#I ended up being put out of the group by other circumstances

[stayingmachine]

if you know me irl and you know who this is about no you dont

[millersfinest]

the thing in your chest that beats | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5k

mini-series: california (you’re here) | oregon | idaho | wyoming

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: angry!r, mentions of fate, santa barbara arc, infected, shooting, lots of exposition, torture, violence, vulgar language, slow-burn romance, eventual smut, proximity trope, both reader and ellie on a path of redemption.

note: this first part is lowkey boring imo, but i hope the angst makes up for it. as always, please enjoy my hyperfixation!!

California

Ropes chafed at your skin; securing your legs and wrists on top of each other to the wooden post. Fog had shielded the setting sun from your skin—after many hours of being scorched. Your muscles ached and your bones were sore. The exposed skin on your shoulders and chest was dry and flaking, exposing an under layer of tenderness. Everything fucking hurt. But you were barely there; head nodding off from the scratching at your stomach and the dryness in your mouth ripping your lips apart.

How did you, a firefly, militarily trained, end up tied to a pillar at the cusp of a beach in Santa Barbara?

You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. This group searched for people like you—lonely and pillaged by the weight of the world. You were too distracted to foresee their deception; they got lucky with you.

Until the chemical reactions in your brain short-circuited, causing you to act out in the name of self-preservation.

Wrath, by definition, is a trait you’re easily overcome with. It’s not just something that passes through you like other traits and emotions. It holds on. It makes a home in your body and directs you like a rabid dog—a burdening feeling that nestled between your sore muscles. It filled you with adrenaline to kill and destroy—to get rid of the people who tried to get rid of you.

And, every time, you managed to find yourself feeling bad about it. There was no explanation for that. Just your heart being too sensitive for world you existed in—it was constantly broken. By yourself and your circumstances.

It was your own fault that you were captured by the rattlers. You should’ve never left Catalina Island for a pipe dream. There wasn’t anything better than the firefly base—you should’ve known that and never left. Perhaps, if you had remained under the duty of your earned dog tags, you wouldn’t have been thrusted into the situation that you were in.

Wyoming was a lie that you told yourself because you wanted to live a life that didn’t exist.

Locked in a debate with death, your body abruptly hit the dense surface of the sand. The ropes that bound you to that skewer had been severed by a fallen angel. A prisoner you had attached yourself to in the hopes of survival. Her hair was coily and reflected copper under the Californian sun.

You came to from the impact, finally beginning to hear the ongoing gunfire coming from the resort buildings. As you twitched in pain, she cut the bindings at your wrists and ankles. Tucking a pistol into your hand, she muttered words of hope. “Good luck out there, hotshot.”

Your lips moved to respond, but there wasn’t any sound. It didn’t matter, though, because she wasn’t around to hear it. The young woman at once took off in the opposite direction of the chaos with a bag over her shoulder.

Stuck in a dilemma, you didn’t move for a few moments. Eyes stuck on the weight in your weak hands. It was nothing but a black semi-automatic—it weighed nothing compared to bigger firearms. However, it sunk your hand into the sand as if it weighed a ton. You couldn’t even hold a gun with the same conviction that you used to. Yet, the fallen angel had faith that you could.

Taking in a deep wheezing breath, you tried to stand to your feet. You got up enough for your knees to bend, but once you extended them, you crashed back into the sand with a thud. In temporary defeat, you looked to the people still suspended on the pillars. They were unmoving, rotting away from the inside out. That could’ve been you if it weren’t for her cutting you down.

In mourning them, you gave standing another attempt. Keeping your hands low to catch your fall. But you didn’t fall. The muscles in your legs were weak, trembling as you stretched them. With a hunch in your back, you grabbed the gun, adjusting it in your hands. Your professional form remained the same as remnants of your training. Placing your hands over one another on the handle, supporting its weight. Aiming the barrel toward nothing specific, just to get the feeling again. It’s been months since you had opportunity to defend yourself.

With as much quickness that you could muster, you went through the resort to grab supplies. A backpack, medkit, and some food.

Setting your mind on leaving, you tried to sneak through the gunfire between the prisoners and the rattlers. But that simply wasn’t in the cards for you.

Before you could escape the resort, one of them had a bone to pick with you. It was the same rattler that was your deceptive captor. She used her femininity to convince you that she needed help—that she was weak and she needed your help. If anything, you have a bone to pick with her.

She had come at you with her bear hands, pushing your face up against a wall. She tore the backpack from your back, throwing it to the side. Where did her wrath come from? Somehow, you managed to get the upper hand. Straddling her body delivering punches that you haven’t in awhile. It felt natural to you to release such violence against another person.

Through beating her bloody, you found your power again. Tearing off the shimmering dog tags around her neck that had previously belonged to you. Heaving, you looked down at her. She had split your lip and broken your nose, but you could argue that you did worse to her. Her nose was cracked in multiple places, as she coughed up her own blood and teeth. It slipped down the crevices of her face, dribbling into her brown eyes.

“Fuck you.” You firmly speak, picking up your bag from its straps, swinging it around your shoulders.

From the fight, you had stumbled into a room of firearms. Still weak, you limped around. Causing you to walk away from the damage with a Beretta A300 shotgun and ammunition.

Like it was a prize after a big challenge.

You found yourself stumbling along the sand of the beach you were stuck on. This time, closer to the foggy waters of the coast. Ignoring the throbbing sensation in your thigh. You were barely sentient, running on nothing but fumes. But you knew you had to get as far from Santa Barbara as you could.

All of sudden, darkness began encapsulating your eyes from the outside in. Your limbs grew heavier, slowing down the pace of your movements—you collapsed into the sand like the damsel you had become.

When your eyes fluttered open, you were laying on an itchy couch. Waking up felt like awaking from a coma. Sitting up was a chore because of the tightness of your muscles. You felt it like a sickness in your chest. Trying to move your legs, you sucked in a pained breath. A hole that was cut into your ripped jeans was covered by white wrapping. Gauze.

A single lantern in the middle of the living room illuminated the space. It was placed on a dusty coffee table—off-center. Your backpack and weapons leaned against an entertainment center; a large cabinet that combined the use of compartments as well as a space for the tv to fit.

Blinking slowly, you tried to remember how you got there. Fingers gripping at the cushions, experiencing a crazy amount of brain fog. A wrapper crackled under the weight of your hand as you shifted. It was a granola bar tucked under the pillow that you laid your head on.

You stomach scratched at your abdomen, so you wasted no time in retrieving it—ripping open the wrapper and biting into the nutty granola. The side of your foot kicked over a metal canister, accidentally. Clashing toward the scratched wooden floors, it startled you. Reaching down, you shook it in your hands. There was a liquid inside. Screwing the lid off, you realized it was only water. Something else your body demanded of you.

Who put all this stuff here? It couldn’t have been you.

A creak from the side of the room, caused you to snap your head in that direction. Chewing slowly on the oats in your mouth, your eyebrows scrunched. Your free hand felt your hip from the cool metal of that gifted pistol, but there was nothing but the fabric of your jeans.

By the time she came into your view, your body froze. Your gun was across the room, she had the advantage. She loomed in the darker parts of the room as if she were hiding from you—in a way that was prey-ish, rather than predatory.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up…”

Her voice was raspy, and she spoke with a slow cadence. When she came into the light, she kept her distance. By the corner of the entertainment center cabinet—on the opposite end of where your bag was laying. Her auburn strands were choppy and tucked behind her ears. She wore a white t-shirt that was filthy with, what looked like, blood and dirt. Hands fidgeting with each other in front of her body as she eyed you with concern. She was missing her pinky and ring finger from her left hand. “You’d been out for hours… I, uhm, stitched up a wound on your leg— thought you might’ve caught an infection.”

She lacked conviction when she spoke to you. Voice leaving with a sort of emptiness, or perhaps, guilt. “Where’d you find me?” You asked, gritting your jaw. Holding onto the metal canister tight enough to use as a weapon if need be. That last thing you wanted was to be fooled by a stranger again.

She cleared her throat. “The beach.”

That’s when it hit you. The memories of your weakness hit. You remember dragging your legs through the sand, catching the glimpse of a body sitting in the water beside a vacant boat, then falling into a deep sleep. Of course, you, somehow, offered yourself up to a stranger.

It was just your luck, huh?

“There were others you could’ve helped… Why me?”

A scoff fell from her lips. Scarred eyebrows jutting together; an attitude washing over her freckled features. As if your words were charged with something else besides cautious curiosity. “I was expecting more of a thank you...”

You blinked, sucked your teeth. “I don’t know you from a can of fucking paint— so, you should lower your expectations.” You retorted, boring your eyes into her slender figure. What alarmed her was how your voice scolded gently. It cut deeper that way. “I mean, what is that on your shirt? Blood? Would you wanna thank some stranger in a bloody shirt?”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Have you seen yourself?” Her thick eyebrow raised, voice dropping an octave. “You look like shit—“

You glanced at the shirt that clung to you perspiring body. It also had remnants of blood and dirt and sand. Leaning your elbows on your thighs, you leaned forward. “Fuck you! You have no idea what I’ve been through—!”

“And you know what I’ve been through?” She countered, scoffing after her words.

You talked over each other—barking like unfamiliar dogs. Wrath came easy to you; and, apparently, it came easy to her, too. Her words silenced you, but you grit your teeth. “I should’ve left you where I found you— fuckin’ joke’s on me.” She ran a hand through her short hair, taking long strides out of the living room. Preparing to sink back into the corner she came from.

Clearing your throat, you swallowed your pride. There was a sincerity behind her eyes that you couldn’t ignore. Her anger radiated off her epidermis is such a way that it was familiar. “All right,” You sighed, positioning your body slowly to face her departing figure. She’d stopped in her path, peering over her boney shoulder. “I don’t recognize you from the cells… Or the pillars. Who the fuck are you?” Your eyebrows furrowed, voice weakening by the mention of your greatest failure: becoming a slave to the weirdest assholes known to man.

Wheels shifted in her mind, her olive eyes flickering around in the dark, in thought. Lips opening and closing, trying to formulate her words—but there was no use. She decided to resume her steps, sequestering herself in a bedroom. You heard the sound of the door shutting and locking the door behind her.

Groaning, you shut your eyes, leaning your head against the soft, itchy pillows, frustrated.

Unbeknownst to you, she’d locked herself in that room because she found herself overcome with emotion—hot, streaming tears. She didn’t know you as much as you didn’t know her, and she wasn’t going to share her own greatest failures with you. If what you were saying was true, you were victimized. How could someone like her talk to someone like you? After the things she’s done… After the things she was prepared to do.

The sun ascended, with the two of you lingering in separate rooms. You had eventually fallen asleep after some hours in your thoughts. Wondering about the story of the woman sheltering herself from you. Multiple times, you had to stop yourself from dwelling. This is what got you caught up with the first time. Instead, you began to think about what your plans were.

Were you going to resume your journey to Wyoming, in the hopes of finding that settlement? Or were you going to hitch it back to Catalina Island? And hope to God that they take you back with minimal consequences. Dwelling on those thoughts, instead of her, is what brought you to sleep.

When you woke up, you finished the metal canister of water. Giving the room a proper once-over. Sun rays cascaded through the dusty windows like beams, illuminating the room, angelically. Taking a deep breath, you decided to walk around. The soreness in your body hadn’t changed—you still felt burdened by your own body.

The home was a single-leveled Tuscan inspired home. Its interior was riddled with browns and beiges. Dragging your feet against the wooden floor, you entered the kitchen. All the cabinets were blown open and searched through. You assumed it was that woman who you’d met—still, you didn’t know her name.

Looking down at the counters, there was a yellow-paged note on the furthest one from you. The island closest to her bedroom. It was lying under a pill bottle. You shifted as quickly as you could to the note, sliding the pill bottle to the side, but not without a glance. They were antibiotics.

Found the antibiotics in the cabinets this morning, there’s only two left. Take them both.

I left to go hunt for some food. Stay in the house if you know what’s best for yourself. There’s infected around.

I’ll be back soon.

— E

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “If I know what’s best for myself…” Pressing into the top of the bottle, you unscrewed it. With nothing but your saliva, you knocked back two of the pills just like she told you. However, not because she told you to. There were many reasons for you to catch an infection from the wound on your leg—the wound you didn’t even remember how you got.

“I can handle infected.” You muttered to yourself. It’s been awhile since you really dealt with them face-to-face, but it was an innate ability. Why wouldn’t you be able to defend yourself from infected? Your only limits were your body stuck in its state of pain.

But, where you come from, sometimes it took movement to heal pain. Pushing through soreness and tightness was the only way to move forward.

So, instead of waiting around for E to come back around. You decided to explore some of the nearby houses. Ones that were only a few paces away from the house that you were currently in—you weren’t that stupid.

You secured your backpack around your shoulders, hooking the strap of your shotgun around your arm, and sticking the pistol in the back of your jeans. The first stop was next door. Slowly, you had climbed through a broken window. Landing in a bedroom decorated with childish posters. Focusing, you found yourself busy with looting the home. Taking things of importance and putting them inside of your bag.

You didn’t run into anything shocking until the third place you visited—three houses down. Thankfully, there was no clicking, but there were the familiar wailings of a runner. Catching a glimpse of coily copper hair, huddled over sobbing in her hands, you crouched behind a wall. Eyes shifting from side to side, trying to digest the visual.

Good luck, hotshot.

Perhaps, it was her who really needed the luck. Slowly, you removed the gun from your shoulder, leaning it against the wall. The breaths from your lips fled in chunks, pulling the gifted pistol from your waistband. You had known her for the entirety of your stay at that treacherous resort—she was your anchor. She helped you with your anger, keeping you under an emotional routine. Later, it worked for the worst instead of the better, but she tried to help you in there. She was patient with you.

You stepped from the wall, aiming the chamber of the pistol at the back of her head. You didn’t know her for that long, but you knew she wouldn’t want something like this for herself. She had plans just like you did—she wanted out of California. Leaving her to stumble around this broken home would be fucked up.

She freed you. Now, it was time for you to free her.

“You deserved better than this, Honey.” She was sweet and tangy like honey; that’s why you called her that. It wasn’t even her name—you didn’t know her name.

Your index finger squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet straight through her unsuspecting mind. Her whines were more coherent, meaning that all of that just happened. The infection had just taken over. A tear had slipped down the fat of your cheek when her body hit the ground. The shot echoing against the walls and through the neighborhood.

She lasted no longer than a day on her own, and those rattlers were nothing but the blame. They drained you enough to make you suffer but keep you working. But, out on the road, you stood no chance.

There was a piece of notebook paper on the floor by the baseboards of the wall Honey’s body laid beside. With a lump in your throat, you plucked it from the ground, holding it delicately in your hands.

After months of captivity, I’ve found myself in a situation that I could have never imagined. I didn’t notice when the clicker bit me, everything happened so fast!

It hurts now, though, a lot. And the anticipation of the infection is worser than I expected it to be. This is the part where I put a gun in mouth to end it all.

I’m too tired to do that. For once, I don’t wanna fight.

I apologize to those who end up witnessing what I have become.

The palm of your hand covered your mouth in shock as you read the letter. Honey must’ve been horrified. And it hurt to know that she went through it all alone.

Catching you in a grieving state, E had vaulted through a broken window with her gun in hand. Her olive eyes landed on you, subsiding the subtle look of shock on her face. “I thought I told you to stay in the house.” She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her jeans, sighing. “You’re in no condition to travel alone…” Her eyes casted onto your frame leaning over a marble counter, reading over the letter silently.

Hearing her footsteps, you folded up the letter and slid it into your back pocket. Taking a final look at the dead woman on the floor, a reflection of your friend that didn’t exist anymore, you brush past the the auburn-haired woman. Shoulders grazing as you achingly climb out of the same window she came in from.

Without saying, what happened to Honey worried you. Loneliness was a cruelty that many could afford—you experienced it. But loneliness along with bodily ailments wasn’t a problem you wanted. If it weren’t for E, you could’ve been in the same position as Honey. What made you worth saving and not her? A ball of fury, like yourself, should’ve been the first to go.

Yet, a level of gratefulness washed over you. Were you ready to thank the freckled stranger for her saviorship?

E followed you back to the house, binding the front door with furniture. Entering, you noticed two rabbits attached to a string laying on the tiled counter. Impressed, you hummed, while dragging your feet toward the couch you had slept on. You shrugged off your backpack and leaned your shotgun against the wall.

The auburn-haired woman peered at you, messing with rabbits, pulling them off the string to prepare to cook them. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She breathed. Her voice coming out like a muttered sigh, but it was loudly quiet in the house. Therefore, your ears picked up on her words.

You ignored her, pulling out the note, and kicking your feet up onto the couch to read it again. Analyzing the messy handwriting on the page, tainted with dried tears and dirty hand prints. E had brought in a metal trashcan to cook the animals she hunted for the both of you. Every so often, peaking at you with interest and wonder.

When the rabbits were cooked, she brought it over to you in a chipped ceramic bowl. “Thanks…” You mutter, barely meeting her eyes.

“Yeah,” She answered, slightly taken off guard.

The two of you eat separately, on different sides of the room. E didn’t retreat back into the room had the night before. Instead, she propped herself on the stool by the island table. Where she could keep her intense olive eyes on you—attempting to read you without asking questions.

You were impressed by the rabbit presented to you. Back at the base, you were familiar with chicken more so than rabbit, though. There was a hesitation when taking the first bite. But the rumble in your belly was satisfied by the animal, and that was all that mattered.

Feeling a strong gaze on you, peering to the side was a natural reaction. She’d snap her eyes back to her plate before you could fully catch her. Sighing, you set the plate on the coffee table in front of the couch.

In your looting, a bottle of wine called out to you from the basement of one of the Tuscan homes. You limped toward the kitchen with your calloused hand wrapped around the sloped neck of the bottle. Placing the bottle at the middle of the island, you take a seat at the furthest end from her. “I thought I would properly thank you for saving my ass…” You cleared your throat, awkwardly. Choosing to keep your eyes trained on your fidgeting fingers. “It’s Cabernet, I think. The label’s kind of rubbed off.”

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

You pursed your lips, flickering your eyes to peer at her. “Hm.” You hum. “Okay, well, more for me, I guess.” You shrug, reaching for the wine. The plan was to drink it either way—if she wanted it, or if she didn’t. Peeling off the wrapper, you were happy to see that it was a screw top instead of an imbedded cork.

Taking the first sip, its sweetness spread over your tongue. The alcohol percentage was fairly high, so you were expecting a pleasurable feeling within the next few minutes. If you kept gulping at the bottle. You deserved a bit of man-made solace after what you’ve been through. After the things you’ve seen. Taking another sip, you prepare to go back to the couch you were sat on, with the bottle in your hand.

However, E places a hand on the cool tiles. “Wait…” She rolled her eyes. “One sip wouldn’t hurt.” In her silence, she realized that she also deserved a few moments of calmness—self-care.

The corners of your lips curled, sitting back down on your stool. You slid the bottle close enough for her to reach it, leaning your head against your fist.

Orange rays of the sun shifted through the room; setting so the moon could take her place. You and E had found comfort in the wine and in the space between yourselves. Scooting close to each other until there was only a single stool in the center of you. Talking about the more joyous parts of your lives—which, surprisingly, wasn’t much. The pair of you managed to keep the important information off the record. Upholding a level of vagueness between your truth.

When E had brought up her son and girlfriend, that’s when the energy shifted in the room.

“You have a family? Then… Why are you out here?”

A beat slivered between you, circling your bodies like a ribbon.

“I recognize those dog tags… You’re a firefly? I thought they shut down years ago.” She spoke with rigid shoulders, taking a swig of the Cabernet.

Your hand reached for the thin metal around your neck, decorating your exposed collarbones. There was a disconnect between you and the facility you had grown up in. While you loved the support of the community, as you got older, you wanted something different. “Yeah, after everything shut down, another popped up here—in California. It’s the only one left, I believe.”

She chuckled, cheeks flushed from the alcohol accumulating in her system. “Hm. Are you gonna try and recruit me into your little cult? Is that why you’re still out here?”

Deepening your eyebrows, you peered down at the grout between the tiles under your hands. “Probably… If I still was a firefly…” Slowly, you enunciated. “I haven’t been one for months now.”

“Ah, you went rogue.”

“I wouldn’t say that… But, yeah, I guess.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for the wine bottle. She put it in your hand, leaning her elbow against the counter. E left room for you speak, just boring her hazed eyes into your frame. “I was done with being an asshole for a living— I don’t want to just survive anymore… I want to live.” You take a large swig of the wine, lamenting subtly.

Look where desiring life got you. Locked up as a slave for another bunch of assholes. “I heard from some people that there was a place in Wyoming that wasn’t anything like the fireflies.” You inhaled, sharply. “I could live a normal life there— maybe it’s a stupid idea… I don’t know.”

E deepened her thick eyebrows, leaning forward. “Are you talking about Jackson?”

“Yeah, I think so. There was a map in my bag that had the name. I lost it when the rattlers got ahold of me.”

With scrunched face, she stood to her feet. Running her hands over her face, releasing a tired sigh. “It’s not that stupid of an idea…” Looking back at you, she placed her hands on her hips. “That’s where I’m headed— Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Oh…”

Was this the fated reasoning behind why the both of you met? Both harboring an inner pain and guilt for something or someone. Two damaged souls meeting in the middle—this could be a productive exchange. But what would E receive?

She swore under her breath, running her fingers through her hair, stressfully. “You could come with me, it’s not like you’d get far in your condition alone.” She blinked, casually. You scoff at her words, sucking your teeth. She could never just be kind. Sure, it was obvious that you were injured—in horrible shape—but you weren’t inherently weak. You were a trained individual, something that most people couldn’t say.

“I’d feel like an asshole if I didn’t at least offer. It’s a long journey—“

“Oh, you still come off like an asshole, but I appreciate the offer.” You nod, jumping from the stool. “Those fucks threw me off track— I wouldn’t even know where to start up again… So, yeah, I’ll go with you.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“You don’t make me regret this. I have a bad history when it comes to trusting strangers.” You pressed your lips into a line, leaning against the island for support. There was a slight sway to stance, as the world around you didn’t feel stable.

“Okay, well, you have my word.” She affirmed, sliding her hands into her back pockets. “Do I have yours?”

You inhaled, sharply, glancing at the ceiling. “Yes, you have my word… On the condition that you tell me your name.” She narrowed her eyes at you, the corners of her lips curling. “We can’t possibly travel together if we don’t know each other’s names.”

The auburn-haired woman picked up the backpack she threw against the lower cabinets, slinging it over her shoulder. She was preparing to huddle into that bedroom again. Before leaving you in the dim hue of the few lanterns in the room, she spoke. “Ellie. My name’s Ellie.”

She waited by her door for your answer, with a raised eyebrow. You gave her your name, plainly. Straightening the hunch in your back—feigning a level of stoicism.

The only response she gave was a hum, before locking herself away. Releasing a sigh of relief, you smiled. Wyoming wasn’t the pipe dream you thought it to be. Yeah, the experiences you had leading up to that conversation weren’t the best. In fact, those experiences scarred everything about you. But could this have been the reason behind your hellish encounters?

[lovelyhan]

— melting point ⟢

rumor has it that icy department head of pledis insurance has something going on with her loyal secretary, wonwoo. well, she does—it's just not the kind of behind-closed-doors business one would expect for them to partake in.

★ FEATURING; secretary!wonwoo x afab!oc

★ WORD COUNT; 12.3k words

★ TAGS; coworkers to lovers, revenge fic, angst, smut

★ WARNINGS; blackmailing, manipulation, mentions of past bullying, graphic sexual content (MINORS DNI)

★ NOTES; hi... it's been forever, hasn't it? i missed tumblr a lot, and have decided to grace the tags with this fic after months of radio silence heheh ! this was a commissioned piece on twt which i tweaked to fit my tumblr audience better! cheers to 5k followers even in my absence t__t you guys are the best!

★ PS; i'm sorry i can't be bothered to dig up my taglist and tag those who filled it up T T

There’s a saying in PLEDIS Insurance that goes: enjoy your coffee early because once the Ice Queen is in, it’ll turn just as cold as she is. 

Of course, the words were merely thrown around in jest. Something that bored employees come up with in the break room whenever they’re careless enough to think their little jokes won’t reach said ice queen’s ears. But still—they’re just jokes. As long as they worked enough to satisfy their salaries’ worth, Emma the Ice Queen would always turn a blind eye. She might be cold, but she isn’t completely heartless.

Most of the time.

“Good morning, ma’am,” her secretary, Wonwoo, greeted with a curt nod as she entered her office. 

Emma scoffed before setting her things down on her work desk, the frown on her face only worsening when she sees the elegantly wrapped gift box in front of her. “What's this?” 

Wonwoo swallowed thickly, like he was nervous. Wonwoo never gets nervous.

“We have an...unforeseen circumstance,” he prefaced before tapping away on the iPad in his arms. “Sir Leo from the Choi group wants to pursue you.”

“Unforeseen?” Emma repeated. “Wonwoo, this is completely foreseen. Isn't it our from the start is to make them fall in love, only for us to expose their dirty secrets in the end?”

He looked as if he wanted to agree. But after turning the screen of his iPad so Emma could see the article written on some shoddy newsletter, her brows furrowed together in confusion.

A Race for the Inheritance: How the Choi Group’s Next Generation of Ambitious Youngbloods Will Do Everything to Get Their Fill of Old Money. 

The title itself didn’t give Emma much context of what exactly was making Wonwoo—her ever-composed secretary—lose his composure. It’s natural to see the sons and daughters of a powerful business conglomerate fight each other for their rights to the family inheritance. But after reading through what the rest of the article had to offer, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly started to fit.

“They're seeing who gets to get married first?” Emma laughed incredulously before handing the iPad back to Wonwoo. “Does Leo really think he can get me to become his lover—even more so his wife—after everything he did to me in high school?”

Wonwoo breathed in deeply. “Miss Emma, we both know the answer to that. If it were all up to you, you could easily put him to shame and reject him. But his interests somewhat align with the director’s interests as well…”

Ah. Her father’s interests.

“No,” she answered sharply. “Even if he kicks me out of my position, I’m not going to be wed to that prick.”

“Are you sure about that?” Wonwoo sighed before adjusting his glasses. “Miss Emma, we both know you love your work more than anything. And you're chronically attached to this company even if you despise the executives. Sir Leo has good leverage over you, sad to say.”

There was something irritating about hearing Wonwoo call his ex-best friend Sir, as if he was underneath some scumbag of a human being like Leo. But then again, years have passed since then. Lots of things have changed. 

But Emma’s grudges hold steadfast, still.

“Hmph, whatever.” She dismissed the matter with a nonchalant wave before unwrapping the gift box in front of her. “Was this from Leo, too? Is he on a deadline or something?”

“Hmm, first one that gets married before December gets the rights to the inheritance,” Wonwoo informed her as he picked the clutter of ribbons off Emma’s desk and pocketed them in his coat for later disposal. “Do you want me to look up the progress of his siblings and cousins? We can sabotage him while it's still early.”

Emma didn’t respond right away—preoccupied with unwrapping Leo's so-called gift. But when she sees a red velvet box with an engagement ring and a folded letter inside, she begrudgingly realized that Leo wouldn’t be as easy a target as her other high school bullies.

No, this man really was rotten to the core.

By the time you’re reading this, I’m sure you already heard the news. You know what to do, right, Emma?

Or should I say, wifey? ;)

“Send this back to him. Now.”

Wonwoo nodded obediently as Emma pushed Leo's cursed gift box away from her. “Alright. Anything else I can do for you? Like…have someone plant a snake in his bedroom or something?”

Despite the sour mood that Leo undoubtedly put her in this morning, Wonwoo's little idea of a joke made the corners of her mouth turn up into a small smile. The offer was tempting, but in the end, she shook her head and booted up the PC on her desk instead.

“As much as I want his death by a snake bite to headline the news, Leo doesn’t deserve to get out of this the easy way.” Emma muttered as she started browsing through the hard-drive she’d hooked up onto the computer. “And lucky for us, I finally got the evidence to send his suspiciously prosperous career down into a spiral.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow before taking a peek behind her. “What's that? Money laundering records? Tax fraud?” 

No. It was really something as simple as—

“Footage of a mass orgy he participated in,” Emma casually told her secretary as she clicked on the only video on the hard drive. “Might not look like a big deal compared to what we had to go through with Ezra, but Leo belongs to a family of devout Catholics. Good thing your contact from Leo's favorite bar had some use. All I did was ask around and he quickly spilled all the details with the right amount of money.”

Wonwoo chuckled as he flashed her an impressed look. “As far as I know, I’m the one who’s supposed to do the dirty work for you. Why are you directly involving yourself in matters you can leave to me?” 

The lewd video continued to play on her screen—muted, of course—and one could easily make out Leo Choi's face amongst the crowd of sex-depraved freaks. Once they sent this over anonymously to each and every person who might think that scumbag deserved to inherit his family’s wealth, it would be all over for him.

“‘Cause we’re a team, Wonwoo,” she chuckled. “You’ve done your fair share of work when we took down Gavin and Ezra. But admittedly…I've got more bones to pick with Leo. I think it’s only fair for me to orchestrate his downfall with my own two hands.”

“Right…” Wonwoo agreed with a hint of fondness in his tone that completely went over Emma’s head—far too triumphant with her newfound ammunition. 

“We’re a team.”

But it wasn’t always that way.

Wonwoo was actually more deeply involved in Emma’s mission to exact revenge on the people who’ve wronged her years ago than one would otherwise expect. He’d been best friends with Leo since they were kids, and when they eventually met Gavin and Ezra in their high school basketball team, the four of them were quite inseparable. 

But despite being his best friend, Wonwoo knew that Leo could be quite…off-putting with his behavior sometimes.

“Hey, look at that,” Sixteen year-old Leo scoffed before gesturing towards the loud girl earning amused stares in the cafeteria. “She's so fucking loud. Is she the new transfer student?”

Gavin snickered as he took a bite out of his lunch. “How'd she even get in here? Our tuition isn't a joke, and she doesn't really look like she can afford it. The kid of a maid, maybe?”

“Or she could be one of those financial scholarship kids,” Ezra pitched in with a shrug. “Though she doesn't look very bright if we're being honest.”

Wonwoo didn’t offer anything to the conversation, merely eating his food quietly as his friends talked smack about the new transfer student in their class. Emma Rodriguez was like a piece of meat thrown into a pit of vipers. Some might like her—like the classmates who were howling with laughter because of her antics—but others looked at her with disdain. 

She didn’t belong to any wealthy well-known families like every other kid in their grade. The girl simply popped out of nowhere like an eyesore, according to Leo. Wonwoo didn’t really mind her presence though. She made the boring monotone of his school days a bit more bearable with her energy.

But what Wonwoo thought was just his friends’ surface-level dislike for a girl who behaved differently from the others in their grade turned out to be something else.

Something worse.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what bullying was, and was well-aware that what his friends constantly did to Emma wasn’t something that normal high schoolers did. Leo was the most vicious about it, and Wonwoo never really got to know his reasons for doing all those horrible things. 

But whenever they spotted Emma horsing around in the hallways, Leo would always be the first one to come up to her—calling her names like fraud, gold digger, and the like. Gavin and Ezra followed each and every time, and they were usually the ones who pushed her around for no real reason.

And Wonwoo? Wonwoo was the one who always stood a few feet away every time his friends decided they were in the mood to pick on the transfer student. The one who always stayed quiet and pretended nothing unsightly was happening in front of him.

The one whose gaze Emma always tried to silently catch, hoping he’d be the one to stop his friends from harassing her. 

But he never did.

That cycle of three boys bullying a once bright and bubbly transfer student became commonplace. Before their third year in high school came to a close, Emma suddenly vanished off the radar. She didn’t attend their classes, nor was she there in the completion ceremonies at the end of every school year. 

