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[xoluvx]

cairo's girl; cairo sweet

𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 @lovxlyvee 🤎

For as long as you could remember, it was her. You longed for her. Longed to be hers and only hers. Navigating life rotating around her axis like she was the sun and you were a measly planet.

You settled for the title of "best friend". Masking the affection. Looking elsewhere. Longing for that feeling of wanting and being wanted freely, knowing it could only truly be satisfied by her touch. A touch she teased. Dangling it over your head like an unattainable prize. A touch she simply forbad. Too preoccupied chasing her own forbidden and rotten fruit.

If that was the only way to stay close, you were taking it. Sitting next to her in the confines of her room. Bottle of wine half empty. Eyes teary eyes and vision blurry as you made questionable choices. Choices encouraged, no, forced by her languid words.

"Take off your shirt," she smiled wickedly leaning close. You could smell the alcohol on her breath. Her eyes pooled so big you could swim laps in her orbs. There was an implication in her voice that stirred the butterflies that had otherwise been numbed and placated by the booze.

Your eyes traced the depth of her body as she stood in front of the mirror. It was like you weren't even there as she removed her sweater. Talking about wanting to make out for him and not for you. It hurt. It hurt like a bitch hearing her spit those words as she disregarded the feelings you harbored for her. Feelings you'd teasingly revealed on multiple occasions. She just laughed them off every time.

"Well, it can be a little for me," you muttered into the void. She was selfish. Conniving as she kneed down on the floor and leaned over. Smile so playful yet you knew the meaning it held. You knew why she was doing this. Not for you. Not even a little for you. Not even for him. It was for her. All of it part of a plan you hadn't quite pieced together yet.

"How's this?" the smile never faltered as her eyes glazed over with quiet mischief.

"Yeah, good" your voice felt like it was giving out as you clung to the neck of the bottle. Your heart felt heavy. All sorts of scenarios flashing through your brain. Innocent, nasty, foul, vile, pure. All across the spectrum you could taste every little bit of longing and yearning. Yearning to be her girl. Cairo's girl.

"Your turn," she commented dismissively as you stood on your knees fumbling with the fabric of your shirt. That eery smile never left her face as you lifted your arms and she finished lifting the shirt over your head. You were a fool willingly walking into her trap. Her fool. Cairo's fool.

Your shirt hadn't been off your body for more than a second and she was already reaching for your phone. The fluorescent light bright and damning. The only witness to the events unraveling in her dark room.

She asserted her dominance as you awkwardly moved your body. You weren't used to this. Even if you were a fool for her, you were always the leader. The free spirit. Wild child. The one that told her what to do. Led her into the darkest parts of your friendship. You didn't know she possessed such power. Didn't know she possessed the ability to be just as dark, if not more.

Her delicate fingers brushed along your neck as she held the phone up. Light shining on your glistening faces. Eyes dazed and lips laced with liquor. This was your moment. This was happening right now. You allowed yourself to be led astray by the impure motivations of your best friend. Your eyes traced the curves of her face. Lips perfectly plump. Freckles scattered across her cheeks and the entirety of her face. Her beautifully crafted face.

When she turned to look at you. She smiled so sweetly almost as if she was reassuring you that this was all okay. That this was normal. That there were no ulterior motives to her actions. When she smiled so tenderly, you shied away looking down and feeling flushed.

"Ready?" she asked almost enthusiastically. There were no need for words. No need for confirmation. You'd been ready. You'd been ready for years. All that time you'd spent yearning and hiding your desire for your best friend had all accumulated to this moment. Even if her intentions were skewed. Even if she wasn't doing this for you. She was only centimeters away as you breathed each other's air.

Like a fool rushing in, you were the first to lean in. She stood still, her cunning smile fading as your lips ghosted over hers. Her lips parted, tongue peeking through her teeth as your lips hesitantly tested the limits of this moment. Was it happening? Was this real? Would she pull away and shove your shoulder like she'd done so many other times?

No.

No, she leaned in capturing your lips in what would result in a heated kiss. Your lips molded together so perfectly. Desperately connecting and reconnecting. Bottom lip shifting to top lip. Hands tentatively touching her waist feeling the scratchy nylon of her tights. Her hand cradled the back of your head as she snapped the photo. You were too enthralled by her embrace to notice.

When she dropped the phone, your arm wrapped around her shoulders. The kiss never faltering. Her arm hooked under yours pulling you closer. Hand still cradling your head as you leaned into her wanting to explore every inch of her mouth.

As you separated for a brief second, the only thing that held you together was the string of saliva that quickly snapped when she held your face pulling you in for another kiss. This one lacking purpose. Just lips molding. Tongues touching. Heads turning and humming and whimpering and bodies leaning into each other with desperation.

When you held the back of her head it was like something in her snapped. She pushed you away suddenly with a deadly stare. You came down with a painful cry. Watching her with wild eyes trying to decipher what happened. Did you do something wrong?

"Get on the bed," she huffed getting to her feet and wiping her lips. She paced to the opposite side of the bed as you nodded. Eyes big like a lost puppy as pulled your body on to the mattress. Hands nervously resting near your belly button as you swallowed.

When she stood at the foot of the bed she stared at you like a hunter spotting its prey. Eyes wide and hungry. Lips scrunched with anger? Nose crinkling as she palmed the bed frame. Knuckles white. You were holding your breath with anticipation as she inhaled and pounced.

Her ring clad fingers grabbing your legs as she pulling them over the edge of the bed. Black fingernails digging into your hips as she harshly tugged on the underwear yanking them down your legs before discarding them on the floor. She watched you closely. Eyes piercing through your soul as she got on her knees. Hands parting your legs as they draped over her shoulders.

There was a warmth to her breathing as she hovered near your sensitive throbbing core. It filled you chills. Shivering as you furled your fingers around the bed sheets, swallowing with anticipation. When her tongue brushed between your folds, you gasped and lifted your chest off the mattress.

The inexplicable feeling filled you with the heat of a thousand suns. She was your sun. Hot between your legs. Tongue wet exploring the most intimate part of your body. A part reversed for only the worthy and in your mind, who else was more worthy than her?

All the nights you'd spent talking about losing your virginities, it was here. Not in the way you'd expected and not in the way you'd discussed but in its own sweet - Cairo Sweet - way.

She lapped your pussy so marvelously for someone who claimed they'd never been with a girl before. When her tongue pierced through your entrance, a guttural moan escaped your body and reached down for her hair. Fingers tangling in her messy brown hair before pushing the hair out of her face. Her eyes were open. Piercing as you made eye contact. As your brows furrowed and your lips remained parted spewing curses and moans so sweet on your tongue because it was she who was responsible.

When her lips wrapped around your clit and sucked so gently, you caved. Your legs were shaking and closing in around her head. Your fingers pulled on her hair and pushed her face down closer to your cunt. Desperate moans and pleas spilled from your lips as she pulled you closer to the edge. Forcing you to jump when a single finger played with your sensitive entrance. The bundle of nerves unraveled on her lips as you convulsed and shut your eyes as you felt the electricity spark through your body.

Her soft lips dragged along your torso leaving a trail coated by your arousal as she inched closer to your covered breasts. She hummed as your chest rose and fell rapidly. Heart beating quickly. Legs quivering and hands clinging to her back. She bit down on your covered nipple and you cried out digging your nails into her back wanting to mark her. If not Cairo's girl, then she could be yours. Your girl.

Her tongue ran across your breast all the way up the side of your neck. Licking the shell of your ear where she breathed so seductively you were struggling to memorize every last little detail of what you'd happened.

"Thank you," you cowered still so totally helpless under her control and unaware of what else to say in this situation.

"So polite," she breathed in your ear. Hot and bothered. The stirring in your loins burning hot once again.

"Never seen you be so polite," she teased taking your wrists before pulling your arms over above head. Gasping, you looked at her innocently. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders as her nose brushed yours. Her lips so close you longed to taste them again. Longed to taste yourself on her tongue.

"Such a good girl for me," she whispered planting her body and straddling your waist as you whimpered. She knew exactly what to say. She knew exactly how to say it.

A good girl. A good girl for her. Cairo Sweet's sweet girl.

[theonottsbxtch]

CHICAGO PT.1 | OP81

an: i already know the girlies are going to hate me for this, i made oscar go through it this series ahhhhhhhhhhh im sorry

summary: he met her in chicago, she told him she didn't have a man, he got hooked.

wc: 4k

Oscar had met her in Chicago, of all places. The city sprawled beneath a sky that never seemed to settle, constantly shifting between grey and gold, as though unsure of its own identity. He hadn’t wanted to be there. Chicago was a detour, a necessary stop in a life too full of places he didn’t want to go. PR had dragged him into its windswept streets, ushering him toward events and dinners that blurred into a dull hum of names he would never remember.

But then there was her.

It happened at a cocktail event in some opulent hotel, a place where chandeliers dangled like stars over a sea of perfectly curated faces. The room was filled with a low murmur of voices, the clink of glasses, the thin veneer of sophistication that never quite reached beyond the surface. Oscar stood near the bar, fingers wrapped loosely around a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling as his thoughts drifted. He was already planning his escape when she appeared.

Not entered the room—appeared, as though the air had conjured her from nothingness. A figure dressed in shadows and light, with red lips like the first drop of blood on fresh snow, and eyes so dark they seemed to absorb the very space around her. She moved like silk caught in a breeze—fluid, graceful, with a purpose that was almost predatory, though there was nothing menacing in her gaze. No, she was hunting something, but it was subtle, wrapped in a smile that promised a thousand secrets.

“Do you mind?” she asked, her voice soft, lilting, a melody that barely stirred the air. She gestured to the empty stool beside him.

Oscar blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the smoothness of her arrival. It was as though she had been meant to be there all along, the final piece of a puzzle he hadn’t even realised was missing. Without a word, he motioned for her to sit, his whiskey forgotten, the glass now an anchor in his hand rather than a comfort.

Her name was imprinted into his mind. Her voice curled around the syllables, a name that felt like it should belong to someone in a faded photograph, or a character in a half-forgotten dream. When she smiled, it was the kind of smile that didn’t ask to be trusted, but made you want to trust it anyway. There was something so effortless in the way she carried herself, in the way she tilted her head just so, her hair brushing against her cheek as she spoke.

They began to talk, though talk wasn’t quite the right word. She led the conversation with a gentle ease, guiding it as if she were navigating a river, never pushing too hard, never revealing more than she wanted. Her voice wove stories of her life in Chicago, like threads pulled from a tapestry woven just for him. Her work as a designer, her life as a single mother—it was all laid out before him, but in pieces, fragments of a larger picture he couldn’t yet see, but wanted desperately to complete.

Then, she mentioned her daughter, and the mask shifted, just slightly. There, in her eyes he saw a softness, a flicker of something real, or at least something that felt real.

“She’s seven,” she said, her smile now tinged with a kind of wistfulness that made Oscar’s chest tighten. “Her name’s Lila. Smart as a whip. It’s just me and her, though. Doing it on my own.”

The words hung in the air between them, and for the briefest of moments, Oscar felt as though he were standing on the edge of something he couldn’t quite name. A single mother, raising her daughter in a city that never stopped moving, never stopped demanding more—it struck a chord in him, deep and resonant. There was something in her story that tugged at him, an invisible thread that wound tighter with every word she spoke.

She glanced up at him, her eyes catching the light in a way that made them seem endless, like dark pools that promised a depth he wasn’t sure he could navigate. But he wanted to. He wanted to know everything about her, to uncover the layers she kept just out of reach, to be the one who could offer her something more. More than just conversation. More than just sympathy.

“Must be tough,” Oscar murmured, his voice softer now, almost reverent. There was something sacred in the way she spoke of her daughter, as if Lila was the only thing tethering her to the world, the anchor in her otherwise untethered existence.

She sighed, but it wasn’t the kind of sigh that begged for attention. It was subtle, almost delicate, the kind of resignation that comes from a practised weariness. The weight of her words was perfectly measured, enough to evoke sympathy, but never pity. She wasn’t asking for anything, not outright, and yet her silence spoke louder than anything else could.

“You get used to it,” she said, her voice like a thread pulled tight, thin but unbreaking. “But, yeah... sometimes it is.”

The way she said it, as though it were an afterthought, made Oscar’s heart twist. It was the kind of struggle that sounded too familiar, too real, and before he knew it, something had shifted in him. Something protective, something foolishly eager to offer help, to be the one who could ease that burden, even if only a little.

And that’s how she hooked him. Not with grand gestures or overt requests, but with the smallest, most intimate revelations. A look here, a sigh there. Each one perfectly placed, perfectly timed. She never needed to ask, because he offered before the words could form on her lips. And every time she smiled that secretive, knowing smile, he found himself falling deeper, wanting to believe that maybe—just maybe—he was the one who could change things for her.

Days slipped into weeks like sand through an hourglass, each encounter with her deepening the spell she cast over him. Chicago began to feel like a dreamscape where their paths intertwined, a place where his mundane existence blurred into a tapestry woven with her laughter and soft whispers.

They met in the city’s hidden corners—a quiet café tucked away from the bustling streets, a dimly lit bar where jazz music wrapped around them like a warm embrace. Each time Oscar saw her, the ache of attraction blossomed, rich and vibrant, filling him with a heady mixture of hope and longing. He often found himself stealing glances, wondering if she felt the same gravity toward him that he felt toward her.

But the deeper he fell, the more he sensed an undercurrent of mystery beneath her charm. It was subtle, a flicker in her gaze whenever her phone buzzed with a text she wouldn’t show him. Sometimes, he’d catch her staring out the window, her thoughts drifting away to somewhere he couldn’t follow.

One evening, they were at a secluded rooftop bar, the city sprawling below them like a sea of twinkling lights. The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, and for a moment, it felt like the world had paused just for them. Oscar had just shared a joke, one that made her laugh—a sound so genuine, it sent warmth coursing through him.

“Do you ever think about the future?” he asked, his curiosity spilling over as they leaned closer, the space between them charged with something electric. He could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the scent of her perfume wrapping around him like a spell.

“Every day,” she replied, her eyes locking onto his, dark and mysterious. “But it’s hard to dream when you’re so busy living.”

Oscar studied her, captivated by the glimmer of vulnerability beneath her poised exterior. “What do you dream of?” he probed, leaning in, their faces inches apart, the world around them fading into a blur.

“I dream of freedom,” she confessed, a faint tremor in her voice. “The freedom to choose… to be whoever I want.” There was a momentary flicker in her eyes, an openness that invited him in, only to pull back just as quickly, like a candle’s flame flickering in the wind.

He couldn’t believe a woman like her was really into him. His mind raced, battling with the part of him that wanted to dismiss the notion. She was enchanting, sophisticated, everything he had ever wanted but never thought he could attain. In this moment, he felt like a moth drawn to a flame, unable to resist the allure, even as it threatened to consume him.

As if sensing his turmoil, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his hand, a fleeting touch that ignited the air between them. “You’re a good man, Oscar,” she whispered, her voice sultry, each word curling around him like smoke. “You make me feel… alive.”

That’s when he leaned in, the space between them collapsing into something more intimate. Their lips met, tentatively at first, the kiss igniting a spark that coursed through him like fire. She tasted like whiskey and wildflowers, sweet and intoxicating, and Oscar lost himself in the moment. Every worry, every doubt faded away as he kissed her deeper, his hands finding their way to her waist, pulling her closer as if to shield her from the world outside.

But in the back of his mind, a nagging voice whispered warnings he didn’t want to hear. He wondered if he was the only one, she never mentioned her daughter’s father but that wasn’t something he was sure he wanted to know. He didn’t want to spend his days comparing himself to the man that she loved. Sometimes he caught himself wondering what he was like, was he a friend? Was he carefree and cool? Was he everything that he wasn’t? Or was he just like him? The thought made him pull back, his heart pounding not just from desire but from confusion and fear.

“Is it just me?” he asked before he could stop himself, breathless, searching her eyes for a hint of truth.

Her smile faltered for just a moment, and in that instant, he saw the cracks in her facade. But then it was gone, replaced by that intoxicating allure. “You know it’s complicated, Osc. But I like being with you. You make me feel… special.”

The way she said it drew him in again, like a moth irresistibly fluttering toward the flame, unable to see the danger. Yet the ghost of uncertainty lingered, an unsettling reminder that she might not be who she appeared to be.

“Sometimes, it feels like there’s more,” he murmured, almost to himself, but she caught his gaze, holding it like a secret, her expression unreadable.

“Don’t think too much,” she said, her tone playful but layered with something else—something deeper. “Just enjoy what we have. It’s beautiful in its own way.”

As the night wore on and the stars blinked into existence above them, Oscar found himself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The intoxicating rush of her presence, the warmth of her body so close to his, overshadowed the haunting doubts that flickered in the recesses of his mind.

The days after that rooftop kiss blurred together into a fever dream, a haze of her touch, her scent, the way her lips felt against his skin. Oscar found himself thinking about her constantly, her name echoing in his mind like a mantra. He checked his phone compulsively, waiting for her messages, craving her presence. Each time she called or texted, his heart leapt in a way that both excited and terrified him.

He couldn’t focus on work. Off season meetings passed by in a fog of half-formed strategies and distracted nods while he was still away from the city he was meant to be in. His mind was always elsewhere—trapped in the memory of her smile, the feel of her fingers brushing against his arm, the way she whispered his name late at night, in that low, intimate voice that sent shivers down his spine.

