#a part of me wishes that drone turned me into paste

[siveine]

i think im so nervous about finishing my contract because i wont know what to do with myself afterwards. like, sure theyve forgotten about me and nearly abandoned me, and im quite literally being used then thrown away, but after i get my discharge papers im going to be without purpose again and i dont know if i can do it a second time

[sarahscribbles]

A drabble where you’re trying to focus on a task but Loki can’t keep his hands off you.

fluffy, smutty, whatever inspires you! 🖤

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟖𝟖��

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞: 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Loki…I can’t…stop,” you chide, albeit extremely half heartedly. 

A deep roll of laughter is your lovers only answer. His warm breath hitting your neck makes you shiver, which only makes him laugh more because he knows your defences are falling down brick by brick.

As they have been for the past few minutes. 

The drone of Tony’s medical technology conference continues on the laptop sitting in front of you, but you lost track of the discussion fifteen minutes ago when Loki decided to wrap himself around you. You should be focusing on the panel discussion on the newest advances coming out of Iran - you need to be focusing because Tony will quiz you - but the only thing you can focus on is the warm wetness of Loki’s tongue running along the column of your throat. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, balling your hands into fists at the same time your nipples harden. He knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“Mmm, you’re too ravishing, my darling. I can’t,” he teases, peppering your throat with gentle little nips. 

Almost instantly, your hips begin to rock against your chair. It’s your Achilles heel and he knows it. You swallow another groan when his hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt, inching over your stomach to knead your breasts through the lace of your bra. It feels so good, so blindingly good, that Tony quizzing you on the newest breakthrough in genetic engineering suddenly feels so very unimportant. 

“How much longer are you being forced to endure this, dove?” Loki murmurs, sinking his teeth into your earlobe. 

“An hour,” you tell him vaguely, letting your head fall back on the chair as he dips his fingers into your bra to toy with your nipples. “God, you’re such a menace.” 

He laughs quietly, but then unfolds himself from around you. You fight the childish urge to whine, but turn to look at him with betrayal etched across your face. “Hey!” 

Loki gives you that winning smile, the one that still makes your heart leap, and pushes a stray lock of hair back behind your ear. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere,” he assures you, and you breathe out a quiet “oh” when he falls to his knees and moves beneath the table. “Why don’t you let me make this a little more satisfying for you, dove?”

His palms fall on your knees and push your thighs apart, and with a casual flick of his wrist, your leggings and underwear are no longer an issue. 

“Yes! Please, Loki!” you plead. You’re thrumming for him, and the searing burn of arousal is already flowing through your blood. You can never get enough of this man. 

His answering smirk is wicked. “As you wish,” he purrs. 

He licks a long, slow stripe along the length of your aching cunt, savouring the taste of you on his tongue. The groan that tumbles from you is close to animalistic and you barely register how your hands are gripping the sides of your chair like a vice. 

Loki’s tongue is as skilled as it is sinful, and in no time he’s lapping at all the right spots that have waves of pleasure begin to roll blissfully over you. It’s as though someone has taken a match to a string, and when you glance down to see Loki’s head bobbing between your thighs and his fingers curled around your knees, that string only burns more swiftly. 

He’s like a man starved and with each roll of your hips, he only pulls you closer to his mouth, ensuring no part of you is neglected or forgotten. All you know - all you ever know with this man - is bliss. 

Never has someone been so attentive to your pleasure, or wanted to drown you in it as often as they can. He’s everything you ever wished for wrapped up in one beautiful man, and God knows you thank the universe for him every single day. 

Though, today, you’re maybe thanking it a little more for his tongue. 

Each swipe of it sends another wave of pleasure rippling through you, and when he decides to solely lavish your clit, your hand shoots to his hair with a string of colorful curses. 

“That! Keep doing that! Please!” you beg him, knowing that you’re seconds away from soaring off the edge.

Loki hums against you and swirls his tongue firmly over your clit. Once…twice…three times is all it takes for your orgasm to explode through you. It’s blinding and so forceful that the entire Milky Way explodes behind your eyes. You howl Loki’s name, you curse and writhe in your chair as pleasure rips through every inch and fibre of your being. 

Loki’s tongue doesn’t let up for even a second, guiding you skillfully through your climax. 

It’s intoxicating, he’s intoxicating, and when you finally come down from your high all fuzzy brained and glassy eyed, he’s gazing back up at you with a proud little smirk on his face. 

“I never tire of seeing you unravel, my darling,” he says, tracing little circles on the insides of your knees with his thumbs. “Though, I do wonder how many times I can make you do it before the hour is up.” 

You don’t object as he buries his face back between your thighs.

[lovesickonmybed]

crazy fuckin' phenomenon | 18+

masterlist | info about palestine | donate to gaza

pairing | dbf!joel miller x reader

synopsis | after your dad abandons joel to watch instagram reels in the bathroom, an argument over the remote ends in a new discovery

warnings | excessive use of bigfoot as a plot device, dbf!joel, explicit sexual content, smut, age gap (20s/late 30s), play fighting with sexual tension, wedgies, humiliation, degradation, kink discovery, semi brat tamer!joel, almost getting caught, blue balls

word count | 2030

a/n | this was co-written with one of my favorite people ever but they wish to remain anonymous! this was so so so fun to work on and i think it really shows. i urge you to not buy any of the last of us games, including the remaster as the creator, neil druckmann is a zionist. the second game is based off of the israeli occupation in palestine and you can learn more about that here.

“Joel I swear to fucking god if I have to watch one more episode of Finding Bigfoot, I’m clawing my eyes out.”

There’s only so much bickering between Matt Moneymaker and Ranae Holland that you can take, and apparently, you’ve found your limit. Approximately five minutes. Joel had come over to hang out with your father, they had planned to watch some war movie because they’re fucking old, but, in typical dad fashion, your father had gotten up halfway through to use the bathroom. After 30 minutes, Joel couldn’t wait anymore and switched the TV to Animal Planet so he could watch Finding Bigfoot reruns. That was two hours ago, and you’ve now spent an hour on the couch with Joel, pleading for him to change it. Of course, your TV decides to stop working the one time your dad actually wants to use the living room TV. So, yeah, you can be a little bit of a drama queen.

“If you can drag your old man off ‘a the shitter, we can go back to watchin’ Come and See. Three fuckin’ hours, startin’ to think he pulled an Elvis.”

“Seriously, Joel,” you bellyache, slumping back into the couch. “Dunno why they’re looking for Bigfoot when he’s clearly right fucking here.” You shoot him a glare from across the couch.

“Uh huh,” Joel drones, either not listening or either not giving a fuck while he watches one of the camouflaged hosts do a shitty imitation of a sasquatch mating call.

Well, since he’s distracted…

With the stealth of a super spy, you lunge over Joel’s lap towards the side table, reaching past discarded beer bottles and hunting magazines for the hijacked remote. You snatch it right up, victorious for a few seconds at most.

“Now what in the hell do you think you’re doin’? Gonna put on fuckin’ Euphoria or something?” You don’t have time to come up with a witty response before you’re pinned down to the couch cushions. Joel’s hulking form hangs over you, shoulders broad and his hair messy as he gives you a smug look. Cursing the cavewoman part of you that gets butterflies in your stomach from how easily he overpowers you, you writhe underneath him.

