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ihavethedreamies · 3 months ago

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Stupid | Wooyoung

Jung Wooyoung - ATEEZ)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~10.3k

Pairing: Wooyoung x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Actual Plot, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Friends-to-Lovers, Comfort

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Caution: The angst in this story is more familial based. There are mentions of adultery/infidelity, but it's not dwelled on. This could be triggering for those who have had parent's leave or other similar circumstances, so just be warned.

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Princess, Sweetheart, Sunshine, etc.), Childhood/Teenage Trauma, Family Issues, Tears and Crying, Swearing, Unrequited Love, Kind of a Love Triangle, Kissing, Dirty Talk, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Marking/Hickeys/Scratches, Couch Sex, Shower Sex, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom! Reader is on the pill)

Author's Note: Hm, just thought I would do this since I made something similar for San.

(S/N) is for the name of your sister.

Move Update: We are headed out next Monday for our new state (back to where I was born actually) and I'm gonna have to live at my uncles for a month before the new house is ready, so I will be writing a lot there, so get ready.

I am cross-posting this on Archive and Wattpad. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other sites. Happy reading!

The only sound you could hear was your own aggressive keypresses. You had paused your music to go to the bathroom and didn't bother hitting play again. Staring hard at the screen, your eyes hurt even with the dark theme applied. The colorful lines of code on the dark screen blurred and refocused, and you blinked, trying to force your eyes not to blur. Sighing, you pushed back from your desk, rubbing over your eyes. Taking your computer glasses off, you let them fall onto your desk and you got back up. It was really hard to work at 2 am, let alone when your thoughts were racing. And the thoughts had nothing to do with your job. The last thing you needed the day before a project was due was to loop on irrational thoughts. Your socked feet thumbed on the wood floor of your hallway as you went down it. Your sister's door was propped open, so you quietly opened the door, peeking inside. The soft teal lighting strip lining her walls cast a faint glow over the room. She was starfish-ed on the bed, peacefully and messily asleep. Huffing, you stepped out and shut your door. How nice it must be to be thirteen. Pulling your phone from the pocket of your sweatpants, you exited the hallway and went into the kitchen. The large open room of the apartment included the kitchen as well as dining and living areas. A spare room was in the back corner, empty since your friend had moved out a month before. Another room sat across from it, the large windows of the studio covered with tall curtains, but you knew it was just full of boxes of old things. Someday you would have the courage to go through them and get rid of stuff, maybe use the studio for an office or something, but…

Opening the fridge to get the pitcher of orange juice, the door shut, and your eyes focused on the dark on the picture magnetically attached to the front. The picture was of a once happy life you lived. A black squiggle covered the face of the man, the woman next to him smiling like the sun. Glaring at the censored face, you yanked the photograph from the magnet clip and slapped the picture down on the counter. The pitcher followed and as you grabbed a glass, you plucked the scissors from the small utensil-filled mug on the counter. After pouring yourself a drink, and taking a few sips, you grabbed the photo. Holding it up, you realized it would make sense to turn the overhead light of the range hood to see better, but you continued in the dark. Opening the shears, you cut a tiny slit into the white border of the photo and halted. The little line split the man's pants from the shoulder of the little girl's white sundress; she was no more than four. She was sitting on the lap of a girl looking much the same, just about twelve years older. It was weird to see such a bright smile on your face.

The purple-handed scissors clattered onto the Formica counter; the photo still held in the crook of the blades. Resting against the counter behind you, you drank the juice in gulps, hissing through your teeth when it was gone like it was some kind of liquor. The glass-mimicking plastic cup clanked into the sink, and you left the kitchen to shuffle back to your room. As you reentered, you yanked the zipper down of your hoodie, nearly tearing the garment off and throwing it harshly onto the floor. You let the door click quietly closed despite wanting to slam it and went back to your computer. Your chair let out a puff of air when you plopped down into it, the remaining pieces of the candy necklace you had on bouncing over your collarbone. Crunching on one of the sugary beads, you flipped your phone over, so the screen faced up, tapping the black surface and a small white notification bubble showed itself under the white numbers of the clock; 2:13 am. Unlocking the phone with your finger print, you opened your message app and you sniffed at the message in annoyance.

🦊WooWoo🦊: did you get it done?

He had sent it nearly an hour prior. You glared at your computer screen, then to the second monitor, the program running over and over, glitching at the same time stamp each time.

☀️: not even close 🦊: why are you up young lady ☀️: why are you?

He didn't reply right away so you looked back at your computer, clicking your tongue. Hitting save and closing the window, you instead opened up a new email and sent one to your coworker that it might not get there by tomorrow night but that you would try. It wasn't a hard deadline anyway. You worked for an Indie label, not some AAA, so that gave you some flexibility. Closing the window, you stared at your background for a good few minutes, waiting for Wooyoung to reply. The picture used to make you smile, but it hurt your heart. San's cute dimple smile, and his arm around you made you wince. Wooyoung was on your other side, his cheek pressed into the side of your head as he hugged you. You were leaning into San, trying to escape the other man's embrace, at least that was your excuse. The picture was getting close to five years old.

🦊: games 🦊: why are you up ☀️: working. thinking 🦊: about? ☀️: how shit I feel 🦊: you sick??

You rolled your eyes; he wasn't super intuitive sometimes. It was almost 2:30 in the morning though.

☀️: no. how shitty my life is now compared to back then…

Once again, he took a bit to reply, and you almost got up to use the restroom then go to bed. Your phone then buzzed on the desk, the noise even louder going through the wood, and you grabbed it quickly, answering the call.

"Your life isn't shitty (Y/N). I'm here, huh?" His giggle was forced. You just huffed, getting out of your desk chair to move to your bed.

"Livin' the dream."

"What's it this time? Your…da- uh, male life giver?" His little catch at least made the corner of your mouth crook up.

"Yeah."

"How's (S/N)?"

"Good, I guess. She…she was a bit too really remember either of them."

"Even if she doesn't it can't be easy with…how it all played out." He was trying to be careful with what he said, but you were already in a bad mood.

"Our dad cheating, leaving us for his second family and then my mother…" You thought tears who come to your eyes, but maybe you were too tired.

"Where do you think she went?" Your best friend's voice was soft.

"No clue. Neither did Gramma, or the cops. She could be in Timbuk-fucking-tu for all I know."

"Do you want to go out tomorrow with me and San? Or do you have to work?" Before you could answer, your phone buzzed, and you pulled it away from your ear. Opening the email from your coworker, you sighed in relief. Perfect timing.

"Not anymore. The character models are getting scrapped and redone so that means my code has to be scrapped. Might be why I couldn’t get it to move right."

"What about (S/N)?"

"She's thirteen not three. I'll have her sleep over at a friend's maybe…"

"Great! Get some sleep, sunshine. Meet us at 9!" He hung up and you flopped back onto your mattress, feeling disappointed for some reason. Finally working up the energy to get off the bed, you went back to your computer and shut it down, staring at San's smiling face a little too long, before letting it actually turn off.

~*~*~

"Good morning, little lady." You left the hallway, sandals in your hand. Your sister sent you a tired look over her cereal, waving lazily.

"G'mornin'."

"Do any of your friends get to have sleep overs on school nights?" Her eyes opened a bit wider then, then squinted as she thought.

"Uh…probably. Going out with-" she gave a flirty pose, batting her eyelashes, "Sannie?" then dropped the act.

"Shut up, you little shit." You threw a stray cheerio at her, and it nearly stuck to her cheek.

"Wooyoung's going too."

"Oh. You ever gonna tell him?"

"Tell San I like him? I don’t know..."

"San? Oh, yeah, right. Why not?" You didn't answer right away, pouring a glass of juice.

"You're gonna turn into an orange." Your sister rolled her eyes, and you poured just a bit more before putting the pitcher back down.

"I just... I don't think I stand a chance."

"What?! Why?!" Your sister acted like you had personally offended her. Even before your whole messed up parental situation, you two never bickered or anything. Probably because you were nearly thirteen years older than her.

"I'm not his type. He probably sees me as a sister. Also, he looks like that," you motioned down at your white tank with a think blue plaid shirt over and worn denim capris, "and I'm…"

"You better compliment yourself." Your sister glared at you, making you sigh.

"He likes the girls in skirts with makeup and their nails done. The ones that giggle at everything he says and touch his bicep ‘accidentally’…" You drifted off, getting mad at the mental pictures.

"Then do all that." (S/N) shrugged, getting up to put her cereal bowl in the sink.

"Counter." You corrected and she rolled her eyes, taking the bowl out and moving it to the counter.

"(S/N), I don't even own a tube of mascara." You sighed, then proceeded to down your orange juice once again like it was a stiff drink. Your throat burned and your stomach stung somewhat…maybe you did drink too much.

"Use mine."

"What?" You turned fast to look at her and her eyes were wide in panic.

"I only have mascara, I promise!" She lifted her hands in surrender, and you breathed out your nose. She was only a year off being allowed make up, you at least wanted to maintain the rules your mother put on you with your sister. Even if a lot of them never had to be enacted on you.

"Look, I'm just going to go hang out with them and pretend one of my best friends isn't sex on legs."

