thigh muscles from holding yourself above his pelvis. (You could crush him between them and he’d die a happy man.)

Your fur gleams under the moonlight, captivating him as a gentle breeze ruffles through it. By the time he tunes back into your spiel, all he catches is you saying, “I’ll make it up to you-”

“Make it up to me?”

“Yeah?” 

“Fuck me then.” He sees your ears shoot up as you try to gauge whether he actually means it and he tacks on, “I’m being serious. Plus no one will find us here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Fine, but pipe up if I’m too rough on you.”

A grin stretches across Wriothesley’s face at your agreement but it’s quickly replaced with a hiss when you drop and grind your dick down against his. Leaning forward, you have him completely pinned beneath you, your body heat and larger frame on his is simply dizzying.

“I’ll give you some kisses to start, hmm?”

He watches as your maw opens wide, showcasing your sharp teeth. He can feel your canines on either side of his face as you lick at his lips but there’s enough trust between the two of you that you won’t clamp down, your fangs gently grazing his skin. You wouldn’t hurt him after all.

You bury your snout in his neck, taking in his scent as the both of you grind against each other, a snarl leaving your throat as you feel how hard and soaked he’s getting under you. 

“So wet, Wrio. Are you that desperate?” Shifting and sitting up to strip him of his clothes, he chuckles as he replies, “Only for you.”

Taking off his shirt, you let out a low whistle at the man before you. His broad shoulders, salt and pepper chest hair on his pecs, the body hair and healed scars littered throughout, and not to mention his lovely happy trail up till his naval. Truly, a sight to behold.

Getting him out of the rest of his clothes, you nudge his legs apart and settle between them. Compared to your looming stature, Wriothesley gets a sense of how much smaller he is when your hands grasp at his thighs. (Or are they paws? Whatever. As long as they treat him real good tonight.)

Tracing the tip of a claw down his inner thigh, you watch him shudder, eyes widening as you get closer to his drooling cock.

“What? Already so turned on by me hunting you down and a little grinding?” You tease and a heat rises to his face, retorting, “Shut up.”

You bury your face closer in, snuffling as you lave a rough warm stripe against the underside of his length, the taste of his precum on your tongue. His legs clamp down slightly on your head when you do so and it’s apparent that he’s enjoying your attention on him. Almost as if he wants you to devour him whole.

Changing tactics, you shift your focus to enveloping the underside with your tongue before taking him into your mouth, careful to watch your teeth. The heat engulfing him has Wriothesley groaning loudly, his hips bucking into the warmth as his restraint starts to slip.

“Mffph… so good-!” He throws an arm over his eyes, more clipped moans escaping him while you swirl your tongue, working him to his peak.

But just when he’s about to tip over the edge, you let him out of your mouth, panting as he watches a thick strand of saliva stretch from your tongue to the tip of his dick.

“Hah… Why did you stop?” Sitting up on his elbows and supporting a frustrated scowl on his face, he looks laughably similar to a kicked puppy.

“Patience, dear Wrio, you’ll get your recompensation in due time.”

Moving one hand to his cock, you pump up and down languidly, aided by the copious amounts of precum and spit. His head spins when he feels you tonguing and lapping at his balls, your hot breath hitting the sensitive skin there.

You dip further down to lick at his rim, peering up to observe his reaction. And it’s amusing. His hands fly to grab at your shoulders, eyes shot open as his chest heaves.

“You liked that?” When he nods, that’s all you need to continue.

Manoeuvring him and hiking his hips up, he yelps at the shift but it quickly tapers into a moan as you press your tongue flat against his rim. You don’t stop stroking his cock as you slowly breach his hole, gingerly prying him open. Wriothesley sucks in a sharp breath at this and grinds down on your thick tongue, forcing it deeper, the pleasure in him building and spiking.

It’s not long before he’s spurting onto his tummy with a drawn out moan, walls clenching down on you and his hips stuttering up with his orgasm. Detaching for a second, you lick a long way up from the base of his dick to his dripping tip and his heaving abdomen, collecting his cum on your tongue.

“Open your mouth, Wrio.” And when he complies, you let your tongue hang out of your maw, a mixture of his cum and his saliva sloppily dripping from you and into his mouth. The ravenous look he gets when he swallows sends a shiver down his spine.

“So good for me, Wrio. Let’s move on shall we?” You give him a sly lick on his cheek. “Can you loosen yourself up a bit more? Wouldn’t want to rip you apart when you take me.”

After coating his fingers in your slick spit, you watch as he preps himself for you. Gazing around, you spy your bag discarded to the side on the ground. 

“Aww Wrio, were you trying to bring me my bag I left?”

“Mmph yeah-! I was worried- ah! -about you,” he grunts out his answer.

You respond with a low pleased rumble, stalking over to your bag and rifling through it to find what you’re looking for. From it, you retrieve a set of a collar with a leash and an accompanying muzzle. To Wriothesley’s surprise, it’s in his colours, complimenting shades of reds and greys.

“I bought it impulsively earlier today, thought of you while doing so. I think I’m in some sort of a rut,” you explain lowly, your eyes level with his and he feels as if he could be consumed with your gaze alone. 

Licking the shell of his ear, he can feel your breath fan across his nape as you continue, “Because of you, Wrio, no doubt.”

“Put it on me then,” there’s no hesitation in his voice when he says this and a satisfaction fills him when he sees your tail start wagging.

Carefully, you latch the collar around his neck, making sure it’s comfortable for him before moving on to fixing the muzzle on him. Finally, you attach the leash, the clip sound completing the set. 

As you take in how utterly delectable your Wrio looks for you right now, a filthy sense of pride rises up within you. You, a beast, managing to twist and warp and transform your human’s visage into one akin to yours, to have him leashed and muzzled as if he were the one with piercing canine fangs and a monstrous secret. And that he doesn’t cower or tremble with fear when pinned beneath you. It’s all too deliciously sinful.

The end of the leash is held in your claws as you eye him down. You manhandle him onto his fours and you line the tip of your cock at his hole. 

“I’ll take it slow, tell me if it hurts,” your head presses against his rim as it gradually pries him open, the wind is punched from his chest at your thick girth. Slowly sinking into him, Wriothesley’s vision spins as you split him open on your cock, the stretch an intoxicating one that has him wanting more. 

When your tip nudges against his prostate, he’s left seeing stars, a debauched moan slipping from his lips.

“Ughk!? Is it- hah! -is it all in?” You shush him, ghosting your claws on the skin above his arched spines.

“Just a bit more, you can take it, can’t you, Wrio?” An uncharacteristic whine rips from him when you finally bottom out in him, flush against the back of his thighs as you reach unfathomably deep in him.

You give him time to adjust to your size before you start moving, setting a relaxed pace to begin with. He squeezes down on your cock as you roll your hips, unrestrained noises escaping him as all sense is fucked from his mind. 

Picking up the intensity, you pull out halfway before slamming back into him, positioning your tip directly at where his prostate is while tugging on the leash.

“Hngk-! So big- AH! Fuck!” Wriothesley’s eyes roll back into his head, mouth hanging open.

Your repeated motions have him going crazy, his arms wobbling at the brutal onslaught of pleasure before giving out, the only things keeping him up are the knees folded under him and your hand clamping around the side of his hip.

Seconds blur into minutes and he doesn’t even know when you’ve started pounding relentlessly into him. Your thick shaft drags against his walls and he can feel every vein and twitch of your cock. 

Sensing you pulling on the leash, he turns and looks up at you, letting you see the drool dripping from his parted lips in the muzzle, his eyes unfocused and glazed over with nothing but raw lust. You give him a lick on his cheek, a kiss, before you fold your body over his, completely pressed against his back, pinning him beneath your massive frame.

“I’m close Wrio,” cooing into his ear again, your gravelly voice brings him back, “Want me to knot you?”

He babbles pitifully, “Uh- uh huh! AH! Yeah-! I- I want you!”

“You’re really asking for it now,” growling at his mindless pleading, you drive your cock in, a guttural howl leaving you as you climax, finally knotting your Wrio. The knot at your base stretches Wriothesley out even more and he can feel your cum filling him up inside. The searing pleasure causes him to pull taut, his back arching as he orgasms again, moaning as he tightens up around you, milking you for all you’re worth. 

The forest clearing is filled with the sounds of the both of you panting as you recover, checking in with Wriothesley to assure that he’s alright. While you wait for your knot to go down, you take the time to free him from the muzzle. The second you do, he leans in and presses a kiss to the tip of your snout, a lazy grin hanging from his face.

“Hah… I think you’ve made it up to me,” a glint in his eyes, “Another round next week?”

[> You add a muzzle, collar, and leash set to your collection.]

Thank you kindly for reading. Consider supporting on kofi if you enjoyed this or visit the other doors.

[defectiveporcelaindoll]

Chapter II : Guilty as Sin

“If long-suffering propriety is what the want from me—

They don’t know how you’ve haunted me so stunningly.”

series masterlist Chapter I

pairing: post prison/ cm:evolution Spencer Reid x BAU AFAB!Reader (I like to think this is where Spencer is during the current seasons.)

summary: an unsub with a taste for couples and power imbalances leads Doctor Spencer Reid not only back into the classroom but down the hypothetical aisle with the BAU's newest Probie for an undercover assignment that may change his life.

genre: slow-burn romance, hurt/comfort, fluffy angsty

cw: age gap (Spencer is in his 40s, reader is 24), a couple y/n's (I'm sorry, I know I'm sick of it too.), fake marriage, hurt/comfort, harsh words and gossip about reader and Spence; info-dumping Spencer; pet names (angel) possibly eventual smut in later parts, female reader she/her pronouns, bad writing! lemme know if I missed anything and as always, lemme know what you think!

note: still third person pov, but this one is more from the readers perspective. Thinking maybe I’ll go back and forth between chapters if you see a quote in purple it’s readers perspective, if the quote is green it’ll be Spencer’s 🩵

wordcount: 2.1k

Of course, Penelope did not disappoint, popping a tiny confetti popper at the newlyweds as they made their way out of the conference room and into the bullpen, which felt like an awkward makeshift reception. The rest of the team offered playful congratulations, with Alvez going so far as to wolf-whistle and point out the way the couple's linked hands which in turn earned him a swift knock on the back of the head courtesy of Tara. It felt safe and joyous. Y/N tried to smile, hesitantly dropping Spencer’s hand as she collected her things, the anxiety of being away from these people, from her home and normal life, just starting to settle into her chest.

The flight to Seattle was long. Though Y/N had traveled by jet multiple times, it had never felt so massive as she and Spencer sat at the small table combing through the case file in comfortable silence. So far, three couples had been found dead in their quiet Seattle homes. Of the couples, two of the men had been professors at different colleges in the area while the third was the head of a non-profit organization. The women, were all nearly twenty years young and had worked for their husbands in some way before being married. At each crime scene, the unsub left a calling card of sorts. A feather in the hands of the woman and a beautifully written poetic line alluding to the dangers of an “unruly” woman in the hand of the man.

“These cards are beautiful,” Y/N mused, turning the evidence bag with the delicate stationery over in her hands. “Each line is poetic in nature but not quite right. See, ‘Wise men once said Wild winds are death to the candle’? And these feathers?”

“I don’t think any of these are actual published poems, more like plays at various poets' works. But the feather, by the look of it, it looks like it’s possibly from an albatross. They’re seabirds with wingspans that can reach up to nearly ten feet. There are several poems regarding that particular bird. The first one that comes to mind is Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s ‘The Rime of Ancient Mariner,’ in which an albatross is wrongfully shot down because a mariner thought it to be a bad omen. In older mythologies, the albatross was seen as good luck, bringing wind to sailors. In the poem, the mariner is forced to wear the lifeless albatross around his neck in place of the traditional cross.” There’s an excitement in Spencer that y/n hasn’t seen before, the way his eyes light up and his hand flail almost wildly. It’s endearing— cute she would almost say.

“It’s not a super common metaphor, but the albatross is also often used in association with guilt or shame,” Spencer continued, sitting back in his chair, eyes looking anywhere but at the woman in front of him. “Some authors use it to symbolize a curse…sorry.” He cleared his throat, shaking his head, his curls hanging gently around his face as he dropped his gaze back down to the file on the table.

“No-no, don’t apologize. That was all incredibly fascinating. I knew you are wildly academic, but why exactly do you know all of that about some random bird I’ve never even heard of?” Y/N's tone wasn’t teasing or harsh; it was full of genuine sincerity and curiosity, which took Spencer completely by surprise.

“My mentor… when I started at the BAU, he had a thing with birds,” Spencer chuckled, offering a small shrug as his gaze came back to meet hers. “I guess I just really wanted to impress him.” The jet fell back into a comfortable silence, except for the rustling papers, for another hour until Y/N decided she’d had enough and retreated to the small couch to rest her eyes for a bit.

The drive from the airport to the university was quick. The house they’d been assigned was cute, small, quaint, but certainly big enough for a professor and their spouse to be comfortable. There was an office for Spencer, a decently sized kitchen, and a living room that opened up to a sweet little patio. Truly, there should’ve been no complaints. As Y/N entered the bedroom, she frowned, her go-bag in hand as she shuffled around the nicely sized room, sizing up the singular king-sized bed. A knock at the bedroom door pulled her from her thoughts.

Spencer cleared his throat, his eyes falling between the bed and the woman in front of him before nodding. “Don’t worry, you can take the master if you’d like. The office has a pullout, and I really don’t mind.”

“That’s ridiculous. You can sleep here—we can...” her voice going up an octave as she tried and failed to play it cool. “It’s not a big deal, Spencer. We’re both adults.” She shrugged, tossing her bag onto the bed and turning to sit at its foot, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. Spencer read her like a book, seeing the young woman in front of him in the midst of a battle with herself, her pride and anxiety both fighting for control, though he knew she’d likely never admit that.

“Really, I’m okay. Thank you, though. I’ll be in my office if you need me.” He gave her a tight-lipped smile and a little wave before retreating down the hall.

For the next week or so, the duo did their best to make the space feel like a home. What it lacked in size, it surely made up for it in atmosphere. For a state that had a nasty rap for rain and gloom, it was surprisingly peaceful. There hadn’t been any rain yet, and the summer sun stayed up well into the night. There were moments where Y/N caught herself thinking that had it not been for work, this would be a really nice life.

When the semester started, they fell into a comfortable routine. During the day, Y/N carried the full course load of a grad student, while Spencer spent most of his time tucked away in his on-campus office, prepping lectures and reviewing assignments. At night, the real work would begin as they’d sit at their quaint little dining table with a pot of coffee or take-out containers and go over any developments in the case that the team had found back in DC. In the two weeks they’d been in Seattle, the body count thankfully hadn’t gone up.

As the weeks went on, the rumblings of the new “hot” behavioral psychology professor spread like wildfire. Those rumors were quickly followed by the fact that he was not only married, but his wife was a student. It didn't take long for people to begin connecting the dots. With every professor calling out her name and immediately sizing her up, the other students caught on fast. Of course, after that, y/n became hyper aware the way almost everyone looked at her and the whispers from professors and students alike that she was “the girl,” the reason Doctor Reid had to move out west. She’d expected it from the students; it was incredible gossip that she herself would’ve eaten up back in her first round of university. What she hadn’t expected were the comments made by her partner's new colleagues, whispers usually a little too loud as she’d make her way into a room.

“She really should be ashamed of herself. You know, I heard he only married her to minimize the scandal. I bet he’s miserable.”

On a normal day, the comment would’ve rolled right off her back, she’d file it away with the rest of the case's details. Maybe she was overtired just exhausted from the workload of simultaneously playing a grad student and an FBI agent, but today, she let the words seep beneath her skin, poisoning her mind. She hadn’t stayed for the class, instead turning on her heels, tears threatening to roll down her cheeks as she made her way back to the house. She felt absolutely ridiculous, letting her emotions consume her this way. The words weren’t true, nothing about her current life or situation was true, so why did it hurt so much hearing that people thought Spencer was miserable beside her?

Am I allowed to cry?

When she entered the house, she crumbled against the door, the tears freely flowing as she allowed herself to fall apart in the privacy of the home that was supposed to be empty.

“Y/N?” Spencer called, his footsteps echoing against the hardwood floors as he made his way down the hall. “What’re you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” He froze at the end of the hall, taking in the crumpled form of his pseudo-wife. “W-what happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” The words came rushing out as he sunk to his knees in front of her, his hands hesitantly reaching out to cup her cheeks, his thumb trying to brush the tears away as quickly as they fell.

“I-I’m fine... You-you weren’t supposed to see this,” she sniffed, trying to pull away, to hide her face in her sweater, but Spencer wouldn’t let that happen. His hand staying planted firmly on her cheek, keeping her in place. “You’re supposed to be in your office...” she said, practically whimpering as another round of tears betrayed her.

“I came home to grab a book and a bite to eat... angel, what’s going on?”

“It’s silly—no, it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t even care, and none of this is real, and I—I...” She caught herself, her breaths coming short and quick, but Spencer didn’t move. He sat, patiently waiting for her to continue. “I know that it’s a story, that I am not really your wife, that you were never really my professor, and that six months ago you didn’t even know who I was.” Finally, she took a deep breath, her hand slowly taking his from her cheek and holding it in both of hers in her lap. “But it’s so awful, Spence... I’m just so tired of hearing how I’ve ruined your life, that I’m using you, that...” The last words caught in her throat as another silent sob racked through her body. “...that you’re miserable.”

“Hey, hey, hey. Do I look miserable? No, I don’t think I do and if I do, I sincerely apologize, I think it just may be my resting face.” his voice dripped the kind of sincerity that made Y/N’s heart flutter, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lip. “You’ve got a good face Spencer, not too miserable…”

Spencer chuckled, taking the compliment with a little nod, as he offered her hand a small squeeze. “I’m sorry, you’re going through this seemingly alone, and if it would make you feel any better I can have a conversation with the other professors… and though I’ve never been in your exact position, I do remember what it was like to constantly be torn down by everyone around you. You’re allowed to cry, angel, allowed to feel all of the things you’re currently feeling. And while I might only be your temporary husband, I did sign that paper, and I do promise to take care of you and make you smile and protect you from every awful thing I can’t control outside that door. Okay?”

She nodded, her gaze falling to their joined hands in her lap as the last of her tears stained her now rosy cheeks.

“I’m going to need a verbal response, angel.” His tone shifted; it wasn’t quite as delicate or gentle as his previous vows had been, but it was just stern enough to draw her gaze back up to his.

Without ever touching his skin, how can I be guilty as sin?

“Y-yes. Okay.” With another nod, she took her hand from his, dragging it down her dampened cheeks. “I’m sorry about all this.” She offered him a small smile and a shrug. “I swear I’m not usually like this—”

“Stop it. There is nothing to be sorry about.” He rose to his feet, his hand immediately reaching out to help his partner up. “Now come on, I’ve got classes to cancel, and we’ve gotta get you cleaned up. I think we deserve to take the rest of the day off.”

“Doctor Spencer Reid, are you—are you proposing we play hooky this afternoon?” Y/N clutched her metaphorical pearls, mock shock consuming her features. Spencer rolled his eyes, a genuine chuckle passing his lips as he shook his head.

“What can I say, we’ve been here—what, going on three weeks? I think we deserve to see the sights. And besides, how else am I gonna show the world just how miserable I am by your side?” He teased, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the side of her head. “Now come on, seriously, up, moving. Let’s go, I’m taking you out.”

“If it’s make-believe, why does it feel like a vow we’ll both uphold somehow?”

Chapter III: So High School

taglist: @olives-and-sunshine @iniyalovesall @suzysface @spencereidbasis @tatilolz @herbookgarden @guiltyyassin

[mixelation]

worked on some async today. takes place immediately after tori attempts to turn minato into soup

Tori watched Minato disappear into the water in great satisfaction. She peered over the embankment. Steam clouded her view, but she could see his blue and green uniform under the rolling boil of the river. The bodies of dead minnows bubble up above him. 

Then he disappeared. 

Tori tensed automatically. She hadn’t caught him dropping any Hiraishin markers anywhere, but ninja were sneaky. 

Minato didn’t spontaneously appear behind her over the course of the next minute, and Tori relaxed ever so slightly. A bigger fish came to the top of the still boiling river, its body flipping over and over. 

So. Boiling someone alive did not kill them nearly as fast as she had expected. She’d seen various propaganda about Terumi Mei cooking people alive with steam, and that varied from “instant death” if you were pro-Mei, to “incredibly long and painful and cruel” if you were anti-Mei. But Tori had given little weight to the propaganda as actual evidence, aside from that she was positive boiling hot water could kill you. 

Hopefully Minato was currently dying of his injuries wherever he had gone. While Tori could not recall any stories about people being boiled alive, but she was something of a connoisseur in bizarre and horrific bodily harm. Sometimes adrenaline was enough to get a ninja through the initial part of receiving a major injury, only to collapse moments later. Tori balled her hands into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. She hoped his pretty eyes were cooked solid. Then he’d never be able to trick a poor girl’s heart with a pretty face ever again. 

On the other hand, given Tori had no real data about boiling people alive, she could be royally fucked if he lived. It occurred to her that he definitely had Hiraishin markers back in the village, and if he had pulled some sort of main character ninjutsu bullshit and was still fighting fit, he could just come back to the river and kill her. 

I guess I’ll just lie out my ass again, Tori decided, trying to convince her brain not to panic. She was very obviously just a civilian woman who couldn’t even get her life together to wash her hair properly. She could act hysterical and say the Kumo-nin had told her the trap did something else, or else that she was just trying to protect her home and beg for mercy. It would be humiliating, but while Minato obviously had no qualms about killing ninja without asking questions first, he did seem to want to play nice with civilians. 

Also, if he did kill her, probably he would just abandon her body like he had the Kumo-nin. He was unlikely to stick around long enough to figure out Tori’s little problem with dying and attempt to kidnap or question her over. 

It’ll fine either way, Tori told herself. She still didn’t go back to the village. Instead, she walked stiffly down the embankment as fast as she could without breaking into a run. She was going to miss the dirty laundry and the cute crab mug she’d left behind, but all her other belongings were in a storage seal, and she didn’t want to risk going back and discovering a pissed off and half-boiled Minato. 

Minato did not show to bother her at all that day, as she marched forth in a random direction. He didn’t show up during the horrible three hours of paranoid sleep she got while camping. 

When a full twenty-fours passed, Tori finally started to calm down. She’d found a fisherman and convinced him to take her further down the river than she could get walking, and while she wasn’t untrackable, she gained confidence that Minato was at the very least too injured to hunt her down immediately. 

She tried to travel deeper into Grass Country as fast as she could, paying for transport more often than she would normally. 

Days passed and no news sprang up about the Yellow Flash mysteriously dying, but also there were no new sightings of him. Tori had no way to draw real conclusions from this. Konoha was unlikely to advertise him dying or being grievously injured, but also he was a key player in the war and his enemies would be sniffing around for information like this. That there was no news could mean she’d succeeded, or it could be she’d failed and so there was nothing worth gossiping about. 

The lack of knowing what had happen turned to a festering sort of anxiety that kept her up at night and made her head dizzy at random moments. And so, Tori switched up her goals. Even if she’d killed Minato properly, that his body was somewhere where she couldn’t hide what she’d done meant Konoha could potentially track her down. She needed to protect herself more than ever. She holed up in a cheap hotel in the middle of nowhere and spent every waking moment making drafts of seal diagrams and fussing. 

How to set up a barrier that could activate faster than a ninja could kill her…? She could paint i directly on her skin, then link its activation to being hit, or to an increase in her heart rate. This would mean she’d inevitably activate it on accident when she walked into a table or got excited about something, but perhaps for now she didn’t care…

Weeks passed. Tori’s anxiety hit a maximum where she didn’t sleep at all one night, and then slowly started to calm. She obtained a raw potato and stuck it in her room’s windowsill to sprout, hoping to use it to add to her chakra phylogeny. She walked into town and stole a library book to try and add to her notes on plant and animal relatedness. She did accidentally activate her seal multiple times, but at least she knew it worked. 