“Joel what the fuck? Get off me you old fuck!” You groan, grunting in frustration as you try to maneuver Joel off of you. You’re weak as shit but you remember something from the self defense class you took in high school. You knee Joel in the chest, causing him to fall back, giving you a chance to roll off the couch and onto your knees. You look back as he coughs and gasps, trying to catch his breath. 

“Oh you little shit!” Joel groans, getting off the couch and looming over you like a killer in a slasher fic. He smirks down at you, tilting his head to the side like Micheal Myers.

You feel your heart start to race and your cunt start to pulse. You turn back and start to crawl away but Joel leans down and grabs your ankle, pulling you back to him. You definitely feel like you’re in a slasher film now. 

“Oh sweetheart, you’re not gettin’ away that easily…needa stop acting like such a little brat. Your daddy was never that good at discipline.”

You don’t know what you’re expecting. But Joel’s warm hands sneaking down the waistband of your denim cutoffs is not it. You cry out as his fingers loop around your purple thong, drawing it midway up your back. Pain sears up your ass, and much more dangerous, pleasure tingles in your cunt when the front of your thong slips between your folds. Kicking your legs, you smack your palm into the carpet underneath you. “Joel!” you gasp out in surprise.

Maddeningly, Joel chuckles at your struggle underneath him. He shifts to straddle your upper thighs, weighing you down even more. “What, ain’t ever had a wedgie before?” Another sharp tug makes your head drop to the floor. You fight not to give into your body’s base desire to arch your back. “With how often you run your mouth, I’m surprised your friends never ran you up the flagpole in the schoolyard.”

You scrunch your fingers in the fiber of the carpet, trying to anchor yourself to anything other than the searing pain in your ass and cunt. It doesn’t work. You can’t focus on anything but this cruel and unusual punishment. Your dad’s best friend, wedgieing you into obedience.

Somehow, he pulls even harder. All of that contracting work isn’t for nothing. You’re silently moaning now, mouth open and your forehead dipped to the floor, desperate pants flying in and out of your mouth. “Hmmm,” he hums. “Wonder if I could get these over your head. Bet you’d have an easier time watchin’ my show with that.”

“Please,” you rasp. Your brain wants you to beg for him to let you go. Your cunt wants you to beg for him to be meaner. To go all the way and snap them over your head, leaving you ass up and face down, split in half for his enjoyment. You short circuit before you can get any further into the plea, because he’s pulling your panties even higher in brutal bursts.

“Begging ain’t gonna help, honey. You’ve made your bed, now lie in it.”

The waistband gets halfway up your neck before Joel gives up. The tension in your body lessons as you melt into the floor. “You ain’t off the hook yet, missy,” Joel says, smirk evident in his voice.

He guides your arms through the leg holes of your panties, and you moan helplessly as he snaps them over your shoulders, leaving you in the equivalent of a wedgie bodysuit. You feel like you’re being split in half.

You can’t help it. You roll your hips, grinding into your panties and the floor. The pressure is everywhere and it’s perfect. Perfect against your burning asshole, your leaking cunt, and your throbbing clit. Every movement also propels you up against Joel, something you can’t even bring yourself to remember right now. You’re wet – unbelievably fucking wet. “What the hell are you doing to me?” you whine, still humping the floor as heat blossoms in your core.

Joel stiffens above you. “Are you…” He clears his throat, a rough noise. “Are you fuckin’ into this?”

The question alone makes you whimper.

Every rock of your hips has the wedgie slicing deeper, pulling you apart piece by piece from your most sensitive place. You arch your back properly, that way every time you go up, you can feel Joel’s bulge against your rear. Joel’s quickly hardening bulge as he watches you lose all of your dignity while humping the floor with your panties rammed up your ass.

“Shut the fuck up, Joel! I’m not into this…I just-” He cuts you off by flicking the string of your thong. Tellingly, you moan out.

“Just what? Just get off on getting split in half by your fuckin’ panties?”

You try to speak but he shoves you forward, pressing your face against the carpet and pinning you down, “Just shut your mouth, don’t want your daddy findin’ ya like this do ya? God, just imagine what he’d say…. Seein’ his precious ‘lil girl gettin’ all wet from a well-deserved wedgie up these plump fuckin’ cheeks.” His hand glides down between your ass cheeks and slaps against your denim-covered bottom. You jolt, moaning where he’s pressing your face into the carpet. You’ll be surprised if your drool isn’t soaking it.

“Joooooel,” you pout, still fighting underneath him. You kick your feet, and they barely graze the small of Joel’s back, a sort of flexibility you can’t afford very much of right now. “Can’t… can’t take much more. Hurts.”

“I’ll tell you what you can take, you little brat. You’re lucky you’re not hangin’ up by these,” Joel grabs the waistband of your light wash denim shorts, using it to lift you up off the floor while you grasp at the carpet in a poor attempt to stay on the ground. 

It doesn’t work. Joel hauls you up, grabbing the front and back of your wedgie. You can’t stop yourself from moaning again, dimly away that your dad is still in the bathroom and still could walk out at any given time. You hope Joel’s good ear can hear if the toilet flushes, because you can’t hear a damn thing over your own pulse rocketing in your ears.

He yanks the back of your thong, and then the front, effectively flossing your ass crack and cunt. Your hands fly down to your thighs, but it’s not like you can do anything, because the next thing Joel does is lift you fully off the ground. You cry out, hastily clamping a hand over your mouth, and decide three things back to back to back.

One – fuck Joel Miller.

Two – fuck Joel Miller.

Three – you might actually really like this.

The third one you realize when you look down to see your arousal seeping through the denim. The humiliation stings on your cheeks with a sort of heat you’ve never felt in your life. He bounces you in the damn thing, pulling you up and down with a strength you’d never fathomed he could have.

You can’t stop yourself from grinding down when he brings you up, pulling your panties even deeper into your ass and cunt. You whine and grab at Joel’s forearm for purchase, nearly fucking yourself against the thin fabric that’s cutting you in half. Joel’s satisfaction at it all, the way you can feel him getting sadistically hard behind you from your cocktail of pain and pleasure, is what truly makes it for you. You buck against your panties even harder, letting out a truly ragged moan when it brushes your clit just right.

“You’re taking this so good, ain’t even cryin’ or nothin’. Should I hang you up? Get your eyes just as wet as your cunt? Could you even take it, or are you gonna cream your pretty little panties before I even get you on a hook?”

The answer is yes – you are going to cream your panties before he gets you on a hook.

Your orgasm rips through you violently, lighting you on fire as you hang in suspension and just take it. Ass burning and your cunt dripping like Niagara Falls, you clench and grind on your panties as desperately as you can to prolong your orgasm. Your eyes water, heart beating out of control. Joel’s hand cups your mound, heel rubbing against where your clit pulses. You’re still tremoring by the time you come down. Everything feels like it’s in technicolor, easily marking the most powerful orgasm of your life.