"I'm pretty sure they both are, but okay." (S/N) muttered under her breath as she passed you to go get her backpack and you pretended to not hear her.

~~~

"Bye, sis!" (S/N) got out of your car and headed into her middle school. She was the one of the few who didn't mind being seen dropped off right in front of the school, but laid-back older sisters are much, much cooler than any parent.

"Just text me who you can stay with!" You called to her, and she turned around with a shocked face.

"Right! What about my bag? My locker's not big enough!" She realized, coming back to your rolled down window, leaning into it.

"I'll bring it by after your club meeting is done."

"Really!? Can you bring WooSan?"

"Don't call them that!" You scolded but laughed nonetheless, "Sure."

"Bye, sis!" She took off again, meeting her similarly uniformed friends by the entrance. You were blessed that the school was willing to take her in for free more-or-less on a scholarship. Your mother wanted both of you to go to the same school, but it was private, and you were in no way capable of paying. If you were, you wouldn't be driving a wine red 2002 Hyundai Sonata with suede upholstery. Pulling out of the drop-off line, you continued down the road till you met the traffic light. It sat at the edge of the academy's campus and the park where you were meeting the guys was just past the light. As you waited for the light to turn, you tapped your fingers on the steering wheel along to the music playing on your radio. The light took even longer because the crossing guard was leading a group of elementary schoolers across. You were watching them pass in their cute little uniforms when you were startled by a knock on your window. You flinched, looking to see what looked to be a high school boy on the other side. You rolled the slightly tinted glass down just enough that you would be able to hear him. He flashed a smoldering smile, and you blatantly sneered.

"What, kid?"

"You obviously don't go to school here, you from the public school?" How dumb was this kid? You hadn't been in high school for seven years. You had a college degree and everything. Most might take it as a compliment to be seen as looking young enough to be a teenager, but…

"Get lost, squirt." You scoffed, looking away but not bothering to roll the window back up. You were a bit curious what his reaction would be.

"I might look young, but I'm a senior this year, princess." He was clearly a little put off by your flat dismissal, trying to keep a flirty tone.

"Fuck off, kid. She's our princess." A familiar voice hit your ears, and you sighed in relief, watching Wooyoung essentially hip bump the kid so hard he fell back onto the sidewalk. Your heart skipped as you huffed a laugh, watching San come up as well and unlocked the doors so the two guys could climb in, right at the light turned green. San barely shut the back door before you took off, leaving the teenager's friends laughing at his sorry state. Crossing the median, you pulled into the parking lot of the park and slumped back into your seat.

"Got your favorite." San leaned forward, toned arm hovering over the center console, holding a plastic bag with one finger.

"Sweet!" You swiped it from him and Wooyoung got out, running around to your side where the window was still rolled down.

"Hey, pretty lady, want to go make out behind the bleachers?" He leaned against the side of your car just like the cocky teen had and you couldn’t help but laugh.

"Uh, no." You wondered if he caught you glance in your rearview mirror to watch San get out of your car, holding the drink holder of ice coffees as well. You couldn't meet his gaze though, and surprisingly, he didn't respond, just stood up and started to follow San down the path.

"Hey, wait up!" You got out quickly, nearly forgetting your phone and to lock the car as you dashed after them. Finally getting half-way around the pond that was trying to be a lake, you sat on a picnic bench of the wooden shelter right on the edge of the water. Some ducks quacked as they lazily swam closer, hoping for a snack. As you took a long sip of your ice coffee, you watched San get up and go closer to the ducks, a little bit of his croissant left. Your eyes couldn't help but travel over the wide expanse of his shoulders and back. His arms were on display since he was in a sleeveless hoodie, and you smiled at his as the ducks happily ate the bread.

"That's bad for them, y'know?" Wooyoung called and the other man tossed him a bored look over his shoulder, then went back to the birds. Because you were too busy eyeing over your friend, you didn't notice Wooyoung watching you. He lifted half of his nose in a sneer, glaring at his friend who was taking up all of your attention. Wooyoung wanted to blame it on that San had started working out since you had all started being friends, but he wasn’t sure that was it.

"Just fucking tell him." He whispered harshly to you and his sudden mutter made you choke. San immediately turned around, and you waved him off, but he still went to your side, patting your back some to help.

"You okay?" He kneeled next to you, and you nodded, flashing a small smile, trying not to get red. Not like you could control it. Just then, something green flew through the air, flying past San's head as he stood, and he was toppled over by a mass of blonde fur.

"Jeremy! Get off of him!" A young woman scolded the golden retriever as it refused to get off of San, sniffing him and licking his face. Why am I jealous of a dog? You sighed, slumping back against the wood railing of the shelter.

"Why don't you tell him?" Wooyoung's next whisper was much softer, he sounded very tired.

"And get rejected? Ruin our friendship? No." You whispered back, still watching the cutest thing you've ever seen. The dog was a fat mood, refusing to get off of San.

"I'm so sorry!" The woman finally managed to pull the dog off of the man and he got up laughing. She immediately blushed, finally able to see San past all of the fluff. Looking away and down the path to where the green flying disk still lay you got up to retrieve it, since the dog had failed its job.

"Here." You forced a smile as you handed it back to her and she snapped out of her daze to take it from you, immediately looking back to San. Luckily, she left not too long after and you were able to continue the day with the two guys.

~*~*~

A week passed, and you still hadn't been able to work because the rest of the team couldn't get their act together and finish their parts. So, you had been left to your thoughts which is never good. You sat on the couch, boredly and only partially watching the TV. Your knees were pulled up to your chest and your hands lazily tapped a rhythm on the worn faux leather of the couch. Tilting your head, it rested on the back of the couch, and you stared at the ceiling of your loft apartment, the large ventilation pipes curving around the support columns high above your head. When the doorbell rang you almost didn't recognize it, thinking it might have been on the show. It happened again and you knew it was yours because the TV now displayed a commercial for some kind of sports drink. Getting up with a groan, you trudged over to the door, socked feet shuffling over the wood floor. When you opened the door, a young woman sat on the other side, and her face made you nervous. She looked…

"Hi. Are you (Y/N)?" She smiled gently and you nodded.

"I'm Jena (L/N). Can…can I come in?" When she said her last name, your heart fell. You knew immediately who she was.

"Sure." Your tone was flat, but since she didn't know you, it seemed she didn't notice. You motioned her in and toward the couch and you glanced around your place. It wasn't messy, but it wasn't nice either. She was in a sundress that was at least $300, and she had a giant rock on her finger. You grimaced as she sat on your very well-worn couch and you sat down as well, facing her by sitting sideways. She put her designer bag down, linking her fingers and resting her hands on her knee, legs crossed.

"I'm sorry to intrude, but…I'm assuming you know Daniel (L/N)?" You never wanted to hear that name again.

"Uh, yeah." You shuffled on the couch, the faux leather creaking under you.

"I'm his daughter. I have to admit I was a little…stalky?" She cringed at herself, smiling sheepishly.

"Dad is…well, he doesn't have much longer." When you didn't really react, she continued. On the inside, you just weren't sure how to react.

"They don't know if he drank too much when he was younger or what, but his liver is failing. He's been on a transplant list, but they can't find anyone compatible." She’d better not have come to get you to give him half of your fucking liver-

"Anyway, I was looking over his will-"

"Where's your mom?"

"Huh?"

"How…what about your mom?"

"Oh, uh." She looked down, a sad expression covering her face.

"When he got sick, she left him, so I'm in charge of everything." Rolling your eyes, you huffed, looking toward the kitchen, focusing on the picture on the fridge you meant to cut up.

"Uh. Right, your name is on the will." She pulled a packet of paper from her purse, showing you where your name was highlighted. You didn't even care what he was leaving you, so you handed it back.

"I don't want it."

"O-oh…if you don't mind me asking, who are you?" You raised an eyebrow, and she wilted under your glare.

"You don't know?"

"No, sorry." She hid bashfully behind the papers, "are we cousins or something?" You just stared at her in shock.

"No offense, but it’s a bit weird to have a niece in your will when you have four kids?"

"Look, if you want my part, have it."

"No! That's not… Actually, the reason I'm really here is-" She pulled something else out of her bag and you recognized it.

"Dad kept saying the name Naomi." You stood up at this and she flinched. You paced a bit, hands going to your head, fingers digging into your scalp. Breathing out slowly, you turn back to her.

"Sorry…keep going, I'm just…struggling with this." She seemed a bit unwilling to continue without asking anything, but she did so as you sat back down. Your ire was evident, you were sure.

"Um…well, I couldn't figure out who she was, so I looked in his yearbook. He's…" She flipped to the middle of the book, "with a girl named Naomi." She showed you the page, but you already knew it. High School Sweethearts read in flowery script over the picture of your parents.

"But when I looked her up, I couldn't find anything." Of course not. You never could.

"So, I used Google's new AI search with this picture, and I found a woman…" You hadn’t gone that far, still not really trusting any kind of program claiming to be AI. She pulled out another paper from her bag and showed it to you. It was an article about some town's mayor on the other side of the country, and the caption listed the woman next to him as his wife. It was your mother. But her name was wrong.

"It says her name is Carry, but that looks like the same woman, right?"

"Y-Yes."

"Maybe they’re sisters? Twins even? I know it’s a long shot, but do you have her contact information? Even if they broke up soon after high school, maybe she would be willing to see him since he's dying…" As soon as you saw her face on the paper, your anger left, and you were holding back tears.

"I don't…but-" you took a shuddering breath, "uh, I don't think she'll go see him."

"Really?" She deflated a bit, and you looked down at your lap, picking at your torn jeans.

"Uh. No. She's… Okay, I'm in the will because I'm your sister. Those are my parents. She’s my mother." This information floored her, her jaw literally dropping. Sniffing hard, you hated crying, let alone in front of essentially a stranger.

"How old are you?" Your question snapped her back, making her flinch.

"T-twenty." Of course.

"Dad…He uh, left us and mom for…you guys. Then mom fucking snapped or broke or whatever and left us too." You looked at the printed off article, at your mother's smiling face next to some man you had never seen or heard of before. This shocked her even further. You gave her the article back and stood moving to the door.

"Uh, take me out of the will or whatever and just leave us alone please. Thank you." You opened your front door, not able to look at her.

"U-us?"

"Ah. (S/N). My thirteen-year-old sister." This must have really made this Jena girl realize why you acted the way you did. It wasn't that your father left your mother then fathered her, he had both families at the same time.

"M-my brother is twelve." Reality was hitting her.

"Great. That sucks for everyone, please leave." You motioned with your arm for her to get out and as soon as she shuffled out into the hallway, you let the door fall closed. Your shoulder hit the wall, and you slumped to the floor, hot tears falling down your cheeks and onto the floor. Your chest heaved as you sobbed, hand covering your mouth to keep you quiet.

"Fuck!" You screamed, grabbing a cheap ceramic bowl you used for change and chucked it across the room. It hit the column behind your TV and shattered, coins clattering onto the floor in its trail. You buried your face in your hands, breathing harshly, trying to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. Your phone buzzed on the coffee table. It buzzed again a few minutes later, then again. Again.

"Damnit." You got up, storming over to your phone, looking at it. It was the group chat, Wooyoung and San were talking about doing something the next day, some kind of lawn game competition at the community college. When they saw that you read the messages and didn't reply, your phone rang with a call from Wooyoung.

"I know that we're not in college anymore, but we can get away-" You had stopped crying more or less, but hearing his voice brought tears back to your eyes and you fought a sob.

"Are you crying? What happened?"

"U-um…" You swallowed hard, a lump rising in your throat along with the tears.

"I'll be there in five…six minutes!" He hung up and you let the device fall onto the couch. Your shoulders fell as you stood in the middle of the main room of your place, glaring at the coffee table's scratched surface. A tear fell onto the plywood, then another. Snapping out of your daze when hard knocks pounded on the door, you only got halfway to the door before he opened it, finding it unlocked.

"(Y/N)?" Seeing the concerned face of your best friend made you feel safe and so your self-erected walls fell. He shut the door as he moved forward, catching you in his arms as you shriveled to the floor. Wooyoung held you tighter as you cried, desperate sobs and whimpers muffled as you pressed your face into his chest. Your tears darkened the red fabric of his sweatshirt, and he adjusted your position, so you sat on the floor, legs over one of his, cheek pressed to his collarbone. A tear of his own fell and mixed with yours on your jaw, but you didn't notice it. He didn't know what happened that wrecked you so bad, but he couldn't stand hearing and seeing you so upset. He even hated it if you cried at a movie.

"What happened, sunshine?" His embrace loosened so you could sit up straighter, tears still falling, but you weren't actively sobbing. Wooyoung cupped your cheek in his hand, wiping a tear from your eye. You had to take several deep breaths through the story, but you managed to tell him what happened.

"M-my mother's alive, Wooyoung." Your voice had quieted so much at the end that, but he still heard the pain.

"(Y/N), sweetheart, come here." He stood, helping you get up and he led you over to the couch. He grabbed your phone, and you rested back on the couch as he easily put in your pin without having to ask what it was. You listened half-heartedly as he called your sister, most likely just getting out of class, about to go to her art club meeting.

"Again? Is this going to be weekly? I think I can stay with Amanda, maybe Emily…" You heard (S/N) sigh, "what about my stuff?"

"Can't you manage with borrowing?" Wooyoung cast you a glance, your forearm over your eyes.

"I guess. What’s wrong with (Y/N)?"

"She's just really struggling with something."

“What?”

“Adult stuff.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, uh-huh.”

“She’ll tell you when she’s ready, little lady.”

"You better take good care of her Mr. Jung."

"I will Miss (L/N)." He hung up and put your phone back down. You felt the couch shift when he stood up, then felt his body heat as he kneeled on the floor next to you. Wooyoung gently removed your arm from your face, and you turned to look at him.

"Oh, sweetheart." He sighed, hand going to your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the red skin of your cheek, brushing away a stray tear.

"C-can you call San? And we can watch a movie? Get Indian food?" You weren't sure how to read Wooyoung's expression. He seemed to be thinking, but then he forced a smile and nodded.

"Sure, princess." Wooyoung stood and pressed a long kiss to your forehead, and you blamed your turbulent emotions on your racing heart.

~*~*~

About two weeks later, you found yourself sitting on the couch, staring at the number you plugged into your phone. You hadn't pressed call yet, the non-local area code of the number glaring at you. It was a long shot, but you hoped calling the mayor's office might get you somewhere. You had been stalling for a long time, his office would only be open for another hour thanks to the time difference. Your sister was getting annoyed with you having her stay the night at a friend’s place, but luckily, she had a slumber party she was invited to. The sun was starting to set, and you finally worked up the courage to hit call, then turned it onto speaker, at 5:57. It was probably around 3 there.

"Mayor Elledge's office, this is Peg."

"Hi, uh, Peg. I'm…I'm trying to get in contact with Carry Elledge, but I'm not sure how to get ahold of her…" The silence scared you, worried that the woman would be too suspicious to help you.

"May I ask who you are?"

"I'm…a relative. It's about…my father's will." Please work.

"I see…I can get you her cellphone number." The secretary relented and you sighed in relief, thanking her several times. Typing the number she gave you into your notes app, you politely end the conversation and went to call the other number while you still had the courage to do so. Ring. Ring. Ring-

"Hello, this is Carry?" It was your mom, no doubt. Tears welled in your eyes, and you swallowed, voice coming out softer than normal to keep from crying.

"M-mom? It's me. It's (Y/N)." More silence.

"I think you might have the wrong number, dear." You felt your face fall, your eyebrows furrowing, your lips trembling.

"This isn't Naomi (L/N)?"

"No, dear, sorry." There wasn't any kind of recognition in her voice, but it was hers.

"O-oh…okay, sorry." The call ended and you pressed your lips hard together, jaw clenched. What the hell happened? You sat trying to wrap your head around everything, about thirty minutes passed and your phone rang. It was a different number, but it was the same area code as the other two.

"H-hello?"

"Are you the young woman looking for Naomi (L/N)?" A man spoke, and you wondered if it wasn't the mayor guy.

"Yessir."

"You must be (Y/N)."

"What the hell happened to my mother?" Your tone didn't have nearly as much malice as you had wanted. Even if this guy did nothing wrong, you hated him. He sighed. He explained that he found her near death in an alleyway. She had malnutrition and was dehydrated. He got her to the hospital, she was in a medically induced coma for a few days, and when she woke up…she didn't remember anything.

"So, she has no idea about her past life?"

"No, miss."

"Thank you for…not letting her die."

"I'm sorry to not be of more help Miss (Y/N). Though, I don't think it’s good for her to be reminded of her past life. I called because she is…having a panic attack. Maybe it was your voice, some part of her recognized it maybe? It’s clear she is traumatized from her past. I think it would be best if you leave her be." You didn't want to. You wanted to get in your car, grab your sister, and drive for the three of four days you needed, and get your mother. But…she wasn't your mother anymore, even if she did remember you, it was clear her brain was hiding you and your sister.

"I…Okay. If you want to know, Daniel (L/N) is dying."

"Good."

"Yes."

"I appreciate you wanting to reach out, but I would like you to lose our numbers.

"Yessir." He hung up. Your body must have run out of tears along with your energy because you just slumped back into the couch. Something rose in you then, something bold. Grabbing your bag, phone and keys, you left your place, heading for Wooyoung and San’s.