Her funds were running dangerously low, and she’d have to move on soon. She started talking to people again, asking about where war refugees in this area were moving to, and if she could join a caravan. 

She was organizing her things one evening, preparing to move out the next morning. She’d spread all her various fuuinjutsu and research materials across her bed, and stood over it with her hands on her hips, debating the best way to repack and also, how to best transport a sprouted potato?

She looked up at her window potato, now in a paper cup with dirt. It had grown three alien-looking shoots, jagging out at random angles before reaching towards the window. 

Then, as she regarded her potato, a shadow passed over the window. Tori frowned. The window started to move upwards, a hand appearing in the open space, and Tori’s eyes widened. 

She panicked, obviously, which activated her barrier. This was still somehow not faster than the Yellow Flash could break into her hotel room. 

He was toe-to-toe with her in an instant, kunai in hand. Tori yelped in horror as the barrier flicked up around them, a dark pink bubble that was supposed to keep her safe. 

Somehow, Minato looked exactly the same as before, like she hadn’t done her best to turn him into soup. 

The barrier pressed him up against her, his chest and shoulders blocking her view of the rest of the room as he boxed her in, and Tori’s back hit the other side of the barrier. Minato's arm was forced forward as he bent over her, and thank God he was competent enough to roll the kunai in his hand so the broadside pressed against her neck rather than the sharp edge. His chin brushed against the top of her head. 

Tori wished he smelled bad, so she could find this new predicament gross. Instead, he just sort of smelled like dirt and an inoffensive odor of sweat. His body against hers was also warm and firm and bigger than her in a way she regrettably found she liked. 

He also maybe wanted to kill her. She needed to focus on that. The rush of adrenaline and the increase in her heart rate was very confusing in this moment. 

“Oh,” he said, sounding mildly surprised but not at all upset. The hand not holding the knife reached around her, knuckles knocking on the barrier next to her head. “Interesting. Well, I still think this is my win.”

What the hell is he talking about? Tori thought. She was sure he could feel her rapidly beating heart, as sure as she could feel his completely steady heartbeat. 

Well, if he wasn’t already pissed off, she could test the waters a little to see if she could figure out what he wanted. 

“You haven’t won yet,” she said hotly. “What are you going to do? Trap yourself indefinitely in an enclosed space with my corpse?”

He shifted slightly, bringing the kunai away from her throat. He could only pull his head away a couple inches, and he didn’t step back so his body was still pressed against hers, but it was enough distance that she could peer up and see he was smirking at her. His eyes were exactly as pretty as they’d been before. 

Oh no, his smirk is hot, Tori thought helplessly, regretting yet again that boiling was a less efficient murder technique than she’d anticipated. Her insides squirmed with some bizarre contradictory emotion. She was terrified, yes, but also she was a little turned on. 

Then suddenly they were standing on the other side of the room, near the door. He must have chucked a kunai across the room in the tiny fraction of a moment before the barrier had gone up. The barrier was still in place around them. 

Minato’s smirk slipped slightly. Somehow, Tori found his apparent confusion even hotter. 

“Oh, did you try to teleport us both out?” she asked, and smooth and coy as she could make her voice given her insides were flipping out in either panic or arousal. “You’re not getting me out of this that easily.”

Minato was outside of the barrier a second later, and the kunai clattered to her feet, undoubtedly scratching up her shoes. He’d left Tori where she stood, with the marked kunai still in the barrier in case he wanted to go back in. 

He hadn’t gone far— just back to where he’d stabbed a kunai into the wall over her bed. Somehow, on top of planting multiple kunai and outrunning her barrier, he’d also left her window potato completely untouched. Damn him for being so thorough. 

“How’d you do it?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious. His eyes were bright and inviting in a way that made Tori want to answer. Even though he’d literally held a knife to her throat only a moment earlier, he just seemed like he’d be really easy to talk to. 

Touché, she thought. 

“Do what? This barrier?” she said. “Believe it or not, you’re not the only ninja who wants to kill me. A girl learns to protect herself.”

Minato flopped down to sit on her bed and cocked his head. 

“I don’t want to kill you,” he said plainly. 

“Uh-huh,” Tori replied. 

“So how long does your barrier last?” Minato asked, leaning back on his hands. “I have all night. Do you?”

Tori twitched in annoyance. The barrier was tied to her, so it would be up as long as she was alive and producing chakra, or until she chose to deactivate it. But she didn’t want him to know he could just teleport back in and kill her. It was better if he thought the barrier had a time limit, like most barriers would. 

The barrier was also draining her chakra, so it could “kill” her in a day or so without food to replenish herself. She supposed that was the time limit. 

That, or Minato could attempt to deactivate the barrier himself, which meant he’d have to teleport back inside the barrier and then remove her shirt and…

Tori’s face went hot as she imagined what his hands would feel like on her bare skin. This idea should frighten her, and yet she kind of wanted it to happen. What was wrong with her?!

Fortunately, Minato did not react to her blush and simply continued to just stare at her in mild interest. Tori turned her gaze to the kunai at her feet, desperate to distract herself. She had just enough room in her barrier to awkwardly squat down to pick it up. 

“How does this even work?” she asked, picking at the tag with the Hiraishin marker. It wasn’t hard, once she peeled up the edges, to pull the whole thing off the kunai’s handle. “This isn’t real fuinjutsu, is it?”

The tag was… well, technically it was seal script. But also it was just some characters. One of them was “love.” Why. 

Minato’s cheeks had actually turned pink. 

“It’s… it is a seal,” he spluttered. 

“What happens if I destroy it?” Tori wondered, tugging at the paper like she meant to rip it. 

Next moment, Minato was back in the barrier with her again, hands around her wrists as he pushed her back up against the barrier. 

“I stop you before you can,” he said, and somehow this made Tori’s stomach completely flip over. 

“So I can destroy it,” Tori said smartly. She wondered what he would do, if she continued to be sassy with him. 

Minato sighed dramatically. She felt the puff of his breath on the top of her head. She waited excitedly for his reply. 

He took a tiny half-step back, as far as he could get in the cramped space. He let go of her right wrist, but his other hand slipped up her arm to cover her left hand. He held it up in the small space between them, her wrist facing upwards. A brand new Hiraishin marker, written in black across the delicate skin of her wrist, glared up at her. 

Tori’s eyes widened. “When did you…?”

Minato’s stupid sexy smirk was back. “I don’t need ink to place one.”

Fuck, Tori thought. If she’d known this about the Hiraishin once upon a time, she’d definitely forgotten it. Truly this was an OP technique. 

Minato teleported back out of the barrier, this time appearing facing the bed. He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the notebooks and scrolls Tori had left out, his head leaning back to regard her window potato. 

He can also control how close he gets to the marker and his position around it, Tori thought. What the fuck, honestly. She was glad she wasn’t a ninja. She’d absolutely hate having to figure out how to fight that. 

As it were, she was a civilian. If she fought anyone outright, she’d just die. Finding out the Hiraishin was even more OP than she’d thought just meant she could figure out new ways to trick him into teleporting directly into his own demise. 

“Who taught you fuinjutsu?” Minato asked, picking up one of the scrolls and examining it. 

Tori did not answer, instead glaring at him as he went through her things and she was helpless to stop him. How rude! She liked her things! 

“I’m honestly not going to hurt you,” Minato said after a couple minutes of silence, picking up a different scroll. 

Tori eyed him, rubbing at her wrist. The Hiraishin marker didn’t smudge the way ink might. Clearly Minato was still underestimating her, if he thought she wouldn’t be willing to also destroy a marker physically on her. 

“Not the vengeful type, then?” Tori drawled. 

Minato actually laughed. He tilted his head back slightly, grinning good naturedly at her. 

“They managed to regrow all my skin, so no harm, no foul.”

They did… they did what?

The face Tori made at this statement must have been funny, because Minato laughed again. It wasn’t mocking or cruel; he sounded genuinely amused. He really did seem like he was telling the truth, that he was just here to ask questions. 

Except, Tori knew better than anyone how good a manipulation tactic playing kind and demure was. Minato was a killer and a tool of Konoha above anything else. She couldn’t forget that. 

“This is a Konoha scroll,” Minato said conversationally, holding up the scroll in question. “Where’d you get it?”

Tori narrowed her eyes at him. I’ll make him break, she decided. 

“One of your buddies decided it would be a good idea to get drunk and harass women,” Tori said, which was the truth. “So I decided he’d be better off with a pair of collapsed lungs and none of his stuff.”

Minato’s easy smile shrank slightly, and his body language turned stiff. 

There, Tori thought. Now show me your true colors. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Minato said, voice tight. 

“I’m not,” Tori replied. “What did Konoha tell you to do about me?”

Minato cocked his head to the side. He studied her for a bit, even as he tucked the Konoha scroll into the pouch at his waist. 

Eventually, he said, “They don’t think you could possibly be real.”

Tori actually laughed. It ripped out of her against her conscious efforts, a single, resounding Ha!

Minato’s lips quirked upwards, his body language loosening. 

“I already knew you’ve killed Konoha-nin,” Minato said. He picked up her notebook and flipped through it idly as he spoke, not really reading it. “And Iwa-nin, and Kusa-nin. I’ve been following you for a while.”

“Really?” Tori asked, and then wanted to slap herself at how obvious it was she wanted the attention. Minato picked up on her tone shift immediately, resummoning his stupid sexy smirk and then stepped towards her. 

“There were rumors of a fuinjutsu master, so naturally I investigated,” he said. Then he snorted with laughter. “Konoha doesn’t believe any of the rumors could be true. So I have no orders from them about you.”

“So…?” Tori prompted. She wasn’t sure if this was good news for her or not. Although, hearing Minato had been looking for her out of personal interest made her insides go all funny again. 

“So,” Minato said, eyeing her up and down. “I’m not lying when I say I don’t really want to hurt you. I’m here to make friends. I just really, really want to know more about the mysterious girl who nearly killed me.”

Then he smiled that smile again, the one that had made Tori feel safe and cared for, the one that she knew was fake. Her face went hot again, but not from whatever confusing hormonal responses she was having. Truly, if she could kill people with her mind, Minato would be dead right then and there. 

“For example,” Minato continued. He held up a page of her notebook, which contained a draft of the chakra phylogeny she was trying to make. “What is this?”

“You know,” Tori said tersely, “if you actually wanted to play nice, you wouldn’t be going through all my personal belongings like a creep. You wouldn’t have snuck in here waving knives around.”

Minato’s eyes widened slightly. His cheeks went ever so slightly pink. 

“I don’t think I want to tell you anything,” Tori said, crossing her arms. 

“I came in waving kunai around because last time we talked, you nearly killed me for no reason,” Minato replied, annoyance seeping into his voice, although he didn’t raise his volume. He jabbed a finger against the outside of the barrier. “What if this had been an offensive jutsu instead of a defensive one? I want to play nice, but don’t think you can play harmless civilian with me.”

Tori scowled. Okay. So. He had a point. And she did… she did want his attention. She liked him smiling at her as much as she hated it. 

“It’s a phylogeny,” Tori said finally, pointing at the notebook. “It’s a family tree that shows evolutionary relationships between species. I’m trying to see if more closely related things have more similar chakra than distantly related things.”

Minato stared back at her, mildly dumbfounded. Her explaining this probably just created more questions than it answered for him. 

Good, Tori thought. She wanted to be mysterious and unsolvable. 

She pointed at her window potato. 

“So my hypothesis is that that guy will have more similar chakra to the trees outside than yours or my chakra.”

Minato eyed the potato for a moment, and then stared down at the phylogeny, then looked back up at her. 

“So you’ve been carving seals into trees,” he said slowly, “to use… tree chakra…?”

“Well,” Tori said. It was unclear to her if this was a secret she should be keeping or not, but if  she wanted to establish a friendly rapport and not be killed by an upset famous ninja, probably she should tell him something. This she couldn’t exactly hide, and it was less risky territory than time travel or Orochimaru or Ame. Also… something inside her was pleased, that he’d noticed she’d been doing that. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Huh,” Minato said. 

“So will you be reporting my creative endeavors to Konoha?” Tori asked cautiously. 

“I think they’d be even less likely to believe me,” Minato said, grinning cheekily at her. “As that sounds like crazy bullshit.”

Tori felt her face collapse into a pout, and Minato’s grin broadened. 

“How about…” he said, lazily tossing the notebook back onto the bed. “Next time I bring you another plant, and you show me how you're using plant chakra?”

Tori bit her bottom lip. What was this angle? So he was threatening to come back to her, to make her show him her fuinjutsu experiments? Was he just curious, or was he mining her for information to report back to Konoha? What would happen if she said no? What would happen if she agreed?

“So you’ll bring me flowers?” she said instead of a real answer. 

He winked at her. “It’s a date, then.”

And just like that, he was gone. 

Tori sank to her knees. Her hands were shaking, and she wasn’t sure if they’d been doing that the whole time or not. The adrenaline seeped out of her, and Tori felt exhausted. 

Minato definitely could have killed her. That he didn’t must mean something, but she wasn’t ready to believe he wanted to be friends. That didn’t make sense. That wasn’t the crapsack world she lived in, or how the people of the Third Shinobi War behaved. 

She stared down at her wrist, at the Hiraishin marker now permanently affixed to her. He had acted all nice, almost flirty, but also he’d made it so she couldn’t back out if she wanted to. He wasn’t a good person, and he wasn’t as friendly as he claimed. 

He had won this round, she supposed. But he was still underestimating her. He had left her like this, assuming she wasn’t crazy enough to hack off her own skin… and assuming she wasn’t smart enough to remove the marker herself. 

Let’s see who wins the next one, Yellow Flash, Tori thought. 

[breakyourrxles]

❥just like magic (m)

↳ San is insatiable, and you are willing.

choi san x fem!reader — established relationship, explicit sexual content. [2.3k wc] cws: penetrative sex (no barrier method), a lil dominant san, dirty talk, creampie, light anal play, light choking (kinda not really), light humiliation, lil bit of rough sex.

Being with San was easy.

A man that seemed effortlessly just the right amount of any and everything — from the way strands of long, black hair would cross into his vision as he turned to glance at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes — to the way he would place his hands on you, not too delicately but not too rough (even when requested), always just right. The perfect amount of all things.

“Kiss me.”

Never a demand in spite of it sounding as much, fingers gently dipping under your skirt as you crawl into his lap with arms wrapping around his neck as if that be precisely where they’re meant to go, you barely notice him shifting your panties off to the side to allow him access to you as you settle into him more comfortably and with mouths pressed together.

Light nips against your lower lip and only the mere ghosting of his tongue against yours — his attention quite evidently on the goings on between both of your legs as you feel the delicate press of  fingertips between your folds and seating themselves slowly inside of you with tender ease.

A heavy sigh into his mouth with both of yours ajar at the feeling — for you, the fullness of having him inside of you, and for him, the enamoring, comforting squeeze of your velvet walls encompassing his digits. Lips twisting upwards and into a bit of a devilish grin, San hums as he pulls back only enough to meet your own eyes with his — slightly hooded already with lust, with want, as his other hand snakes around to your behind to pull you even further against him — if there were any distance between the two of you before, the man was seemingly on a mission to close it.

“I’ve missed you, been so long,” he sighs into your lips before dragging them down your jaw and eventually the column of your neck. “Shouldn’t make me wait so long, don’t know what I’ll do.”

“What are you going to do?” You playfully question, the feeling of his fingers digging as deeply as they can into you as he preps you for a part of him that will offer you far more than his fingers could ever hope to offer.

In ways, you’re egging him on. An already insatiable man by his own admission, and as doting and moderate as he tend to be in all other engagements, you found it to be in the bedroom that he truly allow himself the room to take.

You’re a little interested in seeing how far that extends. Perhaps not tonight, and not in totality.

But an inherent curiosity about the ‘what if’ proposed to you after so many late night chats and sexting sessions.

“Trying to get me riled up?” He asks against the warm skin of your neck as he stretches you open to accommodate him sooner rather than later. “Want me to flip you over and fuck you into this couch cushion without a care? Hm?”

Come to think of it, sort of.

“I want you to do what you want to do,” you groan out, San’s teeth dragging against your neck as his fingers do the same to your insides. “Maybe I do.”

You always did get a kick out of playing a little bit coy.

But quicker than anticipated, San has you pushed up and off of his lap — only enough to pull his hand from you and brush you off to the side of him — chest down and lengthwise across the couch of his living room before he’s crawling back up and now settling atop you; straddling the back of your thighs just behind your ass as the sound of him fumbling with his belt jingles through the apartment and over the sound of a long since ignored sitcom on the television mounted upon the wall.

Shifting forward, San places a hand to the back of your neck, gently pressing you down and against the couch — a previously unexplored expression of dominance, in a way — it’s not rough, and it certainly doesn’t hurt or cause any interference to your breathing, but rather, a mental and visual display of power.

A man who has obviously dabbled in this before, and knows all of the right moves.

“Ah, I see, you could have just said so,” he whispers as he finally pulls the leather through the loops of his jeans and discards it on the ground next to where the both of you now lie. “Do you like this?” A gentle squeeze of his fingers to the sides of your neck from behind — questioning any and all transitions of this specific sexual encounter before carrying forward.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Given the positioning, you don’t have much of a visual on the man behind you, but from the movement you can gather enough of what goes on: shifting off of you just enough to drop his pants to the floor before climbing back on top of you, it’s the warm, weight of his cock against the back of your thighs that truly is what begins to ignite the fire of lust within your gut — an anticipation of what he’s going to do, and how magnificent it almost certainly is going to be.

One hand still firmly planted on your neck (and presumably, without any intention of removing it from that place), San’s other hand begins pushing up the fabric of your skirt over your behind to expose the flesh of your ass, along with the ever so slight coverage offered by your panties — though, not for long, as deft fingers once again dip down between tightly shut legs to fish the fabric out and away from your already moistened pussy.

A single fingertip grazing up the slit of your outer labia, you hear him chuckle under his breath. “You’re so wet already.”

“You were just finger fucking me,” you whine out in response. It’s a half-hearted attempt at arguing against the inherent humiliation that the man sets out to impose upon you and your eagerness for him to fill you up. “Don’t be like that.”

“Are you ready for me, then?” He whispers out just as quickly, tone laced with hedonistic desire. “Ready to take me?”

You feel him shift once again, this time up and along the length of your legs to inch closer to your behind. Shortly thereafter, the familiar prod of the tip of his length against you from behind as he begins spreading you open to make room for him.

“Rather, shall I take you?”

It’s involuntary in reaction, the way you arch yourself up in an attempt to press yourself down and onto him — even without a verbal answer, the physical response evident enough in the way that your body begs to have yourself impaled upon him.

And he wouldn’t dare deny you what it is that you seek from him.

Slowly pressing his hips forward, San begins his smooth drive inside of you — no rush or urgency to the motion, and with no intention of forcing or jamming his way in, when met with the slightest bit of resistance, he slows, gently pulling from you and repeating the delicate push against your velvet walls all over again until finding himself fully flush against your behind — and you, filled to the brim with his cock, just to your liking.

“Feel good?” He sighs out from behind, barely withdrawing before just as mildly as before filling you. The sigh expelled from your lips reflexive as you once again attempt to push your hips back and against him to meet his thrusts, however benevolent they may be even now.

“Yeah,” you whisper against the cushion beneath you as your fingers curl into it all the same. “God, you feel so good.”

“I can tell, so needy for it the way you’re pushing into me.”

With that, a harder thrust against you and ever so slightly sending you up the length of the couch. You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips.

“Harder, San—”

Decidedly giving up the ruse and allowing yourself to fully succumb to your need for him, you’re thankful enough when the man opts out of answering back to the request with words and rather does so with actions — settling into a hard, steady pace into you — feeling every inch of the thickness of his shaft drag against your walls as the fingers still comfortably settled into your neck dig just that much more into the flesh there.

With no intention to cause pain, but instead, a rather implied articulation of power and domination over the submissive.

After all, domination and sadism be not one in the same.

The sound of skin meeting skin lewdly bouncing along the walls of the living space, mixing with your steadily growing moans and whimpers at the impact of him against you, San growls into the thrust as his free hand settles down atop the small of your back — keeping you steady for the relentless snap of his hips.

“Take me so well,” he huffs out between hard drives into you. “Gonna take my cum, too, right? Be so good for me and let me fill up this pussy? Do you think you’ve earned it?”

Dirty talking was nothing new for your sexual romps with the man, but this, this was a whole new level.

And it was twisting the arousal in your gut in ways you hadn’t ever imagined before.

“Y-yes, I’ve earned it,” you stutter out in response, in hopes that it’s enough to receive precisely what it is that the man is offering you. “I’ve earned it, please.”

“How about you cream around my cock and I’ll let you have it, huh?”

His voice so low and wicked when he says it that you can feel the way the words go directly to your cunt — clamping down hard around him as he never lets up his relentless drive to bring you over the edge. It certainly doesn’t take much, and you think it might be much faster than usual as your abdomen tightens and nails dig harder against couch cushioning that offers you nothing in return. You know that the man can tell as he fucks into you even harder and faster to get you there as your moans are reduced down to pathetic whines and whimpers at the promise of orgasmic release.

“Yeah baby, cum for me, god you’re so good for me, let me give you what you deserve.”

The praise in and of itself, you find, might be enough to do your head in.

With a sharp, high pitched whine you cum — San fucking you through it all the while and never relenting as you do. Showering you with hefty, filthy praise all the while as you have what you think might be the longest orgasm you ever have had.

And now, it’s his turn.

Impressive enough that he make it through your own high without cumming, but it’s not long after that his thrusts become shorter, more erratic, less evenly and fluidly paced as he hisses out expletives sandwiched between adoration and praise for you and how good you feel.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he begins, voice airy and throat dry as he does. “Stuffed full of my cock, can’t wait to see how you look full of my cum, too. You want that, baby?”

Your response comes out more akin to babbling, than a logical affirmation of such desires. Repeating over and over the same word, ’yes,’ and it’s then that San’s drive into you picks up once again — similarly to when he fucked you through your orgasm, but now in an effort to chase his own.

One long, drawn out, throaty groan as he buries himself as deep inside of you as he can, San cums hard — the throb and pulse of his painting your inner walls with ropes of his release so heightened to your senses as he gently falls forward and closer to meeting your back with his chest — catching himself instead with a palm planted firmly into the plushness just below you as he exhales heavy breaths in the afterglow of his orgasm.

The both of you take a few moments before immediately moving — not that you have all that much of a choice with San’s softening dick still nestled inside of your pussy as his cum begins to seep out at the loss of the same plugging that his thick, hard dick once offered — he chooses not to waste too much time, only granting himself a minute or so before hoisting himself back up into his fully, knelt position behind you and now pulling both of his hands down to your bottom to pry your cheeks apart gently.

Admiring his work.

Bringing a finger down, San dips his middle finger between your legs and wetting the tip with the mixture of both of your cum, he ever so gently slides it up at to the rim of your tightest hole — all the while and ever so slightly beginning to fuck into your messy, cummed in cunt all over again with cock that already begins to show life once again.

Feathering over the puckered hole to spread the wetness, he carefully and shallowly dips in just as the feeling of his cock beginning to press against your walls all over again starts to send your nerve endings into overdrive.