You realize Joel has deposited you back on the ground. It’s a miracle you’re even standing at all with how limp-boned you are. Chest rising and falling, you stumble back around to face Joel, whose cock is straining against his jeans. You’re about to put him out of his misery, not even taking the time to pick your wedgie as your hand flies towards his belt when you hear it –

Wooooooooshgluglgulglug.

You take your wedgie out like you’re racing to get rid of a ticking time bomb, frantically yanking it down your shoulders and tucking the strings into your waistband. Still burning up from your orgasm, blatantly freshly fucked, you give Joel a half-apologetic look (he had given you a hellish wedgie, after all) and scamper upstairs.

You barely acknowledge your dad as you brush past him. “Hey sweetie, goin’ back up?”

“Mhm,” you get out, almost tripping up the stairs.

“Hm, wonder what’s wrong with her,” you hear your dad reflect to Joel.

“No idea,” Joel says.

You’re about to close your door when you hear more commentary from downstairs. Your dad’s voice. “Woah there, man. Got a thing for bigfoot?”

Your eyebrows shoot to your goddamn hairline as your heartbeat spikes and your brain fills in the gaps.

“Fear boners, crazy fuckin’ phenomenon,” Joel says, just as casual as ever. Yeah. Crazy fucking phenomenon is right.

[undiscovered-horizon]

[Old love never rusts. Mihawk has to face that truth when he meets again the husband of the girl he almost had.]

Mihawk's version | Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

Mihawk wants the entire conversation to end before it has even started. He's aware that his heartache and anger are bound to get the better of him. Not to mention Shanks, who will surely gloat and boast beyond tastefulness. Although Mihawk can't exactly blame Shanks for his pride - the Warlord knows that he'd behave identically, if not worse, were their roles reversed.

Shanks knows what's on Mihawk's mind. he can read it on his face, in the sombre gloom that clouds his yellow eyes. Still, the red-haired captain patiently waits for the swordsman to break on his own. It will happen soon enough as the matter of you is the only subject that rids Mihawk of his self-control. He may be a great man, in more ways than one but when it comes to the insatiable love seems unable to let go, the Warlord becomes a young boy at heart, always seeking assurance that his affections are returned. Or not outright rejected, at least. Alas, the consequences of his own selfish actions have finally caught up to him and Mihawk must face the truth - this love is never going to be returned.

"How is she?" Mihawk asks reluctantly. He hates to give Shanks the satisfaction but the famished desire of his heart is a lot stronger than his iron will and pride. "You know of whom I speak."

Shanks gives him a mocking smile, a devilish flame appearing in his brown eyes.

"I also know you have no right to ask that, hawk-eyes," he answers. "Not when you treated her like a backup option."

"I never-" Mihawk hangs his voice. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. Agitated negation will only further prove the captain's point. Truth be told, deep inside Mihawk knows that Shanks is right. He did treat as someone who would always be there, waiting for him until he came back from his escapades. Until you grew tired; until you didn't. "Where is she?" he asks angrily. But what he really wants to ask is 'If you're here, who's taking care of her? Who's looking after the one you promised to keep safe and happy?'

"Home with the kids," Shanks retorts casually. Despite his light-hearted tone, there's a hint of something mischievous between his words.

Mihawk feels disgusted. The thought that Shanks got to know you intimately and built a familial life with you fills him with rage so visceral he'd rather claw his own eyes out than think about it. And that red-haired poor excuse of a husband probably considers himself good enough for you.

Laughable, if it wasn't so sad.

"I suppose I should wish you well," Mihawk begrudgingly murmurs. Once again, his words do not quite reflect his actual thoughts. He wishes you well but couldn't care less about Shanks's well-being. Mihawk already knows for a fact that the red-haired captain is incapable of taking care of you properly so it would really be mercy if Shanks had a little accident and Dracule could play the magnificent role of a consoling party.

"You should." Shanks nods. "But I know you won't." He lets out a bitter chuckle. He's disillusioned about Mihawk's perpetual heartbreak. Some part of him still pities the Warlord. After all, how awful must be the torment that can haunt someone like him for a good decade?

"Yes, I won't," Dracule drones his words. There is jealousy, there is envy and then there is the horrible sensation that has been eating him up for the past ten years, slowly turning the man into a bitter, brutal husk of a person. And he shall never find it in him to wish Shanks well after he had shamelessly taken the person the closest to his heart.

Turning on his heel, Mihawk marches away from Shanks. He knows that if he spends another minute around the red-haired man, he will do something he might regret.

He could be a mighty Warlord, the greatest swordsman alive and, perhaps ever - truly a someone. Alas, as a wise man once said: You're nobody until somebody loves you. And everyday of his life, each time he wakes up to a cold bed and a house drowned in deafening silence, Mihawk is reminded that he is less than nobody. For it was his own grandiosity that had ridded him of the person he cares about the most.

Dracule's gnawing loneliness is accompanied only by his own thoughts, only by the rumination of his utmost failure. 'It didn't have to be like this', he reminds himself on the nights when he can't fall asleep, 'You could have had everything'.

[jazzyblusnowflake]

Love really bites

[a small vuzi snippet uwu yall liked the oil exchange with nuzi so you get this too >:3 ]

V and Uzi were sitting criss-cross in front of each other, feeling awkward but still looking determined- they wanted to try exchanging oil for V, since Uzi already did it often with N; but while they lean in slowly, V takes a peak and sees Uzi with visor eyes shut and looking stressed, her bottom jaw clattering softly for a moment as her body shakes lightly- V feels a slight pang of guilt and and scoffs "ugh" pushing Uzi back slightly "look I'm not doing this when you're so obviously terrified-"

"wh- i am NOT-!" she crossed her arms, looking away, a slight blush visible on her visor- "besides- don't you LIKE teasing and scaring me-

V rolls her eyes- also crossing her arms "uh- yeeeah. I like playing with my FOOD- not-!…..not you….." both of them pause momentarily at this small confession- "…. you're… more than that… I guess…" Uzi softly peaks at V as the other turns away blushing severely.

V suddenly shook her head "UGH never mind-!! this was stupid anyway-! ill just go find real food-"

"H-Hey wAIT!" before she knew what she was doing, Uzi had jumped and grabbed Vs arm as the taller drone stood up- so now they are both standing and staring at one another and Uzis hold on Vs arm with lots of blushing lines. Uzi looks away slightly "I uh…. we can try again if... if you want?…"

V's optics hallowed and she felt heat rising in her core- the fuck are these feelings ugh- no wonder Uzi hates that she's been programmed with them- "o-okay fine- since you insist- lets just get this over with then-"

Uzi lines their bodies so that they'd be standing and pressing against each other slightly and they both tried leaning in again slowly with closed eyes-

-when suddenly Uzi yelps as she is hoisted up on Vs arms "V! what the hell-!?"