~~~

As you rode the elevator to the third floor, you were shaking. Whether it was nerves or pure exhaustion you weren't sure. Going down the hall, you heard voices further down and you finally saw the owners as you turned the corner. San was standing at his apartment door, some bleach blonde girl wedged between him and the door. You weren’t sure how to feel, your emotions were too turbulent. Somehow it felt like your heart finally completely shattered, but you also were relieved, but the latter made you mad. You turned and fled before you could see his lips actually meet hers.

~~~

"(Y/N)?" You heard your name through the door, then Wooyoung's rapid knocks. You were slumped against the island counter, hands stinging and bleeding, shards of glass and ceramic scattered around the room. Tissue paper and packing peanuts were strewn about the main room of the apartment as well, old papers and books torn and discarded. Splinters of wood from broken frames and dismembered toys littered the floor as well, and you ran your thumb over a glass paper weight shaped like a cat.

"(Y/N)?!" Wooyoung jiggled the door handle harder, but it was locked. A red smear followed your thumb on the glass cat, the cuts on your palms still oozing blood.

"Damnit, (Y/N) (L/N)! Open the fucking door, I know you're in there." He was panicking, you could hear it in his voice.

"Fuck off." You sighed, throwing the glass piece as hard as you could, and it hit the far wall. The ear chipped off and broke, the finish over the brick wall flaked off, then it clattered to the floor.

"(Y/N), please princess, let me in." You heard a thump, presumably his forehead hitting the door. You licked your lips, the salt of your tears hitting along with the iron tang of blood. You weren't sure if it was from where you had bitten your lip or the cut on the tip of your nose.

"(Y/N). Please, I need to see you, sweet girl. Please let me know if you're okay." You didn't know what time it was, just that it was late, only the light of the storage room flowing into the room from the door. Your phone had been going off, and you hated the message you saw on it, so you chucked it across the room as well, breaking it instantly. The place was a mess, and you were grateful your sister wasn't home to see your breakdown.

"Go away, Wooyoung." Your voice was hoarse after your crying, but the door was thin, and you knew he heard.

"Not a fucking chance, (Y/N)."

"Just…just let me be alone."

"No! Open the door, damn it!"

"Go home."

"Shit. (Y/N) open the freaking door or I'm coming up the fire escape!" You knew he meant it. You got up, not bothering to be careful of what you stepped on, only wincing slightly as a speck of glass wedged in your foot, joining other scrapes and cuts already present. Shakily, you undid the door chain, and he must have heard you turn the deadbolt and the lock on the knob, because he opened the door before you could. He gasped, looking at your face, pale but red from smeared blood of the small cuts on your face. He looked at your hands too, and the bloody footprints on the floor.

"Oh my God, (Y/N)." Wooyoung shut the door, dropping his backpack and cupping your face with his hands. They were cold from being out in the early autumn night and you didn't even react when he did so. Wooyoung lifted your head so you could look at him and his brow furrowed in despair at the blank look in your eyes. Finally, he looked around the room in the low light, shocked at the carnage.

"I called her." You managed to get out and he looked back at you, confused.

"Mom. I looked up the mayor guy's office number and called. She didn't… She didn't know who I was. Her husband called and told me she had some kind of amnesia after he found her. Then he told me never to try again. So, I…" you licked your lips, "then I…I decided and went to your place. San was taking some blonde bitch into the apartment." Your breath shuddered and his shoulders slumped.

"(Y/N)-"

"I…I went to the store, but they were out of Cayman Jacks. The Indian place down the street closed early. The pizza place was out of white sauce… I grabbed some random food from the convenience store and then when I got home… I got a text from that Jena girl, my half-sister," you spat, "dad's dead."

"(Y/N), sunshine, you must… What can I do?" He stepped closer, one hand leaving your face to grab your hand. You flinched at the sting, and he held your hand up to see the cuts in the skin. It looked like you had a few splinters as well.

"Help me clean this mess?"

"I’ll just do it, lets get you cleaned up first."

He picked a few splinters out of your hands and feet, then sent you off to shower. Wooyoung vowed to work on the mess more later, maybe even get Seonghwa to help, but he dealt with the dangerous stuff first. He had shoved and/or swept all the debris into a big pile in the ravaged storage room, leaving the mess for another time. After carefully picking up all the sharp shards and splintered wood, he vacuumed to make sure everything was picked up. He glanced up when you shuffled out of the hallway, a towel draped over your wet hair, a soft light-weight grey sweater draped over your torso, and a darker gray pair of shorts nearly hidden by the shirt. Your head was bowed, hands and feet red and he shuffled over to lead you to the couch.

"Did you use soap?"

"Mm. Conditioner stung." You sat, and he pulled your hands into his lap so he could look them over.

"I'll help you with these." He let your hands go and then his own went to the towel on your head, gently rubbing it over your hair, then scrunching the strands with the fabric to get more of the water out. Gently he laid it around your neck and shoulders to the still damp strands didn't drip on your shirt. When Wooyoung returned with your first aid box from the bathroom, you were still sitting in the same spot, staring blankly at a spot on the couch. Sighing, he went back to you and neither of you said anything as he smeared ointment on the cuts. He went ahead and just wrapped some bandages around your right hand since it was so cut up, but put band aids on the other. Wooyoung did the same with your feet, and you didn't even flinch even though you were usually ticklish there. As he finished some other little tidying things, you ran your finger over the chipped nails of your opposite hand, the polish flaking and cracked as well even though (S/N) only painted them two days prior.

"(Y/N), look at me." He prompted and when you didn't, he gently lifted your head with his finger under your chin.

"I'm so sorry, princess, that your…about your mom. And your father. But with San-"

"It was a stupid thought. I don't know why I got the courage to go." You tried to look away, but he forced you back to look at him, thumbs stroking your cleaned face. The little cuts had already pretty much closed, and he leaned forward and pressed a small kiss on the scratch on the tip of your nose.

"It's not stupid, (Y/N). Neither are you, he is." You huffed a wry laugh, but he shook his head.

"No, he is. He's a fucking idiot. You wanna know why?"

"Yeah, why?" You pulled both of your legs up under you, leaning with your side into the back of couch, head resting on the back cushion.

"Any many who wouldn't fall in love with you after knowing you is an idiot. I think I'm the only smart person there is." Wooyoung shook his head, throwing the band-aid wrappers onto the coffee table. It took your tired brain a bit to process what he said, but you still barely had the energy to snap your head up to look at him.

"What?"

"You've looked at him like he hung the moon for like two years but you’re still like a sister to him or something. Fucking stupid."

"You love me?"

"Yes! And you're an idiot for not noticing. That's why I'm the only smart one." He stood up to actually throw the wrappers away, using the task to flee since he was flushed from his confession. He stood looking down into the nearly full trash for a few seconds, trying to think of what to do next. Before he could turn back to you, he felt your arms wrap around his middle from behind, your cheek pressing to his back. He wasn't very tall, one of the shortest in your friend group, but you were small compared to him. Normally your hugs had a great deal of strength in them, like you did as a whole, but while they were around him, they were shaky.

"I'm sorry for being an idiot, Wooyoung." Your voice was quiet, he felt it vibrate through him more than actually hearing it with his ears. He sighed.

"Its…its fine. You can't help how you feel any more than I can." He laid his hand over your arm, gently prying you off of him, but pulling you back into him once he turned around. Resting back against the island, you went with him, letting him hold you close. His fingers ran through the drying strands of your hair, and you shuffled even closer when he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"I…My brain is too frazzled to give you a response right now, Woo. I…I want to tell you-“

"It’s fine, (Y/N). I wasn't expecting anything back…"

"No, its…I can't put my emotions together right now, but I might like you back, but it could just be my subconscious looking for comfort."

"Can I help? We can talk it out? What do you want me to do?"

"What do I want…?"

"Anything." You pulled back to look at him, looking over his face. He was so freaking pretty, his longer black hair was pulled half-up, a few strands framing his face. The ends of the little strands brushed over the beauty mark under his eye and your eyes flitted to the small one he had on his lip. You bet most people didn't even know it was there. Bringing your left hand up, your sleeve fell so it was no longer hanging by your fingers, and your index finger ran over the small dot. You flinched when he quickly grabbed your wrist, a little tighter than it maybe should have been. He realized this and loosened, sliding his thumb up to your palm.

"(Y/N). Be careful, sweetheart." With his grip on your wrist, he pulled you closer.

"Anytime you're close to me I want to hold. I want to kiss you. I want to pin you to the nearest surface and…" He licked his lips, brow furrowing, "Don't let me do something you'll regret because you are weak now." You grimaced, looking down, stepping back from him.

"D-don't…" Your breath shuddered and he could tell you were starting to cry again.

"Hey, hey." He pulled you back in for a hug, "I will hold you as long as you want. I can lie on the couch, and you can lie on me. We can sleep there. We'll watch that movie you like so much that your sister hates…" You sniffed, nodding and he kissed the crown of your head before you pulled back, and he led you to the couch. Not even ten minutes later he was stretched across the old couch, you nestled half on top of him, half between him and the back, the intro of The Last Unicorn playing on the TV. You normally didn't use a blanket on the couch, not unless you were upset, so it was tucked under your chin.

"How did you know to come?"

"Huh?"

"Why did you come here?"

"Oh. (S/N) was freaking out because you weren't answering any texts or video calls, and your phone was going straight to voicemail. I texted her that you broke your phone and that she didn't need to come home." Like it felt left out, his phone buzzed, and he shifted to grab it from the coffee table. You sneakily glanced and saw that it was from San.

🐯: where you at??

He just put the phone down, but it buzzed not even a minute later.

🐯: is (Y/N) ok, or do I need to send Becca home and come over?

"You better not fucking come here." Wooyoung huffed quietly, managing to use one hand and reply.

🦊: She's fine now. Leave us alone.

"That's harsh."

"He broke your heart; I should be much worse." He clicked his tongue, picking his phone up when it buzzed again on his stomach.

🐯: wtf you good? Are you mad?

"Yeah, I'm fucking pissed."

"He's calling." You mumbled, looking at his screen while he looked at the TV, trying to think of what to say. He angrily slid at the answer button, having to do it a second time for it to work.

"What?!" He nearly shouted into the phone, his even louder than normal voice sharp in your ear.

"Sorry, sweetheart." Wooyoung brushed over your hair, "What?"

"Woah, dude, are you sure you're okay?"

"What. Do. You. Want?"

"Woo." You scolded, and that seemed to make him even madder.

"Is she okay?!" San must’ve not heard.

"Yes, you stupid- She's fine. What do you want?"

"Can I talk to her?"

"No, you can't."

"What? Why?"

"Just go…hang out or in Becca or whatever-" You smacked his chest and he yiped.

"Did you make her upset; did you guys get into a fight?"

"No-"

"I'm coming over-"

"Damnit, no!"

"I don't see why you fucking care, Choi San." Something snapped in you, your last vestiges of rationale fizzled out. Wooyoung choked around a laugh, quickly putting the call on speaker.

"(Y-Y/N)?" He sounded like a whimpering puppy.

"Why are you trying to stick up for me or defend me?"

"Y-you're…you're like my sister-" Your fingers dug into Wooyoung's shirt so hard you scratched the skin underneath some, and you sat up, grabbing the phone.

"You know why I wasn't okay? Huh? I found out my mom's alive but doesn't remember me or my sister. My dad is dead. I couldn't get my favorite butter chicken, and the guy I like is at his place sucking face with some chick who looks like she can't do basic addition. So, fuck off San." You hung up and slid Wooyoung's phone away, so it landed on the coffee table, sliding just a bit further past where it landed. Huffing, you laid back down onto your other friend and continued to watch the movie. You both tried to focus, but after a few minutes, you both burst into laughter, and it was a good five minutes before you could fully calm down.

"I'm so fucking tired." You rested your hand over your eyes, wedged between Wooyoung and the couch and he turned toward you, blocking your view of the TV.

"Do you feel better though?" He brushed your hair off your face, and you nodded, nestling into the crook of his neck.

"Just sleep, sweetheart." Wooyoung pressed another kiss to your forehead, and you couldn't help but listen.

~~~

You woke up sore, not sure if it was from sleeping on your shitty couch or from the destruction you wrecked on your apartment the night before. Wooyoung was still asleep, curled around you, and still so, so pretty. You assumed he thought that if you waited, you would realize you were just wanting Wooyoung for comfort, not because you liked him back. But, after sleeping on it, you weren't so sure. Before, you really didn't know if you liked him back or not, but as you watched him sleep (feeling a bit creepy honestly) you thought about it. When you first became friends, you had a pretty big crush on him. The closer you got, the more it seemed he got on your nerves, and he was just annoying and immature. But after graduating, you got much closer; he really was your best friend. You were genuinely closer with Wooyoung than San, but you almost always hung out as the three of you. Could you have liked both, but chose San because you didn't want to admit you had liked Wooyoung the entire time you knew him? Did he annoy you so much because you had feelings for him, like some elementary age boy who pulls a girl's hair? And says he hates her? Gently, so as not to wake him, you cupped his jaw with your hands much like had the day prior to you.

"Be careful, sweetheart." He echoed the same words from the day before, not even opening his eyes.

"Why?" His eyes finally opened, the intensity in his gaze taking your breath away. Wooyoung scooted an inch closer, pressing you further into the cushion, his knee wedging between your legs. You gasped when he pressed closer, finally feeling him against you.

"If you let me kiss you, I won't stop there." His lips hovered over yours, tongue flicking out and running over your bottom lip as well as his.

"Then don't."

"(Y/N)-"

"I'm sure, Wooyoung. I thought about it, and yes, I have…had a crush on San. But that's what it is, like a school crush. You were right that I was stupid. I don't love you because you're my best friend, you're my best friend because I love you. I’m in love with you." Normally such flowery words would make you cringe, but yours were genuine. He breathed out hard with his nose, brow furrowing, eyes flitting away from yours, down to your lips.

"That was part of the reason I was so upset last night. Yes, I felt heartbroken from seeing San with that girl, but I also felt horrible, because I wasn't nearly as upset as I thought I would be. I was just glad it wasn't you with some bleach blonde bitch. After I found out about my mother…I was really glad it was you that came over and not San." Wooyoung couldn't hold a giggle back, trying to keep his face serious, but he couldn't.

"And I'm glad my sister called you, that you came." You smiled purely, but his turned to a smirk, the arm not under your head curling around you. You gasped when he slid the last little bit closer, hitching your leg over his hip and grinding his hardening cock into you.

"You have ten second to tell me to get off, otherwise I'm fucking you stupid on this couch." You whimpered at his words, hands leaving his face and resting on his shoulders. You bucked your hips, causing him to let out a soft grunt.

"Stupid, huh?" You smirked back and you squeaked when he rolled on top of you, soft lips capturing your chapped ones. The kiss wasn't gentle, his tongue quickly invading your mouth, tasting every inch of your tongue, his strong thigh hitching hard against your mound. Sneaky hands snuck under the waist band of your shorts, fingers pressing hard into the flesh of your ass, pulling up against him, feeling the outline of his dick against your tummy. Wooyoung pulled back from the kiss, letting you catch your breath, a trail of saliva dripping down your chin. He kneeled over you, pulling his shirt off and chucking it across the room. You whimpered, your own sneaky hands stroking over the skin of his chest and abs, when had he been that built?

"Up." He ordered, and you sat up just enough for him to pull your shirt off, along with your sports bra underneath.

"Fuck!" You twitched as those sinful lips wrapped around your nipple, teeth nibbling the peak before moving to the next, then up. Finally, his trail of kisses stopped at your throat, and he sucked your skin between his teeth there. It was too high to hide, and he worked the skin nearly raw, leaving a large purple welt on your jaw.

"Ah!" You jerked under him when his hand dove under your shorts and panties, two fingers swiping through the slick of your folds.

"You’re already this wet for me, sweetheart?" Wooyoung chuckled in your ear, those two fingers not hesitating to plunge into you. The sudden intrusion took your breath away, the slight burn left your head swimming. He only pumped the digits maybe twice before retracting his hand, and instead shoving his fingers in his own mouth.

"Oh, fuck." He groaned, climbing off of you, then shoving you up the rest of the way on the couch, landing on it with his stomach. Your shorts and panties flew through the air, joining the rest of your clothes and he threw your legs over his shoulders. Your skin felt like it caught fire when his tongue wasted no time in wiggling inside your cunt. It was long and he knew how to work it, his nose brushing your clit as he drank from you like a thirsty dog.

"Woo-Wooyoung, god!" Your breath hitched, legs twitching around his head, that deft tongue leaving your core to circle your clit, those two fingers sinking into your heat once more. He pulled back, licking his lips, spread into a sinful grin.

"You taste so fucking good, sweetheart." He groaned, crooking his fingers up hard, battering your weak spot.

"W-w-wait!" Your orgasm was coming on fast, and his fingers kept up their antics as he laid over you again, nose nuzzling behind your ear.

"Cum for me, princess." He licked over the crest of your ear, and he chucked breathily as your cunt clenched and spasmed around his fingers, their wiggling spurring your orgasm along. You shuddered and heaved as he pulled out, and you flinched when the slick pad of his index finger lowered, swirling over your pucker.

"Huh?" Your back arched from the odd sensation, but he didn't go further than a few teasing brushes.

"Maybe later, I want to taste all of you. And I want to fuck you full of my cum there too." He sank his teeth into your earlobe, and you turned your head to the side submissively, whimpering.

"Oh, you're a good girl, huh?" His teeth scraped along the column of your exposed throat, your head twisting more to give him better access.

"Fuck, you're gonna feel so good on my cock, princess." Wooyoung groaned, scattering kisses over your neck, shoulders and throat as he wiggled to get his pants and boxers off. Hauling you back down the couch, he easily grabbed your thighs to lead you to wrap them around his middle. You sighed feeling the heat of hard cock slide through your folds, head swimming as the fat head prodded your entrance, then slid up.

"Wooyoung, please~!" You whimpered, wanting him to sear through you, craving the burning sting.

"You wanna know something, sunshine?"

"What?" He chuckled at your slightly slurred speech.

"I plan on railing you so hard you don’t even remember who San is." He hummed and you couldn't brace for his entrance, his fat cock filling you with a hard snap of his hips. Your back arched, breath forced out of you, chipped fingernails digging crescents into his back. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream, gummy walls spasming and fluttering around his cock, somehow the pain of him gouging into you threw you over the edge so quickly it made your clit sting too.

"God, fuck, Wooyoung!" You finally caught your breath enough to speak and he groaned long and deep.

"You're so fucking perfect, (Y/N). Oh, sweetheart, you're made for me!" He groaned a laugh, fading into a whine as the clenches faded with your orgasm. You felt like a truck hit you, vision blurry, lower half protesting at Wooyoung's brutal entrance, but you loved it. Your hips jumped again, cunt sucking him in further when he sat up more, pinning on of your knees to your shoulder, holding the other at his waist.

"Look at your cute pussy struggling to take me, huh?" He loved the sight of your tight core weeping around his cock, slick shining along his flesh and both of your inner thighs.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart~" He giggled, and your fingers gouged lines down the skin of his back as he started, pace immediately relentless, battering your cervix with the head of his dick. The hand at your thigh holding it to his side left, sliding down your body and gripping your ass.

"Hm, you like it, pretty girl? Like my fat cock?"

"Fuck, yes, Woo~" Your breath heaved, and you let out a delirious giggle, gasping and whining hard as his rapid pace barreled you through your third orgasm. Your cunt stung, but it was so good. You squealed when his hand left your butt, only to slap the skin hard, the sting travelling up your hip and into your thigh. He felt your walls grip him harder at the spank, so he did it again, harder.

"Oh, shit-" Your head lolled against the couch cushion, face and neck flushed, heaving for air. Your nails clawed down his chest to his stomach and he licked his lips at the sting.

"(Y/N), you're such a good girl, yeah? My good girl~"

"Y-yours!"

"Yes, sweetheart. All mine, oh, you're doing so good."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, princess. This pussy's so good too, welcoming my cock home?"

"Yeah!" You giggled, dumb on his cock and he hadn't even come once yet.

"Aw, love, can I cum inside? You on the pill, yeah? Let me paint you white, huh? Fuck you full of my cum, then flip you over and give you more?" He was laughing every few words, sounding almost a bit delirious himself. He had wanted to have you like that for so long, and he was going to fuck you on every surface in the place if he could.

"P-please!"