Most of the kids around Wonwoo didn’t really give two shits about her sudden disappearance. Word around the street was that she transferred out because of the heavy harassment she was getting, not just from his friends, but also the rest of the students from their grade. They didn’t think Emma was funny because of her silly antics and loud jokes anymore.

Everyone started to collectively think of her as a nuisance, and the fact that she had no familial connections to protect herself with only fed into the senseless yet oh-so popular trend of crushing Emma Rodriguez’s hopes and dreams into the ground.

It was almost like Wonwoo was the only person in their entire grade who felt the tiniest bit of pity for her. But he told himself long ago that someone like him had no right to feel sorry for someone he never bothered trying to help. 

The years passed by in a flash. After Emma’s disappearance, Wonwoo quit the basketball team and  completely cut off his friends and everyone else who actively hurt her. He didn’t really know why either—all he knew was that he couldn’t stomach the idea of keeping those connections despite what they drove Emma to do. 

Of course, he knew he wasn’t completely innocent either. But it wasn’t too late to be a decent person, right?

Wonwoo simply went through the motions of graduating high school, then college, before pursuing a career in the vicious world of the corporate hierarchy. But instead of gunning for executive positions like his fellow fresh grads dared to dream, he worked his way up without using his family’s prestige to his own advantage. 

In fact, Wonwoo realized he liked working closely with his bosses. That’s why he became the designated secretary to all the finance department heads who walked through the doors of PLEDIS Insurance. He was content with being a jack-of-all-trades kind of guy who’s at the beck and call of someone else—a tool who worked on the sidelines. He never really wanted to be the face of any company anyway.

But then, in his fifth year on the job, he was told that there were a couple of changes in PLEDIS’ executive board. The boss he’d been working under was set to retire and he’d be replaced with a new one—someone younger and full of promise, as the head of human resources dramatically explained to him. 

It wasn’t really a deal breaker or anything. As long as Wonwoo got paid, he’d gladly work for even the most terrible of people in this industry.

But on the day his new boss was set to start, he was haunted by a ghost from the past instead.

Wonwoo hasn’t spared a single thought for Emma Rodriguez in God knows how long. Yet the moment she stepped into the office, he recognized her almost immediately. There was no trace of that girl people called gold digger and other derogatory names because of her appearance. This was a woman with her head held high—someone who oozed confidence in every stride with a gaze sharper than her winged eyeliner. 

Yet Wonwoo couldn’t be mistaken. This really was Emma Rodriguez.

He wondered if she remembered him, too. The boy who kept quiet about those who bullied her in those few crucial years of her life. Wonwoo even considered apologizing for not doing anything to help her when he should have. 

“Ah, Wonwoo Jeon?” Emma repeated his name with a dismissive air, almost like she was wholly uninterested in him. “The one who just watched when Gavin Kim pushed me in the muddy courtyard at school? The one who pretended not to see when Leo Choi splashed paint all over my uniform? Of course I remember you.”

God. Was this her exacting retribution?

For the next few days since she came into the office, Wonwoo helped Emma get used to the feel of things in the Finance Department. At least, that was his intention. 

From the looks of it, Emma already knew the ins-and-outs of managing a company’s cash inflow and outflow, as well as the other gritty, more technical details that came with accounting for each and every cent. She managed to prepare and present several sets of data that his previous boss had trouble organizing to the current board of directors within two days’ time. 

Her work ethic was admirable—she got the job done quickly and efficiently, and that made her earn the respect of her subordinates faster than Wonwoo had seen them warm up to their previous bosses. It would have been the perfect relationship between the new department head and her employees, if it weren’t for Emma’s stone cold behavior towards other people. 

Not only did she look different from the Emma he knew in high school, but she acted differently too. Wonwoo couldn’t picture this Emma purposely making a fool out of herself just to make the people around her laugh. This Emma wanted the entire team to get the work handed to them done as soon as possible, and if they did, the most they’d receive in return is a mere nod in approval and nothing else.

It was for that reason that employees would start calling her the Ice Queen. Though she wasn’t some tyrant that gave people an unreasonable workload—she was actually very lenient and fair about the division of tasks—her people skills needed a little work. 

That or Emma was purposely shutting everyone out with her chilly attitude. 

Wonwoo had a few clues as to why she’d want to do that, but he’s a secretary, not a therapist. The only thing he could do about it was to keep his silence.

But then came a day when Emma asked him to come into her office to do something he completely expected from her but didn’t at the same time.

“Are you still in touch with Leo, Gavin, and Ezra?” she asked him, not even bothering to look up from the report she’s reading off her PC.

The question caught Wonwoo off-guard and it was obvious Emma caught on to his reaction if the tiny smirk that curved across her lips was anything to go by. Still, he took it in stride—breathing in through his nose as he thought about his answer.

He hasn’t been in touch with any of them since his high school graduation. All their attempts at reaching out to Wonwoo to invite him for a quick game of ball or a round of drinks somewhere in the city were all ignored. Not even turned down—ignored. 

Leo was the most persistent about it. After all, they were best friends. But after several years of Wonwoo not even bothering to give their invites a single glance, Leo stopped reaching out altogether. Wonwoo's life became a lot more peaceful since he cut ties with them, and he never really regretted the decision to do so. 

But perhaps the universe really was telling him to pay the price for his past inaction now that Emma was bringing up the past on a regular Wednesday afternoon. 

“No, ma’am,” he told her honestly. “Do you want me to reach out to them? Their contact details are pretty easy to get our hands on.”

Emma sighed quietly before meeting his gaze, an unreadable look hovering across her face. “Mmm. Yeah, I’d like that. But aren't you going to ask why I want to contact them again?”

He wanted to, but Wonwoo learned that in his line of work, the last thing he should do was ask questions. It made him wonder if Emma was purposely setting him up on some sort of conversational bear trap, but seeing as he didn’t really have anything to lose by giving, he chose to relent. 

“...Why?”

The silence of her office rang in his ears as Emma typed away on her keyboard. It was a mechanical one with tactile switches that matched the color of her desktop wallpaper. He didn’t take her to be someone who cared enough about aesthetics to that degree, but then again, Wonwoo never really got a chance to get to know her back then. 

He was too much of a coward to do so.

Once she was done, Emma got up from her ergonomic chair (which also matched her desktop setup), leveling her gaze with Wonwoo's even if the latter was easily a head taller than she was. Something about the glint in her eyes made him swallow the lump in his throat. Not to mention that sweet yet chilly smile that graced her bright red lips.

“It’s really simple, Wonwoo,” she told him with a laugh. 

“I want revenge.” 

And that’s how their little team was formed.

It was a two-person job. Emma entrusted Wonwoo with digging up the information she needed about the three men she wanted to bring down, all while she was in charge of putting their plans into motion by heading over to the front lines. 

Gavin was an easy target. Unlike the other two, he’s the only one who pursued professional basketball and for a while, he amassed quite the number of fans and admirers because of his outstanding plays. What’s more was that he managed to wife up a beauty queen who’s already conquered the international stage a few years back. Now with their first baby on the way, one would think that Gavin Kim has a picture perfect life.

But further down the road, talk about how he’s actually a womanizing wife beater started to seep out of the cracks and crevices of the athletic industry. The allegations were serious, but no one really bothered batting an eye. It’s normal. Lots of athletes are like that. We can't do anything about it.

It was easy to get a hold of which gym Gavin frequents to maintain his physique. He preferred working out in public facilities instead of the one provided for his team because it gave him all the freedom to ogle and flirt with other women who just happened to be hitting the gym on days he was on the prowl. 

Wonwoo even added a little footnote in the file he prepared that said likes to engage in post-workout coitus in the shower rooms. Emma rolled her eyes in disgust when she read it, but made sure to keep it in mind.

The day finally came when she’d collect enough evidence to ruin Gavin’s career. Emma hasn’t dropped by the gym in a while—work having sapped her energy too much to let her psych herself back into working out. But she realized she didn’t have to act out too much because the moment she started operating the treadmill right next to Gavin’s, he was already checking her out.

He didn’t seem to recognize who she was, unlike Wonwoo. But then again Gavin was easily the stupidest out of her trio of high school bullies. This man was all brawn and no brains, which was why it was all too easy for Emma to seduce him in the showers of this shoddy gym not thirty minutes since she’d arrived.

It wasn’t the most pleasant experience. The last thing Emma wanted was to have this idiotic man inside of her so she offered to go on her knees and blow him instead—something that Gavin was all too happy to relent to. 

He didn’t even boast a cock of considerable size. It probably wasn’t any longer than her middle finger, and for a split second, she wondered why his beauty queen wife stayed with him despite having a cock that didn’t back up his cocky attitude. It was probably the money.

Emma didn’t waste much time though. Wonwoo visited this gym only a few hours prior to plant a bug somewhere inside the specific shower stall they were currently occupying. She just had to hope she and Gavin were positioned well enough so the camera would get a full view of what they were doing. 

It was the longest twenty minutes of Emma’s life, and she had to go home right away to disinfect her mouth about ten times, but hey. All in the name of vengeance, right?

At around eight in the evening on that same Saturday, her phone lit up with an email notification from Wonwoo. 

From: Wonwoo Jeon  Subject: CLASSIFIED Good evening, Miss Emma. I hope this message finds you well. I retrieved our bug from the gym earlier today and extracted the videos taken before properly disposing of it. Attached to this email is the MP4 file of our evidence against Mr. Gavin Kim. Around the time this message arrives to you, I have simultaneously sent said evidence to Mr. Kim’s managers, sponsors, teammates, other colleagues, and of course, his wife.  The only difference between their emails and yours is that this is a self-destructing message. Once you’ve closed this window, it will be deleted from your inbox without a trace. So if you are interested in watching the video below, best save it to your device of choice for better perusal. If you have any further questions and concerns, I am merely a text message away.  Regards,  Wonwoo Jeon Secretary, Finance and Logistics Department PLEDIS Insurance 

Like hell she was going to watch it.

The moment Emma finished reading through Wonwoo's overly formal email, she quickly exited the window and, true to his word, the message itself had disappeared. Despite being a fairly new player to the game, she had to commend all the precautions Wonwoo was setting to make sure her plans were a success. 

It made her wonder if his previous bosses have also asked him to do shady things under the company’s nose in the past. Whether or not that's true, she was reaping the benefits of his expertise, so she had no room for complaints. 

As long as she had Wonwoo, she’d get to punish everyone who wronged her without fail.

Gavin’s downfall followed soon after. 

Tabloids were their best friend in that scenario. The thumbnail of the video that Wonwoo spread around like some virus that wouldn’t stop replicating headlined every single paper, talking about how one of the most promising basketball stars of their generation had fallen prey to his own vices.

It was a good thing that not only was Wonwoo careful enough to not leave digital footprints as he sent out those emails, but he also edited the video to keep Emma’s identity a secret. As Gavin’s world started to crumble before his eyes—him being kicked off the starting roster of the team, his wife leaving him behind, and the public execution of his reputation—Emma simply shared a bottle of aged wine from Tuscany with the man who helped her pull off a wonderful performance.

“You’re not too bad,” she mused as she took a small sip, crossing her legs from where she’s seated unceremoniously on the edge of her desk. “You're surprisingly more on-board with this plan than I thought. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were never friends with Gavin in the first place.” 

Wonwoo retained his stoic demeanor, not having touched the glass Emma offered him simply because it was against company regulations to intoxicate himself on the job. “If my boss tells me to ruin someone's life, I'm mandated to do it. I’m just doing what’s written on my job description, ma’am.”

Emma’s lips stretched into a grin as she threw her head back with a laugh. She leaned in closer to Wonwoo, who seemed wholly unfazed by the fact that the gesture granted him an ample view of her cleavage through her blouse. 

“Does your job description cover watching and editing your boss' sex scandal so you can mass send it to hundreds of people?” She giggled before leaning back to take another sip of her drink. “You’re in the green for now, Wonwoo. Keep it up and I might just have a pay raise arranged for you with HR if our next escapade is a success.”

He hummed in understanding. “Who’s next?”

In usual Emma fashion, she didn’t give him a straight answer right away. Instead, she hopped back to the carpeted floor of her office—not even wobbling in those thin heels she’s wearing—before rounding her desk to access her computer. 

“Have you been watching TV lately? Primetime soap operas?” she asked him as she clicked away on her screen. 

Wonwoo shook his head. “They don’t really interest me, ma’am.”

“I figured they wouldn’t. But this might.”

Emma gestured for him to peer at her monitor and Wonwoo wordlessly followed suit, getting up from his seat and standing behind her. Flashed on the screen was an article from a more reputable news outlet that featured two co-stars who played the main couple in a popular network’s newest drama. 

“Ezra Lee and Alaina Park…” Wonwoo muttered under his breath before his eyes flickered to Emma. “You have any leads I can work with?”

His boss chuckled before looking up at him with an expectant smile. “Someone's determined. I never thought I’d get to see someone so eager to do the dirty work for me.”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Miss Emma, I'm not sure if you're aware but desk work gets boring sometimes. You’re right. This is a lot more interesting.”

“Alright, then,” Emma chuckled before retrieving both of their wine glasses and handing Wonwoo's back to him. “Unlike Gavin, I don't have a lot of surface-level leads with Ezra. He’s a celebrity—their reputation needs to be squeaky clean, so it makes sense why I can’t dig up anything about him through regular means. But this should be a piece of cake for you, right?”

Wonwoo stared at the bright red liquor inside the expensive glass, gaze darting to the wicked smile playing on Emma’s lips. If he looked a little closer, he would be able to tell that the shade of her lipstick matches the color of the liquor in her hands. 

He took it from her grasp with a sigh, clinking the edges of their glasses together before downing the entire thing in one fell swoop. The wine was aged well, and had somewhat of a sweet aftertaste, but despite the appealing flavor, Wonwoo reminded himself to never drink on the job ever again. 

“I’ll get back to you once I have the information you need.”

Wonwoo swiftly left Emma’s office after that little victory party. Even with his new sideline of being his boss’s lead henchman, he still had a lot of work to do for PLEDIS Insurance. And that included telling the other employees to quit horsing around in the break room when their designated lunch break ended hours ago.

“Sir Wonwoo,” one of said employees, Soonyoung, snickered before throwing an arm over Wonwoo's shoulders. “You've been hanging out in Miss Emma's office pretty frequently. Is there something going on? You became close real quickly.”

“Yeah” said one Seokmin, who’s still snacking on a wafer despite Wonwoo's scolding. “Boss, we know you're not the fuck-your-way-up kind of guy, but who knows, right? But with your position right now, do you really need it?”

Seungkwan, the last member of their unruly trio, slapped Seokmin’s arm with a scowl. “Hey! Do you really have to say it to his face? Oh, boss, if you make a report about these two, please know I have nothing to do with whatever they're saying.”

Soonyoung snickered. “Are you sure about that? Weren't you the one who first noticed that Sir Wonwoo was stepping inside Miss Emma's office more frequently—”

“Hey! Boss told us to scram, didn't he?! Let's go.”

Seungkwan quickly ushered his two friends out of the break room, scolding them in a hushed tone before they all went back to their respective cubicles. Wonwoo shook his head with a sigh, muttering something about inevitable rumors as he made himself a cup of coffee.

Was that how they perceived Wonwoo’s sudden closeness with the department head? That he was fucking Emma in the solitude of her office? Well, the idea of a boss having illicit relations with their secretary wasn’t too far-fetched. He’s heard about how the head of the Advertising Department gets frisky with his secretary through the corporate grapevine. But just because it was a popular trope among the employees’ strange fantasies, it didn’t mean it applied to himself and Emma as well.

They were strictly professional: he did the dirty work and she paid him in full. That was all there was to it.

(But what people don’t know was that editing Gavin’s scandal wasn’t exactly the walk in the park Emma thought it was.

Despite being one of the most indifferent people in the company, Wonwoo was still a man. Seeing his boss, whose body would be coveted by anyone who dared to want her, in such a compromising position excited an…unexpected physiological reaction out of him.

His resolve was as sturdy as steel, however. Instead of taking care of the obvious problem in his pants as he edited the scandalous video, Wonwoo dealt with it by taking a long, cold shower until all the blood that rushed down south started circulating properly again.

He told himself not to think about it come morning.)

“A drug den?”

Even Emma was baffled by the news that Wonwoo brought her the following week—a scowl of disbelief permanently etched on her face as she scanned the file her secretary prepared for her. Wonwoo merely stood at her side, waiting for her to finish going through the data he’s gathered. 

And he sure hoped she understood every single word printed on it. He practically risked his life trying to investigate Ezra’s secret business. No wonder it was so hard to dig up any dirt on him—dead men tell no tales after all.

“This is…” Emma swallowed thickly before continuing, “way above my expectations. If he was just getting faded on his own with a private dealer, I'd understand. Lots of celebrities do recreational drugs. But for him to head an entire operation? Where'd he find the time on top of his taping schedules?” 

Wonwoo sighed. “I would’ve been able to investigate further if his men weren't so meticulous. They're fiercely loyal to Ezra. Couldn’t bribe him like we did with Gavin’s gym coach.” 

“And you made sure to keep your identity under lockdown?”

“Positive.”

Emma drummed her fingers across the smooth surface of her work desk—brows furrowed as she stared into nothingness. Though they’ve only been working together for roughly six months at most, Wonwoo knew her well enough to realize she hit a wall.

It made him wonder if this was where she would draw the line. Their success with Gavin gave them both an unexpected high, sure, but Wonwoo recognized that this game they were playing was a dangerous one. The people they were trying to take down had more money and connections than the two of them could ever hope to get their hands on. 

But one thing that he failed to recognize right away about Emma was that she’s always been grossly ambitious. 

“The file you gave me also mentioned na he was hoping to insure his new house in Incheon,” she pointed out. “Care to tell me why you decided to include that?”

“I know you told me not to involve the company in this as much as we can, but I couldn’t think of any other way to penetrate into his circle.” Wonwoo adjusted his necktie, suddenly feeling like he’s being watched by the hawk that was his boss. “I’ve been told that he’s wary of people. Side effects of the cocaine, probably. Though the info broker sounded like he was joking, it’s best to be wary of him. If he can hide behind the protection of his management and his family, we need to play our cards right and protect ourselves, too.”

Emma took a moment to process what her secretary just told her, nodding slowly before closing the folder containing Ezra’s file and locking it inside a hidden drawer beneath her desk. 

“Oh, Wonwoo. If only all men were as intelligent as you are,” she sighed, getting up from her seat before pinching his face. “Good work. Let's go out for drinks later. My treat.”

Wonwoo's face twisted with confusion. “For what? Doing my job?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “For going above and beyond every single time. You think you're only good at doing dirty work? At being my errand boy? You never fall behind your quotas here in the office either, you know. I think that in itself is a cause for celebration.”

Now that she’s reasoned it out, Wonwoo was even more weirded out by this strange turn of events. In the six months that Emma Rodriguez has spent as the head of PLEDIS Insurance’s Finance head, she never failed to uphold that arctic cold façade. She treated both executives and regular employees with the same degree of cut-throat harshness. 

And that’s when Wonwoo realized that she didn’t really treat him the way she treated them.

Huh. Did the Ice Queen have a melting point after all?

Despite his extensive protests, however, Wonwoo let Emma rope him into grabbing dinner and drinks at a food hub several districts away from their office. The fewer people who could recognize them outside, the better. Of course, he pleaded and reminded her several times that she was his boss and she really didn’t have to—

“Hey! Keep drinking!” Emma slurred with a huff, face red from the alcohol as she pushed another pint of beer into Wonwoo's face. “Why aren't you drunk yet, huh, Wonwoo Jeon? Are you God? Maybe that's why you're so good at obtaining information for me. Ah! No! Maybe you're the devil! Right, what we're doing isn't exactly good nor is it legal…”

Wonwoo exhaled long and hard as his boss continued blabbering nonsense across from him at their shared table. One glance at the smartwatch on his wrist told him that it was near midnight and that he should probably bring Emma home before she could make a scene. 

But…maybe they could stay for a few minutes more.

“Miss Emma? Are you sleepy?”

“Hm? Why would I be sleepy? We're drinking, aren't we?” 

“You're half-asleep on the table, so.”

At the prospect of being called out, Emma quickly shot into an upright position—looking around to see if anyone caught her drooling. When she realized she was in the clear, she narrowed her eyes at Wonwoo.

“Not a word about this in the office,” she warned, using one of the finished barbecue sticks on their empty plates to threaten him. “But...yeah. Alcohol makes me sleepy. Drive me home.”

Not even a please. This woman was really shameless even when drunk.

Not a peep of complaint was heard from Wonwoo when he drove Emma all the way to her condo unit in uptown Poblacion. Though he had to practically carry her inside and even help her out of her clothes and into her pajamas (at her request, not his own initiative), he simply told himself this was all part of his job. 

When his boss was safely tucked in bed, he was ready to bid her farewell and head back to his own place to catch up on some sleep. But for someone who was intoxicated beyond belief, Emma was still quite aware of her surroundings. The moment Wonwoo took a step away from her bed, her hand shot out to grab ahold of his wrist, making Wonwoo look back at her with an eyebrow raised.

“Wonwoo,” she murmured, face still smothered in her pillows despite her tight grip. “Can you stay?” 

“There's nowhere for me to sleep,” he chuckled. “I should go.”

“Then sleep next to me.”

The furrow on his brow merely deepened. He’d ask her to repeat what she said, but Wonwoo could recognize that Emma wasn’t really in the headspace to be reasonable right now. So instead of refuting her wish, Wonwoo carefully pried her fingers off his wrist so he could take off his work coat and fold it neatly on top of her vanity table.

This is all part of the job, he told himself.

Wonwoo laid on his boss’ duvet perfectly still. He didn’t want to make the mistake of touching her when he didn’t have explicit permission to do so. He was merely told to sleep next to her after all—nothing else.

But about fifteen minutes after he lied next to her, Emma shifted on her side of the bed—turning to him with a sleepy look in her eyes.

“You know,” she whispered, so softly, he would’ve missed it if he wasn’t as observant as he was. “I hoped...so hard back then that you would help me when I needed it. But you never did.”

Emma probably won’t remember what she mumbled in her drunken stupor in the morning. But the sadness and honesty that underlined her words sent him back about ten years into the past. To a time when he was a much greater evil than those who directly wronged her.

An apology sizzled across the tip of his tongue—something that’s a decade overdue. But before Wonwoo could hope to let her hear his piece, Emma’s breathing had become even and shallow. 

She was already fast asleep.

He sighed, staring up at the dainty ceiling of her bedroom as he chuckled helplessly to himself.

“That’s why I’m making up for it now.”

If Gavin’s case was a walk in the park, Ezra’s was an Olympic-level marathon.

Wonwoo didn’t want to dwell on the details anymore. To cut it short: he was going to cross out ‘exposing a notorious drug lord’ off his bucket list without thinking of doing it again ever. While he managed to get out unscathed during his investigation, it just so happened that their final altercation with Ezra ended up putting Wonwoo in the hospital. 

But so what if he fractured a couple of ribs trying to save Emma from being killed by that drug-addicted lunatic? As long as their goal to bring Emma’s enemies down was achieved, he’d gladly sustain any life-threatening injuries.

Which was, admittedly…strange. 

Long before Emma came into the picture as his boss, Wonwoo never would’ve pictured himself risking his neck for the benefit of someone else. Though he had an entire arsenal of skills and knowledge at his disposal, it would take more than just his generous salary to get him to put them to good use.

But with Emma, he found himself utilizing whatever means to help her exact her revenge—on people he once called his friends, much less.

He must be going insane. 

“Wonwoo…?”

Funnily enough, he ended up recalling everything that happened over the past two weeks first before recognizing that he was just regaining consciousness in the intensive care unit. Wonwoo's eyes hurt because of how bright the fluorescent lights were overhead, but for some reason, he didn’t flinch away from her relieved smile when it was a million watts brighter than the hospital’s indoor lighting.

“Good…day, ma’am,” he croaked out awkwardly, belatedly realizing that he didn’t know what time it was. “What day is it? Did someone fix your schedule for today? Did someone go over your meal plans in my stead? Were you—”

His endless stream of questions was interrupted by hacking fit—making Emma scramble for a glass of water on the table by his hospital bed, a concerned look lining her gaze.

“Don't talk too much,” she scolded him as he finished his drink. “You’ve been out for two days, idiot.”

Two days? 

Needless to say, he couldn’t do a thing about it once his boss started fussing over him. She called over doctors she personally knew and handpicked only the most competent of nurses to look after Wonwoo. How Emma could be the judge of that, Wonwoo wasn’t very sure, but he gladly let her take care of him for a change. 

After all, they successfully concluded another chapter in Emma’s little revenge story.

“When are we going to start with Leo?”

Wonwoo brought the matter up about three days after he woke up, right in the middle of eating the stale hospital food served to him for dinner. Emma, who was snacking on some takeout fast food, hummed before tossing a french fry into her mouth.

“You're not even healed yet, and you're thinking about work?” she sighed before pointing a fry in his direction. “I’m still paying you your regular wage even if you're stuck here. You don’t have to worry about making ends meet so much, Wonwoo. You just need to rest—”

“But I don’t want to rest, I want to be useful to you,” he interrupted her gruffly, which was strange of him because he never interrupted his employers. 

For a moment, Wonwoo thought he’d be on the receiving end of a verbal lashing even if he was still recovering. Emma never let other people talk back to her without consequences. But instead, his boss threw her head back with a laugh that bordered on a snort. It’s a look that Wonwoo had seen on her time and time again—a look that he noticed Emma only showed to him. 

Back then, he didn’t really think of her smile all that much. But now…

“You’re being useful enough just by being alive, Jeon,” she reassured him, that grin of hers unwavering. “Enough questions about Leo. I'm not even thinking about him yet because compared to the previous two? He’s a lot easier to track down.”

Wonwoo shot her a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“Same approach lang with Ezra.” She flashed him a toothy smile. “We’re going to get him to insure some of his properties under PLEDIS. But instead of us going to him, he'll be going to us instead.”

“I…? Sorry, ma’am. I don’t follow.”

Emma stifled a soft laugh behind her palm, unwrapping the burger included in her takeout meal before taking a bite of considerable size. “The Choi Corporation is expanding a chain of shopping malls somewhere in Jeju. Leo Choi personally contacted our CEO and there we have it: another big shot client.”

Another person to drag down to hell.

“Is that good enough for you?” 

Wonwoo was still processing the news as they both finished up their respective meals. He should probably be glad that Emma didn’t decide to put their secret operation on hold just because he was out of commission. But something about how smoothly they’re progressing into the next phase of Emma’s big revenge plan that made him wary of treading any further. 

He felt like he was being paranoid—probably the aftermath of almost crossing to the other side because of what happened with the Ezra incident. Wonwoo couldn’t help but be wary of any and all threats to both his life and Emma’s, and it was for a good reason.

“Okay,” Wonwoo breathed, wincing a little when he felt the spot where his ribs broke ache at how fast he inhaled. “What do you want me to do for now? Investigate? Trace his whereabouts?”

Emma’s smile suddenly turned ice cold. “I want you to rest, Wonwoo. Do I have to keep repeating myself?”

“But—”

“No buts. Boss’ orders—I'm your boss, right?” 

Ah, there’s the Ice Queen they all knew and loved. 

Fine. Maybe he could use a break from all that quote-unquote field work he just did. But one thing about his entire hospitalization still remained unanswered.

“What did you tell HR? About…this?” Wonwoo gestured towards his battered but healing body. “You’ve got the charisma, but I’m pretty sure it’s difficult even for you to go into cahoots with the other employees of PLEDIS. Much more, our human resources head.”

Emma waved away his concerns with a shake of her head. “You're so persistent, aren't you? Don’t think about HR. Or Leo. Or the rest of our plans. Can’t you be a normal salaryman and be happy that you have a break from all the things I make you do?”

“I told you, Miss Emma. I just want to make myself useful.”

“And I told you that you're the least useful in your current state. So give. It. A. Rest,” she threatened, putting emphasis on every syllable. 

But behind her intimidating façade was someone who actually cared for him. The details were still a bit muddled in Wonwoo's head, but he remembered being rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. Remembered how Emma never let go of his hand as they made the trip all the way. And how he heard her pray for him to make it out alive despite being a well-known agnostic.

Once their conversation had mellowed down, he laid back against the steady elevation of his bed, watching the scenic city lights glimmer outside the window of his hospital room—just behind the woman who made his life a lot more interesting.

He couldn’t wait to be useful to her again.

“I hate this. I fucking hate this so much.”

Wonwoo spared his employer a quick glance as she practically glared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. He’d been browsing through a sports car catalog tucked underneath the hotel’s coffee table, but watching Emma have a furious meltdown about her wedding was more worth his time. 

“You're the one who said that there'll more benefits if you accepted the marriage proposal,” her secretary reminded, crossing his legs as he leaned back on the couch he was sitting on. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Of course I was just…gaslighting myself about this entire fucked up situation!” Emma growled as she stomped over to him with a scowl. “Can’t fucking believe my dad agreed to marry me off just like that, too. After all his talk that I needed to love whoever I'm supposed to marry...”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Anyone can be blinded by money—especially if it's from the Chois.”

“Even you?”

It’s a question that sunk into the room with a rhetorical implication. Emma was quick to exchange the earrings her stylist chose for her with something more suited to her taste—a pair that didn’t sparkle all that much but was worth more than six months of Wonwoo's salary. In her reflection on the vanity mirror, he could clearly see the way her red lips parted in concentration as she clipped the earrings in place. 

“No,” Wonwoo responded even if he knew she wasn’t looking for an answer. “I’m more easily blinded by other things, ma’am.”

Emma glanced behind her with a puzzled look, not getting his drift. “Like what?” 

Wonwoo didn’t dare think twice. 

He got up from his once comfortable position on the couch, closing the distance that sat between him and Emma in long, calculated strides. She didn’t seem fazed by his sudden need to walk over, but the moment Wonwoo was behind her, she stiffened when he reached a hand in front of her face. Then, with a firm yet featherlight touch, her secretary wiped off the lipstick that stained past her lip line with his fingers—not once breaking eye contact with her in the mirror. 

“It wouldn’t be fun if I told you, now would it?” He smiled before pulling his hand back. “I need to keep you on your toes sometimes, too, Miss Emma.”

He half-expected her to scoff and brush off his attempt at being smart with her. Emma was a no-nonsense kind of person, and with the wedding happening soon, Wonwoo understood why she’d be more high-strung than usual. 

But instead of acting the way she always did with him, Emma took Wonwoo by surprise when she fisted his silken necktie in her manicured nails, tugging him down so that their eyes were leveled with each other. Normally, that wouldn’t be enough to wrestle Wonwoo into complete submission, but this was his boss they were talking about.

There’s a glint in those sharp eyes of hers that had his heart beating off the charts. This wasn’t the gaze of someone entitled the Ice Queen of their office. No, there’s something warm in there—borderline sensual. And before Wonwoo could even hope to figure out what it was, Emma was already closing her eyes and sealing their lips together like some unspoken pact. 

It’s an inconsequential kiss. Wonwoo has made out with both men and women alike—all desperate gasps and lust-fueled passion—but somehow, none of those experiences could hold a candle to the way Emma Rodriguez pecked his lips for a fraction of a second before pulling away. 

“You're getting more and more insufferable,” she muttered, resting her forehead against his. “You were never this cheeky before. What happened?”

You, he wanted to tell her. You happened.

At that point, Wonwoo's brain was merely operating on carnal instinct alone. He lunged forward to capture her lips again, making her gasp in surprise as he snaked a strong arm around her waist. Thank fucking god Emma’s wedding dress had a simple design—no pretentious frills to obstruct his movements. 

Despite the fact that this woman—his boss—was getting married in less than two hours, Wonwoo couldn’t even give a damn. He swiped all the makeup boxes and accessories off the vanity table, propping Emma up on the horizontal surface as he kissed her until she saw stars. 