“What do you think?” He whispers with the same sinful tone that you feel you’ve had more than a little bit of responsibility in unlocking tonight. “Care to find out just how much of me you can take?”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ hope you enjoyed! please check out my navigation for more (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

[soulofapatrick]

Birthday Surprises - Pedro Pascal x Reader

Summary: Oscar gives you the task to distract Pedro so they can break into his  apartment and set it up for a surprise birthday party - both you and Pedro get more than you planned for

Words: 2.4K

Warnings: none I think

Notes HAPPY BIRTHDYA TO THE BEAUTIFUL AND HUMBLE MAN THAT IS PEDRO FUCKING PASCAL

--------

Y/N’s POV

My heart pounds in my chest as I knock on Pedro’s door, Oscar having given me his address with one specific detail: get Pedro out of the house by 1pm and keep him out until 6pm. It’s his birthday and we want to surprise him with a small gathering, knowing he’s been stressed recently with The Mandalorian and The Last of Us press tours and the fans wanting to know his every move. 

Before I can have any doubts about this the door swings open and a very sleepy Pedro appears. He looks fucking amazing in just his shorts and a loose lakers tee shirt, fluffy hair standing up in all different directions as if he’s just run his hands through it. He seems to light up when he sees me, the frown slipping from his soft features as he ushered me in. The door shutting with a soft click and he’s herding me to the kitchen where I see a massive stack of pancakes ready to slide off the plate. 

“Happy Birthday Pepsi,” I laugh softly, turning to face him and pull him into a hug. I’m not much of a hugger but Pedro… I will never say no to a Pedro hug. His chest rumbles with laughter as he wraps his strong arms around my shoulders and rocks us on the spot as he presses a smiled kiss to my temple. I don’t know how long we stand there but we only separate when Pedro suddenly lets me go with a cry of ‘save the pancakes’ and I’m just watching him race around the island and steady the pile with one fatality. 

He’s laughing and pointing towards a cupboard for me to get another plate, “Come on sweetheart, we’ll share the birthday pancakes. I made too many for myself anyway!” 

“Alright but I have an afternoon planned for us and you can’t say no.” I shoot back, grabbing another plate and helping Pedro dish out the pancakes before both plates get placed on the island. He buzzed around the kitchen, grabbing all sorts of things like whipped cream; sugar; lemon juice and syrup before joining me, “That’s a lot of sugar.” 

“It’s my birthday.” He grins around a mouthful of pancake and whipped cream, bright and bubbly like a child. I can’t keep the fond smile off my lips, shaking my head fondly at him as he giggles. Fuck me he’s so cute and I wish this was everyday life for me, getting to wake up and have breakfast everyday with him and be able to kiss the bit of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth but this isn’t my life. I’m just here to help a few friends out and before I can stop myself I’m swiping the cream from his lips, going to wipe it on my jeans when those very same lips wrap around my thumb and his tongue darts over the pad of it before he’s pulling back with a ‘pop’ and a cheeky grin, “I’ll go get dressed.” 

*

Despite being spring the breeze was still cold and harsh, rustling hair and tugging at our coats that are tightly wrapped around ourselves. Pedro is telling me how last year he had a quiet birthday with his family who came to visit him and he made them a traditional chilean meal, it was apparently his mother’s favourite meal. My hand found his when he told me that, the sadness in his voice evident despite how hard he’s trying to hide it, gently squeezing his large hand comfortingly and getting that softest smile in return. 

I had definitely had reservations about becoming an actress when I had seen how pompous and self-centred they could be, scared I would end up just like them but I quickly found my group of people who I couldn’t live without. I met Pedro through Oscar Isaac after being an extra in Star Wars, not sure why Oscar decided to become my friend but here we are now years later. I owe a lot to Oscar as he got me my role as Bobbi Morse aka Mockingbird in Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D and it was my breakout role really. I wouldn’t be where I am right now, having worked with major stars I could only have dreamt working for, and currently walking along side the most humble and warmhearted celeb I have ever met. 

Pedro is currently eyeing up a cafe across the street from us, eyes flicking between the cafe and me with his bottom lip jutted out in a pout and his honey eyes all wide and innocent as he flutters his eyelashes at me. A simple look would have gotten me to say yes but what he’s doing in making me weak at the knees so I just fake sigh and pull him towards the cafe, hearing the triumphant sound he lets out. 

The coffee shop is a cozy haven tucked away on a quiet street corner. Pedro moving closer to me in excitement as we step inside, the sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling my senses, instantly calming me. The shop fills with natural light streaming through the large windows, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere and none of that fake brightness lightbulbs give in quaint places like this.

The walls are adorned with local artwork and framed photographs, giving the space a personal touch. The wooden floors creaking underfoot, adding to the charm of the place. The furniture is an eclectic mix of cozy armchairs, wooden tables, and benches that looked like they had been there for decades. Behind the counter, a barista greets us with a smile, ready to take our order. The menu written on a chalkboard, which I take the time to look art despite knowing exactly what Pedro and I will have to drink. We get the same things every time so I go ahead and order.

“Hey! Could we get a caramel macchiato and an iced quad espresso with extra ice and six shots please.” I tell him and he raises an eyebrow at Pedro’s six extra shots but a warm smile replaces it when he sees Pedro staring at the pastries and small cakes with his face and hands practically pressed to the glass. It catches me off guard as it’s the smile you give a couple when you see them do something cute and deeply romantic. I should correct him and tell him he’s wrong but instead I add to my order. “Could you add two caramel doughnuts to that.” and I don’t regret it when Pedro’s face lights up even more. 

Pedro is practically bouncing on the spot as we wait for the coffee and doughnuts, watching the barista prepare them with such love and care while I scan the cafe, It’s quiet and calm with the only other occupants being a group of friends huddled together in a corner, chatting and laughing and a couple sat across the cafe, lost in conversation. The sound of clinking cups and spoons fill the air as I thank the barista and grab our cups while Pedro practically snatches up the doughnuts, having already taken a bite out of one of them before we can sit down. 

“Mmmmm, so fucking good, we - me and you -“ He waves a hand between us, almost knocking his coffee over, “We are coming here very often.” 

“I can get behind that.” I agree as I take my first sip of my macchiato. It’s the best macchiato I’ve tried, the rich and complex flavours making me groan lightly into my cup and I don’t miss the way Pedro’s honey eyes sparkle with amusement. It’s too damn good to care, I’ve made my fair share of coffees as a barista before I became an actor and no way have I ever been able to make one this good. The smooth and velvety texture of the steamed milk adds a layer of creaminess that beautifully balances the espresso's bitterness. It is like a dance between the two flavours, with each one complementing the other perfectly. But the real star of the show is the caramel syrup. It is sweet and slightly nutty in flavour which adds such a warm and decadent sweetness that lingered on my taste buds. 

“You’re making out with that coffee.” Pedro smirks and I’m spluttering. 

“Just because I have actual coffee and not six shots of hyper,” I retort, sticking my tongue out at him, “Whatever this barista has done it’s really fucking good. Like a fucking work of art, a symphony of flavours perfectly crafted and blended to make this-“ 

“You’re cute when you nerd out. You know so much about coffee.” 

“I was a barista before I became an actor.” 

The afternoon continues like that, Pedro and I finding topics to discuss or bicker over but each of us avoiding the topic of our shows and movies. We have an agreement that we talks about normal things, like we aren’t famous or noticeable. Pedro tells me all about his family and I always listen intently as they’re such great people and he seems so close to them it makes me a little jealous as I broke a lot of bonds with my parents when I became an actress. I think out of everyone in his family I would love to meet Lux as she is crafted by the gods themselves and she just seems such a strong and passionate woman with a lot to say and no fear in saying it. She seems dedicated to what she does and seeing pictures and videos of her and Pedro I can see an unbreakable bond that I can’t wait to see in person if Pedro would ever allow me. 

I had told Pedro about my parents and how they had reacted badly to it all. My dad wanted me to become a machine and sit at a desk doing a nine to five job until I get old and die. My dad kicked me out while my mum had shook her head and let me pack my bags, not knowing that I had sent a message to my older brother. My brother had become my pillar of support and Pedro had sat there with pain in his eyes and a hurt look on his face when I had told him everything. He  had promised me that he would always be there for me and I could always find him if needs be which really solidified the growing feeling I have towards him. 

We were on our second round of drinks when my phone buzzes with a message from Oscar. 

‘Mission birthday boy is go.’ 

Then another comes through before I can text back, shielding my phone from Pedro despite the small pout on the older man’s lips as I never hide my phone from him, I could never as I have nothing to hide from the man I am head over heels for but right now Oscar needs me to be secretive. 

‘That means get your asses here now.’

‘Be there in 10.’ 

*

Pedro turns his key in the lock and swings the door open to darkness. He frowns at me, raising an eyebrow in question as we step inside but I stay silent, seeing the smallest amount of movement as I shut the door. As soon as the door clicks shut the room lights up and erupts with cries of “SURPRISE!” 

The birthday boy lets out a shriek of surprise before accepting the hug Oscar pulls him into, the pair laughing and hugging. I think they probably would have stayed like that for longer if Sarah hadn’t wrangled Pedro out of Oscar's arms. All I can do is watch: the apartment filled with weighed down balloons; birthday banners strung up and a small feast of food spread out upon the kitchen island while Oscar joins me leaning against the wall by the door. 

“You did good,” He bumps my shoulder and I laugh softly, taking the beer he’s holding out and leaning my head on his shoulder. There’s not many people here, around 25, and they’re all giving their birthday wishes to Pedro who is practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. I can’t stop the fond smile as he is so happy, eyes sparkling and hands flailing excitedly while Oscar turns his head and presses a kiss to my hair before mumbling, “There’s a surprise for you too.”

“For me?” I frown up at him but I don’t get to pry more when Pedro makes his way back over, a grin so wide I think his face may split into two. He pulls me away from Oscar who takes my beer from me, shrugging with fake innocence when Pedro stops us by the floor to ceiling windows he has in his top floor apartment. His large and soft hands slide up my arms, stopping when they’re cupping my jaw. 

“You organised this for me?” His voice is low and gentle, eyes wide in awe and I go to protest but I realise what Oscar meant so I just nod, scared to see his next move. His ducks his head a little, nose bumping mine a little and I can’t stop the squeal of surprise when his nose is cold and the feel of his warm breath ghosting my face is almost overwhelming. My heart jackhammers in my chest, my eyes slipping shut at the first brush of his pillowy lips in mine. It’s a gentle kiss, full of tenderness and love, nearly knocking me off my feet and how he can make it feel like nothing else matters as I melt into his embrace. It’s just him and me, lost in the passion that comes with a first kiss. 

But the cheering and whooping brings me back to reality, my face heating up and I’m hiding in Pedro’s shirt as he chuckles. Mixture of emotions fill my chest: excitement, nervousness and a rush of adrenaline. His heart is racing just as fast as mine, a small moment of pure intimacy despite the many people observing our interactions. The hug is long and lingering, and as we pull away, I look up into his warm honey eyes and see a mix of emotions there as well. It’s like we both know that something special had just happened between us, and we are both feeling the weight of the moment, knowing we’re in this together and all of our friends couldn’t be happier for us. 

“Happy Birthday Pepsi.” 

“Best birthday present mi cariño.” 

----------

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[banal-isenatha]

"So I Showed My Teeth" (2/3)

Lady Dimitrescu/OC

Mother Miranda and the remaining Lords arrive.

You had expected the four Sires and Mother Miranda to arrive together, or at least with some sort of pattern.

What you didn’t expect was for Lord Heisenberg to strut through the doors so casually like he lived there and make himself at home in the Main Hall, a half-finished cigar dangling from his lips.

Then again, Alcina had told you her siblings were nothing if not capricious, so if anything that assumption was entirely your fault.

Now, after having barely managed to keep the Matriarch from kicking the man out, you observed the other Sire in question as he lounged in the chair next to yours in the Main Hall, his shades pulled down the bridge of his nose as he fiddled with a piece of metal while your father spoke with Alcina. The Lord of House Montescu had arrived sometime later than Heisenberg, your reunion lacking any outward display of affection, not that you expected anything else from him.

Nevertheless, you found comfort in your father’s presence next to Alcina, their scents soothing you in different ways.

“So, where exactly did Alcina find you, birdie?”

You raised an eyebrow at Heisenberg’s sudden, but casual tone, turning to your left and looking at him up and down. You weren’t stupid, you knew very well how dangerous the man was despite his attitude, but that didn’t mean you would let him walk all over you.

“The last Spring ball she hosted, though if you’re looking for ‘birds’, I’d suggest the forest, my Lord.”

Alcina smirked around her quazarille, a thin trail of smoke rising from the end of her cigarette while Heisenberg pulled his shades off and dropped them inside his coat, the cloth looking as unkept as the man himself.

For some reason you had expected him to smell of wet dog too, considering his…hobby.

“She speaks.” the man trailed his eyes up and down your form, a small smirk of ridicule on his lips, “Well, I’ll be damned. I expected a cowering girl.”

“Sorry to disappoint, my Lord.”

He guffawed at your sarcastic tone, waving his hand in front of his face as if he was shooing away a bothersome fly.

“Call me Karl. ‘Lord’ makes me want to puke.”

“Very well, my Lord.”

“Oh, I like her.” Heisenberg snorted, looking at Alcina, “Bet she needs a leash, uh?”

“No. Some of us were simply raised with manners, you buffoon.”

The Matriarch growled under her breath, her fangs peeking out from under her upper lip. She detested Heisenberg with a passion, that much was evident, but the Sire had his uses and besides, he was one of her siblings. Beheading him wasn’t exactly an option unless she wanted to face Mother Miranda’s displeasure, and she had no intention of doing so.

Heisenberg didn’t seem to mind the insult, his laughter turning more obnoxious if that was possible, and looked at you once more, leaning forward in his seat.

“Run while you can, girl. Gods know the woman is a hassle to deal with.”

“Then I suppose it runs in the family.”

Your mocking smirk surprised him, but it wasn’t long before he leaned back with a small huff, his lips still pulled back into a grin.

“Touché.”

The Dining Hall became silent once more, Alcina’s muttered curses drowned into her goblet as she did her best to ignore Heisenberg’s presence while the man entertained himself by crossing his legs and tilting his head back, an upbeat tune leaving his lips.

You subtly placed your hand on Alcina’s thigh, your fingers stroking her from over her dress, and felt the vampire next to you starting to relax, her shoulders slumping minutely from the stiff position they had been in the entire evening. Two of the Sires were still missing, not to mention Mother Miranda herself, but you were confident the whole matter would have been resolved soon enough.

The opening of the double doors pulled your attention towards the two figures appearing there, one dressed in a dark robe that covered their entire body while another, smaller one bounced forward, her white and flowery dress contrasting sharply against her companion’s.

The Benevientos.

Alcina’s golden eyes were trained on the duo as they made their way forward, the smallest of the two almost rushing towards the coffee table and stopping a feet away from the Matriarch when she saw you.

“Did you bring a snack, Alcina?”

Her shrill voice filled the air, making the man sitting next to you grunt in displeasure, while you tilted your head to the side. The creature looked to be a young girl, but the way she moved and her white skin looked almost translucent reminded you of a porcelain doll, which didn’t exactly come as a surprise as the Puppeteer herself soon glided forward until she was standing in front of the remaining armchair closest to  Alcina’s, who, for her part, only raised an eyebrow at them.

“No, Angie.” the Matriarch ignored the way the girl (puppet?) let out a whine of disappointment, turning instead towards her sister, “Donna. Everything alright I hope?”

“Quite so.”

You narrowed your eyes in slight perplexity as the woman’s voice seemed to echo in your mind, a small hum leaving your lips, and straightened up in your seat when you saw the two’s attention turn to you.

“May I present you, Lord Adrian Montescu,” the Matriarch gestured first at your father before moving to you, “and Lady Iulia Montescu. The one I chose as my future consort.”

“My Lady.” you bowed your head in respect, your amber eyes looking between both Benevientos, “It’s an honour to meet you.”

When the Sire remained silent, your father, who had by now stood from his chair, approached the shrouded woman as her…companion ran off.

“It’s always a pleasure, Donna.”

He spoke softly, his usual stern expression much more amicable now as she nodded in greeting.

“A consort? Here?”

Angie’s cackling voice made you look down towards her as she bounced around your chair, her glassy eyes taking you in while her mouth split into an almost deranged grin. Not for the first time, you wondered what kind of powers the Puppeteer had to make such a creature act like a normal human – or as normal as Angie could be anyway – but decided to reserve your curiosity for later and instead addressed the girl like you would have any other person.

“Indeed. Although this is not the first time we’ve met.”

“Iulia…” Donna’s voice echoed again in your mind, making you raise your eyes to her shrouded face, “Imanuela’s eldest child. I remember you.”

“The very same.”

You hazarded a small smile, glad she remembered your meeting all those decades ago. You hadn’t been a vampire for long when that happened, but your mother had insisted you met one of her family’s most ancient allies. Thankfully, after her marriage to your father, the Montescu clan had been on good terms with the Benevientos, though initially their friendship had stood entirely on the fact that your mother had known Donna since their early years.

Still, you felt much better at knowing she remembered you, and looked towards Alcina, who had raised an eyebrow in intrigue at the news of you knowing her sister.

“You never told me you knew Donna and Angie, draga.”

“Not extensively, I’m afraid. In fact, I wasn’t so sure she’d remember me considering how long it has been.”

“Donna remembers everything.”

Angie’s whispered omen in your ear made you turn your head up, watching as the girl had perched herself on the back of your chair and was looking down at you with a smirk. This close, you could see the way her skin seemed to almost glow as the light from the candles danced across it, while the thin cracks running across some parts of it looked like barely concealed veins.

“Then I am glad for it.”

You replied in a calm voice, keeping yourself from wincing as Angie’s shrill laughter almost burst your eardrum, and turned towards Alcina once more, her expression one of pleased entertainment, especially as she saw the pained look in your eyes.

Donna soon took her seat in one of the remaining empty armchairs, Angie scuttling from your own and onto the floor before climbing into the other woman’s lap, her little body ceasing all movement. It was almost eery the way the little girl seemed to look like a lifeless puppet now, sitting on her creator’s knees.

Shaking your head, you looked towards the entrance of the Hall as the sudden and pungent smell of mould reached your nostrils, your back stiffening as you saw the dark and hunched figure of the last Sire – Lord Moreau.

The man limped forward, his cane thudding softly against the floor with every step he took, and you couldn’t help the slight pang of pity that hit you. The last time you had seen him it had been at one of the annual gatherings organised by Mother Miranda, your father having taken you along primarily – and hopefully – to meet some of the available suitors there.

That was a fun night…

You held yourself back from shuddering at the memory, and straightened up in your seat to curtsy the other Lord as he staggered forward, his watery, greenish eyes turning to you and your father with a quizzical look that eased when he saw you both bow to him.

The man didn’t spare many words before he took his seat, nodding at Alcina and his siblings in greeting before leaning back in the chair, a tired breath leaving him.

Not great, but not bad either.

You looked to the side as you saw Alcina’s subtle scrunching up of her nose, a faint look of annoyance marring her face as the scent of the new Sire pervaded the room. Even your father, for all his stoicism, seemed to be struggling not to react too strongly at the potent smell.

“Were you swimming in the gutter again, Sal?”

Heisenberg grunted, lighting a cigar and taking a deep puff before blowing the smoke in the other man’s direction, who merely raised a hand to wave it away.

“The Reservoir needed maintenance.”

“You could have taken a bath. You stink of rotten fish.”

“You got lycan fur all over your coat.”

Karl scoffed, wiping his brown coat down absentmindedly before Alcina spoke up, her voice filled with disdain.

“You’re both so uncouth...”

“Oh, am I hurting your sensitivities-”

The room suddenly grew quiet as you felt an oppressive presence bearing over you, the hair at the back of your neck rising in alert as you all stood from the table, eyes trained on the cloaked woman entering the room. You kept your eyes lowered as the four Sires walked towards the Priestess, leaving you to hang back, but felt some of your nerves settle as Adrian came to stand beside you, his aura calming you down. He didn’t look in your direction, but you felt his presence all the same, a quiet sentinel as the others paid their respect.  

Soon after, the three Sires moved to the side to let Alcina through, the Matriarch’s voice respectful and polite as she stood in front of the Priestess.

“Mother Miranda. You honour us with your presence.”

You glanced up briefly, watching as Alcina leaned down to kiss the woman’s hand as she introduced you before quickly lowering your gaze once more once her icy blue eyes turned towards you, the golden mask she wore almost shining under the lights of the grand chandelier.

“Come forward, child.”

Letting out a small breath, you approached the woman, stopping next to Alcina, and raised your head only when you felt a clawed finger under our chin, the metal cold against your skin, though it paled compared to the Priestess’s eyes.

“Hmm.”

You felt her thumb rub the skin under you lower lip and refrained from reacting outwardly at the way she tilted your head left and right, like she was inspecting a prized mare.

It felt nothing like the way Alcina touched you.

“Your father needn’t be here for me to know your family.” Mother Miranda leaned forward, her eyes narrowed, “That amber speaks for you. A pity you’re just a second born.”

The two of you held gazes for a moment longer before she let go of your chin, her eyes turning to Alcina as she addressed her.

“I suspect you have your reasons, though I can’t say I am not disappointed, Alcina. I expected an heir at the very least to be your new consort.”

You felt your jaw clench subtly at the double jab, doing your best to keep your expression one of humble respectfulness, and looked towards Alcina as she cleared her throat.

“The reasons are my own, Mother. And her station is no indication of her character.”

Her words made the tension in your shoulders ease slightly, the way Alcina was standing up for you reassuring as the Priestess waved her hand, her eyes not losing their cutting edge.

“We shall see.”

Her blue eyes turned back to you, running up and down your form for a few, long seconds before she spoke again, this time addressing your father.

“I trust she won’t disappoint us, Lord Montescu.”

“She won’t, Priestess. My daughter’s lineage is strong, I can assure you of that.”

“A second daughter from a second marriage. Blood – and power – tend to thin down the line.”

You felt more than saw your father’s body stiffen, though he gave no open reaction to the harsh assessment. To go against Mother Miranda was suicide, even more so with all the Sires in the room, and both of you knew that.

Instead, the vampire lord bowed his head again, his tone nothing but polite.

“I’ll leave the final judgment to you, your grace.”

She seemed satisfied at that, her eyes meeting yours one last time before she walked towards the Dining Hall, the rest of you following after her and taking your places at the table, with you sitting between your father and Alcina, Mother Miranda at the head in the seat of honour, and the other Sires opposite to you. At Alcina’s nod, Petra quickly ordered the rest of the maids to start serving dinner, the sound of cutlery against porcelain soon filling the room.

As you reached forward to grab your glass of blood-wine, you felt Alcina’s hand on your thigh, the small gesture helping you steel your nerves as you all raised your glasses to toast to Mother Miranda, your amber eyes holding the woman’s icy blue ones the whole time as you drank.

She’d made her disappointment clear, in front of the four Sires and your own father no less, but the game had just started.

And you had no intention to lose.

.

.

.

“Tell me, Adrian.” Mother Miranda spoke after a while, her golden mask placed on the table, “Were you planning this union?”

Your father glanced at you from the corner of his eye before answering, his tone betraying nothing but reverence.

“I can’t say I hadn’t been planning a union, your grace. Though my daughter’s choice defied our expectations for the best.”

“Is that so?” Mother Miranda smirked, her voice sardonic, “And having your daughter in the hands of your most ferocious rival was also ‘for the best’, I wonder?”

“An opportunity, no matter its form, remains an opportunity.”

Her eyes snapped towards you as you spoke up, Heisenberg’s snort and quiet ‘Ballsy, that one…’ earning a mild glare of disapproval from the Priestess before she hummed.

“For you, child, it is so. Marrying the Sire and Matriarch of this side of the region is a feat a spare probably would never have even dreamt of, let alone consider. So tell me, is it power that drives you in this endeavour, or a deep need to ‘defy expectations’, hm?”

The table quieted down, everyone’s attention solely on you as the question hung in the air. Your father was silent as ever, though the faint thinning of his lips spoke of his wounded pride, while the rest of the Sires watched on in either curiosity or amusement – the last one mainly Lord Heisenberg, whose light eyes were watching you raptly, like he was waiting for you to surprise him.