By the time she invited him over to her apartment, it felt like an invitation to a sanctuary. His heart raced as he climbed the stairs, each step heavy with anticipation. When she opened the door, it was like the world outside ceased to exist. She stood there, bathed in the dim light of her living room, wearing a simple black dress that clung to her in all the right places. Her eyes gleamed as she smiled at him, a smile that was more dangerous than any warning.

"Come in," she murmured, stepping back to let him inside.

Oscar didn’t need to be asked twice. He crossed the threshold and found himself in a space that smelled faintly of vanilla and something warm, something that reminded him of her. The apartment was quiet, cosy, but he barely noticed the surroundings. All he could see was her.

They sat on the couch, glasses of wine in hand, but conversation quickly slipped away. She leaned in, her body inches from his, and it took everything in him not to close the gap. He could feel the heat of her skin, the soft exhale of her breath against his neck as she leaned even closer, her lips brushing his ear.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, the words sending a jolt of electricity through him.

Oscar turned to her, his pulse quickening as their eyes met. Her face was inches from his, lips parted just slightly, as if daring him to close the distance. And he did. In one swift motion, his hand cupped the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair as he pulled her toward him.

Their lips collided with a force that startled him, but he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. The kiss was deep, hungry, the pent-up tension of weeks of longing spilling over all at once. Her hands slid up his chest, nails grazing his skin through the fabric of his shirt, and he groaned softly, losing himself in the feel of her. Every touch, every movement seemed to ignite something primal in him, something he hadn’t known existed until she had awakened it.

She straddled him, her thighs pressing against his hips as she deepened the kiss, her body moulding to his in a way that made him dizzy. Oscar’s hands roamed over her back, her waist, pulling her closer, needing her closer. He kissed her like he was starved for her, and in a way, he was—starved for the taste of her, the feel of her, the way she seemed to fill every space inside him that had once been hollow.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with desire, his breath shallow. “I can’t stop thinking about you, angel.”

Because that was what she was, an angel, sent from heaven. Just for him.

Her lips curled into a smile as she nipped at his bottom lip, a soft, teasing bite that made him moan. “Good,” she whispered, her voice sultry, her fingers trailing down his chest, over the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them, one by one. “I like knowing I’m always on your mind.”

“You are,” Oscar breathed, his hands gripping her hips as she pressed against him, the heat of her body making it impossible to think of anything else. His heart pounded in his chest, drowning out all reason, all sense of reality. There was only her. Only this.

He leaned back, his head resting against the couch as she kissed along his jawline, down his neck, each kiss leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His breath hitched as she bit softly at the sensitive spot just below his ear, her hands sliding beneath his shirt, nails raking lightly against his skin. He could barely speak, the words thick on his tongue, but they tumbled out before he could stop them.

“I’d leave everything for you, you know that?” he said, half-laughing, half-serious, the thought slipping out like a confession. “I’d quit my job—hell, I’d move to this shitty city for you.”

She paused, pulling back just enough to look at him, her eyes dark and unreadable. For a split second, Oscar saw something flicker in her gaze—surprise, amusement, maybe even guilt—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. She tilted her head, her fingers trailing down his chest again, this time slower, more deliberate.

“Would you really?” she asked, her voice a soft purr, her lips curling into a playful smile that sent his heart racing.

Oscar swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d do anything for you.”

She smiled, that dangerous smile again, and leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a slow, lingering kiss that made his entire body tremble. Her hands slid around his neck, pulling him closer, and for a moment, Oscar forgot everything—his job, his life, even his own name. There was only her. Only the way she made him feel, like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

But as the kiss deepened, as his mind spun with desire and longing, that nagging doubt crept back in. The flicker of uncertainty that had been lingering at the edge of his thoughts ever since that night on the rooftop. He pushed it down, pushed it away, not wanting to spoil the moment, but it was there—like a shadow, haunting the edges of his euphoria.

Oscar’s words hung in the air, a half-breathed promise laced with both desperation and devotion. The world outside, his career, his obligations—they seemed like distant echoes now, fading in the intensity of her presence. Every nerve in his body was attuned to her, to the subtle shift of her weight as she pressed closer, the heat of her body melding with his. The temptation, the desire, was overwhelming.

Her lips brushed against his in a whisper of a kiss, slow and deliberate, her breath warm as it mingled with his. Each kiss she planted was softer, more intimate than the last, trailing back from his mouth down to his neck, as if she was marking him as hers. She moved with a purpose, her hands sliding under his shirt, fingertips exploring his skin with a tantalising slowness that made Oscar’s breath hitch. Every touch was electric, sending shivers coursing down his spine.

“What would you do for me?” she murmured, her voice like velvet, the words teasing and yet dripping with seductive power. Her lips moved against his collarbone as she spoke, making it harder for him to focus on anything but the feel of her, the warmth of her breath, the way she said his name like it was something sacred.

Oscar could barely speak, barely breathe. He nodded, his fingers gripping her hips tighter, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. "Anything," he whispered, his voice raw and honest, his eyes searching hers for some sign that she might feel the same way, that this wasn’t all one-sided.

Her lips found his again, but this time the kiss was deeper, more consuming. It wasn’t just passion—it was possession. She kissed him as though she were claiming every part of him, and Oscar surrendered willingly, his mind lost in the sensation of her lips, the softness of her skin against his. Her body shifted, pressing fully against him, and he could feel the thrum of her heartbeat, could hear the soft, breathy moans that escaped her lips as they moved together.

His hands wandered up her back, fingers tracing the line of her spine before finding their way into her hair, tangling in the dark, silken strands. He tugged gently, pulling her head back just enough to expose her neck, and kissed the hollow of her throat, his lips trailing down to her shoulder. The scent of her perfume was intoxicating—something sweet and dangerous, like a promise that could never be kept.

She gasped softly, her fingers tightening in his hair, and he could feel her smile against his skin. “You’re so sweet, Oscar,” she whispered, her voice husky, dripping with allure. She shifted in his lap, grinding slowly against him in a way that made his breath catch, his heart pound in his chest. "So eager to please."

Her words were both a praise and a tease, and Oscar could feel his resolve melting, every coherent thought slipping away under the weight of his desire for her. He kissed her again, harder this time, a rush of emotion flooding through him as he poured everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. His hands roamed over her body, feeling the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin, the heat of her pressing against him. It was as though she had become the centre of his universe, everything else falling away, and he wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment, lost in her.

She responded with equal fervour, her fingers pulling at his shirt, sliding it over his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Her hands explored the bare skin of his chest, nails dragging lightly across his muscles, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Oscar groaned softly, his lips moving to the curve of her jaw, kissing along the line until he reached her ear. He could feel her tremble slightly against him, a subtle shudder that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He pulled back for a moment, just enough to look at her—her flushed cheeks, the way her lips were swollen from his kisses, the way her eyes glistened in the low light of the room. She was breathtaking, and for a moment, Oscar couldn’t believe any of this was real.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his thumb brushing gently across her lower lip. She captured it between her teeth for just a second, her eyes gleaming with mischief, before releasing it with a slow, seductive smile.

“And you’re mine,” she whispered back, her voice a promise and a command all at once. She kissed him again, slow and deep, her hips rolling against his in a way that made him lose all sense of control. “Mine to keep, mine to own, mine to use.”

The words flew over Oscar’s head as he slid his hands beneath the hem of her dress, fingers tracing the smooth skin of her thighs, pulling her even closer. He wanted her—needed her—and every touch, every kiss, only made him more desperate. She moaned softly against his lips, a sound that sent heat rushing through his veins, making his heart race, making him weak for her in ways he never thought possible.

“I’d leave everything for you,” he repeated, his voice hoarse as he kissed the side of her neck, his hands tightening on her waist, wanting her closer, needing her closer. "My job, the city, everything. Just say the word, angel."

For a moment, she paused, her fingers stilling against his skin. Her eyes met his, and there was something in her gaze—something unreadable, something that flickered and then disappeared before he could grasp it. But then she smiled, that slow, dangerous smile that made his heart ache with both longing and uncertainty.

“I know you would,” she whispered, her voice like honey, thick and sweet. Her fingers traced the outline of his jaw, and she leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. “But for now, just stay here… with me. Be mine.”

And with that, she kissed him again, deeper this time, pulling him back into the heat of the moment, into her, until all he could think about was the way she felt against him, the way she tasted, the way she made him forget everything else.

Oscar was completely, utterly hooked. He knew he was falling, deeper and deeper, blinded by the enchantment she wove around him, not realising that the threads were spun from illusions. While he yearned to be the hero in her story, she was crafting her own tale.

part two

[frostdayz]

First meetings

Loki x reader (f! reader)

genre: Fluff

summary: Loki turns smitten when he first lays his eyes on you.

AN: it took me not kidding like 25 minutes to post this short thing. I had to edit and post a paragraph each minute. Anyway, I got frustrated and deleted the actual summary so enjoy that mess. BTWWWW if anyone has good Logan (Wolverine) fics/ one-shots send them my way, thanks

my stories never really describe the readers gender so unless stated otherwise all my stories are gn!!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The grand hall of Asgard was a sight to behold—glittering gold, towering columns, and a ceiling so high it felt like the sky itself. I had only heard stories about this place, about the grandeur, the power, the gods who roamed these halls. But none of it compared to standing here, in the heart of it all, among legends.

Thor led me through the grand entrance, his booming laughter echoing in the vast space as he recounted tales of his many adventures. "And then," he chuckled, "I turned to Loki and said, 'You, brother, are as slippery as a snake!'—and he didn’t even deny it!"

I smiled politely, though my attention was elsewhere. There was a figure at the far end of the hall, standing alone by a window, his dark silhouette contrasting against the golden light streaming in. He had an air of mystery about him, his raven hair falling in soft waves to his shoulders, his sharp features etched with an intensity that made my breath catch. It was as if the world had paused momentarily, the air around him thrumming with an energy I couldn’t quite place.

"Ah, and here he is!" Thor called out, nudging me forward with a playful grin. "Loki, brother, come meet our guest!"

The figure turned slowly, and my heart skipped a beat as our eyes met. His gaze was piercing, emerald green, and filled with something unreadable. I could see the flicker of surprise in his expression, though he masked it quickly with a cool, collected demeanor. He stepped closer, his movements graceful and deliberate, and I found myself rooted to the spot, unable to tear my gaze away. "Lady Y/N," Thor continued, clearly enjoying himself, "this is my brother, Loki. Loki, this is Lady Y/N. She has come to Asgard as a guest of our realm."

Loki stopped in front of me, his eyes never leaving mine. There was a subtle shift in his expression—something softened, something curious. "Lady Y/N," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "It is… a pleasure."

I managed to nod, feeling the weight of his attention on me like a physical presence. "The pleasure is mine, Prince Loki." Thor, ever the observant one, let out a hearty laugh. "Well, well, would you look at that! I’ve never seen you so taken aback, brother. Normally, you’d have some witty remark ready, but it seems Lady Y/N has rendered you speechless!"

Loki shot his brother a look—half annoyance, half amusement—but I caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Do you always announce my thoughts so loudly, Thor?" he asked his tone light but laced with a subtle challenge. Thor clapped Loki on the shoulder with a grin. "Only when it’s so obvious! You should see the look on your face."

I felt a blush creeping up my neck, and I tried to focus on anything other than the fact that Loki’s gaze hadn’t wavered from me. It was as though he was studying me, trying to unravel some puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. It was both unnerving and… thrilling. Loki tilted his head slightly as if considering something. "And what is it, Thor, that you think you see?" Thor chuckled, leaning in closer as if sharing a secret. "I see a brother who is completely smitten."

Loki raised an eyebrow, but there was no denial in his expression. Instead, he simply looked back at me, a slow, almost imperceptible smile curving his lips.

"Perhaps," he mused, "there are things even gods cannot anticipate."

My heart fluttered at his words, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room. The world faded into the background, and all I could focus on was the way Loki’s eyes seemed to see right through me as if he knew me—understood me—on a level I hadn’t even realized was possible.

Thor’s laughter broke the spell, and I blinked, the world snapping back into focus. "Come now, Lady Y/N," Thor said, still grinning, "let us continue our tour. I’m sure Loki will join us once he’s done… collecting himself."

Loki’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he stepped back with a slight nod. "Enjoy your tour, Lady Y/N. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon." As I followed Thor through the hall, I couldn’t help but glance back over my shoulder. Loki was still standing there, watching me with that same intense gaze. And in that moment, I knew—whatever this was, whatever had just passed between us—it wasn't the last time I'd see it.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Anyone up for an angsty little fic? XD

I wrote this for whumptober but never could find a prompt that fit it. So I’m publishing it now instead!

CW for blood and injury, referenced torture, and burn wounds

———————————————————

The world is blinding and it burns.

Time grits his teeth, turns from it in an effort to escape the light. Endless and crackling, reaching out, snapping back, a whip seeking an unsuspecting back.

Someone is screaming. He knows it is not him.

“What-what…no!” A foot clad in crimson stomps once, twice, a masked face bobbing in time with it. “No, no, no! This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

Fools. Time thinks. Fools and cowards.

The Yiga have brought this upon themselves.

Days, perhaps weeks of torture and experimentation have led to this. He only wishes he could have stopped it. Not for their sake. No, never for theirs. For all he cares, they can writhe beneath lightning’s brutal claws, screech, and scramble like insects trying to escape a boot.

Not for their sake does guilt pierce his soul. For Sky’s.

He lies in the center of the room, the sun in the center of a universe of destruction. Trembling with power, choking on fear, his cries ring in the hero’s ears like the bells in the Temple of Time.

The Yiga are running – the surviving ones, at least. Time can smell the smoke of their stealthy escapes. It hardly manages to permeate the heavy scent of electric death.

He breathes in, exhale hitching as he tries to move. His wounds ache and blood clings to him, dripping from the shreds of his tunic. He must get up though, he must get free.

He has to reach Sky before this power tears him apart.

The ropes around his wrists are frayed, bristling with the relentless aggression of his struggles. Day after day the Yiga had yanked him back, sliced at the fingers trying to pull at the hulking knots, aimed kicks at his stomach, his head, his back – anything to get him to cease trying to escape.

Cease trying to reach Sky.

His throat aches from shouting his name. His head pounds from sobbing.

Time contorts throbbing hands in a half-circle his wrists shriek against, pawing desperately at the same bonds that have held fast all this time.

Their strength had not been their own. This moment, they crumple beneath his force. This moment, they fall.

He is up in an instant, scrambling, gritting his teeth against the way everything shouts and screams and erupts into dazzling bursts of light and color, color and light that all take on the shade of red.

He coughs. Something damp and clammy hits the ground.

“Sky!”

One of his feet isn’t moving right. It feels like someone has wrenched it off, screwed it back on backwards. It doesn’t matter. What won’t move, will be dragged.

“Sky!”

“Time!”

The eyes that turn, tear-filled and pleading to him, match the tongues of lightning that lash out at his unarmored form. They are like the shooting stars he and Malon used to watch as they blazed across the Hyrulean sky.

Sky inhales and the force of it is nails scraping against metal, calloused fingers against a blade.

“Help me!”

The scream is a collection of shattered glass, raining down upon the room in terrible, glinting projectiles. Time winces with the pain of it.

“I’m coming.”

He chokes it out more than speaks it.

“I’m coming, Sky, just…”

He coughs again, stumbles, catches himself on the wall. It is wet with a substance he would rather not contemplate the existence of. He pushes off of it and keeps going.

The lightning reaches for him, tantalizing, hypnotic. Determined, he fights to reach it.

“Just hold on. Hold on!”

The first of them snaps back, connects with vicious precision with his thigh. He cries out, nearly crumples, and trips right into another. It sends a jolt through his side, snaking rapidly in and out of bones he didn’t even register having.

What will you do once you reach him? His mind hisses, doubtful, pessimistic. What will you do when, bloodied and broken, you fall beside him? Will you touch his shoulder? Draw him into your arms?

What good will comfort do?

He reaches for an answer. He has none. Only his mission and his determination to accomplish it.

Time grits his teeth and he presses on.

Sky screams his name again. Lightning strikes again. It is all around him now, a hurricane whose eye he is swimming towards. A hurricane that is tearing him apart.

They devour like ravenous wolfos. Streaking through muscle and sinew, razing them like fields of sun-warmed wheat; splintering bones, boiling blood. He is breathing the life-giving liquid, tasting it, smelling it. It pours from his mouth and eyes and nose, peppers the ground like a morbid artwork. It mixes with the pungent wetness of his tears and tears, melds with sickly yellow bile he cannot keep down.

“Sky…” He tries to call. He is close to him now, so close. If he just extends his arm…

His next inhale is hardly enough to be called one. At some point walking became impossible. He can’t recall when. But now he pulls himself along like a newborn babe.

Even that is too much for his body.

It smells like death. It smells like burning bodies.

He will not give up, though, not now. Sky needs him.

A trembling hand goes up, goes out, seeking its destination. An exhausted body exerts the last of its strength to lunge.

Time won’t allow himself to scream. But as he brings Sky into his arms, he can’t keep back a cry.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I so, so sorry,” sobs the shattered boy who has collapsed into him. “I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it!”

It hurts. Darkness is beginning to join the endless light.

The world is blinding and it burns. Oh, it burns. Worse than the magma of Death Mountain, worse than the clawing grasp of a deadhand, the sting of a skulltula.

It doesn’t matter.

“You can,” he croaks and pulls Sky closer. “I believe that you can.”

Time has not thought of himself as naive in a very, very long time. But for a split second, drenched in guilt, he wonders if, perhaps, he is being so now.