“Wonwoo,” she sighed against his lips, thighs inching apart as he bunched the long hem of her gown up to her waist. He wondered distantly if Emma was going to ask him to stop—to see reason. But the glazed look in her eyes told him otherwise.

“More.”

Wonwoo wanted nothing more than to give her more. He’d do everything she could ever dream of asking him. Never mind the fact that it was more than a little messed up for him to consider fucking his boss right before she’s married off to the man who tormented her endlessly at sixteen. 

Nobody else mattered—not Leo, not the director, not even Emma’s intricate revenge plot that was years in the making. At that moment, only the two of them existed, only separated by a few layers of clothing before they could finally become one. 

But Wonwoo was abruptly reminded why he always chose reason before ambition long before he met Emma. Dreams and delusions were bound to end when you least expected them to. Reality, on the other hand, would always remind you of life’s harshest truths.

“Miss Emma?” They both could hear the voice of Leo's personal assistant outside the door to the hotel room, preceded by a few short knocks. “It’s time for your prenup shoot. Director Rodriguez is also looking for Sir Wonwoo. Is he in there with you?”

Whatever dream the two of them have fabricated only minutes ago had been erased from existence—all that was left was a bride-to-be with her dress ruffled in all the wrong places, and a pitiful secretary with red lipstick stains adorning his face.

“Yeah, he’s here with me,” Emma yelled over to the doorway, eyes refusing to part from Wonwoo's. “We’ll be down soon. Thanks, Christina.”

“Okay, ma’am. I'll just wait for you in the lobby.”

Wonwoo counted to ten before peeling himself away from Emma, quickly striding towards the bathroom to get some tissues both for himself and his employer. But while he was wiping off the lipstick on the corners of his mouth, Wonwoo immediately noticed the shift in the atmosphere.

Emma was already busy straightening herself out—smoothing down the creases in her gown and retouching her makeup as best as she could without her stylists. Wonwoo wouldn’t have minded the silence, it’s exactly the kind of setting he preferred working in. 

But just when he thought he’d managed to melt the Ice Queen’s heart over the past year, she turned arctic cold all over again. 

“After the wedding, tell my driver to accompany me to Leo's penthouse. Though I despise the idea, we have to go home together to keep up the act for everyone to see.” She gave her orders the same way she used to tell Wonwoo to sort the company’s financial reports—straight to business with little room for playing around. “Other than that, I don't have any more orders. You can rest easy for the day, Wonwoo.”

He felt like he should say something to address what just happened between them five minutes ago. To ask why she was pretending as if they weren’t breathing each other in like all the oxygen on the planet had gone in a flash. But Wonwoo wasn’t some desperate fool that overestimated his place in Emma’s life. 

“Duly noted, ma’am,” he muttered with the same degree of aloofness she’d just given him before tossing the soiled tissues in the trash. “I’ll be waiting for you outside.”

Emma didn’t even break face as Wonwoo's footsteps resounded on the carpeted floor. She didn’t even spare him a second glance. But then again…

He was her secretary, and she was his employer. 

That was all there was to it.

Much to Wonwoo's surprise, Leo's case was closed much sooner than he thought it would be.

Before Emma could even make it to the cathedral, the commotion had already started. Wonwoo had arrived earlier in the venue with Emma’s father, the director of PLEDIS Insurance, and were just about to take their seats among the other principal sponsors when the television screens mounted all over the church suddenly started playing a video.

A video that Wonwoo has already seen before.

He didn’t have to glance at Leo to know that he was sporting the most horrified look he could muster upon seeing one of your many sex scandals having an impromptu screening at the cathedral. Collective gasps and disgusted remarks were heard in a chorus of murmurs that reached all the way up to the high ceilings. 

Wonwoo could hear Leo's assistant, Christina—who turned out to be part of the sex parties her boss secretly indulged in—barking orders for the church staff to cut the feed. But it was too late. Those who needed to see the truth have already gotten their fill.

Recognizing that his daughter couldn’t possibly be wed to a man with a reputation that’s been tarnished in a church, of all places, Director Rodriguez ordered Wonwoo to contact the bridal car driver and tell him to send Emma straight home instead. It’s a job that Wonwoo got done fairly quickly, and despite the numerous text messages that Emma sent him demanding answers about what happened, he didn’t respond to any of them right away. 

After a few hours of digging around, Wonwoo eventually found out that one of Leo's cousins was behind the public exposé. Apparently, said cousin was able to obtain the same footage that Emma acquired and was able to sabotage Leo's attempt at seizing their family riches before Emma could even put her plans into motion. 

Well, at least someone else already did the dirty work for them.

As usual, Wonwoo collated all the information he’s gathered in a concise email. This was how he kept Emma up to speed about their progress—through self-destructing emails. He informed her about the involvement of Leo's cousin and how the trash had taken itself out, ensuring that Leo Choi had fallen from the false pedestal he’s clung onto for years.  

Their behind-the-scenes mission has been fulfilled.

While he didn’t expect Emma to respond enthusiastically, receiving radio silence in return wasn’t something Wonwoo had anticipated either. But he opted not to read into it much. She must’ve been royally pissed that Leo's demise wasn’t brought about by her own hand, and Wonwoo respected that.

The following Monday after the canceled wedding, however, he ended up finding out the reason behind her silence. 

“Boss,” sobbed Seokmin when Wonwoo timed in at the office. “Please don't leave!”

Immediately backing him up was Soonyoung, who didn’t hesitate to hug Wonwoo, even giving him a few pats on the shoulder as if they were old drinking buddies. “It's okay, Sir Wonwoo. You've been here long enough. Maybe it's about time you found your path elsewhere.”

…Huh?

“What are you talking about?” Wonwoo voiced out his confusion. “You’re speaking like I got fired.”

As if on cue, the third member of their trio walked in on the conversation as he sipped on his usual iced americano. Seungkwan stared at Wonwoo with a puzzled expression before saying:

“But weren't you fired, sir? Miss Emma announced it this morning, but I think she left right away after, too.”

Not privy to the way the pieces started to click in his head, Seokmin and Soonyoung kept consoling Wonwoo as he made his way to his (old) cubicle. Emma had been one step ahead too—someone already having packed away most of his belongings in storage boxes. Not to mention the notice of contract termination sitting on his desk. Effective immediately, it says.

“I really don't get it though” Seungkwan droned behind him. “You? The best secretary in the city? Fired just like that?”

Seokmin nodded. “I don't understand it either. You two were business-as-usual after the wedding. Miss Emma must've been so pissed that she didn't get married that she laid off the boss here.”

“True,” Soonyoung agreed with a snicker. “Boss, maybe Miss Emma's just being unreasonable. I bet she'll be begging for you to come back in a few days' time.”

Yeah. That’s what the situation would seem like to an outsider. But Wonwoo knew perfectly well that Emma wasn’t bluffing about this. She fired him for a reason that’s been stewing for more than a decade. Even if Gavin, Ezra, and Leo have had their taste of justice, Emma’s revenge plot wasn’t finished like Wonwoo thought it was.

Because Wonwoo was one of her targets all along, too.

I hoped...so hard back then that you would help me when I needed it. But you never did.

“Where is she?” 

Seungkwan perked up. “Uh, maybe she went home? She told us something about feeling a bit under the weather?”

Seokmin nodded. “She's probably in her penthouse or something. If i were you, I'd start making it up to her.”

“Hey, you're talking like they're actually dating,” Soonyoung scolded with a laugh.

Not even bothering to thank them, Wonwoo turned on his heel and made a beeline for the office entrance—dead set on doing exactly what Seokmin jokingly suggested.

This is why I'm making it up to you, he mused with an exasperated air as he buckled up in his car. 

Can’t you just let me in?

Emma spent her first Monday after the entire wedding disaster with Leo holed up in her unit—stuffing herself full of ice cream. The only reason she bothered going to the office today was to formally announce that her secretary Wonwoo Jeon was fired—just like she’d been planning since the moment she met him again as her secretary after all these goddamn years.

Her high school bullies have been put in their place. Her fifteen-year revenge plot was finally over.

But why did she feel so fucking depressed about it?

She sighed pitifully when she realized she’d already emptied her tub of double dutch ice cream, finally deigning to get up from the couch to deposit it in the kitchen for later disposal. But just when she was about to continue moping in her living room, the doorbell to her unit buzzed from the entrance, making her glance that way curiously.

It could be her next-door neighbor. A kind, elderly woman who lived with her daughter. She borrowed Emma’s rosemary spices yesterday—something that she barely used because she often opted to go for food deliveries instead of whipping up her own meals. 

With that reasoning in mind, she didn’t bother checking who was at the door through the peephole. She simply undid the locks before opening the door—only to come face-to-face with—

“Hey,” Wonwoo sighed as he jammed his foot between the door and the doorframe. “Ma’am, please talk to me first. Did you think I wouldn't catch onto what you were trying to do?”

“Why do I have to explain myself to you? You’re fired, right?” Emma growled as she pushed the door with her back, but sadly, Wonwoo easily overpowered her. At least he was decent enough to not let himself in—he simply lingered out in the hallway with a placid look on his face. “What?”

“Emma,” her ex-secretary addressed her for the first time without any formalities. “If you fired me as vengeance for not helping you all those years ago, I get it. I deserve it, even. But after what happened sa hotel…

“You can’t convince me there’s nothing between us anymore.”

Her breath hitched, face growing warm at the reminder of that intimate moment they shared hours before she was supposed to get married. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could still feel Wonwoo's mouth on hers. But that wasn’t a thought that was healthy to entertain at the moment.

“What are you saying? That was all part of the plan, you know?” She bluffed with a mirthless laugh, fully turning to face him as she crossed her arms. “Make you smitten enough with me to let your guard down. Look, you didn't expect me to fire you, did you?”

“No, but you can’t fool me, Emma,” Wonwoo chuckled with a self-satisfied smirk. “You wanted me too—that was real. If I’m mistaken, then make me leave. Call security on me. If I’m the nuisance you so desperately want me to be, then get rid of me here and now.”

The silence was thick between them. Emma was practically shaking with frustration as Wonwoo stared down at her with that overconfident look on his face. She wanted nothing but to punch him, hit him, slap him—

Kiss him.

Maybe Wonwoo was right. Maybe Emma did want him more than she led herself to believe. 

Because why the hell did she fist the front of Wonwoo's work shirt before pulling him inside her penthouse? Why did she slam him against the door, earning a sexy groan from him as she crushed their lips together?

Was this a healthy way to deal with your current predicament? No—definitely not. But it felt too fucking good to pass up on.

Wonwoo, however, was all too quick to regain control—hooking one of Emma’s thighs around his waist as she gasped into his mouth. She could practically feel him smirk against her lips, and though she’s loath to admit, it only made her want him even more.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he chuckled before peppering her neck with love bites. “You might need to kill me first before I stop pursuing you.”

Emma spared him a breathless laugh that quickly melted into a moan when Wonwoo's hand found itself inside her oversized sleep shirt. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were obsessed with me, Jeon.”

His fingers were warm against her skin, and Emma couldn’t help the full-on shudder that racked her body when Wonwoo grazed her bare nipples. The smile on his face was wicked—dangerous, even. 

“Maybe I am,” he chuckled, his breath fanning against her flushed face.

“What would you do if I was obsessed with you, Ma’am?”

Emma was well aware that Wonwoo knew the answer to his own question. It was obvious in the way he quickly picked her up from the floor, fully wrapping both her legs around his waist as he carried her towards her bedroom. But despite the carnal urgency in his grip, Wonwoo was awfully gentle as he laid her down on the mattress.

“Last chance to kick me out,” he murmured against her ear as he started unbuttoning his shirt. “You could exact your revenge on me even better, ‘no? I’m giving you the leeway to frame me for forced entry…among other things.”

God. She knew Wonwoo was a little crazy when he accepted Emma’s orders to help her make his old best friends suffer. But the way he looked at her with such crazed desire further confirmed her suspicions.

And she didn’t want her men any other way.

“Fuck me, Wonwoo,” she told him clearly before stripping her own clothes and laying herself bare for him to feast on—eyes lidded, desiring him just as much as he did her. “That’s an order.”

He shook his head with a chuckle, and Emma had to force herself not to drool over his perfectly built torso. If she had more patience, she would’ve taken her time worshiping every inch of Wonwoo's body, but he’d already set a fire in the pit of her stomach. One that she fully expected him to deal with sooner than later.

“So wet for me,” he observed with a lopsided smirk, pressing their foreheads together as he lathered his fingers with her slick. “Have you always wanted me this way? Do you touch yourself to the thought of me, Miss Emma?”

Yes. Fuck, yes. 

“That’s none of your business, Jeon,” Emma stubbornly insisted, keeping herself from moaning when his lips descended onto one of her hardened nipples. 

Wonwoo made good on the opportunity, using the fingers he’d used to feel up her slick cunt to rub her essence across the other bud he wasn’t suckling on. The effect was near immediate—Emma throwing her head back with a pretty little whimper as Wonwoo started to massage her breasts. 

Fuck. He’d always dreamed of getting to smother his face between them.

“Wonwoo,” she gasped out loud, hips bucking desperately when he bit down on her sensitive flesh. “F-Fuck me. Now.” 

“Demanding.” He pulled away from her sensitive nipples with a pop, staring up at her with a lustful gaze. “You enjoy ordering me around too much, you know?”

“You enjoy being ordered around, too,” Emma pointed out with a scoff, trying her best not to moan too loudly when Wonwoo's fingers started to toy with her leaking cunt again. “Just—I need you. Please.”

Ah, he never thought the day would come when he’d hear Emma Rodriguez begging for his cock.

“Okay, Ice Queen,” he relented with a playful laugh, kicking his underwear and trousers off as he pumped his already hard length. “Since you're so eager for me to fuck you, I’m not going to prep you anymore. You better not cry when my cock splits you open, okay?”

Hearing him talk so lewdly to her made her pussy gush with excitement. What’s more was that, not only was her secretary blessed with a face and body that gods would covet, but his cock was something she was afraid she’d keep looking for even when he was done with her.

He was awfully careful when he first pushed inside of her, sharp eyes riveted on her face as it twisted with both pain and pleasure alike. His size was something that one needed getting used to, and he wasn’t about to make his first time with Emma uncomfortable for her.

No, he wanted her to keep thinking about him even after they’ve had their fill of each other.

“Squeezing me so fucking tight,” he rasped against her neck, licking a long stripe along the column of her throat to make her shiver. “Too bad you already fired me. I always wondered what it would feel like to bend you over and fuck you in your office.” 

He could feel her pussy squeeze his cock even tighter at the shameless image she put in her head, making Wonwoo smirk with pride as he started to move. Emma mewled his name, grabbing his face as he chased his lips. He was all too willing to give her what she wanted, meeting her with an open-mouthed kiss as their tongues clashed together in time with his thrusts.

“W-Wonwoo,” she moaned into his mouth, hips eagerly meeting his. “Deeper. Fuck me deeper.”

And fuck her deeper, he did—Emma’s got him wrapped around her pretty manicured fingers, after all. 

Wonwoo was relentless with the way he pounded her into the bed, the sound of skin slapping against skin ringing much too loudly in his ears. But he didn’t fucking care. The feel of Emma’s velvet pussy walls pulsing around his cock sent his mind into a frenzy—fucking her until the bedframe creaked, until Emma was begging him to give her more, more, more—

All of a sudden, she gasped, “Coming, coming—!” 

If being inside her was life-changing, feeling her cum around his cock sent Wonwoo straight to heaven. Her cunt spasmed deliciously as Wonwoo helped her ride out her high—lips locked together as they breathed each other in. 

“Cum inside me,” she murmured deliriously into his mouth, practically rubbing her breasts—sensitive and littered with all the marks Wonwoo left on them—against his toned chest. “Make me yours, Jeon.”

He didn’t have to be told twice.

“God, I love you,” he sighed a little mindlessly, and those carelessly uttered words made Emma’s eyes widen with surprise before losing herself to the feeling of delirium. 

Wonwoo spilled his load inside her quivering cunt with a long-winded moan, feeling like he’d been shot through the head and was experiencing a level of euphoria that bordered on illegal. Emma moaned at the feel of his warm cum filling her to the brim, bringing him down for another sloppy kiss as the heat of the moment started to dissipate in the quiet atmosphere of their bedroom.

As their breaths started to settle, Emma was the first to glance at him—to meet his eyes. Wonwoo couldn’t find any trace of the arctic cold Ice Queen that practically told him to scram the other day at the hotel.

No, it was just Emma. 

His Emma.

“Can I still take back my verdict?” she muttered softly, inching closer to bury her face in his chest. Wonwoo instinctively pulled her in for a tender embrace, kissing the crown of her head with a smile.

“You mean the contract termination?” Wonwoo chuckled. “Take it up to HR, Miss Emma. I’m just a lowly secretary.”

All of a sudden, Emma rolled over so that she was seated upright on the bed. Wonwoo had to keep himself from groaning at the sight of her—hair disheveled and body sporting all his marks. Seeing her freshly fucked by him was doing things to his libido. 

“You’re not just my secretary, Wonwoo,” she sighed, twiddling with her fingers awkwardly. “I…I wasn’t going to fire you anymore. I got used to your company. I…

“I fell in love with you.” 

The words floated between them like a cloud that couldn’t easily be swept up by the wind. Wonwoo offered her a comforting smile before pulling her into a firm kiss.

“Yet you fired me anyway,” he pointed out with a laugh. “Why? You couldn’t deal with the fact that you fell in love with one of your high school bullies?”

That earned him a punch in the shoulder. “You’re not one of them. You’re different.”

“And you’re in love with me too, no? You said it yourself. Since when?”

Shaking his head, Wonwoo then pressed a soft, featherlight kiss on her nose—one that had Emma’s heart fluttering like she was a schoolgirl.

Gosh, this man. He’s fifteen years too late.

“Maybe I’ve always been a little in love with you. Who knows?” Wonwoo spared her a Cheshire cat smile. “There’s more where that came from though.”

Emma punched him in the chest this time—a bit too close to the spot where he broke a few ribs months prior. But he didn’t care.

She could send him to hell and back and he’d do it for her in a heartbeat.

From: Wonwoo Jeon 

Subject: NOT-SO CLASSIFIED

Good evening, Miss Emma. I hope this message finds you well.

I heard that you dealt with quite a stressful client today. I’m very sorry that I wasn’t here to help you with the matter as I was given tasks to do elsewhere. In order to make up for this lapse on my part, I am cordially inviting you to dinner at 7PM tonight after work. 

Rest assured, the expenses shall be shouldered by me and your only job is to sit and look gorgeous as I wine and dine you for the evening. Sincerely hoping for your most favorable response.

Regards, 

Wonwoo Jeon

Secretary, Finance and Logistics Department

PLEDIS Insurance 

Your boyfriend :)

end notes: this wasnt thoroughly proofread so if you spot some strange errors (aka sentences in a different language bc this fic was partly in filipino) here and there, pretend you didn't see em! as always, ur feedback means everything to me so scream in the tags or my ask as much as you want ^__^

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

The Two (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which Galadriel fights to withhold Nenya and the Nine, but in the end she fails to stop your husband placing yet another ring upon your finger

Warnings: evil!reader, killing (sorry Adar), allusions to smut, injuries suffered by reader (bad ones but not very graphically described), blood drinking for healing purposes

Note: another one in the evil!reader collection. Shout out to this lovely anon for the inspiration behind a certain bit of dialogue.

This is not exactly where you had imagined you would be on this day—shackles around your wrists and blood marring your brow, being escorted through the woods in a filthy and tattered dress by a band of Orcs. You admit it isn’t the best look on you, but circumstances change, and so you must adapt.

So far, you’d say you’re managing quite well.

Adar is not alone as you reach him in the clearing. Facing him is a blonde-haired Elf with whom you have been itching to meet again, now that she has found out the truth of your identity. Galadriel turns towards the approaching Orcs, her eyes widening slightly when she sees you. She may not have known you all that well, but neither could she have imagined that one of Celebrimbor’s unassuming aids was the one being held dearest of all by the very darkness Galadriel had sworn to destroy.

Adar, on the other hand, had never known you as anything else.

“What an unexpected honor,” he says when he sees you. “To what is it owed?”

You stare him down—the Uruk who had been your husband’s near destruction, leaving you to await his return for what had felt like an agonizing eternity. If looks could kill, he would be in bloody pieces.

It’s Glug, one of the Orcs at your side, that answers him. “We found Sauron. He tried to make us betray you, but we resisted. We lost many,” he shoves you into stumbling forward, “but we got our hands on this one. His Queen, he said,” Glug mocks, and the group of Orcs breaks into a cacophony of snorted laughter. Your face remains impassive as Adar approaches you.

“Indeed, Sauron’s bride herself.” Adar stands before you, meeting your gaze head on. “After all this time, you are still at his side.”

“I am at his side once again,” you correct him coldly, “after you took him from me. For centuries.”

“So long ago, yet your hatred of me has not waned,” Adar muses. “I always wondered how deeply this great love he claimed to feel for you truly ran. Whether you were another of his victims, or some unnatural exception. I can only hope he values you as much as you do him.” He turns to Galadriel. “With any luck, she will be enough to draw him out—”

His words are cut off abruptly, and Galadriel gasps—for the tip of a sword had emerged from Adar’s stomach, then withdrew as swiftly as it had cut through him. He falls to the ground, clutching at his wound, looking up only to see you as you truly are.

Without the illusion, there is not a speck of dirt on you, never mind blood or shackles. You stand clad in elegant battle armour, your bloodied sword held in your hand with the ease and practice of centuries.

Realization dawns on Adar’s face, as you had seen it on those of so many others before, a little too late. “My children!” he calls out, visibly astonished that he even has to. Yet not one of the Orcs move.

“For years, I’ve wondered,” you mock his musing tone from before, crouching to his level and slowly putting your blade to his neck, “would it please me more to kill you myself, or to watch my husband do it? But then, I realized—and he agreed—what end could be more terrible to you than to be killed by that which you love most?”

You stand back up to your full height. To Adar’s credit, he struggles to his feet as well. Even if what happens next is plain to see, before you even speak the words.

“Uruks,” you command, a sinister smile tugging at your lips. “Finish him.”

Your new servants surge from behind you, surrounding Adar and plunging their swords into their former master. It’s poetic, really—an inverted mirror of what your beloved suffered all those years ago, whilst your husband himself walks into the clearing, no longer hiding in the shadows, and recovers the crown that should have been his in the first place from the boulder on which it had been placed. Galadriel doesn’t see him, her eyes fixed on you in anger. It’s a delight to watch it be replaced with dread when she hears your husband’s voice call her name.

By now, Adar has fallen to the ground once more, yet the Orcs are slow to cease their blows. Galadriel is frozen in place as your husband joins you at your side, both of you looking down at the Uruk who has tasted your vengeance.

“My... children...” he croaks out, pitifully.

“They have found new parents,” your husband says, pitiless.

You exchange a look with Glug, and if there was any trace of hesitancy left in him, it vanishes under your demanding gaze. With a roar, he plunges his sword into Adar’s heart, putting an end to him and the killing frenzy of his brethren.

“What orders,” he asks then, his irritatingly pitched voice downright fanatical, “Lord Sauron? My Queen?”

“Raze Eregion,” your husband says evenly. “Leave no Elf alive. But bring me their leaders.”

“Be sure to destroy every single record of Celebrimbor’s works,” you add. “We would not want the secrets of the Rings’ craft revealed.”

The Orcs bow their heads, so wonderfully obedient as they begin to chant, “Hail Sauron, the Dark Lord! Hail our Dark Queen!” They repeat it as if in a craze, still muterring the words in their speech as they scurry away to carry out your orders. Glug, however, lingers by your side.

“Forgive me, my Queen!” He drops to his knees, all but touching his head to your boots. “For the offence I brought you. I only meant to convince Adar of our lie.”

You tilt your head, such an indulgent expression on your face, one might think it was genuine if they knew no better. You put a finger beneath Glug’s chin and lift his head, his bulbous eyes widening in awe as he meets your gaze.

“Earn my forgiveness,” you say sweetly, “by carrying out the task you have been given.”

“Yes, my Queen!” he exclaims, shooting to his feet the moment you release him. “My Lord!” he bows to your husband as well, then rushes after his companions as you watch, deeply satisfied. So this is what it feels like to be worshipped as a goddess. For now, by Orcs—later, by every being in Middle-Earth. The mere thought of it feels like a sip of the most exquisite and intoxicating wine, the elation second only to that sharing in this glory with your husband. You would love nothing more than to bask in the moment, mark it with a kiss, but there is still a pressing matter to attend to beforehand.

And, at once, she demands your attention.

“All this,” Galadriel says, voice thin with held-back terror, “was your design from the beginning!”

“Not all of it,” your husband tells her with eerie humility. “When my beloved came to find me,” he glances to you, letting his knuckles graze a gentle line down your shoulder, “having sensed my presence as I strived to regain my form, we believed we would never be parted again. It was hardly by our design that we were separated in that shipwreck. Once the sea brought you to me, however—”

“—an opportunity arose,” you continue seamlessly, smiling up at your husband, “too tantalizing to pass up.” You turn to Galadriel with a self-assured gaze. “You see, my love and I may be apart in body, but never in mind. And though not even we knew where our paths would lead, we trusted that we would be reunited at the end, and be all the better for it. So, I made my way back to Eregion, where my false life still awaited me—”

“—and I let you take Halbrand there yourself,” your husband finishes. “With a Númenórean army to fight against my enemy, and your trust to help me earn Celebrimbor’s. So, in the end...” A devious smirk tugs at his lips. “One could say it was your design.”

Galadriel purses her lips, keeping them firmly shut. She knows better than to take that bait of self-blame, you can tell. Instead, her eyes dart to her sword, discarded on the ground—betraying her intentions.

In an instant, you both bolt for her sword—and it’s only by a fraction of a second that you stomp your foot on the blade before she can lift it, leaving her to pull helplessly at the handle whilst you put your own sword to her throat. She glares up at you, her words spit out like venom, “You are a traitor to your people!”

A short, sweet laugh escapes you. “I am a traitor to all peoples.” You knit your brow, feigning bashfulness. “How kind of you to notice.”

Galadriel blinks at you, a trace of pity mingling with the disgust in her eyes. “Your mind has left you.”

You open your mouth, prepared to let her know you completely agree, and are rather pleased with yourself—when your attention lands on her hand, drawn there by a glimmer of light reflected off the gem on her finger. Nenya, the Ring of Water, shines before your eyes in all its devastating perfection.

You almost forget to keep your blade at Galadriel’s throat as you crouch down and grab her hand. She flinches, but your grip is relentless as you hold her hand still, admiring the Ring.

“Oh, this is simply...” you murmur, almost tearfully, “exquisite.”

In your long life, the only sight to grace your gaze which held similar beauty was your husband, in any form of his. And perhaps, only perhaps, from a purely aesthetic point of view, the Ring might just surpass him.

The thought, even just in passing, leaves you disoriented. And Galadriel takes full advantage of it.

She moves swiftly. Whilst you are distracted, she yanks her sword from underneath you and you lose your balance, finding yourself face up on the ground, barely parring the immediate blow she aims at your throat. Unsurprisingly, she is strong, making it a real challenge for you to keep her sword at bay with your own, but your mind is now fully present once more and you hold your own as fiercely as ever.

You don’t have to do it for long, however. Your husband’s sword intercedes between yours and Galadriel’s, breaking them apart and forcing her to fall backwards. She scrambles back to her feet, but now she is being attacked by a doubly armed foe, and it is her on the defence, struggling to match your husband’s skillful blows. You’ve stood back up, ready to fight again, but you can’t help taking a moment to behold the glorious sight of your husband fighting. It’s a rather short dance between them, brought to a halt as their blades clash and your husband swings Morgoth’s crown at the place where they meet, trapping both within its iron spikes.

Both of Galadriel’s hands hold the hilt of her sword in a white-knuckled grip, giving your husband a full view of the Ring as well. It tempts his gaze as quickly as it did yours.

“Even more beautiful than Celebrimbor led us to believe,” he says, bemused. “It would compliment your wedding band beautifully.” He glances at you. “Don’t you think, my love?”

As you meet his gaze, you are left breathless with how ardently you want to say yes. To have him place that wondrous Ring upon your finger, just as he did your wedding band all those years ago, and to admire the jewel on your hand as it touches every single inch of your husband’s skin whilst you make love for days and nights on end. You would begin right there, in the clearing, if not for the unwanted company.

Galadriel grunts, breaking away from your husband. Their withering stares remain locked as he circles her widely, coming to stand at your side. Can she not grasp that she is at a disadvantage?

“This is hardly fair. Two against one” you say, trying to sound reasonable. “It would be much wiser to simply give me that Ring, and him the Nine.”

“We do not wish to harm you,” your husband says, in that falsely reassuring tone that has worked wonders on so many others. Galadriel is having none of it.

“Do you wish to heal me?” she asks, defiantly. You would admire her determination, if it wasn’t so inconvenient to you personally.

Your husband proves more patient than you feel in his answer. “We would heal... all Middle-Earth.”

“As you have Eregion?” she growls, face twisting in rage as she readies her sword.

“Well, then,” you sigh shortly and do the same with yours, glancing at your husband, “ladies first, I suppose.”

And so you are the first to meet Galadriel in her attack. For a little while, you are evenly matched, but once your husband joins you shortly after, well—that is a different story.

You have to admit, Galadriel lives up to her reputation as Commander of the Northern Armies and then some. And yet, the fight would have been much shorter if it weren’t for a silent agreement between you and your husband, for the sadistic streak you share that makes you want to draw this out, let her believe she might prevail before you prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that she never stood a chance.

You had almost forgotten the utter pleasure that it was to fight at your husband’s side. It’s no less harmonious or fierce than when you are making love, how fluidly you complement each other’s movements, acting as though you are simply an extension of the other. In that way, you suppose, the fight is fair—Galadriel’s opponent is as one alone, in all but flesh.

The Ring, however, and the Nine whose presence your husband must feel as keenly as you do, prove a distraction. Your blades draw Galadriel’s blood, but the wounds are relatively minor, and she manages to nick your skin as well in moments where your eyes stray to the Ring on her finger, your mind clouded with thoughts of it becoming yours.

You can’t explain how else she manages to gain the upper hand as she eventually does, catching your husband sufficiently off-guard to kick him down from a small height. Your battle had taken you to the ruins of an old stone structure at the edge of a cliff, your husband landing gracelessly in the midst of it. You’re more concerned for his pride rather than his body, however. Panting from exertion, you and Galadriel lock gazes.

“You say you let him use me,” she challenges, taking her chances at riling you up now that you are alone. “Do you know what he offered me?”

“What he pretended to offer you was mine already,” you say, unwavering. “Had been for a long, long time.”

“He seemed rather convincing,” Galadriel taunts, “when he called me his Queen.”

You huff out a chuckle. “How could you not be convinced,” you retort, “when you so badly wanted to believe him?”

You charge at her again. Perhaps she has managed to make your blood boil after all, but it only works against her, because your attacks are all the more vicious as you force her backwards, down a set of stone steps leading to where your husband had fallen.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” you taunt her between strikes, “for desiring him.”

“I did not desire—!”

“Liar,” you hiss, narrowly parrying a particularly rageful swing of her sword. “I quite liked that form myself. Had a certain roguish... charm to it.” The word becomes a grunt as you kick her back into the stone wall, your swords and gazes locked together in a battle of unrelenting wills. “That stubble of his... felt especially pleasant on my skin.” You smile wickedly, voice laden with sinful implications. “Did you never imagine it on yours?”

She must have—otherwise, her eyes would not betray the sliver of shame that they do as she cries out and pushes you off her with renewed strength. You stumble to the bottom of the stairs with a deranged chuckle, putting your fingers to the stinging spot on your cheek and finding it wet with blood. She had managed to cut you.

And she seemed intent on trying to do worse to you, if not for your husband distracting her with something yet more disorienting than your words.