V smirks up at her "sorry shorty, if I wanna get that oil I need gravity to slide it down your throat into mine-" she licks her fangs momentarily as her 5 real eyes pulsed slightly brighter with sparks which made Uzi blush even more- feeling slightly turned on at the display- she felt like V was gonna eat her alive and somehow she was fine with that-..............shOO BE GONE THOUGHTS-

Uzi shook her head "F- fine! ugh bite me-"

"be careful what you wish for~"

Uzi grumbles as V smirks wildly at her but instead of retorting with a snarky answer she lightly holds Vs cheeks and leans in again, her eyes fluttering closed as Vs smirk fades into a nervous frown and she swallows nervously as her hold tightens a little on the other drones back-

it starts with a peck and then they press their lips against each other more firmly, tilting their heads ever so slightly- and both of their frowns disappeared softly as they got more comfortable. Uzi's hands and fingers move from V's face and neck to threading and curling around in her hair and V purrs lightly at the small tugs.

slowly V pries open Uzis mouth a bit more with her tongue as she laps at the oil shared with her from against Uzis tongue and lips, making some run away drops slide past their mouths towards their chins.

V was surprised at how much more calming and energizing this felt; not particularly her style of work but…. she thinks that she could definitely get used to this… maybe... but then Uzi momentarily makes a small surprised sound that made V grip on her a little tighter subconsciously. Uzi presses slightly back against V's tongue with her own and her soft mewls fueled V in other ways-

Fuck her noises were almost as tasty as her oil, V thought momentarily before she caught herself-

They both part with a small gasp, swallowing whatever was left in their mouths and V had a few seconds to admire Uzi's light headed state from losing her oil before she blinked, slightly shaking herself out of it, blushing-

she put Uzi down a bit faster than intended but made sure she doesn't fall over- looking away and blushing, with Uzi doing the same- panting a little to get some chill air to her rapidly heating circuitry.

V thinks of what to say really cuz that was... certainly an experience she had.... "Uh yeah soo- thanks or whatever- that was.. definitely pretty boring to be honest, I can see why you'd like to do it all day with doodle boy over there-" she crosses her arms again looking away as she coughs lightly in her fist- blush lines being repressed but still visible-

Uzi blushes at the comment of her and N exchanging Oil- though she was hoping V didn't notice when they had parted Uzi was zoomed in on V's fangs and almost wanted her to ACTUALLY bite her like dear robo christ on a jet fueled scooter-

she ends up looking away too at V's words, blush painfully obvious "you're WELCOME for not letting you starve or whatever-! not like i care or anything hmph-"

they both stay like that looking away for a while… when Uzi notices V's tail wagging slightly behind her... oh.

"….b-but if you wanted any more… well uhh- you know where to find me I guess... ykNOW-! CUZ- it'd be a drag if we had to constantly deal with you over heating and stuff- y-yeah- that-!" she explains with a slight panic and waving her hands around

V looked at her with hollowed eyes and blushes as her tail twisted around her leg to keep it from wagging more- "um.. y-yeah totally sure- whatever- doubt ill NEED it tho- she slightly looks away, her finger playing with a strand of her own hair-

suddenly there was a sound of a loud clang and they both look at N jumping in the pod giddily with a loud "im baaack-!"

they both turn towards him looking gobsmacked with blushes and N had a moment of pausing and looking at Vs slightly ruffled hair and the two of them wiping the oil dripping from their mouth and chins-

N's expression turned into a deadpan one- "I leave for like…. 5 MINUTES… and you guys are making out without me??? >:( "

[novamariestark]

NCIS, Gibbs and the reader are undercover, the only way to maintain their cover is to get married but it is not supposed to get filed. Yet one the guys files it to get even, and there is a law saying they have to stay married and live together for so long until they get a divorce (because Gibbs has been divorced 3 times) The reader is having a hard time since she truly loves and THINKS it is one-sided.

[A/N] ahhh I hate how I hate my writing sometimes

Why me? I mean, I’ve dreamt about this but… why me?

Standing opposite him, holding his hand as the clerk droned on about the vows you were supposed to exchange. Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. You have thought about this so many times. But never like this, not under the harsh bright lights of a courthouse. Never for a mission.

You and the team finally uncovered an upcoming “shipment” belonging to the human trafficking organization you’d been tracking for months. This was your chance to bring them down. But you hadn’t expected it to cause you this much of a headache.

Abby had created covers for both you and Gibbs, including fake criminal activities, fabricated records, transactions, and past aliases. Gibbs becomes "Jack Lawson," a seasoned and the cold and calculating, ruthless trafficker with a reputation for leaving no witnesses if things went south. You take on the role of "Elena Lawson," his equally cunning and business-savvy wife. You had to pretend to be Gibbs’ wife.

It should be easy. After all, you’d spent years working beside him, learning his every move, how to anticipate his orders, how to cover his back in the field, and how to decipher his gruff silences. But this was different. This wasn’t just another mission; this was playing house with the one man you’d secretly loved for years. And the worst part? You had to act like it was all just business.

But of course, to you, it was more than that.

You look at the ring on your finger and you can’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were real.

At the beginning of the undercover mission, everything felt so awkward. Like the two of you were strangers forced to stay in the same room for the night. All you spoke about was the mission and only the mission. It was almost as though Gibbs was afraid to cross a line and make you uncomfortable. But at the same time, you didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable.

But one night, that tense atmosphere changed. One night, you fall asleep on Gibbs’ shoulder while watching TV. When you wake up, you find that he hasn’t moved, his arm still around you. You look up as much as you can without moving your head to find that he is also asleep. You snuggle closer into his side and you are soon lulled to sleep by his warmth.

When you wake up, you are no longer on the couch, you are in the bed. The bed you two were supposed to be sharing, but Gibbs always sleeps on the couch. The sun is up, and the smell of coffee and bacon fills the air.

You slip out of bed and tiptoe to the kitchen. Gibbs is there, his back to you. The muscles ripple as he moves, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to appreciate the sight.

He turns around, breakfast ready on plates, “Morning Sweetheart,” he smiled, placing the plates on the dinner table. The pet name feels like a dagger in your heart, because no matter how hard you wish or how much you dream, you’d never really be his sweetheart.

You pulled out your chair and sat down with a sigh, “You don’t have to call me that when we’re alone,” you said, tucking yourself under the table ready to dig into the food, “Just like how we don’t have to share the bed,” you finished as you picked up the fork to dig into the breakfast that, even you had to admit, looked delicious.

But before you could, Gibbs sat opposite you, that look in his eyes he gives you as if he’s reading your thoughts. The way he stares at you as if he’s deciphering every dark corner of your mind. Which, if he could, he’d immediately regret it and you’d die of embarrassment.

You tried to ignore him and started to eat the bacon, and to your surprise. It was good. So good it made you laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing… it’s just, I didn’t know you knew how to cook,”

“What gave you that idea?”

“I’ve seen your fridge, Gibbs,”

Gibbs chuckled, a rare sound that echoed in the apartment, a sound that you wish you could hear on repeat.

But soon the conversation changes, back to reality. Later this evening you are expected to attend a party with some of your targets, or should you say “associates”. You are dreading it. Dreading having to be close to Gibbs, him hold you close to him, as close as he was last night. Maybe dance with him.

What if you mess up? What if you step on his feet?

---

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the strap of your dress for what felt like the thousandth time tonight. The dark red fabric clung to your figure in a way that made you feel both beautiful and vulnerable. The mission demanded perfection – and so did you.