He shoves the thought away, drowns it beneath the battle of staying awake and staying alive.

Sky lets loose a cry like a warrior who has lost a great battle. A sound that is dazzling in its ferocity, terrifying in its grief.

“Please, please just leave.” He lifts his face, blood and soot and snot made stark against a backdrop of silvery white. “I’m gonna hurt you more than I already have! Leave!”

He tries to shove away, but it is a weak attempt. Time holds him closer.

“I won’t leave you.”

Talking is a struggle, breathing is a struggle. How long can he keep doing both?

As long as it takes.

“I am used to storms.” He smiles and that hurts as well. The expression tears at fragile flesh. “I have never run from one.

“And I refuse to do so now.”

[btsmosphere]

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 1: the Light Dies

masterlist | next

🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: He’s the hero. Unfortunately for you, you’re not the villain.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 6.6k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, it’s sorta like a mafia au but they have superpowers lmao 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, minor character death, attempted murder, injury, loss of consciousness

a/n: I have to say thank you to @casuallyimagining and @bluewhale52 for betaing this chapter, although this might come as a surprise to them since that was maybe 3 years ago now?😅I'm really not sure how much my writing had changed since then, but you guys can be the judge of that as the future chapters unfold! In the meantime, enjoy! If you want more supercharged in your life, you can also search my supercharged tag to find some musings, rambling, gifsets and visuals etc that inspired me and kept me going while I lost my mind over this story!

Lastly, I present the supercharged playlist✨ I had a lot of fun making this – several songs align with plot events, while some of them are there for the title, the vibe, or even a single line! Feel free to guess which are which or come and chat with me about it👀

An ear-splitting roar was barely contained behind shuddering steel doors. Just down the corridor, your fingers still clicked away, unperturbed, at your keyboard.

Tapping your foot, you looked impatiently up at the clock as another thunderous bellow assaulted the air. If the full-length windows weren’t reinforced by your boss, Kuyang’s own design, they would be rattling in their frames.

Blowing to rid your face of a strand of hair, you returned to your work, not even sparing a glance towards the source of the racket. It was only around half an hour until you could leave work for the weekend.

Finishing your task, you turned to filing the correspondence on your desk as a few yells carried through the air, mingled with the monster’s uproar. Bills and business deals the lot of them, you tucked them away in their respective places to be dealt with next week – only to stop on the very last one. How many times had the postman ignored the very clear sign for no newspapers?

You supposed the city felt the need to remind everyone that there was some semblance of central control – not really of much concern in a workplace such as yours, mind. Glancing across the front page, you realised why. You didn’t have a tv at home, but you would have to live under a rock not to recognise your city’s most celebrated superhero. Bolt, the media’s beloved, had claimed another victory against some crazy start-up trying to build their own bombs downtown.

The hero’s blue-masked face grinned confidently up at you from the desk, while police led what looked to be two scruffy teenagers into the back of their van. But Bolt’s vivid presence eclipsed them in his suit that matched his bright eyes.

Not bothering to read further, you pushed the paper into the waste bin at the end of the table.

Just as you were tucking away the final bits of paper, your boss emerged, wiping his brow on a cloth that looked as dirty as his face. Smiling pleasantly despite his ruffled state, you rotated on your chair to face him.

“Frank’s all good and sleepy now,” he said, “if you could get him sent up to the chamber.”

“Sure,” you nodded, already getting up and straightening your jacket.

With nothing more than a weary nod of appreciation, he left for his private laboratory. This was through a series more armoured doors, to which only you and a small number of lab workers knew the codes.

He was a scientist. And you were sure he was unhinged, but the job paid well, so that was all you concerned yourself with.

In fact, you had got very lucky. You had been surprised when such a good position had become available and quickly given to someone as ill-qualified as you, with no references to give. But your lack of connections seemed of no concern, and here you were, finally making ends meet and no longer in fear of being turned out of your run-down apartment at the edge of town.

So you did your job as well as you could, worrying yourself over nothing except pleasing the odd man that was Kuyang.

Even so, it was still a little daunting each time you had to come face-to-face with one of his experiments.

Reaching the steel doors that had not long ago been seriously threatening their hinges, you took a breath. Holding your thumb over a scanner by the door, you plastered a confident smile on your face as you walked inside.

Affectionately dubbed ‘Frank’, a great lump of teeth and dark furry flesh several times bigger than you was sleeping in a pod at the centre of the room. Surrounding this were multitudes of screens showing graphs and readings you couldn’t hope to understand.

At the edges of the room, a smattering of other workers were slumped against the stainless steel lab walls, almost as rumpled as their boss had been.

A hulking guard, Taeyeon, stood near the entrance, and you quietly confirmed with her that Frank was under and secure. Nodding, you gestured to Taeyeon’s team, another man and woman with the same uniform and intimidating stature.

Together, you assembled in front of the tank that held Frank, Taeyeon typing authorisation into one of the computers. The others locked down the external doors, just in case.

Though it was a familiar sight by now, the opening of the pod always prompted you to run through your training. If you hadn’t read it in the documents you dealt with, you would not have known Frank was also known as Necrus X, a new prototype Kuyang was working on, although you could not imagine what for.

Kuyang had been sure to tell you how to knock out the creature if it ever came to it, though. There was a spot behind his ear, which was more of a ridge at the side of his enormous head.

With the pod open, a panel rose from the floor, taking Frank rotating upwards. You caught sight of the patch behind its ear, zeroing in on it. Just in case.

The smooth expanse of ceiling split then, a hole revealing itself as the roof shrunk away into the walls, leaving a clear path for Frank to rise to the next floor, where he was stored.

As effortlessly as the ceiling retreating, a smooth steel staircase emerged from the walls. You and Taeyeon climbed it, spiralling around the edges of the circular space until you drew level with Frank, now snoring on the upper floor. Here, the space was wide open like an empty art gallery, half the walls comprised of expansive windows, no lab equipment to be seen.

The floor closed up beneath you both and you walked around Frank, opening a secret panel in the wall. As before, you raised your thumb to a blank scanner – but got no further.

A deafening smash sent you crouching to the ground in panic. Livid blue painted all the walls in the space as shattered glass skidded across the floor.

You had thought that glass to be unbreakable. At least that was the intention. But when you turned, you were forced to believe your ears: the central panel of glass was completely blown in, all the others down the row cracked from the force.

At the same moment the glass had shattered, you could suddenly hear what before had been hidden behind soundproofing. Outside, there were shouts, screams, car horns and alarms blaring from every angle – and above all, sirens. Sirens wailing through the air like disembodied banshees, descending, apparently, on your building.

Shuffling along the floor, you peered past the sleeping mass that was Frank in front of you. Walking across the room was a man in a tight blue suit, the same hue crackling in the air around his hands.

Bolt.

Mind short-circuiting, you were frozen. What should you do?

What was Bolt doing here? Was there some kind of threat? The image of him should have brought you relief, even though you knew nothing of what the danger was, but you hesitated.

Only having the presence of mind to shrink back silently behind Frank, you looked between the beast and the control panel you had abandoned. But you had no more chance to move before a fearsome crack ripped through the air, another flash of blue, sending the hairs on your arms bolting upright.

Spinning back to face Frank, you were met with a thump. A body, falling onto the floor.

Though she was mostly obscured by Frank’s sleeping form, you stared in unbelieving horror at Taeyeon where she lay, unmoving. Breath accelerating in your throat, you moved at last, scooting yourself back and away. Closer to the wall.

First you lunged to sound the alarm, mounted inside the wall panel, which instantly lit the room up in throbbing red, blaring loud enough to drown out the sirens outside. Then your hand was fumbling across the scanner. You had to get Frank locked away.

The walls of the pod which safely contained Frank overnight began to descend, much too slowly for your liking. Whirling to face the room, your heart seized in your chest when the imposing figure of Bolt, now shaded purple by the red light, met your eyes.

A glance up at the descending walls. They were halfway to the ground by now, but you still had to enter the code to lock them down.

Bolt yelled for you to stop, barely audible over the dizzying noise of the warning siren.

As he strode towards you, you could only watch, pressing yourself desperately against the wall as if it could swallow you up.

Bright light cut through the imposing red as the heavy door at the opposite end of the room was thrown open. Bolt stopped, both of you turning to see Kuyang enter. His hair was still sticking up from earlier, a strange expression on his face that you hadn’t seen before.

Paying no mind to the maniacal smile that had no place on Kuyang’s face, you took the moment of distraction to scramble for the code lock.

Without a sound, the gap between the floor and Frank’s pod closed, and your fingers were already leaping to action, typing the numbers behind your back at lightning speed.

Kuyang was running now, a direct path towards Bolt. But Bolt turned back towards you.

You were nearly done, but his hand was raising towards you…

In a split second, your fingertip met the final key of the code. Almost instantly, it was ripped away as shocking blue light cut through the air. You felt the impact before you could even notice that it was aimed at you.

Hitting you square in the chest, white hot pain scorched through your every nerve as your body was flung backwards, powerless as a ragdoll sailing through the air. The collision with the cracked window behind was almost lost on you. More intense pain was writhing its way down each limb, making you cry out, uncaring about the rain-spattered wind that whipped about your face now.

But you could see shards of glass as they fell along with you, like daggers aimed at the ground.

Biting wind rushed in your ears, the sound crashing over you like waves. And just as a pan sizzles down off the heat, the ferocious attack of pain seemed to reduce just as fast as it had invaded you.

Your heartbeat was the loudest thing, booming over the insistent web of sirens and whistling air.

Breathing choppily, you screwed your eyes nearly closed, suddenly aware of the tempest around you as you fell. Above, the already darkening winter night was illuminated with flashes of that awful blue.

You were falling.

It hit you then, as if you hadn’t been falling all this time. But it was only now that your senses caught up with themselves. You worked on a very high floor of the skyscraper, but as you were tossed around in the air, you saw the ground rapidly approaching.

A horror gripped your chest like nothing you had ever felt before.

Below you, and rushing towards you at terrifying speed, a skip sat surrounded by heaps of trash on the street. Unable to think, you could only shield your face with your hands, stretched out in front of you as if to stop the inevitable collision.

Though your eyes fell closed, you felt the jerk that flung your whole body backwards.

That wasn’t what you had expected.

Eyes snapping open in confusion, you found your vision lit with blue. In front of your face, blue light was shooting from your palms, pushing you up and away from the ground.

Your mouth fell open. Gaping in shock, you did nothing as the light died and you slowed again in the air.

Though you began falling much slower this time, you barely had time to notice your surroundings – much nearer the ground – before you were plummeting again, and this time nothing could stop you.

Your eyes weren’t even open when you felt your body slide off something. Not a second later, you were crumpling onto hard concrete which grazed your cheek.

You groaned.

It was dark. High above, any flashes of light didn’t reach you here, having landed in a thin alley beside the building. And though this shielded you from the commotion on the main streets out front, sirens still pierced the air, each one feeling like a stab to your head.

You clutched it as you maneuvered to sit. It took you a few tries, groping for a wall or something to lean against as you regained your balance.

Eyes cracking open, you waited patiently for the dark splotches to dispel before looking around.

Right next to you was a car which blocked you from view of the road beyond this alley. Evident from the dent that caved in its bonnet, that was what you had landed on.

Turning your head, you had to squint even more as light assaulted your sensitive eyes.

Among a blazing light, you could make out the vague shapes of rubbish bags and an overflowing skip that you recognised. Out of these, a vibrant fire was now burning. The correlation was too strong for you to ignore.

Breath shallow, you turned your horrified gaze to your hands.

They had done this… but how? They looked totally normal now.

Frowning, you brought them up closer to your face, so that your nose was practically buried in your palms.

No difference.

You were sure you hadn’t imagined that blue light which saved you earlier. Was there a way to make it come back?

While you were puzzling, you lowered your hands again, still staring intently as you rotated them in your lap.

Then, quick as a blink, a blue flash darted from them again. So fast, in fact, that you had no time to react before one of the bolts was fired directly into your opposite arm.

Snatching it away reflexively, you hissed in pain as a burning sensation crawled, tingling, over your skin there.

Despite the pain, the blue light didn't cease shooting from your hands. They tingled, a strangely uncomfortable sensation. It was as if something warm was wriggling its way up your veins and spilling from your fingertips.

“Stop! Stop!” you whispered in panic.

You turned them outwards, aiming away from you, but if they kept at it for much longer you were sure to draw attention.

Moving your hands around jerkily, the beams of light shook along with you, but did not go out. With each unsuccessful movement, panic made you more frantic until the glowing rays jerked erratically around the small space.

Straying too far, the light came into contact with a post at the alley’s entrance. You could only watch, helpless, as light like blue snakes skittered up it and latched around the wires it supported.

To your relief, the strange current seemed to have found an outlet, and only remained a second longer before cutting out. You were left blinking in the relative darkness. Panting heavily, you stared down at your hands, although you did not bring them too close anymore.

Once again, they appeared utterly innocent. There was nothing to suggest they had just channelled lightning through them.

Suddenly, the world plunged into darkness. The fire still burned at the other end of the alley, or you would have been left totally blind. In the building behind you, in the street, all the lights had gone out.

Almost instantly following the blackout, screaming rose again in the air.

Gulping, your eyes travelled to the blackened post at the corner, which you had accidentally electrocuted.

This was bad. Your head was spinning, both from your short, hard fall and from the whirlwind of events that had happened in what could only have been minutes. Surrounded by darkness, with the wail of the city and a fire for company, you could only see one course of action.

Run.

You had to get away from here. It wasn’t safe. You had little idea where was safe, but you couldn’t be here anymore.

It wasn’t like you had anyone to call who would care enough to come and pick you up. Nor did you have the money to try a hospital, though you felt as if you may need it.

But especially with electricity shooting from your hands at the drop of a hat, it probably wasn’t best to be anywhere around people.

The dizziness from your unfortunate landing on the car had worn off while you were sitting, but the world swayed anew the moment you made to stand. Pushing determinedly against the wall, you struggled on anyway, brand new dark spots in your vision offset by the brightness of the fire you walked towards.

This end of the alleyway led out through smaller streets, away from the city centre and furore of sirens.

On reaching the opening, you cautiously assessed the road stretching away either side. Empty. And if there was anyone there, they wouldn’t see you in this darkness.

Shoving your hands beneath your armpits on some misguided hope of keeping them from causing problems, you lowered your head and ran. It was more of a jog, considering everything, but you still moved as quickly as you could beneath the dead streetlamps.

Head throbbing more with movement, you stumbled a few times as you went. The pavement tilted around you.

You had made it a few roads before you felt that awful tingling in your arms again. It itched, like something fighting its way out of your skin.

Nausea rolled in the pit of your stomach. This couldn’t be real.

Slowing down and stopping beneath a signpost, you drew your shaking hands out in front of you. The world careened on its axis, revolving around the sight of your palms as a faint blue glow grew in them.

You were going to throw up, you were sure of it.

You wanted it to stop.

A few flickers of blue darted down the veins in your wrist. Towards your fingertips. Sparks leapt from them, small tendrils of lightning crackling between your fingers like webbing.

At last, you gave in to the rising horror mixed with a sick feeling. The floor’s spinning became too much, your hands turning to a bright blur in the centre of your vision.

You passed out on the spot.

Lights were turning on again around the city. Television sets flickering back to life to announce Bolt’s victory against the beast that had attacked earlier that evening.

But not on the street where you still lay.

The return of light only reached neighbouring roads, dim glow snuffed out before it could penetrate the middle of this street. A white-haired young man stepped forwards, but his face was totally obscured in darkness.

“Here,” he spoke to the silence.

The next moment, a deep red glowed in the middle of the road, though it brought little light. The red bounced off a signpost before it was gone, replaced by another man, seemingly from nowhere.

The newest arrival stood there, looking down at your figure, unconscious by the sign. Then he disappeared again, leaving total darkness behind as if he had never been there at all.

A few more moments passed, you and the hidden man the only beings on the dark road.

Not very long after, a car’s engine rumbled and sputtered into earshot. The bright beam of headlights rounded the corner, growing larger and shedding light on your form as it drew closer.

Pulling up next to you, the engine died along with the lights. Two doors opened and slammed shut.

As two pairs of feet stepped nearer to join the one remaining beside you, the streetlamp directly overhead began to glow. The faint glimmer grew until it illuminated the scene. Still no other lights joined it, leaving the small group of you lit up as if by spotlight.

“It’s her?”

The man crouching beside you asked the question without looking up, and the shadowed man answered.

“Pretty sure.”

“She’s breathing?”

“Yes.”

The crouching man hummed. Moving to kneel instead, his eyes roved over your somewhat battered face, dark hair obscuring his own.

“Namjoon?” he asked then, turning to the other man from the car. It was the same man who had momentarily appeared in the street earlier.

Taking his cue, the tall man, Namjoon, walked forwards and bent to lift your hands by the wrists. In just moments he was placing them carefully back, nodding.

“No doubt.”

“Okay then.”

“Can she travel, Jin?”

“Give me a moment.”

Producing a small object, he pressed a button and a small light sprung from the end. Carefully lifting one of your eyelids, he shone the light into it, observing like a doctor.

The first you became aware of was the far away sound of voices being quietly exchanged. But with the cloudiness in your head, identifying them didn’t seem very urgent. You were preoccupied with the swirling feeling that made the world swim around you, even though it was dark.

But as dim awareness was returning to you, the process of regaining your senses was violently accelerated as a blinding light was thrust into your vision.