"Okay, I'm gonna then-" Wooyoung hummed, it faded to a groan, then with a few more stuttering thrusts, you felt heat blossom in your lower stomach. His cock pulsed as rope after rope of hot jizz filled you, a few drops leaking from where he split you open, leaving a mess on the couch. Your body jerked as his orgasm faded, you almost blacked out from your own. Your clit was throbbing, folds swollen and red, but he was still painfully hard.

~~~

"Hold on here." Wooyoung moved your hands to the mount of the shower head, and you wrapped your fingers around the metal pipe. Your toes curled as he entered you again, hot water hitting his back and dripping off of him onto you. Drops of cum hit the shower floor along with the water and he started to pound into you again. The water made the slaps of the skin of his pelvis against your butt and thighs all the louder, nearly muffling your soft whimpers and mewls. Your ass was red, covered in hand-shaped welts, thighs littered with hickeys and kiss-marks. His back, chest and stomach were covered in scratches, a bite-mark etched into his shoulder and a single hickey clung to his jawline. You weren't sure how long it had been since he first got inside you, but it had to have been hours ago. You had no idea where his stamina had come from, and your once burning cunt had more or less numbed to the sting of overstimulation, tiny orgasms shattering through you without warning or reason. You felt the wet strands of his hair on your shoulders as he leaned over you, hand cupping the underside of your breast, the other over your hands on the shower mount.

"Fuck, (Y/N), I love you. I love you so much." He kissed your shoulder, avoiding a sore-looking mark he had left.

"I-I love you t-t-too, Wooyoung-!" You heaved for air as another tiny climax shivered through you.

"Breathe baby, you gotta pace yourself, I still gotta fuck you stupid.” Wooyoung giggled and you just squeaked and mewled, since he already had.

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bornofsteelblood · 3 months ago

Text

Revelation: König/Kidnapped!reader

“We didn’t know she was yours!” your abductor wailed, belly writhing on the ground. König's eyes flashed with a sickening delight upon hearing those words. Yes, you were his and he was going to end this nightmare for the both of you.

Warnings: Heavy mentions of blood and gore, mentions of gunfire/weapons, mentions of knives, hostage situations, violence, angst, grief, descriptions of death, Reader insert, Protective!Konig. Big man is going through it.

Four months. You had been taken from him four months ago. Your current coordinates unknown to König. Endless nights of turmoil and guilt kept him up. He should have protected you better. He should have known this was a possibility. This was entirely his fault.

Three weeks. A video of you trembling, beaten and bloodied, had been anonymously sent to König three weeks ago. The Kortac base comm center was decommissioned for over a month due to the havoc wreaked upon it by his blinding rage. Computer screens were smashed into an unrecognizable heap of wires. Chairs and tables were ripped apart as if made of paper. A Glock knife had been stabbed repeatedly through the large monitor that hung on the wall; the same monitor that had showcased your distress.

Two days. The Colonel only needed two days to devise a plan to rescue you. While König was an expert at hostage negotiation, he had no intention to negotiate your release. For the first time since your disappearance, clarity had washed over him in a cold sweep as he recounted his strategy. The answer was simple and barbaric. He’d enter as the hooded executioner. Death and destruction brought upon your captors to splatter blood through their encampment. He’d hang them by their lower intestines from the rafters to admonish an event like this from happening again.

One hour. The helicopter was going to touch down in one hour. One hour until you were safe in his embrace. The few operators König had allowed to accompany him shuffled past to stock themselves with as much ammo as possible. He had taken down entire teams of terrorist on his own, he didn't need their help. They weren’t his comrades anymore; they were witnesses. Spectators to a situation that felt like a never-ending nightmare that involved putting you in harm's way. A harrowing fact that depleted his sanity the longer you were gone.

The parachute deployed swiftly to carry him down to where he believed you were being kept, like a large omen of death sweeping down from the sky. König landed with a heavy thud as he barked orders to the others. “No one leaves alive until I find her.” Nodding their compliance, the operators began a cacophony of gunfire that engulfed the small encampment. König drew his rifle from its holster on his back, his finger itching to pull the trigger. He wanted to be in the middle of the action instead of sniping from hundreds of meters away. Bearing witness to the carnage he was going to inflict on the men who had stolen you.

Rounding an abandoned truck, König crouched to assess the situation. His eyes flicked between his men and the target; a small hideaway that would go unnoticed by most. Bounding up to the door, König had no trouble forcing his way inside. Blinded by rage and vindication, he mowed down anyone who stood in his way of securing your freedom. High from the violence he could effortlessly commit, his malicious laughter rang out triumphantly as the butt of his gun shattered an unknown masked man's nose. He was hoping that you would recognize it and know that he was here to save you.

A single figure stood out amongst the sea of corpses, a familiar face. König recognized him to be the man who had dug the sharp blade of his knife across your cheek and forehead from your hostage video. “Wait..p-please! I’ll show you where she’s-” The camo-clad, smaller man begged for his life but was cut off by a vice grip on his throat. A single hand raised his feet from the floor to be at eye level with the terrifying masked man. The Colonel couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of this lesser being struggling for his life, feet kicking frantically against shin guards. His voice dropped to a dangerous growl “Beg for your life like you made her.”

Loosening his grip, your captor fell to the ground with a sickening snap of bone. “We didn’t know she was yours!” he wailed, belly writhing on the ground. König's eyes flashed with a sickening delight upon hearing those words. Yes, you were his and he was going to end this nightmare for the both of you. Raising the rifle, he fired two rounds into the man's left thigh to prevent him from getting up. “Stell dich deinem Tod, Abschaum.”

With a heavy kick to the shoulder, König planted his entire weight on the front of his clavicle to pin him to the ground. Your captor howled like a rabid dog and König was going to put him down like one. He aimed between the eyes and fired, a spray of blood showered against his mask.

Profuse apologies and reassurances loudly tumbled from the Colonels’ lips, hoping you could hear him and would answer back. His shoulder battered against the door that divided the two of you. It was too silent on your end. König swallowed his panic down and swung his leg back to kick squarely above the doorknob. The wood splintered and burst open under the force. “Stay with me, ja? You’ll be alright!” His blood ran cold as he kneeled over you, realizing you weren’t moving.

Your neck was twisted at a horrid angle and blood that had flowed from your mouth lay dry. Death had found you first. They mutilated your beauty into something unrecognizable. He couldn’t bring you out looking like that, it wasn’t right. It would draw sympathy that König couldn’t handle; their looks of empathy would break him. It would confirm that his worst fear, his endless nightmare, was now a bleak reality.

Had you spent your last moments in agony at the thought of your lover never rescuing you? König couldn’t breathe. His throat constricted so tightly he hoped the revelation of your death would stop his heart. Did you believe that he wasn’t coming to rescue you? You died thinking you weren’t loved.

König draped his mask softly over your face, a death shroud of his own making. He couldn’t bear to look at the destruction inflicted upon you. You’re body lay limp and cold in his arms while his boots trudged through the crimson-stained dirt. The other operators quickly shifted their eyes downward. It felt intrusive to gaze upon the sulking, lumbering god as he marched past. His eyes were distant and glazed over to match his expressionless face. Your body cradled against his chest. The helicopter ride back home was silent and bleak as König refused to put you down.

It became a whispered myth among privates, what the face of the dreadful Austrian resembled. No one from that day dared to recall what he looked like and he had outgrown any ridicule he felt towards his body. He could take the shame of a failed mission but not the emptiness it had brought with it.

After you were laid to rest, König decommissioned his infamous t-shirt mask. He now brought far superior helmets and masks into the field. That particular mask was a relic and the final object that you two had shared. It meant everything to him. He would hold it between his hands and rest his cheek against it to seek comfort during those guilt-ridden nights. Those nights when he swore his ribs were being crushed from the ache in his chest. Those nights filled with guttural sobs that hadn’t wracked his body since he was ostracized in grade school. While the mask was no longer implemented, he used it to gently wipe the sorrow off of his life.

Translation: Face your death, scum. - > Stell dich deinem Tod, Abschaum.

#König x reader #reader insert #König cod #König x you #liv writes #Only “sad” gif i could find of him lmfao #angst #König #könig call of duty #könig fanfiction #Updated that shit ass summary

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seat-safety-switch · 18 days ago

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In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the people who repair fences, and the people who let them fall apart. These are their stories.

When I moved into my house, the fence was in good condition. In case you're from a country that hadn't invented them yet, "fences" are an artificial construct of humanity meant to delineate the boundaries of property between two or more identical suburban houses. And, being part of your property, they are part of how you are perceived.

Here's the problem: fences are made out of flawed, human construction. Mine was (I think) made out of wood. When that wood rotted, the planks fell out, and maybe a couple posts stayed behind. Suddenly, passersby could see into my property, and see that I was not in fact a Good Person who was Trying Hard To Fit In. Not like themselves, who agonized over every missing flake of Home Depot Eggshell Blue on their own fences after a long, hard winter.

As things degraded further, with neighbourhood children wandering, confused, into my yard after not seeing any fence keeping them from doing so, by-law enforcement was summoned. The belief was that they would punish me for going against the grain, for letting my fence fall apart.

Unfortunately for them, my attorney, who spends most of his spare time writing erotic fan-fiction about our city's specific property-standards bylaws (don't ask to see them, they're really bad, and the main character is an obvious self-insert) was on the case. He actually made one of the bylaw managers quit rather than spend another hour on the phone with him. After all that stress, it turns out that while you can't have a bad-looking fence, you don't actually have to have a fence at all.

One delightful weekend of sledgehammers removed the last of the rotten planks and split posts, and my yard was now full of free-range 1970s shitbox Chryslers. A glorious moment for civilization.

Unfortunately, it didn't take long for me to realize exactly why fences are valuable: they keep the undesirable element out of your yard.

Only a few days after my triumph over the decline of mind-your-own-fucking-businessism, I noticed something strange in my yard. Tucked in amongst where I would normally have terrible cars, someone had parked a fully-intact Ford Galaxie, presumably thinking I wouldn't even notice. As if I could not give special attention to a vehicle that still has its hood and its trunk!

The haters won in the end: I was forced to go to Home Depot, that knurled-wood nest of knavery, and purchase the shittiest chain-link fence kit that I could find. No cost was too great to keep the Fordites away from my homestead, with their firestarting dodgy electrics and perfect paint.

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victorbutnotreally · 7 days ago

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Scream - Lee Know x Male Reader

A/N: This is intense, so if you're not comfortable with anything given in the warnings, i'll see you in the next fic <3

CNC/Consensual Non-Consent is communicated, and consented to beforehand.

warnings: boypussy!minho, CNC, role-play, mask kink (ghostface), knife play, threats (consensual), reader is a bit mean?, degradation, praise, unprotected sex, overstimulation, manhandling, rough sex, size difference, belly bulge, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, clit slapping (once), face slapping (once), dacryphilia, handcuffs, swearing, nicknames, established relationship, aftercare

You've done CNC before, but not like this.

Not this intense.

It all started with an innocent Halloween party…Minho dressed as a playboy bunny, and you as Geto Suguru. Both of your costumes were pretty low effort, but you can't deny you guys looked good. Especially Minho who looked absolutely delectable in a black latex babydoll with bunny ears and a pretty collar. When you got home, you still had the Ghostface mask someone handed you during hide-and-seek.

"Be really scary." "Fine, but only if I get to spoil you afterwards."

"I'll kick and scream but don't you dare stop, okay?"

The words rang in your head even on the way home. The words which made you leave the party early. Hell, you didn't even dance to conserve your energy.

As soon as you got home, you locked the front door shut and wearing your Ghostface mask, carried Minho over your shoulder. Minho, who was as light as a feather, as small as a kitten compared to your towering frame, kicked and screamed as he said he would. You heard him scream, and you could only smirk behind your mask. You trusted him to use his safe word if needed, and he trusted you to stop if he does.

You toss him onto bed and hovered over his small body, pinning his hands above his head. He looked at you in terror…god, he was such a good actor.

"P-Please…what are you doing? Let me go.."

"Let me go!!!", he yelled as you took out the knife you had as part of your Geto costume and pressed it against his throat. Thank god it was blunt.

"I'll slit your fucking throat if you make a sound", you said, lowering your voice to up the scare factor. He wanted scary, you'd give him scary.

Minho's eyes widened in feigned terror, although his heart was racing with excitement beneath his skimpy costume.

"Oh god oh god, please don't hurt me!" He whimpers loudly, tears welling up in his eyes for effect. "I-I have money! Take my money, just let me go!" Despite his pleading words, he arches his back as the cold blade pressed against his skin.

You toss the knife aside and grab both of his wrists in one large hand to pin them above his head while the other ran up his thighs, sliding the soaked panties to the side.

"I bet you're enjoying this, you slut." You spat, slapping his clit harshly, making him cry out.

"A-Ah please…no," his protests start to turn unconvincing as he bucks his hips upward.

He squirms and writhes under your grip, face flushed and chest heaving. Despite his protests, his dripping arousal is evident, juices glistening on his inner thighs.

"You're hurting me! This isn't what I wanted!" He cries out, voice cracking. He tries to clamp his legs shut but you easily part them further. "Please, I'll do anything, just don't do this! I'm begging you!"

He played it well. You almost felt bad. But you remind yourself that this is what he wanted. You knew he'd use his safe word, and that was all the reassurance you needed to proceed.

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want, you whore."

You say in the same lowered tone. You release his wrists only to cuff it with the handcuffs you grabbed from your nightstand drawer. Your hand which was now free from holding Minho's wrists went to wrap around his neck, putting light pressure, making him gasp and cry as you took off the lace panties and inserted two fingers in, scissoring roughly while your thumb pushed back the hood of his pussy and rubbed harshly against the extremely sensitive clit, making his milky, plush thighs shake and squirm.

Minho thrashes and bucks wildly as your long fingers invade his sopping cunt, scissoring roughly, thumb abusing his aching clit. Tears stream down his flushed cheeks, drool escaping the corner of his mouth as choked sobs spill forth.

"No! Aahh! S-Stop! You're r-ruining me!" He wails pitifully, even as he clenches greedily around the pumping digits. The handcuffs clink as he yanks fruitlessly at the restraints, only to spread his legs wider for your harsh touch.

"Am I? Good." Your tone was harsh, and you could see Minho fighting back a smile.

He was in heaven. Not being able to see your handsome face and hear your actual voice made the fear factor go up exponentially, but it was just as arousing since he knew that it was none other than his beloved boyfriend.

"I'll ruin you, you slut. I'll fucking do that."

Just as those words went past your lips, Minho came undone, sobbing as an intense orgasm took over him.

"You say you don't like this, but you're cumming so fast."

Tears run down his face as he looks up at you with glazed, half-lidded eyes. You reach out, breaking character for a second to run your thumb over his cheek.

"That's a good little slut," you whispered, pulling out your fingers and licking them clean. But you didn't intend to stop there. You undo your pants and boxers, revealing your erection. You gasped as the cold air hit your warm skin. "Let's see how well you can take dick."