Your eyes met those of Alcina then, the Countess’s expression one of slight apprehension and stoicism, but underneath that you saw the affection she only reserved for you and you alone, a steadfast presence that made your heart swell.

Taking a small, steadying breath, you looked at Mother Miranda once more, your lips pulled up in a slight smirk.

If the Priestess expected to see you cower, she had chosen the wrong prey.

“I’m flattered you think I could possibly fool Alcina for a power grab, your grace. Or that I’d be able to influence her mind and that of my family to this point.”

You brought the glass you were holding to your lips, sipping on the blood-wine as you held the woman’s gaze before continuing, not missing the way her eyes had narrowed at your casual use of the Matriarch’s name.

“I didn’t ask Alcina to name me her consort, Mother Miranda. Nor for her to accept any terms my father brought to the table. As she herself said before, the reasons are our own…and I can guarantee that the power between us is of another nature entirely.”

You heard Lord Moreau choke on his wine at the words, Angie’s shrill laughter filling the room as her hands slapped his back repeatedly, while Heisenberg’s smirk sharpened as he leaned back in his chair, looking outright entertained. At your side, Adrian was looking at you in clear disapproval, the downturn of his lips hidden by his chalice, but you paid him no mind, your amber eyes meeting golden ones as Alcina’s hand tightened its grip on your thigh under the table.

The Priestess’s expression turned contemplative, her icy eyes flittering between you and the Countess before she let out a soft hum.

“Your tongue is sharp, Lady Iulia, and I don’t doubt your mind is as well. Careful not to cut yourself with both.”

She reached forward then, the golden claws over her fingers closing around one of the ripe grapes in the fruit bowl in front of her and holding it between her thumb and forefinger before she brought it to her mouth, chewing on it slowly.

With a nod, you moved your gaze away and back to your plate, your hand covering Alcina’s still on your thigh as dinner proceeded. You knew she was concerned, likely because of the way you had been so forward with the Priestess, but she also knew you were no fool and had done so with purpose.

And as dinner went on, she’d look between you and your father, her siblings, and Mother Miranda, hoping she would be as understanding…

.

.

.

“It was foolish, what you did.”

You looked at your father as he spoke, his expression hard. While the rest of the dinner had moved on without a hitch, once finished the Priestess had demanded you and your father leave her and the rest of the Sires alone, presumably to discuss the matter of your union between them.

A (most likely) planned display meaning that, despite everything between you and Alcina, you had no place among them. Yet.

“To speak so brazenly.” your father continued, his words clipped, “You’re lucky she didn’t punish you, or outright kill you.”

“You know very well she was waiting for me to either cower or lie, father.”

You pointed out, crossing one leg over the other as you leaned back in one of the armchairs of Alcina’s study, where you and your father were waiting.

“Don’t play the fool, Iulia. There were hundreds of other ways you could have responded and you chose the one that allowed you to gloat.”

Adrian stepped forward, his hand gripping your jaw and holding you still as he looked down at you in disapproval.

“You risked everything because you couldn’t let go of your pride-”

“Pride? Is that really what you think?” grabbing his wrist, you pried his hand away from your face, “If anything I spoke truly. She thinks I’m with Alcina either to warm her bed or to use her, and none of them are true.”

“The truth doesn’t matter if Miranda decides you’re unfit for her daughter and ends you. Are you so blinded by your self-righteousness that you can’t see that?”

You watched as he paced away, your jaw clenching before you stood up and followed him.

“I’m not here because I want to use Alcina, father, or because of some political gain.”

Your father’s lips pulled back at that, one of his fangs showing as he took determined steps towards you until you had to tilt your head back to look at him.

“You are here because I gave you life. You’re here because I allowed you to pursue Alcina. Your duties haven’t changed, Iulia: you are a Montescu first and the Countess’s lover second. That’s what it is, that’s what everyone sees: two noble Houses pursuing their own interests.”

The tension in the room had risen exponentially at his words, your hands clenching into tight fists at your sides as your glared back at your father.

“I won’t sit here and speak lies only because it’s convenient, father. You have allowed me on this path, true, but the choice on how to walk it and why is mine alone. Not yours, and certainly not the Priestess’s.”

“Don’t be arrogant, Iulia. Miranda won’t care for the feelings you harbour for Alcina if she decides to reject you.”

Reaching forward, he placed his hand on your shoulder, his gaze intense as he stared you down.

“Don’t make the mistake that thousands before you have made. Do not underestimate her…or Alcina’s devotion to her. Or do you really think the Matriarch would give up everything for you?”

His words hit deeply, a sliver of doubt sneaking between your ribs and nesting there, making your eyes turn away and towards the window of the study.

Because that was the question, wasn’t it? Would Alcina still choose you despite Miranda’s disapproval or outright antagonism?

Adrian noticed the hesitation in your expression and continued, his words slightly less harsh now.

“Alcina has been alive for centuries, child. Played the game before you even came to be. Her loyalty is to the Priestess alone and no one else.”

You thought back to the past months, the moments shared between you and the Countess. The passion, the affection, the love you felt from her and her family day after day, despite the initial wariness and mistrust.

Of the way she ruled her House, yet never once demanded anything from you.

How she cared for her daughters and let you close to the most precious parts of her life.

Every word, every gesture she’d only ever reserved for you.

“You’re wrong.” you looked up at Adrian once more, your voice soft but no less assertive, “She cares deeply. For her daughters, her House,…for me.”

“Enough to go against Mother Miranda if needed?”

“If it comes to that, I will take my chances with finding out.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed at your words, his nostrils flaring in annoyance. He looked like he didn’t know whether he should have reprimanded or consoled you, his lips thinning the more he thought about it.

With a small exhale, you reached up and grabbed his hand on your shoulder, your amber gaze searching his own as you spoke.

“Please, father. I know you think me foolish and naïve, but I do know and believe her feelings to be genuine. Let me make this choice on my terms, like you did yours all those decades ago...when you chose my mother over politics.”

Adrian’s back stiffened at the comparison, his teeth gritting momentarily.

“That is different, Iulia-”

“Why? Because of Alcina’s station?” you shook your head, “I chose her and she chose me, father. Despite what anyone might think, I never asked to be her consort, she did. And I accepted of my own free will, not because of power or fame…”

Adrian’s eyes glanced down at his hand in yours, his voice still hard as he tried to get through to you.

“Your life is entirely in her hands. Do you even realise what that means?”

“…I do and I don’t care.”

The study was quiet, the two of you standing in the middle of it and staring each other down. You knew, deep down, he cared for you, but that wasn’t going to stop you from standing by Alcina.

Your staring contest was broken by the sound of steps coming towards the door before a faint knock sounded, one of the maids peeking her head inside the room.

“My Lord, my Lady. Mother Miranda requests your presence in the Main Hall.”

[bellewintersroe]

Ron Speirs x ArmyNurse! OC.

Margaret ‘Maggie’ Emerson, an army nurse attached to the 506th parachute infantry regiment, finds herself growing closer to her company’s captain, Ronald Speirs. With war drawing to an end, a side to the mystery that is Captain Speirs is revealed. Both Maggie and Ron have a difficult time resisting their attraction to one another.

Part 2 to this mini series ~ here’s the LINK to part 1. This chapters boring, I warn, but I’m gonna make it more exciting as it goes along.

1 week later, Austria, Zell am See.

“Captain Speirs, sir! What happened, why did nobody call me?!” Maggie was breathless by the time she caught up to Speirs. Her chest was heaving and falling rapidly and from the way she held her hand on her forehead he could tell she was stressed.

His breath hitched at the sight of her there, in the middle of the Austrian town, seemingly alone. She’d caught him after he’d just encountered the drunken replacement who’d shot Grant. “Why’re you out here, alone?”

“What happened to Chuck, is he dead?” Her voice trembled as Ron exhaled, she was evidently panicked, shaken from the news she’d heard. “He’s okay.” His words caused a sense of relief to rush through her. “Oh, thank god.” She’d been working in the other infirmary at the opposite side of town, helping out minor injuries and ailments in the local village. “There was no time to get to you. We found a Kraut surgeon, he says Chuck’s gonna make it.”

“Jesus.” A hand fell onto her chest, feeling as though she could finally breathe again. “And-and the guy who did that?”

“He’s inside.” Ron felt his blood running cold. “Is he- have you-” instinctively, he knew where this was going, have you shot him, Ron? Did you execute him? He could only imagine what she was thinking.

“No.” Ron swallowed. “He’s still alive if that’s what you’re wondering.” A slight guilt ran through Maggie as her gaze averted around the area, a sense of awkwardness following. Her presumptions maybe had come on a little too strong- not that she meant any harm. Ron wasn’t offended, he just didn’t want her to think that way about him. The men, fine, he didn’t care. But not her.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“I know, I heard what he did.” She muttered, jaw tightening. Nora fed back to her that the attacker had been found trying to force himself upon a local Austrian girl. Truly terrifying.

“I’ll walk you home, Maggie.”

“Don’t you have things to… sort out in there?” Her voice cracked. “No. Not anymore.” Maggie stepped closer and they both began walking silently. “Smoke?” He offered. “No thank you. Makes my hair smell and throat dry.” For the first time he felt his lips tug up at her response, shrugging and lighting his own.

“Captain Speirs.” She muttered, turning up to him, lips pouted around the end of the bud as he held the lighter up to the other end.

“Mmmmh.” He casually responded and she swallowed nervously. “I didn’t think you- y’know…” she fidgeted as Ron’s eyes fixated on her, awaiting her response.

“I didn’t think you killed him, I don’t want you to think I think like that.” She nervously spoke. Ron didn’t know whether to play it off as cool or thank her, since when did it really matter what other people thought of him? Ron very quickly learnt that his soft spot was a little more than he anticipated and he found himself attracted to her.

He inhaled his cigarette, making eye contact with her again, lips forming a gentle smile. “I don’t mind people thinking of me like that.”

“I know but- I don’t.” She clarified and Ron felt blissful to hear the words again. “Unless you want me to.” She lightheartedly commented. Ron shrugged casually, semi-smirking to himself. “You don’t need to be scared of me.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

“I used to be.”

“Used to be?” His brow perked. “Yeah.” She shyly nodded. “Why aren’t you anymore?” For a moment everything felt so casual, Ron was continuing the conversation like he was bantering with an old friend, it just felt so normal. Both of them felt it until she glimpsed at him in his uniform again.

“Well-” she began, searching for the correct answer. “We actually spoke to each other and I realised you weren’t that bad.” Ron enjoyed the way she felt like she could joke with him, the two shared a genuine smile as they ventured further down the street to get back to the square where they both stayed.

“Weren’t that bad, huh?” He smirked again, cigarette dangling between his lips. “Mmmh.” She shrugged, grinning to herself.

“That doesn’t sound… promising.” They offered one another yet another smile. “You’re just… not as intimidating as I thought you were.” The two of them stepped onto the cobbles of the square, heading through slowly. Ron mentally prayed that the walk would somehow be longer, Maggie unconsciously slowed her pace, gazing up to the apartment. She could see one of the girls heads bobbing down from the window rather inconspicuously. Nice try Nora, Maggie thought.

“Anyway, I have training tomorrow- you’d probably already know that.” She rolled her eyes at her own comment. “I should go to bed.” Her shoulder shrugged again, twisting on the heel of her foot. “Alright, take care.” He commented, lip perking up into a painfully handsome half smile.

“Thank you for walking me back- again.” She quickly added on, body slowly turning, but her eyes still fixated to him. “That’s alright.”

“Oh, and Chuck’s definitely okay, right?”

“Kraut surgeon says so.” Ron nodded, tapping the ash from his cigarette onto the ground below. “Okay. G’night, sir.”

“Night, Maggie.”

When the door shut again behind her she was grinning to herself, overwhelmed from the drastic turn in emotions. Little did she expect to enter her apartment and see Nora stood there with both Skinny and Alton sat at the table. “And where’ve you been young lady?” Alton teased, Maggie’s eyes rolled playfully as she locked the door behind her.

“Weren’t you just down at CP like 10 minutes ago?”

“We were. We walked the fast way around, you were a little too… distracted to notice.” Alton responded as Skinny snickered. “Oh shut up, you peeping toms.” Maggie swatted at Skinny’s arm as Nora stood sheepishly near the window.

“So you’re the reason he’s softened.” She shrugged as Maggie’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“Well he didn’t shoot that guy in there, he could’ve.” Skinny muttered as she turned her back, heading towards the kitchen counter to grab herself an empty glass. “That would be a war crime.” Maggie insisted.

“You think Speirs cares about war crimes? The whole SS is a war crime.” Skinny responded as she filled the glass up with water, feeling an odd sense of defensiveness fill her. “I think he’d know not to do anything stupid at this stage.” Maggie smartly spoke, turning around and carrying her glass back to her bedroom, but not before flicking Skinny’s ear playfully.

“Ow! Didn’t realise he was your boyfriend.”

“Actually he’s just gentleman enough to walk me back.” I teased, digging in my pocket for the chocolate bar I promise I’d steal for Nora. “Here Nora.” She tossed the girl it over who stood smirking in amusement. “Never thought I’d see Speirs and you together.” Alton commented.

“We’re not.”

“You will be.”

“You’re a child.”

“Alton, leave her alone! Besides, Captain Speirs is a total dreamboat when you forget how scary he is.”

“I suppose some girls are into that, huh?” Alton teased again as I groaned, heading straight for my bed. Knowing how loud-mouthed the two of those boys were, especially after a drink, I expected to hear rumours circulating by the morning.

[cuddlepilefics]

Hoodie weather

(Don't you smell familiar 3)

@flufftober

Masterlist

“How are you feeling, Channie-hyung?“, Jisung asked quietly when Chan emerged from his room a few hours later. The older still looked sickly pale but he had managed to change his clothes, so that was something. Pulling the cuffs of his sleeves over his still freezing hands, Chan breathed: “Head’s still killing me but all in all, it’s getting better. The nap really helped.” He took a look around the living room as he sat on the couch next to Jisung and noted that his dongsaengs had cleaned up all evidence of the magic he had worked that morning. Changbin brought him a glass of water, worriedly taking in his friend’s sickly complexion. He could tell that Chan still felt chilled all the way through and had layered a t-shirt and thick oversized hoodie. “Do you feel like you could eat anything?”, Changbin hummed, taking the elder’s sweater paws and rubbing them for warmth, “A nourishing meal should help you regain your energy faster.” – “’m sorry”, Chan mumbled as he shook his head, “I have zero appetite but I’ll try to have something later, ‘kay?”

Though Changbin wasn’t pleased with this reply, he knew not to push it. He could only imagine how shattered Chan had to feel, giving it his all and once again being rewarded with nothing but a pounding headache. Chan always had been persistent but the younger couldn’t help but feel like this wasn’t worth it. Before Changbin could lecture his hyung though, Hyunjin hopped onto the couch and climbed up his arm. Okay, maybe he would’ve gone to the same lengths for Hyunjin as a life without his familiar had become unimaginable to him by now. Familiars were some sort of soulmates, so it was understandable that Chan yearned for one. “I’ll go fill a hot water bottle to help warm you up. Stay with Ji?”, he smiled. Closing his eyes, Chan nodded and curled up against Jisung’s side, while the younger stroked his hair.

The couch dipped lightly next to Chan and he blinked his eyes open to see Jeongin. The fennec cuddled up to him, his small body warm against Chan’s freezing one. Crouching in front of them, Seungmin whispered: “A storm is coming. I can sense it. Are there any more errands that need to be run today before it hits?” He lightly patted Jeongin’s head, telling him to keep Chan warm. “There’s nothing we need to grab today but could you put cotton balls onto the shopping list for our next trip to the store? We’re almost out”, Jisung requested, hand resting against his middle where his hoodie pocket bulged a little. “But- there were still so many when I last checked”, Seungmin frowned in confusion, causing the older to bite his lip and mumble: “Emphasis on were….”

“What do we need so many cotton balls for anyway?”, Changbin wondered as he handed Chan his hot water bottle. Hugging his new found heat source to his chest, Chan chuckled: “I bet Lixxie’s nesting again, isn’t he?” A muffled chirp confirmed his suspicions and made everyone laugh. “Ji, he’s a chick not a kangaroo”, Seungmin reminded, glancing at his friend’s bulging hoodie pocket, which he now knew was stuffed with cotton balls and a very cozy familiar. Carefully reaching a finger into his pocket to pet Felix, Jisung warned: “Don’t you dare tell me how to raise my baby.” – “And you always complain we’d spoil him too much…”, the younger huffed. “Oh hush”, Jisung sighed, suddenly growing serious, “A storm’s about to hit. You won’t make fun of Lixxie for being afraid, would you now?” – “Of course not”, Chan appeased, putting an end to their bickering, “Ji’s keeping you warm and safe from the scary rain and thunder, hm, Lix?” A quiet chirp confirmed that Felix was in fact perfectly content where he was, snuggled in Jisung’s hoodie.

“Do you want me to turn on the heater?”, Seungmin frowned when he saw Chan shiver, “It’d be so much easier to get you warmed up if it wasn’t so chilly outside. Today’s definitely hoodie weather.” – “It really is”, Jisung agreed, stroking his front pocket. They turned up the heat in the apartment, hoping to ease their shivery hyung’s chills, and Changbin announced: “I’ll make a hearty soup for dinner to get you all warmed up again. Hope your appetite is returning at some point?” Chan gave him a tight smile. The nausea had disappeared but he doubted he’d feel hungry anytime soon and didn’t want the younger to go through all the trouble of preparing something. He didn’t say that though, knowing Changbin wouldn’t be deterred either way. “Jinnie, you wanna help me cook?”, Changbin asked, catching his familiar mid-flight when the weasel jumped towards him.

Taking a seat next to Chan and Jeongin, Seungmin whispered: “Do you want to take another nap while they’re busy? You look awful still.” – “Not sure, I could sleep”, the older admitted, massaging his temples, “Min, I know some people simply don’t have familiars but why do I feel so freaking empty? Why do I feel so cold? It’s like I’m incomplete, something’s missing and I can’t ever be warm again without it. If there’s no one out there for me, why does it feel like I’m dying if I can’t find them?” Chan felt guilty for dropping this on the younger but he needed to get these thoughts out into the open or else his head might actually explode. “My best guess is that you got almost all of your magic sucked out of you, leaving only emptiness behind”, Seungmin smiled sadly, stroking Chan’s curls, “As for the cold, your energy is spent. Both should get better with food and rest.”

Curling in on himself with the hot water bottle pressed to his middle, Chan mumbled mostly to himself: “You don’t get, can’t get it.” It hurt Seungmin’s heart to hear those words that weren’t really meant for him, just Chan’s own realization that none of his coven members had the slightest chance of understanding how he felt. Lips moving the just the tiniest bit, Chan kept repeating the same sentence over and over again, almost chanting and Seungmin feared he might have a mental breakdown, so he pulled his hyung closer and started to sing.

It was an old lullaby, one his mother used to sing to him, the only lullaby Seungmin really knew by heart. Jeongin looked up at him, ears perked. All of them were tired after channeling their magic into Chan for the ritual, yet his voice was Seungmin’s greatest power, soothing with or without magic. It made it easy for Chan to settle down in the younger’s arms.

Once they were certain that Chan was out once again, Jisung, who had overheard their conversation, commented: “What do you think? Is he right? Is there someone out there, who he for some reason fails to summon time and time again or do you think the empty feeling and cold are him spiraling into depression after all those failed attempts?” – “Honestly?”, Seungmin hummed, “I don’t know. It could be depression, hell, I’d probably feel the same if I was in his place, but at the same time, Chan-hyung always had great intuition. He sensed my powers and figured out how to help me. I don’t think he’d be chasing some senseless idea. He’s too levelheaded for that.” Jisung nodded in contemplation. The younger certainly had a point. Chan really had to sense something or else he would’ve given up after the first few failed attempts.

[yoongihan]

Catalyst - HHJ - 3/3

Banner by the sweet @hannahbee12719

pairing: hyunjin x reader (female, last name is park), minho x somi; the rest of skz makes appearances, as does sunmi, woodz, & yena. bobby.

genre: mafia au, childhood friends->lovers->exes->lovers

rating: M 🔞

word count: 9k

warnings: smut (vanilla sex here people), two whole scenes of smut, there be kissing, touching; cursing; a fair amount violence (mostly off-screen) and death (no one that the audience would care about) and not very detailed in description, guns. I think that’s it. My brain is fried, so let me know if I haven’t covered something.

a/n: i’m not sure if this is actually finished or if i’m just over working on it. 🤷🏼‍♀️ I hope the conclusion to this is satisfactory. i’m grateful to @jl-micasea-fics​ for being so encouraging. this is probably the most violent story i’ve ever written, which isn’t relevant at all, but kind of feels like some sort of accomplishment for little ole me. all that rambling to say, thank you for reading. feel free to let me know what you think. i’m not too proud to say that i most definitely need to validation. :D

part one  part two  masterlist

Catalyst: Three of Three

“I wanna sell Circus.”

His hands freeze and already you miss the comfort. “What?”

You swallow and meet his shocked eyes head-on. “I want to sell the club.”

He lets go of you and stands, walking away.

“I have an interested buyer, but I thought you might want to buy me out before I spoke with him.” You feel like you’re rambling.

He doesn’t say anything.

“I promise this isn’t an impulsive thing…I’ve thought–”

“The club is yours.” He keeps his back to you. “More than mine.”

You sigh, wishing you could see his face so you’d have a clue as to what he’s thinking. “It’s the Syndicate’s, more than either of us.”

It goes quiet again. You notice that your leg is shaking, a sure sign of your nerves. You know this is the right decision, but telling him…you don’t know what you expect.

Perhaps you want him to fight for the club…for you.

He turns slightly. “Are you going to…” He clears his throat. “What are you going to do?”

“Move. Start somewhere new.” That you haven’t said aloud yet. It sounds so strange. Almost not real.

“Shit.”

What does that mean?

“I haven’t spoken to Minho about this yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”

You watch his back, stiff and unmoving; the tension radiates from him.

“Where would you go?”

“Someplace less…city. Maybe a bit warmer. I’m not sure. I’m looking at properties in a variety of locations. Or I might go back to school.”

“Fuck.” He turns completely, anger etching his face. “I can’t…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I have to check the front.” And he stalks out.

You sit there a few more seconds before getting up and leaving.

—

It’s two days later and you’re in the office finishing up a few things, going over and over the accounts to make sure that everything is without error. You stretch your arms toward the ceiling, hearing a few pops that are so satisfying.

Yes, some of it still hurts, but you don’t feel quite so broken anymore.

“Are you heading out?”

You hadn’t heard him at the door. You haven’t seen Hyunjin since your announcement to sell. There’s evidence that he has been at the club (a jacket left, mail sifted through, half a bottle of water that isn’t yours), but as for actual interaction, this is the first since.

And you’re nervous.

His voice is lower, but not in a sexy way (yes, it’s sexy, but this is Hyunjin. He breathes and you’ve found that sexy). It’s just kind of dismal. A voice without any strong emotion in it at all.

“Yes. In a few.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Your head shoots up at the non-question. “Excuse me?”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fuck. Not like that. I mean, I’ll make sure you get home okay.” One hand runs through his hair as he takes a few more steps into the office.

“Am I incapable of doing so on my own?”

There is another heavy sigh. “I don’t know if Bobby knows where you live, gongjunim. I don’t know if he might decide to seek you out too. I don’t know, but I’d rather have you snarky and annoyed at me and safe from him than–” He doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t really need to.

He plops down on the couch. You try to go back to your paperwork review, but you can’t help but look at him.

Stunning as always, but his features are marred with traces of fatigue.

“You sleeping okay?’

He lifts his eyes from the floor to you. “Lee’s a bit fixated right now.”

You hear a lot in that one sentence. Minho is pushing his men to finish out this thing with Bobby, that the threat on Somi and now you have made the situation far more urgent.