You flinched, and as Jin pulled away he saw you blink, eyelids screwing shut in protest. His eyebrows raised in slight concern as he watched your first groggy movements.

Blinking around at the dimly lit figures over you, your eyes widened. The nearest man held the illuminated light stick. Was he a doctor?

Next, your eyes darted to the tall man standing behind him. You recognised neither.

Some strange feeling told you someone else was standing there too, but when you looked to your other side you were faced with nothing but empty shadow.

“Can you sit?”

The first man’s question was gentle, his hands ready to support you.

Nodding timidly, you heaved yourself up with his help. It embarrassed you to be panting after just that much movement.

“What happened?” came the next question.

As you replayed the events, you avoided their eyes. You could not let them know what happened, what you had become. They were helping you, and yet you might hurt them-

Fists clenching subconsciously, you stuttered in panic.

“I-I can’t pay,” you told them, but before you could say more a new voice was speaking. The standing man stepped forwards, his voice calm and surprisingly friendly.

“There’s no need to pay. We can help you. Can you tell us what happened?”

“I don’t, uh, I-I-“

His eyes travelled towards your hands, which you were trying to tuck behind you.

“You gained powers, didn’t you?”

You froze.

“I have them too,” he smiled, “I know what it’s like to be scared. But you can work with this and learn to control them. I’m Namjoon, and this is Jin. We’ve been through this before, we can help you.”

At your sides, your hands relaxed. Tension lifted from your tightly hunched shoulders. Wordless, you looked between the men who were watching you, ready to move, but only on your word.

Swallowing, a light frown creased your brow.

“What do you want-”

Namjoon’s smile dimmed into something kinder.

“At least let us check you over.”

Your hands fretted together. It was strange, you couldn’t feel anything there. Surely they should feel different? How would you know if these… powers, Namjoon had said, were to come back?

“You won’t hurt us, don’t worry,” he seemed to anticipate your thoughts as he watched you, “we can protect ourselves.”

“You were unconscious,” Jin spoke, drawing your perplexed gaze back to him, “did you hit your head?”

You blinked, but found yourself answering.

“I think so.”

Nodding, Jin shuffled at your side. He leaned a bit closer.

“I need to shine this light in your eyes again. You may have a concussion.”

Complying, you sat through the eye-watering brightness. He asked you things, like a doctor would, except he was working in the middle of an empty street in the middle of the night.

“Do you feel dizzy?”

“I did. I think still, a little.”

“Any nausea?”

“Yeah… but maybe because of the…” you gestured to your hands.

Jin sat back, taking the light with him. Namjoon shot you a sympathetic smile at that. You supposed he had been through the same thing, from the sounds of it.

Jin looked up at Namjoon.

“It looks pretty rough. Definitely a concussion, and she needs patching up, but in the long run she’ll be fine.”

“I-I’m serious,” you interjected, “I don’t have the money for hospital…”

Your voice faltered. You half thought of asking to just go home, but you were hardly sure of even making it there by yourself. And if you got there, then what? The prospect of burning down the place with these errant powers didn’t fill you with comfort.

“Good thing we’re not going to bring you there, then,” Namjoon said, “but I meant it when I said we could help. We can take you home, if you want… but you can stay with us, too.”

You stared at him wordlessly. Was it crazy that you were considering this?

“Just for a bit, if you need,” Jin added softly, “it’s just… now might not be the smartest time to be alone.”

You chewed your cheek. But your head was pounding too much to think very hard, and this seemed like the most straightforward option. The people in this city kept surprising you, after your first stroke of luck with Kuyang's generosity.

“Sure…” you spoke quietly, not quite able to look them in the eyes, “yes please.”

“Okay,” Namjoon took it in stride, “but let’s get moving.”

“Just one moment – we should wrap that.”

Gesturing towards your arm, Jin stood and went back to the car. On his return, he knelt again and began to secure cling film around the angry red blotch blistering your skin, where you had caught yourself with your own beam.

“We’ll sort it out properly when we get back,” he told you, “but Namjoon’s right, we should be going.”

You followed his gaze which seemed to dart up and down the street. However, nothing was there.

Jin helped you stand, still looking around. Sure enough, the dizziness from before hadn’t quite left you yet. Biting down on your lip, you focussed hard on getting the short distance to the car. You were led to the passenger seat and crumpled gratefully into it.

But just as Jin closed the door, you felt an uncomfortable prickling clutch your forearms again. Namjoon slid into the back seat in time to hear your gasp, noticing the way your fingers flexed in panic. Digging in his pockets, he produced a pair of thin black gloves and held them out to you just as the first trickles of blue appeared in your veins again. He watched with a studious frown as you pushed your hands into the gloves.

“Those will help,” he said, still looking at your wrists, “they can contain the powers. But you shouldn’t keep them on for too long.”

Jin was seating himself in the driver’s side as you frowned over at Namjoon. At first you had been relieved to have a solution to your erratic lightning problem, but that was ripped away at his last addition.

“Why not? It will keep you safe,” you questioned, but kept your voice quiet.

“Don’t worry, we’re more than capable of handling anything you could throw at us,” he laughed, “but you can keep them on in here. Best not to bottle up your powers forever, though.”

Resigned, you turned back to face front. The moment Jin stepped on the gas, all the lights in the road sparked to life at once. Startled, you blinked, looking around. On the pavement you were just pulling away from, a man was walking away, unidentifiable behind a hoodie.

Slumping back in your seat, you breathed a short, dry laugh. This mysterious happening was just the latest in this crazy night. You had no choice but to accept it.

The car ride was fairly short, but you were too tired and distracted to take in exactly where you were going. Streets seemed to blur together, aware only that you were heading out of town.

The itching in your arms had persisted for a while, but as promised, the gloves seemed to work. No fiery blue burst out of your palms, and, eventually, whatever it was decided to give it up, subsiding again by the time the car pulled up.

But no one got out yet. Jin had stopped at the end of a small road, big enough for only one vehicle, directly facing an expanse of crumbling and graffitied brick.

Curiosity woke you up from your daze, and you watched as Jin reached to tap something on his dashboard. Almost instantly, a groaning reached your ears from over the whirring of the engine. The wall ahead shook before shifting, sliding sideways until it tucked itself behind a dented dustbin, unveiling a space beyond.

Leaving you little more time to wonder, Jin started the car again and you rolled downwards through a plain, dark entrance. It reminded you of those multi-storey car parks formed with ugly blocks of concrete. It was considerably smaller than those, however, Jin pullingup into a space alongside about a dozen other vehicles, beyond which the place seemed entirely deserted.

Jin came around to open your door, but you were able to stand by yourself. It was still a bit of a struggle, your limbs sluggish and the world dull around you – although that may have just been the low underground light.

Namjoon led you, Jin staying close by your side. Blinking at the space as you moved through it, your eyes traced over the various car roofs, some cleaner than others. A larger four-by-four was particularly beaten up, with a large crease in one of the metal wheel arches.

Your eyes rested longest on what was probably the most pristine: a motorbike, at first hidden by the cars either side of it.

Soon enough, you were past them. Stopping as Namjoon did, you watched him expectantly. However, he did not turn around, instead standing face-to-face with a plain concrete wall. Except… now a low rumble announced the movement of a panel which slid away, revealing a wide doorway which had previously blended seamlessly with the flat wall.

Your eyebrows raised at the touch that was reminiscent of Kuyang’s lab. Without time for you to dwell on this, your small group moved up a dingy staircase that lay beyond the doorway.

At the top, you emerged into a new space, notably lighter than before. You assumed you were back on ground level, perhaps above. It was hard to be sure, disoriented as you still were in the whirlwind that had overtaken your day.

Bizarrely, the space appeared to be someone’s home. There was a large and coffee-stained table surrounded by mismatching chairs, a kitchen behind it littered with mugs and pot plants. Still, beyond the lived-in array of things lying around, it was big. You imagined it must be miles more expensive than the shoddy apartment you stayed in.

It was open plan, and you followed Namjoon past the dining table towards an area filled with two enormous sofas.

The back of a blond head was visible over the sofa, and now the person turned towards you.

“Guys!” a loud exclamation rang out as he leapt up. A dazzling smile spread across his mouth.

When his eyes fell on you, wincing at his sudden volume, the smile dimmed a little.

“Not so loud, Hope-ah,” Jin spoke gently from behind you.

“Sorry,” he dipped his head, smile remaining on his lips.

Jin’s hands came lightly to your back, steering you over to a sofa. As you sunk into it with relief, the blond man sat across from you, tilting his head to catch your eye.

“I’m Hope,” he smiled, “I’m glad we found you. You’ll be right in no time!”

Frowning, you couldn’t help but notice his eyes flicking over the damage on your face. Averting your gaze, you chewed your lip absently.

What did he mean? I’m glad we found you…

Had they been looking for you? You still weren’t sure if it was a lucky coincidence they found you, but perhaps it was something more.

The lingering ache in your head forced you to push the issue away. You missed Namjoon’s stern look at Hoseok as he hovered behind your seat.

Jin pulled a pack from a cupboard and set it beside you. You let him lift your arm and unwrap the burn, your unfocussed eyes dragging across the room while he applied something cold over it. Next came stinging, scattered over your face as he wiped at the small cuts and grazes with an apologetic grimace you barely saw.

You only forced the world back into focus when someone else entered your sight. Emerging from behind you, a gentle, friendly smile was directed your way from a man with pale pink hair. Swallowing, you never managed to smile back before he was turning away.

The pink-haired man reached a hand out to someone you couldn’t see. Another man appeared, walking towards him, but he never looked at you. Or if he did, it was obscured behind the black hair that fell to his eyes.

The two new people left towards the kitchen, though not without another smile from the pink one.

Who were all these people?

Frowning after them, you were interrupted by a clap on the shoulder from Jin.

“We’ll talk more in the morning. You need to rest.”

Looking around, you had half a mind to protest, but were overruled by the shakiness taking over your frame. Body too fatigued to allow you much say, you meekly followed Jin.

Beyond the living space, a thinner corridor led away, several closed doors along its walls.

Further you went, until a door just ahead opened. Another person walked out.

When he stopped to face you, his posture remained stiff. Tall and muscular, he was clad all in black except for a towel slung over his shoulder. Damp hair fell messily around his head. But you had little time to take this in, as his eyes fixed themselves fiercely on yours, rendering you unable to look away.

Mouth remaining in a hard line, his expression only twitched further into a frown.

Then his gaze flicked abruptly away, travelling to Jin just beyond you.

“Kook-“

Jin never got further than that before the man strode forwards, marching sharply past you and away with a scowl. Turning after him in surprise, you watched his tense shoulders disappear behind Namjoon, who you hadn’t noticed hovering.

Namjoon stared sternly after him, but the man seemed to avoid his gaze.

Jin sighed, sending an apologetic glance at you.

“That’s just Jungkook,” Namjoon spoke, ushering you all further along the hallway, “don’t pay him any attention.”

“Why was…”

You trailed off, unsure of what exactly to ask. Neither of them made an attempt to answer.

You had no idea a wordless encounter could leech so much hostility into the atmosphere. Picturing Jungkook’s glowering face, you blindly followed the others through a different door.

“You can sleep in here.”

“Hm?”

Shaking yourself, you looked around the new room. There wasn’t much to see. Beside a low bed, there was a mirror, a wooden closet and nothing more. Looking up, you didn’t even find a light in the ceiling. The only light leaked through from the hallway.

Clearly reading your gaping mouth and furrowing brow, Namjoon moved in front of you.

“Don’t worry, this is just a place to sleep, nothing more. But since you’re going to have to take those gloves off, we can’t have you in a space with any electricals.”

Stepping back defensively, your fingers pressed tightly together. Having the gloves on had let you almost imagine that nothing life-changing had happened. Like gaining unpredictable powers, for instance.

Namjoon watched patiently, holding out a hand.

“You don’t need them…”

He realised he had never asked your name, and let his sentence trail expectantly. Telling him your name, he relaxed into a smile.

“You don’t need them, Y/N,” he repeated, not that you believed him for a second, “you’ll be perfectly safe. And so will we.”

Only the yearning to collapse onto the bed persuaded you to hand over the gloves. The instant they were in his hand, you swore you could feel a shock go up your arm. Immediately tense again, your breathing became shallower, with no idea how to try and stop power shooting from your hands any moment.

But Namjoon and Jin seemed content. Before you could gather your thoughts, they had left, closing the door and drenching your room in near total darkness.

Stumbling to the bed and virtually falling into it, you wiped sweating palms against the fabric. Your mouth was dry with fear.

This couldn’t have happened.

Alone for the first time since your initial panic, it didn’t take long for your mind to wrap itself in circles again. Only hours ago, you had been sitting happily in your bright office, going through the motions…

One split-second decision from a powerful man had changed that.

You knew full well he had intended for you to die. But he was Bolt...

He had probably forgotten about it already. The guard he sent lifeless to the floor, the secretary he threw from the building.

Itching feeling returning, you swallowed desperately and raised your hands. Sure enough, against the darkness, blue pierced your vision, darting its way up-

Turning your face away, you flinched as the outburst came. Your eyes screwed shut, you pressed your cheek into fabric, not wanting to see the deathly lightning that shot through the room. Shuddering breaths broke into your lungs when at last it subsided.

Letting them fall, limp, to your sides, your hands fisted the covers tightly.

You were almost afraid to open your eyes, knowing it would only show you the empty room, confirmation that this was real. You were dangerous, shut in a safe room where you could hurt no one. Would you ever get out? Succeed in controlling this, like Namjoon had said?

With no idea where you were, barely any idea who the people here were, you wanted to block it out. But even with your eyes closed, you couldn’t escape.

The memory of Jungkook’s suspicious face made your heart sink. Perhaps people should be afraid of you, now. As much as you may want to, there was no getting away from this.

Pushing yourself to sit, you surveyed the room. Eyes accustomed to the blackness a little more, you could make out vague shapes. Your breath fell alone in the silence. This really was the safest place you could be right now, even if it was a nightmare.

As your head turned, you suddenly came level with your eyes in the mirror, and a shock of light.

For an extended moment, you could only stare.

Then all at once you were rushing forwards, tripping from the end of the bed. Bracing your arms against the wall either side of the mirror, you gaped at your reflection.

As you watched, an angular bolt of blue shot across your irises, which were already dimly glowing.

You gulped against the thick feeling crawling up your throat. Faced with this, you could no longer have any hope of denying it.

This was really happening.

Thank you for reading!! Please please let me know your thoughts on this chapter, comments make it all worthwhile!💜💜

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[scarofthewind]

Teach Me || Princess!Reader x Prince!Brahms

A/N: Finally got to sit down and write and this is the mess I came up with! This is part of my Princess!Reader series and for this, Brahms is a prince that is hanging out around the brothel and comes across his betrothed reader (who doesn't know him) and the rest is smut. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: SMUT, Brahms being a crazy stalker man who teacher reader how to please her new husband (it's him).

Word count: 3.2K

The Scarred Prince is what they called him. Known for being cruel and cold, killing anything that crossed him. His face adorned with a mask that covered his gruesome face, burned from a terrible fire that took half his castle and family with it. His father was a kinder man, only needing this marriage due to his home and people dying out; the funding and bringing together two families would put life into everything.

That's what your father told you as he shattered your world. Sure, you knew you had to marry, you were a beautiful Princess. However, your future husband you were unsure of. Your mother begged your father to not accept the offer, you were too important to the kingdom to be married off to such a barbarian. His decision was final.

You were to be wed to a man who you only heard horror stories about and there was nothing you could do about it.

Well, you could prepare. You assumed that with him being a foul man, he would be a rough lover and if there was one thing a marriage led to, it was consummation. Your mother and maids had given you brief information about how to please a man, always saying that it was more pleasurable for them than you. You needed to learn how to please such a man; if he thought you couldn't do it, he might kill you.

With your mind made up, you slipped on your coat, pulling the hood up to cover your face. You managed to slip out of castle by creeping through the shadows and soon you were stepping out onto the street. The night life was bright as those who favored darkness moved about; your eyes scanning building as you passed them. The place you seeked was in a secluded area a few streets away from the castle gates, curtains for an entrance and candles for light. Hesitantly, you reached out to push open the silk curtains but they opened for you, a beuatiful women greeting you with a smile.

"Princess, are you lost?" Her red lips smiled and you noticed how low cut her dress was, breasts spilling out over the top.

"Actually, I am here for help." You whispered, letting her usher you inside. Immediately, you grew hot. The smell of sex and smoke in the air along with perfume, men and women frolicked around naked and carefree. Some were fucking and some were more passionate and it was all beautiful and new. "I am to be wed and I don't know what I am doing. How do I please him?"

The woman nodded with a smile, "I understand, I was new to this once. Must be a bit shocking for you." You nodded and reached into your coat pocket, pulling out a small pouch of coins.

"I appreciate your secrecy. No one can know I was here." You handed the woman the pouch and she took it gently, stuffing it beside her breast.

"Of course, Princess. Right this way." She took one of your hands and led you carefully through the building. Private rooms were all around you but you could hear everything. Moans and grunts, skin slapping against skin, laughing and even yelling. Your body felt hot, arousal pooling in your stomach just from what you could sense around you; you could understand why people came to places like this.

"Here, there is someone I think could help you with your problem right behind these curtains." The woman stopped in front of a private area and you felt your heart race. You froze for a second, not sure if you should continue. The woman noticed and gave your shoulder a pat. "You'll be okay. He is new as well. He can not hurt you, it's against the rules and if he breaks those, I'll have him thrown out." With a large breath, you nodded and reached for the curtains, pushing them open and stepping inside the small space.