"It won't fit! You'll tear me apart!" Minho whines, a pretty pout on his glossy lips. Despite his arousal, he finds himself shutting his quivering thighs, playing into the act. And god how you wanted to kiss those pouty lips you loved so much. But you were enjoying this too much, a big part because of how pleasured Minho looked from this.

"Shut up, whore."

You say harshly, slapping him across the face. You throw his pretty thighs open forcefully with your hand, gazing at the glistening folds through your mask before sliding your dick in, the process easy due to the arousal fluid as well as the previous orgasm's remnants on Minho's pussy.

"So fucking tight, little bunny."

Minho lets out a whimper as your cock spears into his tight heat, stretching him wide. His velvety walls clench and spasm around the invading thickness, moans and curses slipping past his plush lips. Tears run freely down his contorted face as he throws his head back, dark hair splayed across the pillow. His feet flex and toes curl from the intensity.

"P-Please…too big…gonna break me…"

"Stop resisting or it'll hurt more." You say menacingly as you thrust in roughly, every thrust making a bulge in Minho's belly, visible through the tight latex babydoll. He looked so pretty like this, his little hands reaching out to touch you but not being able to because of the restraints.

He whimpered between ragged breaths, squeezing his eyes shut. The brutal pounding of your cock is merciless, each thrust sending waves of excruciating bliss crashing through him. A wet squelch echoed with each snap of your hips, his pussy drenched and gaping around the invading shaft.

You wrap your hand around his throat, moving the index and middle fingers past his lips.

"Y-You fucking whore. Made for taking dick," you groan between thrusts. The words and your relentless abuse of his g-spot made way for the second orgasm which was signalled by his walls clenching around your cock, milking it for all its worth.

"Cumming already like a bitch in heat and you have the fucking nerve to resist me."

His tongue swirls around your fingers obediently, his loud screams muffled by them as he came again. His whole body seizes up, back bowing off the bed. His vision blurred by tears, he looks up at you again, knowing you won't stop.

You smile behind the mask, wanting to kiss his pretty face, but thrusting regardless. You bring his legs up, throwing them over your shoulders as you slam in with more force. Your grip on his thighs was bruising, and the sight of your large hands on his thighs made him clench around you. The assault on his senses made Minho let out the prettiest, most pathetic sounds. You could tell he was sensitive from the two orgasms, but you also knew he had good endurance.

His legs bring you in closer, heels rubbing against your back as he tried to stay still. His tiny hands fist at the sheets the best he could with the cuffs still on. Your thumb rubs at his clit and he bucks his hips, his walls fluttering and clenching around you.

"F-Fuck…"

You felt your climax approaching as your thrusts grew erratic.

"Gonna fucking breed your cunt. Show the whole world who owns you."

He makes a sound between a sob and a moan at your words, mumbling unintelligible protests in a weak attempt to stay in character, but his body screamed otherwise as yet another orgasm overtook him. Tears ran freely down his cheeks as he squeezed your back with his legs. As if on cue, you climaxed as well, riding out your high as you moved in and out of his heat weakly. His small frame trembles beneath yours, slick juices dripping down his thighs as he's pumped full of cum. He pants, not a single thought behind his eyes as his walls flutter around your softening member.

You pull out slowly, watching the beautiful sight of his pussy coated in cum and arousal, dripping wet and fluttering. You remove your mask, pulling your clothes up to wipe the sweat from your face. You pulled him onto your lap and wrapped your arms around his waist, taking off his babydoll and pulling him close to your chest.

"Baby?" Your voice was tender, a stark contrast to the menacing tone from earlier.

"Hm?" Minho melts into the embrace, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent. He looks at you, a contented smile playing on his lips. "You did such a good job, Mnie," he giggled softly, pressing a kiss to your pulse before continuing. "You scared me half to death and filled me up so well."

"And you did such a good job taking it, darling," you say, kissing his forehead. You wiped his tears and kissed his soft cheeks, a protective instinct taking ahold of you as you see how tiny he is in your arms.

"My pretty baby…my Minnie did so well, hm?"

A warm blush spread across his cheeks at your praise, his heart swelling with affection. "I try," he said, trying to be demure and modest, bringing a fond smile to your lips. You kiss his lips for the first time since you came home, humming at the taste of his chocolate lip gloss.

"I love you baby," you say, looking at him adoringly. He smiled. He would get so overwhelmed by the look in your eyes sometimes, whether it be tender or intense. You nuzzle his nose, tilting your head to give him another little kiss on the lips.

"I'll run a bath for you, okay princess?"

"I want burgers afterwards."

"And curly fries, I know."

#lee know x male reader #lee minho x male reader #lee know x top male reader #lee minho x top male reader #top!dom!m!reader #sub!skz #sub lee know #CNC lee know #lee know x male reader smut #lee minho x male reader smut #lee know x male reader cnc #mask kink lee know #lee minho knife play #bp!skz #bp! lee know #boy pussy lee know #stray kids x male reader #stray kids x top male reader

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fatguarddog · 8 months ago

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Welcome to The FuckPig Factory, a den a pleasures where you can spend some time teasing, stuffing and fucking our range of eager piggies 🐽

All our pigs are made to wear form fitting body suits to show off their bodies, with double zippers for access. We also keep them in cute piggy hoods and springy piggy tail plugs inserted into their rears so they know exactly what they are. You may remove these during your time with your pig of choice, but we ask that you keep them on in any of our mirrored rooms, as pigs should see themselves for what they are 🐽

During your stay with us, you can book out one of our many luxurious rooms and one or more piggies depending on your desires. We offer rooms ranging from plush, decadent bed spreads, to dungeons, to more funnel-based feeding chambers, though a range of equipment and gear can be added to any room at your request. Should your session include a feeding, you may select from our Stuffings and Slops menu, taking into concern any dietary requirements your piggy may have 🐽

Our piggies come in a range of sizes from smaller starter pigs to full blown hogs. Whatever you prefer, we'll make sure you have a wonderful time treating or being treated by one of our professional pigs. Limits will be discussed before your session to maximise your pleasure during your alloted time and to make sure you're paired with the right pig for you. Not all of our piggies are gainers or stuffers, some simply enjoy being played with as pigs and having their body fat admired, while others will be more than happy to be fed by you until they reach their limit. Some piggies like dirty talk and having back and forth with you, others prefer to be immersed in their roles and will only communicate in grunts, moans and oinks 🐽

Whatever your wants, we're sure we can find the perfect piggy for your stay here at The FuckPig Factory 🐽

#hutch posts #idk just thinking about a fat piggy brothel i guess #weight gain #stuffing #stuffed piggy #piggy teasing #pig girls #pig boys #fat piggy #getting fat on purpose #need to be fatter #the fatter the better #wg kink #wg fiction #wg story

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literallyjusttoa · 11 months ago

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If y'all are ever feeling down and sad, you should try this quick and easy solution:

Make Lester You!!!

And I don't mean regular old kinning and projection. No, I'm talking just inserting a whole bunch of your features onto Lester for fun. I know we have a description of him from the books but Lester is our fav king of delusion so we can just pretend he made it up idk. Here let me give you an example. Today I did a quick semi-realistic study to pin down the facial features of my God-type Apollo:

Here's all the reasoning I had behind his design

Long straight nose is common for Greeks + it's meant to make the face have a bit of a bird-ish shape. This is a trait he shares with Athena.

Hooded eyes double for intimidation factor and pretty boy status, plus sunbeam eyelashes for extra flair.

A bit of a more pronounced bottom lip (for dramatic pouting)

Softer curl pattern, similar to clouds (A bit straighter than his dad’s, Cumulonimbus vs. Stratus)

NOSE RING! Cannot believe I hadn't added this before it's perfect.

Mid-range face shape, not round but not too long either. Again, going for a pretty and masculine look. I don't want to make him too angular, so I tried to round out his face to contrast the sharper lines of his eyes and nose.

Now, here's the study I did for normal-type Apollo

(It's a bit messier I had to do it quick sry)

And what's the reasoning behind this one?

...

IT'S ME I TOOK A WHOLE BUNCH OF MY FACIAL FEATURES AND I SAID THESE ARE LESTER'S NOW THIS IS CANON AND RICK AGREED AND SO I AM RIGHT

Anyways try out this fun hack it'll change your life I swear.

#trials of apollo #toa apollo #lester papadopoulos #sunny speaks #apollart #I'm not sure about how the lester one came out but idk if that's just bc I did it quick or bc I have some deep rooted insecurities lmao #He is Me #I am Him #Lester is my final form #thank you for coming to my TED Talk

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hometoursandotherstuff · 10 months ago

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The real estate ad says this gorgeous 1927 Spanish Colonial in San Antonio, Texas is a great opportunity to restore an historic home. But, I hope it doesn't mean that someone will come along to gut and modernize this nearly 100% original home. I would rather just repair and paint the amazing 4bd, 2ba, 3.5ba building and leave the architecture as it is. Let's go thru it.

Isn't this entrance hall fabulous? Original double doors that need refinishing, floral tile floors and wrought iron inserts on the windows, plus wrought iron gates. Also an original light fixture and door chime.

The dramatic, huge iron gates open to the great room.

Behold the great room. Original tile floors, columns, arches, a balcony, and a mezzanine. The wrought iron on the left show the stairs. And, the gold corbels in the corners are so beautiful.

These 2 photos show the umbrella shape of the incredible ceiling with corbels in each corner. I can picture someone taking all the iron down and lowering the ceiling, making it flat.

Off the great room, they must've had a game room and it looks like they left a vintage pool table. The ceiling needs repair, the walls need touch up and paint. The floor could use a sanding and refinish.

The wonderful chunky old pool table is hiding the fireplace, and there's a fabulous one behind it. Love the curve and shape of the ceiling.

Off the game room is a dining room. Again, it will need a few tweaks. But, the doors, wrought iron, etc., are in good shape. The brass fixture is original but may have to be rewired and polished.

The owners put in new appliances but I would sell them, then buy the retro look ones.

I love the kitchen. It needs some tile repair and stuff, but it's mostly original, especially the cabinets and the range hood. You know someone's gonna gut this and completely modernize it.

Oh, damn, looks like that one iron inset is broken. Up here on the mezzanine the beautiful railing has to be repainted or stripped.

It's so nice up here.

Looking down at the great room. Love this house so much.

This must be a bedroom and that's probably the "closet" behind the drapes. Look like there's a balcony, too.

Cute smaller room.

Look at this wonderful vintage bath. Toilet's new, but you can see the outline of the old one. There's an original sink and medicine chest.

And, this would be the 3rd bd.

Oh, look at this- original tub. The pedestal sink looks like a good repro and at least some of the tile is original. There's also a shower on the right.

I would say that this large room with the fireplace is the primary bedroom. Beautiful.

What a great big outdoor space to entertain. It's covered and on each wall is a lantern light- can you imagine how pretty they would look at night?

Lovely fenced yard. You can see the bedroom balconies, too. Could probably fit a pool back here. The lot is 9,060 sq. ft.

From here you can see that it has a port cochere and a garage. Also, above is that wonderful covered deck.

#spanish colonial #old house dreams #fixer upper #houses #house tours #home tour

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iventilation · 1 year ago

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How To Instal Range Hood?

youtube

#Under Cabinet Range Hoods #Wall Mount Range Hood #Ductless Range Hood #Chimney Range Hood #Downdraft Range Hood #Outdoor Range Hood #Shaker Range Hood | Shaker Wood Range Hood #Brass Range Hood #Range Hood Light Bulbs #Insert Range Hoods #Ceiling Mount Range Hood #fotile range hood #range hood at home depot #range hood best #range hood at lowes #range hood black #Youtube

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naffeclipse · 10 months ago

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Just out of curiosity, what started this hyper fixation with naga/snakes in the first place? 👀

To be fair, I kinda avoided the whole snake AU, bc I somewhat fear snakes. Even though, I held one, just to over come my fears >< But seeing/reading all those stories, I'm slowly finding them less scary, sorry for rambling in the end ;w;

I don't blame you for fearing snakes! My dad is terrified of them, and I was bitten by one as a kid. I was full-on sobbing because I thought the "venom" was going to kill me, but it was just a little garden snake. But, of course, I was fine; the little puncture marks didn't even bleed for five minutes.

As for what started it, I just think they're neat *insert me holding a naga like a potato*

I think they have a lot of possibilities and I love their appearance along with the ways monsters in general can be explored. Nagas offer a fascinating range of abilities such as venom, hypnotism/charm, strength, the particular hiss they can conjure, the many beautiful ways their scales can take form along with additional features like hoods and fangs, what habitats they thrive in, and—not to mention—the particular way they can attack or show affection. I think they scratch that same itch that mermaids do for me in that they're human on top but have a signature appendage/body below the waist that directly affects how they interact with the world. The way a naga cuddles and holds (or even frightens) their human significant other with their coils is especially engaging to me.

I think a lot of this goes along with my fascination with monsters/creatures/robots/other beings. There are so many ways to explore another being sharing a connection with a human and I think that's beautiful.

#missdreamyhead #naff nuh huh

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chic-a-gigot · 9 months ago

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Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 9, vol. 19, 28 février 1897, Paris. 18. Toilettes de cérémonie. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

(1.) Toilette de mariée en satin. Jupe à traîne ronde, garnie devant d’un volant de mousseline de soie, surmonté d’un cordon de fleurs d’oranger, remontant en quille sur les côtés, corsage froncé devant, croise à partir de la taille garni d’un cordon de fleurs d'oranger terminé par un bouquet. Ceinture drapée. Manches froncées dans toute la longueur, recouvertes du haut par deux volants mousseline de soie, col droit et ruche. Voile de tulle de soie et diadème de fleurs d’oranger, gants suede blanc.

(1.) Satin bridal ensemble. Skirt with round train, trimmed in front with a silk chiffon ruffle, topped with a cord of orange flowers, going up in a keel on the sides, gathered bodice in front, crosses from the waist trimmed with a cord of orange blossoms finished with a bouquet. Draped belt. Full-length gathered sleeves, covered at the top by two silk chiffon ruffles, straight collar and ruffle. Silk tulle veil and orange flower tiara, white suede gloves.

Matér.: 20 m. satin, 2 m. mousseline de soie.

—

(2.) Toilette en bengaline gris nickel et entre-deux dentelle. Jupe ronde, garnie d’entre-deux, disposés en seconde jupe. Corsage blouse froncé à la taille, garni d’entre-deux. Ceinture suissesse en pointe, col droit en velours rubis, collerette de dentelle. Manches garnies d’entre-deux avec petits ballons bien enlevés. Chapeau feutre gris orné dentelle blanche, velours gris, plumes et aigrette blanches.

(2.) Ensemble in nickel gray bengaline and lace insert. Round skirt, garnished with in-betweens, arranged as a second skirt. Blouse bodice gathered at the waist, trimmed with inserts. Swiss point belt, straight collar in ruby velvet, lace collar. Sleeves trimmed with small balloons well removed. Gray felt hat decorated with white lace, gray velvet, white feathers and egret.

Matér. : 15 m. de bengaline, 0m50 velours.

—

(3.) Toilette en moire brodée noire. Jupe ronde unie, montée à fronces derrière. Corsage blouse en bengaline jaune orange en serré daus une haute ceinture-corselet en satin noir, petit figaro très court garni de deux rangs de dentelle. Manches unies avec petit drapé dans le haut, volant au bas. Capote de jais ornée de dentelle et chrysanthèmes.

(3.) Black embroidered moire ensemble. Plain round skirt, gathered with gathers at the back. Blouse bodice in orange-yellow bengaline tightly fitted with a high corselet belt in black satin, very short little figaro trimmed with two rows of lace. Plain sleeves with small drape at the top, ruffle at the bottom. Jet hood decorated with lace and chrysanthemums.

Matér.: 15 m. de moire, 0m50 satin. 5 m. dentelle.

#Le Petit écho de la mode #19th century #1890s #1897 #on this day #February 28 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #description #Forney #dress #bridal #veil #gigot #collar

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phrynefishersfrocks · 1 year ago