“Sorry.”

He scoffs. “None of that is your fault, gongjunim. Nor is it Somi’s.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I hope he burns in hell.”

Hyunjin isn’t aggressive. Not in the entire lifetime you’ve known him. Even when he hates someone, he jokes about it. He rarely shows how deep his distaste goes.

Wishing Bobby a fiery afterlife shows how incredibly angry he is.

“We can go.”

When he stands at the passenger door of your car, you ask. “How are you getting back here to sleep?”

He raises one eyebrow. “I’m sleeping on your couch.”

With a huff, you unlock the doors and slide into the driver's seat. He gets in beside you.

“Glad you asked.”

“Would you rather me stand outside your door all night like Yang did last night? Or Han the night before?”

You knew they'd been there. You had hoped that you were just overthinking the presence, especially since you’d been stuck inside.

“Maybe.” You pulled onto the road that ran in front of the club. You glanced at the sign, wondering if Circus would retain its name or if a new owner would completely redo everything you’d done for the last five years.

“I wouldn’t stand,” he says. “That’s too much. I’d sit all night.”

You try not to smile at his melodramatic words before glancing over. He’s got his eyes closed, arms crossed and his head is dipping as though he’ll fall asleep any second.

“Some bodyguard.”

“Fuck off.” The words themselves are harsh, but his sleepy tone and humor soften them.

Since his eyes are closed, you let yourself smile.

You realize when you set a pillow and a second blanket on the couch that Hyunjin has never been in your apartment alone with you. He’d been once when you’d attempted a housewarming/birthday party for yourself that mostly had Chan drinking Jisung under the table, Minho perusing and judging your vinyl collection, and Hyunjin being flirted with by every Park girl there.

Hyunjin is currently staring at a small painting you bought at a city festival years ago. A local artist, who specialized in capturing scenes of everyday Busan life.

“I met her once,” Hyunjin says, shocking you out of your memories.

“Who?”

He points to the signature on the print (you couldn’t and still can’t afford an original art piece). “Her.”

“You met her?”

“She was giving a class I decided to take.” He shrugs. “I like how she focuses on one detail and the rest is kind of fuzzy and hazy.”

“Yeah.”

He turns back to you and it’s that stupid quiet that sometimes falls between him and you. You shake yourself as though that will help.

“Do you think you need anything else?” You gesture at the couch. “I’ll pull out an extra toothbrush and you can use my facewash or whatever–”

“I’m good.”

He approaches you and takes the third blanket out of your hands.

“Thanks.”

“I suppose I should thank you for attempting bodyguard duty. Not that it’s needed.”

He half-smiles. “Sure thing, gongjunim,” he says before reaching out to chuck you under the chin. You slap his hand away, not hard. He shakes his hand out but is grinning.

“Go to sleep.”

“Night beautiful.”

You flip him off on your way to your bedroom, smiling at nothing when he laughs.

You hear him moving around hours later. You’re not used to extra noise in your apartment. Living alone was a luxury you did not take for granted after college roommates.

You shuffle out into your living area to see Hyunjin leaning against the kitchen counter, typing something out on his phone.

“Hwang?”

He jolts at your voice, flipping his phone so its screen is down.

His face is blank, but the blankness is what worries you.

“What is it?”

“Just a routine check-in.”

Bullshit.

“Don’t lie to me.” You walk quickly over to him, about to steal his phone, but he raises it above his head which is undoubtedly out of your arm's reach. “I’m not one of your stupid civilians, pabo.”

His eyes narrow at the insult.

“It’s my–”

His hand is over your mouth before you can finish your tirade. You are about to bite his palm because what an ass, when he moves close so he can speak into your ear.

“We’ve got visitors.”

All thoughts of how annoying he is go out the window. You nod as he removes his hand and gestures for you to head back toward your bedroom. You walk carefully, trying not to make any noise, feeling the heat of him right behind you. He quickly shuts your bedroom door after you both enter before dropping his head down to whisper:

“Gun?”

“Under the bed.” You answer immediately then pause as he goes to find it. “You don’t have yours?” You’re pretty sure every member of the Syndicate went about life armed.

He shakes his head when he pulls out the lockbox. He raises an eyebrow at you for the code.

It’s weird, right? That you don’t hesitate in giving him secrets.

“I left mine at the loft,” he explains quietly. “Just thought I was being paranoid about you, not that they’d actually…” he trails off when you both hear the front doorknob creak and rattle. He gets out your gun and loads it with the ease of someone who has done so many many times. He points with it to your bed.

You shake your head; you are not hiding under the bed like a child afraid of monsters. He then points to your closet.

You glare at him.

He stalks over to you as you both hear the door bust open. He shoves his phone in your hand and then pushes you into the closet.

“Brace the door,” he mutters. “Call Seo.”

When the first gunshot rings out, you find yourself curled up in the back corner of the tiny space, his phone to your ear. When Changbin answers with a typical ‘what’s up, asshole’ you realize that you won’t be able to speak without your voice shaking.

You’re crying.

You count the gunshots, knowing that your gun has only fifteen to keep Hyunjin safe. It’s loud, so loud but dead silent in between ear-splitting cracks if there is a lull. You lose count and though Changbin is telling you that he’s on his way in the calmest, most comforting voice, you don’t think you’re breathing.

You can’t breathe.

More people have entered your apartment; there are voices, distorted and angry. Taunting and threatening and you don’t recognize any of them.

Is he okay? How would you ever know if you’re stuck in here?

Shot after shot after shot.

Then, it goes silent.

You hold your breath, listening for voices, footsteps, anything to tell you what is going on outside of your closet.

The doorknob jiggles.

“It’s okay,” comes the voice. “It’s me.” Chan’s voice is rough like he’s lost it after spending all night screaming at a concert. He says your name. “It’s safe.”

You swallow hard. “Is Hyunjin–”

“He’s fine, little Park. Come out of there. Cops’ll be here soon and we need a good story.”

It’s hard for you to stand. Your legs are horribly weak and like jello. You remove the small chair you’d braced under the knob and carefully open the door. Chan smiles at you, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. And Chan always smiles with his eyes.

“Where is he?” you demand, before moving past the bodyguard, your legs less wobbly.

“Wait!”

You’ve never listened well.

But then you can’t move.

Oh god, the bodies.

There are four dead men in your living area and kitchen. You can count them and yet it feels like a dozen. You see several syndicate members moving around, checking the bodies. Yang is covering up the one in your kitchen…you can only see feet and legs.

“Hyunjin?”

There’s movement in the corner of your eye and you see Hyunjin turn toward you. He’s seated on one of your barstools, body facing Han who is blotting his arm.

“Were you hit?” You nearly trip over something in your effort to get to him. You look down to see the obstacle.

The obstacle is a dead body, and it takes all of your focus. Lifeless eyes, clotting blood.

“Gongjunim.” You barely hear it. There’s a dead man on the floor of your apartment. Several dead men who will no longer breathe, eat, fuck, or laugh again.

“Hey,” the soft voice again. You look up to see Hyunjin standing a few feet away. The sleeve of his shirt is gone and his upper arm is wrapped with the same fabric.

“You got hit.”

He waves you to come closer and you do, trying not to look down closely, only aware enough to avoid tripping again. Your hand grasps his, and he pulls you close.

“I’m okay.” He nudges your forehead gently with his chin. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shot,” you say stubbornly, hyper-aware that you are hugging him in front of the rest of the Syndicate which has never happened.

You don’t know if you care or not.

“It’s a clean shot. Just some muscle, no bones. I’ll be fine.” His hurt arm rests against your side.

“Seo will be here soon. This is just a case of breaking and entering. Hwang protecting you.” Minho sidesteps the bodies. “Or maybe Chan and Hwang?”

“Seems more likely to have two against four with these results.”

You can hear their voices, but you just keep your face hidden in his chest.

“Makes sense,” Chan says. He’s somewhere behind you.

Minho says your name, so you peek out to meet his sharp eyes.

“You’re not staying here, obviously. Do you want to stay with Somi at mine?”

Hyunjin’s uninjured arm tightens around you, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I, I guess.”

“Or do you want to stay elsewhere?”

Minho is the master of the vacant expression, which is why when he looks outright amused and a bit smug at the question he poses to you, you really want to slap him.

You can hear the police sirens outside and you look up at Hyunjin, still attached to him.

“You’ll go to hospital after this, right?”

He nods. “I’ll make Jisung drive.” There’s an annoyed curse from the kitchen, but you can tell it’s just joking.

Joking whilst surrounded by bodies. You close your eyes again. The smell of spent guns and blood makes you want to leave now.

You feel a hand on your back. “I’ll pack a bag for you,” Chan offers. You don’t care if he sees your underwear or anything else unmentionable right now. You don’t want to walk through the living area massacre again.

You nod as Hyunjin rubs his hand up and down your back. It feels like that touch is the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

“Fucking shit.”

Officer Seo has arrived.

—

Your phone pings and you roll over, careful not to jostle the bed too much. Somi fell asleep only a few minutes ago and after assuring her that you were okay, you didn’t want to take away her rest as well.

Not that you are any better as far as nerves are concerned.

It’s a photo message and you open it to see a clean, professionally-done bandage.

Is this your way of sending me photos of your recent workout routine?

You know it.

It makes you smile. The cockiness you can hear in the text.

You okay?

All good, 공주님

Good.

You should be asleep.

You too.

Waiting for the pain meds to kick in. What’s your excuse?

You don’t answer.

자기야

Your thumbs hover over the screen, but you can’t think of what to write. Of how to write anything that’s true.

You didn’t see your father until after the undertaker took care of him, did you?

He gets it. At the core of everything, Hyunjin always got you.

No.

First dead body.

Yes.

Your phone starts buzzing with an incoming call. You quickly slide out of the guest bed and out into the hallway of Minho’s home. Chan looks up at you from the living room couch. He points down the hallway.

“Empty office.”

You mouth ‘thanks’ and follow that path.

You slide open your phone. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His voice is lower than normal and a bit slurred. Perhaps the meds are starting to take effect.

“You didn’t have to call.” You shut the door behind you and glance around. It’s sparse; a couch that looks more like it’s from last century and a desk with drawers and papers strewn about. Maybe Minho isn’t always so organized.

“Shut up,” but it holds no malice. “You’re freaked out and I’d be lying if I wasn’t a bit freaked out myself right now.”

“Really?”

There’s a sigh and then a groan as though in pain.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just tried to roll to my side and well, wrong side.”

“Poor baby.”

“Hell yeah.” There’s a moment of quiet. You can hear soft music in the background. He must be at home, already in bed.

You can picture it all too well.

“I am freaked out,” he begins quietly. “Lee rarely has me on the front lines like that. I’m not used to using a gun for anything but intimidation. Except for initiation before Lee took over, I’ve never shot anyone before.”

“You had to shoot someone for initiation?”

He curses softly. “You’re not supposed to know that, gongjunim.”

“Did you think I didn’t know what was going on with my dad? With you guys when I saw you go up to your loft with Han and Yang, blood on your clothes? I’m not stupid.”

He sighs. “You’re not stupid. But you haven’t…been there…. I don’t think your dad would have ever let you see any of it. I’m sorry you have now.”

You close your eyes, the images from hours ago still very fresh and bright, garish.

“Thank you, you know. For protecting me.” You realize you haven’t said anything.

Another curse. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“Well, I did.”

He chuckles. “You comfy there are Lee’s?”

“Well enough. Sharing a bed with Somi, even though we both know they’d rather be sharing a bed with each other.”

“Yeah, I’d rather you here anyway.”

It’s like someone has your heart in their hand and just squeezes it. How can he say shit like that?

“Don’t like your bed cold?”

He snorts. “Figure you can nurse me back to health since it was you I was protecting.”

“Should I bat my eyelashes and call you my hero too?”

“If you want to show you’re truly grateful.”

Another pause.

“Or you know, service me.”

“Your dick is working fine then?”

He sputters on the other end, laughing before hissing in pain.

“You should really be careful with that arm, Hwang.”

“I hate you sometimes.”

“I know.”

He yawns. “Shit, this stuff is strong.”

“Go to sleep, my knight in shining armor.”

There’s a warmth in his voice when he answers. “I could get used to that.”

“Don’t.”

“Sleep well, gongjunim. I’m glad you’re safe.”

Why do you want to cry?

“Night.”

When you hang up, you lay down on the old sofa of Minho’s and close your eyes. It’s too exhausting to go back to the guest room.

And maybe you wish you were somewhere else too.

—

“When did you sleep last?”

Minho looks up from recent security footage outside the club. Bobby’s goons were still after his predecessor’s daughter. His friend, his little sister for all purposes.

Somi stands in the doorway of his office, clad in his sweatpants and his t-shirt (it had been easier to grab something of his than send Chan or anyone else back to her home to get more clothes).

“Where’s our houseguest?”

“At work.” Somi rolls her eyes at the thought of you still working despite everything you’ve gone through. She walks in and as she gets closer, Minho closes out his phone so she can’t see the video evidence that no one is safe these days. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He bristles but relaxes when she leans against his desk, one hand smoothing his hair out of his eyes. It’s so simple, the quietest of touches, but he relishes it, knowing full well that it will end sooner rather than later.

“Last night.”

“For how long?”

He shoots an annoyed look at her, but she’s unaffected. There’s an ease between them. He knows it’s exactly the wrong thing for her to be that comfortable with him, but even he can be weak. Especially about a pretty set of eyes, kind heart, and resolute spine.

“Long enough.”

“Minho.”

“Somi,” he replies in the same tone. She’s still playing with his hair and he works hard to not lean into her, press his face against her stomach and just breathe her in. “Somi,” he says again, voice more serious.

Her fingers pause in his hair before dropping away.

He meets her gaze as he stands up. “You might want to think about packing up your stuff.”

Her lips part in surprise and he wonders if he sounded too harsh. He never worries about that with anyone other than her. Normally he doesn’t care.

She forces a smile. “You kicking me out?”

His answering smile is amused and soft. “I think you’ll be able to go home very soon, yeobo.” He carefully moves a wayward strand of hair out of her face, his finger lingering on her ear.

He notices the movement in her throat as she swallows. He draws his finger down the delicate skin of her neck.

“That’s good.”

He nods. “I’m hopeful. Even Seo is hopeful.”

“You’ll be safe, though, right?”

He purses his lips for a second. “To the best of Chan’s ability.” He kisses her before she can call him on his evasion. It’s meant to be just a quick one, one more indulgence on his part. But it isn’t quick.

She whimpers into his mouth and all he can do is pull her into his arms, her warmth continuing to thaw his heart.

“You’ll be safe,” he murmurs. Her hands slip under his shirt and pause.

He doesn’t stop her.

“Minho?” she whispers, asking, her fingers dancing up his ribs.

He groans in answer, pulling off his shirt before getting his hands on her again. She shudders as his hands follow the path of her back, all the way down. When he squeezes oh so gently, she jolts, her body completely flush against him.

“You sure?”

She nods, fusing their lips back together. Her impatience makes him want to say something arrogant, but that would require pulling away and he’s loathe to do that. He walks her carefully back toward his couch one hand on her back to ease her down. He goes to remove her (his) t-shirt, but she’s divested herself of it already.

“Eager?”

Her answering expression would be intimidating if she wasn’t flushed and if he wasn’t the head of the Syndicate.

“Cute.”

She reaches out to pull him close. He laughs, a high-pitched giggle, as he maneuvers, placing one knee on either side of her legs. He slides a finger under the waistband of her (his) sweatpants before easing them down and off of her.

His eyebrows rose at the reveal.

“Looks sweet, but is a little dirty,” he observes, noting her lack of underwear.

Her face is a pretty pink. “If I’m not at work or in public, why would I?”

He leans down, hoping the roughness of his jeans doesn’t antagonize her skin, and slips two fingers into her.

“I like this rule of yours. Feel free to go without as much as you want with me.”

She doesn’t answer, her hand gripping his forearm as he explores her, observing every tremble and gasp. Learning her tells with the same focus he gives anything he cares about.

The safety of his men. The ease of transactions.

Jeon Somi.

Unable to think much more about it, he covers her mouth with his, intent on making them both forget how far apart they should be.

How grey his life will be when she goes back to her much safer world.

When she comes apart in his arms, he half-wishes he’d never agreed to Seo’s proposition of protecting a civilian.

—

It says a lot about your recent mental state that you don’t start to question things until Yang mentions something about picking up a package. Your brain is full of other concerns: the safety of yourself, Somi, and the Syndicate; your recent talks with a commercial realtor, Hyunjin (which entails so much), and the fact that you’d rather sleep on the sofa in your office than at your own apartment.

In fact, you don’t think anything is off until you and Somi are halfway down a side street, away from the lively street vendors and you realize how much quieter it’s gotten.

You were just enjoying Somi’s vague but heated brief retelling of the night prior.

You don’t need many details. Lee Minho is more of an annoying older brother than a male lead.

But it’s quiet.

Somi stops walking when you stop walking.

“Yang.”

The younger syndicate member stops and turns back to look at you.

“What’s this package you’re picking up?”

“Something I can’t tell you,” he smiles, but it’s not light or pleasant. He’s a decent liar. One has to be when involved with the underbelly of Busan, but he’s still Jeongin. The baby you remember holding in your arms when only a few days old; his mom couldn’t care for him, and his dad lost in an altercation. He’d grown up in the Syndicate world much like you had. He might be all grown up, but there’s too much in his eyes to make you think anything but…

Trap.

“I’m going to murder you. Then Lee. Then you again.”

Yang grabs you and Somi by the wrists, not too hard, but firmly. He leads you both farther down the side street.

“All of them then,” he says. “They all know.”

Hwang was a dead man.

“What is–?” Somi begins, but you see the movement before she can finish. You try to pull her behind you, but Yang already places himself as the barrier between you two and–

“Ms. Jeon.”

Bobby.

Surely he’s not stupid enough to realize that this is a trap. A trap with two women (you really might punch Lee for this) as bait.

“With the maknae as protection. Goodness, Lee really is stretched too thin.”

“Not everything is about you,” you shoot back, annoyed at the entire situation. Annoyed and worried. No matter how much this was planned, things can and do go wrong.

Bobby is flanked by six men. Their appearance flashes you back to the dead men in your apartment. What were their names? Did they have families that cared? Were their children abandoned as Jeongin had been?

“Oh yes, the club owner,” Bobby says after you speak. He’s wearing sunglasses which, as it’s an overcast day, makes you want to roll your eyes because not only is he a murderer, he’s a pretentious one. “You don’t really matter.”

“That’s why four of your men bled out in my apartment? Cause I don’t really matter?”

Yang squeezes your wrist, making you wince, but you shut up. You do know better, but you're also angry.

Somi is pressed to your side and you can feel her shaking.

To echo Hwang, Bobby can totally burn in hell.

“Just hand her over,” Bobby speaks slowly. “You two can go on with your sad lives if you just hand her over.”

Where on earth is the cavalry?

“No.”

Jeongin hasn’t spoken till this moment and he sounds firm but small. He’s still a kid. Just turned twenty.

“Pity. She can’t live. Seeing what she’s seen.”

The guns come out, all pointed at the three of you.

“Which is what? Bobby? What has she seen?”

You don’t know why you ask, but you do at the same time. In the corner of your eye, you see him. Your business partner, tucked as best he can be with that long body of his behind a part of a building that juts out.

They’re here, but staying silent.

It dawns on you why.

They need a confession.

So the words come out before you think them through. It’s unlikely someone who treats women like Bobby does would think that you have a clue about why Somi is under the syndicate’s protection. You could be as well informed as a Park girl for all he knows.

Bobby smiles. The sort of patronizing ‘oh you little idiot’ kind of smile that makes you want to scream.

“Ms. Jeon here saw an unfortunate incident between myself and her colleague. Not that anyone misses him.”

It has to be enough and you hear the sound of arrival before you see it. You drop to the ground, dragging Somi with you. Yang covers you both as best he can, close enough that you can smell the orange blossom of his cologne.

There are sirens and a few gunshots (less than in your apartment just days ago), but it all sounds distant to you. You’re holding Somi so tightly to you that her staccato breathing seems like the loudest noise.

Eventually, you sense Yang is no longer on top of you.

“Let her go,” a soft voice commands.

You see Changbin, in uniform, carefully drawing Somi away from you. Your moment of appreciation for him in uniform (hat and bulletproof vest) is interrupted by a hand wrapping around your arm to help you up.

You turn away from the police car driving away with Bobby.

Hyunjin is looking down at you, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“You didn’t tell me.”

He closes his eyes before nodding. “I didn’t tell you.”

You swing around, looking for Minho to fully berate (though you recognize that you’re exhausted all of a sudden) when you find him, staring toward where Somi and Changbin are.

Berating doesn’t seem like the best idea right now.

Then it hits you.

It’s over.

The whole thing is over.

You turn back to Hyunjin. “I’m pissed at all of you.”

“Fair.” He pulls you into his arms, hissing in pain once because his arm isn’t fully healed (why on earth is he out here when he’s not 100%?). “Wanna go home?”

“If by home you mean Circus, sure.”

—

You sleep in the next day, having to stretch out your back after sleeping on the office couch again. Hyunjin offers you his bed but you can’t and he doesn’t argue with you.

Sometimes he understands.

You have a meeting with a potential buyer the next day and despite that, everything at the club feels normal. Felix and Seungmin run things as per usual. People come for drinks, for dancing, for music like normal.

It’s like nothing ever happened.

It’s late when you wipe down the bar and tables. The rest of the employees have gone home, and customers gone an hour before that. It’s just you and the very non-club-like music you put on.

You smile as “Unchained Melody” comes through the speakers. Dipping the cloth into the bucket, you hum and squeeze out the excess water. Halfway through wiping the table, you leave the cloth and drift into the dance floor, swaying to the haunting music. You’re nearly healed up and to move without pain is still a blessed marvel.

It takes you several seconds to hear beyond the song to the creaking of stairs and footsteps. You freeze in your dancing and turn to see Hyunjin at the bottom of the steps, in just a pair of jeans.

“Was the music too loud? Did I wake you?” You stutter, annoyed at your nerves. You just saw him yesterday.

Amid a gunfight, yes, but still.

You haven’t seen him all day. You didn’t text him. He didn’t text you.

Hyunjin makes you feel like you’re at the edge of a cliff. You don’t know if falling would be thrilling or fatal.

He scratches the back of his head, his hair a pleasant mess. “No. Woke up on my own. Needed a drink and I’m out.” He steps onto the floor and walks past you to the bar. “Don’t worry, I’ll put it on my tab.”

You grin despite your embarrassment at being caught dancing. “I know you’re good for it.”

He mixes several ingredients before pouring them into a glass. His eyes don’t leave you.

“What?” Might be a good time to go back to cleaning.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you dance since high school.”

You laugh and start back toward the half-finished table. “Yeah, well, it’s generally a solitary thing for me. Hence why you haven’t seen it.”

He’s moved and catches you by the hand before you can return to cleaning. “Dance with me?”

Your heart jumps. “I, uh…”

He tugs you close as the song changes to “Save the Last Dance for Me.” His smile is as soft as his voice. “See, it’s kismet.” He guides your hands to his shoulders and rests his own on your waist. “Like high school.”

You attempt to relax. “You never danced with me in high school.”

“You never asked.”

You scoff. “I wasn’t that liberated then apparently.”

He tightens his hold to bring you closer. “I wasn’t too much for dancing then.”

“Hyunjin…”

His hand settles in the curve of your waist. “You’re so small here. It always surprises me.”

Your face heats and you try to pull away, but he’s stronger than you are, especially when he’s stubborn.

“And your ears. Tiny,” One finger traces along the shell. “Tall as you are, as curvy…you’re still fragile in some ways.” His eyes focus back on yours.

“I’m not sure if you’re complimenting me or not. I’ve never asked for an evaluation of my body.” It strikes you then that he knows your body better than most and you’ve unintentionally brought up that one night. The night neither of you ever talk about.