Your heart stopped as the curtains fell closed behind you.

"Well this is interesting," The man's voice was deeper than you expected as he leaned forward in his spot on the cushion pile. "Does daddy know his princess is out this late, and at a place such as this?" His tone made your eye twitch and you removed your hood, stepping further into the room.

"I need to learn how to please a man. Thought I would come to the best teachers." You unsnapped your coat button and shrugged the wool off, tossing it to the side and sitting down across from the man. Your eyes met his and you sucked in a breath. "Why the mask?"

Curly hair poked out around the porcelain mask strapped to his face as bright, predatory eyes stared you down. "Maybe you aren't the only one hiding something, Princess."

You hummed in response. "Fine. So, can you teach me or not?"

The man moved closer to you and reached out, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I wonder how much you can truly handle." You shivered and jerked back, a chuckle leaving his lips. "First things first, depending on your betrothed, he will either want you to be naked before he comes knocking on your door, or" he paused, tracing a finger down your neck. "He'll strip you himself."

"What would you do?" You asked, his eyes snapping back to yours. He felt himself smile at your words, playing right into his hands.

Brahms, a prince known to be cruel and hideous, hid behind his mask as he planned all the ways he could ruin his future wife. The minute he found out you were to be his, he snuck into your town and began watching you. Beautiful and eager to live your life to the fullest. He was entertained by you; so, when he was you slip out into the night with one destination in mind, he followed.

He had slipped into the back while you mingled with the owner, disposed of the man who usually ran the room you were in now and acted in his stead. Brahms would be damned if someone else got to fuck you before him. His fingertips moved along the neckline of your dress as he replied, "I'd peel these clothes off you with my fucking teeth." Your goosebumps and the way you sucked in a breath made his cock twitch against his pants.

"The lace on the back is easily undone." You pushed him with your words, your eyes drifting down his bare torso litered with dark brown hair and muscle. “Undress me, Sir.”

“Brahms,” he growled, reaching behind your back to yank you closer to him. His fingers worked on the ties to your dress, loosening it and slowly pushing it off you. “When you come later, you will call me Brahms, understand, Princess?”

You nodded quickly, chest heaving as he exposed your top half to the warm air, your nipples pebbling in the process. “Lie back.” He commanded and you obeyed, your back meeting soft pillows as he moved the dress down your body, throwing it across the room when he got it off. Brahms crawled over you, stopping as he met your eyes. “Some men don’t take care of their lady wives. Using them as things that make their heirs and that’s all. I don’t believe in that.”

“What do you believe in?”

“Passion.” He answered quickly, running his hands down your sides. “Both parties need to be satisfied or it is a failed fuck. A woman has so much to offer other than a child.” His eyes scanned over your body, thumbs gently tracing your nipples. “You came here to learn how to please your husband. Have you ever considered that he needs to be the one pleasing you?”

“You speak of things that aren’t likely. My betrothed is known for being evil.” Your words made Brahms sit back, placing his hands on your knees and spreading your legs to slot himself between.

“You don’t know him, only of him. He’d be lucky to touch your beautiful body.” He said as he reached to remove your panties. His mind pushed back the negative thoughts that whirled around as he saw just how aroused you were.

“After undressing, I like to touch here. It eases the pain for when my cock enters.” Brahms spoke gently as his fingertips traced along your pussy. His eyes never left your face, taking in your unsure expressions as his fingers entered you carefully. He watched as your mouth opened with a breathy gasp; a mouth so perfect he'd nearly come thinking about how it would feel around his cock.

"Are all men this experienced?" You asked innocently and when Brahms chuckled you felt a heat of embarrassment wash over you. His fingers slowly moving inside your cunt made you clench your thighs, only for him to shove them back open.

"No," was all he said in response, this thumb flicking over your clit and making you jump at the sensation. "How does it feel Princess?" His words made you moan as he angled his fingers towards a spot inside you that had you trembling.

"It feels fine, but I've done this myself," pushing back you sit up slightly, watching Brahms tilt his head in confusion. "I came here looking for something I cannot do on my own." Once you clarify your words, you hear a snort from the man before you.

"I was trying to be a gentleman and treat you softly," he sighed, reaching to unlace his bottoms, pushing them down to let his cock free. Your eyes followed as he pumped his length a few times before leaning back on the pillows; an invitation. "You want to please your husband? Suck his cock."

If you weren't hot already, you were now as you moved towards him. His cold eyes followed your every move, and you found yourself entranced by the pure power he held within them. A hand came up to your face, brushing your hair away and using a thumb to trace your bottom lip. With trembling fingers, you placed your hands on his chest, feeling the solid muscle and hair there, running them up and down. "Are you afraid, Princess?" He asks suddenly, your eyes snapping back to his.

"No. Just unsure." At your words, Brahms takes one of your hands and guides it to his cock, hard and soft under your palm. You swear you can hear a soft breath come from under his mask, but you push the thought aside as you wrap your fingers around his base. Sliding down to become more comfortable, you look closely at how perfect his cock was. Pale and long with a soft pink tip that you found yourself leaning towards to kiss. Your lips found his cock to be soft and when you wrapped them around his cockhead, a subtle salty flavor welcomed your tastebuds.

"Gods Princess, I think you were made to do this." Brahms groaned, running his hands through your hair and nudging you down to take more of his cock. He watched intensely as you sucked more of him down, his cock disappearing into the warm walls of your mouth. Brahms could only keep his composure for so much longer; he ached to fuck you and at this point, he was trying his hardest not to snap.

His mask was getting hot against his face as he groaned and breathed warm air out of his lungs. It itched to be ripped off, but he couldn't remove it; not yet.

Your jaw began to ache as minutes went by with you taking his cock and you felt your cunt grow wetter by the second. Your clit swollen with need and your walls clenching around nothing. Swatting his hand from your hair, you removed your mouth from around his member and sat up. No smart remarks were said, both of you feeling beyond aroused and needy in this moment. Brahms grabbed your hips and tugged you against him, your hands bracing on his chest as you straddled his lap.

You found yourself wrapping your arms around his neck but the minute you tried touching the ties to the mask on the back of his head, you were shoved down on your back, Brahms following on top of you. Rough hands pinned your wrists to the ground as he nuzzled his cock against your pussy. "Not yet." He said deeply, letting you go once you nodded in understanding.

When he gently pushed into you, you felt yourself go absolutely still. Nothing could have prepared you for the warmth or the fullness you felt as he sunk into you. Your fingers gripped the pillows under you tightly and Brahms paused, noticing this. He rubbed your hips and legs, pulling them around his waist. "The pressure goes away quickly, just breathe, (Y/N)." Your eyes locked on his and for the first time in your life, you felt sure of something. This stranger before you didn't baby you or belittle you like the others at the castle or the friends you grew up around. He treated you like a normal person, not royalty.

"I hope by husband is kind to me during this moment," your eyes watered slightly, and Brahms felt himself swell with pride knowing you felt comfortable around him throughout this.

"He will be." He assured you, pressing his hips against you and groaning at the feeling of your pussy taking his cock fully. Brahms waited for a moment to let you adjust before rocking his hips. The sounds that immediately came from your mouth were music to his ears. "Fuck, your beautiful." He moaned, watching the way your breasts bounced with each thrust. His mouth needed to be on you, he was going to lose his mind if he couldn't.

"Close your eyes." He grunted, not pausing his movements.

"Why-"

"Just do it," he snapped, and you did, your senses heightening as you welcomed the darkness behind your eyelids. It was quiet for a second and a small thud had you opening your mouth to ask a question but before you could, a mouth crashed onto yours.

With the porcelain wall gone, his lips were rough on yours and the beard he had scratched along your face, but it felt wonderful. His soft lips molding with yours, his tongue moving in your mouth and his cock ruining you for anyone else had you melting against him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him flush against you, his thrusts picking up in strength and your moans and gasps being swallowed by his mouth. "Brahms," you moaned, your voice making his cock twitch.

"Not yet," he growled, moving off of you and rolling you on your stomach, his cock re-entering you faster than you could comprehend what was happening. His breath was hot on your neck as his teeth marked you, his fingers moving down to your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between them.

"I need to cum," you panted, wanting to feel the wave of euphorira you longed for this while evening. You felt your cunt clenche around his length as it pumped into you harshly, lewd sounds of skin on skin and the melody of voices experiencing pleasure made your head dizzy. "Brahms please," you begged, taking one of his hands from your breast and pushing it to your clit.

Unsure of why he wasn't responding, you felt yourself look back and you immediately froze. You weren't sure if it was fear or excitement or confusion but the man fucking you was the man you had thought to fear. The bright color of his eyes was intense, almost scary, as he looked down on you. There was no mistaking the scar on his face and who he was. "You."

Your voice was so soft, he could barely hear you. Brahms watched as you stared at him, not moving a muscle, but you didn't run. Slowing down his thrusts, he sighed and pushed his hair from his face. "I couldn't let your first time be with a random man whore. You're my wife-"

"Soon to be, not yet." You pointed out, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You felt Brahms' fingers tighten on your hips in reaction to your words.

"You are mine either way. Today or next week, you are mine and will be until you die. You wanted to learn, and I was just lucky to be in the neighborhood. What if you had gotten a disease or pregnant from a commoner? I saved you from those vile things, Princess." He spoke with a sharp tongue and you felt yourself tingle with uncertainty.

He had his points but that didn't stop a dark and strange feeling from creeping up your spine. A soft hand on your cheek made you look at him. "I will never hurt you. I didn't do this to hurt you, only to protect you." You didn't believe him fully, but you moved to where you were on your back again, pulling him against your front. If he was barbaric, it was best to play along rather than fight.

"Thank you, my Prince." Your words sent Brahms' head spinning and he leaned down to kiss you, hips moving again to chase the high you both needed.

While he kissed along the column of your neck and down to your nipples, sucking on them tenderly, you thought of all the things that this man had probably done with the same hands he was using to bring you closer to your climax. You were just a Princess, you couldn't do anything to object this marriage and with how he felt while fucking you, you weren't sure if you wanted to fight. If he really was the Scarred Prince everyone said he was, he didn't show you, at least not tonight.

"Brahms," you whined as his fingers rubbed against your clit, building the pressure in your stomach until you were pulsing around his as you came. Your body twitched against his and he didn't stop his motions until he had you coming again, this time while he followed. Neither of you moved for a while afterwards, his cock softening inside you and your heart racing in your chest.

Brahms spoke first, "I might need to get you back to the castle, Princess. I'm sure a search party would be sent out soon." As he moved away from you, he felt your hands reach out and cup his face.

"Not yet. I still have to learn a few things." You said with laugh, gently tracing the edge of his scarred face.

Brahms chuckled, shaking his head and kissing your palm. "We have our whole life together. I will teach you more when we are married." Pulling you against him, he pressed his lips to yours again, kissing you as if you gave him life.

A sudden scream had you pulling away from one another and Brahms felt himself smile and he yanked you both to your feet. They must've found the poor bastard's body, he thought. "We need to get you home now, (Y/N)."

"What's happening?" You asked worried as he helped you slip your dress back on, stuffing your panties in his pocket.

"Probably a fight. Let's go out the back." He said, quickly getting dressed and pulling you with him into the night.

[ravenna-reid]

Kisses on Rooftops (Part 2)

Red Hood & Black Vixen

You both had only just escaped the burning warehouse, bursting through the door that led to the rooftop and rolling across the hard cement as a chain of small explosions went off.

Limbs aching, hearts tracing, chests heaving for air, you suddenly let out a laugh and Jason looked over to you.

Maybe it was the rush of it all, the high. Maybe it was delirium. But you were laughing.

"That was fun to you, huh?" He asked, moving to his side and propping himself up with his elbow to look at you. You sat there, trying to regather your breath, and although your mask was hiding the bottom half of your face, he could tell you were smiling.

"That was fun."

Jason shook his head at you and you smirked. "Why Red, wasn't it for you?"

He took his helmet off, the sleek, black domino mask beneath. "Yes, I love almost being burnt to death."

You snickered back at him as you stretched your arms, "Chicken."

A playful glint flashed through his eyes, "Really? Come here."

"No!" You laughed but Jason already had your body on the ground, his on top of yours. You tried to shove him off, but he wouldn't budge. Smiling, laughing, still giddy from adrenaline, he pinned your hands down to the ground so you'd stop shoving him.

"Tell me, still having fun?" He asked, his smile ridiculously infectious.

"Get off me Hood." You tried to sound stern but your giggle betrayed you.

Fire continued to crackle behind you, the flames giving both you and Jason a warm glow, and your laugh eventually died down as you watched how he stared back at you now. The adrenaline that ran through your body had begun to soften as a new kind of buzz replaced it. Jason's head softly tilted to the side as he took you in.

"A shame about that mask." The back of his finger ran along it as he tried to imagine your lips beneath it. Your body stilled.

"I guess I'll just have to work with what I've got." He was leaning down as he said that and placed a tender kiss on the crown of your head. You closed your eyes.

You and Red Hood had been dancing along this line for months. The line that separated friendship and something more. You had been keeping all of your interactions platonic, casual, even though you both knew there was something deeper underneath. You knew things had changed that night after you had accidentally clawed him, and he let you tend to the wound and whisper apologies as he whispered back reassurances.

You knew that line was becoming thin that night at the ballet. How he spoke to you, how he looked at you...

Now weeks had passed since and you had been doing little things to show your affection. Brushing your hand over his. Tracing your finger across that symbol on his chest as you walked past. Saving his life. Jason seemed stunned every time. Taken aback that someone was willing to show him such small gestures of kindness and care. And now, you figured he was sick of acting like there was nothing between you two.

He waited for you to protest against his kiss. Took note of your body language to see if you'd show any signs of discomfort. But when you didn't, his kisses went from the top of your forehead down to between your eyebrows. Until he pulled back.

Those soft, blue-green eyes remained on you. His hand ran down your arm to your wrist and he pulled it to his lips to place another kiss there. Then he began to gently unwrap the compression bandage you had around your hands, your claws gleaming beneath the light of the fire behind him.

Jason placed another kiss in the centre of your palm. One on the back of your hand. A kiss on your clawed fingers. You heart was thumping against your chest, your head in a sweet daze. How different he was when he was with you.

He stayed on top of you, his eyes on yours. And as he came back down he said, "You know, I wish you'd buy a bulletproof suit." Then a kiss was placed on the centre of your throat and the air was snatched from your lungs. "I can get you one if you like." He mumbled against the skin of your jaw. His breath was warm. His lips were soft.

Shit, you loved what he was doing. How gentle he was being. You began to wonder if you and Jason could ever-

And then you heard it. A light snicker in the distance, and it was as though you could feel the prying eyes.

"Jason." You said softly. He'd moved to the side of your neck and was making his way up to your ear.

"Mm?" He said, too busy peppering you with kisses.

"I think your brothers are here."

Instantly, his head snapped up and he looked at you before looking over your head to the building opposite of the one you were on.

Well now, Dick could no longer contain his laughter. It rung through the air as he watched on. Tim stood beside him, pointing at you both.

"I knew it!" He yelled with no shame. "The girl from the ballet!"

Damian just stood there, arms crossed and shaking his head.

Jason's body became rigid. "I'm gonna fucking kill them."

With that, he lifted you from the ground and began to make his way over to them.

Clumsily, the three quickly left, but not before Dick shouted out to you.

"Welcome to the family Black Vixen!"

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober day 12 "Just a little more" (starvation)

Continuation to day 8! We find out what happens to Sky and Warriors. The starvation prompt only sort of fits but it does a bit so it counts ok

Warnings: same as day 8 but a bit less intense

Ao3 link

Day 8

————————————————————

Warriors led Sky as quickly as he could down the hallway, peeking his head into every door they passed. He hadn’t seen a soul in here so far except for Sky, and it was making him anxious.

They needed to find someone who knew how to free Sky from the mask, but if there was nobody around... how was Warriors supposed to get it off?

Sky stumbled against him, nearly falling over, and Warriors straightened him with a tense sigh. Sky could barely walk even with Warriors helping him down the hallway, his steps swaying and unsteady. He lurched around like he was on a ship and hadn’t gotten his sea legs yet, and Warriors had to constantly stop him from falling over.

He still wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong with Sky— the mask was obviously hurting him, but was it doing anything else? Was it purely physical, or mental? Both?

Was it killing him?

Sky stumbled again, leaning against the wall, and Warriors looked at his face streaked equally with half-dried blood and tear tracks.

“Can you keep going for me Sky? We’ve got to be close,” Warriors asked, and Sky whimpered, leaning harder against the wall.

“Wwant, it off... jus’... off,” he whispered, lip trembling. “Wars...”

“I know bud,” Warriors said quietly, running his hand along his shoulder.

Sky whimpered again. “S-sleep...”

He pressed his head against Warriors’ shoulder with a shudder, and Warriors slid them both down to the ground, letting him rest for a minute.

“Rest for a bit, it’s okay,” Warriors murmured, running a hand through his hair. “Just a little more Sky, not much longer. Then it’ll be off.”

Sky sniffled, a reddish tear dripping down his cheek, and didn’t say anything further.

Warriors let him rest as long as he felt was safe—which he knew really wasn’t long enough for poor Sky—then gently prodded him to his feet. They resumed their lurching walk down the hallways, all lit with the same unnatural lighting that made Warriors’ skin crawl.