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Hats & Hairpieces Recap

Season Two

Phryne wears a total of 36 hats and hairpieces throughout the second season, nine more than the 27 items in the first season. Her headwear ranges jeweled hair slides to elegant cloches to feathered headbands. The clear favorite of both this season and overall is her breaking and entering cat burglar beret with sixteen uses - ten of which are in season two alone. Coming in second is her linen detective hat, with seven uses this season and fourteen appearances overall.

1.Spanish Hat - A traditional Spanish hat in black felt with a wide brim and black ribbon hatband - 2x01, 2x01

2. Hello Jack - Blue straw hat with a curved brim, and antique ash-brown, blue, and black feathers attached to the black hatband - 2x01

3. Burlesque Headpiece - Spiral headpiece adorned with strands of glass beads - 2x01

4. Sequined Headpiece - Headpiece made in-house by the costume team stringing sequins onto very fine pieces of wire - 2x01, 2x01

5. Cemetery Hat - Black straw with green and white feather detail - 2x01, 2x02, 2x06 (base seen in 1x13)

6. Cat Burglar Beret - Classic black French beret made in a circular fashion - 2x01, 2x03, 2x04, 2x05, 2x05, 2x06, 2x07, 2x11, 2x12, 2x12 (also 1x05, 1x05, 1x06, 1x09, 1x10, 1x10)

7. Tan Straw Hat - Finely woven straw hat with a modest brim and brown ribbon trim with a matching wide hatband - 2x01

8. Grey Summer Hat - Grey straw hat with blue overtones, organza petal detail and pearl decoration - 2x02

9. Beaded Headband - Black headband with black beaded detail - 2x02

10. Detective Hat - Tan linen wide-brimmed hat dyed to match her car coat - 2x02, 2x03, 2x04, 2x06, 2x07, 2x10, 2x12 (also 1x02, 1x02, 1x04, 1x06, 1x08, 1x09, 1x13)

11. Spiral Hair Slides - Jeweled spiral hair combs - 2x03 (also 1x12)

12. Beach Holiday Hat - Cream straw hat with pink and white silk organza band and button - 2x03

13. Beach Sunhat - Cream wide brim summer hat with raffia embroidery detail - 2x03, 2x03

14. Harlequin Hat - White felt with original Victorian twisted raw silk trim, osprey feathers, silkworm thread, and velvet bind with crystal buttons that match the coat - 2x04

15. White Felt with Bronze Motif Hat - Cream felt hat with bronze period flower motifs and hand-painted ‘pearlized’ beads - 2x04, 2x07 (also 1x05, 1x07, 1x12)

16. Pearl Headdress - Silver headdress made with glass beads and pearls - 2x04

17. Pom-Pom Hat - Plum felt hat with a 1920's silk pom-pom, navy vintage feathers, and antique navy ribbon - 2x05, 2x08

18. French Navy Hat - Antique silk moire band with buttons on a French Navy felt hat - 2x05

19. Showstopper Headband - Yellow feather pom-pom attached to a black headband - 2x05

20. Navy Velvet Hood with Tassel - Lucious navy velvet with silk satin insert and tassel - 2x06 (also 1x03, 1x07)

21. Red Flower Cloche - Burgundy red felt with cut out flowers and feather detailing - 2x07 (also 1x01, 1x01, 1x02, 1x04, 1x04, 1x05, 1x06, 1x09)

22. Red Felt Circle Hat - Red felt hat with black, red, and cream felt interlocking circles set on matching ribbons - 2x07 (also 1x05)

23. Racing Cap - Tan leather driving cap with metal guides at the sides to hold googles in place - 2x07

24. Leopard Print Cloche - Cream cloche with leopard spots, thin black ribbons holding cream and black feathers - 2x08

25. Maroon Day Hat - Deep pink felt hat with a pom-pom decoration of colorful modern and antique feathers - 2x08

26. Hollywood Felt - Chartreuse felt hat with pink velvet hat band, pink and black feather detail and bronze leaf - 2x09

27. Golden Girl Headpiece - Antique metal leaf with diamantes and black feathers - 2x09

28. Blue Feather Cloche - 1960's navy felt hat modified into a cloche, with 1920's feather band added - 2x09

29. Director's Hat - Green felt fedora with a matching hatband - 2x09

30. Vineyard Hat - Hat quality felt with green and black antique feathers with a black hatband and crystal button - 2x10

31. Radio Station Hat - Pink felt hat with brown hatband and a variety of colored feathers - 2x11

32. Green Velvet Hood - Green velvet hat with green silk organza insert - 2x11

33. Butterfly Hair Slide - Jeweled hair slide with a butterfly shape in the center and two loops extending to either side - 2x11

34. White Cloche with Grey Swirl - White felt cloche with icy grey velvet swirls - 2x12

35. Dr. Zhivago Fur Hat - White faux fur circular hat with felt insert - 2x13, 2x13

36. Christmas Party Headband - Dyed orange and black feathers with a 'nest' and small egg-like bead inside - 2x13

Hat and headpiece photos from the official Pinterest, official Facebook, Screencapped.net, Alekino Plus (now defunct) and various sources (x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x).

#hat recap #season two #miss fisher's murder mysteries #mfmm #phryne fisher #phryne fisher's frocks #hat photos

87 notes · View notes

ineylesian · 2 years ago

Text

DISPOSABLE YOU.

— PHILLIP GRAVES X FEM! READER

AO3 / MASTERLIST / ‘TIS THE SEASON MASTERLIST

WORD COUNT / 5.7k

SUMMARY / after a particularly substandard mission, you discover the truth behind shadow company and shepherd. however, you could never truly bring yourself to let graves go, unless he was gone forever.

WARNINGS / angst, canon typical violence, hurt, no comfort, smut, shower sex, crying/heavy shame, biting, scratching, wall sex, unprotected p in v.

AUTHOR’S NOTE / the angst will never end fellas ,, okay this was a lil rushed bc i forgot about it but who cares!!

JULY 15TH, 2022.

AL MAZRAH CENTRAL.

“Visual on General Ghorbrani.”

“Copy. All stations, target confirmed.”

Sand shuffled amongst the drag of your foot, pocketing heat at ridge’s edge. The scope of your rifle lowered, settling against chips of tan erosion while your hands rose, unclipping a strap on your chest. A pair of binoculars sat firmly against your nose bridge, a quiet click marking the general where he stood.

“Target marked.”

“Shadow-1, you are cleared hot for launch.”

You flicked the rim of your scope towards the staggered formation not far off from the assembly, receiving a swift shine from Ghost’s scope not long after.

“Might want to back up a little, Ghost.”

A soft grunt followed your advisement, the light of his scope disappearing into the shadows.

“Send it.”

“All stations, missile is ready for immediate delivery. Stand by for launch.”

The ground shifted at the adrenalized drop of Graves’ countdown, painting the horizon ahead a brilliant orange. Your spare hand rose up to shield your eyes from the smoking glare, peaking out from the cracks in your fingers to bear witness to the flaming ordnance. Heading on perfect timing.

Drifting downward to the near-barren stretch of target land, you focused in on the sight of a large mass of soldiers gathered around one of the dealer trucks, heads whipped in the direction of the missile. Setting your binoculars against your face, you zoomed in, once, twice, impatiently blinking dust out of your eyes in hope of an opening.

Of course it wouldn’t be this easy.

“Shit, all stations.” You threw the binoculars to the ground, fumbling for your rifle. “The enemy is in possession of flares.”

“Repeat your last, Bravo 0-7.”

Click, one cartridge in the chamber.

“I repeat, the enemy has flares.”

Click. Two tugs on the safety. The rifle kicked up to rest on your knee, the less hazed eye settling against the scope. Three hard presses on the trigger and you leaned back, teeth grit in frustration at the sight of your bullets disappearing amidst heatwaves.

“Can’t connect, the flares are gonna go!” Your vocals were unstable, lip trembling in the slightest. “They’re getting ready to exfil, black caravan.”

“Affirmative, setting a-“

Comms melded into mere static as the plain ahead leveled, blowing wild sparks against cyclones of sand. You dropped your rifle, tugging what little spare cloth your hood could provide over your face. Even still, blistering tendrils weaved past the thickness of your guard, sinking into your pores, lacerating every opening above your chin.

“GHOST?” Your words were caught on fabric, coughing out mouthfuls of the desert with each breathed. “TELL ME YOU PLANTED THAT TRACKER!”

“IT’S SET. THEY’RE HEADING FOR THE CITY.”

You sighed, spitting a coat of sand out before knotting the ends of your hood over your mouth. A pair of desert eagle goggles slipped up to suction around your eyes, finally allowing your eyes enough clearance to clip your rifle to your side.

“Heading there now.”

Al Mazrah Central, just half a klick out. About a five minute ride if you hurried.

A quiet beep rang out at the insertion of your key in the ignition. Low gas, and a popped tire.

Your foot slammed against the pedal regardless, the rear tires kicking up a bout of sand before turning. Grit from the flare’s encounter was still evident in the atmosphere, forcing you to drive nearly blind, consistently driving over jagged rocks that stuttered your movement.

This had to be the worst situation, yet, there was no time to wait for help. You had to make it to the city, fast. Limit panic, keep citizen casualties low. Shut this operation down yourself.

The internal timer in your head was relentless, just clicking past the 5th minute. Heading the final sputter of your engine, you threw yourself to the ground, glancing to the flat surfaced city, just in view.

“L/n, how copy?”

“Five minutes outside of the city. Where’s the target?”

Your breathing was strained, voice chipper and hoarse. The heat was eating away at your energy, fueling your limbs with a sear that made each waking step a tug of war.

“Just entered the city. You’re on good time.”

“Not good enough.” Shepherd’s voice cut through the line, cutting Ghost’s praise before it stuck. “You won’t make it in time, L/n. I’m sending reinforcements.”

“Don’t.” You spat back, flipping open a pocket of your belt. “We’re not destroying this damn city, General.”

A fresh wave of air cleared your lungs as you stuck a stim into your shoulder, shuddering at the return of blood flow to your legs.

“I’ll make it.”

You passed the city’s border just a minute later, near perfect timing. The stench of blood had stuffed the air, rising in hand with the echo of screams just a street up. Civilians stood plastered to the sidewalk, eyes trembling in sight of the weapon hanging off of your waist.

“They stopped, L/n. Hurry up.”

A half-curved smile was sent to cowering children as you tucked your gun under your coat, pointing to any adults in sight, and directing a wave to the city’s outskirts. The shuffle of frenzied feet passed by in waves of panic, allowing you enough cover to slip into the nearest alleyway. Scaling the railings of an apartment complex, you moved along a chain of roofs, stopping at the perimeter of the city’s center. Directly parallel to the black caravan identified earlier.

Your approach was silent, every shift of your eyes against the lens calculated, wasting not a second in search. Amongst whizzing bullets and blood curdling screeches, you shifted to the side, centering in on the general. Tough angle, but you’d be able to do it.

Five seconds passed, an opening forming with each step in your direction.

Three, two, one..

Shit.

Numerous pairs of eyes shot up, locking with you. Your window was gone as soon as it came, frightened mumbles passing guards’ lips whilst they covered Ghorbrani.

That’s when you heard the rotary blades. Closer every second, heavier than a buzzard. You could tell.

“Shepherd, the fuck are you doing?” You yelled, throwing your rifle up against your shoulder. “I TOLD you I had this under control!”

“You missed your chance, solider. Good luck.”

Bastard. He’d switched you to a private channel last second. Calculated it from the start, the second you called the flares. Sure had you fooled.

You glanced up to the approaching aircrafts, spotting a gleaming patch of silver on the tail of each. Augusta’s, perfectly sized to hold bombs.

A string of curses followed your descent to a lower portion of the city, just barely in sight of Ghorbrani. Your corrupted comms unit was tossed to the ground, replaced swiftly by a spare whilst you plugged in an override, tapping into Shadow Company’s alpha lines.

There was still hope.

“Graves! You need to call these guys off, now. They’ll kill hundreds.”

Silence clashed against heavy breathing, leaving your ears only to the sound of apprehending gunfire and foreign orders. Heightened exasperation fanned over your skin, searing your fingertips as they weaved through the rooftops.

“I know you’re there. Don’t do this.”

You thought he’d be the last person to allow this. Everything about Shepherd’s orders— the innocent casualties, complete destruction.. total annihilation. This was an act of war.

You knew it. Graves knew it. Shepherd knew it.

“Just get out of there, L/n. Don’t go dyin’ on me.”

It was unusual, his tone. Leveled, unwavering, entirely unsympathetic. Not a single syllable carrying remorse. Made you want to hunch over and vomit.

This was not what he stood for. What you stood for.

Your mind was fuzzy, devoid of rational thought. His voice echoed through your ears, persistently numbing, flaring your eyes with warm streaks of panic. The impact of your boots against the ground seemed miles away, the swipe of your knife against armored flesh driven by blind rage — devoid of the right to protect your own life.

Each swing was messy, further coating your face with blood at the succession of elimination. You swung over and over, only dropping the last guard’s body when it was too unstable to remain upright.

Ghorbrani was yours. Cowering between the drape of shadows and shine of sun, eyes stricken with fear at the sight of you. And he saw evil. Yet, nothing nearly as maleficent as his planned fate.

The clasp of his fingers against his coat was cut short by the lunge of your hand, sending a throwing knife into the center of his chest at wind breaking velocity. The slump of his body drew a sigh from your mouth, turning towards the city’s center. The hatch under the tail had just started to open, further up, a soldier waving his arms erratically in your direction.

Your attention was dragged away by the rise of dust beside you, eyes widening in the slightest at an overlap of smaller blades against the wind. You looked up, breath hitching at the sight of a buzzard hovering just 40 feet above. A gloved hand stuck out of the pilot’s window, waving at the freshly unclipped ladder falling toward you.

Relief washed over your features at the turn of his hand, revealing a thin pattern of white stretched over the fingers.

“GET IN! WE DON’T HAVE MUCH TIME.”

You lunged for the ladder, managing to grasp the very last rung before being jolted up into the air. A pained scream followed a harsh blast of scorching air from below, forcing your body to flip upward in pure desperation, boots hooking around the rungs above.

A strangled yell seeped up your throat, pooling out dry, painfully quiet, yet excruciatingly loud internally. Your hands cupped against bleeding ears, sanded eyelashes opening a fraction in witness to the desolate landscape below. A crater sat in place of a once flourished city, hundreds of innocent lives smoking against the corrupt handful in a sickening trail of grey and black.

Your gaze sat idle, watching Shadow Company’s aircrafts fly until you were the only traffic left. It was then that your eyes dropped, grazing over the apprehending hands of Laswell, patting you over in search of injury.

“How are you feeling?”

Furious was the initial word. Maybe something worse if you took a moment. Even then, you felt boiling anger at the reminiscence of Shadow Company, Shepherd, Graves. Laswell shared a similar look, eyes creasing in silent frustration, forearms shaking in meditation of what would come next.

“I’ll get over it.”

Ghost huffed, low, softly calling you out. Laswell offered an apologetic nod, chucking her earpiece to the side before unpocketing her phone.

“I’ll call John. Hopefully we’ll be able to lay low until this cools off.”

AUGUST 27TH, 2022.

A SMALL BASE ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF TARTUS, SYRIA.

“Bloody Hell, Garrick. You’re carrying yourself out of here.”

The air was heavy, warm, comfortably suffocating. Gaz had just finished his third shot, sliding his glass away with a disoriented groan before placing his head in his hands.

“Think I can’t handle it, Captain?”

His inquiry was answered by a small huff from his side, quirking your eyebrows up in amusement. Laswell sighed, plucking Gaz’s discarded drink from his reach at the extend of his forearm.

“I know you can’t, Kyle.”

“Bloody Hell. What are you, my mom?”

His eyes swiped from Laswell’s to yours, widening in the slightest. A silent plead for help. You shrugged, kicking his leg under the table when he slammed his head against the surface.

“You’re pissed, already.”

“I’m not-“

“Sergeant, over here.”

The call was soft, turning your head to a dim corner not far off from the celebration. You patted Gaz’s shoulder before setting your drink down, moving to lean against the table Ghost sat perched at. At the wave of his hand, you slid in the seat opposing him, watching him down the last of his bourbon before pulling his mask back down.

“Shepherd called.” He began, dark gaze rising to hold your own. “Shadows’ exfil was shot down, looks like they’ll be staying for dinner.”

“Christ…” You mumbled, rubbing a hand over your temple. “You serious?”

“Dead.”

Your clothes felt itchy, too tight over your skin. Dealing with Shadow Company on your previous mission had been hard enough as it is. Especially when it came to Graves.

All but five words had been spoken between the two of you that mission.

“L/n.”

Everything okay?

“L/n? Hello?”

Fine. Focus on the mission.

“Hey.” Firm hands had set themselves on your shoulders, reviving your consciousness with a harsh shake. “They’re here.”

…affirmative, sergeant.

You were gone the second Ghost said it. Sliding a hood over your head, heading for the hallway breaking off to your room.

“Going somewhere?”

A hand clasped around the doorway shielding you from your escape, forcing you to skirt on your heels. Looking up, you were met with the all too familiar expanse of black and steel toned fabric, passing the American flag stationed on his shoulder with an eye roll.

You could feel the alcohol pooling from the depths of your throat. Warm, simmering with the urge to act on it, say something irrational in hopes of scaring him off.