She freezes in place when she sees him standing before her—not as Annatar, but as Halbrand.

“Fighting at your side,” he says, as if from a distant dream, “I felt if I could just hold on to that feeling...”

Words that had once tugged at her heart, no doubt. They are not enough to deter her from attacking him now, but the internal conflict painted on her face is a delight to watch as they cross blades. Your husband changes the guise of Halbrand into that of Galadriel herself, then that of Celebrimbor. Each of them taunting her with the words he knows would cut the deepest, driving her into one attack after the other.

Until the old structure on which they are fighting crumbles, and they fall along with the boulders back to the ground. Your husband is the first to rise, back to the form he had taken as Annatar, and as you meet his gaze, alight with wrath, you both know—it’s time to put an end to this.

Galadriel gathers her sword from where it has fallen, staggers back to her feet, stubborn and determined as ever as the fighting resumes. But there are two of you, and she is more tired. Before long, you have her backed into a corner—or rather, with the very edge of the cliff at her back, with nowhere to go but into a deadly fall to the ground below. She fights valiantly, but in the end the inevitable happens. Half-distracted by you, she is not quick enough to stop your husband from plunging one of the crown’s iron spikes deep into her shoulder. He backs her into a pillar of the stone arch at the cliff’s edge, and in that position it’s too easy for you to knock the sword from her hand, once and for all.

It’s almost sad, seeing such a mighty warrior reduced to cries of pain, sagging helplessly against the stone. When your husband pulls the crown from her, she falls limp to the ground, the satchel containing the Nine slipping from an inner pocket at her chest. Leaning down, your husband finally reclaims his creations, then slips the Ring of Water off Galadriel’s trembling finger. She is too weak to do anything but groan, her eyes fluttering shut in defeat.

“The Rings are ours,” he says proudly. With his opponent utterly defeated, he lays down his sword and the crown on a nearby boulder, then tucks the satchel away within his own robes. The Elven Ring, however, he keeps in the palm of his hand as he leaves Galadriel lying there and turns to you. His steps are slow and measured as he comes to stand before you, close enough to take your hand in his if he so wishes to. But he withholds, his eyes boring into yours.

“My love,” he says, and it feels like a vow. “My Queen.” He holds out his hand, reverently. “Allow me.”

Your chest swells as you place your hand in his. You hold each other’s gaze a moment longer before you both look down and watch as he, with utmost delicacy, slips Nenya onto your finger, right next to the one that wears your wedding band. Your sword clatters to the ground, unwittingly loosed from your grip, but you don’t even hear it. The sight before you is almost too beautiful to behold, making you weep with joy.

“With this, I vow my life to be yours,” your husband says then, voice strained with emotion. “In life and in death—”

“—and for all eternity,” you finish breathlessly, raising your tearful gaze to meet his. The vows you had spoken to each other on the night you had bound your souls together, repeated with equal devotion after all this time.

His brow furrows in awe, and he beholds your face as though he cannot believe you are real. Your Ring-bearing hand trembles in his as he raises his other one to your cheek, thumb gently brushing the skin beneath the cut left there by Galadriel. He leans in and kisses the wound, his warm tongue soothing the pain and relishing the taste of you. You feel it too, sweetly coppery, as he then seals his mouth to yours with soul-wrenching tenderness. And you already know, but it still sweeps the floor from underneath your feet each time you are reminded of the full might of your adoration for him. You would crumble to the ground with the force of it, if not for your husband holding you close.

“Wed again,” you murmur as your lips part, lightheaded with bliss. His smile is soft, his knuckles grazing your temple reverently.

“I never imagined you could be even more beautiful than you already were,” he all but whispers, glancing down at the Ring of Power upon your finger. “Yet as my Queen, your radiance is nearly too great to look upon, even for my eyes. All of Middle-Earth shall bow to worship at my beloved’s feet. All shall love you and despair.”

And you shall love to be adored, yet his adoration would forever be the one you cherish most. You are leaning in to taste his lips once more, when the voice of your all-but-forgotten-about foe rudely interrupts.

“The free peoples of Middle-Earth,” Galadriel declares, “will always resist you.”

With a small sigh, you turn to her. She has managed enough strength to sit up sideways, her glare as defiant as ever even as the poisoned wound left by Morgoth’s—by your husband’s crown slowly consumes her. She’s resilient, fearsome and beautiful. Like you.

Now that she is no longer a real threat, you allow yourself a spark of admiration. Sensing your wish, your husband leaves to break away from him and go to her, lowering yourself to one knee so you meet her at her level.

“I could yet help you heal,” you offer mercifully, knuckles grazing her jawline as she flinches away. “You could yet pledge your allegiance to your King and Queen.”

“Not while I still breathe,” she spits the words obstinately. Predictably.

It seems you’ll still have need of your sword after all.

“This is a waste, truly,” you say, and mean it. “You would have made a great ally.”

Galadriel frowns, as if contemplating your words. “Perhaps,” she admits. “You, on the other hand...” She leans close to you, and hisses in your face, “...would have made a dreadful Queen.”

‘Would have’? You’re about to tell her you already are Queen, and always will be. A taunting smirk is already tugging at your lips—

—quickly snuffed out by a sharp pain, deep in your chest. Jaw slack, eyes wide, you look down to find Galadriel’s hand there, gripping the hilt of the dagger she has plunged into your heart. Nothing but a small blade, most likely conjured from some hidden pocket in her garments whilst you and your husband had been absorbed in each other, and which she had concealed within her sleeve since—it hardly matters. It all happens too quickly for your husband to reach you, and it’s distraction enough that all you can do is gasp as Galadriel grabs you by the shoulders and, with the last of her strength, pulls you over the edge of the cliff along with herself.

Your name, roared out by your beloved, is the last thing you hear as you fall.

*****

You’re alive.

Barely.

You exist somewhere between wakefulness and oblivion, the sounds around you distant and pain threatening to greet you once you have returned to your full senses—if you ever will. But a touch of your husband’s godly nature has resided within you ever since you bound yourself to one another in marriage, and so your form endures, your mind alert enough to serve you even as you lie broken on the ground.

“She should be healed,” a voice says, and you recognize it—king Gil-galad, no doubt come to recover Galadriel from where she must be lying close to you. “And made to face judgement for her treachery.”

There is another presence, yet closer to you. As a hand touches your neck, fingers pressing to your pulse point, you grasp at every last sliver of your power to conjure one small, but vital illusion.

The hand leaves you.

“I agree,” you hear Elrond say. “But she is dead already.”

Relieved and utterly spent, before long you are lost to the world once more.

*****

Your name, whispered softly by your beloved, is the first thing you hear as you wake up.

The next is your own weak moan, pain spreading through your body as feeling returns to you. The room to which you open your eyes is, thankfully, low-lit—you doubt they could handle anything else. But all that truly matters is that you are met with your husband’s gaze, relieved and endlessly caring as he sits at your side, leaning over you.

“Shh,” he cooes, caressing the crown of your head as a tear slides down your temple. “This too shall pass, for I will look after you as you did me in my time of need. I’m here, my love,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’m here.”

The pain mercifully dulls once again, most likely your husband’s doing. This time, you are at peace as you drift away.

*****

It isn’t pain, but warmth and comfort that greets you when you next wake. Your limbs are still weak, your body made heavy with a dull ache all over, but the familiar feeling of being cradled in your husband’s arms overshadows the lingering discomfort. Your head is resting on his chest, and, in natural reflex, you nuzzle into him, lips searching for his skin and pressing to his neck.

“My love,” he greets softly, his pulse a pleasant thrum beneath your mouth. “You are awake at last.”

You lift your head, wincing at the stiffness in your neck, and look into your husband’s eyes. “Did I keep you waiting terribly long?” you ask, finding the strength to work a trace of playfulness into your tired voice. Something in his gaze breaks in the face of it.

“Unbearably so,” he replies in earnest.

There’s no response you find within you other than to press a light kiss to his lips, reassuring yourself that this is real. After, you allow him to carefully maneuver you so that you are both sitting up against the headboard, with you still tucked into his side.

“You are nearly recovered, my love,” he says as you grimace and shift, looking for a comfortable position for your aching joints, “but your strength will return with time. Until then...”

He offers you his hand, his black blood already spilled from a cut in the palm of it. It’s fresh, different from the one he had used to provide the false mithril for the Nine. This sacrifice he has made for you alone, to mend his beloved piece by piece. You don’t need him to explain all of this—you simply offer him a grateful smile as you cradle his hand in yours and bring it to your lips, kissing it almost as you would his mouth as you gather his blood with your tongue.

“There,” he says hoarsely, eyes fluttering shut with the great pleasure of feeling you consume him, any part of him. “Take my strength,” he urges, cradling your head as you drink from him. “Make it yours, my love.”

The effect may be temporary, but the relief is instant. You pull away, sighing pleasantly as you wipe your thumb over any lingering droplets of blood on your lips, and lick those off your finger as well. You feel almost as new, as if you had never even taken a blade to the heart and a shattering fall.

The memory sends a jolt through your chest. Instinctively, you bring your hand to it, looking down at the place where Galadriel had managed to stab you. The wound has been healed, but the spark of rage is kindled within you once more. And it grows into a wildfire when you notice your horribly bare finger.

“Where’s Nenya?” You scramble from your husband’s arms and off the bed, gripped by a sudden, blind panic. “Where’s my Ring?” you demand, nearly a growl. His gaze becomes grim.

“The Elves took it back,” he says darkly, standing to face you. You huff out a furious breath. So, Galadriel succeeded, then. She recovered the Ring, even if it meant taking all of you along with it. Even if she was risking her own death.

You sincerely hope she survived the fall and the wound inflicted by your husband’s crown. Otherwise, you would have no revenge to look forward to.

“And Eregion?” you ask, scrambling for some victory to which to cling in your rage. “Our army? What of it?”

“We are in Eregion,” your husband tells you, adding proudly, “what is left of it. As for our armies... nearly all Middle-Earth is ours for the taking.”

“Nearly?” you frown.

“The Elves have used the Three to create a sanctuary beyond my reach.” His voice drips bitterness. But as he steps to you, taking your hand in his, he seems more disturbed than vengeful. “Had I found that they had taken you there... where I could not follow...”

You soften, then, your anger tamed by the torment in his gaze as he trails off. You wonder if, within this sanctuary of the Elves protected by the light of the Three, you could still feel your husband’s dark soul caressing yours even from afar. The thought that you might not, that you had been at risk of suffering such an appalling emptiness, is sickening.

“It is well, then,” you say, chasing away the dread of what might have been, “that I led Elrond to believe I was dead. That is why they took only Galadriel.”

“My love.” Your husband smiles, pride swelling in his eyes as he cups your cheek. “Clever and fierce, even as you lay broken.”

“I knew you would find me,” you say simply, as if nothing more had been needed. But then you sigh, and take hold of his wrist, lowering his hand from your face. “But our victory is not yet complete,” you say sullenly. “The Three are free of your influence and beyond our reach.”

“Do not despair, my love,” he is quick to reassure. “The Seven have known my touch. We have the Nine. And very soon...” Something sparks in his eyes, cunning and mysterious. “...we shall have more.”

You raise a brow, intrigued. “More?”

He nods, brow knitting slightly as he begins to explain. “You told me it did not sit well with you that I had used only my blood in the making of the Nine. You were right, my love,” he admits. His gaze drops to your hands, his thumb brushing over the empty spot where Nenya had been. “And so,” he says, locking his gaze with yours, “it shall be with your blood and mine combined that we will forge the Two.”

The words linger in the air, ominous and captivating even before you fully grasp their meaning.

“Two Rings,” your husband continues, wrapping your hands in his and bringing them to his chest, where you feel his heart beat as furiously as yours as he speaks. “Born of our flesh and love, inextricably intertwined with one another. Whose power shall be as fierce and eternal as the devotion between you and I, greater than that of all the other Rings. Great enough to bind them in the darkness we share, and to rule them all. One for their King...”

“One for their Queen,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips as if they had always been there. Always locked behind your tongue, written in your fate, meant to be spoken in this very moment. This feeling, the things of which he speaks—it is all so intoxicating, a design too perfect in its terrible splendour to imagine it being brought into existence.

“Is that possible?” you ask, cautiously.

“If it is not... then we shall make it.”

And when he says it like that, gazing so deeply and so fiercely into your eyes, you believe him.

“Will you join me in this act of creation, my love?” your husband beseeches, so desperately hopeful. “Will you stand at my side?”

There is only one answer that could ever leave your lips. But first, you lean in and capture his in a deep, ravenous kiss, the taste of him both remedy and fuel to the delirium surging within you.

Creation. Not meant for Elves, or Dwarves, or Men. Not crafted through the deception of Celebrimbor, or even so much as with another’s aid. The very embodiment of your entwined souls, brought into being and meant to be worn by you and your beloved only.

The fruit of your union.

You break apart, opening your eyes to find the same all-consuming desire reflected in your husband’s. And once again, you speak the vow that shall very soon become inscribed upon the gold of the Two.

“For all eternity.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Defied

[puffcap-factory]

A crack upon the ice (Capitano x reader)

Capitano x gn!reader; bittersweet, longing, a hint of smut at the end.  

Basically, the reader used to be a Fatui, who worked closely *winkwink* with Capitano, but, circumstances forced you both to go your separate ways. And now, having been captured by a group of Fatui, you were unaware that Capitano was the one leading the group.

Words: 1.1k 

Notes:

oH My GOsh it’s been so long since I’ve updated. I just got into Natlan and hoLy MoLY Capitano O_o (please make him playable I beg of u hoyo) Even though there is currently not much info about him yet, I don’t think I can make myself wait. 

As always, please enjoy! 

•~•~•~•

The chill in the air was starting to bite as the heavy, deliberate footsteps grew closer. With your hands bound tightly behind your back, you had little choice but to lift your head slowly to the sound. You’d expended nearly all your energy fighting off countless Fatui skirmishers, but their numbers had overwhelmed you, leading to your capture. Your gaze shifted warily toward the cave entrance as a dark, imposing figure emerged from the shadows.

“You fought well.”

Was the first thing he said. His voice was calm but deep and stern. You looked up to meet his face. His mask concealed his entire face, and the elaborate furs of his massive cape seemed to absorb the dim light of the cave. It was none other than Capitano, the first of the Fatui Harbingers.

How long had you not seen him since you last left Snezhnaya? He put down the torch on the side and crouched down on one knee, maintaining the same eye level as he quietly observed you. 

“It seemed that my soldiers were lacking in honor and skill, I’ll need to remind them of their duties,” he mused, mostly to himself. “And you, y/n, managed to hold your own despite being outnumbered. Not entirely surprising, I suppose.”

He let out a low hum as you watched him with a cautious gaze, wary of the situation. With a subtle nod, he signaled to the Fatui guards who had accompanied him to leave. His attention remained fixed on you, as he was keenly aware of your cautiousness.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his tone firm but reassuring, “I have no intention of causing you harm.”

Though you knew he wasn’t one to indulge in needless violence, this was the first time you’d encountered him since you left the organization. You couldn’t be entirely sure of his intentions, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he might be hunting you down.

Although you had to admit, a part of you couldn’t deny the nostalgia—a yearning for what you once had with him—or at least for the familiar presence he had.

He extended his arm toward you, and you flinched instinctively. Capitano’s movement halted, his broad shoulders loosening as he studied your face with a contemplative gaze. You finally gave him a reluctant nod for him to approach, his hands working slowly to release your bound wrists. The moment your arms were free, you folded them in front of yourself, seeking solace from the biting cold night as you looked up at him.

He noticed the way you shivered slightly against the chill air, your movements slow and hesitant as you slowly dragged yourself towards the flickering torchlight. With a sigh of resignation at your constant silence, Capitano removed his imposing cape and carefully draped it over your shoulders. The immediate warmth was a welcome relief, and you visibly relaxed under its embrace.

“Better?”

You nodded in response. “Thank you.”

Capitano let out a satisfied hum as he finally heard your voice.

After a brief silence, you asked. “…Are you going to drag me back to Snezhnaya?”

He looked at you for a moment, his gaze inscrutable. “No,” he said, his voice gentle. “It wouldn’t end well for you.”

 A sliver of relief flickered in your eyes. “Then… are you going to release me?”

Capitano sighed, his gaze momentarily falling to the ground before meeting yours again. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached up to your face, his fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that took you by surprise. Your eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected gesture, before relaxing at the tenderness of his touch. You didn’t pull away; instead, you leaned into slightly, feeling a warmth and familiarity that you had missed.

With a gaze that felt almost pleading, you looked up at him and gently placed your hand on his. Capitano let out a soft exhale. His hand moved slowly to your hair, his fingers gently brushing away a stray strand to tuck it behind your ear.

“I will,” he whispered, his voice low. He repeated it, almost as if he needed to convince himself just as much as he needed to reassure you, “...I will.”

His touch lingered for a moment longer before he withdrew his hand and stood up. You could sense a subtle shift; his composure seemed to reassemble, masking the brief crack in his usual restraint.

“The night is cold,” he said, his voice returning to its usual firm tone as he stood up, turning towards the entrance. “It would be better if you set out when the sun is up.”

Capitano understood your reasons for leaving the organization. He recognized the validity of your stance; your vision and the organization’s goals no longer aligned, and he, too, had his own plans to pursue. Despite this, he couldn’t deny the value of the time spent together and the connection you had shared. It was a bittersweet realization—one that spoke to a mutual regret over how circumstances had unfolded. Though duty had called for your paths to diverge, the sentiment was clear: both of you wished things could have been different. 

And now, you wanted to linger a bit longer.

“Wait.”

Capitano turned his head back toward you.

You hesitated as you clung his cape a bit tighter. “The night is long… and cold.”

If there was one thing Capitano was known for, it was his unyielding restraint and composure. However, in this particular night, that control seemed to waver. 

You stood up and moved closer to the cave wall, the flickering torchlight highlighting your figure draped in his Fatui cape. Seeing you wrapped in his garment stirred a deep reminiscence of the past. Although it had been a while since he had last seen you, it was undeniable that he had longed for you—your presence, your warmth.

He took a deep breath and moved closer, his towering presence casting a shadow over you. He studied your face, as if grappling with some internal struggle as he inhales deeply, until something within him seemed to snap.

Your breath hitched as he suddenly pressed his body against you, your back pinned against the cave wall. He lowered his head into the crook of your neck, his warm breath brushing against your ear.

His hands moved from your hips to your legs, lifting you up against the wall so that your legs wrapped around his hips. You gasped as he started pressing kisses on your neck hungrily, your hand instinctively placed onto his back of his head in response. 

“Is this what you want?” he growled against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You let out a soft whimper and nodded.

“Then try to be quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “I’ll warm you up tonight.”

[supernovafics]

you and steve like each other but neither of you want to fully admit it

wc: 1k

a tiny bit angsty but overall very soft and sweet<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

it was a teasing look mixed with barely any space. it was also the mix of way too many drinks and one joint passed around your group of friends that made you and steve practically inseparable. 

in normal circumstances, you two were already pretty much attached at the hip— always finding each other in crowded rooms or having your own whispered conversations when you were in big groups. but whenever you two were drunk or high, or in this case both, your closeness seemed to only increase tenfold. 

you weren’t sure whose decision it was to move to the kitchen while your friends talked and laughed in the living room. maybe you wanted to drag steve along as you went to grab a soda from his fridge, or perhaps it had been the other way around. you honestly couldn’t remember, and whatever you planned to get became long forgotten by the time you two had walked the ten feet from the living room.

now you sat atop the counter, hands settled in your lap as you fought the urge to run your fingers through steve’s hair that was surprisingly pretty messy for once. and that made you remember that the messiness had actually been your doing because you ruffled it at some point during the night— when he playfully made fun of you for being such a lightweight and the only thing you felt as if you could do in retaliation to his words was mess up his perfectly styled hair.

you let out an abrupt laugh at the memory. 

steve looked at you curiously. “what’s so funny?”

“your hair.”

he quickly pushed a hand through it, trying to tame the mess of brown. “that’s all your fault, y’know.”

“i know. sorry,” you told him. “i think it’s pretty cute, though.”

“you’re pretty cute.” 

you let out another soft laugh. “always the charmer, harrington.” 

“and you love it.”

you nodded instead of protesting his words like you would’ve done if he had said them to you when you were sober. “yeah… i do.” 

he moved closer to you then, stepping between your parted legs, and it was hard to not let yourself lean into him just a little bit. one of his hands settled on the side of your thigh and then moved up and found your hip. 

you didn’t know if it was you or him who leaned in further, but suddenly your noses were brushing and your lips became only breaths apart. it hadn’t even happened yet, but you were already imagining what his lips would feel like on yours; the softness of his mouth, and you had a feeling that he’d taste like the tequila you two had been drinking all night. 

but then he was slowly pulling back a bit. 

maybe logical thinking was hitting him in this moment, and the smallest part of you that was barely sober was glad because you knew just how much things would change if you two did kiss right then. 

you figured steve was going to step away from you then. and in response, you would jump off the counter and slip your hand in his and then you two would head back into the living room; putting an end to your random trip to the kitchen. 

instead, though, he leaned in closer, mouth fanning right against your ear as he softly asked, “can i kiss you?”

that was not at all what you expected him to say. 

so, logical thinking was actually not hitting him in this moment, you figured; and you could say the same. kind of.

you had to bite your lip to hold back your smile. “nope.”

steve pouted at you. “please?”

seeing the look on his face made it too hard not to smile that time. 

you almost just simply shook your head and told him no again, but instead, you turned your head and tapped your cheek. steve got what you meant immediately and leaned in to kiss your warming cheek. 

the action was pretty innocent and very childish, but it still made butterflies swarm in your stomach. 

“was that good enough for you?” you asked softly, leaning back a bit so that you could really look at him, placing your hands on the cool countertop. 

the hand that he had on your hip lightly squeezed. “for now.”

quickly, your mind changed and you were reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him toward you and hugging him; you couldn’t let yourself kiss him, even though you really wanted to, so this was the next best thing. steve returned the embrace immediately, arms circling your waist and holding you tight. 

this was enough, you decided. it would have to be enough. 

steve hummed softly against your neck and you let out a giggle because of how much the action tickled. 

when your laughter subsided, you two simply stayed as you were; quietly holding one another and pretending that it was only you and him in his house right then. 

eddie’s voice from the couch suddenly broke the prevailing silence. “just kiss already! jesus christ!”

that was when you finally pulled away from each other— arms dropping and steve moving back a bit to give you some space; space that you really didn’t want. 

you both flipped eddie off with a laugh and then focused back on each other. you finally hopped off the counter and steve followed you as you headed back into the living room with everyone else.

you knew that aside from drunken moments like those, you and steve would never get that close to kissing one another, or even consider doing it; neither of you would ever have the courage to push your friendship into that entirely different place. 

maybe it was because deep down you both were scared of change, or maybe it was because you both wanted to protect the friendship you had. either way, you and steve were fine with toeing this blurry line instead of admitting the truth. it was easier that way, and a part of you loved it, actually. at least, that was what you kept telling yourself.

[sha-n-dowbannedlol]

Miguel O'Hara — Love Sick

a/n: i've been slaving over genetics (and biochemistry) lately, and when i was scrolling on tiktok during my break i saw this one superbat imagine and thought of writing it with my favorite geneticist

cw: uh just fluff ig, miguel o'hara is not good with feelings, miguel o'hara is emotionally constipated

You haven't always had the best of luck in your life.

It wasn't so bad that it made you hit rock bottom, but you've had your fair share of moments where you ended up drawing the shortest end of the stick in the game we all call life.

And as you stare at Peter's hand balled to a fist, and yours with two of your fingers pointed out, his hand forming a rock and yours forming scissors, you quickly conclude that this is one of those moments.

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn't put losing to Peter in rock, paper, and scissors as top 5 of the worst moments of your life; however, this is different. To explain just how different it was, we need to go back to a few minutes ago, the reason why you and Peter had to play in the first place.

Not long ago, you received an alert from the Spider-Man 2099 himself asking for backup. You didn't bother to respond as Jess had already reassured you that she's got him—as it turns out, she, in fact, does not have him when she teleported back with an unconscious Miguel draped over her shoulder.

That, in itself, is already worrying enough. But what worried you more was Lyla's report on your boss' situation, relaying the information to Miguel's inner circle of most trusted Spider-people, including you.

"He's been hit with a love potion, an incredibly potent one at that," Lyla reports, her holographic form adjusting her heart glasses and typing away on her holographic computer. "It hasn't kicked in yet, but it will the moment he wakes up," Lyla adds before looking up from her computer, disappearing and reappearing in the middle of the huddled-up spiders

"And when he does, he'll be head-over-heels in love with the first person he sees," The AI informed them in a serious tone, before grinning like the mischievous rascal she is.

"So... Who will the lucky person be?"

It has been decided amongst your group that whoever loses shall be the unfortunate soul that needs to deal with Miguel's affection until Lyla and the other Spiders have concocted an antidote for everyone's admired boss.

And now, you stare back at your hand, then at Peter's, and back at your own hand again. Silence fills Miguel's spacious office as all eyes land on you, and you can feel your cheeks already starting to warm up.

"Can't we just blindfold him?" You spoke before anyone else could, looking over at the holographic AI, who seemed a bit too pleased with the results. "Or lock him in a room or something?"

"Don't be so barbaric," Peter spoke with amusement in his voice.

"Right. Besides, it can't be that bad!" Lyla spoke, her voice with a hint of something that you can't quite put your finger on. Mischievousness? Teasing? Hinting at something she knows but you don't? You didn't know for sure.

"I think Miguel would prefer being locked in a room than being lovesick for an entire day." You respond with a sigh as Peter practically drags you toward where Miguel is currently lying unconscious, and you have no other choice but to let him.

You were a person of your word. You can't possibly back out now just because you lost.

You tense slightly as your spider sense alerts you that Miguel is starting to wake up, feet glued to the floor when he starts to stir.

"You'll be fine," Jess tried to comfort you with a poorly hidden amused smile on her face, followed by Peter patting your back, and you didn't have to turn around to sense that he'd already whipped his phone out to record the whole scene.

The whole room was tense, or perhaps it was just you. Ice ran through your veins the more Miguel moved, and you could feel everyone's eyes on you as his hand moved to rub one eye before finally, finally.

His eyes flutter open.

Ruby red irises land on your form, and you can see a hint of your reflection from his intense gaze. The first person he saw as he awoke.

He stares at you in silence, gaze glued to yours, raking over your visibly tense form as you stare back at him. His face remains neutral, and you're already bracing yourself for his affection—may it be in the form of verbal affection or physical affection.

Miguel then leans forward to sit, before slowly standing up.

You watch as he takes steps toward you, his hand already rising and about to reach out. Your heart skips a few beats, trying to beat right out of your chest to meet his own halfway.

When he was closer to you, you tense up even more, ready to be pulled into his arms...

Except... he just slipped past you.

The hand he raised earlier ran through his hair, his eyes now on Jess.

"Mission report," Miguel demanded in his usual neutral, gruff tone as everyone looked at him with jaws dropped, all dumbfounded by his casualness.

The drowsiness seems to have left Miguel by then as he looks at everyone. He raises a brow in confusion as he notices everyone's stupified expressions and Peter's phone still pointed at him as if they were expecting something from him.

"What?" He asks, brow still raised.

"That's... This isn't how it's supposed to go!" Peter was the first to speak, begrudgingly putting his phone in his robe's pocket.

"Peter, I'm already not feeling well." Miguel responds, brow scrunched as he turns to face Peter, "I have no time for your antics, and that goes for you, too." He adds, pointing towards you on the last part.

Lyla's hologram hen shows up on Miguel's shoulder, bent over and examining Miguel's face, a hand on her chin as she hums. Her boss raises his brow again at this, trying to shoo her away, only for her to keep insisting.

"You were hit with a love potion, Miguel. Quite a potent one, too." Lyla informs the man who's looking at her with a skeptical look in his eyes as she continues, "I calculated its effects would include being down bad in love with the first person you see when you regain consciousness."

Miguel blinks at that, his eyes landing on you, and you recognize the flicker of understanding in his gaze as he does before looking back to Lyla and to the disappointed Peter and the less-visibly disappointed but still very much disappointed Jess.

"Well, it didn't work." Was his simple response, which caused a groan to resound from Peter and a shake of a head from Jess.

"Come on, not even a bit?" Peter asks, looking at Miguel with narrowed eyes. "Look at them, don't you feel like pulling them into your arms and kissing them until the sun sets?"

"First off, that's highly inappropriate," Miguel responds, his hand coming up to pinch his nose bridge in between his fingers to nurse a headache already starting to come up. He says your name exasperatedly, "Please don't mind him. You know how he is."

Before Peter can voice out the offense he took to Miguel's words, Jess speaks up with curiosity and a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"But how come it didn't work?" Jess asks, her brows furrowing in confusion, looking at Miguel, whose face remained neutral despite her questioning. "Lyla was so sure it affected you, and it affected you enough that you lost consciousness, and suddenly it just... didn't have an effect?"

Miguel clears his throat at that, subtly looking to Lyla to give Jess an explanation that would sate her curiosity and make her suspicions die down, but you suddenly spoke to his rescue.

"Perhaps it has something to do with his DNA?" You infer, humming softly to yourself, "His DNA is different from ours, and most of the time, he's immune to potions and poisons because he isn't human enough to be affected by them. Right?"

Your eyes meet Miguel's as you ask for confirmation, and your breath hitches at the sheer intensity of his gaze as he looks back at you. Still, this wasn't anything new. Miguel can be kind of intense and intimidating, even if he doesn't mean to.

"Pretty much." It was Lyla who confirmed your theory on behalf of Miguel, and before anyone could speak, Miguel swiftly interjected.

"Alright, the show's over." He spoke, looking over at everyone and individually giving instructions in order to get all of you off of his back.

"Jess, I need that report before the end of the day. Peter, weren't you supposed to go home early today? Look after your pregnant wife." Miguel spoke before turning to look at you, "And you, I have a mission for you."

One by one, the three of you leave his office, with you being the last one after he briefs you on the mission with Lyla's assistance. Miguel's eyes were glued to your back as you left, much to your obliviousness.

"It worked, didn't it?" Lyla coos suddenly, snapping Miguel out of his thoughts, making him jump slightly and snap his eyes from your figure and towards his holographic AI.

"What worked?" Miguel tried to feign innocence, looking away from Lyla as he turned toward his many screens.

"The Love Potion. It worked." Lyla continues to tease him, grinning at him knowingly as she lays on her stomach in the air, kicking her feet. "You're just so in love with them already that it didn't make a difference."

Miguel remained silent for a while at her teasing words, but the reddish tint blooming on his tan cheeks was enough of an answer to the AI already. Besides, she's the one subjected to Miguel's eyes, always following you around like a lost puppy whenever you're in the room.

"If you tell anyone, I'm shutting you down."

"No, you're not."

".....No, I'm not."

[virginsexgod69]

REQUEST ‼️‼️‼️

I’ve always wanted to read one where the reader is one of Hershel’s daughters (set in season 2). When Daryl and the group show up the reader won’t stop teasing Daryl and eventually he can’t take it anymore. Please make my dreams come true 😭😭🤘. (p.s virgin reader would be +50 points ;)

❝ V-Card ❞

pairing (S2) Daryl Dixon x virgin!fem!Reader

cw loss of virginity, unprotected p in v, lowkey inexperienced daryl, but also not really?, teasing, some pining, daryl kinda being a boob man, reader being a little pervy at times

note i am so sorry i kept you waiting 32 days for this request @mygrandmaschinacabinet, i really hope you like this and thank you for your patience and kind comment on my other post!

p.s. just bc reader is hershel's daughter does not imply anything ab her appearence

~5.k words

 Living on a farm that was fairly far from society, it was a given that you wouldn't see good looking guys too often. But being a good looking girl, the guys you didn't want were always the ones after you, and you'd always have to turn them down. When she gets older, she's gonna have to fight off boys with a stick, was something your grandma would often tease your father, Hershel, about. You laughed it off, not paying any mind to it, but boy did she end up being right. You spent a good portion of your high school years rejecting your suitors, none of which were good enough for you, and none of which you really wanted. But when you finally laid eyes on the most beautiful man you've ever seen, he happened to be one who seemed to pay you no attention. 