This whole place made him uneasy, deeper so then just because he and Sky were escaping. There was just a feeling of wrong in the air, that terrible things were going on, something that made Warriors want to curl up in a ball and hide.

He wasn’t a fan.

Warriors and Sky turned onto a different hallway, one more open with rooms off to the side. These didn’t have doors, and Warriors led Sky slowly past them, peeking in and checking for any people. They were largely empty, though Warriors saw signs that the rooms had been occupied recently, chairs askew, papers spread out on desks. Nothing useful.

They were more than halfway down the hall when Warriors glanced around a corner and found a white-haired man sitting at a desk, muttering to himself as he skimmed a thick book. He happened to look up right as Warriors saw him, and his red eyes went wide.

Warriors didn’t hesitate, leaning Sky against the wall and attacking in the same movement. The man yelped and pulled out a dagger, but Warriors had the element of surprise on his side.

This man obviously wasn’t much of a fighter, which Warriors was relieved at. He managed to wrestle the dagger from the man’s grip without serious injury, and the man only landed a single punch on Warriors’ face before Warriors pinned him, holding the dagger at his neck.

“All right all right no need for that! I surrender,” the man huffed, his glasses knocked askew. “Hm. Obviously we should have started our tests on you sooner.”

“Shut up,” Warriors said in a sharp voice. “I have something you need to do for me."

The Sheikah raised an eyebrow, and Warriors gestured to Sky, slumped against the wall and mumbling to himself again.

“Take it off of him,” Warriors demanded, holding the dagger tightly. The Sheikah didn’t move or reply, and Warriors pressed the weapon tightly against his throat. “Did you hear me? Take it off.”

“I can’t,” the man said shortly, fingers twitching like he wanted to adjust his glasses. He gave Warriors an annoyed look. “Only the one who puts the mask on can take it off.”

Warriors’ heart sank. “Who put it on?”

The man pursed his lips, but when Warriors pressed the weapon even tighter against him, his resolve faltered.

“...The director placed it,” he muttered. “He said your friend was the perfect candidate for our tests.”

Rage swept through Warriors. “Tests? You’re torturing him, can’t you see he’s in pain? What is the mask doing?” he demanded, and the Sheikah shrugged.

“Simply making it so he can’t sleep. He’s well past the point where our other subjects have died, it’s fascinating that he’s still managing to function at any cognitive—”

“Where’s your director?” Warriors growled, and the scientist smirked.

“I have no idea. He comes and goes, and all his visits are unscheduled.”

Then he snapped his fingers, and disappeared into smoke.

Warriors swore and got to his feet, quickly scanning the room for anything useful, but there wasn’t much except books and paper. He had a weapon now at least, even if the man was likely setting off the alarm that they’d escaped.

Sky was tilting dangerously to the side when Warriors turned back to him, and he quickly stopped him from collapsing. Sky sank into his grip, and Warriors briefly studied his face again, taking in the bruises under his eyes and blood on his face, remembering what the Sheikah had said with a sharp sense of dread. Sky certainly looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

I didn’t even know it was possible to stay awake that long.

Warriors closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “Come on Sky, we’re getting this off,” he said, clasping his hand as he held him up. “Just hold on for me.”

Sky gave him a jerky nod, and they kept going.

The lonely hallways wound around the building, Warriors hurrying Sky along as fast as he dared. He had to pull them into corners to hide more than once, various Sheikah hurrying past them. They were nearly spotted multiple times, and Warriors grew more and more tense.

He didn’t know where the exit was, and didn’t have any clue where to find this ‘director’. He had almost zero information on their enemy, and Sky was growing worse by the minute, mumbling rapidly to himself and bursting into tears at random. He nearly exposed them once, Warriors having to press Sky's face against his sleeve to muffle a wail as a group of Sheikah rushed by. Sky nearly collapsed afterwards, and Warriors paused against a wall, taking a deep breath as he gently ran his hand over Sky's head.

Okay. Okay. You’ve been through worse. Think. If the director was so interested in Sky, he’s probably still here somewhere. We don't know where, so the best way to find him would probably be...

Warriors grimaced. Hopefully this would work.

He stayed where he was for a moment, still running his hand through Sky's hair as he thought through his next steps. Sky was staying quiet for the time being, though his body was occasionally wracked with a deep shudder.

Warriors breathed out. "Okay. Hold on, buddy."

He pulled Sky up again, and stepped out into the hallway, resuming their trip through the building. This time though, he moved much less quietly, and left obvious signs of his and Sky's presence. He was taking a huge risk, but he was out of ideas otherwise.

And Sky was running out of time.

Warriors heard a crackling sound, and snapped his head up, grabbing Sky and pulling him away from the semicircle of Sheikah that abruptly appeared around them.

For a moment Warriors' heart sank as he looked around at them all, beginning to curse himself for his foolishness, but then a tall man with a streak of red in his hair stepped forward, hands behind his back.

Sky softly crooned a wavering version of a song Warriors had heard him play on his harp before.

“Hm, he’s even more of a mess then last I saw him,” the man said thoughtfully, stroking his short beard as he watched Sky. “Though I imagine dragging him around half our facility didn’t do him any favors.”

“Are you the director?” Warriors asked in a low voice, and the man nodded, making Warriors' heart speed. Perfect.

“Indeed," he said, still watching Sky. "And I’d appreciate it if you brought my project back to his cell.”

“Project?” Warriors hissed, rage rushing through him.

“Yes, project. Do I have to spell it out for you?” the man asked with a raised eyebrow. “I assumed it was obvious. We’re testing torture methods and equipment, their effectiveness, durability, limits... your friend is rather hardy, he’s lasted longer than anyone else.”

Warriors physically recoiled. “You’re a monster.”

“Am I? I’m merely doing my sworn duty,” he shrugged, and his red eyes met Warriors’ blue. “It is my job to serve and protect the royal family. I’m only finding better and more inventive methods of doing so.”

“Not like this,” Warriors said coldly, holding Sky tighter. Sky whimpered. “I understand needing to protect the royal family, but this is an innocent man you’re torturing. He’s a knight. Does the crown even know what you’re doing here?”

“We have to test effectiveness on various subjects in order to produce the best results,” the man said coolly, not answering his question “And you are getting in the way of that.”

The soldiers inched closer, and Warriors drew back, Sky staring listlessly at the wall.

“You aren’t scheduled to start tests for another week, and if you come back quietly, I will keep to that original timeline,” the director said quietly. “If you do not...”

“Never,” Warriors said firmly, brandishing his dagger.

He’d fight as hard as he could for Sky.

He only needed a few seconds, just a brief distraction, something to take the focus off of himself—

Something crackled loudly, and a soldier yelled as there was a bright flash of light, momentarily blinding everyone.

"Go go go!"

Footsteps clattered, and someone touched Warriors' shoulder. He swung blindly with the dagger, his vision wavering from the flash of light, and a yelp rang out. Another hand grabbed his arm and shook him in a familiar way.

"Captain it's me, stoppit!"

"Legend?!" Warriors gaped as his vision finally cleared, and the veteran gave him a tense smile.

"Long time no see. Sorry it took so long, we had to track you down. You two okay?"

Sky buried his head into Warriors' neck, and Warriors swallowed. "Sky's off pretty bad, I'm alright. Make sure the man with the red stripe doesn't get away," he reported quickly, and Legend nodded, giving Sky a horrified look before jumping back into the fray.

The familiar sounds of a battle rang out in the hallway, swords clashing and people yelling. Four and Time were the only heroes besides Legend that Warriors could see, but he wouldn't be surprised if they'd split up.

Warriors stayed close beside Sky as the fight went on, Sheikah retreating and scrambling to counter three furious heroes. These Sheikah seemed not to be the best trained, not compared to any Warriors had met at least, and it wasn't long before the heroes had restrained the several that hadn't escaped, their faces enraged.

Warriors was relieved to see the director was being held tightly by Legend, and he sighed, a bit amazed his thrown-together plan had worked so well. Thank the goddesses for the others. He lowered Sky down to the floor, Sky leaning heavily against him, and faintly smiled.

Time joined his side a few moments later, kneeling beside him and Sky, but before he could say anything he blanched, staring at Sky with both of his eyes gone wide.

“Captain... that mask,” Time said, face white. “How long...”

“As long as we’ve been missing,” Warriors said tightly, and Time looked horrified. “The man with the red streak in his hair, he put it on, we need him to—”

“Got it,” Time said shortly, and stood up, marching over to the director.

He brushed past Legend and snatched the director up by the collar and held him up, both eyes open and flashing with rage.

“Take it off of him, now,” he growled, and the man glared.

"My results will be skewed, I won't—”

Time dragged him over to where Sky was sniffling quietly against Warriors' shoulder again, and held his sword to his neck.

"If you value your life at all, then you will free him right now," he said in a low, dangerous voice, and the director held off for an impressive ten seconds before giving in with an angry huff.

"Fine," he growled, and Time shoved him to his knees beside Sky. "But you will pay for this."

"Did you hear that Sky? You're getting it off," Warriors said gently, and Sky weakly stirred, his expression lighting up just a bit.

"...O-off?" he rasped, and Warriors nodded.

"Off. And never on again."

Sky stared, his lip trembling, and then he clutched at Warriors' arm, a hysterical, laughing sob escaping him. Then he froze, and looked up at Warriors, his expression scared.

“W-will it... Wwars...” Sky said blearily, and Warriors gave him a confident smile.

“It'll be fine, I’ll be right here,” Warriors promised, holding tight to his hand. "I won't leave you."

"We need to get going, if you're going to do it, you need to do it now," Legend called urgently, his face worried and tense. Time pushed the director forward, and the man reluctantly put a hand on the mask on Sky's face.

Warriors gripped Sky's hand, Sky gripping back as he shook with exhaustion, and with a faint spark of magic and a peeling sound of dried blood...

The mask was finally pulled off.

Pure relief swept across Sky’s face, his eyes welling with tears, and Warriors caught him as his body went completely limp, holding his exhausted brother tight.

Sky was free.

[chronic-gh0st]

once more to see you

ft. rob lucci

Your feet were tired from the constant stading in high heels and formal talks with colleagues. The night was held by the world government in which Cipher Pol 0-9 gather along with other high ranking officers to catch up or enjoy a night of leisure.

Your eyes wander, looking for ocean eyes. Rob Lucci’s. The room was filled with people in suits and long gowns, mesmerizing silk and gold lingering. It was loud but quiet, whispers and mumbles filled the room along with minimized laughters. the smell of champagne and rose fill the hall. You were having a hard time looking for your person of interest, especially with black masks covering half of your face.

“(Name).”

A soft gasp left your lips as you felt his breath against your ear.

“Lucci,” you mumbled as everyone did.

He glanced on the huge glass door behind you that lead to the garden where no one was. It really shows how your coworkers really care about their reputations.

But who were you to judge?

He led the way while you follow, quietly slipping away from the crowd. You felt grass pricking your toes from you shoes, the whispers quietly became white noise as the sound of the water fountain relaxed you. No eyes were set on you or him, just the two of you away from prying eyes.

As you walked further to the garden, the voices diminished. The string quartet and piano started playing. The sound of shuffling and heels clacking echoed as the other agents started to dance. He removed his mask, the moon’s light softly caressing his sharp features. He walked around the water fountain, opposite of the glass door. You followed and sat on the fountain’s side, removing your mask. Lucci sat beside you, taking a deep breath of relief. He hated formalities but was forced to adhere to it.

You leaned to his shoulders, the scent of his cologne filling your nose. He let you do as you want, just not in front of other. Especially since you two are the golden children of cipher pol, if one of you messed up, people would pry and blame the relationship. People talk.

You have reputations. but with everybody watching you, you’re every move, you keep it secret.

The two of you won’t let the have it.

[jossamology]

⸻ until dawn halloween headcanons!

in honor of halloween here's a halloween-themed headcanon set for each until dawn character.

samantha giddings.

sam chooses a diy nature-inspired costume like a woodland fairy, using biodegradable glitter and repurposed fabrics. think leaves, twigs, and soft, earthy greens.

she insists on going to a local pumpkin patch to pick out the perfect pumpkin and spends hours carving designs.

while the others plan for parties, she hosts a low-key gathering with candles, cozy blankets, and homemade pumpkin spice lattes.

loves classic horror but gets super into psychological thrillers. hereditary is her top pick, and she’s the one pointing out foreshadowing before everyone else catches it. josh washington.

josh goes all-out building a haunted maze in his backyard, complete with hidden speakers, fake cobwebs, and scare actors he hires just to freak his friends out.

dresses as something horrifying, like a blood-streaked serial killer. full commitment to fake blood and smudged makeup.

has a camera ready to capture each friend’s reaction when they’re scared out of their minds. keeps a scare montage video just for fun.

he's surprisingly good at carving pumpkins, but his designs are intricate horror scenes, almost like horror movie posters in pumpkin form.

ends halloween by watching obscure, disturbing horror movies that leave everyone else uncomfortable. mike munroe.

shows up dressed as a suave vampire or some other classic monster, aiming to look cool and a little dangerous.

takes his friends to a haunted corn maze and enjoys it way more than he lets on, constantly teasing the jump-scare actors and testing his bravery.

organizes a frat party bonfire in the woods with s’mores and ghost stories. he’s the one lighting sparklers and throwing on extra wood to make the flames bigger, he drinks to much and forgets he's the host of the party.

pulls classic halloween pranks, from fake spider webs to jumping out of dark corners. the type to keep a scary mask in his bag just to mess with people.

after a few drinks, he’s belting out rocky horror picture show songs around the bonfire with zero shame.

jessica riley.

jessica’s costume is elaborate, trendy, and slightly dark, like a glamorous vampire or a witch in haute couture. she’s all about looking spooky-chic, she went shopping early for the best costume.

stays in to watch mean girls with a couple of her girl friends referencing every qoute.

spends half of halloween snapping aesthetic photos of her outfit, snacks, and décor, making everything look flawless.

gets her halloween nails done a week before and flaunts them on her social media platforms.

matt taylor.

he’s the guy bringing pumpkin spice lattes and fall-flavored treats for everyone, unapologetically embracing the season.

suggests doing a couples costume with emily, probably as a famous horror duo. secretly excited about how they’ll look in photos together.

convinces emily(and maybe the whole group) to go on a haunted hayride, keeping a brave face while sneaking glances to see if she’s scared.

volunteers to help with halloween décor, placing spider webs and fake spiders around. he’s got a collection of led bats and ghost lights.

emily davis.

dresses as a chic witch, complete with a designer hat, intricate lace gloves, and knee-high boots. halloween is just another reason to look flawless.

sets up a dark, enchanted photo booth with crystal balls, black roses, and velvet. her instagram feed is a whole halloween masterpiece.

makes sure to get billions of stunning couples photos with matt, each one more perfect than the last. their matching costumes and chemistry are on point, making everyone else a bit envious (and they know it).

emily hosts a halloween themed sleep over with velvet pillows, and black satin sheets for an ultra-cozy but gothic sleepover vibe. the girls chat and laugh till they fall asleep, each secretly keeping one eye open.

chris hartley.

dresses as a ghostbuster or some iconic horror nerd costume, complete with all the gadgets. he’s fully committed to the nostalgia factor.

brings his gear and talks about doing a "ghost hunt." sets up his phone to record “paranormal” activity around the bonfire.

insists on watching horror classics with everyone, pausing every now and then to geek out about the movie effects or the backstory.

after everyone else goes to bed, chris and ashley stay up playing with the ouija board, half-joking but also half-believing they might make contact. they end up spooking themselves and get so scared swearing to never use it again.

ashley brown.

dresses as a character from classic gothic literature, like mina harker from dracula, complete with vintage lace and dark, dramatic makeup.

she knits little ghost ornaments and diys her own creepy decor, like mason jars filled with “witch’s brew” and spiderweb doilies.

loves telling ghost stories, candle in hand, with just the right amount of dramatic pauses and eerie expressions.

ashley, catching her breath and laughing nervously, gives chris a playful whack on the arm for scaring her so bad. “not cool, chris!” she says, but she’s grinning as he pulls off the mask, clearly proud of his successful prank.

insists on having a stash of halloween candy just for herself. she’s all about chocolate, especially reese’s and kit kats, and jokingly guards her stash from the others, even hiding a few extras in her bag.

hannah and beth washington.

hannah and beth take turns posing in different eerie setups around the cabin, snapping dramatic photos of each other in candlelight, near fog machines, and with props like antique lanterns. they especially love capturing a few shots that look like something out of an old haunted portrait.

both love the idea of exploring the mountain at night, so they plan a late-night “ghost hunt” under the full moon. they bring flashlights and spooky stories to tell along the way, daring each other to walk just a little bit farther into the woods.

beth and hannah sneak into the room with a giant rubber spider and place it right on josh’s chest. when he stirs and opens his eyes to find it staring back at him, he lets out a yell that has the girls stifling laughter from behind the door.

they have a slight obsession with candy corn and will spend halloween night indulging in it, trading their favorite types of candy and making candy corn-themed treats, like popcorn balls or cupcakes.