Tonight was important to the mission. Tonight, you were going to interact with a group of people with connections to the human trafficking “business”, but you knew you could handle that. But could you handle Gibbs? Could you handle being close to him for that long? His arm around your waist, his warm breath on your neck.

The knock on the bedroom door startled you out of your thoughts. You looked at the clock on the dresser, exactly the time he said he would knock. You took a deep breath and smoothed the fabric of your dress one last time. You were a professional. You could do this.

Right?

When you opened the door, there he stood, looking impossibly handsome in a tailored suit. His blue eyes swept over you, his expression unreadable, as always.

“You look beautiful,” he said simply, his voice low and gravelly.

“Thanks,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, despite the dance the butterflies were having in your stomach right now, “You clean up pretty well yourself,”

His lips curled into a faint smile as he held out his arm. You hesitated just for a moment before slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow.

The car ride was quiet. Nothing but passing cars and the gentle hum of the engine. Any other time you’d be jumping at the chance to be alone in the car with Gibbs, but now? On this mission? It was fucking hell.

As you walked through the doors of the massive house the party was being held at, eyes were on you instantly. Assessing your every move. Gibbs places a hand on the small of your back, leading you towards the contact he had met before.

“Ah, you must be the beautiful, Elena,” he said as you stopped before him. He took his hand in yours and placed a kiss on your knuckles. You smile charmingly, hiding the fact that you would throw up if he touched you again, “You were not kidding. She is a beauty. If she were not your wife, she would get a pretty penny,”

Gibbs grip on your hip tightened, but he chuckled, maintaining his cover, “I bet,” he replied.

 You smiled, leaning into Gibbs just a little, placing a hand on his chest, “My husband has always had good taste,” you said, your voice dripping with affection that wasn’t entirely an act.

The man grinned, clearly satisfied with your response. He motioned for a waiter to bring drinks, and soon you found yourself with a glass of champagne in hand, toasting to nothing in particular, as the conversation droned on.

As the night wore on, the party buzzed with the chatter of dangerous men. You moved through the crowd, sticking close to Gibbs, the two of you making small talk with people you wished you could arrest on the spot. But with no concrete evidence, you had to play the long game.

“Well, if it isn’t the most talked-about couple of the evening,” he said with a smirk. “I hear you two are quite the pair. Must be nice to have a wife who’s both beautiful and useful in our…line of work.”

You hated every word that came out of his mouth, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you tilted your head, offering a coy smile. “We make a good team,” you replied smoothly. But despite that, Gibbs sensed you were uncomfortable.

Before he could reply, a slow song started to play and Gibbs turned to you, “Would you like to dance, Sweetheart?”

Everything in you screamed “NO!” but you had to. It was getting harder to block out your feelings, I mean you didn’t really want to. This here is what you wanted. To be near him, to hold him. To be loved by him. But you weren’t sure it was a risk you could afford to take.

Gibbs took your hand and led you to the dance floor and for a moment, it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the room. He placed one hand on your waist, the other holding your hand gently but firmly. You stepped closer, your bodies almost touching, and began to sway to the music.

As you moved together, the rest of the room seemed to blur, the noise of the party fading into the background. It was just you and Gibbs, moving together, as if you had done this a thousand times before.

You looked up at him, trying to read the expression in his eyes, but as always, he was unreadable. His face was calm, controlled.

“You’re quiet,” Gibbs murmured, his voice barely audible over the music. “Something on your mind?”

You forced a smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just trying to stay in character,” you replied, hoping he couldn’t hear the slight tremor in your voice.

As the song continued, you let yourself relax, just a little, allowing yourself to savor the moment. This was probably the closest you would ever get to having what you really wanted. So, you let yourself lean into him, just a fraction.

The song ended far too soon, and you reluctantly pulled back, feeling the cold rush in as the warmth of his body left yours. The room came back into focus, the noise and the lights and the people all returning to the foreground.

Thankfully the night ended and you two were both invited to the next “Shipment”. Which meant that maybe you could go home soon.

You and Gibbs walked out of the party, the cool night air hitting your face as you stepped outside. The silence between you was thick, almost like you could cut it with a knife. Gibbs opened the car door for you, and for a second, his hand brushed against yours. That tiny touch sent a shiver down your spine

The ride back to the safe house was just as quiet as the ride to the party. Your mind was spinning, thinking about everything that had happened tonight—the way he held you, the way his eyes looked at you when you danced. It was so confusing. You wanted to be close to him, but it scared you too.

As he parked the car outside your safehouse, for a moment, there was nothing but silence. You could feel him looking at you, like he was trying to figure out what you were thinking. But, as always, he didn’t say anything more. He just opened the door and got out of the car.

You followed him inside, walking up the stairs to the safehouse. Even though the room was small, it was neat and comfortable. The bed was made, and the couch where Gibbs insisted on sleeping was set up with a pillow and blanket.

As you stepped inside, you hesitated. Gibbs went straight to the couch, like he always did, already loosening his tie and taking off his jacket

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch, you know,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Gibbs paused, glancing at you with that unreadable expression. “It’s fine. I’m comfortable here.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say next. “Okay,” you finally whispered, feeling a little disappointed but trying not to show it.

You turned away and headed for the bedroom, slipping out of your dress and changing into something more comfortable. As you climbed under the covers, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Gibbs. He was lying on the couch, his eyes closed, but you could tell he wasn’t asleep yet.

“Goodnight, Gibbs,” you called out softly, your voice carrying through the small space.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his voice just as soft.

--

The next few days were hell. You had gone out for a jog and as soon as you come back, you wanted a shower. What you didn’t expect was your boss stepping out of the shower as you walked into the bathroom. You immediately covering your eyes and turning around. You apologised and walked out, doing anything to erase that mental image of your boss’ wet naked body in front of you.

Dinner that night was awkward. For you. Gibbs seemed to have a smug smirk on his face, the same one that had been glued there for the whole day. He had been joking that you walked in on him on purpose. It annoyed you because it wasn’t helping you forget.

Did you want to forget? No. but you didn’t want the added torture of something you wanted but could never have.

You couldn’t wait to arrest the bad guys and get back into your own house but it turned out DiNozzo, the little shit, decided this was the perfect opportunity to get back at you for a prank you pulled on him.

As soon as the mission was over, you both returned home to find a letter. A confirmation of your marriage certificate being filed. You immediately left your house and drove over to Gibbs’

“What the hell is this?” you asked as you burst through the door that was never locked.

“I don’t know, I got the same one,” Gibbs sighed, sitting on the couch.

“Well, we’re getting a divorce, come on,”

“[Y/N] it’s 10pm besides… we can’t” he replied, placing his bourbon on the table.

“The hell do you mean ‘we can’t’” you asked, slightly agitated. All you wanted tonight was to sleep in your own bed, in your own damn house. But no. Something was against you doing that.

“That new law the government set a couple of months ago to deter serial marriages and divorces. I’ve been divorced 3 times [Y/N] they’re not going to let us,”

“It was for a fucking undercover mission, Gibbs, I am not your wife,” you snapped, quite shockingly, you had never raised your voice to anyone, let alone Gibbs, “I am your colleague,”

“We can try and explain our situation, but I doubt it,”

You shake your head, your hands clenched into fists at your sides, knuckles white against your skin, “I don’t fucking believe this,” you said, not to Gibbs particularly. Just throwing it out into the room. Because not only did that law require you to stay married for at least a year, you had to live together too.