The thought whisked away in a moment’s will, scurrying to a deep root in your chest that would take weeks to shake. Bourbon had always made you panic. You felt impossibly small beside him thanks to three shots, jittering hands hid expertly around the cover of your sides.

“Excuse me.” You attempted to shoulder past him, yet only ended up being held in place by his spare hand. “Graves..”

“Move.”

His tongue clicked. Arrogant, crawling way too far up your nervous system than you cared for. It felt like he had slithered his way into your spine, aberrantly festering with the capacity to paralyze.

You clenched your teeth, bearing all but the tight seal of your lips in refusal of his attempt to siphon your will. Five seconds of dry mouth and he opened the door, stepping aside so you could take off once more.

“Are we gonna talk about how you’ve been ignoring me this past month?”

The tap of his boots against wood mirrored your own, printing light outlines of sand on the floor as he trailed you. His shadow weaved in and out of your peripheral, struggling to catch up at the acceleration of your steps.

His hand clasped your wrist before you could reach the handle to your room, flipping your back to rest flat against the door.

“Let go of me—“

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.” His eyes dipped, contesting yours with narrowed eyebrows. “We can sit here all night, princess.”

Oh, how badly you wanted to snap his arm and smash your head against his. Feel his blood dripping down your skin. Remind him of how he left you to die in Al Mazrah. Turn him into an allusion of his surname.

But you wouldn’t. Not now. He knew that.

“Don’t act stupid, Graves.” You snapped back, kneeing yourself out of his grasp. “You know what you did.”

He backed off, arms folding neatly over his chest.

“If this is about Al Mazrah…”

The crease of your eyelids confirmed the word.

“Listen, I had no choice but to listen to Shepherd.” His voice was stagnant, underlined with the faintest drop of sorrow. “Nothing angered me more than that son of a bitch leaving you there to die, but there was nothing I could do.”

Every last consonant, dripping with deceit. Graves was, if not the superlative example of military disobedience. In the flesh, he breathed rebellion; the creation of his PMC solely to damn the corrupt officials who had tried to control him.

And yet, this was eternally far from what you were seeing now.

“Since when has breaking the rules been off the table for you?”

It was as if Graves was coming off of his leash. And once the post broke…

Your question was left up in the air, hefty and stale, carrying a looming sense of suffocation into the room with you. Silence mounted every drag of your feet against the floor, stopping at the ghost of a squeak against mahogany.

“It hasn’t.”

You hated every moment of it. Watching the way his lips progressively curved downward, eyes squinting to see you fully amidst the shadows. You seethed at the faint trail of dust that lingered over his pupils, gleaming hazily at you. Silently begging, pleading.

He was doubting himself. Losing it every since Shepherd contracted him.

It was almost as if you heard it, whispering to you in a fatal pseudo. Made you feel crazy, the way you took yourself back to the doorframe, grasping his collar to encase the two of you in the darkness.

His lips were rough, tainted by the ever so slight prick of chapped skin. He tasted of salt and crisp air, mixing in flawless synchrony with the pine clinging to his jacket. It was exhilaratingly intoxicating. The first taste of the concoction of your danced lips and you already wanted more. Endlessly, abysmally…

“You’re right.” His breathing was ragged, searing hot against the curve of your jaw. “Listening to Shepherd was stupid.. I don’t, I-“

Distracting.

“Shut up.”

A soft groan vibrated against your cheeks as you sucked him in once more, taking his outstretched hands and placing them over his zipper. You blindly worked at his jeans, sighing at the dusky sensation creeping into your temples.

Canines dug into your tongue at the soft brush of your fingers along his boxers, coating your mouth with the metallic tang of liquid iron. Your hands pulled away at the rest of his clothes, reaching further to slide against the base of his dick.

Fighting the lack of oxygen, Graves unlatched himself from your mouth, trailing a thin line of reddened spit between the creases. Swollen lips found perch against your neck, planting opened mouth kisses before tugging skin between teeth. Dragging and soothing until you were on fire, subconsciously jerking on his cock to direct the pressure.

“Let me take care of you, darling.” It was all but a whisper, cool breath soothing over the fresh blemishes painted across dusted skin. “Please?”

You exhaled in dismal bliss, cramped hands traveling up to hook around his collar. Amidst a flurry of teeth-on-teeth, Graves stumbled back, settling you against the wall as he fumbled for the window beside the edge of your shoulder.

The light was dim, vaguely outlining his features in a mayan glow. The rims of his irises flared against light akin to the mass, mulling over every plain of your skin, nearly imperceptible.

His hands dipped past the hem of your jeans, tugging lightly on your underwear before kicking down the rest. The first graze of his index over your clit was tepid, soft, almost innocent. Each movement was slow, as you were a kerosene lamp preying on a spark. Only flickers were fed at the swirl of a meager train of slick leaking from your pussy, the pads of his fingers lightly prodding your hole as he lathered himself in you.

Sweet as it seemed, you saw right through his ministrations. A sensual approach crafted with the intent of making you relax, forget, and forgive him. It was his twisted way of saying sorry, hoping he was good enough to gain your forgiveness. The sweet, leisurely dance of his fingers inside your walls made to intoxicate your further, lose your sanity in the thought of a world unchanged.

A world where he had not yet started the descent into madness you saw with your own two eyes, watching as his own flickered endlessly in hopes that you were as gullible as a moderate load of drinks should have made you.

Luckily, you weren’t so far gone yet.

“Faster, Graves.” One of your hands snaked around the front of his neck, grasping tightly at his chin. “I have places to be.”

So that’s how you were going to be. The thought of you acting that way made him want to cringe. Bend you over the bathroom counter and fuck you for hours until you never had another opposing thought of him for the rest of your life.

But he couldn’t. You knew it. He knew it.

“Yes ma’am.”

Frustration joined with each jolting pump of his fingers, eliciting groans of released tension from your lips. With every passing minute, you felt the familiar blister of sex snake it’s way up your vagina, taking rest in the depths of your naval. Even still, it wasn’t enough. You needed..

“More.”

The hand abruptly pulling him out of you moved to tug on his cock, lightly prodding at his balls in succession of the shuddered moan that escaped hum.

“Fuck me like you mean it, Commander.”

He knew what you were doing, and Hell, it was working. If one thing was for sure, it was that Graves was riled up now, guiding your spare hand up to his neck, imploring you to keep going. His knees straightened out at the brutal press of your back snug against the wall, forcing your legs to circle around his waist.

His chest was flush against your own, the breach of his dick bringing you impossibly closer. The stretch made you moan, low and sultry, mixing in with the string of curses that fell from Graves’ lips. You found yourself desperate once more, tugging at the bottom half of his mouth in envisioned delight of feeling more. Ecstasy painted your tongue as you swallowed every sound of him, tongue sliding against his teeth at the violent drag of his cock, dismal in the way it made you cry.

He was rough, teeth pricking fresh lacerations to the underside of your bottom lip, dick wholeheartedly delivering abuse to your pussy. And you loved it, exerting gratitude in the rake of your nails along the broad of his back, dragging flakes of his skin through each jut of your body. Your skin was plastered with sweat, gruesomely sticking to his any time your noses brushed against each other, basking in the sweet scent of elation. The sensation was shared below, filling the otherwise quiet hall with lewd slaps at the fault of your arousal.

Your lips felt bruised, endlessly attacked by the apprehending canines of Graves. Calloused fingers dug into the bare plush of your thighs, enveloping the entire bottom half of your bottom in an undying flame. Blistering further was your core, crackling dangerously with every sparked slam of his dick, flicked into the growing inferno that had stemmed to your entire being.

You’d liked to believe it was all just an outlet for stress, fucking out every last one of your vexations until they were quenched whole. However, as reality served, you had just chosen the easy way out this time, surrendering to the latter before it even became plausible.

It seemed incomprehensible. Too impossible.

The very thought was corroded from your memory by the time Graves had slid out of you for the last time, shooting a thick load of his seed onto your left shin. Yet, there was still emptiness even after you had felt the coils of desire snap within. You had accomplished nothing, the stain of your reluctance fresh on your features.

Graves watched the rapid pull and zip of your clothes back into order, sparing all but a pale kiss to his cheek before turning for the door. A lingering gaze of wait watched you pull your phone out of your pocket, wiping all remnants of him off of your leg with a tissue on the nightstand. Civil chatted followed the soft spillage of cream tinted light against shrouded blue, mixing in with the momentary silhouette of you, and soon, nothing.

Headin’ out now, Johnny. Don’t expect to see any friendly faces until we meet.

Yeah? Betta start prayin’ for me. then.

Click.

Right. Don’t lose the plot, Mactavish.

It was quiet, save the soft patter of raindrops amidst metal and glass alike. A thud of sodden armor joined the exterior blare, pooling a thin puddle of coral against tiled floor.

And, sergeant.

Lieutenant?

Cold fingers worked against frost kissed metal, scraping flesh and copper together in a sea of touched nerves. Even still, you failed to shiver, staring down at the mangled mess that had become your arm with a bleak facade.

Your part of the mission is vital, yeah? Let’s see it done.

A spurt of vermillion dragged out one fully intact bullet casing, chucked off to the garbage before the bleeding arose. Crisp white fell into thick wraps around your bicep, blending into the dim symphony of pressure that ran over your hands, painting the bowl of granite beneath you red.

Roger that, sir. Out here.

You wouldn’t stay clean for long. The looming was swift, breathing down your neck in cool, prickling waves. Your eyes refused to leave the wrinkling creases of your palms even when the door cried its welcome, filtering rays of luminescent pearl into the depth.

It was snowing now. Flurrying, more so, flocking minuscule flakes of snow over the strip of light coating your forearm. A vision that would have granted you a sense of serenity, if the gloom of a shadow hadn’t been there to overweigh it.

He seemed like a figment of your imagination, a translucent wraith emerged from the deepest roots of your amygdala. The stench of banished rain and iron clung to his jacket like a parasite, rooting him to a truth unshakable. And you sensed it too, the plaster over his skin that sagged it, curving ridges of noir under clustered eyelashes.

The reek of betrayal was impossible to shake.

He knew it. You knew it.

It sunk gleaming carolina to the very bottom of the ocean, suffocating in the murk that had embraced him. Nearly whole, it seemed, as he stood in the doorway, rigid frame devoid of the filtering light around him.

“Graves?”

The opening of a cyclical hymn, luring him from the dark, standing firm over you as if he had been summoned. And, maybe he had, following the vague text you had sent him just hours prior.

Delicate, crafted hands left the faucet, reaching out to sit over his collar. Poised shoulders sank at the wordless hook of your finger under his zipper, the soak of cold water against bare skin eliciting a shudder.

“Y/n?”

Rapid, unsure. You placed a hand over the bare expanse of his chest, shadowing his left artery.

“Relax, darling.” Honeyed words fell to caress the shell of his ear, following the light pad of gauze over bruised skin. “What happened?”

He swallowed, thick and brittle. The dreaded question, veiling over him like a wicked curse.

What happened, Graves?

“An incident at Alejandro’s base.” A murmur, almost lost to the growing pads of water in the shower beside you. “A fight broke out.”

You hummed, languidly stripping him of his clothes while you stepped out of yours.

“Now what?”

Clumps of steaming water streaked over days of exhaustion, swirling down the drain in dark masses. His eyes opened a fraction at your touch, lips tucking firmly against sucked teeth.

“I don’t know.”

The threat to click your tongue was choked, leaving a understanding nod in its place. Frustration ate away at every steamed breath, fueling with the pulse of a dull ache below your abdomen. Steadily rising.

The accidental brush of his hands over your waist was the start. You swore under your breath, snapping away from the lower half of his body, reaching for the shampoo in a rushed cover. He watched you reach up, somber irises fluttering at the rake of your nails against his scalp. Purely, disgustingly innocent.

The purse of his lips made you want to pounce on him right then and there, clenching your thighs thighs together to alleviate the burn. Shame was quick to follow, swallowed down in frantic attempts to keep your composure.

“Princess..”

The frail whimper in the back of his throat sealed it, your hand clamping down threateningly hard on his dick. Graves hissed at the pressure, knees buckling slightly at the sudden stroke of your fingers along the tip. You took his stagger as an invitation to slide him against the shower wall, pushing down on a large clump of soaked hair to level his head with yours.

He was halfway there already, you could tell by the way his eyes squeezed shut, silently begging himself for forgiveness. A sanctuary that would never come.

“Tell me, Graves.” The question pooled out innocent, followed by a rough jerk of your hand on his cock. “Have you been truthful to me?”

The orchestration of your words fell to searing ears, brandishing the guilty. Soft, sweet, and impossibly lethal. Graves shook his head, frayed nerves blinking down at you in rapid waves.

You almost felt sorry. The sight of him, glistening with running water, mouth parted in the slightest as guttural moans bounced off acrylic. Part of you wanted to drop everything else, and forgive him like this was all just a petty argument.

But it wasn’t. You wanted to love Graves, badly, but you could no longer love he who wasn’t himself. No longer the man you had given years of blind devotion to.

He had surpassed that of the terrors shaking you awake every night, flooding memories of Al Mazrah ripping the very idea of sleep away from you for days on end. The nightmare himself, shaped by the evil that was Shepherd. He had become the vile, flagitious sin you had swore to end.

Tied to the leash that suffocated him, immovable even at your hands

Blindly guided by natural instinct, you pushed harder, deafened by his cries. Searing tears rolled down the trails of emptiness, void of everything but the anticipation of your touch, purely Elysian, endlessly draining. You watched Graves writhe beneath you, panting in a shaking chorus that begged you to help.

And that was exactly what you were going to do. Holding a deathly grip on his spazzing dick despite the hands that clamped against your own. Cries of pleasure molded into pleads for salvation, clinging onto any part of you he could reach.

Your eyes narrowed at his struggle, gleaming teeth sinking down onto soaked lips, caging him against the wall. False prayers fell numbly to your tongue, the musk of fear fresh on your taste buds. Jittering hands were coated in their own seed, the overexertion of your hand making them falter altogether at the last pull. You sighed at the sight of petrified eyes abruptly shutting, frail hands clinging onto the arm that held his jaw up.

The shower ended in hand with the quiet slump of his body, held upright at the mercy of your adjustment. Water slithered against tile as you dragged Graves to your bed, tossing his discarded clothes on the nightstand. Through half lidded eyes, you watched his breathing stabilize, blood rushing back to his face in succession of life.

You had three minutes. It took just under one and a half to pull fabric over soaked skin, and another thirty to grab your key. The click of the balcony door signified fifty seconds, leaving the last moments to settle, hands drumming the railing at the rise of shuffles.

He reappeared at the brush of three. Clothes disheveled, face decently paled, skin prickling against the biting cold. Flakes of snow clung to freezing lashes,

And the worst part about it all? He still didn’t understand; the same habit that had brought you together destined to tear you apart.

He could’ve taken your leisure to run, call Shepherd, kill you to save his own skin. However, you knew it would never happen. Graves was always terrible at taking hints, and you knew he was lost to this world the moment he turned his back on you.

It was almost comical, the way you had him fooled. Wrapped around your finger nearly as well as Shepherd had.

“I was there.”

The sink of his heart. You could feel it.

He knew exactly what it meant. You had been at the site of Graves’ betrayal all along. Watching as he ordered his men to exterminate Task Force 141, and set fire to Las Almas. Spill the blood of innocents, ravish the city thousands called home, all in the name of Shepherd.

At the last quirk of your mouth, he knew he had been trapped. A feral animal cornered into a cage, preying teeth ripped out by the trapper.

“I have to kill them.”

A dog on a leash, repeating the orders that would liberate after years of submission. Break from the post that had chained him.

Eliminate Task Force 141, and show them. Show them what you’re worth. No matter the cost.

“You just have to, don’t you Graves?”