 Odd circumstances brought the beautiful man, whom you quickly learned was named Daryl Dixon, to your farm. Otis shot a kid, Hershel took him in to care for, and his dad's group eventually made a home on your father's land. You couldn’t help but ogle at him from your bedroom window whenever you got the chance. The way his biceps flexed whenever he worked with his arms had your virgin pussy aching to be filled by him. He was a man who you’d let do things to you that you’d let no other man before even think he had a chance of doing. 

“Not this again,” Maggie complained upon entering your room. You were perched at your window -like you have been since the group first arrived- watching Daryl skin some squirrels. No one could look as good as he did while doing such a grisly task. 

“Can you blame me? Jus’ look at him,” you replied dreamily. 

“No thanks.” 

“Whatever. You have your eye candy, I have mine.” 

“Eye candy? What’re you talkin’ about?” She asked defensively. 

“Glenn. I’ve seen the way you look at him, like he’s a piece of meat,” you teased. 

“Whatever! Do you need anythin’? I’m goin’ out on a run.” 

“With Glenn?” 

 She let out an annoyed huff and exited the room, not awaiting your response. But you didn’t need anything anyway. You went back to watching Daryl. The sweltering Georgia heat caused sweat to drench his sleeveless shirt and drip from his short, dark hair. He looked like he walked out of one of your many wet dreams. Just then, an idea popped into your head. You hurried down to the kitchen and filled a glass with water, cooling it with the scoops of ice you added. Surely this kind deed would put you on his radar. 

“Hey, Daryl,” you cheerily greeted as you approached the rugged man. He sat on a stump, now gutting the squirrels he already skinned. He grunted in response, not looking up from his work. Your smile dropped, not that it mattered, considering he wasn’t even looking at you. 

“Brought you some water. It’s pretty hot out here and I wouldn’t want ya gettin’ dehydrated,” you said as you held out the cold glass, now dripping with condensation. “Thanks.” He grabbed the glass, his fingers slightly brushing yours, sending a tingling through your spine. He threw his head back, downing the water. A small stream of water dripped down his chin, then his neck, sliding down his shirt no longer in your vision. You squeezed your thighs together. Every little thing he did drove you crazy. You felt like a victorian man who’d just seen a peek of a woman’s ankle whenever you were around Daryl. 

“You uh… Ya need somethin’?” He asked when he noticed you haven’t left yet. You froze. You didn’t need anything, but you didn’t want to leave either. 

“Jus’ came to check on ya, I guess,” you muttered. 

“ ‘M fine?” He tossed the squirrel’s guts into a bucket. 

“Well, alright. My work here is done!” You cringed as the words left your mouth. You grabbed the emptied glass and walked back into the house, chastising yourself the entire way. You wanted nothing more than to have him look at you the way other guys do, but he barely give you the time of day. 

 The glimmer of sunbeams on your face woke you up the next morning. You glanced at the analog clock on your nightstand that read 11:36. You hopped out of bed and eagerly hurried to your window, hoping Daryl would be back from hunting or looking for that little girl or whatever else it was he did when he wasn’t in his usual spot. He was sat on that stump again, but this time he was cleaning his crossbow with that red rag he kept on him. You couldn’t take it anymore, you had  to do something. He couldn’t keep getting away with being so hot and so uninterested in you. 

 You readied yourself in the bathroom, making sure every hair was in place and every tooth was brushed. You debated putting on makeup. You had some leftover from before, but never had a reason to use it, not until now. You layered on some mascara until your lashes looked twice as long and twice as full and coated your lips with some tinted gloss. You stared into your closet debating on what you thought Daryl’d like better. Your tightest, shortest shorts and a nearly see-through tank top. 

“What’re doin’ all dolled up like that?” Your younger sister, Beth asked upon entering the kitchen. 

“Makin’ lunch for D-,” you stopped yourself, not wanting another sister catching onto your thing for Daryl, “for the group out there.” 

“Daddy doesn’t want us wastin’ all our stuff on them,” she protested. You rolled your eyes at her. She could be such a goody-two-shoes sometimes. “What he don’ know won’ hurt him.” You cut a piece of the sandwich you made and handed it to Beth. 

“Eat this and keep quiet.”  

You assembled the sandwich and a glass of lemonade on a tray and carried it over to his lone camp. He didn’t look at you until you were standing before him holding the tray of food. His eyes slowly made their way up to yours, lingering on your bare legs and exposed cleavage on their way up. You couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged the corners of your mouth at this small victory. He quickly averted his gaze and set his crossbow down. 

“Wha’s all this?” He asked, nodding his head toward the tray in your arms. 

“Made ya lunch. Figured you’d be hungry after all that huntin’ and searchin’ you been doin’,” you answered as you set down the tray. 

“Uh, thanks?” He seemed confused, but grateful nonetheless. “Of course,” you replied with a bright smile before sauntering off, swaying your hips more than usual. Unbeknownst to you, he watched you until the door closed behind you. 

 In the days that passed, you upped the ante on your teasing. Daryl noticed. At noon almost everyday, you’d bring him lunch in risqué little outfits. Not quite skimpy, but just enough to tease him. And tease him they did. He already was too nervous to look at you, afraid he might scare you off with his gruff nature and lack of experience with women. He’d choose, instead, to catch glimpses of you when you weren’t watching. Like when you’d leave after bringing him something, or when you’d be around doing farm-work or interacting with the other members of his group. But when you started wearing those revealing outfits, it became harder for him to keep from looking at you. But when he made eye contact with you, he became so nervous and shy that he had to look away. You were the sun. He could feel your warmth, even when he couldn’t see you. You were so bright and beautiful that he felt pulled to look at you, but whenever he did, it couldn’t be for long because he’d forcibly look away, your bright smile burning his sensitive retinas. 

 Speaking of the sun, there you were. “Daryl!” You called as you ran to him. The actual sun glowed behind you, making you look even more like an angel. He was atop one of your horses ready to leave the farm to look for Sophia. He was shocked to see you since you usually weren’t up until noon. He’d know since that’s around the time he sees you watching him through your window. 

“Yeah?” He grunted. 

“Ya goin’ out to look for that little girl?” Once you were out of the sunlight, he could actually get a good look at you.  Something in him stirred when he saw you in the little dress you had on. It was a cream color with ruffles at the bottom and it gave him a good view of your breasts from his position on the horse. He quickly tore his eyes away and looked at the view ahead of him, which was nowhere near as beautiful as you. 

“I figure you’ll be gone for a bit, so I brought you a little bite to eat,” you said holding up a few muffins you made the other night wrapped in cheesecloth. 

“T-thanks,” he stuttered. Despite how frequent it was, he was always taken aback by the kindness you show him. He’s never been treated the way you treat him before and it caught him off guard. 

“Be back by dinner, okay?” It wasn’t a command, more of a hopeful question, but made his heart flutter. 

“I’ll try.” He didn’t want to make any promises he couldn’t keep. You stood there fiddling with your dress about to say something but deciding against it each time. 

“Wha’ is it?” 

“B-be safe out there!” You blurted before scampering off. He found it odd how you could be so bold with your teasing, yet shy when it came to actually talking to him. 

  Your words echoed in his head as he searched for any sign of Carol’s lost daughter. Your request of be back by dinner, okay? motivated him to get back to the farm, despite his injuries from the horse tossing him down a cliff making it difficult for him to move. But what really stuck with him was your horrified scream when you saw Andrea shoot him. That scream haunted his dreams while he was unconscious. The terror of it being the last thing he’d hear from you was his real nightmare. So when he heard your soft “Hey,” he felt relief wash over him, despite the pain everywhere else. He blinked his dry eyes open only for the first thing for him to see being your tits. You had on a loose t-shirt with no bra underneath. He didn’t know if this was a part of your teasing or a pure mistake, but either way, his cock stirred at the sight. You leaned down further to look into his eyes. 

“How ya feelin’?” You ask, placing the back of your hand to his forehead. He tried to croak out a response, but his throat was too dry. You quickly grabbed the glass of water at his bedside and helped him drink it. 

“Better?” 

“ ‘M fine,” he said. You gave him a look that said you didn’t believe him, but were humoring him anyway. “You were injured pretty badly, Daryl,” you said as you gently stroked his hair. He caught himself before he could fully melt into your touch. In fact, he moved away from it. 

“I know, ‘m fine,” he snapped before trying to roll over, away from you. He didn’t like you seeing him like this. So weak and frail, having to depend on those around him. He didn’t see the hurt expression that took over your pretty face. But, to his luck, you didn’t let him push you away. Instead, you toed off your shoes and got into the bed beside him, facing him. He hoped to the high heavens that you couldn’t see the redness that blossomed on his face when you flashed your bright smile at him. 

“I’ll keep ya company,” you promised. 

“Don’ need no company, said ‘m fine.” He didn’t know why he was so adamant about pushing you away. The minute he realized you were in here, he brightened up. He didn’t want his sunshine to leave, but he couldn’t help the storm that was brewing inside him. 

“Well, if you really want me to leave, I’ll go.” You were almost out of the bed before his clammy hand grabbed your wrist. 

“Nah, you can stay,” he said, prompting the return of that bright smile. 

 When you woke up, the sun was setting and Daryl’s arm was around your waist, holding you close. Your heart swelled, this was all you ever wanted, to be in Daryl’s arms. Okay, well you wanted more than just his arm around you, but small victories! You gently moved his arm off you so you could get up and get some dinner from him and yourself. 

“What were you doin’ in there?” Your father asked as soon as you stepped out of the room. He stood outside, about to come in, holding a tray of food for the bowman. 

“Nothin’, Daddy, I was jus’ checkin up on our patient!” It was the truth, but it felt like a lie. 

“Since earlier this afternoon?” He pressed. 

“Lost track of time,” you explained. 

“Now, honey, I know you’re just lookin’ out for him, but-“ 

“I know, I know, you don’t really trust them, but I’m just lovin’ thy neighbor, so to speak.” You bargained. 

That response seemed to satisfy him for now. He handed you the tray of food to give you Daryl. 

“Daryl, dinner,” you called softly upon reentering the room. He groaned, but woke up anyway. He tried to sit up, but winced in pain. You set the tray down and quickly ran to his side to help him out. You adjusted his pillows and helped him to a sitting position. 

“Wha’s fer dinner?” He asked, glancing at the bowl of soup on the tray beside him on the bed. You hummed in thought before dipping your finger into the bowl and sucking it clean, making sure your lips were pouty as you did so, hoping to tease Daryl. 

“Tomato.” He hummed noncommittally before reaching for the spoon. You swatted his hand away. “Nuh uh, you’re still healing, let me feed you.” 

“I can feed myself,” he protested. You furrowed your brows and pouted at him. He sighed and rolled his eyes, but opened his mouth slightly, waiting for a bite. You smiled, scooping up some soup and spooning it into his mouth, making sure to lean forward as to give him a front row seat to the view down your shirt. You saw him avoid looking the first few times, but soon he was unable to resist taking a peek, and soon his peeking became staring (however, he pretended not to be whenever you looked back up at him). 

“Enjoy the soup?” You asked once the bowl was mostly empty. 

“S’alright,” he said as he nibbled on a cracker. You grabbed the bowl and drank the rest of the soup directly from it. 

“Goddammit!” You cursed when a glob of soup fell onto your white t-shirt. But maybe it was a blessing in disguise, a chance to drive Daryl crazy. You grabbed a random t-shirt from one of the drawers and set it down before taking off the one you had, tossing it aside. You put the new one on as if you didn't just give him a strip show. His face was beet red and he hurried to adjust the blankets on his lap. 

"Daryl, you okay? You look a little hot?" 

"S'just w-warm in here." 

"Let me jus' check your temperature." Instead of pressing the back of your hand to his forehead like before, you placed a gentle kiss to it. 

"Feels a little warm." You stayed close to his face. If he moved, even a centimeter, his lips would touch yours, which is what you were hoping for. You glanced down at his lips, then up at his blue eyes, waiting for him to lean in. Despite all this teasing, you kinda wished he'd make a move, too. When he didn't, you pulled away, kissing him on the cheek instead. 

"Get well soon, okay?" you said before taking the tray and leaving. 

Daryl had been mentally punching himself since that night. He was an idiot for not kissing you when he had the chance. You were right there and so obviously waiting for him to do something, anything. But he couldn't. It'd been so long since he'd done anything with a woman, and even then, he didn't think he was any good. He was almost embarrassed about how inexperienced he was at his age. And someone as beautiful as you obviously would have some experience, so why waste time on him. He didn't want to be the cloud that dulled your shine. 

 He was now well enough to be released from Hershel’s care, but not well enough to resume about his usual ways. He’d normally disobey orders to take it easy, but when you made him promise to rest, he couldn’t break it. Subconsciously, he glanced over to your window. It wasn’t something he did often, considering you were usually the one watching him, but you were weighing heavily on his mind. He saw you up in your room, assuming you’d just woken up since it was almost noon. You were at your window, rummaging through your dresser -he knew where it was when he caught a glimpse of your room when he was inside the house. You held up a few shirts, probably deciding on which to wear, before pulling your pajama shirt off over your head. This was now the second, no, third time he’s gotten a perfect view of your tits. God they would feel so good in his hands, better yet, they’d look so good  bouncing in unison with his thrusts as he fucked you into your mattress. Your teasing and mischievous ways only fueled his fantasies, causing his pants to tighten uncomfortably. The little wave you gave him from your window pulled him out of his own head. You, still topless, blew him a kiss before stepping out of frame. 

 His heart rate increased expeditiously as he nearly came in his pants. He couldn’t handle your teasing anymore, it was driving him crazy. He wanted you, not just the fantasies in his head and the company of his hand. He wanted to feel your walls squeeze his cock, hear your little moans as he pleasured you until your mind went numb, become one with you as you came in unison. He hurried into his tent and zipped it all the way up before collapsing onto his sleeping bag and hurrying to undo his pants. He liberated his aching cock from its confines and spat on his hand. He rubbed himself up and down, from base to tip, imagining it was your pretty mouth swallowing him whole. He ignored the sound of distant footsteps approaching his tent and instead chased his climax, which was coming embarrassingly fast. 

“Daryl?” Your distant voice called, but all he heard in his mind was you moaning his name as your nails scratched down his back. 

“You in here?” You asked. Daryl came in his hand, taking extra care to stifle the moan that threatened to spill from his mouth. Reality set in when he saw your shadow standing outside his tent. He quickly wiped his hand off on the closest piece of fabric and shoved himself back in his pants. 

“Need somethin’? He asked. He willed you not to notice his flushed, sweaty face. 

“Watcha doin’ in there?” You asked, trying to peek into his tent. He moved to block your vision. He didn’t need you finding any trace of his earlier activity. Although, the little dress you had on had him ready to continue said activities.

“Nothin’.” 

“Anyway, I came to check on you, make sure you’re takin’ it easy.” 

“I am, was jus’ takin’ a nap,” he lied. 

“Then why are you so red? And sweaty? Are you comin’ down with somethin’?!” You were starting to sound worried, making Daryl feel guilty. You reached up to feel his forehead and check for a fever, but he stepped back, avoiding your touch. If he felt your skin on his, in any capacity, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold back anymore. 

“Daryl, don’t be so stubborn!” You stepped closer only for him to step back again. 

“Ain’ got no fever, girl! S’just hot out here!” He insisted. 

“Don’ know that for sure. If it is one, it could mean one of your wounds is infected.” 

“S’not a fever, ‘m sweaty from workin’ out.” You looked at him with an eyebrow skeptically raised and a hand on your hip. So much for takin’ a nap, you thought. Your eyes traveled down his body before meeting his again, this time with look more mischievous than usual in your eyes. 

“Your fly’s down.” He quickly zipped it up, cursing himself for the dumb mistake. 

“Anythin’ to do with your ‘work out’?” 

“Dunno what yer gettin’ at.” His heart was beating faster in his chest, this time because of anxiety. You were onto him and he was about to get caught, humiliated under your scrutinizing gaze.

“Flushed, sweaty face.” You took a step closer and he took one back. “Dilated pupils.” Another step forward and another one back. “Unzipped fly.” He stepped back, not looking where he was going and stumbled onto the grassy ground. You sat down next to him. “Took forever to open your tent.” Your face split into a grin like the Cheshire Cat.   “I’d say you were in there masturbatin’.” He stumbled over his words, looking for what to say in denial of your observation accusation. You pressed your pointer finger to his lips. 

“Shh, it’s okay.” You leaned over him and slid your hand down his chest. “I touch myself, too.” His sparkling blue eyes went wide. “Usually thinkin’ ‘bout you when I do it.” You could feel his breathing change as you slid your hand further down his toned stomach. “Were you thinkin’ ‘bout me?” His face was beet read and breathing shallow. You had him and he was more than ready, willing, and able to give in. He nodded his head, confirming your suspicions. 

“Well, next time I’m on your mind,” you leaned down, lips ghosting his parted ones, “don’t just settle for your hand.” His lips finally met yours in a heated kiss. The built up tension from his days of pining and yours of teasing finally being released in that kiss. You tangled your fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss, slipping your tongue inside and drinking in all his pleasured groans. 

“Wanna go back to my room?” You asked after pulling away. 

“Nah, too far. Let’s go inside my tent.” You happily agreed and hurried inside, zipping it up behind Daryl. His mouth was back on yours in an instant, passionately exploring it with his tongue. He kissed his way down to your neck, roughly sucking marks. 

“Oh, Daryl!” You shouted when he reached a certain spot on your neck, just beneath your ear. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him impossibly close. Nervously, Daryl’s hand experimented with touching your body, his hands firmly gripping your hips. They were comfortable there and not daring enough to try anything else. He wanted to impress you, but at the same time he didn’t want you to notice that he had no clue what he was doing or what to do next, using the pirated porn and one night stands of his past as reference. Your hands grabbed his and placed them on your tits. 

“Touch me, Daryl!” You whined. His hands groped and kneaded at the soft mounds of flesh hidden behind the thin fabric of your dress. He pulled down the front of your dress, freeing your tits then recapturing one by putting it in his mouth. His large hand toyed with the right while his mouth suckled the other. Your little wanton whimpers egged him on, giving him the confidence to try more. Your squirmed beneath him, squeezing your thighs together. His cock was also painfully hard, once again, and yearning to feel your warm walls around him. He pulled away and undid his pants before pulling out his cock, stroking it a few times. He looked up at you, but you looked less excited. Your eyes wouldn’t meet his and your arms were crossed over your chest, hiding yourself from him. 

“Wha’s the matter, Sunshine?” He asked, the nickname rolling of his tongue naturally. He was more than excited to sleep with you, but his worry regarding your sudden change outweighed that. 

“N-nothin’. Jus’ put it in,” you said hoarsely. 

“Nah, we ain’ doin’ nothin’ unless ya tell me wha’s wrong.” It sounded harsh, but it came from a place of genuine concern. 

You sat up, readjusting your dress as you did so. “I-it’s jus’,” you nervously fiddled with the hem of your dress, something Daryl noticed you did a lot around him. “C-can we go slow? I haven’t done any of this stuff before,” you admitted. 

“You a virgin?” He asked, astonished. You glumly nodded your head as if you were accepting defeat. In a twisted way, that relieved him a bit. Maybe since you’ve never had sex, you wouldn’t notice his own lack of experience.  He put himself in his boxers before patting the spot in front of him. You crawled over to him and sat between his legs, your back against his chest. His lips found that spot on your neck again and began sucking there as his hand slid underneath your panties. He rubbed your clit in tight circles, causing your thighs to clamp shut over his hand. 

“Jus’ relax,” he coaxed. You relaxed the best you could, but the pleasure kept you from staying still. 

“F-faster,” you whimpered. He obeyed your command, rubbing you at a quicker pace. Your head fell back against his shoulder and you moaned in his ear. His other hand slipped beneath your panties and gathered your arousal on his finger, before he slowly slid it inside you, giving you time to adjust. He pumped it in and out of you as he continued to rub your clit. Your back arched off him as you moaned his name. He easily slipped in a second finger with how wet you were. Your velvety walls were so soft around his thick digits. He couldn’t wait to feel them with his cock. He moved his fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion, hitting you in a spot that had you babbling nonsense. You squeezed his fingers with your soaking cunt as your first orgasm overtook your body. 

“Daryl, I’m ready. Need ta feel ya inside me,” you slurred. He helped you lay down on your back and slid your panties off before pulling his painfully hard cock out again. Your legs rested over his thighs as he coated his member in your juices before lining it up with your entrance. He slid in as slowly as he could, making sure this would be as painless as it could be for you. You were so soft, slippery, and smooth around him, the best pussy he’s ever had. Once he was all the way in, he stopped to give you time to adjust. He leaned down and connected your lips in another kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled held him close. 

“You can move now.” His hands gripped your hips as he started slowly thrusting in and out of you, not wanting to give you too much too soon. His pleasured grunts mingled with your moans as he slid in and out of you. 

“More, need more!” You whined. He adjusted your position, placing your legs over his broad shoulders. The new position allowed him to fill you even better. As he pounded in and out of you, the erotic sounds of damp skin slapping damp skin filled the tent, harmonizing with his and your sounds of pleasure. He lifted your dress over your head, getting rid of the barrier between you and him, and tossed it aside. His own fantasies came true as he watched your tits bounce in unison with his thrusts. He took them in his hands again, rolling your nipples between his finger and thumb, bringing you closer to your climax. 

“Daryl I think I’ma-” Your sentence trailed off into a moan as you came around his cock. He fucked you through your orgasm as his own approached. He pulled out of you just as he was about to finish and came all over your tits and stomach, like a firehose. You let out a satisfied hum, barely able to keep your eyes open. He grabbed one of his discarded shirts and cleaned you off before laying beside you in the sleeping bag. You rolled over to face him and hugged him close in your arms. 

“You were the best first I coulda asked for,” you confessed. Your words soothed his worries that he didn’t perform well enough while also making his heart flutter.

“Guess all yer teasin’ paid off.” You giggled against his chest. 

 He pulled you closer to him and pulled you in for another kiss, a sweeter, gentler one this time. You dozed off in his comforting arms, wishing you’d never have to leave. 

i proofread it, yaaay! anyway, thanks for reading! <3

i wrote this instead of doing my homework, mwahahahah >=]

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[missfrustration]

very professional nights (sanji x f!reader) 18+

rating: explicit 18+, minors do not interact!

tags: pwp, smut. oral sex, pussy eating, top sanji, vaginal fingering, praise kink, "good girl," boss/employee relationship, teasing, power imbalance, edgeplay, desk sex, office sex, no use of y/n

A/n: this story inspired me to become a fanfiction writer. also on my ao3. enjoy!

word count: 4.9k

Your crew was assigned to serve meals to a hundred marines at the end of last night. It wasn’t until well past midnight that you collapsed into bed after cleaning up the aftermath. You dismissed the others for the night so they could wake up on time for the morning shift, leaving you to stay longer.

Thus, you woke up late for your morning shift. You scrambled to get ready for the next twelve hours of prep work.

Just as you were about to pass out from exhaustion peeling carrots for the 4th time today during your shift, you jolted when you felt something jab into your back. 

“What do you-” You were cut off by the presence of the tall, suited figure behind you. 

Sanji, the co-head chef in the Baratie, was second to the head. Rebellious as he was towards Zeff, no one on the whole boat could deny his god-like skills in the kitchen. 

You have a bad feeling about this. 

“Miss, what’s your excuse for coming to work so late? I was notified of your tardiness.” He spoke sternly, cigarette in mouth.

You stood up straight and put your peeler down, “I’m sorry, it was a busy night for my crew and me yesterday with all the orders we made. Zeff decided to have my group handle those marines at the last minute, and I had to stay up late to close.”

Sanji looked at you while he took a long drag of his cigarette. Thank God he didn’t blow it at you, but you still smelled the earthy smoke from where you were standing. 

“While I understand the circumstances of last night, that isn’t a good excuse to come to work an hour late. Especially in those clothes.” He peered down.

Clothes? Oh, shit-

You looked down to see yourself in plain clothes from last night, not in your standard uniform. You didn’t even notice when you put on your apron for the day. You cursed yourself for not being attentive enough this morning, as well as those damned marines for being the cause of it all.

On top of that, you aren’t even wearing a bra! That’s the only piece of clothing you took off last night before you passed out. As if it couldn’t get worse, your apron doesn’t fully cover your chest area. The t-shirt wasn’t a v-cut, but someone looking straight at you could see your braless chest peeking out the sides of the apron if they glanced. 

You look back up to face Sanji. “I’m so sorry, Sanj-I mean, sir. I can go to my room and change if I need to.”

His face was stern, but you didn’t miss the glance he gave at your chest. It made your face flush red with embarrassment. You would give anything to dissolve out of the boat and sink to the bottom of the sea floor right now. 

“You’re already here. Although your behavior is unacceptable, it’d be a waste of time to leave on the job now…”

He did the glance again but kept the assertive glare. Something about his expression and what he just said made it off. Maybe he was holding back on firing you right on the spot to save you from the embarrassment of doing it in front of the others? 

“Of course, sir.” You say, looking down at his shoes and playing with the hem of your shirt. 

“Just change as soon as you finish today. Wash the dishes before you leave, too. For now, that will be your punishment. As much as I hate serving ricotta for the seventh time this hour, we must be awake to get the job done.” He took another drag of his cigarette.

“It won’t happen again, sir. I apologize for the trouble.”

His face softened slightly at your apology, but he still persevered. As you turned around to return to your station’s duties, he got your attention again.

“Also. Miss, please come to my office for remedial chores tonight. Fix today’s act, and make it eight tonight sharp. Do not be late this time.”

Before you could turn around and agree, he was already making his way out, a trail of smoke following him. You stood there for a moment. Remedial work? You know it can be dished out to rookies who mess up, but never by Sanji. It’s typically another co-head or even Zeff himself. 

Were you going to get kicked off the staff?

-

It was a half hour before you had to head to Sanji’s office, and you found your feet pacing circles in your room. You didn’t know what to think. Were you about to do just remedial work, or was Sanji ready to kick you off the Baratie? 

When you checked the clock, it was almost time to go. You hastily dressed in plain clothes, adjusted your hair, and hopped out the door in a few minutes. With only a few paces to the top floor of the Baratie, you reached the wing of the superiors’ dorms and stopped at the room with the plaque Sanji .

You reach for the handle. When you touch it, you see it swing back and look up. On the other side is Sanji, looking down at you with a dead cigarette in his mouth, leaning against the doorframe. You are startled by the sudden meeting of your eyes and quickly look away. You frantically think of something to say as you struggle to think of anything coherent. 

“Good evening, Miss. You’re on time.” He smiles. You see the cigarette flick up and down when he talks. 

“Hello, sir.”

You noticed his tie loosened and his shirt unbuttoned, showing his broad clavicle and upper chest peeking out.

He takes a step towards you. Without breaking eye contact, he takes your hand into both of his, lowers his head, and kisses it slowly. He gently raises his head again as he places your hand back at your side.

“Please, come in.” He opens the door the rest of the way, standing on the opposite side of the door frame as you walk in. 

You nervously step in as your eyes enter the spacious office before you. He leads you to the desk area in front of windows the size of saucers. Indeed, his suite was a damn luxury. Maybe it was the gentleman in him that preferred a classy room.

As he slowly walked you to his desk, he pulled up a nice, polished wooden chair and placed it opposite the desk. As you walked up, he pulled the chair out for you to sit and motioned you forward. His hand lightly brushed your back as you walked closer. 

“Sit down, please, darling.” He said warmly.

For some reason, the combination of the slight contact and gentle words of Sanji made you blush a little. You felt your ears turn hot as you sat.

He slowly pushed your chair up to the desk and walked out of the room through a door tucked in the corner. 

You anxiously shift in your chair, looking down at the glossy finish of the mahogany desk by the time he comes out.

He held out an unusually large stack of papers.

Oh, you’ve got to be joking with me.

“Here is your remedial work to complete tonight. I want them completed by the time you leave. You will complete them whether it takes one hour or three.”

You take a moment to take in the situation. He hands you the stack as he stands over you, peering down with the cigarette still in his mouth. You glance over the first paper at the top of the pile. It’s… an application? You see the picture of a lady a few years older than you with her personal information and work experiences handwritten on the page.

You look back at him, slightly confused, brushing your facial features. 

“Yes, sir. What do you want me to do exactly?”

“These are our second-quarter applicants for the year. You will review their credentials and determine whether they are fit to work at the Baratie. If they pass your standards, mark the top corner with an ‘O’, or mark them with an ‘X’ if not. As you know, we are cutthroat with our newcomers, so please decide on the best. I trust your judgment with the applications you reject and will review the accepted ones with the others tomorrow.”

The situation presented to you was almost comical. Almost. However, you didn’t want to complain to your superior for fear that he would fire you at any moment like you thought would happen.

So you start.

You examine the first applicant. You read over her credentials, experiences, and interests. She was a promising candidate. Alright, that deserves a pass. You grab the pen, writing an O across the paper. You put it to the side and dived into more applicants.

  X, O, X, X…. 

After a few minutes, you started to fall into a steady routine: X , X, X, O. The pen you used was a smooth ballpoint that beautifully executed your pen strokes. It was very satisfying, and the noise it made was lovely. 

As you listen to your pen making its marks, you hear Sanji’s pen, too. You look up to see him also doing paperwork, casting spells of cursive on the pages. His sleeves are rolled back, and a slight peak of his soft forearm muscles shows. As your eyes travel up his arm, you take in his expression. His soft golden hair falls over one eye as he looks at his papers with the other. His pale face is calm, with parted, soft lips. You admire him as he eyes the pages, and on top of it, his curled brow slightly furrows with every new page. He’s so…-

-Oh God. A blush quickly erupts as your eyes dart back to your papers. You barely glanced at this applicant before writing an X . Oops. Sorry about that, bro. You take a slight exhale and focus on your forms. 

X, X, O, X. 

You feel good about the speed you’ve been going with. You’re sure that it’ll take you under an hour to get through it, give or take a few applicants that might take a little more review. With every new applicant, you feel somewhat relieved that this will be all the punishment you’ll get. Being fired was about the worst-case scenario, and the possibility of it now diminished with the stroke of each mark. 

That’s when you hear Sanji’s pen stop. You pause slowly. Without raising your head, you see his hand still holding the pen. His veins peak out as he taps the pen on the table. His forefinger methodically lifts into the air and swiftly taps the pen up and down. You slowly raise your head by traveling up his arms, enthralled by the picture you’ve painted in your daydreams. 

Sanji’s staring straight at you when you look at him. 

“Caught you.”

You freeze, instantly getting flustered after meeting his eyes. You quickly focus on your assignments, pretending you’ve been doing your paperwork again. He breaks the silence after a few moments.

“What were you doing, darling?”

“I- What? I was uh…” You blink, desperately trying to rack up any excuse in your head, only drawing blanks. You look intently at your papers, blurring the words and meshing them together in your head. You hear Sanji drop his pen and look up.

Sanji closes his eyes and sighs. He slowly rises from his desk, walks over to your side, and bends forward to peer down right over you. You squirm under his gaze.

“Eyes on your paper, my dear.” He says, putting a hand on your head and tilting it back down.

“Yes, sir.”

You snatched your pen, shakily marking the first page and moving to the next with feigned composure.

You can barely concentrate with Sanji’s full attention on you. You gulp and keep going. You feel his stoic gaze increase with every ‘X’ and ‘O’ you write down. He leans in closer to you as he examines your applicant choices. Your pace is relatively slow at this point, as your heart races with each increasing minute of his actions.