You’d just spent two weeks with Gibbs. A year?! A fucking year?! How the fuck were you going to survive that?

“It’s not fair, Gibbs, I shouldn’t have to live my life like this for a mistake, I shouldn’t have to do this,” you whispered, as the anger drained from you, your hands fell limp, and your covered your face as the first tear slipped down your cheek, “It was torture,”

“Yeah, I’ve been told,”

You don’t know whether it was the situation or the fact that you were so exhausted, but you let your attraction to him slip.

“Torture because it’s not the way I wanted it to happen!” you cried, “A fucking ring on my finger, fucking one sided feelings, two fucking weeks was bad enough, but a year, a year of you pretending to be my husband, i-I can’t do it,”

Without a word, he closed the distance between you, his hands gently pulling yours away from your face, but before you could react, his lips were on yours. The kiss was firm but tender, a mix of all the emotions that he too, had kept buried for so long.

You froze, shock stealing your breath, but his lips were soft. Slowly, the tension in your body melted away, replaced by something you didn’t dare name.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as he spoke, “It wasn’t torture for me.” His thumb brushed away a lingering tear on your cheek.

Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with disbelief. “You… like me?”

Gibbs held your gaze, his eyes softening in a way you’d never seen before. He didn’t need to say anything—the way his thumb traced gentle circles on your cheek, the way he looked at you, it said it all. But he answered anyway, his voice steady and sure.

“I love you, [Y/N]”

--

Epilogue

Gibbs wanted to give you a proper wedding, so he did. He planned the whole thing without your knowledge, with the help of your best friend, Abby.

Tony walked you down the aisle, still sporting that black eye you had given him despite how well everything turned out.

Something else that was unexpected but not a bad thing was your pregnancy. Well I suppose it’s sort of a bad thing in a way because Jimmy, Tim and Tony keep telling you to name the baby after them if it’s a boy. You had already chosen a name for a boy, Jackson, after your new father-in-law. But you couldn’t lie that some of the reasons they gave you to use their name were very entertaining.

One of Tony’s being “If you name him Tim, he’s going to be a nerdy virgin until he’s 40,”

You rolled your eyes as Tony continued to give you reasons why his name would suit your son better.

You turned to him, your smile never leaving your face as you asked, “You want another black eye?”

That immediately shut him up. Mental note; remember that for next time. He’s bound to piss you off again during your pregnancy. As soon as Gibbs found out you were pregnant, he got even more protective, and you didn’t think that was possible. You were now assigned to desk duty, and he left no room for arguments.

When you reached Gibbs at the front, Tony leaned in and whispered, “You’re welcome,”

“Another black eye, DiNozzo,” you warned, making him step back out of range.

Gibbs took your hand and smiled at you. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening. It kind of already did but you never expected him to go out of his way to give you the wedding you dreamed of since you were a teen.

Seven months later, Little Jackson decided he was ready to join the world, a whole week earlier than expected. You weren’t quite prepared for it, but there wasn’t much time to think. Jackson, who had been staying with you, quickly helped you to the car and drove you straight to the hospital. As soon as you were settled, he called his son.

Gibbs and the team were in the middle of a tough case, but the second he heard you were in labor, he rushed to the hospital. Abby insisted on coming too—she couldn’t wait to meet her nephew before anyone else.

At the hospital, everything happened fast. Nurses were everywhere, and the room was filled with the beeping of machines and hushed voices. Jackson stayed right by your side up until Gibbs entered the room.

After nine long hours, Little Jackson made his grand entrance and he soon meets his grandfather and namesake. Jackson had no idea you were naming your son after him so it got a bit emotional, not just him, you too.

Gibbs took some time off to be with you and the family. You decided to head back to Sweetwater with Jackson, to spend some much-needed time together as a family. The calm, small-town setting felt like the perfect place to start this new chapter, surrounded by the people you loved and who loved you back. It was a chance to take a deep breath, to enjoy the little moments, and to settle into your new life with Little Jackson.

[romanoffsbish]

A Bumpy Ride

Scarlett Johansson x Actress!R

Elizabeth Olsen (Wanda) x F!R (a blip of a scene)

Request by: 🦥

A/N: I wrote the EO x R kiss as if I was writing a Wanda fic, literally just wrote the imagined scene. | Also, if this is too beyond what you wanted, feel free to request a do over fic. I might’ve gotten carried away.

Warnings: Jealous/Possessive Scarlett.

Smut: Daddy (Top-R), Kitten (Power Bottom-S), Fingering (S), Face-Riding (S) Kinks: Lactation, Praising, Slight Degradation.

18+ | Minors DNI

Labeled, please don’t report.

Scarlett wore a wide smile as you guided her through the set of your current Marvel film. This was a nice experience for her, watching as the legacy she had an integral part in building continued on through you, and the others.

It was rather bittersweet too though, seeing images from the iconic movies past, when she was younger and in the fittest shape of her life. Now she wears her post pregnancy tummy pouch with reassured pride, and eats a far less restrictive diet as she holds no obligations to have a widely unobtainable superhero physique.

—

Without Marvel she wouldn't have skyrocketed in her career, and she is beyond grateful to them for that, but she more importantly has them to thank for finding you, and the sweet, domestic life she now lived with you and Leo. The pretty little boy grew in her body, but he shared your likeness, as you hadn't the time to be pregnant yourself, so IVF it was until 2026 when your contract with Marvel was finally up.

When you finally turned to take in your wife after droning on about today's filming, you noticed the deep pout she wore, and you softly pecked it away. "What's troubling you, love?"

"I miss Leo," she confessed quietly, and you smiled sadly at her, the ache in your chest was the same as his smiling face tauntingly flashed through your mind, "Me too my love, I miss his kissable little face, and his sweet giggles at the inappropriate hour of 2am," you kissed her pout away, and smiled as she herself giggled.

"It'll be okay soon, my last scenes today and tomorrow you'll have that important meeting, then we'll steal him back from your moms."

Scarlett burrowed into your offered embrace with a muffled huff, "I miss his baby smell."

"Me too," you snorted as you swayed her body.

"Wait, did you say you had a steamy scene with Lizzie today?" Scarlett's mind finally caught up to your previously uttered words, and that once soft pout of hers slipped into a deep scowl.

You chuckled softly, "I'd hardly call it steamy," your wife however wasn't amused, "It's a kiss."

"A kiss that will create a hoopla of rumors."

"Scarlett," you sighed, it was always the same insecurity, and you'd never get mad at her for it, the fans edits can be quite convincing seeing as how you and Lizzie are literal best friends.

"They have been shipping us since the dawn of time, and that's cause I'm an amazing actress," you subtly reminded her of your profession, the one she shares with you, "Do you know how many men I've had to see you macking with?"

Scarlett shrugged, a silent gesture in attempt to brush passed your honest counter to hers.