[brunettegirlwrites]

LA DI DIE!

pairing: reader x ghostface!rafe, serial killer!rafe

warnings: violence, stalking

summary: after a strict curfew is implemented to the island, you receive a shocking phone call.

author’s note: let me know if u guys want a part two :)

a strict curfew in the outer banks meant absolutely nothing to the privileged residents of figure 8. a few of your classmates were brutally murdered throughout the span of a month and there was an island wide panic about finding the masked civilian who was behind these tragedies. despite all of this, there was still a party going on right next door from your house.

it was the biggest party of the summer. anybody who was anybody was going to be there tonight. you were so excited to finally free the stress of schoolwork and let loose for the night. you had the perfect outfit planned and were looking forward to the get ready portion while you pregamed. your parents were at a charity banquet, as most of the parents on figure 8 were.

it was the perfect coverup.

your excitement got the best of you and you ended up passing out around 10 o’clock, not even finishing your full face of makeup. you woke up to the sound of the security alarm being disarmed. you sat up quickly, rubbing at your eyes and immediately regretting it as you felt your false eyelashes begin to peel off. you ripped them both off slowly, tossing them onto your comforter somewhere and making your way out of the room.

“thank god you guys are home,” you called out to your parents into the hallway. “i’m starving. let’s order pizza.” as you made your way down the steps, you noticed the lights weren’t on. that was weird. you could’ve sworn you left them on when you came home from school. you flicked the light switch closest to the staircase you were standing on. by no surprised are we surprised—the light wasn’t turning on.

“pops? are you home?” you asked, making your way down the steps slowing. the only answer you received was the sound of the creaky final step echoing across the room. “mom?” your voice wavered as the fear trembled through your body.

as more silence surrounded you, you wandered around the lower level of your home. you were just turning into the kitchen when your phone’s ringtone blared, scaring you half to death. SARAH CAMERON flashed across the screen. “what the fuck?” you gasp. sarah cameron was one of the murdered teens.

when you didn’t answer the first time, sarah called you again. you picked up on the second ring, slowly holding the phone up to your ear. “sarah?” you whispered.

“you wish this was sarah.”

it was not sarah cameron. that was not her voice. oh my gosh! that voice. it was deep, almost static-like, as if someone were speaking through a voice recording.

“who is this?” you asked.

“that’s not the question you should be asking me, sweetheart,” the stranger teased.

“how the hell do you have sarah cameron’s phone? who is this!?” you walked over to the window above the kitchen sink. you could see the led lights changing colors from the living room window next door. you pulled the curtains shut. “whoever this is, you’re seriously fucked.”

“not as fucked as you’re going to be when I cut open your insides and watch them sliver onto the ground.”

your face scrunches up in disgust. “you’re sick!”

“so they say,” they lightly laugh as you pull open the drawers and find that all of the knives have been removed. you heart drops. “not gonna have much luck there, kid.”

but this time, the voice wasn’t coming from the phone. it was coming from right behind you. you dropped your phone down on the counter, instantly turning around and coming face to face with the local masked killer. you scream and made a break for the opposing entryway as the one they stood in front of. they chased after you, hands dangerously close to grabbing the fabric of your dress and yanking you backwards.

you didn’t realize you were crying until you got to your front door. you pulled on the door knob and with no luck, it didn’t open. you remembered that you needed to punch in the security code first. before you could make your way to the system, your hair was grabbed. you let out another scream as your body was thrown to the ground. the masked figure stood above you, head tilted as they watched you.

you looked so beautiful with tears streaming down your cheeks.

“please,” you begged. “please don’t do this!”

they got down to your level, one knee pressed in between your legs to keep them apart. “please!” you sobbed. they held a shiny silver blade in one hand while the other began to slide up your top to reveal your belly button. another loud cry escaped you. they really are going to cut up my insides. you thought.

they held the blade over your head as the final scream left your throat. but before they could push it down to strike you, you reached up and tugged on the gold chain that hung from their chest. “rafe!” you whined. “you need to be more careful.”

rafe cameron ripped off his mask as quickly as you broke character. he was breathing heavily, no doubt filled with the adrenaline that he craves. “babe, why’d you stop?” he breathed out.

“because I can see your necklace, dummy,” you reach up and tuck it underneath the all black t-shirt he had on. “

“oh,” he says dumbly. he makes a move to get off of you but you tug pull down by his shoulders.

“don’t go!” you almost yell. your face grows warm with sexual desire. your voice now soft and shy. “I like it.”

he presses his knee further into your core. he can feel how wet you are. he smirks and uses his blade to rip your shirt open, not even caring how expensive it is.

and so he fucked you. right on the floor, with your panties looped around your ankle. he was balls deep while you were on all fours, practically clawing into the floorboards beneath you.

“i’m gonna come,” you whimpered, squeezing around his length.

“give it to me baby,” rafe breathed out, squeezing on your oversensitive tits. “cum all over my dick, there you go. perfect, baby. always so perfect.”

[the-kr8tor]

Hello, I've been trying to reach you about your cars extended warranty:)

(Requesting Reverse Isekai AU thingy please^^)

I don't even have a car 😭 (thank you for requesting muah 😘)

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, lovestruck reader, reverse isekai AU, fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

One minute you're mindlessly scrolling through your phone with your headphones blaring loud music, a minute later you're screaming bloody murder when a geometric glowing portal pops up in your room. It made everything in the room glow orange and yellow as confusion and surprise took over your form.

Are you getting abducted by aliens? Are you in an episode of Rick and Morty? If so, then multiverses are real, it's either that or the mold from your numerous stock water bottles has finally gotten to your brain.

A half second into your contemplation, out comes a man that you're oh so familiar with and oh so smitten with. His boots thump loudly on your floors, spikes glimmering under the red LED lights. The whites of his mask widen when he spots you cowering in the corner, darkness overtakes you when his oh so familiar voice echoes above the whir of the portal.

“This ain't 1346.” You fall off the bed like a damsel in distress.

—

You wake up to water gently splashing your face, flicking more like. And your head aching, eyes adjusting to the sudden light.

“Fuckin' finally, I thought you were dead.” A garbled voice utters as your ears try to waken up from your deep nap. “You alright there?” His voice clears and you still think you're dreaming when Hobie Brown's mask pops up in your vision, droopy eyeliner, spikes and all that jazz that you've practically memorized in your mind.

You thought your poster has once again fallen off the walls and onto your bed. But no, when you touched his bicep abruptly, eyes as wide as saucers, lips stuttering out his name. Your favourite character is real and right in your bedroom, flicking water from one of your numerous discarded water bottles on your bedside.

Even your wildest imagination couldn't make this up.

“You're Hobie Brown.” You say in disbelief, voice just above a whisper.

“Yeah, I figured you know me based on all of these…” he roams his eyes on your walls and table. “...posters and stickers. What am I over here? A rockstar or somethin’? Since you know my name.”

“You're Hobie motherfucking Brown!” You screech, suddenly jumping off the bed, looking like someone just told you Santa isn't real.

“That I am.” Said man has the audacity to smirk at you. And you swear you would have fainted again. “You a big fan?”

“I love you.” Your voice merely a murmur but he for sure heard it as the eyes of his mask widened for a brief second.

“I think it's time for us to chat, yeah, love?”

“L-love? Fucking…” voice wavering, you drop once again, but this time he catches you perfectly without the motion sickness from traveling to one dimension after another.

Hobie chuckles, eyes staring at your sleeping face, mouth still agape from the surprise and skin hot under his gloves. “Never thought someone could faint twice in one day.”

—

There's a glass of cold water in your hands, legs nervously bouncing under the blanket. He sits at the foot of your bed, giving you enough space so as to not make you uncomfortable in your own home, and to also not make you pass out (again) from the close proximity. His iconic boots are discarded, vest folded next to him, and mask in his pocket. You almost fainted again when he took it off.

“So, this Miles from earth–1610 is gonna get chased by Miguel and the entire society because he doesn't want his canon event to happen?” You nod as he recalls your story. Not a story anymore as this Hobie hasn't experienced it yet. Of course you didn't tell him the entire plot, just in case it rips a hole in the space time continuum. “And a few people are gonna need a watch?”

You sniffle, skin so warm that you think you're boiling the water in your hands.

“Hmm, that checks out. Good thing I started making these watches then eh, love?” His mischievous smile makes your stomach do flips, you're sure he's doing it intentionally.

Pinching yourself under the covers, chugging down the cool water, you muster up enough courage to actually speak coherent words.

“H-how’d you get here?”

“Fucked up my coordinates, I think. I'm pretty sure I'm not in Kansas anymore.” Hobie chuckles at his own joke before switching his attention to your wide eyed self. “Wizard of oz, you do have that here, right?”

“Y-yes,” you say meekly, drowning in his blue? Grey? Or brown eyes? You have no idea as his borders and colors change every minute or so. Nevertheless, you're absolutely done for. You guess this is what it feels like to meet your favourite celebrity, or in this case, favourite character. “Reverse isekai.” You whisper, nerding out at the possibilities.

“A what?” He says in his accent and you tamp down the feeling of wanting to say it back jokingly.

You clear your throat, “nothing.”

Nodding, he inhales, eyes darting around your fangirl room full of fandom merch and of course spiderverse merch. He zeroes in on the body pillow peeking under the blanket. You immediately lift the covers up to hide it, accidentally spilling water all over yourself and the bed. *Great, very smooth, you thought.

His eyes are soft and full of endearment whilst he watches you frantically and desperately dry yourself off.

You hope that he doesn't tease, but you know him, know his character, so you anticipate what happens next.

“What was that then?” He pats your foot, head tilting to look at you. You feel your head swirl again, and you swear the water spilled all over you evaporates from the sheer heat from your skin.

“N-nothing, Hobie.” You sink into the mattress.

“Right,” He unfolds his vest, putting it back on. “It's been great, but I gotta go.”

“Oh,” you blink, “do you want me to take out the posters? I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

He shakes his head with a smile. “Nah, not uncomfortable, I've been in worse dimensions. This ain't that bad really.”

“They're bootlegs if that makes it more okay.”

Hobie laughs and you practically melt from the sound.

“Bootleg, huh? That's a great name, project bootleg it is.” His smile blinds you for a second. You feel like you've ascended to heaven. “I have a tight schedule, being Spider-Man and all, but maybe I can visit again to get some insider knowledge of the future. Eh, Oracle?”

“S-sure,” you choke on the singular word. “It's a date— wait– no, I meant—”

Hobie chuckles, hands on his hips, bouncing on the balls of his boot clad feet, and border turning bright pink. For some reason, in all your clumsy and goofy self, you just made *the Spider-Man sheepish. Not just any Spider-Man, Hobie Brown, your absolute favourite out of all the thousands of Spider-people in the entire multiverse.

“It's a date then, no fainting next time yeah? I'll still catch you anyway, but it wouldn't be that fun if you're sleeping through it.”

“Okay.” You manage to say, heart loudly beating in your chest when his art style changes into love poems etched into his design.

He jumps inside the portal to hide the poems, winking at you before his body disappears into the void.

As the portal closes, you pass out once again, with a lopsided smile this time.

[osamucide]

⊹ YOU CAN BE THE BOSS

ACT I: HE HAD A CIGARETTE WITH HIS NUMBER ON IT.

wc: 3.1k

cw: alternate universe, pm boss!dazai, pm+gn!afab!reader, alcohol, cigarettes, implied/referenced drug use, canon-typical violence and referenced violence, implied/referenced ilicit activities including but not limited to prostitution, extortion, drug dealing, and fraud, kind of exposition heavy+not proofread sorry, more specific chapter warnings to come with each

reid: after losing almost all of it, chapter one is here! i hope you enjoy - im excited for whats to come. do let me know where you see this going, and if you'd liked tagged <3

⊹ SCENE I: He gave it over to me, “Do you want it?”

You consider it with an interest masked well-enough by years of practiced stoicism. If there’s one thing the mafia has taught you, it’s to never give anything up easily—not your money, not your body, not your time, not your interest. But the end of the filter touts a brand you've never heard of before, and the man who holds it in your direction, hands deceivingly delicate, is almost too well-known to you.

You are already smoking a cigarette of your own (albeit a brand likely far cheaper and less foreign), but then you spot the writing. A phone number.

Your eyes flick up to his. Dark. Dark as the night you stand in on the rooftop. The lights from the LED floor below, twitching with color, paint him deep red for a moment.

You bow only slightly, as smoothly as you can—that was the first thing you probably should've done, would’ve done if you weren’t a few cocktails deep, but the smirk already on his face—one you knew for a fact you’ve never seen through his own rehearsed mask throughout all the years you’ve worked for him—just cracks deeper.

"Boss," you address him, shuffling your drink into the same hand as your lit smoke before reaching to take the unlit invitation. "Need me to run it?" The number, you mean. Regardless of what implications are initially prompted by a phone number, you settle it on taking it as he needs it traced immediately, and you need to settle on something before you start stuttering at where the nuances of this seconds-long interaction have taken your silly little brain so far. You were mostly on the ground, giving up time and other things when and where you needed in order to get what you wanted—what you needed, and more importantly what the Port Mafia needed, but you'd skulked around intelligence enough to know standard prodecure, and right now you have, at the very least, your personal device and your work phone on you. You were nearby. He had a job for you. For someone. For anyone. That's all.

"No, no," he speaks in a cadence like a fairy jumping from one cloud to another as he taps his own smoke out of the pack. He feels his pockets and looks to you. "My personal phone number. Light?”

Oh, you almost verbalize it, but you're tucking the information in your shirt pocket so quickly and absentmindedly at the following command (if you could even call it a command—it's more a request, but anything he might ask of you, especially directly, certainly holds the weight of a command) before scrambling for your lighter. Any assignment you might be sent on would regularly be passed from him to one of the executives to a subexecutive to your division leader to you, never skipping those middlemen. You hardly ever met with the man who employed you throughout your years at the Port—you could count on less than one hand the times you had—so you look to him, confused, as you open a flame for him, but he just leans forward, dark eyes lit and melted brown for a single second as he cups a lithe hand around the end of the cigarette and puffs, puffs, silently. He almost looks like a kid. Not a god. Just a twenty-something in some club lights. But he is, indeed, more than that, you know. The first bit of smoke flies toward your face. You feel the need to step back, but he does first.

That relaxed, cryptic half-smile returns as he nods his thanks.

You bow again, so shallowly it feels like a crime—even, or maybe especially, among the company you're in—before you can flinch at the realization of where you are, what you're doing, who exactly is in front of you.

You drink often, sure, but clubbing is a luxury, and clubbing in one of Yokohama's most exclusive rooftop lounges is even more rare to come by, but the Port had recently made consequential strides in swaying a legislation to expand on both the individual and business rights of ability users, and the boss—the very man in front of you, who used successes like this as an excuse to get fucked up just as much as anyone else in the organization—is now putting his subexecs as well as his political allies and prospects up in hotels, buying them hundred-thousand yen bottles of wine, hooking everyone up with the best drugs for the low, showing his fucking face and painting himself as best businessman he can possibly be and if you're honest, the subtlety so coy it's almost theatrical and that sick little smile he wears would’ve worked on you if you weren’t so lost. He's notoriously cunning, always had been, even when he was young. His displays of grandeur, penchant for the dramatic—you certainly wouldn’t be alone in saying it only makes him more terrifying.

You're going to chalk it up in your liquor-fuzzed brain to just that—the fuzz of the liquor. But he doesn't seem especially intoxicated, nor has he done anything especially attention-stealing, and yet, here you are, lips parted for words as you watch a ring of smoke curl around him. You feel stupid for thinking he’s ever looked in your direction before this moment. Maybe he doesn't even realize you're one of his employees.

But no, all of what he does, and this you know about him, even if you're unsure what he knows about you, none of it is without motive. So you wonder what his aim is here.

“Pardon me, sir,” you continue, slowly, mindful that your tongue might be a little loose. Not like you socialized with many people on occasions such as this, let alone your boss. The boss. “But for what?”

He looks briefly as if he doesn't hear you. With his face turned to the sky and the filter on his lips, you do your best not to stare. The lights are not doing his sharp features any disservice.

“To call me.”

You wind yourself tight so you don't reel. He says it so casually; he examines the smoke between his fingers like it's an expensive piece of jewelry. A tremble threatens you. You're glad he's still turned to the stars. A pull off your cigarette, a sip of your drink. An inaudible sigh of amazement. Confusion.

The world becomes red from below again as his eyes slide back to yours.

“You’ll call me,” his voice softens in a way that catches you off-guard more than anything else he’s done thus far, “right?”

You try to recount everything you’ve done over the past few years. Surely this isn’t a ploy, right? Your loyalty to the Port is virtually unwavering. If you’d done anything wrong, you weren’t aware of it. In fact, you pride yourself on how many fingers you still have compared to how many you've seen cut off at the first knuckle. Still, he was famed in his youth for his capability to torture without mercy. You’ve seen plenty, but even you hate to imagine some of the things you've heard.

Your pounding pulse registers in your consciousness; you've pinched the filter of your cigarette so long that it’s gone out. What can you say? Or rather, what can’t you say? You must look exceptionally thoughtful in the lifetime-long space of the half-second it actually takes you to respond because, really, whether you want to or not, whether it dragged anxiety up your throat, you would do it anyway. How are you supposed to say no to the man in front of you, the leader of the Port Mafia, or worse—lie and not follow through? That itself might warrant some sort of accusation. Some sort of trouble you don't want. If you knew for a fact it was that, truthfully, you would've thrown yourself at his feet like a dog and began apologizing immediately.

But no, this would be roundabout, even for him. He's extravagant, but he's mechanical, too. A grandiose machine. He could shoot you between your eyes right now and maintain his balance, his image, whatever he wants. If he wanted you dead, you suppose you wouldn’t be standing against the rooftop railing with the sweat of your drink dripping through your fingers. So you answer, dutifully.

“Yes, sir.”