Sanji has always made you less anxious than your other superiors due to the similarity in age, but this was different. You arch your back slightly at the thought of his increasingly intense gaze.

Before your heart can settle again, his hands land on your chair. The familiar creek of your chair rubs against the floorboards and creeps into the air. You feel the chair give way under you. You grow confused and turn to look at him.

“Keep still. Eyes on your paper, remember?” He softly orders. His face is kind, with raised brows brushing his features. It sends shivers down your spine, and you refrain from talking. You do as you’re told, barely grasping the pen between your fingers. 

The chair is slowly pulled out from under you. You gingerly raise your lower half once you can no longer sit comfortably. Your upper chest now lightly rests on the edge of the desk, and your arms firmly planted beside your paper. From this angle, you feel exposed as your ass slowly perks up. There is no way Sanji hasn’t noticed this. 

There is also no way he hasn’t noticed the amount of work you aren’t doing anymore. 

That’s much more implied as he gives a deep exhale that travels to the nape of your neck. The sensation makes you further perk up your ass as your mind blanks from the proximity. 

The silence is bone-chilling when Sanji pauses. You see from the corner of your eye as he leans back and brushes his hair back with his fingers. 

Your knees are locked, further sticking your ass up in the air. Your feet are widened more than shoulder-width apart, fully spreading you. You would fix it, but you’re too nervous to move out of fear that Sanji would disapprove. Why would he not approve? Rational thought wasn’t at the forefront of your mind. 

Sanji’s hand touches the bottom of your thigh, putting you in another tailspin. You try to stop yourself from saying anything, but it’s too late.

“Haahh, hey…” 

You both freeze.

You were just shy of moaning to him. His hand has stopped midway to the length of your thigh, and you shiver in fright. No doubt Sanji knows you’re considering more than just work now. 

“Are you uncomfortable with this?” He whispers, slowly raising his hand so his finger barely brushes against your thigh. 

You barely know how to respond. So much is running through your mind that concentration on the assignment was thrown out the window. What does he mean by this ? It would be easier to answer if you even know what this is. You slowly try to peer at him from the corner of your eye, hoping to find some answer behind his eyes, when your stomach drops.

He’s biting his lip. 

Oh. So that’s what we’re doing . 

Your heart skips a beat, and your core begins to tighten. Honestly, what a pretty sight for both of you. Still, you’re rightfully confused about this entire situation. You feel dizziness down to your core and can barely get a word out.

But you don’t want him to stop. 

“No, I don’t think so.” You raspily confess. Your humility was hard to hide, as a deep blush formed around your face. 

“Okay, let me know if you are, and I can stop.” He gently encourages you. His touch returns now, traveling from your outer thigh to the roundest part of your ass. You shiver at the touch. 

Sanji leans down to meet the tip of your ear. “Care to tell me why you dressed like that today? I’d like to know.” The sensation of his breath on the back of your ear caused your back to arch more, leaning your ass into his touch. 

Should you answer honestly? It was a decent reason, you thought.

“I spent the night making those orders. I hadn’t realized I showed up this morning dressed that way until you mentioned it, sir.” You say. It indeed was the truth.

“Such indecency. It would help to teach you a lesson, would it not?” He leans forward and whispers into your ear. ”Would that stick better than paperwork?”

Delicious want fills your core, encouraging you to comply with his demands. You try hard not to shift and rub your legs together, but the need to be touched is so severe.

“I think so, sir. I want to see where this goes.”

“Good girl.” He coos. Immediately, you feel a firm slap against your ass, releasing a sudden gasp from your lips. He lovingly rubs the affected area immediately after to soothe the sting. 

“Stay still. Please, don't move your hips.” Sanji says. He leans behind you, reaching both arms around to tug at your jeans button. He sighs in relief as you hear the button come undone.

You feel the jeans around your waist shift as the hands behind you pull them down. The skin around your lower half slowly chills as the cotton jeans depart your side. 

Only your panties remain when the jeans pool around the bottom of your legs. It wasn't that long before your underwear joined your jeans, where Sanji now gets a perfect view of your wet pussy.

You hear Sanji whisper your name, coming off his tongue like it’s a name of majesty.

“Your body is beautiful… like a goddess.” He lays silk compliments on your figure. Bringing his fingertips to touch your face with grace before trailing them down the dips and curves of your body. He brushes panties down the curvature of your ass. It drops down gracefully, and his immediate reaction pans to your slit. 

“Ah. Aphrodite herself fights to have features as blessed as yours.” Sanji sings, leisurely rubbing his fingers up and down your pussy.

From his touch, your pants are intertwined with moans as your voice regains its courage. You feel the outpouring of wetness from your pussy collect on his hands. 

Sanji must be encouraged by the chorus from your lips. He starts to prepare his meal.

“To make you sound like this, to feel like this, is an honor for me. I want to see how much I can please you. Tonight, allow me to indulge in a woman like you.”

Once you can agree, you shamelessly moan at the entry he makes when the pressure of his fingers breaks past your slit. Your back arches from Sanji’s touch. 

He’s pressed flush to your back, letting his fingers sink deep into you as his face appears above your shoulder. His body nears as his hand caresses your cheek. Your head gives in as it is slowly turned towards him. 

You look at him like it’s the first time you’ve laid eyes on him. You see an entirely new face looking at you; one flushed with pure ecstasy from the pleasures you have bestowed him. His face leans into you.

“Let me see those pretty lips, love.” 

The kiss is near divine as you croon your neck to meet his face. Your moans are absorbed into his mouth as you languidly caress his tongue with yours. One hand is firmly against your jaw to leverage it. The other begins to pump into you steadily. 

It's not until he touches an incredibly delicious spot that you freeze entirely. His fingers curled firmly against your g-spot that loves attention. You can’t kiss back anymore as Sanji relentlessly attacks that spot you’ve wanted him to. The sensations of pleasure hit you like a tsunami as your mouth freezes from dancing with Sanji’s.

He pumps his fingers into you slowly, coaxing a whine from you at the sensation. One that fills his open mouth connected so closely to yours.

Sanji’s face pulls from yours.

His hand follows suit as his fingers leave you. A whine of frustration comes out, but you aren’t unsatisfied for long. 

Sanji's lips glide from yours as he stares into your eyes, putting his hands up to his lips.

“If you don’t mind, I‘ll taste my craft now, darling.” He says, never breaking eye contact as he laps up your juices. He groans at the taste. You swear you saw his eyes roll back.

“How are you so sweet on my tongue?” Sanji grabs your chin to look into your eyes, searching in your hues to detect the answer. He thumbs your skin so delicately, pleading for some sort of explanation.

“You… you don’t mean that.” 

“No, my dear. Please know I’m going crazy for you.” Sanji whispered. “You think I would lie to you when you’re like this?”

“No… I don’t think so, but…” 

“Let me show you what I mean, then.”

Sanji leans into you, gently pecking the tips of your ears, then kissing down the length of your neck. He caresses and hugs your body as his lips slowly travel, each kiss gradually delving closer to the throbs you need satiated. 

Sanji handles you like a flower, so gently that you do not wilt but just enough to savor your essence.

“Your back is so beautiful.” He runs his fingers down the divot your spine makes. “Your shoulders are perfect,” Sanji brushes the skin atop your clavicle. ”Your face is heavenly, and…”

He faces your pussy, which he can describe as nothing but…

“Oh, how gorgeous you are, madam. More so than all the seas combined.”

His mouth dives into you.

Graciously, Sanji laps up the dripping wetness coming from your hole. His chilled tongue feels like ice against your magma core, hot to the touch–a seeping slick.

If that didn’t show his desperation enough, the fingernails that grasp onto your hips, rolling them back and forth, do. How he needily presses his tongue to your flower defines a prince finding his long-lost lover. The sloppy slaps of his tongue pillaging you as he rolls your clit between his lips are nothing shy of holy. Your praises come out of you like he were a deity.

Oh, he’s indulging himself, all right. The way he pressed his face to you had his nose scrunched up on your slit, firmly pressing into you as he slurped up his meal.

Your hips start to buck when his arms hug against your thighs, gripping onto them to help him leech onto you. 

Your mouth is cotton from all the panting. You feel irritation in your throat from the dryness that can’t be quenched.

“God, I- haah.” You wish to say more, but words lose you with every swell of pleasure.

He comes up from your plight at your words, panting hard to catch his breath.

“I wish I could savor your taste as long as…For a lifetime, madam…” A sweet exhale escapes from him.

He leans back into your delicate flower, smushing his finger pads against that swollen clit.

The rubs are slow and sensual. It seems that the more you groan and sigh in pleasure, the more he rewards you in pace and intensity. His acute eye for your tone since being touched tells him exactly what your body feels. He senses the rise and fall of your voice when he starts building up the pressure onto that small nub. 

It trains him to move into you the way you need right now. There’s no other way to please you than with his expert hands. His expertise can mold ingredients into masterful delicacies that latch onto your signals now. It’s cooking al dente , using every clue that ingredients give you to exact a recipe. To finish its course and bring it to completion. 

“Oh, beautiful. Like that.” 

His soothing words glide to your ears loud enough for you to hear. His volume is no more than the gentle rocks of the desk you lean on. You know it’s to mask his voice between the walls of his quarters, yet you cannot return the same favor. Your voice is loud and devilish and will no doubt be questioned by Sanji in the morning by the Baratie crew, but you know he won’t deflect why.

Sanji already knows how well you’re telling them the whole story, right now. He doesn’t need to elaborate on a plot that will be known by others once morning comes, yet he works on you knowing it won’t be a perfect story without proper buildup.

Your legs shake from his precise flicks and presses as he coaxes you further. From your mouth exits the voice of a siren but with the beauty of a mermaid swimming toward her pearly gates. To let you go without the grandest finale he could provide was a punishment no better than one a devil could give. Sanji was no devil to do such a thing, but he loved to make moments last. To savor and tenderize the course is what he does best.

His breath dissolves onto your pussy when he praises you. Quick hands switch to his mouth, and fingers divert to the spot above, protruding your pussy lips once again. This switch would’ve been undistinguishable to you if the solo work of his fingers hadn’t converged into a duo with the mouth. Nothing could’ve denied his incredible voice on your clit.

“What a princess, using a voice like that for me.”

You can't fight back the urge to voice another moan, unable to articulate any coherent words to say anything back. You needlessly jerk your hips into him, so desperate to feel more. It’s embarrassing how just his hands and mouth can undo so much of your dignity. 

“P-please, sir. Go faster.” Words slip out of you so quickly you almost miss it. The delirium from the stimulation makes your whole body act without a mind of its own. You stifle yourself, feeling flushed when he pauses.

“Darling, you don’t need to call me that anymore.” He says, “Just say my name.”

“Okay, okay…” 

“Well?”

“What?” 

“You have something you need to say.” 

You jerk your hips into him, trying to get more friction, but you know better than to disobey your superior. 

“Sanji… hah.” You whine, giving in to the cook's wishes.

“Good girl. One more time, please.” He sighs like your voice was the only relief he needed. 

Then Sanji curls his fingers. He curls them hard. You feel it massage your skin with force to poke through your stomach.

“Sanji! Sanji-fuck.”

“Yes, that’s it…”

You spit out his name vigorously when his pumps match your wishes. Your voice is an octave higher now, to Sanji’s delight. He conjures an angelical pitch from you that you can’t conceal. 

“So needy.” He coos. “A madam like you doesn’t need manners when you look as good as this.”

Sanji’s words caress your body and weaken your hold on rationality. 

You writhe in pleasure, instantly slinging your hand to grasp onto the grip he has on your hips.

“Since you’ve been so good to me, I’ll give you what you want. In return, please serenade me more.”

His two fingers relentlessly curled into his hooked fingers, now with his thumb resting on your clit. He thrusts his hand with force, using his fingers to stimulate both spots. They squelch together in a delicious harmony.

Your arms are now ironclad to the desk, threatening to tip it over with your weight collapsed onto it. Your feet threaten to hover off the floor, constantly quivering and jolting. Your chest heaves into the wood as you whimper. 

“Please, please.” You chant over and over again that begging has no more meaning. You couldn’t even put your finger on what exactly you were begging for. Sanji’s arm bursts through your rationality as a waterfall breaks into the lake below it.

Sanji’s mouth adorns your back, kissing and sucking down it like he knows exactly where each sensitive spot lies. It feels even more sensitive from each pump.

The rocking of your hips mesh into the thumb onto your clit perfectly. Even with Sanji’s speed, he can get his hand so steady. So expertly .

“Louder.” Sanji huffs.

You don’t need to think about it. The feelings come to you when he twists his thrusts to circle your clit and that mushy rivet in your pussy.

You can't keep going like this without folding.

And you don’t have to. The pressure tips over without your control. You don’t need to think when you involuntarily scream from your climax. One arm stays planted on the desk as the other latches onto Sanji’s hair. He sucks a hickey onto your nape when you restrict your hand around a golden patch of hair.

Sanji hums in delight as he rides out your high— groans like a ravaged animal enjoying its feast. Especially when he sees cream drip out of you.

“How exquisite.”

A look of pure famish decorates his face when you see him admire the gift in his hand. There’s no denying what those eyes crave the most. It was an insatiable hunger, one that only you could fulfill. 

He laps his tongue up and down his fingers to taste every drop of your cum. His groans are unabashed as he revels in the taste. 

All you can do is quiver and listen to his words.

And with a man like Sanji, you have no choice but to believe him.

“A meal could never satiate me the way you have.”

Hopefully, this was only the appetizer. 

[fancyfeathers]

Requested in messages by @elvabeth

A scenario that lets say all the darlings were in the JL watchtower by themselves cause of some world ending event. The tower is on lockdown (courtesy of batman) to prevent them from escaping. Unfortunately, while the JL are at the other side of the planet or something, the watchtower ends up being attacked by aliens, robots, armed goons or all of them and the darlings can't escape. Doors to the outside are locked. The windows are barred or stuff Ps luthor is responsible Or some sort of high end terrorist group That wants to bring down the Justice League The worst part is that even when the darlings made to the backdoor or secret door whatnot, they can't leave cause of their shock bracelets. Plus the communication system in the tower have been hacked so they can't call for help. Worst part, the Justice league aren't aware of this until after they're done with their mission when Barry can't reach his darling's phone. But when they get there, The watchtower is in shambles and they meet this kind of scene

Minus the dead people The shock bracelets are on the floor soaked in blood but their darlings are no where to be found How will they take this and what's the aftermath Sorry it's so long Ps Hal's darling is paralyzed here

Yandere!Justice League AU Masterlist

Not including Diana’s and Arthur’s darling because I covered why they would not be in the Watchtower or the Hall of Justice here

TW// Very Slight Ableism, Miscarriage, Traumatic Injuries, Loss of Body Parts

It would have been an extremely dangerous incident, the level of Doomsday, in order for everyone to leave. Hell, normally Bruce leaves his darling back at the manor but he has no idea of when he would be returning.

Their one mistake was choosing to leave their darlings in the Hall of Justice instead of the Watchtower, it would be easier to get them all out on the ground if something went wrong.

The Hall of Justice was locked up so tight so that even a drop of sunlight would not even get in, or even oxygen from the outside, but the hall is big enough that they do not even have to worry suffocating.

At first the quiet and person space is nice for a change, especially for Hal’s darling since when he is there he practically never lets her move about on her own, she honestly misses those days as a detective more than anything, but then… she had her accident not too long ago.

Clark’s darling is really just happy to be around other people, it somewhat helps break the perfect family delusion he has made, a darling who is pregnant with his child. It reminds her of who she used to be before all of this occurred.

Barry’s darling is in the same boat as Clark, albeit a tad less delusional, at least lucid enough to know his darling does not want any children… yet, at least. Barry being Barry, I don’t think he can go complete no contact with his darling, so he lets her have phone which has one of those network monitors, so practically all she can do is text and call Barry and whoever else he lets her have contact with. So every few hours he calls up his darling to check up on her, and she does not even have the choice to hang up or ignore it because he has a setting to answer on her behalf, benign all happy and cheerful on the phone, asking how she’s been and having Batman yelling at him to put the damn phone down.

Both Oliver Queen’s and Bruce Wayne’s darlings is just kind of indifferent to it all, it does change any of their circumstances in the long run. Then thanks to Bruce none of them will even have the chance to get out of there, you know those ankle bracelets that people wear on house arrest? Ya turn that up to eleven, pulse, mics, precision point accurate tracking, and a small shock to keep them in line and out of forbidden areas. Though a few won’t let their darlings have this on, because what if something goes wrong or what if it malfunctions and it hurts them? This is namely Clark (because he can always have eyes, or ears rather, on his darling at all times), Hal (his darling was stabbed in the back, literally, when she was a detective and is paralyzed from the waist down, like hell he is going to let something go wrong and fuck her up and hurt her even more), and then Kyle just doesn’t like the vibe of it all.

Kyle Rayner’s and John Stewart’s darlings are just kinda all used to it at this point, with the things they have heard about from the Green Lanterns it’s normally just a question if they should be not worried, slightly worried, or very worried and normally this means how much they need to bunker down. When Hal’s darling comes along they just kinda form a group with how much they get tossed around from place to place for their own protection while they are away.

Then there is just J’onn J’onnes’ darling, who I see being in more of an aroace relationship with him, she is just over everything, literally nothing bothers her because well she does not have no more privacy of her own mind. Like while everyone else is slightly scared or when members of the League are leaving their darlings there, she is just sitting in an armchair, reading her book, completely unbothered by what is happening even when she gets one of Bruce’s cuffs on her ankle.

Now onto the interesting bit of things, it’s one of the nights when they are all alone, they had just finished cleaning up from dinner and everyone is settling down for the night, all of them going off and doing their own things.

And things certainly go wrong in the night.

…

When the Justice League returns they certainly do not expect what they see…

Everything is in ruins…

Blood lining the walls…

The cuffs on the ground and-

Oh god that is an arm.

The footage was bugged so they cannot even look back to see what happened, the power was cut which made everything a complete blackout.

Bruce would barely be able to track anything if it was not for the last security measure he put in place, a chip in his darling’s neck so he could track her if anything went wrong.

While everyone else is arguing about what to do, Bruce and Clark have already figured out their location, though Bruce is much more put together than Clark is.

The Superman looks mortified, just standing there in shock and staring down at the ground.

“There is only one heartbeat…”

Their unborn child never got to see life because of what happened.

It was some mass terrorist organization who the Justice League had bumped heads with before. They saw an opportunity and took it, god knows how they got the information but if they were able to hack the system of the Hall of Justice then they really should not be surprised.

They can’t kill…

But they have to rescue them first…

And then shut down what’s going on.

The Green Lanterns will get to the darlings first, use their constructs to stabilize whatever happened to them, Clark’s darling is a priority since a miscarriage can be deadly, so is Hal’s darling due to her condition, along then with whoever lost the arm. The others will clear the way and-

When they find them all they are a complete mess…

Serious lacerations on every single one of them.

Hal’s darling was clearly thrown against the wall when they arrived and she clearly had head damage and was laying in her own blood that she could not even push herself out of due to the injured state of her arms and the uselessness of her legs.

Serious damage to the left eye of Barry’s darling, cut by some sort of rusted weapon.

Kyle’s darling had broken her right ankle and left leg, along with a huge gash on her upper back. John’s darling was looking after her as the best she can with a broken foot.

Oliver’s darling is the one with the missing arm, clean sliced off along with a punctured lung and in a state of unconsciousness while Bruce’s darling looks after her since she was lucky to get off with only a sprained ankle.

Then there was Clark’s darling, a complete mess, head trauma, broken ribs, and a miscarriage causing her to bleed out. Similar to the previous, J’onn J’onnes’ darling was in well enough condition to take care of her, just enough to stabilize her.

When everything is said and done and they are safe again, there is a heavy bitterness in the air.

The kidnapped them saying that they were keeping them safe…

Hal’s darling entered a coma from her head injuries after being rescued and has not woken up yet after her surgeries.

Barry’s darling had to get her eye removed in order to prevent infection, and then minor damage to the other eye.

Kyle’s darling can’t move out of the awkward position the doctors put her in on her side, so she doesn’t put pressure on the gash on her back or the shattered leg with a metal pole in her leg because of it.

John’s darling is one of the lucky few with only a boot and crutches for a few weeks.

Oliver’s darling had gone into surgery after surgery for her injuries, her arm and lung getting her placed in severe intensive care for at least a few months.

Clark’s darling is in a state of pure emotional distress along with her injuries, her head having been braced and stitched up after a surgeries to take care of her head damage and her… her miscarriage.

Clark is just as much in a state of distress as his darling over her injuries and the fact that he was supposed to protect her and their child and now one of them is dead and the other has injuries she will never fully recover from.

J’onn’s darling and Bruce’s darling are far more focused in looking after the others since they are far more healthy than the others. They visit them all in the medical wing, Bruce’s darling leaving flowers at their bedside, J’onn’s darling reading to them (I think she would be a librarian before all of this), and either of them sitting with Hal’s darling while she is in her current state along with Oliver’s darling who is in recovery.

All of them are in extremely pain emotionally and physically, they were kidnapped, told it was to keep them safe and for their own good, and now one of them is in a coma after she was paralyzed a number of months prior, another is missing an arm along with extremely brain trauma, one of them is missing an eye along with being now legally blind in the other, and one of them is now dealing with the loss of a child.

God when Hal’s darling wakes up she will be having a field day when she was right all along.

[willowser]

you had only to look at me—

part two.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 3.3k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, dry humping, implied virgin bakugou, a tad angsty at the end.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

childhood best friend bakugou is probably a wrestler. a lil' rough-houser.

games of tag end with you tackled to the ground, squashed underneath him until you finally agree that he's the king of the world. whenever your hair is long enough to pull back into a pony-tail or little bun, he's yanking on it to get your attention, harsh, especially if you're ignoring him to talk to anyone else. scraped knees and bruised elbows, coming home missing a single shoe, shirt stretched out and wrinkled at the bottom corner: all katsuki's fault.

it makes you a little volatile, too, in turn.

not so much as him, but you grow up defending yourself; the first black eye he gets is from you (if you don't count the time he hit himself in the face by accident, when you'd started a slap-fight because he was trying to hold you down) and you very quickly learn how "unfair" it (apparently) is to kick him in the groin. your parents spend a lot of time separating you, putting you in opposite corners of the room until one of you stops crying and the other is ready to mumble out an apology. you're not allowed to sit next to each other at holiday events. whatsoever. under any circumstances.

he's your best friend. you wouldn't have it any other way.

in middle school, he's just as insufferable, hardly allows you to talk to any of your girl friends without butting in some how, too loud for anyone's own good. he tries to embarrass you in front of other boys, puts you in a headlock even when he's sweaty — which he is a lot at that point, during puberty — and calls you names that make you want to hide in the bathroom.

("why is he such a jerk?" your friends will ask, trying to fix the mess of your hair during lunch. all your butterfly clips are either missing or broken, crunched under bakugou's scrawny arm. "you should tell on him for being such a bully.")

nobody else treats you the way he does, and you don't treat anyone else that way, either; you never make ugly faces at your girl group, never punch them as hard as you can in the arm, aiming to leave a bruise. with all other classmates, you're — normal, trying to discover what that even means in the grand scope of things, who you want to be as the years pass. you avoid bakugou and his little posse of brats like the plague, because detention is what awaits both of you, should your paths ever cross.

things start to change, seriously, in high-school.

bakugou goes to u.a and you — don't; instead you continue on to the shizuoka high-school without him, along with your group of girls. his time at home and in the neighborhood lessens, even moreso when he moves into the dorms on campus, and the only time you see him becomes those few and far in-between family visits he has time to make; some holidays, he doesn't come home at all.

at first you think it's a good thing, because you've never gotten to flourish while trapped in his armpit. yanking at his hair until he finally lets go in the middle of the hallway has always garnered you some weird looks, odd stares, and you finally stop being labeled aggressive, too, with him gone. boys can talk to you without being stalked by your angry, wiry, chihuahua of a best friend, and you go on dates, ride in cars, have your first kiss.

you miss him from time to time, though you'll die before admitting it, and the yearning doesn't last long whenever he does come home. even when you're seventeen, eighteen, he still lays on the couch and puts his stinky feet in your lap and in your face, purposely puts things too high up on your shelves, leans against the front door so you can't get out when it's time to leave.

(he becomes an immovable object, much to your annoyance; in the past, you've always stood somewhat of a chance against him, knowing all his weak spots, like the clump of hair at the crown of his skull and how ticklish he is on his thighs, but now, after all the training he's been doing — he's huge, unfortunately.

if he grabs your wrists in one hand — like he's never been able to do — and holds them above your head, you're useless to defend yourself; there is an absolutely zero-percent chance you'll ever manage to overthrow him if he sits on you; tickling him is impossible, because his thighs have gotten so muscular that it's hard to grab him, and even if you do manage it, he can nearly crush your hand if he closes his legs together.

bakugou doesn't even look like your scrawny best friend anymore; he looks like the guy that ate your scrawny best friend.)

you graduate and go to college. bakugou graduates and goes to work for best jeanist, in the heart of tokyo. seeing each other means planning on it, making an effort neither of you have ever had to, and there's a lot of radio silence for months at a time. somehow it always comes full circle, though, and it always ends in violence, because you two don't know any other way to be.

you're twenty the first time his touch becomes tight, bruising, purposeful — for new reasons.

it's one of the few times he's off, and you haven't seen each other since his mom's dinner party four months ago. you only agree to come over because his patrol route had taken him through your campus and you'd spotted him across the street in the early hours of the morning, after you got out of class.

now you're both tired, lazing around despite planning to get lunch once the heat died down. together doing nothing; sometimes it's a little alarming how easily the two of you fall into each other, but you've been doing it for so long that it doesn't take a second thought.

bakugou strolls out of his bathroom with damp hair, in nothing but a loose pair of sweats, and you're laying on his couch half-asleep and he puts his wet towel over your face and you ball it up and throw it at him and then he tries to whip you with it.

"stop," you groan, serious, "you're so annoying." when he only twists it tighter, you stick your arm and leg out, deflecting against the wet smack he tries to leave against your skin.

his sharp teeth flash with his ugly little grin, and you try to grab the towel twice, ending up with an angry, stinging lick up the inside of your arm, before he gets too close and you can finally yank it from his hands. you sit up to get a better angle, but you're not as quick as he is, as adept at being a brat, and when he yanks on the towel, your whole body nearly comes off the couch, arms almost coming out of their sockets.

"bakugou!" you squeal, and he cackles, evil, and grabs your hands when you try to smack him. your massive, stinking, freight train of a best friend deposits his entire body on yours, crushing your lungs with his back as you cough, "get off!"

he doesn't say anything, choosing to pretend he's watching whatever is on tv and that he can't hear you — which you could believe, because bakugou likes trash television more than he lets on — and your hands are trapped at your sides and you can't breathe and so you bite him, right in the neck.

"ow, fuck!"

when he moves, he moves fast, and you're only hope of retaliating before he flips around and grabs your wrists and holds you down is to roll the both of you off the couch. his body thuds, deep and heavy, against the carpet, and you trap his hands beneath your knees as you straddle his hips, adjusting your full weight so you can at least try and keep him down.

beneath you, bakugou sneers. "you've got five seconds t'get off me before—"

"one!" you shout obnoxiously, rolling your eyes just to hear his annoyed snort. "two! three! f—"

his body snaps up into a sitting position, nose bumping yours as he rips his hands from beneath your legs. a scream tears out of your throat as you wiggle, surprised, trying your best to stretch your arms over your head and around your back so he can't grab them; if he does, it's game over for you.

"stop!" you shout, choking out a shock of laughter when he brings his legs up, trapping you in his lap against his chest. a little grunt leaves him as you jostle, but the tension at your back never lets up, not even when his mouth sets in a firm line and a sharp exhale leaves his nose. "let me go," you tell him, squirming again as he reaches for your hands. "i'm not playin' around."

"too bad, y'shitty nerd." he says, gruff, and when you stick your tongue out at him, he buries his face in your neck and bites, too, taking advantage of your shock as his fingers close around your wrists.

"no!" you scream again, trying in earnest just to get away from him completely, but he holds your hands behind your back and keeps you squished so tightly into him that you can only breathe shallowly, and his free hand goes to ball into your shirt at your side and —

— and his face is red, you realize, delayed. you can almost feel the heat from his cheeks with him so close, and you take in the flush of his neck, how it spreads down to his bare chest, crimson and fevered. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, nervous, almost.

"what?" you breathe, quiet, as if speaking too loud will break your playful bubble, and his eyes jump around his living room before landing back on you, narrowed and black.

"what?" he echoes, voice pitched and mocking. "you lose, dumbass." and even though he closes his eyes and grits his teeth, there isn't any hiding from how hard he's breathing. how subtle he's trying to be about spreading his legs.

all at once, everything kind of — falls apart.

bakugou is a man now, much to your horror; it feels like you've closed your eyes and opened them in the lap of someone else wearing your best friend's face. there's serious muscle definition in his shoulders and biceps, and you can feel yourself getting lost in the curves and valleys of him like never before. he's — you're — so close. more than it feels like you've ever been, even though you know that's far from true.

this boy used to pin you down in the yard and threaten to lick your face, the both of you grass-stained and covered in sweat. you've tackled him face first into the ocean on various vacations, running behind him quietly and plunging his scrawny, shirtless body into the waves as they rushed forward, uncaring of what you were wearing or how it twisted when you both came up for air.

saliva is still drying on your neck from where he bit you and, unthinking, your eyes dart down to his lips; plumper than you ever realized and parted, just a bit, enough that you can feel his breath on your cheeks. and you wonder —

bakugou grunts quietly, shuffling himself so that his back is leaned against the couch, and you half-expect him to just let you go because things have — changed. but he doesn't.

instead the new position has his legs a little wider and you've sunk a little further and you're now very aware of exactly what's changed, and how much. you can feel him twitch, just barely, and the hand he has at your side balls tighter into your shirt, jostling you minutely in the process.

and finally he opens his eyes and stares at you — cheeks burning, eyebrows furrowed — and you stare back — heat lighting up your body to an uncomfortable degree as your stomach flips.

you wonder what he would do, if you kissed him. what it would feel like. what he would taste like.

you move your hips with purpose, stuck on the new and foreign change it does to him; bakugou's always been a tough little brat, and you made him cry a handful of times when you were younger, but this weakness is — different. there's so much you know about him and yet even more for you to learn, and you find yourself consumed with the desire to explore this new, enticing territory.

his lashes flutter gently when you grind against him, tentatively, and then his head thumps back against the couch as the muscle in his jaw sets. half-lidded, his red-hot gaze jumps from your face down to where you're seated against him and back, and it's only after you move again that you realize — he's watching you, too. discovering.

the fist he has in your shirt loosens and his fingers burn your bare skin when they slip under the material to grip your hip. at any moment, you're half-expecting him to tell you to cut the shit, to shove you off and ask what the hell is wrong with you. why you're being so weird, doing things friends don't do to each other. but he doesn't.

you're almost certain that if you put your hands on his chest, you would be able to feel the mirrored, nervous pace of his heartbeat; it only takes the faintest tug of your hands for him to let you go, his grip falling to the other side of your hips. you can't tell if he means to hold you in place, or keep you going.

you spread your fingers out and, gently, as if you've never touched him before, run your hands up his chest, watching the bob of his adam's apple when you rest them on the sides of his neck. stabilizing yourself a bit, before testing the waters again.

bakugou's eyes are nearly black and when you don't stop, he looks down to resume watching the movement of your hips, the way his sweatpants bunch up and tug, and you feel a little zing up your spine with his every sharp inhale and sharper exhale. even his jaw falls a little slack and, fuck, you've never seen him like this.

you never thought you'd want to, but now — you don't think you'll ever see him any other way again.

his eyes go a little wide when you lean into him, brushing the tip of your nose against his. neither of you have said anything and maybe you should keep it that way, lest the bubble burst, but you feel like you're going a little insane.

quietly, around your own heavy breath, you ask, "does this — feel good?"

you can feel the temperature of his cheeks spike, but he nods shallowly regardless, and you press your mouth into his throat to bite him again, just lightly. it should be so that he's a little biter; the feel of your teeth makes him jump, has him angling his head so that more of his neck is exposed to you. when you soothe the barely-there indentation with the flat of your tongue, his breath hitches and his shoulders shake on a shudder and he groans, like he's angry.