“Don’t,” he says as you try to pull away again. “Just dance with me.” He succeeds in bringing you close until there is no space and your cheek rests on his bare shoulder. It’s easier if you don’t have to look at him, so you don’t argue.

The song changes again, but neither of you stops swaying.

Your hand, of its own accord, moves to play with his hair at the nape of his neck while the other reminds you that he is still without a shirt as it slides along his shoulder blade and down his spine to the top of his jeans. You force your hand not to go any farther.

“How often,” he breathes in your ear and you shiver, “do you think about that night?”

“More than I’d prefer.” You lift your head to see him. His eyes are so dark. “You?”

“Most every time I see you.” He brushes the hair out of your eyes. His fingers linger, tracing your eyebrows, along your jaw, and to your lips. “It can be inconvenient sometimes.”

“Sucks for you.”

He leans in close, making your cocky expression falter. “How’s Somi?”

“Home. Going back to work. Says she saw one of the Syndicate when she ran errands today.”

“Precautionary.” He lets his nose touch yours for just a second. “Lee probably will keep tabs on her until after sentencing.”

You nod, having a difficult time looking away from him. “Hyunjin…”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“Always.” You don’t sound mad despite your words. “What for this time?”

“Not telling you about the plan.”

You sigh, letting your head drop. His lips press against your forehead. “It’s Syndicate business, right? I’m not Syndicate.”

“You’re still mad.”

You lift your head, freezing when you realize how close his lips are.

“I’m tired of being mad.”

“Me too.” He leans close enough to let his lips brush yours. It’s a hint, something that offers but doesn’t demand.  “Come upstairs?” He draws back to level you with a look you recognize. One that makes your skin tingle. “Please?”

You’re older, and wiser this time. Your heart won’t be affected if you take what he’s offering.

You nod and his smile sweetens. He takes you by the hand and leads you to the stairs. Before you’re halfway up, he turns and with gentle pressure, braces you against the railing and kisses you.

Your mouth opens to let him in, your body tightening in anticipation, but he’s unhurried this time. He ends the kiss with a soft peck on your lips and takes your hand again and continues up to his apartment.

“Hyunjin.”

He shuts the door behind you and locks it before turning to you.

“What is it, jagiya?” He takes both your hands in his and kisses you again. “Having second thoughts?”

“No,” you breathe back though in truth you’re having a million thoughts. “Just wanted to ask you to remind me to wipe the security camera tomorrow.”

He laughs against your lips. “We were just dancing.”

“You know if any of them found that footage, we’d never hear the end of it.”

He tugs on the hem of your shirt before slipping it over your head. When he starts on your jeans, a sly grin graces his lips. “Lee’d beat the shit out of me, then Chan would make sure I never got up again. Deleting the footage is self-preservation.” His fingers brush against the skin of your stomach and you shiver.

“Coward.”

He glances at you through those thick eyelashes of his. “Absolutely.” He goes to push down your pants, but you’ve got to kiss him again. He lets you, pulling you into his arms, hands sliding up your back.

When you draw back, his eyes fall to your exposed skin. “Still healing?”

“What?”

“You have marks,” he gestures at the bruising along your side. “Fragile, like I said.”

“Who got shot?” you retort, gesturing back to his arm. He pouts.

“For you. I got shot for you.”

You know he’s teasing, but the reminder feels like a punch to your gut. He did get shot for you.

“I know.”

His joking fades at your words, and you hear him inhale sharply when you kiss his arm, right above the bandage. He murmurs your name, his hand carding through your hair before gripping so he can get you to look at him.

He leans down to kiss you, less gentle and less sweet; all tongue. You pull at his jeans, impatient.

He laughs before breaking away to rid himself of his jeans and boxers. He looks up at you, noticing how much you’re staring.

“Stop.”

You meet his eyes, and see the tinge of color spreading on his cheeks and ears. How can he blush, knowing he looks like this all day, every day?

“No.”

He rolls his eyes at your petulance before offering his hand. “Bedroom?”

As he leads you the short distance to his bedroom, you think about how easy it is. When you don’t think too much, when you don’t consider all outcomes. How easy it is to have your hand in his; his beautiful fingers slotted between yours. The artist hands holding yours like he doesn’t have both life and death in them.

He can paint sunsets and kill an intruder.

What would Hyunjin be today if he’d never fallen into the Syndicate?

A struggling artist?

A charming bartender?

Something not even he could consider because the Syndicate sucks everyone in.

He’s staring at you, while your brain creates scenarios that can never be.

He doesn’t ask but bends down to brush his lips to yours. He’s so gentle and smells like a sweet cocktail, mixed with the fabric softener he uses.

You slide your hands into his hair, intent on savoring every detail about this. The silk of his hair, the sharpness of his breaths, the way he tastes of vodka and passionfruit.

Those artist hands, long-fingered and nimble, remove your bra and underwear. He’s on his knees after tossing the last of your clothing away. You don’t think you’ll ever find another person as beautiful as him.

You maneuver him to his bed, propped up by his pillows, looking like naked royalty. His skin is flushed, the movement of his chest revealing how very not calm and collected he is. You crawl onto the bed, strategically so both your knees are pressed into the mattress outside his hips. He sits up once you’re close to kiss you again.

“I had no idea how much you liked kissing,” you murmur, one hand on his chest and the other skimming along his shoulder and down his arm. His hand links with yours.

He hums against your mouth. “You. I like kissing you.” He lays back down, making sure you stay close. His hand lazily trails up and down your back. He nips your bottom lip and you jolt at the mild aggression. He smirks at you before cupping your cheek in his hand and leaving over to his nightstand to grab a condom.

When he hands it to you and you get to work opening it, you feel his hand leave your face to card through your hair.

There’s a slight whine when you roll the latex on, your fingers reacquainting with his cock. His fingers tangle in your hair, tugging so you look up at his face.

“What?” you smirk, squeezing him a little. The sound he makes is so gratifying that you do it again and his hand tightens even more in your hair. “Don’t get sappy and say you want to look at my face or something.”

“But I do.”

You can feel his words, the weight of them, the gravity. He’s not teasing, he’s not bantering with you.

He pulls so your head tilts back slightly. You feel his mouth, wet and hot, against the sensitive skin of your neck. You're distracted, rightly, so when he slides in, the moan you let out is horribly embarrassing. He loosens his grip on you, your head falling forward so your eyes can look nowhere but into his.

—

You wake before him, the light of dawn peeking through the curtains. It’s unbelievably similar to the last time you woke up beside him except you aren’t in pain, and he’s under the covers with you.

Three times you’ve woken up in his bed and twice he was still there. That’s much better odds than you’d originally thought possible.

But the sight of him asleep twists something inside you and as quietly as you can, you slide out of bed. Your clothes are in the living room, and it doesn’t take too long to find and put them back on. The rest of your things are downstairs in the office and you just force yourself not to look back into the bedroom before you leave.

—

You’re in the office an hour before opening when he walks in. You don’t look away from the computer.

“Did you fix the security feed?” he asks, his voice a little hoarse.

“Yep.” You peer over the top of the monitor to look at him. He doesn’t look any worse for wear, but he seems tense. “So, I met with the buyer…”

“Sell it.” He interrupts you. “Sell the damn thing. Lee has other places to meet.” He walks back to the door. “You left this morning. Was that turnabout?”

It was, but that doesn’t make you feel better. You look back at your screen.

“I was awake and needed to get home. Unless you prefer another round in the morning?” Your voice is sharp with flippancy.

“Fuck you.” His voice catches.

Your eyes can’t look anywhere but him. There’s a sheen glimmering in his eyes.

“Don’t make it less than it was.” He sneers.

You stand up, not sure how to handle the normally chill Hwang Hyunjin when he’s burdened like this. “It was goodbye. I know.”

He rests his head on the door with a harsh laugh. “You don’t know shit. Call your buyer and sell it.” He opens the door to leave.

“I’ll split the buying price evenly—“

“I trust you in this, gongjunim.” He meets your gaze, his own eyes red-rimmed. “I’ll look for a new place to live too.”

“He doesn’t have immediate plans for the loft…”

“I don’t want to stay if it’s not ours anymore.” And he walks out.

—

“Somi?”

You’re staring at your filled-to-the-brim trunk, hoping that you got everything from the Circus office and hadn’t forgotten anything. It’s mid-morning and the club looks like any closed business right now.

It’s off-putting,

You hear your name and turn to see a familiar silhouette come down the street. Somi hurries up to you and hugs you tightly. “I’m not too late.”

“Your timing is really good.” You hug back, grateful for the warmth that is Jeon Somi. “Also, you look really good,” You tell her, shutting the door to your trunk.

“Thanks. You look…”

“Awful, it’s okay. Moving is stressful.”

“You look like you’ve been crying.” Never one to mince words.

You lean back on your car. “Yeah, well. I said goodbyes yesterday but held off feeling much of it until today. I’ll miss my boys.”

“Minho said you found a place?”

“Yeah, on Jeju. Different style. Different clientele.” You take a deep breath and let it out. “You and Minho still talk?”

The lawyer blushes prettily. “Sometimes.”

“That’s nice.” You didn’t bring up Somi to Lee for a number of reasons. Mostly your conversations of late had been about your upcoming move and also, you didn’t want to make him sad.

Even if he’d never admit it.

She nods. “It is. It’s…something.” She tugs on her work blazer. “What about Hyunjin?”

You straighten. “What about him? He’s Syndicate.”

She gives you a long look. “Last time I saw both of you, you were in his arms.”

You snort, crossing your arms. “Life or death experiences make me a little affectionate. Sue me.”

She says your name in a very no-nonsense tone and you feel like a scolded student. You huff but relent.

“Our thing was a long time ago. And it was only one night.” Two, you correct yourself mentally. “Even if it was more than that, he can’t leave.” You stare back at Circus. “And I can’t stay.”

“I’m sorry.” She must be incredibly good at her job; having empathy like that.

You shake your head. “I’ve needed to get out for a while. The stuff with you was just the push, you know? The catalyst. I’m grateful to know you. And you know, if you’re ever in the area…”

“I’ll look you up. I haven’t been to Jeju since I was a kid.”

You hug her again before you get into your car.

“Take care of Lee for me, okay?”

It means a lot that she doesn’t deny that he needs it. “Will do.”

—

A Year Later

“A customer wants to see you, boss,” Yena tells you, opening the office door just a bit. “How long have you been looking at those numbers?”

You chuckle and look up at your tiny manager. “Until they tell me what I actually want to hear. That we are in the black.”

“No one is in the black ten months in business.”

“I’m just a dreamer,” You reply and get up to stretch. “You said there was a customer?”

“Yeah, wants to ask about some of the beers. And to make a couple of suggestions.”

You roll your eyes. “Everyone’s expert.” You head to the front of your much smaller and cozier pub.

Muddy Water had none of the class and hip appeal that Circus had, but you preferred it like that. Trying to redo what you’d already done seemed like an effort in pointlessness. Forgetting your previous life and all that it encompassed seemed like a most intelligent choice.

Never mind that he still often shows up in your dreams.

“He’s at the end of the bar,” Yena calls after you. You see that Woodz is still manning the bar, but looks overwhelmed by the customer at the end of the bar.

“You asked to…” you begin as you get behind the bar and head in that direction. Then you see the long black hair, cut shorter; the soft brown eyes, the unfairly perfect lips. “Hwang.”

Maybe your dreams are feeling more like reality?

“Hey Park.” He smiles winsomely at you. “I was just testing your staff.”

“Woodz is barely two weeks old.” You glance at your new bartender. “Sorry about him. He enjoys ruffling all kinds of feathers. You can continue.”

Woodz nods and goes back to cleaning up empty glasses and plates.

“What on earth are you doing here?”

“You didn’t say goodbye, jagiya.” He finishes his bright pink cocktail.

You point at his drink. “Only you would order something like that at a pub.”

He rests his chin on his hand, still smiling at you.

“And you avoided me.”

“You avoided me,” he answers back but doesn’t sound upset. “I was still pissed at you.”

“I assumed. You got your half, right? All fair, yes?” You jam your hands into your jeans’ pockets, feeling the trembling. He can’t know how floored you are right now.

He rolls his eyes. “You think I came here to talk business with you?”

“I’m not buying the sentimental.”

He shrugs. “But that’s why I’m here.”

You look to see that the few people around are watching you both avidly. “Come on.” You wave at him to follow you. He tails you past the office door to another at the end of the hallway. You open it and indicate he should go in.

“Your place?”

“For now.” It’s one room with a shower and toilet, but you have a full kitchen just down the hall, so you make do. “It requires no rent and I’ll find a nicer place when Muddy Water is a little more profitable.”

“It’s nice.” He plops down on the sole couch. “Comfy.”

You shut the door and lean against it. “Hyunjin.”

“You know why you woke up and I wasn’t there?”

No small talk anymore then. You tense at the mention of your first night together, and he sees it but continues without commenting.

“I’d woken up really early and there you were, just lying next to me. Your hair a total mess, and face smushed on my pillow.” He smiles in remembrance. “And I thought how beautiful you were. How much I loved you.”

You make some sort of noise, but he doesn’t stop.

“And that scared me. Scared the shit out of me, so I got up and dressed and went out for a bit. I probably walked an hour, thinking about you, me…us. I bought breakfast too. And I came to the conclusion that I had no idea what to do, but whatever it was, I wanted to do it with you.” He sits up and sets his hands on his knees. “But when I got back you were gone. When I saw you later that day…”

He didn’t really need to continue. You remember what happened that day.

“You wouldn’t look at me. I wish we’d just fought about it, but neither of us spoke. And I guess, I wimped out. I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t think you’d believe me, honestly. Not after me abandoning you. It was easier not to tell you.”

You still don’t say anything. What can you say?

You see him swallow, the first indication of how nervous he is.

“You’ve always called me a coward, and at that moment, I was one. Besides, I convinced myself I was caught up in the moment. It probably wasn’t really love. I mean, how could it be? You don’t fall in love when you’re in the Syndicate.”

The silence is deafening.

“Anyway,” He stands up and tucks his hands in his pockets. “I don’t think I let myself believe it until you got hurt. Then you chose to leave us…me and…” He pulls up one of his sleeves then the other as though he’s too warm. “I figured maybe you never felt the same. Then we…” he trails off when he sees your expression.

You’re looking right at the inside of his exposed forearm, where the tattoo that marks all the Parks should have been. You walk to him, grabbing his arm and looking closer. Skin is a little redder, but the tattoo’s been removed.

“It took a while. I had no idea that removing it would be so damn expensive.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I asked to step down. To leave.”

“You did what?”

“I’m out. Minho knew. I’d told him after you said you wanted to sell. I couldn’t stay.” He tugs your hair like a boy wanting a girl’s attention back in elementary school. “It took some time to take care of everything, and I wanted to let you get settled with whatever you were going to do.”

“You’re out.” Your brain is struggling to understand words.

He nods. “I mean, I don’t know if I’ll ever not be a suspicious character to the cops, but I was never arrested. Besides, I like being a bartender. I’m good at it. Best tips.” His smile is weak. “I really hope you love me too cause I can’t come back from this.”

Your eyes have been filling for several minutes and decide then to overflow.

“Jagiya…” He draws you into his arms and kisses your hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about that morning. I know I fucked it up.”

“I’m sorry I left you too.” You say brokenly. “It was too hard to stay. I can’t do casual with you. I never could.”

He hugs you tighter. “Thank god.”

You laugh before drawing back and wiping your eyes. “You’re really here for a job?”

“Yeah, and if you’re too full, I’d say fire Woodz because he barely knows the difference between an IPA and a stout.” He kisses your forehead. “You just hired him because he’s hot.”

“Partially.”

“I’m here for you. I can always work elsewhere if that’s better. I just want to be with you.”

“God, you’re sappy.”

“Yeah, well, I’m an artist in love.” He kisses your nose. “A romantic.”

“I love you anyway.”

His smile right then will stay in your memory forever.

“So, do I get the job?”

“I’ll think about it.” You kiss him before he can protest.

---

(c) yoongihan 2022. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans. 

[thespiralstaircasewriter]

A MADONNA OF THE WILD SIDE

Beside my bed, the last image and the first I saw everyday, back when I was a young girl, was a poster of Lou Reed and Rachel Humphreys.

I have to say that, more than him, it was her that I looked up to.

Her styled, wavy dark hair, her perfectly plucked eyebrows, her remote Monna Lisa composure.

To me she looked unexplicably calm, her limbs draped around her man, the composition of the tableau as majestic as any Renaissance Madonna portrait.

I couldn’t help but study her polished fingernails and her mysterious half-smile.

I really didn’t know a thing, in my closed up world, all alone with myself and my innate instincts. Which said: look, and learn. Look, and try to seize that secret. Look, and try to understand for yourself what life is.

Here, basic reality: Man, and Woman. So it seems. Like Father and Mother, but different. And it concerns me too, I thought, because I am a woman too, by birth. But I am and feel completely different from this Woman. Perhaps that might be because she is said to be… a Man? But she doesn’t look like one. The matter requires investigation.

A woman, I observed, was some role to interpret by serious rules, and at the same time, a nature, as evident as the one expressed by a thriving plant, or by a tiger, calmly licking her paw.

Rachel looked like a woman, in a pair of jeans and a black shirt. So a woman was obviously the essence which radiated through her person: it spoke to me, but I couldn’t make out the words.

Time passed, and I grew up. The poster went, and something else took its place.

I seemed to forget everything about Lou and Rachel, and if the sun had come out for the two of them, on one day lost in time.

And in time, I had my own chances to throw my bones at the world, to take long life digressions, to bore myself in well-thought out perspectives, to fuck and get fucked by my own quiproquos.

I went along what looked like my own way.

And you could say I turned around one day and found I had gone full circle, to be back to the same perplexity, and to the same attentive observation, this time surrounded by a modern, multi-faceted world, speaking in tongues, where a million oracles, high or low, just wait on every corner, to dole out any sorts of revelations you might ask for.

So I learned in detail the human story behind the lore I had picked up passing by, through the years, of how Rachel Humphreys was, in Lou Reed’s own words, ‘something else’, oscillating between a masculine and a feminine identity, and still retaining some man traits.

From what I found, Rachel had wanted to make her choice, and to be called a ‘she’. No ‘he’ days, anymore.

But that didn’t come true for Rachel. And we’ll never know exactly if she was denied that, or if she just put it on hold, busy on drugs, adventures and misadventures, thinking she would have the chance later. Later…

Likewise, we’ll never know if she left, or the way she held her head when she left, although I have a whole movie in my mind about that. Or if Rachel just lost her game and her man, and she was actually the one to watch him go, his heart closed for her, uncomprehending.

I’ll never know.

But I know that she fell from grace, that she suffered her own ordeal in the cruelest, unmitigated years of a modern Plague, and that she died a miserly death, like so many artists’ models. A sure death, the only biographic detail we possess about the mysterious beauties who look at us from ancient portraits.

And I know where her bones rest, I read, in a ‘pauper burial site’ on Hart Island, off the Bronx coast.

There she is, among many, many others, over one million souls, it says.

All the same, I feel as if I might just find her, in a dream.

Then I would know her in the multitude, and walk up to her.

Touch her shoulder, tell her I remember her.

Give her this story.

[rubykgrant]

(Fixed-up my Tucker interview a little; the first version was OK, but it felt too long and wordy, I wanted to cut some of the superfluous details but keep the important bits. This discusses Tucker being a 19-year-old dink with a fake ID, leading to some under-age drinking and other shenanigans, but nothing detailed or horrible. In fact, he explains that things were NOT as bad as they could have been. It also rolls into him explaining some personal growth he’s had, and why~)

“So, how far back do you want me to go?”

“If you think it might be important, you can talk about your childhood,”

“Haha, jeez, isn’t that how a therapy session starts?”

Andrews laughed as well… because, yes, it did sound a bit ironic. Still, things that happen in childhood can often be relevant later in life, especially when you wanted to get others to really understand; you are a PERSON. You always were a person, and you will always be a person. Good and bad, it all added up to who you are.

“I guess telling your life story can be considered therapeutic in a way… but seriously Tucker, this is up to you. How much you want the rest of the universe to know?”

“A lot, I guess. I don’t know where to start, though…” Tucker admitted. Andrews was a little surprised, honestly. Tucker usually LOVED to talk about himself (sometimes what he said wasn’t exactly true, but that was a whole other issue).

“In that case, can I ask you some questions? To sort of prompt you?” she was sure once he got going, it would be easier. “We can keep anything you don’t want to be made public off the record later. Right now, this is just us, having a conversation. I had a lot more questions I wanted to ask everybody back on Iris, but we were in a bit of a rush, after all…”

“Sure. Go ahead, ask away!” Tucker leaned back in his chair.

“OK… well, we might as well get THIS question out of the way,” she shuffled some papers she had collected in a folder around. “When I was researching all of you, I found a note in your files… it wasn’t clear what happened, but it involved something about charges being dropped?”

“Oh THAT,” Tucker crosses his arms, clearly embarrassed.

“What, exactly, IS that?” She asked again.

“I’ll tell you… but before I start, I’m letting you know, this is a crazy story and you are DEFINITELY gonna want to jump in as I tell it, but I promise, if you just let me get through the whole thing, it isn’t as bad as it sounds at first!”

“That’s both intriguing and potentially ominous… but alright, I’ll let you say what you need to say,” Andrews agreed, then got herself comfortable, ready to hear whatever Tucker was about to tell her.

“OK, OK… so, this was right before I was officially going to get pulled into some kinda Blue Army assignment, which was BS by the way, but we’ll get into that later, and I had just a couple weeks left of civilian life. I knew a guy who knew a guy that made fake IDs. There I am, 19 years old, looking at a life in the military where I’m probably gonna get killed on some alien planet, and I’ve got a fake ID. Obviously, I went totally bonkers,” at this point, Tucker shook his head at the memory (evidently regretting his decisions back then).

“I decided to visit every bar down the street where I was staying… which was 6. I went to 6 different bars, and I tried maybe like 17 different kinds of drinks,” Andrews didn’t interrupt, but she couldn’t help but let out a small snort when she heard that. “Yeah, it was horrible. I didn’t have anybody to tell me this wasn’t a good idea, but I was mixing all kinds of alcohol in my stomach, and I got BEYOND smashed. That would have been bad enough, but then the REAL problem happened…”

Tucker tilted his head back and took a deep breath.

“At some point, this girl comes up to me, twirling her hair all cute, and asks me to buy her a drink. I wound up buying her 4. When I was out of money, we stumbled out of the bar, it was dark, maybe 1 in the morning, she was still hanging all over me and giggling, so I asked her to come back to my place… OK, I actually said something more like-” Tucker switched his voice, intentionally making it sound slurred and messy. “Heyyyyy… y’wanna bang? ‘Cause I wanna bang… we should go bang!”

Andrews laughed again, she couldn’t help it.

“I know, I was a real charmer. What woman could resist? Anyway, the place where I was staying wasn’t far, so we headed back… what I didn’t know at time was, this girl had a crazy ex-boyfriend. He was in a car, parked across the street, watching us! I found out way later he’d been following her for a month. Literally a stalker. Well, instead of just getting out of the car, walking over, and punching me like a NORMAL crazy ex, he follows us back and figures out where I lived. The next day, he called the police…”

Andrews’ head tilted to one side, questioningly.

“See, you wanna jump in right now, but hold on. I’ll explain… so yeah, me and the girl fooled around, she got up before me the next day and left, and then I woke up FEELING LIKE DEATH. That hang-over was a whole entire BITCH. I was puking, crying, all that. It wasn’t until almost 3 in the afternoon that I started to feel better… then there was a knock at the door. I answered it, and it was the freaking COPS. That crazy ex? Yeah, he made some anonymous call, saying he saw an under-aged girl leave a bar with some dude, then gave them my description and address,”

Andrews leaned forward, genuinely concerned about what might happen next.