"It doesn't really matter either, because I am assured every night when I come home to your loving embrace that you're all mine, and it's not a question baby, I'm irrevocably yours."

"I just wish they'd stop it, you know? We're all married now, with our families in the making."

"Yeah, but also Scar, when you agreed to marry me you knew Lizzie was apart of that deal," you teased her as you brought her into the dressing room so you could prepare for the kiss scene.

Scarlett rolled her eyes, it was the truth, she of course saw Lizzie as family, but she didn't have to like the way the world of Hollywood works.

Elizabeth was your first connection at Marvel as you started filming together, so it was no shock that the two of you hit it off. Then your alliance was set in stone from the moment Age of Ultron hit theaters. People shipped your character with Wanda's, but it was a different era, so the palpable chemistry between you and your new friend was swept under the rug, and it was exchanged for a queer coded on screen pining on your character's ends as she explored the more sellable at the time ship with Vision.

As fandoms do though, they took the shipping a step further and soon it was you shipped with Lizzie. Clips from differing press junkets were stitched together, along with solo interviews where you'd be questioned about the other. Elizabeth and you were platonic soulmates, so it was easy for fans to romanticize your replies.

At the time you were out, you never once hid from Hollywood, and neither had Lizzie, she didn't expressly label herself, but the way she spoke so candidly at times gave her away. So the shipping didn't bother either of you much. But it did bother Scarlett, she had her eyes on you from day one, and once she had you she was constantly afraid you'd leave her for the mutual friend who wasn't still hiding away.

Throughout the years it had only got more and more aggressive, and it infuriated your now wife. It occurred at its peak during a time when Scarlett hadn't wanted to have to come out yet. She was still trying her darnedest to wipe away her forced image as a sex symbol, the last thing she needed was creeps fetishizing your love.

However, after about three interviews with your posse of girls during the Infinity War junket your lover finally lost her composure. Four years of having the love she'd built up with you overshadowed by indecent rumors, well that was enough to drive her to break.

They'd handed the three of you a bin of spicy tweets, and when she was handed one to read about you topping Lizzie she lost it, she glared at the unsuspecting man, throwing the ball of paper at him just before staring directly at the camera as she muttered: "The only person Y/N is topping is me, so suck on that scwitch22."

Scarlett wasn't even embarrassed afterwards, she simply took the spot in your lap, and the interview continued on without a hitch, the tweets were significantly thinned out though. No one wanted to risk another outburst from the shockingly intimidating blonde woman.

"Yeah, as our good friend, not my sister wife," Scarlett eventually huffed after moments of silence, she was too busy watching you change. You looked up to see her arms crossed under her enlarged chest, with her plump lips pursed, and you just could not help but to tease her.

"Well, Leo will one day call her auntie, why not change it to mom?" You dodged her hand as she tried to slap your exposed shoulder, "Y/N, stop testing me, I am still rather hormonal, and unless you wish to be on Snapped, I'd stop."

"A feature on my favorite show?" You gasped with a hand flying over your grinning lips, "You're just the sweetest wife ever my dear."

Before she could actually bring life (or death) to her words you snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her in for a pre hair and makeup kiss. "Stop stressing over the press, you have nothing to worry about, I'm yours!"

The kiss was sickeningly soft, and far too quick for either of your likings, "I love you," you whispered against her lips. "I love you too," she tried to mindlessly chase your lips, but as you pulled away with an apologetic smile she pettily grumbled, "I'm also still mad at you."

"Story of my life," you remarked with a laugh and an indifferent shrug of your shoulders.

Scarlett rolled her eyes at your retreating figure, then after three short minutes stood alone she reluctantly (desperately) followed after you to the trailer for hair and makeup.

Watching you getting into character brought a smile to your lover's face, she adored how you took this role so seriously. Resentments to the rumors aside, she admires the way you and Liz had crafted such a beautiful, long winded story for the fans to devour. Today's scene is actually monumental for the MCU, it's the first intimate confirmation for Wanda and Eliza, so she let her anger go in favor of supporting you.

"You're gonna do great," she whispered into your ear from behind your designated chair, she'd seen your tightly furrowed brows, all she wanted to do was make you feel at peace. You slowly peered up from your script to lock eyes with her through the mirror, and she smiled reassuringly along with her words. "Thanks."

Scarlett nodded, "How can I help my love?"

For the next ten minutes you ran lines with her, there was no reason to worry about her leaking the contents, she wasn't Tom Holland. The woman was a MCU veteran, and knew how to deflect even the slipperiest of questions.

A smirk graced her face as the loosely described kissing scene was up next, she was always looking forward to practicing such lines with you, whether for her film or yours, it didn't matter much; the prospect of letting your costar taste her on you was too exciting.

"Hey ladies."

Speak of the devil...

"You ready Y/N/N?" Lizzie side hugged your scowling wife as she spoke to you with a knowing smirk, "You're a cockblock Olsen."

"Can't have you macking on my woman," she jested, dangerously if Scarlett's glare was to be translated, "She's my woman, remember that."

"She was mine first," Lizzie continued to goad your wife, she would've kept going too, and left you with a monster to drive home with if not for the saving grace of your favorite stagehand.

"Mrs. Y/L/N—Johansson, Mrs. Olsen, the set is ready, and the director sent me to collect you."

Lizzie left with him instantly, knowing when to retreat from a standoff with your wife, and you were two seconds away from doing the same, but your stewing wife stopped your attempts. Her hand swiftly cupped the back of your neck, she pulled you into a bruising kiss, tentatively sliding her tongue in your mouth, unfairly arousing you as she groped your clothed ass. She kissed you until you were near breathless, and mindlessly chewing on her fruity gum.

"Scar," you went to whine, but she traced her thumb around your lips to quell your worries. The lipstick was promptly cleaned off your skin, and a fresh layer was reapplied, it was as if she had never even touched her lips to yours. But the dizzy look in your eye tells her the memory was strong enough without the mess.

For the sake of your career she slid her hand into yours, and guided you to your outdoor set, "Go get em tiger," she winked, and you simply chuckled as she referenced your character's feline tendencies, her silly antics always helped to settle your heart, she was the ideal partner.

Scarlett waved to the familiar director before she settled into your chair, then her eyes zeroed in on the leather jacket they slid over to you, and then she saw the motorcycle. Natasha was always on a motorcycle, it was like her signature ride so she was familiar with the set up for the scene. Scarlett had never been on one though, which now that she thinks of it is rather odd since riding was a leisurely passion of yours up until Leo was born. The Harley taking up space in the garage a daily reminder.

That familiar twinge of jealousy returned to her with a renewed passion as soon as she heard the director call 'action' because then she saw a scene play out that she wanted as her reality.

—~~~~~—ACTION—~~~~~—

Wanda was in the process of slipping on her signature red leather jacket, the one she got (stole) from her mentor all those years ago. As soon as the tight fabric melded to her body you were behind her, slipping your hands just below the chilled fabric to grip her by the waist. Wanda hadn't even a moment to think before a squeal of surprise left her parted lips. With an undeniable strength, and incredible ease you lifted the redhead by your grip on her body, settling her onto the bike, then you seamlessly walked around, hand still on hip, so that you could face her, "You're a bit of a show off..."