"hah, fuck."

the friction in his lap isn't doing much for you, realistically, but his reaction is what has you aching, has you drawn tighter than a bow string. you feel yourself growing antsy for something that you won't name, because friends don't do that, though you can't help but to wonder if he's ever done it before.

you've had a few boyfriends. had a few experiences that ended quickly and left you feeling exposed and uncomfortable and a little in pain, and even though your girl friends insist that's normal — it's nothing like this. bakugou might not last much longer, if the grip he has on your hips is any indication, but not a single piece of your clothing has been removed and you're hot and getting sort of desperate and you know your underwear are a little more than damp.

you want to dismantle his long-standing composure. you want to be — maybe — the only one that gets to see him fall apart like this.

he's been your best friend your whole life, afterall; this experience should be yours. he should be.

the thought has you shivering a little bit and bakugou bucks up against you, pulling you down hard in his lap. dragging across the thick and solid length of him becomes even more clear and another, stronger zing has you letting out a breathy little sound into his ear. it makes him groan again, this one almost whiny, but he closes his mouth to muffle it and you don't want him to do that so you tighten your fingers in the hair on the crown of his head and — just to see, in a way you've never done before — you quietly whisper,

"katsuki,"

and he loses it.

one of his hands slips up your shirt to splay against your back, forcing you closer to him so he can bury his face in your neck, and his hips become insistent, urgent, rutting up against yours eagerly.

"fuck, oh fuck, fuck," he groans into your skin, fingers gripping you so tightly that you think he might actually leave burns behind, and his shoulders tremble before he goes totally still.

for a little while, you both sit there and let your breathing even out as reality sobers you from whatever lust-drunk haze you'd both been in. distantly, you think you wouldn't mind if he pinned you to the ground the way he always does, only this time to peel all your clothes off, right here on his living room floor. but he doesn't.

doesn't say anything, just shudders every now and again, and you think you're starting to feel the wet spot soaking into the front of his sweatpants.

you pull back just a little to look at him and he lets you, face just as red as he stares back at you, like he's the one waiting for you to freak. a little bit of red has returned to his eyes, though they're still swollen and dark with want.

when you lean in again, to bump your nose against his, bakugou snaps back away from you.

"wh-the fuck are y'doin'?" he shifts his eyes to the ground and they go wide. horrified, maybe. all the blood rushes in your ears and you don't know what to say, so he continues. "i-i don't have time t-to sit around all day, so—" bakugou shakes his head and you think he's going to kick you out, and he must know it, from how stiff you go. "so, you better know what the hell you wanna eat."

your bubble has burst; you nod silently and he glances up at you twice before swallowing.

"well, i can't get dressed with you sitting on me, so get off." when you remain quiet, he finally raises his head to look at you head-on, fisting the edge of your shirt again so that you'll look back. "d'you..." bakugou wets his lips before biting them, "need anything?"

"uh," maybe to shove your head down the drain and drown yourself, so that you can get rid of all the not-so-nice feelings that are creeping up beneath your skin. instead of that, you tell him, "just the bathroom, maybe."

"hurry up then," he mutters and even tries to roll his eyes, though it feels anything but casual. "don't...take for-fuckin'-ever."

and then he's up, quick to stand so that his back is to you as he disappears around the corner to his room, leaving you to yourself, trying to smooth out the wrinkle he's left in the corner of your shirt.

[whateverloomis]

🩸Red🩸 >> Poly!Ghost face x Killer!Reader || Scream 1996

Part 1 >> Part 3

About: While the Casey Becker and Steve Orth killings were taking place, a third kill happened as well... Billy Loomis and Stu Macher can't risk having someone else around that could ruin their goal of killing Sidney Prescott. What happens when all 3 killers get a little bit too close?

Warnings: SMUT in next chapter, cheating, making out, reader is AFAB, reader is a killer, reader is short, reader is alt and has tattoos and piercings, Randy is a bitch (lol,) tension, big reveal. Revised June'24

Reader: They/them pronouns that are highlighted in bold so it's easy to identify | AFAB

Word count: 2.2k

-

"You're a freaky one, huh?" He whispered and you laughed softly, standing up and straddling him. Billy immediately placed his hands on your hips and squeezed the flesh. You continued kissing and biting each other. Moaning and groaning quietly as you ground your hips against his crotch. Billy could've come right then and there with the sight of your tits bouncing while you moved against him.

You could've fucked him at that moment without a care, but before things could escalate, you heard footsteps.

Climbing off his lap and fixing yourselves, you moved far enough so it didn't seem like anything was happening.

•

A week. It had been a week since you and Billy had your little make-out session. Since he cheated on Sidney, with you out of everyone.

It's not like you cared about Sidney or liked her much, but there was still a hint of guilt. You did just what Katherine did with Steve. Of course, the relationships involved and circumstances were different but you couldn't really help feeling somewhat guilty.

Every day since then, whenever you were around Billy there was tension and it was slowly building up. Stu obviously knew what happened. Why would you be with Billy alone under the bleachers? It obviously wasn't just a casual smoke session, Stu knew best.

That same night, he asked Billy about it and of course the boy didn't hesitate to tell him everything. About how you guys conversed for hours and ended up talking about conspiracy theories. About you being too high to make any sense, which wasn't really convenient because the point of everything was for Billy to get information out of you, but of course that didn't go as planned.

"So you're telling me that instead of getting a confession out of them you ended up practically dry fucking under the bleachers, man?" - "Stu, that's not the fucking point here I-" - "Oh c'mon! Was it good?! Tell me the deets!" Stu insisted and Billy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Of course it was good, I mean c'mon." - "I knew it! God, what I'd give to get a piece of that." Billy chuckled at his friends comment and bit his bottom lip in thought. "Maybe you can... And then we'll both have opportunities to get information out of them." - "That's fucking genius, man."

It was a plan.

•

"I fucking swear I saw it." Randy said, agitated as usual.

"I mean, look. I doubt it, but I don't think it would be weird for them either like, it's baddie persona standard I'm sure." Tatum said and Sidney looked at her, doubt written on her face. "I don't know Tate, it would be kinda alarming if they do carry a knife around like that."

"It could easily be self-defense. Like pepper spray!" Tatum countered and Randy scoffed. "Please, you're defending them because you guys are friends." - "Who'r we talking about?" Stu said behind Tatum and hugged her from behind.

"YN." Sidney answered simply, before continuing, "Randy said he saw them putting away a knife in their bag."

"So? I mean, that doesn-" - "Listen! It fits the description of the knife that has been talked about multiple times in the news." Randy interrupted and Billy appeared next to him out of nowhere. "Nobody knows what the knife looks like, it's all rumors." - "Wh- I'm done with you guys! They're the new one in the group and you guys trust them?!" - "Nobody said that Randy, we just have to look at all the possibilities." Sidney said and everyone agreed, however Billy and Stu gave each other a knowing look. They needed to confirm. Get YN alone and try to see that knife somehow.

•

You figured it wouldn't be so bad if it was just a movie night, it didn't have to involve much talking since the point was to pay attention to the film.

"A movie night, at my house! My parents are out for the weekend so it'll be extra fun, we'll have drinks and pot. C'mooon." Stu tried to convince you for the second time that day. You had denied because of the attachment promise you had with yourself. The less accessible you were the better. However, it did sound very fun, and you couldn't remember the last time you had a casual hang out with friends, even if you wanted to keep them at a distance.

"Okay, fine. I'll be there." - "Fuck yes! My place at 7pm, bring snacks!" Stu said excitedly and you stood still while he skipped away. His energy could be quite overwhelming at times, yet you couldn't help but find him amusing and funny.

•

It was finally night time and you arrived to Stu's house at around 7:30pm. Fashionably late at it's finest. The door to his house was already open so you walked in and entered the kitchen, putting your selection of snacks on the counter.

You looked around and didn't see anyone. It instantly alarmed you, so you pulled out the knife from your hidden boot holster and kept it in your hand, hidden between the fabric of your short black dress. As you walked around slowly, the silence grew louder.

Even if you could gut someone without hesitation you still got paranoid at the thought of you getting killed. How selfish.

The living room was closest to you, so you walked in as quietly as you could. Suddenly, you felt strong arms wrap around your waist and lifting you off the ground. You yelped and dropped the knife, eliciting a loud thud.

"Get off!" You protested and tried to reach for a vase that was near the TV, but before you could you heard Stu's familiar voice.

"It's me, it's me!" He screamed and put you down.

"What the fuck Stu?!" You questioned angrily before smacking his arm.

"Ow! Hey, I was kidding! Just trying to scare you a lil." The boy replied and laughed.

You sighed and let out a long exhale, attempting to relax a bit.

"Who does this belong to?" You heard Billy ask, walking in the living room with your blade in his hand. Stu looked at you, a shocked expression painting his face.

"Mine. I thought I was getting killed so y'know, self defense." You explained, casual as ever before glaring at Stu.

Billy nodded in understanding before giving Stu a look you couldn't quite read. You walked past Stu and grabbed the knife from Billy's hand a little rougher than intended, and adjusted it in your boot again.

As you bent down your dress rode up a bit, exposing your ass momentarily before you rose up.

"Cute dress." Stu commented after you unintentionally flashed him. You turned around to look at him and gave him the cutest smile you could achieve. You weren't sure how innocent you could look after the boys saw the weapon you carry around, but you weren't about to break character because of it.

"So, is it just us?" You asked and Billy smirked behind you. "Yeah, the rest were too busy, or whatever." Stu said, not even trying to hide the fact that he was lying.

You honestly didn't mind being alone with them. If being alone with Billy got you a good make out session you couldn't help but wonder how far you could get with both boys.

•

Two Halloween movies and some alcohol consumption later you guys were on the couch talking about the rules of horror movies once again.

"All I'm saying is that Randy should be the number one suspect because c'mon, how does he even know all this stuff?" Stu said and you laughed. "Well, it's clearly a hyper fixation of his so it makes sense why he knows so much about it." You replied and Billy sat back as he stretched his arm behind you. "He keeps insisting that it's you though. Maybe he's right, considering his knowledge..." Billy said, his voice sounding closer than you expected.

"Are you accusing me now, Loomis?" You asked, looking at him before taking a swing of your beer. "I never accused you, I was just saying-" - "It sounds to me like you're pretty convinced." You countered, a smirk adorning your face. Stu shifted next to you, paying careful attention to the tension that laced your comment.

"Maybe I am... Maybe not. I mean, everyone is a suspect after all." Billy answered smoothly and you chuckled, looking down and biting your lip in thought. "Well, it could be any of us then, or all three of us." You suggested and looked at both boys. They visibly tensed and looked at each other, the slightest hint of fear adorned their handsome faces.

"I mean... If that were true then... Who killed who and with what motive?" Stu said and you shifted to face him. Did he really think you were that stupid as to answer with a confession right then and there?

"Okay, enough of that." Billy said, attempting to change the topic. He leaned forward to grab the beer bottle on the coffee table in front of you and rested his hand on your lower waist while doing so. He was slowly getting touchy and you couldn't deny that you wanted more contact.

"Why? You scared the truth will come out?" You asked him with a flirty tone, shifting on the couch, facing him, and scooting closer so your thigh touched his. Stu was amused at the whole exchange, sitting quietly next to you guys which was rare of him, considering his usual loudness.

"Are you challenging me, YN?" Billy asked, sitting up straight and placing one of his large hands on your thigh. "Maybe I am." You answered and he chuckled, looking down momentarily before looking at Stu over your shoulder. "Well, I think we have a pretty good idea of who's who, considering..." He paused and slid his hand down your leg all the way to your boot where you kept your knife hidden. Billy grabbed the weapon and waved it in front of you; "The fact that you carry this around, and it fits the descriptions of the killers knife perfectly..." He continued and ran his finger over the blade, feeling the sharpness. "And this is nice and sharp, too. Well taken care of." Billy finished and rested his hand on your thigh again, knife between your thigh and his palm.

You looked down at your leg and then back up at him. His eyes were piercing and you were left speechless. How were you supposed to dodge that one?

"He's right, isn't he, YN?" Stu said behind you, peeking at your face over your shoulder.

You were cornered. No answer went through your head that could save you from their interrogation. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, ready to confess before you felt a hand on your waist. Startled at the feel, you opened your eyes and Billy had the biggest smile on his face. He looked crazed. "We can all be honest here, right Stu?" He questioned the boy that was resting his chin on your shoulder at that moment. "Of course, nobody has to know, right YN?" Stu spoke softly and you were at your breaking point.

You rested your head on Stu's and smirked at Billy. "We? I thought it was me we were talking about here."

Gotcha.

Billy's smile disappeared and his hand twitched against your skin. "Steve and Casey." You said and looked at him straight into his brown eyes. "Two murders like those done by one person is nearly impossible, especially since she was on the phone with the killer while Steve got killed. It's a two man job and the cops are too stupid to realize it." Billy looked at Stu and his smile grew again. "You're good, babe." Stu said and laughed softly, close to your ear.

"Katherine. Same night. Similar ghost mask but in red and, I heard small red horns?" - "Cuutee" Stu said and you shifted away from him. "Oh, shut up! That doesn't mean it's me!" - "YN, you and that girl were close, and after you magically stopped being friends she got killed that same day? That's no coincidence, plus we all know she was going behind Casey's back, rumors go around quick and get confirmed even quicker. You had a shit show with those two sluts and had enough of it." Billy interrupted and you sighed. He was right and you hated him for it. You hated how he could read you and put the puzzle pieces together. How observant he was.

You stood up from the couch, the boys following your every move with their eyes. "Well, now that we're all out and about, what now? Hm? We gonna report each other? Kill each other? What's the plan, Loomis?" You spoke louder than usual and the boy stood up, towering over you. Stu followed behind and looked at you over Billy's shoulders, a wicked smile on his face.

"Now, we team up or someone gets killed, and it sure as hell isn't going to be us." - "And you bet your ass it's not going to be me either." You spoke quickly and he chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Relax baby, here's the deal... You join us in our next kill. We team up. We'll get away with whatever we want. Do whatever we want..." He whispered the last few words and placed his left hand on your hip, pulling you closer to him. You couldn't deny that it sounded perfect. If it went wrong you could easily frame the two idiots. If it went well you could get the satisfaction of getting anyone out of your way, relish in the sweet screams and the thrill of getting revenge on whoever the fuck messed with you. Hurt you.

You bit your lip and scanned his face with your eyes. Curiosity getting the best of you; "Who's your next victim?"

"Sidney Prescott."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

savanaclaw light novel: the importance of introspection

I’ve previously discussed how TWST benefits from telling us the same story across different mediums. Different mediums provide different benefits over others, and some can “patch up” rougher bits of story or add more detail to them. The game is interactive and serves as a baseline for most new content. The manga is able to have far more freedom of movement and expression due to being visual-heavy. And last, but not least, a light novel, which is mostly text, has the boon of letting us see more of each character’s thoughts and feelings. We can elaborate on what the game already established and understand the characters on a deeper level.

I would say that the light novel’s format will most benefit the OB boys, as they are the ones who will go through the biggest character arcs in the main story. Because the game’s story is told via mostly dialogue and some sound effects, we rarely, if ever, get a clear understanding of what the OB boys are truly thinking and feeling outside of their brief post-OB flashbacks. The same goes for the manga, which has limited pages to tell its story, so it has to keep a certain pace. But a light novel? Well, you can go ham there with an omniscient narrator.

Today, I want to talk about Leona’s expanded post-OB introspection in the second volume of the light novel as an example of this. Then I will combine it with the information we have from the game and see how the light novel complements what already we know of his character thanks to hindsight. (I’ll be referencing this fan translation if you want to read and follow along!)

First thing’s first! From the game, we know that Leona enrolled in Night Raven College one year late (and then got held back a year, which makes sense considering he is 20 in the main story present). He didn't find a use in attending school since he, by royal birth, was able to afford all the best tutors in the world and didn't think NRC had anything left to teach him. In Leona's Birthday Boy vignettes, he further specifies that he decided to enroll at NRC after Cheka was born. As Leona says in his post-OB flashback in-game, Cheka's birth means "the despised second son loses what little claim he had to the throne forever", essentially putting an end to his hopes. This would imply that this specific change in circumstance was the push that made Leona want to physically distance himself from home. Furthermore, it's supported by Leona's other behaviors: he does not take calls or read letters from home if he can help it (implied by Cheka asking why Leona doesn't answer his letters and Cheka calling on Halloween night to catch up with him; Leona lies and quickly hangs up), he makes excuses to avoid going home (as Kifaji states), etc. If we want to extrapolate even more, how is it that Leona, second born prince, initially crossed paths with Ruggie, who was born and raised in the slums (which, I imagine, must be quite some distance away from the royal palace)? This makes me think that even before Leona enrolled at NRC he would leave his housing and roam around, finding alternative places to stay because home just felt too uncomfortable and suffocating for him. There's also the implication that Leona often brooded over his circumstances, as he confesses to thinking about it and going to NRC to get his mind away from the tired cycle--although he also acknowledges that he's running away from "the pain" of having lost the throne.

The distancing would prove itself to be beneficial to his mental health, as Leona cites that his heart started feeling lighter, his restlessness dulled, and his pain numbed. With the throne out of sight, so, too, was it out of mind, and his longing softened. But that same haunting despair returns when another group starts to place expectations on him. This time, it's no longer the palace servants, but his own dorm members. Instead of fear and derision, his new pack looks at him, their "king", with desperateness--and, more importantly, hope. Speaking about the future with sparkling eyes. That, in turn, made Leona hopeful too. He can't let these people who look up to him and rely on him down, so he must do anything to win. That's all he ever wanted: to win, just this once. No matter what, he wants to win.

But when Leona's plans crumble, that crushing sense of despair rears its ugly head. He fails. And he suddenly understands that all his efforts will always amount to nothing, that they will always be meaningless, that there is no future for him. Leona's hopes have been dashed. He has been struck down by the world once again, just as he had started to climb up, fighting tooth and nail, to prove himself. Yet when defeat came, he also claims it doesn't bother him as much as he thought he would--perhaps because he's so accustomed to not winning, because maybe this is the outcome he had expected all along in the deepest recesses of his heart. That familiar disappointment begins to hurt him once more, and Leona wants to forget it all, to retreat to the shadows and to lick his wounds, to be far away from that pain.

One interesting new detail we glean from the light novel is that Leona is terrified by his dorm mates staring at him with hopeful eyes. It's not their expectations he's inherently scared of, but what those expectations can do to him. Leona is scared of himself, of being motivated by others to act, to never give up hope, when he still anticipates being beat down again and again by a world that rejects him and denies him. He even goes so far as to say he would be pathetic if he let his dorm mates' words inspire him and keep his waning hope alive. Ruggie, who had wanted to turn the world upside down together. Jack, who was inspired by his play three years back. All the mobs putting faith in their futures on him, their one and only leader. With so many people looking to him, how can he not be swayed by that positivity that had once been so elusive to him? How could that not ignite what little spark of hope is left in him? And that's exactly what Leona finds so dangerous about it. He's lived almost his entire life being put in his place, hurt every time he tried to demonstrate what he could do, how he could contribute--yet time and time again, here comes life, tempting him to try again, just to inevitably be compared to his brother and kicked down, delivering another blow to his pride and his self-image. Leona truly seems to hate himself for not being able to let go of that small fragment of hope he has left. He wants so badly to give up and not have to worry anymore about something he can never obtain. He's so tired of struggling and suffering for nothing. If he just caved, then he would never be hurt again. He can't be hurt if he doesn't care about anything. Yet no matter how much he wishes or tries, he can't run far enough away to detach himself from those expectations of grandeur, of being something more.

There's been many fan theories about Leona's mental health in circulation well before the release of this light novel, many of which mention self-loathing in spite of how proud and confident he typically presents as. You'd have to read in-between the lines of dialogue from the game to draw these clues out, whereas the light novel lays it more bare to you. It hits very differently reading hateful statements made by the character to himself. Leona calls himself all sorts of things: a fool, pathetic, insignificant, boring. That he isn't strong, that he isn't wise, that he's not loved. (In the in-game flashback, Leona also talks in a self-deprecating way, but to a far lesser extent than in the light novel; we also see that Falena does his best to discourage Leona from this kind of behavior.) That this is who he is, that it's the one thing he's afraid to admit and accept--but he also says he lacks the "strength" to give up. That's why Leona would rather run away than confront that potential truth. The option to embrace complete nihilism just isn't possible for him, because he can't just quash that pesky little thing called hope. This is much more complex than what's explained in the games and demonstrates a maturity and degree of self-reflection from Leona that we've never seen before. What's more, this gives us brand new context with which to view many of his other seemingly mundane actions mentioned in the game. At face value, Leona often acts very callously and doesn't care to help others unless he gets some kind of benefit from it (like agreeing to poof the contracts in book 3 just because he has his own deal he wants to get rid of). We see this time and time again when he instructs others reliant on him or less knowledgeable than he is in various matters where he is well-read and experienced with. For example, he takes note of his club members' strengths and weaknesses and offers tailored advice to help them improve their play. He tells others how to mine magestones of an adequate size in Vargas Camp. Maybe he's just doing these things to make the circumstances easier for himself (so he can put forth less effort to leading them in a game, or so he can nap heartily). But from what we've just learned from the light novel, now I'm suspecting a different secondary motive.

What if... Leona is, in part, encouraging and helping others to hone their own skills to subconsciously compensate for what he doesn't believe he himself is capable of? Because there's still so much hope for his dorm mates, for his underclassmen... (and, let's not forget, it was those in Savanaclaw that first motivated Leona to "try" again for the first time in forever) but he doesn't have that same amount of hope for himself. I get these vibes as late as book 6, when Leona and Jamil have a talk. In their conversation, Leona directs many pointed, blunt words at Jamil--words that could very easily also be thrown back at Leona's face and be applicable to his book 2 self. He accuses Jamil of making excuses so he won't have to actually act, just as Leona has continuously run away from uncomfortable situations to put himself at ease. At one point, I believe Leona event states that Jamil “*isn’t like [me]”, Here, again, it can be argued that we're seeing Leona's self-awareness on display, as well as a willingness to warn others to not follow down the same path he once treaded, to lose all hope in the future. Again, it's done with a double purpose: the other one being to get Jamil out of his way while they're exploring. And (of course) Leona's way of expressing his message is gruff and not very warm, not to Jamil and certainly not to himself. He's become prickly and defensive himself after all of his experiences--but that just adds to the complexity of his character when we synthesize what we know of him from TWST multimedia.

I really wish a lot of what was in the light novel post-Leona OB was also in the game. It would have helped to flesh out Leona's motivations and fears, which book 2 was sorely needing. As he is presented now, he appears shallow and selfish in his goals, and we don't fully understand the emotions spurring him on, a lot of which is genuine self-loathing and the sinking despair that comes with thinking you're not enough and you'll never be enough. That would have been so much more relatable than the in-game Leona having himself a pity party with a great amount of emphasis on the throne--a throne which, in actuality, just symbolizes a desire for recognition, love, and acceptance. It was never about explicitly being king. It was about being seen as his own person and appreciated for it instead of being admonished and compared to his exalted older brother.

Now, as an adult, Leona has become someone who pushes away those who try to give him that which he craves. He sees a lot of people--his own family and his dorm mates, the closest thing he has to friends--as dangers to his own mental wellbeing. He's scared to let them in, so he's built up these emotional, arrogant walls around himself. Think at how often he rejects advice from Falena and refuses Cheka's affection for him. Look at how this behavior extends beyond those who are keeping him from a literal throne and to his classmates. They instill hope in him, hope which scares Leona. The things he has wanted all his life are now poison that chips away at him. Considering all of that together, it makes Leona's story far more tragic than how it was initially shown to us in the game alone. But guess what? That can also become his strength, fuel for his character arc. Leona isn't running anymore. He's actually returning home for winter break in book 4. He's determined to not get held back again. He's committing to an internship in a field (an energy lab) which will immensely help his country (which is rich in natural resources). All of this, coming from a young man who once acted bitter when his older brother suggested that there were many things Leona could do with his intelligence to benefit their homeland. Leona is making slow strides and steady progress toward a future he used to think was unattainable for him. From that darkness, he's rising anew--like the sun upon the savanna.

[hotheadedhero]

The Velvet Weaver - Part 1

A/N: So, I see the occasional meme or story about Spiderman/Tmnt crossovers and it reminded me of a fic idea I had from years and years ago. After all this time, I have finally decided to write it

Michelangelo x Reader

Warnings: quite dialogue heavy (I haven't figured out how to do it effectively yet so sorry), sickeningly sweet reciprocated feelings, because, yes, I can write something other than angst, I swear

New York City: resident to a colourful array of personalities and no stranger to weird occurrences. Although, weird may be putting it lightly. You’ve bare witness to many peculiar happenings all across your beloved home, some scarier than others, the most terrifying of all being the attempted alien raid last year. It felt like a real-life doomsday; an end to everything and everyone you hold dear to you. People were ready to accept their fates but the strange spacecraft disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived. No one knows how. Any explanation curated by the news agencies and the police may convince the citizens but you know better, you have your theories. Or, you have one theory: New York has a group of secret heroes. It sounds far-fetched but it isn’t that different from your current circumstances.

Just before the attempted invasion, something bizarre happened to you - something spectacular. Granted, that’s not how you felt about it at first but you like how things have turned out for you and this given name, ‘Velvet Weaver’. You were a bit dubious about the paper's choice of vigilante name at first but it made sense; you took inspiration from the spider that bit you, giving you your powers, and incorporated velvet accents into your hooded jumper. It was actually rather cute for a spider, sporting a ladybug design on its back. At the time of finding it dead in your shirt, you wanted to burn all the clothes you were wearing but you rather feel bad for the little creature now. Who knew that all it would take to overcome a mild fear was to be bit by one and gain powers?

Safe to say, your hometown has seen its fair share of oddities, so you’re willing to bet a gamble on not being the only crime fighter in these streets. You take care of the day and these theorised mystery heroes the night. It’s as though you’re a team. Granted, a team that’s never met each other but you’re doing the same job, fighting the same fight - share the same ideals as far as you can tell. Assuming you’re correct in guessing that there are multiple of them, you would love to meet them all someday. There’s a reason for the mask, the hidden identity, but it’s isolating. If there are people out there who understand, maybe it won’t feel so lonely anymore. Until you cross paths, however, you’ll just have to continue this little solo act of yours.

The alarm on your watch beeps, signalling the end of your vigilante-ing for the day. As good a time as any. With the flick of your wrist, you connect to one of the many buildings that litter this city and propel yourself into the air. Your other hand extends to shoot another stream of webbing, this to and fro exchange allowing you to swing above the crowded streets effortlessly. Gliding through the air, the rush of wind against your body is invigorating, a reminder that you are alive and free. The city sprawls beneath you, a tapestry of lives that fit into the system, one you used to be a part of and now look at you. Whilst everyone is down there, you get to enjoy the spoils of being up here, watching it all turn into a blur, honking cars and chatter fading into the background. You smile behind the mask when kids point out your swinging form and jump around with unbridled joy. This really is a great job. If not for saving lives then at least for the happy stomps of children that look up to you.

As you approach the pizzeria, you catch a glimpse of the neon sign flickering - Pete’s Pizzas. You land gracefully in the alleyway just to the left of it, your heart still racing as you quickly scan your surroundings. The streets are packed with people enjoying their spring break, laughter and conversation filling the air. You take a moment to catch your breath before quickly wiggling out of the shoddily crafted clothes you dub your hero costume in exchange for your uniform, feeling the weight of your dual identity settle comfortably on your shoulders. It’s a juggle, especially with college, but something needs to pay the bills and last you checked, ‘vigilante’ isn’t a recognised career choice.

“Velvet Weaver,” you whisper to yourself, a corny smile creeping onto your face. “Hero by day, pizza delivery girl by night.” Somehow you feel like it should be the other way around.

Shoving your costume into your rucksack, you dart into the pizzeria, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully. The familiar scent of melted cheese and spices envelops you, a comforting reminder of your second- no, third life. 

“Hey, just in time!” your boss, Peter, calls out, his hands dusted with flour. “We’ve got a big order for the downtown crowd. Think you can handle it?”

“Do I think I can handle it?” you echo quietly, moving your hair up and out of your face and winking. “You can count on me.”

He only shakes his head at your typical enthusiasm, setting the last box to this tower of pizza for you to take. You’re going to have to drive carefully if these stand a chance of remaining intact. It isn’t as though your moped skills need a check but times like this make you wish you had a car just for the convenience. One thing at a time, girl. You have enough going on in your life without worrying about passing a driving exam.

Stepping back outside with your hoard of cooked dough, you glance up at the skyline. The sun is beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the city and you can only hope that the people of New York are making the most of it for those who can’t. You quickly pull out the order slip; the address is familiar, one you’ve delivered to before many times. That’s ideal. You can cut through the better-known shortcuts to avoid the rush. If only you could master the art of swinging whilst carrying pizza. You’d be there in no time. 

With the chosen route, you manage to miss most of the nastier traffic spots, getting to the building with some time to spare. As you step into the bustling lobby, you exchange pleasantries with the doorman - a gentle spirit whose oak-ish appearance still has you stumped for his age - and he greets you with a knowing smile.

“Hey, Cecil, how many have they got up there this time?” you ask as you walk past him, being mindful to raise your voice enough for his hearing aid. 

“Count your boxes again and take a guess,” he remarks satirically and slowly, although smiling enough that the wrinkles on his face almost cover his eyes. It reminds you of one of those dog breeds you can never remember the name of. “I’m surprised the floor hasn’t fallen through from the sheer mass of them.”

You snicker and raise the pizzas in your grasp. “Let’s hope these aren’t the last drop to the dam then, yeah?”

Fond of the joy you bring to his monotonous job, he quietly laughs with you before you have to disappear off into the elevator. When you reach the desired floor, you trudge along to the apartment in question, having it committed to muscle memory. You knock on the door, albeit trickily with the boxes, and it swings open to reveal a group of college students, laughter spilling out into the hallway. As they hand you the cash, you can’t help but feel a part of their joy, if only for a moment. It’s a fleeting connection, but it’s enough to remind you that while you may be a masked vigilante, you’re also just a young adult trying to make a living. This tightness in your chest threatens to throw you off your rhythm but you shake it off. The night is still young and you can already feel the pulls of the shadows calling you back into your other life, but for now, you embrace the slice of normalcy, knowing that soon enough Velvet Weaver will return to the rooftops, ready to face whatever challenges await her.

With a few deliveries under your belt, you make your way back from the next one, the city lights begin to twinkle around you. It’s looking to be a good shift, steadying into a quieter night with bigger gaps between each order. Just as you arrive back at the pizzeria, Pete’s gotten off the phone, slumping into his next batch of dough. Uh oh. You recognise that look all too well and it takes all your might to not cackle at the poor man.

“And who might that have been?” You know the answer but it’s always fun to question in your sing-song sort of way.

“As if you need to ask,” he grumbles, rolling out the base and saucing it. “It’s that little admirer of yours.”

The smile stretching out your cheeks only makes him groan louder and he hides himself in his task. This particular admirer he speaks of has been a faithful customer since before you started working here; one of Kevin’s regular drop-offs that somehow turned into yours. Shift patterns change around from time to time. What are you to do?

Dramatically, you fall into the nearest wall, draping an arm over your eyes with an exaggerated sigh, “Oh, Pete, my oh-most favourite boss in the world, do we not have your blessing?”