“I didn’t make things any better, because remember, I’m 19, I’m an idiot and a jack-ass, plus I still had a head-ache, so that was making me act all snarky… when they told me why they were there, the first thing out of my stupid mouth was- she told me she was 18. That was supposed to be a joke, right? Yeah, they didn’t think it was funny. And seriously, that girl didn’t tell me ANYTHING, except that she thought I was hot and her favorite drink was Long Island Iced Tea. I got hauled down to the police station, and was almost in big trouble… but then they found the girl. She’d been getting kicked-out of other bars that whole night because SHE had a fake ID too, it just wasn’t as good as mine. Some people recognized her, and finally the cops talked to her. Do you know how old she was? 18! Literally one year younger than me! My joke was accidentally true! She wasn’t under-age because she was like, a child or something, she was under-age to DRINK! That’s why she was using me to buy stuff for her!”

Andrews let out a long exhale… she had been VERY worried there for a moment (if that story had gone a different way, she might‘ve thrown a punch at Tucker).

“It worked out OK, all the charges were dropped and they just took my fake ID away. After that happened, I thought the whole thing was HILARIOUS. I knew I’d gotten lucky, but I had no idea HOW lucky. I used to tell that story like it was a brag, but… a few years ago, it hit me… I could have been locked-up, right? Even worse, I was so wasted, I really wasn’t paying attention to who I was with or trying to be safe, or ANYTHING. What if I did run into somebody who was way too young? Never mind me getting in trouble, I don’t want to be the reason somebody had a shitty experience… and that IS just about the shittiest thing ever. I know I’ve got a reputation as a perv, but I ain’t a predator, thank you very much. Kids do stupid things, but that’s not an excuse for a whole-ass adult to get away with hurting somebody younger. It’s… sad, and kinda scary. The way people take advantage of situations when somebody doesn’t have any experience or control. Hell, it isn’t OK when adults hurt OTHER adults, either. Just because we get older doesn’t mean we should just stop being NICE,”

Tucker let out a sound, not quite a grunt or a sigh. Sort of a rumbling thoughtful noise, and in it, Andrews heard layers or resentment (at himself, for who he used to be? At other people, still acting that way? Probably both).

“It sounds like you’ve been thinking about this a lot,” She said.

“Mmm, kinda. On some of my trips back to Chorus, when I was looking for Junior, a lot of the new people our old teams started working with wanted to meet me, because I’m Captain Tucker with the Magic Sword and junk. These new people, they’re even YOUNGER than our lieutenants were when we met them. None of these kids are gonna be soldiers, they’re all learning to be mechanics and find jobs with computers and science stuff, but they still think me and the guys are heroes. I guess I started to… listen to myself. When I’m bragging about my life. I started thinking about these kids who are paying attention to everything I say, and what that means, and what I wanted to tell Junior, and what I wish I could tell MYSELF when I was younger… so! We had some good talks about respect, safety, communication, and how it’s important not to rush things!”

“Tucker, that is… honestly very mature and sensitive advice,” she told him.

“Why does everybody always act so surprised? I’m mature as hell! I even know some dudes that are older than me, and I’m WAY more mature-er than they are!”

[sirspazingtonthefourth]

Skylight: Chapter 6

1.4k words. Hawks and an OC (Not Romantic!) Fluff with some angst, Found family sort of. Content Warnings: Cursing, isolation, mentions of abuse, blood-letting, let me know if I missed any

Summary: The heroes prepare to extract Seijin.

A/N: So, I've been sneaking in a little detail over the past several chapters, and this is where it finally pays off.

The stakeout was approved quickly due to the evidence Hawks had collected. Well, quickly as stakeouts went. It still took two weeks.

He warned the team of sidekicks not to make any noise, that the man they were looking for had extremely sensitive hearing. The first group didn’t listen. The car they were waiting in rocked as the man pulled into the driveway, and he immediately pulled out and kept driving. The sidekicks didn’t even get the license plate.

They tried again a week later with better results. They had parked slightly closer and gotten a license plate and a photo of the man’s face before he’d fled, the shutter of the camera giving them away. Still, a breadcrumb trail was a trail.

Within hours of his sidekicks getting him the information, he had a name and a file. Kobayashi Hayate, listed as a member of whatever bogus company owned the house since its founding seventeen years prior. His record was pristine, his quirk enhanced his hearing enough to hear a butterfly’s wing beat. He had a privately owned residence, and no complaints from neighbors. The car was registered under his name. Bank records showed regular payments coming in from the company every two weeks, right around the time he would drain the kid.

He checked the company finances too, hoping for something traceable to whoever the client was, but there was nothing. A cash deposit made hours before the transfer for the same amount. Whoever the client was, Hawks wasn’t going to be able to find them. But it was shady to say the least, even without one of the company’s founding members being tied to selling blood, likely through a black market contact somewhere.

Coupled with the information he’d gotten about Seijin, their confinement, the bloodletting, it was more than enough to not only get a warrant for his arrest, but to get other heroes on board with a collaboration. Mirko was one of the first to sign on, along with Edgeshot, Kamui Woods, Eraserhead, Nighteye’s work study student, Lemillion, and, of all people, Endeavor. He was probably just trying to boost his PR, but Keigo still felt honored, and more than a little giddy, that his favorite hero was teaming up with him on this as he started his presentation on what to do.

“Thank you for coming everyone. I’ll keep this as short as I can, since I’m sure you all have better places to be,” he started, glancing around the conference room to meet everyone’s eyes.

“This is Kobayashi Hayate, our target in the raid tomorrow. His quirk allows him to manipulate sound, increasing or decreasing it for up to five targets. He’s been holding a child in a home in the residential district in Fukuoka for an extended period. We don’t know precisely how long.

“The goal for tomorrow is to arrest Kobayashi for kidnapping, child abuse, and selling illegal substances, namely products of the human body. His pattern for approaching the house seems to be mostly random, so we’ll be waiting for him to arrive before we can do anything. Once he’s arrested, we can focus on the kid. Any questions so far?”

“Why not get the kid out of there before confronting Kobayashi? Wouldn’t it be safer if he isn’t able to use them as collateral?” Lemillion asked.

“Normally we would, but the kid isn’t going to leave. There’s a hole in the attic large enough for them to fit through and they have had multiple opportunities to escape over the months this investigation has been going on. Until they understand that Kobayashi is no longer a threat, they won’t leave willingly.”

“Then what’s the extraction plan?” Mirko asked.

“I’m going to drop into the room first. The kid hates noise, and you can bet that arresting Kobayashi is going to cause at least a stir. I’ll try and calm them down and mark areas on the floor that creak. No matter what, do not step on those areas. I’ll let you know when to bring Kobayashi up. From there, I should be able to convince the kid that he isn’t a threat and that it’s safe to leave. I want standby’s on the roof in case Kobayashi somehow gets out of hand.”

“You’re going to be the only one interacting with the kid?” This time from Eraserhead.

“Yes. I’ve built up some amount of rapport with them over the past seven months.”

“Why not have another hero with you to ensure they know they’re safe?”

“Because it won’t work. They don’t know what a hero is or does. They didn’t know what a quirk was until a few days ago. They won’t trust any random person that enters that attic. The only reason that I have to even suspect that I might be able to convince them to leave is that they know me.” Eraserhead nodded, and Hawks pulled files from his coat.

“If there’s nothing else, these should have relevant information collected that I didn’t go over, your position tomorrow, what to expect.”

“Hawks, sir?” It was Lemillion again, giving him a rather determined stare. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s their name? You haven’t told us.” The whole room turned to Hawks as he took a breath.

“Seijin. Their name is Seijin.”

“You should’ve seen it, kid,” he said into the attic. “They all want to get you out of here too. You’re gonna be free come this time tomorrow, I promise.”

They were currently laying on a rafter above him. Ever since they’d found out what a quirk was, they kept asking to see cat videos. If they felt energetic, they’d morph a few parts of themselves, namely the tail and their hands. They were much quieter on cat feet, despite being nearly silent already, and they liked to jump around on the rafters even more. They’d run from box to rafter to rafter to floor to rafter again.

They let out the short, high pitched coo that he’d come to understand was their way of getting his attention. He supposed, to them, it was as close to a spoken name as they had for him. It was fair, since he’d given them a name too.

But they would need more than that. They’d need food and clothing and guidance. They’d need to go to a doctor to see if they could hear at all, get them hearing aids if they needed it. Would they even want them? They’d need a place to stay. He’d heard horror stories about people in the foster care system, and there was no way he would let the Commission take care of them after what they did to him.

He could always find someone. Probably another hero, one able to handle teaching the kid more sign language and their skittishness. One that knew how to keep quiet so they didn’t startle his kid too bad. It was hardly impossible, practically speaking.

But he wouldn’t see them again.

“Keigo, you are sad. What is wrong?”

“Not sad. Nervous.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know how to say it in sign. Sorry.” It was a half-truth, really. If he’d been able to just talk to his kid and have them understand, he might have still tried to get out of explaining it. How do you tell someone who’s been held captive so long that they’re about to be free? How could he convince them that it would be okay when they still squinted at the sunlight? How could he convince them to stay with him?

This wasn’t like any other rescue case he’d been on. He hadn’t been assigned this one, or just been passing by. He’d cared for this kid for months. He’d made sure they were warm in the winter, cared for them in the aftermath of their abuse, started learning sign language for them, lost who knew how many hours of sleep wondering and worrying about them, given them a name.

He couldn’t just walk away after all of that. He wanted- no, he needed to stay with his kid. Needed to provide for them, care for them, because no one else knew how to. No one else understood what his kid had been going through up here, he couldn’t trust anyone else with them.

Hang on. His kid? When had that happened?

…

Did it really matter?

He had plenty of extra room at his apartment, more than enough space for them. He’d be able to see them regularly, start introducing them to the world outside the attic. He could teach them to fly with their borrowed wings, what little he knew of cooking, how nice an actual bed felt after a long day. He could keep learning sign with them, help them unlearn all the fear they’d had ingrained into them, see the person they became outside of this dark, awful place.

Damn. It sounded nice. It sounded right.

[big-bad-a-detective-story]

Chapter 02

True, I set out not entirely certain of what it was I was looking for, but a good detective’s intuition gets them through. I followed my gut, and more efficiently, I followed my nose.

Not too awfully far from the tea house-- just off of Oolong Lane and nearing an intersection-- I found it: signs of a struggle. Several bags of groceries lay on the sidewalk, its content scattered. I avoided the carton of eggs, now smashed to smithereens, nearly tripping over a bag of oranges in the process. I, however, was able to collect myself. And with it I noticed my biggest clue: a woman’s purse laying in the middle of all the mess. A quick investigation of said purse, and one identification card later, and my rising suspicions had been confirmed.

Ms. Maeiz, recently missing mother of seven, had been nanny-napped. Right off the street, in broad daylight, no less! Oh, to think about the sort of things they could be doing to that poor woman even as I stood there-- poor pretty miss, meek and miserable.  It was enough to make even a hardened detective, such as myself, weary as I stared at the family photo in Ms. Maeiz’ wallet. 

It was then I knew, surrounded within the disturbing destruction, that the kids had to have seen SOMETHING. Anything, really, would be more of a tip to the terror that had taken place, than just meandering about. 

I made haste, and hotfooted it back to the tea shop-- determined to solve the case.

I’ll admit, the police cars parked in front of the building may have squashed my enthusiasm over my discovery, ever so slightly. I drew a hand down my tired face.

“I told them not to call the cops!”

TYPICAL! Just like a bunch of well-to-dos to not listen to the word of the working class. That is to say, I was working and they didn’t listen! Disregarded my commands altogether! WELL, I wasn’t going to put up with it, no siree. So it was with aggravation hardening my disposition that I stormed up to the front of the shop determined to stare the cop on guard down!

Unfortunately for me, not only did the guy have no eyes to be seen, he was missing his entire head.

“Sir,” he said from who knew where, holding up a hand to stop me. “I’m sorry, but this is a crime scene. You’re not allowed to enter the premises.” 

“I know it’s a crime scene-- I was here first!” I was mad, let me tell ya. And with it I got closer to this headless herald, jabbing him in the chest as I stared down his neck. “Now you WILL let me through to interrogate the Maeiz children, or so help me, I’ll--”

“You’ll WHAT?” This voice was gruff, and one I recognized-- even in my surprised stupor. “Need I remind you that threatening an officer is a punishable offense?” 

Broad and as boorish as ever, it was the last person I wanted to see: Constable Ogol. Tall, and just as unsightly as any ogress you’d expect to see, she didn’t look happy to see me, either. She placed a hand on the other officer’s shoulder, gently pushing past him even as she refused to break eye contact with me. 

“I’ll take it from here, Jack. I’ve had dealings with Mr. Wolf before.” Ogol huffed, looming over me as she crossed her arms against her chest. “Your friend said to be expecting you. What did you find?”

Really! How dense did she think I was? Like I was going to assist her in taking this case away from me! As if I was just going to hand it to her on a silver platter!

“Oohh no, I don’t think so!” I tucked my findings away under my coat, just in case Ms. Ogol happened to be the snatching type. “This is my case, get your own.”

Childish, perhaps, but the truth. The constable didn’t seem to appreciate the gesture or my words. She loomed over me, looking none too pleased.

“Mr. Wolf, you are aware that withholding evidence is a criminal offense, yes? As is disturbing a known crime scene.”

I was distantly aware of Felix behind me, tapping my shoulder. As I felt I was dealing with more important matters at the moment, it only served as an annoying distraction.

“Norman! I thought you might like to know--” Felix was whispering to me now, couldn’t he see I was busy? I waved him off.

“To an ordinary citizen, sure! But I am a trained detective!”

“Trained?” At this the constable raised a brow. “I believe your file says otherwise.”

“HA! Like you know anything about MY life.” I snarked. I wasn’t having any of what she was saying, and was calling the ogre’s bluff. 

And unfortunately for me… she answered the call.

“‘Norman Davis Wolf. Four foot; one hundred eighty two pounds.’ Last recorded, of course.” 

This was added with a smirk, as she looked at my covered midsection. Let’s just say a certain someone’s stock of dainty cakes hadn’t left me quite as dainty since my academy days. I frowned. Constable Ogol, on the other hand, became serious once more. 

She continued.

“‘While the candidate shows overzealous passion for the job, he lacks much else. Trouble with coordinating with others, refusal to think before rushing ahead. This, and low test scores, are why we must regrettably excuse Mr. Wolf from the academy.’ End quote.”

And at this I was silent. It was… a shock to hear words I hadn’t thought of for some time. And by somebody I didn’t like, to boot! It was equal part humiliating as it felt like having an unhealed wound get stabbed violently with a fork. It wasn’t going to end your existence, sure; but it still HURT, you know!

 “I… see the old adage is true,” I grumbled, clutching the purse closer to my person. “An ogre truly doesn’t forget, do they?”

“Um… Elephant.” It was the other officer, the headless Jack of the trade, that had interrupted the conversation this time. He rubbed the stump where a neck would have been, awkwardly. “I think the saying is ‘elephants never forget’…”

I rolled my eyes.

“Nobody’s ever said it that way.” I challenged.

“Norman, everybody says it that way,” was Felix’s sassy retort. Great, whose side was he even ON?! I turned to give him a look to let him know his betrayal was not appreciated, but the look he gave me back seemed to overwhelm mine.

“Oh so now I’ve got your attention.”

I was about to comment on all of the excess sass this afternoon, when he surprised me by wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close.

“I thought you might like to know, Norman, the kids mentioned their mother having a boyfriend?” He whispered. Of course! My trusty sidekick had come through with vital information to our case. His earlier betrayal must have simply been a ruse to confuse our intervening company. What luck!

Felix stepped away and I turned back to face the constable again. She did not look happy about our conversation being interrupted, but then again, I don’t think I’d ever seen this woman look happy about anything.

“Perhaps you were right, constable, I was being unreasonable.” Oh, it hurt. But I reached into my coat and took out the pilfered purse. “Here, take it.”

Ogal gaped at me as if I’d just pulled out a rotten cod instead of an unassuming fashion bag.

“You touched it? Without wearing gloves?!”

Ah. Right. Whoops? It was time to make a hasty escape. I tossed the purse at her, and she fumbled with it, before securing her hold on the object. Of course, I was already on my way out.

“Good luck with that!” I called out, my partner and I making our way out of the crime scene and back onto the trail of our next clue.

____________

“You realize she was wearing gloves, right?”

Outside and down the block from the tea shop, Felix decided to share with me his “wisdom”.

“What?”

“The constable. She was wearing gloves, it’s still only your fingerprints on that purse, Norman. And another thing, was it a good idea to just give her the purse? Don’t you still need that?”

Ah, Felix, always getting so caught up in the little details. I scoffed and waved him off, so he would know just how silly he was being.

“Please! I still have her wallet, we’re fine. All Ms. Grump got was a bag full of makeup and coupons for baby wipes.”

“You kept her wallet? That is not going to look good! Oh Norman, what have you gotten yourself into ...”

I was about to retort-- and oh boy did I have a good one!-- but I was interrupted by a little voice from behind me.

“Yeah! You’re gonna get in so much trouble!”

I turned to see seven little kids lined up behind me. How had they managed to sneak past the cops? How had they followed us without being noticed?

“How did you! Where did you! When did-- oh forget it.”

I didn’t know why I was complaining. While I could have easily and flawlessly found other ways to find the fiendish felons who filched from fatherless tykes’ mother, it didn’t hurt to have a personal source. What I needed to know was the ‘who’, and any detective worth their salt knew the first suspect was always the spouse.

Or in this case: boyfriend.

“Enough about that.” I started, getting on a knee to be at eye level with the children. “You’re here, and I could use your help.” I gestured to Felix standing next to me. “My pal said you guys mentioned something about your mother dating someone. What can you tell me about him?”

What I didn’t expect was for all the children to speak at once.

“He’s really nice!”

“And funny!”

“Plays all sorts of games with us!”

“Mommy says he’s handsome!”

“And TALL!”

“And he has lots of friends!”

“BAAA!”

The last was a bleat from the baby of the bunch, nestled into the arms of the oldest son. While it would only be fair to trust the tyke’s testimony, I had a feeling it had nothing to do with the case. Especially as the sibling stuck a bulbous binky into their mouth.

I tapped a finger against my maw in thought, as I considered if anything of value had actually been said.

“I… see.” Admittedly, I did not. But I tried to come up with another line of questioning. “And just where might I find this Mister… Mister… “ I frowned, feeling ridiculous. “Um, actually, what do you kids call the guy? I can’t keep calling him your mother’s boyfriend.”

My witnesses were eager to answer my questions.

“Momma calls ‘im Honey.”

“And Sweetie!”

But unfortunately, maybe not the most helpful. That was, until the eldest spoke up.

“He has us call him Larry. But between you an’ me, I don’t think that’s his real name.”

Larry? Could it be, THE Larry? I had my doubts. What were the odds! It was then I remembered the wallet. I took it out and began searching through it for clues, now on the lookout for more than just the missing’s identification. What I found confirmed my wary speculations and squashed my doubts.

A wallet sized family photo: A nice little middle aged woman. Seven nice little kids. And right beside them?

“Ah HA! Larry Lemonade! This guy just can’t help himself, can he? Felix! Keep an eye on the kids, I’ve got a wolf to question!”

“WHAT?” The Fox questioned, eyes wide as he whipped himself towards my direction. “And just what am I supposed to do with them?”

“I don’t know, take them to the park? The movies?” 

I had no idea what kids liked, but it was evident SOMEbody needed to keep them busy. Lest the guys who napped their mother returned for them. I threw my arms up in frustration, even as I began to stomp away. 

“Heck, take them to our place, for all I care. I just need you to stash ‘em away while I go hunt down the next piece of the puzzle.” Stomping became a jog, as I called back to the best (and only) babysitter I knew. “Things are coming together, Felix. I CAN FEEL IT!”

And it was with zealous that I began running. Seven little goats were no longer my concern, as I was a wolf on a mission. Destination? Where all no-good wrong-doers ended up once caught:

Prison.

[sinner-as-saint]

we can’t stop, we’re enemies.

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader AU

Run-through: After the events of the last battle against Thanos, you teamed up with Sam and Bucky to carry on your superhero duties. You got along with Sam just fine, he was a really good friend to you. Bucky however, was not. From constant banters, to unnecessary hand-to-hand combat, to purposely getting each other in trouble during risky missions, to being the main cause of Sam’s migraines; it was safe to say that you and Bucky considered yourselves to be each other’s nemesis. Although that soon changes when, courtesy of your silly banters, a certain mission goes slightly wrong - one which involves strong chemicals which, unbeknownst to you, were designed to mess with the brain and hormones, thus encouraging the need to breed and procreate amongst all those who inhale it...

Themes: enemies-to-lovers, smut, sex pollen trope, dirty talk, swear words, fluff

“How is it going up there Sam, talk to me.” 

You spoke, waiting to hear from Sam through the ear piece. 

The three of you were on a mission on unfamiliar lands. Rumor had it that some shady organization was conducting illegal experiments. The whole location was spooky, and you needed to be thorough and quick. So Sam decided to get an aerial view along with Red Wing, and see if there are any threats coming your way while you and Bucky decided to check out the underground laboratories. 

The whole place was shadowy and old, it almost seemed like no one had been here in a long time. But still, these people were criminals so you had to gather every evidence you could which would lead you their way. 

And so far, after exploring the place for the past half an hour, you found nothing major. Just weird laboratory glassware filled with liquids and what not. 

“Sam?” you called out again into the ear piece, keeping your gun at the ready. “Say something damn it.” 

His reply came. “There’s something sketchy about the building at the back, I’m gonna go check it out. But you have to promise me you won’t kill each other by the time I get back.” 

You and Bucky sent death glares at each other in disgust. He was on the other side of the lab, flipping through files and papers, while you were searching the cabinets and drawers. The two of you were separated by a steel workstation. Dark leather jacket, metal arm exposed; you’d find him handsome if he wasn’t so annoying. 

“Sure, whatever.” Bucky mumbled, being his grumpy self. 

You frowned at him, “Dude, drop your fucking attitude.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes at you, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Sam roared through the ear piece, “Enough! Focus, you two are in the labs and we don’t know what’s in there. Just, maybe look out for each other. Okay? I’m going in.”

“Be careful, Sam.” You spoke, sending another dirty look at Bucky. 

“Yeah y-,” 

Sam got cut off. All you could hear was some static noises and then complete silence. 

“Sam? Can you hear us?” Bucky tried reaching out but neither of you could hear him. “This isn’t good.” 

“Damn it!” You cursed. “Maybe he flew out of range. Or maybe we’re too deep under.” 

For once in his life he nodded, agreeing with you. “Let’s just hurry up and see what we can find. We need to get out of here as fast as we can and get to the Jet.” He said, flipping through more and more files and papers, his metal arm glistening in the poorly lit room. 

You sassed in the same tone he used before, “Don’t tell me what to do.” And you earned yourself another glare from him. 

Fifteen minutes later and you two still had nothing to work with. 

“This is useless. There’s nothing here, this is just bullshit.” Bucky complained, slamming down a file on the workstation so hard that it made you jump. 

You were annoyed. You slammed a cabinet shut and turned to face him. “Oh I’m sorry princess, is work getting too tiring? Do you need a break? Hmm?” 

“Shut up, you’re the one who keeps whining all the time.” He wasn’t wrong. 

You stepped forward, grabbing the edge of the cold workstation. “Well maybe if you’d quit complaining and actually do your part of the job, then I wouldn’t have to whine about always doing everything on my own and you taking credit for it in front of Sam.” 

He leaned forward, his metal arm already denting his side of the edge of the workstation. “Maybe if you’d stop bitching about everything and everyone all the time then maybe we’d get along and actually get shit done.” 