He watched as you stood, approaching fast, swift on your heels. A barking canine caught in the headlights of something bigger, someone driven by something so much worse than he could imagine.

The fierce curse that had bore witness to a millenium of disaster: love.

“Always knew you were second rate.” A hushed whisper, chastising the frozen streaks of shame glued to his cheeks. “And you’d do anything to get your fair share.”

You were there before he knew it, the sharp prick of a blade falling to rest against his abdomen.

“Poor, disposable, you.”

It was love that made the final push, leaking salt and blood over once pure hands. The desire of an indecipherable flurry of want twisting the blade out of burning flesh, rising to paint passing snowflakes crimson.

The desire to set Phillip Graves free, because you couldn’t bear to see him self destruct any longer. Sever the leash, and let him go.

And you could never truly cut the cord unless he was gone forever.

The slump of his body was cold, inverse to the smoking blood that coated your skin. Frosted winds picked up as you kneeled, ripping the blade out of his jugular.

“Ghost, it’s done.”

You reached out, seeping red into lifeless skin at the soft drag of two fingers over his eyelids, the final sight of his irises making you choke.

“Affirmative, sergeant. All stations, Graves is KIA.”

#arqhms #arqhmsthirst #arqhmstistheseason’22 #call of duty modern warfare #phillip graves mw2 #phillip graves smut #phillip graves x you #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves #graves mw2 #cod mw22 #call of duty mwii

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a-large-orange-cat · 1 year ago

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Hello! I absolutely adore your Blackbird au, I've recommended it to all my friends and reread it dozens of times. I saw your answer on an ask where you said you might not be adding new installments, which, though I'm a little sad to hear it, I definitely understand and support you doing what works for you. I'm grateful for what you've shared with us as is. That being said, if you have any snippets or ideas of how the story was going to continue, I'd be thrilled to read it (if you're willing to share). Thanks!

anon you are a gift and a blessing. my greatest regret with stopping was that the third fic was the one where I was actually going to justify why the whole thing is called the blackbird AU. the third fic was going to have victor zsasz as its villain, with Tim balancing working with Jason, playing keep-away with the Bats, and not getting murdered. he was going to move more fully into the vigilante sphere in Gotham and cement his existence as a player and his relationship to the others.

with that in mind, i'm going to share 2 different scenes regarding Tim preparing for his debut (long post under the cut):

Tim takes his time putting on the layers Jason left strewn across the dining table. The underlayers cling to him in a way he’s not used to, tight against his joints. The Kevlar vest and titanium plate inserts sit more naturally, but they’re heavier than suit jackets or sweatshirts, and Tim has to shift the way he holds his shoulders to balance the weight a little better. The Teflon layers for the exterior of the outfit help hide the bulk; Tim looks like a bigger person than he is, but not an armored one.

There’s an almost-full-size mirror in the safehouse’s bathroom, with a single long crack running through a third of it. Tim stares at himself.

He looks—unremarkable. Nondescript. The majority of the suit is blacks and grays; enough variation to not stand out as a suspicious figure in a daytime crowd, but easy to melt into the shadows of Gotham’s hazy gray darkness. There are no distinguishing features, no emblems, no colors. The jacket looks like a lightly-insulated raincoat; the collar of the armored vest looks like a sweater, and the high collar of the undershirt is just that: a high-collared shirt. The pants are bulky, but still follow the line of his legs. Heavy boots.

Tim’s hair isn’t that long; his entire adolescence, it was whatever length Black Mask’s men decided to cut it when he asked them. He still has to push strands out of the way, shake his head back, to put the mask on.

It covers above his eyebrows to the line of his cheekbones. A reinforced structure runs along the line of the nose to protect it if he gets punched in the face.

He stares at himself through the white lenses.

When Tim was eleven, he dreamed of being Robin.

He’s not dressed like a vigilante. There’s too much practicality in the armor Jason got for him; no emblems, no declarations of intention. The design is meant to protect him, not to let him protect others. Tim looks like part of a strike team, not a superhero.

This isn’t a childhood fantasy. It’s an inevitability, a consequence of the person Tim was made into.

There’s no point in lingering. Tim takes the mask off and pulls himself away from the mirror, from his own reflection. He isn’t going to overthink this—to leave himself the opportunity to be convinced that this is a bad idea. Or even that it’s a good one.

It’s—it’s a purpose. It’s not a sentimental thing. Tim manipulated Red Hood into having a spare set of armor for him. Manipulated Red Hood into agreeing to help him. It’s for his own purpose, his own agenda.

He pushes aside the tangled knot in his chest; it’s not worth dealing with, not right now, not while Zsasz has just started the timer until he tries to kill Tim.

On the kitchen counter, next to the phone and the address, is a holster and a handgun.

A few trips to one of the firing ranges in Gotham had been one of those inevitable things Tim added onto his schedule, after his run-ins with Red Hood. Mostly to have a minimum cover of his bases; he knows how to load a pistol, take the safety off, and hit a still target from twenty feet away. That’s all he thought he’d need.

The gun’s heavy when he picks it up.

Tim makes himself ignore the weight of it. It’s another practicality. Another tool to remind himself that he’s a lot of things, but he’s not a superhero.

The holster is intended to conceal the pistol under his jacket. Tim buckles it on and checks the safety before he slots the pistol into place against his ribs.

There’s no point in overthinking it. It’s basic self-defense; a weapon that Tim can use with minimal training.

It’s not like Tim can’t make the call whether or not someone needs to die. He’s done it before. Jason pulled the trigger, but Tim’s the one who killed Roman Sionis.

It’s not like Tim’s intending to let Victor Zsasz live. He grabs a dark green jacket off the back of a chair, stuffs the spare phone and printed-out police photographs in his pocket, and leaves the safehouse.

Tim double-checks for cameras – very few in Crime Alley, he knows from the police’s complaints – and slips into a back alley to put his mask on. From there, it’s up the fire escape to the second-floor windows.

There’s two windows next to the fire escape landing on this floor; the first is a dark hallway. Tim spares a glance at the lock on the inside. Unlocked, if he needs to open it. Might be how Jason got into the building in the first place.

The one next to it has a light on. Tim stays low, moving forward just enough to peer around the edge of the window frame.

The scene inside is familiar. A table in the center of the room, covered in notes, markers, maps; the men that surround it, nearly half visibly armed; the single individual at the head of the table as the immediate threat in the room.

Except this is Red Hood, not Black Mask.

Tim looks over the others in the room. They’re varying states of attentive; it seems like four are actively engaged in discussion at the moment, and the rest are hanging back for now.

The ones hanging back aren’t even really paying attention to the proceedings. From what Tim can hear of the muffled voices, it sounds like Red Hood’s working something out with the ones he’s talking to.

Some part of Tim wants to wedge the window open and slip inside. He wants—

Oh.

He wants to be in this room.

The desire sits at the front of his breastbone like a thread drawn taut. Tim wants to hear what Red Hood’s saying. How he determines orders, how he distributes them. How crime works on this smaller scale, where Jason cares about individual people.

It’s not—the desire isn’t totally unreasonable. These would all be useful things to know. Things Tim could justify knowing, things that would make it easier for him to help Jason, to make use of him, to plan around him for other parts of Gotham.

Except Tim’s not sure this want is about any of those things.

He’s been hesitating outside the window too long. He’s too visible, and Red Hood’s helmet turns sharply, facing directly towards him.

Tim takes a step back, but not fast enough. He sees the posture of the men in the room react; sees a few reach for weapons. The muffled sound of conversation stops, and then the bottom half of the window slides up.

Red Hood sticks his helmet out. “We’re running late,” he says, tone flat through the filter. “Get in here.”

He moves back out of sight, further into the room. Tim approaches slowly, apprehension mixing with the desire in his chest into something sharp and uncertain.

Every face in the room is turned towards him. He slips through the window, privately relieved that he’s not large enough to make it an awkward fit.

Tim stands with his shoulders set, confident in the way he learned through blood and mistakes. Confident in a way that gives away nothing of the ache in his chest, the way Tim desperately wants to move to the planning table, to see and assess and maximize Red Hood’s resources, give the orders and watch Gotham reform under his guidance.

Confident in a way that gives away none of the reasons Tim isn’t going anywhere near Batman.

Inside the room, he can make out that this is about a dozen men, plus Red Hood. Somewhere from half to a third of the people in Jason’s employ, then; Tim’s not positive about the exact number, but it’s at minimum twenty-six, based off what Red Hood can do in a single night.

“This is a friend of mine,” Red Hood says, turning away from Tim to move back towards the central table. “And he’s good at what we do. He’s free to know anything you’d tell me.”

There’s deliberate undertone to that introduction that Tim’s not nearly skilled enough to start to unpick. But he can watch the reaction to it—the relaxing of bodies, hands moving another inch or two away from the visible weapons.

It’s easier to gauge the room’s reactions than to try and figure out why Jason just gave Tim, known criminal schemer, free reign to ask questions. Even maybe, implicitly, permission to ask questions when Jason isn’t around.

And fuck if Tim doesn’t want it.

Tim can’t be what Roman Sionis made of him. But Jason isn’t thinking about that, isn’t thinking about anything beyond his inexplicable attempt to gain Tim’s trust, and the casual extension of control in his organization makes all the sensible parts of Tim want to turn and start running.

He can’t show it. Tim rolls his shoulders back, shifts his weight deliberately. He’s the shortest and the youngest and the newest in the room, but he has no intention of letting any of that make him a target to these people.

Tim moves further into the room with no hint of hesitation. He circles behind the people standing around the table to fill the empty space of the room at Red Hood’s back, close enough to see what’s on the table but keeping Red Hood well out of his personal space. Keeping everyone in the room within his line of sight.

There’s a stilted pause, where Red Hood’s men are clearly hesitant to continue the conversation in front of an audience. But Jason starts them up again, leaning down to tap his fingers against a specific building on the map of Crime Alley spread out on the table.

“Li Wei, you’re doing inspection on our manufacturers in two days, aren’t you?” Red Hood asks.

Li Wei pulls his gaze away from Tim, to look towards Red Hood’s helmet. He glances down to the map, and says, voice accented, “Yes. Three labs heroin, one lab crystal. Also, we have three-man team doing quiet check on new interested parties.”

“Don’t bother,” Jason says. “I’m gonna be too busy to meet new suppliers for a bit. Reassign ‘em to run last minute inspection on a few of our currents. At least one’s selling whatever is mixing badly.”

“You’re investigating the speedball deaths,” Tim says.

The few people in the room who’d let their guards down snap back to attention. Tim makes himself take a couple steps forward, moving away from the back wall to put himself in Jason’s periphery.

There have been a few reports he’s seen in the police database: an uptick in deaths of drug addicts. Higher presence of both cocaine and heroin in the blood; speedball is the common name for the mixed drugs.

“Yes,” Red Hood says, turning just enough to see him. The mild, business-like tone falls away, replaced with something harsher. “One of my suppliers sold us coke cut with something that reacts with heroin. Killed nearly half the people who mixed ‘em.” Low and lethal: “Motherfucker’s gonna die painfully.”

Drug dealing is the main profit area that Red Hood makes. Tim’s managed to narrow down that he doesn’t technically manufacture anything himself, but his men throttle suppliers and keep track of dealers and drug dens in Crime Alley. They provide some oversight in an attempt to minimize overdoses, make sure what they’re selling isn’t laced or cut with anything, and try to support rehab attempts.

It’d be a terrible business model if Red Hood was in it to make money.

Tim pulls his gaze from the impassive surface of Red Hood’s helmet to look down at the map. Individual buildings marked out, a zoomed-in snapshot of the parts of Crime Alley that Red Hood manipulates.

There’s an offer on the tip of his tongue. Tell me who you buy from, and I can tell you who’s doing it. Because Tim could, he knows it. He knows enough about drug manufacturing – about both the pharmaceutical and the criminal aspects – to be able to pinpoint who’s weak enough to be used as an entry point to hit the people under the protection of Red Hood.

Because there’s no point in a single drug manufacturer lashing out at Red Hood. There’s simply not enough incentive in it; Red Hood holds them to slightly higher standards, but it’s hardly guesswork at all to figure out that he pays them appropriately for their conscientious effort to avoid low-quality product. A single manufacturer is just an avenue to hit Red Hood where it hurts.

The anger in Jason’s voice, the threat towards the manufacturer—he hasn’t realized that yet, has he?

Who are Red Hood’s competitors in the drug market? Who is he taking customers away from?

Tim asks, tone mild as anything, “You took a team against a tong’s incoming shipments a few weeks ago, didn’t you?”

The Xingyun Shou tong – officially recorded by the police as the Lucky Hand gang – has been scrambling for power in the last few months, ever since they had several large-scale issues with their drug trafficking. A mostly-unintentional side effect of some of the plans Tim implemented after he’d gotten the Drake Industries CEO position. It does set them up to act desperately, without considering Red Hood’s penchant for revenge.

Red Hood says slowly, “We took the Lucky Hand’s narcotics shipment, yeah.”

Ah. He needs more detail.

“Which of your manufacturers might respond to coercion from one of the tongs?” Tim asks.

He watches the anger roll slowly into Jason’s body. The slight drawing back of his neck, the set of the shoulders. The gloved hands that flex and curl into fists.

Tim’s closer to Red Hood than he wants to be, watching the anger build, but moving backwards out of Jason’s space would be too obvious. There’s too many eyes in the room, and Tim holds himself still, waiting patiently for the response. Waiting to see if he needs to duck.

Even through the distortion, the finely-held rage is clear in Jason’s voice. “Li Wei. That quiet team?”

Li Wei’s response is immediate. “Reassigned.”

“Good.” The deep breaths are visible, the rise and fall of Jason’s shoulders.

There’s a slow loosening of tension in the room, as Red Hood keeps holding himself still, keeps breathing, slow and silent under the helmet. Tim can finally tear his gaze from Red Hood, looking out around the room, at the faces of Red Hood’s men.

They’re—apprehensive, but none of them seem actively afraid. This is an acknowledged part of working for Red Hood. They’re waiting for the rage to pass before they move on.

It’s probably easier to be less scared when Red Hood doesn’t kill his own lackeys. Roman Sionis in a similar mood would’ve already killed at least one person here.

Red Hood stretches his hands, uncurls them forcibly. Turns back to the table, places his palms down over it and looks over the scattered documents.

“Was that the last of our business?” he asks.

No one speaks up.

“Great.” He spends a few long moments looking down at the table before he straightens back up, the last of the anger sliding off him like snow off a roof. There’s the hint of something like warm familiarity in his voice, Tim’s pretty sure, when he adds, “You should come by more often, birdie.”

“Blackbird.”

The name is out before Tim can swallow it back. He makes his body perfectly neutral—doesn’t allow a flinch, a flicker of an expression, an inhale or exhale too deep.

It’s too telling. Jason hears more than Tim ever intends to say, and this—Tim didn’t intend to say it in the first place. He has no way of knowing what Jason will find in it.

Except that people who don’t want to be superheroes don’t pick out superhero names.

And good people don’t name themselves after supervillains.

“Blackbird,” the Red Hood repeats.

Then again, Jason knows that last part already.

Tim thinks there’s more Jason wants to say. But this isn’t the place, it isn’t the time, not with a dozen career mobsters watching the two of them, trying to figure out if the tension in Red Hood’s body is the signal for an upcoming fight.

“Let’s get moving,” Red Hood says instead, and heads for the window.

#blackbird au #blackbird asks #THIS is why the whole damn thing is called the blackbird au #because Tim at one point wanted to be robin but so far he's mostly what black mask has made of him #and he acknowledges that it's irreversible #blackbird is the compromise between the hero Tim WANTS to be and the villain he knows HOW to be #anon thank you SO much for giving me the opportunity to post this #ily

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