He raises a floured brow and points at you with the ladle, flicking drops of sauce on the counter. “You’ll get my blessing when this guy stops askin’ you to meet him in weird locations, not to even mention the fact that you ain’t once seen his face. I don’t like it.”

Well, he’s got you there, no point denying that. Despite the laughter you’ve shared with this one customer, not once have you seen what he looks like and he always orders his pizzas to be brought to run-down buildings. You’re also almost certain that he’s using a pseudonym, too. Who in the 21st century is called ‘Michelangelo’?

You would be worried about having some weirdo stalker on your radar if you didn’t think you could handle yourself. You know you can. No question about it. And even after everything, even if there are still doubts in the back of your mind, your “danger sense” as you call it - the title is a work in progress - has never once gone off around him. It only ever rings in your nerves when someone intends to inflict you harm. With all that said, he’s really just a sweet guy: playful flirt, very complimentative, a good spirit, plus he’s one of very few who gets your humour. One may or may not say that you’re developing a little crush on him but that’s strictly confidential, much like most of everything else in your haphazardly organised life.

“I’ll be careful, Pete. You know me,” you say, attempting to sound more confident for his sake.

Pete knows that you’ll do what you can to keep safe. That isn’t the problem. It’s everyone else in this damn city he doesn’t trust. He grumbles again and reminds you about speed dial for the hundredth time before you can disappear again with the order and scoot off. You know he worries and that this all comes from a place of care. You almost wish you could tell him about your abilities just to calm his nerves but chances are he’d only become more concerned seeing as you put yourself in harm's way every day. All the more reason to live a life of secrecy, not only to protect yourself but those around you, too.

The location looms ahead, its cracked walls and broken pillars giving it an eerie charm, but you brush off any lingering doubts, reminding yourself that you’ve faced far scarier things in your life than a creepy building. Besides, your instincts have never let you down before. You park your scooter just outside of the half-reconstructed car park, finding the irony in not using it, and carry the boxes the rest of the way. This must have been one of the structures that got damaged during the alien fiasco. Weird. This guy has chosen a few of those for these drop-offs, now that you think about it. A harmless coincidence, or does it mean something?

“It’s pizza time.”

Your voice echoes around the piles of work sand and concrete as you step further into the mouth of the ground floor. It’s a strange phrase and you’re not entirely sure how it started but it’s become the calling card to announce your arrival. One of the support beams has a small hunk of money beside it, so you walk over there and place the boxes down on a slab of concrete just to the right.

“My pizza hero!” you hear him bellow with excitement, making you smile. 

“Ah, well, you know me,” you say casually, “just saving the city one slice at a time.”

You hear him laugh as you crouch down to collect the odd assortment of change. It’s part of the routine: he remains hidden and you pick at the chump change he’s left out for you but you don’t mind. A paying customer is a paying customer. You’ll be more shocked the day he chooses or manages to use something larger than a 5 dollar note.

You haven’t even had a chance to count it before you hear him speak again, “Sorry, babycakes, I’m a dollar short this time round.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure I can make an exception for my favourite customer,” you muse, leaning back against the pillar. 

“You’re the best!” He shifts around behind you, and it takes a lot not to peak around and see him. “You sure I can’t make it up to you, though?”

“Can I see you?” you suddenly ask, not having a chance to think before the words blurt out of your mouth. Knowing that he’s just on the other side of this concrete beam is pulling at your curiosity more than usual. It takes a hot second until you realise and you breathe out a casual attempt at laughing it off. “I promise I’m not the superficial type.”

Despite how rude you feel, he’s quick to respond in his usual jovialness, “Aw, what? I was told this would be a blind date.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s what they meant when they called it that.” You shake your head but you’re not offended by his attempts to hide the true nature of his secrecy. That would make you a massive hypocrite. “But, hey, who am I to get into other peoples’ business? I’m sure you got your reasons.”

“Thanks for understanding. I’ll have that extra dollar next time.” 

“You better,” you joke, pushing yourself off from the tall, grey column. “Have a good night, Mikey.”

He wishes you the same and you leave a little slower than usual. Every time you walk away, you’re reminded of that Greek story about Orpheus and how he couldn’t look back at his wife until he left the underworld. It makes you wonder if, like that story, you would risk losing a faithful customer - someone you consider a friend at this point - by merely chancing a glance at him. You’d hate to tarnish these interactions over being nosy, so you prod along and scoot off, preparing for the rest of the night ahead of you.

Bright, blue eyes watch you whizz off and make a quick grab for the boxes before having to disappear, too. With each interaction you share, Mikey becomes more guilt-ridden. Personally, he sees no problem with revealing himself to you. It isn’t as though he and his brothers haven’t got human allies at all. Okay, so you may have a shock to the system but everyone gets over that eventually. Much like with everything else, however, his brothers’ words are final. “Keep anything about your identity to a minimum,” they’ll say, “and don’t eat all of the pizza!”. Right. If they didn’t want him to eat it, they should collect it themselves rather than leaving the leg work to him. At least, that’s what he would have said - all changed when you blessed him with being his favourite pizza delivery girl. A very pretty one at that. Even where his brothers warn him to be careful, he can’t stop himself from stealing the odd glance when you don’t notice.

You’ve only ever and continue to be friendly with him. He always tries in his best efforts to make you laugh during the short encounters because he reckons you just have the sweetest laugh he’s ever heard. The guy falls more and more in love with you every time you talk. That’s why it kills him a little more each time when he can’t just walk out in front of you and say, “Hey, it’s me,” with a big grin and open arms. Even as he jets back home on his board, twirling through various sewers, he tries to think of ways that this can happen.

Namely, he thinks about how the humans he and his brothers befriended became their friends in the first place. They met April after she was caught up in that subway station - an indirect save but a save nonetheless. Vern, granted, was via her and Raph trying to save his brothers from turning into green mulch. And then Casey after he helped April with those Foot soldiers. All instances that have something to do with danger and being saved. Are they only allowed to meet people under those circumstances? He doesn’t want to wish danger upon you. Not ever. It’s just one of those times where he kinda, sort of, maybe wouldn’t mind if it meant finally being able to reveal himself to you. He could totally rescue you and finally ask you out on a date! No more eye-sore buildings or abandoned warehouses.

The mutant slumps back into the couch when he arrives home and exhales lethargically. Living in the dream world there, Mikey. For now, he’ll just have to make the most of those few minutes he gets during each delivery. This pizza, however, will not be savoured the same way. He flicks the TV on and dives into the beautiful disc of flavour, barely catching the string of cheese off his lip when the news broadcasts its latest interesting scoop.

“... back on our ‘Velvet’ hour, New York’s very own costumed crusader has done it again, this time preventing a public bus from falling off the Brooklyn Bridge after a massive crash.”

Mikey leans forward in his seat as the screen cuts to a scrappily recorded viewing of the very events from earlier today. Sure enough, The Velvet Weaver is swinging around the side of the bridge, performing impressive acrobatic abilities, and shooting a sticky substance from her wrists to create a large blanket of webbing, preventing the bus from toppling over into the water. Heroics is one thing but he loves how this chick does it in style, truly taking claim to friendly badass in his opinion.

“And to think, her efforts are still unrecognised,” the reporter continues when they show her again and the camera pans out to reveal their guest, the head of the New York Police Department. “Chief Vincent, despite what you’ve said in previous press conferences about the dangers of this figure, The Velvet Weaver continues to prove that she is a guardian of the people.”

“With powers that can’t be mitigated whilst she roams around doing as she pleases. Police officers go through years of education and training before they are entrusted with people’s lives, yet this girl thinks she can handle that responsibility because what? She’s strong? She can climb on walls? One of these days, she’s going to mess up. What then? We can’t guarantee that she won’t go into hysterics, or even what will become of our people when that happens. We could have a super-powered breakdown on our hands. Either she can come quietly and reveal herself under peaceful pretence, or we will have to bring her in by force. For the sake of civilian safety and resources, we’d like to avoid the latter.” She then turns to face the camera, addressing it directly. “I believe I am being more than generous with these terms. The choice is yours.”

Chortling mockingly, Mikey blows raspberries at the TV and kicks back into comfort with his next bite. “Kinda hypocritical.”

“There’s nothing hypocritical about it,” Leo says as he comes for his box of pizza. “She doesn’t have just cause to be responsible for innocent lives.”

“Someone sounds jealous.” Their red-clad brother joins in, sharing a glance with his youngest as he takes part at the expense of their leader. He’s not particularly keen on this self-proclaimed protector of the city either but poking fun at Leonardo is much more fun.

“Jealousy has nothing to do with it, Raph. She’s a kid playing dress-up, not thinking about the repercussions of her actions.”

“And here I thought we were the only ones.” Donatello is the last to come for his food, leaning back in his chair with a slice. “That hypocrisy you were talking about, Mikey?”

“Yeah! What makes us so different?”

Leo’s head bloats up with the oncoming headache and he pinches the space between his eyes. Why do his brothers have to be so argumentative when it comes to these things? They know as much as he does why this is a problem. At least, he knows that Raph and Donnie do. He shouldn’t always have to be the one to spell it out.

“We are a team. We’re trained, we make plans. We don’t just rush in without thinking. She’s got no backup, no structure. It’s dangerous.” His fingers jut out with every reason he has to give, and he knows he could give plenty more. “She’s just out there acting on impulse, and that’s reckless.”

“You’re just mad because she doesn’t follow the rules.”

“Rules are there for a reason, Mikey.”

“Well, I think she’s cool,” he continues to defend, even when the other two don’t. He knows any word on his side was just at their leader’s expense, and when his brothers leave the debate completely, he mumbles to himself, “It’s nice to know we’re not the only crime fighters out there, ya know?”

Sure, there’s the police to consider but they’re more hardstrung on the do’s and don’ts than Leo is. What a shock, right? The only exception to the rule is how the chief has allowed them to continue protecting the city as they have done for the last few years. Maybe the same could be true for this new hero on the block if they can just talk it over. He has hope for that possibility. After all, there are a lot of questions he’d like to ask her. She must have a cool origin story or something.

Mikey is halfway into his pizza when his brainiac brother’s computer starts blaring. Guess that’s enough of lazing around. They’ve got some action for the night! Although, talk about bad timing. He hasn’t even had a chance to finish off his food yet. No time like the present, ay?

___

Honestly, I could have kept it as one part like I originally planned but it's become a longer story than I first intended, hence, I gotta break it up a bit

I'm going bed now

[in1-nutshell]

Hi & is it okay for Another of Transformer crossovers

With TFA Silver Aid meeting Spiderverse?

(You can also any bots/cons with Silver, if you like)

thank you

Silver Aid is not the only spider around!

Hope you enjoy!

Silver Aid and Optimus Prime go into the Spiderverse

SFW, Platonic, Romance, Cybertronian (technoorganic) reader

TFA/SPIDERVERSE

Silver Aid was overworked.

Megatron and the others were being more reckless than usual with the Autobots.

And some of his more questionable missions, which end up being fruitless and an angry group to help later.

Silver tried her hardest to make sure everyone was in top shape once they got out of the med bay.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the team to realize how worked up she was.

Silver Aid was looking over the supply case when Megatron and the others came in. Silver Aid blinked a bit before worriedly going up to them. Silver Aid: “Is everything all right?” She takes Megatron’s servo and starts looking at it. Megatron paces his other servo on top of her. Megatron: “Everything is fine Silver Aid.” Silver Aid: “Then why is everyone doing here?” Blitzwing: “This is an intervention.” Silver Aid: “What?” Blitzwing: “You are working too hard and for long periods of time Silver Aid. It is not healthy.” Silver Aid: “I’m fi—” Starscream: “Don’t even start with that load of scrap heap. You are running off of fumes! Again!” Silver Aid annoyingly huffs. Lugnut: “It is important to take more breaks Silver Aid, we have talked about this in the past.” Silver Aid takes her servos and crosses them. Silver Aid: “I’m sorry but someone has to make sure you don’t bleed all over the floor and function properly. You wouldn’t last 3 days if I didn’t put in all this work.” Megatron: “We are not undermining your work. We simply think you should also prioritize your health.” Silver Aid sends him a harsh glare. He stares back at her. A minute goes by before she sighs and smirks. It sent a chill down Megatron’s back struts, though for the reason why was up for debate. Silver Aid: “How about a little bet? If I leave for 3 days and the base and yourselves are not scrap metal… I will consider a change in my normal routine.” Megatron: “But…” Silver Aid steps forward and shoves a digit in Megatron’s chassis. Silver Aid: “But if I find the med bay and you all a mess, I Will come for all your hides.” Megatron: “…Deal.” Silver Aid and Megatron shake servos as the techno organic begins to walk out of the room. Starscream: “Wait your leaving now?” Silver Aid: “Of course! See you all in 3 days!” The mechs in the room: “…”

Silver Aid walked out the base and realized that she didn’t exactly have a place to stay meanwhile the deal was on.

She figured that one of the nearby cave systems would do for the time being.

The medic would have gone to the Plant, but she wanted to stay as far from any potential fights as possible.

Staring at the setting sun an idea struck her.

It would be another 2 hours before Optimus would be going on patrol, why not spend it with him?

Optimus was a bit surprised to find Silver Aid calling him.

Like her, the Prime was running off of fumes.

Swamped with work, though most mainly caused by the Decepticon’s, the occasional human villain of the week, and his team occasionally breaking out into fights.

He almost jumped at the opportunity to get a short break.

Optimus made sure to let Ratchet know he was heading out early for patrol.

The medic acknowledged him as the Prime transformed and peeled it to the set location.

The two met at an abandoned shipyard not too far from the main port.

The two were tired but grateful to see each other again under much more peaceful circumstances.

As they chatted the familiar sound of a portal made them stop.

Optimus quickly activated his axe and stood in front of Silver Aid. Silver Aid grabbed his arm tightly while gripping to sturdy pole with the other servo. Silver Aid: “Prime, I swear if we get sucked into the portal, I will personally make sure Megatron does not attack you and your team for 2 months.” Both are anticipating for the portal to start dragging them in. Optimus: “I don’t think its sucking… I think it’s—” Four objects shot out of the portal. Optimus quickly grabs two of them while Silver grabbed the other two. The portal closed. The bots took notice that these were humans in costumes. Optimus had a human with part of their hair out and one that seemed to be glitching with different colors. Silver had a human with a black and red costume and another with a white and pink suit. They all groaned holding their heads. Silver motioned Optimus to place them down, both kneeling in front of them. The medic carefully helped the black and red human sit up. The eye’s on the costume blinked widely. She gave them a gentle smile. Silver Aid: “Hello there, your safe. All of you are.” The humans slowly start looking around at their surroundings. Optimus: “My name is—” The red and black one suddenly squealed and stood up. Miles: “Your Optimus Prime! And your Silver Aid!” Both bots blink in confusion. It was common for the humans to fawn over the Autobots, but one fawning over her? The others suddenly jumped up and looked at them, they could feel the excitement rolling off of them. Silver Aid: “That is correct… how do you know our names?” Miles: “We know about Transformers and recently re watched some of the series. Umm, my name is Miles.” The white and blue one slapped his head. White and blue: “Secret identities! Remember?” The two had a silent argument that led to the white and blue human sighing. Gwen: “I’m Gwen.” The one that constantly glitched and his companion waved. Pav: “I’m Pav! And this is Hobbie!” Hobbie saluted at the bots.

Optimus and Silver sat down listening to the teens explaining that they all knew them as childhood TV characters.

Beloved in multitude of rebirths and comics in their universes.

When asked about the costumes after the face reveal, they stated they were spider people.

This caught Silver’s attention.

What did they mean by that?

But before she could ask, the ground underneath them caved in.

Silver Aid woke up to harsh lights and what looked like a lab setting.

Optimus was in the berth next to her also waking up.

She could groggily make out the teens at the end of the room.

A bigger human in a similar outfit was in front of them waving his arms angerly.

She did not like it.

Her optics narrowed when the bigger human touched Miles’s shoulder and winced.

Silver Aid transformed into her alt mode, jumped up and landed in front of the kids, separating them from the bigger human. Silver Aid: “What did you do to him!” Miles quickly got in front of her patting her longer legs. Miles: “It’s okay! It’s okay! Miguel’s just a bit rough and grouchy!” Her optics flickered from the bigger human to Miles. She sighed as she transformed back into bot form. Silver Aid: “I apologize. I thought you were hurting the children.” Miles: “I’m 15!” Silver Aid: “Did I stutter?” Optimus walking next to her with wide optics. Optimus: “Where are we?” Miguel: “You are in our headquarters.” Optimus: “Headquarters for what?” Gwen: “A Spider society in this dimension for all the spider people to come to.” Optimus and Silver Aid look at each other. Optimus: “You know—” Silver Aid: “The 2 months I know, I know.”

Enter Peter B and Jessica Drew.

Miles and the others had never seen Peter or Jessica love so quickly before.

Both were just staring up at the bots with happy expressions.

Did they really have that much of a positive impact in these dimensions?

A small baby swinging on a web landed on Silver’s shoulder.

The technorganic’s optics widened gently holding the little babe in her servos.

She quietly asked if all spider people could do that.

Silver Aid could have cried at that moment when she saw them swing around.

The teens offered to give the two bots a tour, given the way they entered this universe… it was going to take about a day or two to get it fixed and tested correctly.

Optimus is given the ‘Honorary Spidey’ title.

Silver Aid was already given the spider person title.

She was shocked to hear that the majority of the spidey’s there started when a spider bit them.

That was the same thing that happened to her… well a nice way to put it.

Optimus and Silver stick to each other’s sides the entire stay.

… But they are no longer allowed to go into the main lobbies without one of the teens, Peter B, Jessica, or Miguel accompanying them.

Apparently, a lot of universes had their own ‘Transformers’ and versions of them.

They both were surrounded by spidey’s who were crying and jumping with excitement.

Now to the main spideys.

Miguel, Peter and Jessica have all grown up watching the original Transformer’s cartoons in their dimensions.

Some more sparing than others.

While some things with the bots change, the basic concept and how the bots act is virtually the same.

All three of them hang out near the bots when they come back to Miguel’s ‘office’.

Most of the time it was Silver Aid and Optimus talking with Peter and Jessica whenever they weren’t on missions.

Miguel stayed silent and separative for most of the visit.

On occasion he would talk to Silver Aid.

One talk led to some important findings.

Lyla pops up on Miguel’s shoulder. Lyla: “Oh Miguel you weren’t kidding when you put her on the list! She’s gorgeous!” Miguel tries rapidly swatting at the hologram but she pops near her helm. Silver Aid: “List?” Lyla: “Yeah, Miguel’s got a list of potential spider people he wants to join the society, especially after what happened when Miles showed—” Miguel: “There’s no need for any more detail Lyla!” Silver Aid: “You want me to join your society?” The technorganic could feel the embarrassment and anger rolling of the man. Miguel: “No!” Lyla: “… He chased down Miles because he wanted to save his dad and sic the rest of the society on him.” Silver Aid: “Excuse me what!?” From afar… Peter holding Mayday: “What do you think they’re talking about?” Optimus shrugs. Jessica: “Maybe he is trying to recruit her?” They see Silver Aid transform into a giant spider and was chasing after Miguel. Jessica: “… Or maybe she found out about what happened with Miles…” Optimus: “What happened with Miles?” Peter: “Well, there are these things called Canon Events…”

The adults quickly found out how strong Silver’s webbing was and how hard it was to get off.

The rest of the visit was mainly staying with the four teens.

Hobbie and Pav where the pair that usually went out with the bots to more crowded areas.

Though they would bring Gwen and Miles if things got too crowded.

Someone had to protect their new large friends.

Pav loved chatting with the pair about almost everything under the sun.

It reminded Optimus of Bumblebee a lot.

Hobbie often took to literally hanging off of Silver Aid’s armor and occasionally strumming chords on his guitar.

Silver Aid and Optimus are watching the two spiders from a few feet away. Silver Aid: “Doesn’t Pav and Hobbie remind you of Bumblebee and Prowl?” Optimus: “So I’m not the only one who thinks that?” Pav and Hobbie swing up on the respected bots shoulders. Pav: “Whatcha talking about?” Optimus: “How you two remind us of some friends back home.” Hobbie: “Really? What’s Pav? Bumblebee?” Pav looked at the Prime with wide eyes. Pav: “Really!?” Silver Aid: “I take it back. He is both Bee and Sari.” Pav happily kicked his feet a bit. Pav: “And what about Hobbie?” Silver Aid: “He reminds us most of Prowl, maybe a bit of Jazz too.” Hobbie: “Wait is that the ninja mechs?” The bots nodded. Hobbie laughed a bit and leaned back. Hobbie: “…Are you married to Megatron?” Optimus nearly trips and falls on his face. Silver Aid’s frame feels hot. Silver Aid: “We haven’t exactly done the rites yet…” Optimus now looks at Silver in surprise. Optimus: “Wait you haven’t!?”

Gwen and Miles liked to have more one-on-one moments with the bots.

Well, more Miles than Gwen.

Gwen wasn’t as social as the others but did make time for the bots as the date for them to return came closer.

She liked hanging out with Silver Aid the most.

Something about ‘there aren’t a lot of spiderwomen who get happy endings’.

…She really needed to ask what the girl meant by that.

Silver Aid is hanging upside down with Gwen. Silver Aid: “I heard about the thing that usually makes the average spider person a hero is the bite… how did yours happen?” Gwen: “Pretty normal. I was playing my drum set when the spider bit my hand.” Silver Aid: “How badly did it hurt?” Gwen: “Not that bad? Why was yours painful?” Silver Aid laughs humorlessly. Silver Aid: “You could say that.” Gwen scoots a bit closer. Gwen: “What happened?” Silver looks unsure whether to actually tell her. Gwen: “Please?” Silver sighs: “It started off the day I decided to join Optimus to watch over my twin and our other friend, Sentinel…”

Miles was a different story.

The boy was almost their shadow the entire visit.

Practically bursting at the seems with joy whenever he saw them.

He loved to rant and just talk to them about their lives.

Optimus sympathized when Miles sheepishly told him the story on how he became his universes Spiderman and the training involved.

Training as a recruit was the worst.

The Prime gave him a few words of encouragement about his situation which, in a way backfired.

Optimus starts running up to Silver Aid. Silver Aid notices a crying Miles in his servos. Silver Aid: What happened!” Optimus: “I don’t know! I was just telling him he was doing a great job and he started crying!” Silver Aid gently pats his back. He turns in her direction. Silver Aid: “Hey buddy, can you tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I can help fix whatever happened.” Crying spider noises increase.

Eventually it was time for the bots to leave.

It was a bit of a tearful goodbye, scratch that very tearful good bye from a lot more spiders than they anticipated.

The pair held servos as they jumped into the portal.

… and promptly landed on their faces.

They had laned back at the abandoned shipyard.

Well, the city was still intact, and nothing was one fire so there was some good news.

The sun was starting to rise.

Silver Aid gave Optimus a quick hug and told him good luck with his team.

He waved back until realizing what she had just said.

He had been gone for 3 days…

No official contact with his team…

After he said he was patrolling at night…

…Great…

Optimus quietly transforms in front of the Plant and walks inside. Ratchet was asleep on his work bench. Prowl was sleeping on Bulkhead’s arm while said bot was sprawled on the floor. Bumblebee and Sari were snoring on the big bots chassis. There were multiple scanners and video tapes littered around the floor. CRUNCH! Optimus accidentally stepped on a data pad. Which was enough to wake up Sari. Sari blinked tiredly before staring at him. Sari: “OPTIMUS!” Her scream suddenly woke everyone up. The last thing the Prime saw was his entire team running at him at top speed. Meanwhile… Silver Aid swings up to the base and walks in. Silver Aid: “I’m bac—OH SWEET PRIMUS!” There were multiple craters in the main room, some marks on the wall that looked suspiciously like talons, and a harsh smell of smoke. Lugnut and Blitzwing were lying in one of the mini craters groaning. Starscream was dangling by his pedes from one of the taller monitors. Was he… crying? And Megatron… had fallen asleep near his throne. Silver Aid groaned loudly. That’s what woke them up. Blitzwing was the first to reach her, pulling her into a tight hug and spinning her around. Random laughed tiredly. Blitzwing: “Thank the Prime’s its over!” Both bots were lifted up by Lugnut’s hug. Silver was then tugged out by Starscream who held her shoulders. Starscream: “Where have you been!? We have been trying to contact you for the past week and—” Silver: “Wait what! I was gone for three days!” Megatron: “You were gone for a week.” Silver jumped, not even noticing he had moved from his spot from across the room. He looked tired, angry, and relieved. Silver tried to reach for his servo. He pulled away making her spark clench. Megatron: “Prime is missing as well. None of our scanners picked up on any of your signatures. So please enlighten me, where were you.” Silver Aid: “The portals found us. There was no way we could have gotten back so we had to wait. We thought we were only there for three days.” Megatron sighs and opens his arms slightly. Silver Aid gently grabbed his arm and started leading him to their shared habsuite. She turned back to the others. Silver Aid: “I promise I’ll tell everything later!” She softly shut the door just as she felt two large arms wrap around her. Megatron lifted her up and buried his face in her neck cables. Megatron: “These portals are testing me…” Silver Aid just smiled as she shut her optics and enjoyed the safety his arms provided.

[guardian5tiger3]

waddup guys here's a tarot reading -

1. 2

3. 4

GROUP 1

You guys are sharing or giving something to other people , either this is about work, something you create and share possibly online , somebody is a painter, or generally giving your time and energy to friends family or coworkers..

Something is going to blow up or someone is and it seems you guys are either in or will be in a state of distress or being tired or dealing with some clinical issues like depression .. it feels like you're being drained because you have neglected to take time to recharge and it almost seems like you or horribly, other people are just waiting for you to quit or freak out or something like that ..it seems like an issue where you're being stubborn cause you don't want to give up . This is reminding me of a short story by an author about joining a small work group and then putting him through so much physical labor hoping he ends up quitting, but him being way too stubborn to quit so no one thinks badly of him and cause he wants that money , but people purposefully pushing him and putting a lot on him like that actually hoping he quits . Some of you are hoping it reversed in a way and everyone else in this situation ends up beefing , like , fighting with each other or all being in some type of conflict. For some of you that would happen if you quit or leave . It seems like a negative feeling or state of being is still around over time even if you forget for a minute but then when you relax or something it still is like that . The advice here is to make sure you are putting your energy in a very personalized way , something that you would be proud of or happy to do . You might want to find a different job or start doing things to your liking . I just channeled a song by twenty one pilots - lane boy . You also might want to watch the video . Do what you want how you want to do it basically, do not people please at this time . I do feel like there are messages to get out of the song and video for you all also so, check that out . I also am feeling it's hard for y'all to move on from something and you should target a possible insecurity within yourself about not wanting to let go of something out of fear you won't get something else or you'll be left with nothing or in lack if you do .

Group 2

It seems like y'all have chosen a path in life that was predicted somehow at some point or is a type of destiny you have and there might be writing on the walls in your past about this happening now . You probably feel towards this like you've won in some type of way. I heard " in charge " . I think a group of people are plotting to go through some type of conflict in order to come towards you . If they did you might see you deciding to choose whatever path they have to offer you as moving towards conflict but I think your truest self would actually see this as more comfortable, exciting, and fitting for yourself . I think whatever is going on right now for you , you can't see the future about it and you don't fully realize that it would be like, boring or mundane or something like that somehow . I don't see this other path these people have to offer as negative I actually agree it seems that it would be more fun and more fitting for how you all are and would not cause you harm . I'm picking up on the heart .I think if there's an outer circumstance that would cause you to lean towards working or being with these other people in whatever way it's a sign to do so . Cause if this opportunity arrises you might feel defensive because it's basically not familiar to you at this point in time or it seems like unstable somehow because of that also . For some of you this is an emperor person come towards you for sure possibly in terms of love and if you already know them you might have an issue with wherever they have been since you last talked or saw them . If these people show up it's a good opportunity to say whatever you might want to say or have wanted to say . You need to remember to not be scared , generally and also specifically in terms of missing out on anything . Focus on your heart . I'll leave y'all with that .

GROUP 3

Someone is trying to or will or has been trying to force themself into your life, energy , work . Something like that . It looks like you've either told someone to get them to leave you be or you've told this person to go away basically or stop and you've had to defend yourself . This person is either back and forth somehow or has drastically different sides to them and their own character or personality . This may be a suitor of some sort, romantically and you may not realize that the case is that they like you like that but some of you do know this . This is kinda terrible but it seems like they must have been abused at some point or something so it seems like telling them no or rejecting them makes them want everything to do with you more . Cause it reminds them of a past dynamic they had probably in childhood or early teens . They're used to being treated a certain way so that's what they're used to that's what they like and know how to work with that . I think they think you'd be good for each other in any type of way . The outcome and advice is super different for all of you . Some of you have actually been harsh and should include this person and some of you didn't realize this and might get curious or something or treat them nicer or even inquire about a relationship or something who knows . You could end up being kind of abusive to this person or something . Not severally just taking advantage of their vulnerability so , no offense but make sure that's not what becomes of you in a situation like that make sure you pay attention to how people might feel cause some people will do anything for you and never mention if theyre hurting or if it's too much , if this is still resonating right at this point and you also feel overwhelmed just talk nice to them and keep a distance I think this persons attention span is short and this very well can just be a phase and they'll move on mentally pretty quick within a few weeks cause it's just a crush or some type of interest they have in you . For a few this also could be something well in the past that you should look back on and maybe come to terms with something or better yourself for any way you may have treated anyone . This seriously could have been high school or many years ago for a few of you .

Group 4

You guys are lucky . I'm seeing something about a metaphor like eyes in the back of your head but it's more like you can only see in front of yourself not behind yourself ,so you never truly can see everything or a full true picture of anything . You guys might be the philosophical type . Someone you or someone else has been in some type of severe trouble or something and someone else was abusing you or whoever this is or taking from them and this is truly a horrible disgusting energy but it's looking like the person who went through whatever traumatic thing this is has since been freed and has a lot to themselves and is looking great now for the most part . I think this person or you has so much of whatever it is energy, luck, material things, good looks because of how they were " taken from " in the past . This seriously could have been a torturous type of abuse . It seems like someone important to the person who was abused or taken from in the past has someone very important to them like a friend or soulmate that was turned against them because of this. It's possibly you're the person who was manipulated into turning against someone else that had been abused heavily . If that's the case there's a high chance you still think negatively of this person or if you're this person someone thinks that way about you still. It's because of whoever was being abusive and also possible people that person has in their corner . This person that was abused is looking good now or in the near future but they still deserve mercy and forgiveness and things like that by a lot . Funny it also looks like the abused person has no clue how they got to a point of being in a better vibe . The universe might be all that sees the truth about this person and situation entirely . So it shouldn't be a question as to why they have good luck or whatever happened or is happening here for them . It's possible there isn't a living person who sees their side . So either you are someone that is supposed to be there for them and important and you need to seriously rethink some things or question anything you've been told or shown or whatever . Or you're this person that was abused . If that's the case you need to strengthen your relationship with the universe or whatever you wanna call it god, spirit. Because there's infinite love for you there and it'll bring you closer to your soulmate the more you do that also . I think if you have a pet to lean on that pet for support and love also . No matter what happens just try to have a relationship or faith in the universe cause I'm seeing a physically ending possible having to move homes . If that happens at any point or has it's most likely to get you away from something dangerous so it's a good thing even if you don't see that . I think whoever is reading this has to front to other people or wear a mask . Basically you have to learn to love and accept yourself and heal any trauma that was inhumane that made you any type of insecure or anything . Pretty typical thing to say I know but in this instance it really rings true . I think youll naturally do this over time how you are but it's good to consciously try to do it , it'll probably happen faster for that . But don't push yourself too far . Feels like there might be a lot of different random things to focus on or you have adhd I don't know . A hot drink once in a while would be good to calm you down . Coffee tea or hot chocolate or something ya know .