You leaned in too. “Or maybe if just me and Sam teamed up, we’d work better. I still don’t know why he keeps you around. Take your metal arm away, what are you? Exactly, just a hundred year old, confused man.” 

He smirked. “And what are you? Just a spoilt, whiny brat who knows how to use a gun?” He knew just what to say to get the reaction he wanted out of you. 

In less than a few seconds you had your loaded gun out in front of you, aiming it at his forehead. “And guess what, she never misses a target.” You spat at him. 

You had done this before; aiming guns at each other until Sam comes to break the tension. But Sam wasn’t here this time. 

Bucky knew you would never pull the trigger on him so he gave you a handsome, arrogant smirk which only pissed you off even more. “Come on, shoot.” He provoked you. 

“Stop pissing me off.” You warned. 

“Or what? You’re gonna shoot me for calling you a whiny, spoilt brat? See, that’s exactly what brats do.” 

“James, stop.” Oh he was getting on your nerves. You were agitated. 

He just smirked and went on. “I actually believe that that might be your superpower, destroying people by annoying them to death with how much of a brat you can actually be.” 

You glared at him, unmoving, furious. You placed your forefinger on the trigger. “Say brat one more time and I will blow your fucking head off and when Sam asks, I’ll make it seem like an accident.” 

He leaned closer, aligning his forehead to the barrel of your gun. He stared at you with his stormy, ocean blue eyes; inciting you to just pull the damn trigger. He watched you with mischief in his eyes. “Brat.” He mouthed, smirking right after and waiting for your reaction. 

You clenched your jaw and shifted your aim just a little so that the bullet misses him but still shoots right by his ear. You pulled the trigger without hesitation, shooting at the shelf filled with dark red and brown liquids behind Bucky. 

Bucky maintained his calm and composure despite the loud sound of the shattering glass falling on the tiles right behind him. “Brat.” He said again, out loud this time. 

“I hate you.” You lowered your gun but then noticed something behind Bucky. Smoke, or some sort of vapor oozing out of the broken flasks and test tubes. You froze for a second. “Bucky, look.” You walked around the workstation and joined him on the other side. 

The vapor quickly filled the room like thick fog, reducing visibility and making your throat burn a little. You coughed; once, twice. You looked beside you and Bucky was standing there with a look of horror on his face. 

The moment his supersoldier sense got a whiff of the vapor, something in him ignited. No… 

“We have to get out of here. Now.” You heard his voice, then felt his cold fingers wrap around your wrists as he tugged you along, making his way out of the lab. He tried to hold his breath but he couldn’t hold it very long. He tried to find the door to exit the room but that was hard too because neither of you could see properly. 

“This stuff,” you spoke in between coughs, “will probably kill us, won’t it?” You held on tightly to his arm. “You need to get us out of here now.” The vapor was reducing your visibility more and more. 

He felt the side of the wall, looking for the metal handle of the door through which you entered the lab. “It won’t kill us.” He growled as he looked beside him. You were standing close to him, so close, holding on to his arm tightly, a thin layer of sweat covered your face. 

It was almost funny how you had your gun aimed at him just a minute ago and now you were relying on him for protection. 

“How can you be so sure? Do you know what this stuff is?” You asked. 

He sighed. He knew. “I have a hunch, but let’s hope I’m wrong.” He felt warm. Deep inside something stirred in him. Animalistic, primal, feral. It was there, pressing and burning. Guess he wasn’t wrong. 

He finally found the door and he pushed it open, letting the two of you out and you took off running at once. You tried to reach Sam. A couple tries later, he finally responded. “I got some names, I think we got what we’re looking for. Where are you guys?” 

“We found…. uh, nothing. We’re on our way to the jet, meet us there.” Bucky responded, running beside you. 

You were confused out of your mind, not to mention you felt feverish. Hot, and you were sweating more than usual in places you’d rather not think about. Something in you was yearning to break free. You felt chained, you needed release. You felt like something had awakened inside of you; a deep hunger. Aroused, you felt aroused. Or was it just the adrenaline rush? 

By the time you tried to figure out what was actually going on with you, you both had made it to the Jet. 

“I feel sick.” you mumbled, stumbling on your way inside the jet. “I think… I think that smoke poisoned me.” You placed your palm against the side of the plane to hold on so you don’t fall. You felt like gravity wasn’t pulling you down anymore. You were a little out of breath. 

Then you felt a cold hand on your shoulder. You grimaced as it only ignited the fire which you just found out had been burning inside you since you left the lab. 

“You’re not poisoned. You’re not sick, you’re gonna be okay. We just have to… we have to get home.” Bucky was worse than you were. His enhanced senses allowed him to feel everything you felt, times ten perhaps. 

His heart raced as he got a whiff of your fading perfume, mixed with the adrenaline pumping through your veins and your natural, raw scent. He could feel your arousal from here, and it pulled him in so easily. All he wanted to do was to tear your suit off, pin you up against the side of the Jet and fuck the living hell out of you, stretch you out and just rail you until you could no longer take it. 

Fuck. 

You looked up at him; heart racing, palms sweating and even your mouth was salivating more than usual. “You know what that thing was, don’t you?” You asked, ignoring the way his cold hand upon your shoulder made you want to lean into his touch even more. “What was it?” 

You saw the look in his hooded eyes. Bucky sighed, pulling his hand away from you and the loss of contact made you whimper ever so quietly. You felt warmer and more and more breathless with each second that passed by. 

“They used to make those substances, long ago back when I was with HYDRA. I didn’t expect to find those here. They were used to… to try and see if they could get super soldiers to procreate naturally.” Bucky explained and waited for your reaction. 

“Sex pollen. Correct?” 

He nodded, “Yes.” 

You were a little shaken, but relieved knowing that at least it wasn’t poison and you wouldn’t be dying a painful death. “That’s… I mean, it could have been poison.” You didn’t know how to react after you pieced it all together. “How long before it wears off?” 

“Twenty-four hours unless...” 

“Unless what?” 

“Unless you fuck it out of your system well enough.”

That had you surprised. “Oh. Well that’s just great, isn’t it? Fucking perfect. I’m screwed.” 

Bucky tried his hardest to refrain himself from leaning in and biting that sassy mouth of yours, shoving his tongue past your lips to shut you up, to hear you moan and gasp and cry out his name as he takes you however he wants to… 

“We.” He corrected you. “It’ll get worse every hour.” He replied. 

You sighed and moved away from him, unzipping your combat suit partly and removing the jacket because you couldn’t handle the heat. Bucky cursed as you stripped into just a tank top and tight pants, right in front of him. He felt his cock get harder. 

“Can you not?” He sounded pissed off again; frustrated. “This is all your doing. The least you can do is make this a little bit easier for both of us.” 

His words made you turn around and glare at him. “How is this my doing? I didn’t even know what was in that lab.” 

He stepped forward, instinctively. The sight of your exposed neck and your soft skin was making him think of unspeakable things that he wanted to do to you. As he advanced, you tried not to look down at his cock, straining against his zipper. Your heart raced as you took in the size of his bulge. Enhanced super soldier indeed. 

“Had you not been a spoiled brat who can’t take a joke, you wouldn’t have tried to shoot at me nor would you have shot those flasks!” He argued, feeling more and more warm as he got closer to you. 

You took a step forward as well, fueled by annoyance, lust and anger. “Who was it who provoked me into doing that because they couldn’t keep their fucking mouth shut, huh? That’s right, your annoying ass!” 

Bucky pushed you against the side of the Jet without a second thought. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with his hand while pressing his body into you, his metal arm circling around your waist and pressing you further into him. 

He hadn’t thought this through. He hadn’t thought about how your warm breath would feel against his skin, or how warm your body would be under his touch. You felt feverish, having him this close. His tall, large frame and his tight grip made your whimper under him. Your body reacted to him naturally. 

All you felt was warm, his body heat, his scent. The feeling of his cold leather jacket against your flushed skin. You wanted him. Or rather, your body did. 

“Don’t you provoke me now, you fucking whiny brat.” He whispered, menacingly into your ear. 

You tried to ignore the shivers his voice sent down your entire body. But he saw it. And you could feel his erection press against your crotch. Just to mess with him, you discreetly moved your hips against his, making him hiss loudly. 

“What are you gonna do about it, dipshit?” You sassed, knowing that given his intensified senses he must be feeling much worse than you. 

He groaned as you kept grinding against him, your pulsating core rubbing against the bulge in his pants. And that only made it worse for both of you. 

“Fuck…” Bucky swore, before quickly pulling away from you, but not releasing you yet. “You’re such a bitch.” His body was screaming for you, each nerve ending of his was on fire. A fire only you could douse. 

You were just the same, on the edge and wanting to reach out for him; knowing he would satiate your hunger better than anyone could. Your body was throbbing as you stared into his eyes, your gaze lowering down to his dog tags. How you wanted those dangling right above your face… 

You heard someone clear their throat. It wasn’t Bucky. 

“Something you two need to tell me? Or is this just your new way of trying to kill each other?” A deep voice asked from behind Bucky. 

“Sam! Are you okay?” You escaped Bucky’s grip and rushed to Sam. 

He seemed alright to you. He nodded. “Yeah, we just need to get home. I need to notify the team and see what we should do next. What was in those labs?” 

You glared at Bucky. His smug face alone was pissing you off, but God right now you wanted to ride that man until the sun came tomorrow morning. 

“Just a bunch of useless experiments. Nothing major.” He glared at you as he said the last bit to Sam. 

The ride back home was one of the most painful, annoying and frustrating situations you had ever undergone. Each time you felt like someone was watching you, you’d turn your head to the side and find Bucky staring; and his stares would make your body tremble in need. 

Meanwhile he was having a hard time too, in more ways than one. He could feel his blood rush south even at the brief sound of your voice whenever you sighed in annoyance or talked to Sam. Luckily the latter could not pick up on the thick, sexual tension. 

Once at the compound, you each hurried to your own rooms and that’s where you stayed until the evening. Sam found it weird that you both skipped dinner but he didn’t need another headache today so he went to bed, telling himself that he’d deal with you two tomorrow morning. 

Bucky was a mess. Even after an hour under the cold shower his body was still calling out for you. He tried taking care of his business on his own, but that wasn’t working. He was still so hard it was painful. Nothing could make this better, nothing could soothe the pain - nothing but you. He needed you so badly it was driving him insane, like he was an animal in heat being asked to suppress his feral desires towards his mate. Being away from you was painful. He couldn’t help but hate you for no reason at all usually, but he’d do what it takes to be inside you and make you scream his name right now. 

You were equally as troubled at the super soldier. You tried taking a warm bath and tried to think of other things you could focus on, but nothing worked. Your toys didn’t seem appealing tonight, you needed him, all of him. You shivered at the thought of his taut, virile body under yours, or above. His masculine scent, the sound of his moans, would he bite?… fuck. You could feel your arousal leak out of you every now and then, it was insane how aroused you were. You couldn’t look at him for long without getting unnecessarily annoyed, but you would do anything just to have him rearrange your guts right now. 

What made it worse was that neither of you could stand each other at all. Enemies, you called yourselves. But right now you couldn’t help but crave each other in the most salacious way possible. 

Fuck this. You couldn’t take this anymore. You decided to swallow your pride and make your way to his room and ask him if you two could come to an agreement on how to fight this thing because it would be impossible to go another twenty hours feeling like this. You were burning from the inside. This was unbearable. 

Just as you opened your bedroom door, you were slightly surprised to find Bucky standing right outside your door. His metal hand up midair, as though he was to knock on your door and you happened to open the door just in time. You almost drooled at the sight of him; sweatpants and a tight, white t-shirt. You swallowed and cleared your throat. 

“Hey.” You greeted him, not knowing how to deal with this situation. You felt so drawn to him in that moment, so damn restless and needy that it was hard to breathe right while looking at him. 

“I was, uh, about to knock…” He didn’t know how he got here, he didn’t remember. Maybe it was the chemicals messing with his brain and turning him into a hungry beast. He didn’t care that he was knocking on your door in the middle of the night, he wanted you. He was craving you and that’s all he knew. Also the oversized t-shirt, the only you were wearing at the time, was not helping at all. 

“Yeah, um…” you rambled then stopped talking the moment you found him staring into your eyes with a wild look in his eyes. 

That was it. 

You grabbed him by the waistband of his sweats and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. Before Bucky could process anything, you had him pushed against your closed door and your mouth was on his, kissing him hungrily. Your hands slowly slipped under his tight t-shirt and you lazily trailed your hands up and down his toned abs. 

His hands gripped your hips on either side as he kissed you back with just as much ardor as you did. His body ignited the moment he felt your lips and hands on him, yet the heat was weirdly satisfying; it stimulated him but calmed him down at the same time. It felt perfect. This was just what he needed, you. 

Your movements were rapid and passionate, fiery. Hands roaming each other's body, touching and feeling and exploring; making each other moan like you were both touch-starved. 

You let out a soft moan when you felt his tongue slip past your lips, stroking the top of your mouth while his metal hand slipped under your shirt. Your body was tingling wherever he touched you. His touch made you feel way better than you had felt in the past few hours and you were grateful. Your moans sent his mind straight to the gutter and he couldn’t wait to be inside you. 

“I need you…” you whispered against his lips as you pulled away to catch your breath. “I need you to fuck me… right here, right now.” Your demands made him smirk as he looked down at you with lust in his eyes. 

“Oh?” he managed to still find the energy to be an ass to you. “Why don’t you go on and beg for it, then?” 

You scoffed, leaning in to lick his lips while you hand dipped into his pants. You grabbed his erected cock and gave it a little, gentle squeeze. He moaned like he hadn’t been touched in forever. Like he was desperate for one thing and one thing only; you. You whispered, “You need me too, Bucky. I’m not gonna beg you, I’m doing you a favor here.” You slid your closed fist up and down his length and made him moan some more before you let go and watched him groan and clench his jaw in annoyance. 

He looked down at you, panting in need just as you were. His hand slid into your hair and he gripped it, tugging on it just enough to make you gasp in pleasure and pain. “Still a fucking brat with that annoying attitude I see?” He leaned in to bite your exposed neck, making your cry out in pain before he licked the spot, soothing it. “Don’t worry doll, I’ll fuck all that attitude out of you.” 

He let go of your hair but tightened his grip around your waist as he placed his mouth back on yours. Kissing you like there’s no tomorrow; biting your lip and bruising your already swollen mouth. He was wild, and you needed it and more. 

He pushed you down on your bed, and stood back to watch you for a moment. How did he never realize that you were so naturally beautiful? He looked down at you like a predator looking at his meal; fiercely, ready to ruin you and make you scream and beg and satiate his hunger. As well as yours. 

“Well, if you’re done staring…” you knelt on your bed and reached out for him, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him closer. “I want you in me. Now.” Your demanding tone riled him up. 

Bucky grabbed you by the hair and tilted your head back again. “If you wanna get fucked, you’re gonna ask nicely. Understood?” 

You glared at him, shooting death glares right at him while your hand palmed him through his sweatpants. “I fucking hate you.” You spat at him, whimpering as he pushed you back down on the bed, quickly climbing on top of you this time. 

“I hate you too.” He knelt on your bed, straddling your waist as he tore your oversized shirt in half and off your body, throwing the pieces of fabric somewhere on your bedroom floor. You laid beneath him in just your underwear and he growled. 

“That was my favorite shirt, you fucking idiot.” You whispered, breathless, shivers dancing down your spine as he traced your mouth with his two fingers, slipping them past your lips once, then twice then trailing his now wet fingers down your neck, till your belly button. 

“You think I care?” he leaned down and took one of your breasts into his mouth, kneading the other with his metal hand. The contrast of his warm mouth around one and his cold hand around the other was driving you crazy. He bit, and tugged and licked; making your back arch off the bed as you purred in pleasure. 

Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his erection again to try and alleviate the pain. You were desperate. Bucky pinched and rolled one of your nipples while he lightly grazed the other with his teeth, and you let out a loud moan. 

“Please… please, I need you. Please…” You muttered under your breath, knowing he could hear you. Bucky smirked as he pulled away from your chest, ignoring the way his cock throbbed. “What’s so fucking funny?” You grabbed him by the throat, pulling his face closer to yours. 

His metal arm reached down in between your legs and he ripped your underwear off. The fabric hurt just a little when it tore against your skin. “Just that it's the first time I heard you asking for something so politely. It’s not so hard after all, is it?” 

Now he was pissing you off. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and flipped the two of you around. You got on top of him and straddled his waist, trapping him under you like he had you before. You had better control like this. 

You grabbed him by the jaw and leaned in to kiss his lips, fiercely. “Stop fucking playing, Barnes.” You whispered against his lips, grinding against his hard cock again. He closed his eyes and hissed in pleasure as you kissed down to his neck, nibbling on his skin along his throat. 

He moaned, hands gripping your hips and guiding you as you rubbed your bare core against his clothed erection. “No? I thought brats liked games?” He mumbled. 

You pulled away from his neck and looked down at his smug face. “You are so fucking annoying.” You reached down in between your bodies and lowered his sweatpants all the way down until he kicked them off. You grabbed his cock and stroked him gently, agonizingly slow. He moaned shamelessly, and eventually caught on that you were just teasing him even more. 

“Don’t tease me…” he sounded just as breathless as you were. 

“Why? Not so fond of games anymore?” you sassed, rubbing your throbbing core against his thigh while you stroked him so gently that he felt like he was losing his mind. 

He growled as he grabbed you by the waist and flipped the two of you around, him being on top again. “Enough,” he growled in your ear, “Spread those legs for me.” He ordered, settling in between them as you spread your legs to accommodate him. He grabbed your thighs and parted your legs even more as he aligned the tip of his cock to your opening. “Now stay still, don’t move.” 

You braced yourself for him, but nothing could have prepared you for that. His length stretched you open until he was seated deep inside you, filling you up entirely to a point where you couldn’t even think of anything else other than him being balls deep inside you. 

You moaned as he removed himself entirely and pushed himself back into you, and watched in awe how you struggled to adjust to his size. He lowered his face again, and leaned into your ear, “Fuck….” you heard him moan; panting and swearing under his breath as he rocked into you. 

You were a moaning mess under him in no time. He kissed your open mouth while he rammed into you over and over again, making your eyes tear up. The burning need subsided a little bit as his cock brushed against all the right spots inside you. “Buck… faster, please,” You whimpered. 

He chuckled into your ear, “Needy little brat…” he mumbled as he sped up into you, making you lose your ability to focus on anything else other than him and his body. He pulled away from your face to look down at you, his metal hand coming up to wrap itself around your throat. “This is what you wanted since we left that lab, huh? For me to fuck your greedy little cunt? Hmm?” He taunted as he stretched you out completely. You lifted your legs up and wrapped them around his waist; allowing him to thrust deeper into you. 

You felt tears escaping your eyes as he pulled you closer and pressed his forehead to yours fucking deeper into you. He was relentless; each moan which left your lips only encouraged him to get more and more rough. 

You felt a pressure form in between your hips, your body begging for release. “Bucky… please.” You moaned, begging. For something, anything. You’d take anything at this point. But right when your walls started clenching around him and when you were just about to come undone; he pulled out. 

“Please what?” He surprised himself with how he was able to tease you in this situation when all he wanted was to make both of you cum over and over again. 

“I need to cum, Bucky please,” you cried, with tears in your eyes. 

Bucky leaned in to kiss your swollen lips, not minding the tears. “Do you deserve it?” He asked, and you nodded immediately, your body shaking with how bad you needed to cum. “Oh you do, do you?” 

You nodded again. “Please…please...” 

“Well since you asked nicely…” Bucky flipped you onto your stomach and pulled you onto your knees by your hips and pushed himself inside you again. You felt his muscular body press against the curve of your ass as he filled you up again. 

He rocked into you from behind. His hand found its way to your front and he pressed the palm against your lower abdomen. He liked how he could feel himself deep inside you with each thrust. And he liked how that drove you insane, he could by the way your walls gripped his cock. 

“Feel that, little brat? That’s all you’re good for… to take my cock like a good little slut.” He whispered. 

You groaned at the sound of his raspy voice, his words making you milk him even harder. “You wish, you dipshit.” You moaned as he sped up when you least expected it. You whimpered, and he chuckled now that he had you at his mercy. 

His hand travelled all the way to your throat and he choked you gently as he bent down to whisper in your ear, “I can assure you that no one is ever gonna fuck you this good,” he boasted as he very gently squeezed the side of your throat. But hard enough to make you lose your mind.

You could only moan and whimper in response while he kept pounding into you incessantly. “Fuck… please....” you cried. 

You felt the pressure in between your hips grow until you couldn’t hold back anymore. You felt him quicken his pace as he chased his own orgasm. “Cum for me. Now.” 

You didn’t have to be told twice. You came undone, hard and fast; moaning his name as you did. Bucky came right after you. 

You collapsed onto your bed, sprawled unevenly and not even caring. Your eyes were shut in fatigue, your heart racing and you could feel Bucky’s body heat right next to you. He was catching his breath too, mumbling something under his breath which you couldn’t catch. 

For the first time in hours, you felt at ease. Your body wasn’t yearning anymore, but the hunger was still there. So when Bucky got up to leave, you grabbed him by the hand and pulled him back into bed with you. 

He smirked as he fell helplessly onto your bed again, right next to you. “You want more, you greedy little brat?” 

You punched his arm before getting up and getting on top of him again, sliding your body down his cock. He hissed as you did. 

“Just another round.” You whispered, loving the sight of him under you. His tan skin against your white sheets, him moaning as you slowly lifted up and sank back down on his cock. Oh fuck… 

You placed your hands on his muscular chest to hold yourself up as you sped up, riding him like you’ve been dreaming of this whole time. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you up and down his cock until you both found a pleasurable pace. 

You weren’t going to last too long, but you just needed to have him buried deep inside you again. His thick, girthy cock stretched you open as you took him as best you could, moaning and whimpering desperately as he groaned and gasped under you. 

Your walls gripping him and milking him like they had earlier, not even a few minutes ago. You felt the pressure forming nicely in between your hips again. You let out a loud moan as you felt his cock reach places it hadn’t before, turning you into a mess. 

His grip on your hips tightened as he brought you down on his cock with force each time and thrusting upwards to fuck you deeper. “Cum for me.” He threw his head back, growling. “Cum for me again…” 

Your hand grabbed him by the jaw and you leaned in to press your lips against his, claiming his open mouth and muffling his animalistic growls as you came undone around him again. Your orgasm then triggered his. 

You fell limp on top of him right after and he instinctively cradled your head. “You okay?” 

You nodded, your sweaty bodies pressed against each other but neither of you minding it. “Yeah.” 

Bucky gently rolled to his side, letting you down on your side of the bed. You tried your best to calm your racing heart. Not to mention you felt much, much better than earlier. 

Bucky got up to leave again, and you grabbed his hand before he got completely out of your bed. He turned to face you with a smirk then groaned dramatically, “Woman please, I’m not a machine. The pain will subside now, I believe we’ve done pretty good at fucking it out of our systems. I can’t go all night, seriously.” 

You were in a haze so his words made you giggle. “You’re really leaving?” 

He looked down at you, sprawled on your bed. Your face was glowing, you looked ethereal. “You want me to stay?” He asked, wondering where the sassy brat in you went. 

You nodded. 

He smirked, getting back into bed next to you, “What, now you're obsessed with me?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Shut up. I’m just saying since I might need you again in the morning, you might as well just sleep here.”  

He pretended to be hurt. “Wow.” He didn’t mind that at all. He got under the covers with you, “So… is it just the chemicals or are we…?” 

You snuggled closer to his side, he wrapped his arm around you, tucking your head under his chin. “Shh, I still hate you.” Your tired, soft voice reminded him of a sleepy kitten. 

He held you closer. “Of course.” He looked down at you and saw that you had already fallen asleep on his chest. He cracked a soft smile, whispering under his breath, “Brat.”