And in your good training you even raise the corners of your lips to mirror his. A defensive move away from a man you should probably feel safer with than you do. Your boss. The boss.

Defensive. For what?

Cryptic. He smiles again, vacant and chilling. You can only hope you hold enough of an air to match.

And he disappears back into the pulsing nightlife as wordlessly as he’d emerged from it. Only after he's gone do you let yourself look aghast. Your lips, slightly parted. Your smoke, tamped. The ice in your drink watering it down. Your eyes unfocused. You feel suddenly more drunk, and you didn’t know if it's for better or for worse.

It isn't really complicated—the reason you're with the mafia. You're resilient and hardworking and you're too aware that traditional routes of employment are decreasingly offering security to honest people with drive anymore and all the more, honestly, you’ve been slipping through the cracks for as long as you can remember. Although you have scars to show for it and a list of dirty laundry to do each week, the Port has yet to steer you wrong. Your integrity is celebrated. You justify a whole hell of a lot of what you do by telling yourself it isn’t all bad—the legislation that would come to pass soon, for example, largely thanks to the influence of the leaders of your faction, would benefit more gifteds around Yokohama—throughout Japan, even—than just those in the mafia. You understand yourself as a common person doing what you need to get by, and really, who wasn't? Your work gets done with the interest of the unfortunate majority you've always been a part of in mind, more than any stuffy office job could ever claim to be.

And your boss, for as horrifying of a man as he's known to be, runs an operation that's put more money in your pocket in the last few years than working your way up the ladder of some miserable corporate office would in a lifetime. You're comfortable. Safe, by your own standards. Happy, even, after your few and fair promotions within your division over the years.

Happy as you can be, anyway. And maybe that’s what this is: another promotion, if it wasn't an invitation to get your ass beat on your personal time. Everything about either of those seems more likely than an opportunity to get anywhere near him on equal ground or whatever lit up in your brain at first before you shoved it down, turned it off like the good soldier you are. Your stomach twists either way. You imagine your name after the title division leader.

So you’ll call him. But right now, you down the rest of your drink and seek out the bar—the open bar which he had paid for for the entire night—sure to tumble yourself into overserved territory with one more.

"Same thing." You waggle your empty glass at the bartender as one of your divisionmates stumbles to your side, drink of her own empty in her hand.

Her name is Iyomi, and you've had enough amicable interactions with her to consider her a friend. Maybe that's stupid in the mafia; it certainly goes against your original philosophy—from some years ago when you were younger and maybe even more jaded than you were now—which was that you were here to fly solo, get your work done, stay quiet, and find time to repair the parts of yourself you had so long sought the stability in order to do. But you're older now—still jaded, undoubtedly, but you've lost that certain determination that's only available to the youth; anymore, you feel a hopelessness about you that grows like a tumor, and it makes things difficult to take seriously. You're dying, and so is everyone, and that's why you will let yourself get so wasted tonight. Your bartender slides your glass back to you, and Iyomi latches onto your arm.

"Is that—was—were you just talking to the boss?" She slurs loudly and incredulously, and you hush her, hush her, laugh because you can't help it, hush her again. She moves on soon enough; she's swaying, flagging down the bartender, complaining that she hasn't been able to find her friend and her drinks have not been strong enough all evening, but even in the state you're in, you consider motioning for someone to fill her glass with water instead of whatever neon blue concoction she's been downing.

When you shuffle back to your post on the railing to light another cigarette (not the one with the number on it, pointedly), Iyomi follows you like a loyal dog. It's a bit endearing, how you're seasoned enough in your work that newer recruits tend to look up to you—people like Iyomi soften your stony heart a bit, so you let her start up again.

"That's—I don't think I've ever even spoken to him, like, ever—like, what was he—bleh!" She waves your smoke away from her face as it stings her eyes and puts a few inches between you; granted, she was falling all over you. You can't help your smile.

"It was nothing. Tell you the truth, I think he's as drunk as the rest of us," you said. You remind yourself to relax a little to avoid incrimination on behalf of your shaking hands. You could probably play it off as the nicotine, but Iyomi's too plastered to notice anyway.

"So strange!" she giggles, adopting your pose—elbows rested on the rail, feet crossed at the ankle. "Anyway, I saw Akane dancing with one of Nakahara's subexecs, and I wasn't gonna say anything but I think they left together and I..."

She continues to chatter in the sweet voice of hers, and you scan the rooftop for any sign of the boss. He's disappeared. It was about the time of the night (or morning, rather) when people were doubling over sick, passing out in their VIP seating, damning themselves to a tomorrow of work with a thrumming hangover. You decide you'll help yourself to a few more drinks, maybe dance with Iyomi, and then go home. The cigarette in your suit jacket pocket is heavy like a gun.

⊹ SCENE II: . . . I knew it was wrong, but I palmed it.

If you're honest—which you are often, as previously established (your correspondence with Iyomi last night aside)—you can't remember getting back to your apartment.

You remember very well talking to the boss. You remember agreeing to call him. You remember smoking cigarette after cigarette until you finally did leave, but the leaving itself is blurry—you think you'd walked most if not all the way back if your sore calf muscles were anything to go by, but you end up fishing a crumpled train ticket out of your jacket pocket the next morning with the cigarette.

The cigarette. You let it roll side to side in your palm before it settles.

The writing is less than neat, but impressive enough for obivously being done on the tubing after it was rolled. Treasurer is what the filter reads, beneath an elegant printed seal. Unknown brand of pen ink disregarded, you briefly wonder about the monetary value of the thing in your hand. He's daunting to you—the boss and all his wealth and influence, even in the privacy of your home.

After tucking it neatly between two books on the decorative table near your slider, you shake the feeling and go about your day.

It's less than notable. You run into colleagues who were shitfaced just six hours ago. Some are very obviously still hopped up on something. You flash your teeth and play nice with everyone, just as always, despite the slight headache thumping at the inside of your skull. You're usually never achy after a night of indulging—it had to be all those damn cigarettes you smoked.

You do your little to-do's. You go represent your division at a meeting in a bar with your branch's subexec, and you're surprised to see the executive your division falls under there—her name is Koyou, and she's a stunning woman with scarlet hair and a voice that's always set you slightly on edge. She never says much, and this meeting is no different; she nods, she hums, she drinks a glass of wine and speaks a total of seven words before you're dismissed. You follow up with your division leader on the meeting—routine reporting, monthly headcount, housecleaning—as well as some paperwork about a small foreign syndicate your division had been assigned to sniff out. Everything's in order and nothing's come of the group. Not yet, anyway. Everyone's in good spirits in light of the recent private endorsement. Your overtime pay could increase soon enough, so it's enough to keep you regarding your associates with pleasantries throughout the day.

And you get home, unreasonably tired from scampering around the bars the rest of the evening. You had little to drink, only one at each, but you're warm enough and your headache's disappeared completely and you remember the cigarette on your little table.

The sliding door leads out to a balcony—a modest one, but it allows you to recline with a smoke, so it's all you'll ever need.

You're seated when you glare down the number again. Your pack is on the little table—the one outside, almost identical to the one just inside your door but more built for withstanding the elements—but you punch the number into your contacts and snatch up your lighter before you can wonder if the next day is too soon. Or, if any longer would lack punctuality and respect for the boss's time. Or what this is at all. What are you doing?

You almost feel stupid again as your thumb hovers over the "call" button. This is something you will have to face. This is something you will have to do. Isn't it?

You stick the filter of the Treasurer between your lips and flick your lighter. The 0 at the end of the number goes up in ash.

And it rings.

It rings a few times, and you don't expect anything other than that from here on out. In fact, through your first puff off this exquisite tobacco, you resign yourself to lowering all your expectations for this. You're nervous in one way, but you're dying in another. Maybe either your hands are holding the thing that'll do it. Whatever. You're tipsy enough. It's nighttime and no one can see you but God.

You're ashing the Treasurer into your tray as the line clicks and your name is spoken in a voice you can't mistake. One that, too, sets you on edge. But you play the part right now, for no one but yourself. Maybe for God.

"Boss," you respond, softly, dutifully. Your smoke dissipates on the quiet breeze.

"I'm glad you called."

[mortiskiller]

Becoming a Pile

Content warning: nonconsensual feedism and gaining, force feeding, immobility

You have been gaining for years, the last five years have made you 958 pounds.

Helpless is a generous term for you. Utterly incapable of caring for yourself beyond eating the food I shove in your mouth. A TV plays all your favorite brain rotting content. Other people talk about their lives or current events, but you can barely utter more then a few words between food, a funnel, and the nearly half ton of lard weighing you down. Years of weed, booze, and hormones have lowered your IQ enough that thinking makes you confused. A barely awake wheezing like that himself into this. Every window of your pen is covered in black out curtains so you never can track time. Nice low led strings give you enough light to see, but not enough to stop you sleeping. Your eyes are used to the low light of staying up for 20 hours eating till you pass out for a day or two from eating 40k calories. Time has no meaning as you gorge non stop, I just plop food on your chest and force it into your mouth. No meals, just sleeping and eating.

A bright light from the window wakes you up. Light sears your eyes the first sunlight in five years washes over the pile of fat you have become.

Groaning and whimpering like a scared puppy waiting for me to comfort you. So used to eating before your eyes even open, the 60 seconds of awareness causes your gut to rumble. Blurry fat caked eyes try to look around and make sense of this new sensation.

The sound of me moving around the room causes you to look across the room. Well, try to look. Your brain says you should be looking to the right side of the room, but bunching fat rolls stop your neck from moving more than a few inches.

I move a large tarp covered object in front of you. In your desperate state to feel my hands keep your gluttonous needs satisfied you reach out to grab my attention. Again you know you are trying to move your arms but nothing happens. Years of inactivity have left nearly nothing but lard covering every inch of you. If you could see your hand it would look cartoonish, a ball of a plan with fingers so far they mash together.

Staring at me, I smile. Walking just past your vision, sounds of wheels creaking filters into your deep fried brain. A round pale shape enters your vision. Rewired instincts cause puckered lips to open, wet desperate whimpers drip out of your mouth.

I push it deep into your mouth, hunger you have not felt in years drives you to shallow it, deeper and deeper. Till it stops, I pull it back slightly so you can't take it anymore. The straps start to dig into your face and head, the mask tightening around your head.

I walk back to the mirror and pull the tarp away. All you can see is a wide bulbous shape, blurry around the edges as your fat forehead hangs down blocking your vision.

I hold back the lard closing around your eyes, the sight before cannot register with your brain. The shape grows clearer as your vision focuses.

A head lost in fat, with arms resting on mountains of blubber, legs and feet poking out from a curtain of lard, a pure pile of obesity.

Hot breath fills your ears, "It is you. That utter useless fat slobby pile is you. And know you are stuck forever with that feeding tube in place".

Heart pounding so fast you can hear it in your ears. The heat of the sun gives you a glean from sweat.

"I took everything away from you. You can't even try to close your mouth and stop me from feeding you. A jock that got hard from being owned and fattened like live stock to a dumb, useless, that cannot even close his mouth."

As a pulse sparks from your long buried cock, a dripping leaking clit buried deep in inches of warm soft fat. It's what you always wanted. To have no control. Zero ability to stop a feeder from making you uncomfortably obese.

"Now every calorie of slop goes right in your stomach. No need to think or even shallow. Just sit here, and feel yourself being absolutely lost in your growing body."

A firm slap to your piling sack of lard brings a wet warm feeling on cock. An orgasm of indescribable primal feeling sends a wave across your body. You stare at the quivering bed bound body. It can't be you, you can't be this owned.

The feeling of the first cycle of the machine pushing a half gallon into you makes your eyes roll back, another spurt of cum pooling in your fat pad. It was over for you. Your last coherent thoughts fade as you stare at your growing body.

Hunger, hunger, hunger.....

[capt-mactavish]

Requiem

Ghost is tasked with tracking down a clandestine mercenary group known as "Nocturne", led by an enigmatic figure known only as "The Revenant." After months of dead-end leads, Ghost and his team finally uncover their base of operations. But what he finds there shakes him to his core, and he is forced to confront a devastating truth.

Tw: death, violence

Night had settled by the time Ghost and his small team breached the compound. Inside was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that set off alarm bells, like a calm before a storm. He and his team moved cautiously, stalking through the dim corridors, clearing rooms with practiced ease, senses on high alert. 

The intel was thin— shoddy at best— like chasing shadows through smoke: an encrypted radio transmission they were lucky to intercept. But Laswell has assured him it was their best lead yet on Nocturne, a shadowy mercenary group that had been gaining traction over the past year, and always managed to stay one step ahead of Ghost and his team. 

But it was their leader, the elusive figure known only as The Revenant, that gnawed at Ghost’s nerves. Every operation Nocturne executed had a precision that felt surgical, methodical, coldly efficient, and yet— there was something darker lurking just beneath the brutality; a disturbing familiarity that made Ghost’s skin crawl with every report.

High value targets had gone dark, military operations had been derailed. The attacks felt personal, as if whoever was behind them knew the playbook all too well. Every ambush, every assault, every kill, every tactical maneuver— these weren’t just ordinary mercenaries— they were trained soldiers who knew how to dismantle an operation piece by piece, just as Ghost had been trained to do. 

Ghost led his team deeper into the compound, sweeping through it quietly and efficiently. 

But the deeper they went, the more it felt like a trap. 

“Clear,” Ghost muttered, eyes sweeping over the room he had just breached. 

It looked to be some kind of command center. The walls were lined with maps, and the table at the center was strewn with tactical plans, field notes and intelligence reports. Ghost sifted through them, taking note of their contents, his eyes narrowing as he recognized something; the handwriting, sketches, familiar abbreviations. 

His chest tightened as a memory flashed before his eyes of years ago, standing in the briefing room with Soap who was drawing out a mission plan with his usual rough humor. A smirk on his lips and a light in his eyes. 

It was a messy scrawl he’d seen countless times: Soap’s chicken-scratch notes hastily scribbled on the edges of tactical maps or in the margins of mission reports or on personal notes meant for Ghost’s eyes only. The same crude roughness, sharp and uneven. It was Soap’s handwriting, there was no mistaking it. 

He shook his head. It had to be a coincidence, or he’s finally losing it, seeing things that aren’t there. But as his eyes moved from the plans on the table to the maps on the walls, more details stuck out to him, more evidence of Soap’s presence. He stepped closer, mesmerized, his heart thumping in his chest.

Suddenly, the lights flickered, and there was a soft commotion behind him, and he turned to see Nocturne operatives had all of his men on their knees, weapons trained at the back of their heads. 

A figure appeared in the doorway, half obscured by shadow. The silhouette was tall and broad-shouldered, familiar in a way that made Ghost’s stomach twist up in a knot. They stepped forward, slow and deliberate, face hidden behind a sleek, black mask. But the voice that came from behind it was unmistakable.

“Ghost… been a long time.”

Ghost’s chest constricted, dread flooding through every fiber of his being. His eyes burned and his throat tightened. “Soap?” He managed to croak out.

The figure chuckled darkly, sending shivers down Ghost’s spine. “Don’t you know? Soap is dead. You and Price made sure of that. All that’s left now is The Revenant.”

No. It can’t be.

The figure reached up slowly and took off the mask. Ghost’s breath caught in his throat. His mind reeled.

Soap was gone.

Ghost had buried that grief long ago, come to terms with the loss, though the pain lingered, like a dull ache from a wound that never fully healed right. But now, here he was, standing in front of him, twisted, broken and filled with venomous hatred.

“What happened to you?” Ghost’s voice was thick with emotion, almost hoarse. “What is all this?”

Soap, no, The Revenant took a step forward, his eyes, once light and jovial, burned with malice. “You have some nerve asking that, after what you did. You, and Price, the whole bloody system. You left me for dead. You think I don’t know the truth?”

Soap’s words were like a dagger to the gut. This wasn’t right. Soap had to know they didn’t abandon him. He’d been MIA— presumed dead, yes, but never abandoned. Never forgotten.

“Don’t lie to me!” Soap roared, slamming his fist down on the table, making Ghost jump. His voice trembled with unbridled rage. “I was betrayed. Left to rot. And when I climbed out of that hellhole, I had already been replaced. You and Price moved on, and I was left behind. Expendable. Forgotten.”

“W-We didn’t know, we looked for you—”

Ghost frantically recalled back to the mission Soap hadn’t come back from. The firefight, the chaos, everything had come down around them. They’d searched, done everything they could to find him, but there had been so sign of him. Like he had just vanished. They assumed the worst. Price had to practically drag Ghost to exfil. 

“Dead? Aye, that would’ve been convenient, wouldn’t it?” Soap’s voice dripped with bitterness. “But I survived, Simon, and I’ll make you all pay for what you did to me.” 

“Price didn’t know, I-I didn’t know,” Ghost pleaded. “We thought you were—”

The air between them was thick with years of trust shattered, with betrayal and regret. Ghost’s heart ached, the reality of what had become of his closest friend hitting him like a freight train.

“Soap, please—” Ghost begged, but was cut off as Soap held a hand up.

“That’s not my name," he hissed coldly. "I’m The Revenant, and I’m not your friend. I’m your enemy,” 

Before Ghost could say anything else, The Revenant signaled to his men, then stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as he had come. 

He felt like the ground beneath him was slipping away, and he finally felt the weight of it all, the crushing realization that the man he once knew was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, something twisted and corrupt. And it was all his fault. 

Time seemed to slow down. He was vaguely aware someone was taking his weapons and securing his hands behind his back, and he looked on with dawning horror as his team was executed one by one in front of him.