"I learned from the best," you sadly stated, a subtle nod to the fallen Avenger who'd trained the both of you into the heroes you were today.

Wanda nodded solemnly, a beat of silence held before you went on, "You ready to go honey?"

You went to step away as she nodded, but the redheads hand shot out to wrap around your wrist to halt you. "Would you judge me if I said I was nervous?" You chuckled softly, but your eyes softened when you realized she meant it.

"Baby," the world rolled off your tongue with a familiar ease, and it successfully made the woman blush, "You've literally flown hundreds of miles above ground without a parachute."

"Eliza," she groaned, her grip tightening at your incessant teasing, "I have control over that."

"Yeah, and this is a walk in the park for me baby girl, I am an expert at this sorta thing."

Wanda bowed her head, a new nervousness settling within her bones as you continued to drop the pet names. "What's wrong Wands?"

The redhead picked her gaze back up, shaking her head from side to side, "Nothings wrong."

"You can't hide from me," you pulled a hand free from her loosened grip, and softly caressed her cheek, her breath promptly hitched, "Eli."

"Mhm?" You smiled innocently, but your eyes shone with an understanding that made her stomach erupt with a soft fluttering. Suddenly your faces were closer, breaths mingling as you both waited on the other to close the small gap.

Wanda felt your hand drift to behind her neck, anticipation built within her as you caressed her heated skin softly. Once your eyes fell to her parted lips she knew it was coming, but in a moment of desperation she surged forward to rush the process along. Her lips pressed to yours firmly, there wasn't much room to move at first as she sought to keep you against her, but when she felt your fingers playing with her baby hairs, while your other hand laid against her hip she knew you weren't going anywhere.

You soon guided the kiss, tilting her head with your firmer grip in her hair you slipped your tongue passed her lips. Even with the kiss deepened, you maintained a softness, exploring her mouth with a tenderness that equated to an 'I've loved you for eons, and I will continue to,' she melted into you in total reciprocity.

"We really have to go baby," you whispered once you pulled away, she panted affectedly while your breathing remained steady enough.

"Why?" The witch whined pitifully, "I don't want this moment to end Eliza, it's perfect."

You smiled in agreement, "Yeah, it was."

Wanda pouted as you spoke of the moment in the past tense, meaning it was over, and so you leaned back in to peck it away, "It'll be even better when we get to a safe house sweetheart."

Wanda sighed, "I'm holding you to that then."

"How about I hold you to me instead?" You teased the witch as your leg flew over the bike behind her seamlessly. Wanda rolled her eyes, but she wore a wide smile that you couldn't see.

Wanda melted into your form as you pulled her body back into yours, your arms slid beneath hers so that you could reach for the handles. Her body shuddered once you placed a kiss to the nape of her neck just before you slid a helmet onto her. "Safety first, Avenger or not."

Wanda giggled, then her hand spun in the air, and a helmet appeared over your head next, "The rules apply to you too, nine lives or not."

You snorted, then instead of prolonging the teasing banter you kicked the stand of the bike up, revved the engine, then shot off abruptly.

—~~~~—SCENE—~~~~~—

Scarlett watched the heady kiss without even flinching, it was a bit of a surprise to her, but she found herself envying Elizabeth's chance to ride on the bike with you more so than the making out. The directors had trusted you enough to actually race around the lot, and when you and Lizzie returned in a fit of giggles she felt the jealousy only intensifying. It was not fair to you, but she only gave you a curt nod when you asked if she was okay, she once again cleaned the lipstick off your face, then left to try and simmer her rage inside your trailer.

"What's the matter now?" Lizzie joked from your side, and you only shrugged, but you'd never struggled to read your wife, the way she had glared at the motorbike as if it had killed her entire family was all you needed to know.

This silly scene here opened you up to a future night full of making it up to your wife. You sighed softly before turning to your scene partner, you watched a grin take over her face as a realization of sorts had dawned upon her.

"You're welcome," she winked before turning around to return to the set, you two had one more follow up scene to shoot, and then you'd have to face your attractively jealous partner.

—

The ride home was radio silent; literally, she slapped your hand away when you tried to fill the tense silence with your favorite playlist.

Scarlett pulled into the garage, a heavy sigh left her lips as she unbuckled, but she didn't speak.

Her door slammed shut, she attempted to race into the house, but you were too quick for her. Scarlett's breath hitched when your hands held her firmly in place, "Now, now kitten, why must you make this difficult by running?"

Scarlett tried to keep her angry front up, but when you manhandled her into the air she lost any semblance of control, you spun her around in your hold so that your lips brushed teasingly as you plopped her onto the Harley backwards.

"Is this what you needed baby?"

Scarlett mindlessly leaned back against the handles, her legs spreading as she did, and you couldn't help but to chuckle at the sight of her.

"Such a beautiful, desperate mess you are for daddy, look at you, you're soaked on through."

Scarlett's skin flushed, she didn't need to hear you say it to know it, the lacy, red material was uncomfortably stuck to her skin, and truth be told it had been like that for hours now. Ever since she'd kissed you breathless, and when she watched you handle that scene with a sexy flair she couldn't stop imagining you handling her in a more sinful way. You drove her wild.

"Tell me what you want," you stepped closer to her, ghosting your lips over hers, "I'm not a mind reader baby, but I do aim to please here, so just tell daddy what it is you need from her."

"Can you give me a ride on the bike?" Scarlett was confused herself as the words left her, it was what she genuinely wanted, but you both know she wanted something else much more.

"Oh, I can," you smirked as your lips met hers, "You can ride me however you want Scarlett."

"Fuck," she sucked in a breath as your fingers slid the sticky fabric of her panties to the side.

"Be good for daddy," you coo'd as your fingers trailed teasingly through her folds, she bucked her hips on instinct, causing the bike to shake, so you held her hip down firmly with your free hand, "Relax my love, you know I've got you."

Scarlett's always been super reactive with you, but as she hadn't been touched like this in over six months she was beyond her normal arousal. Her cunt was dripping all over the leather seat, and if it wasn't so hot you might've even cared about it, but honestly the bike needed a polish.

A mewl left your wife's lips as soon as one of your fingers entered her, you kept a slow pace, too afraid to overwhelm her, and even then you still did, she cried out in shock, "I'm leaking."

You looked down, noticing the pebbles of white that left your wife's breasts, she'd only recently stopped breastfeeding your son as her leave was quickly coming to an end. You were truly enamored by the opportunity here, the urge to taste her milk had always been there, but the chance had yet to present itself until now.

"Oh love, that must hurt," you rasped, and the aroused blonde whimpered her agreements as she looked into your blackened orbs, the need you clearly felt for her was palpable, and it only made the sloshing between her legs louder.

You kissed down her jaw, nibbling enough to make her moans sweeter, but not to mar her skin until you reached the valley of her breasts. You sucked harshly, a deeper red blossomed over her hot skin, the sensation only spurred her moans on, and the sound was addicting.

"There you go kitten," you kissed up the side of her sensitive breast en route to her nipple, "Let daddy know how good she's making you feel."

Scarlett nearly toppled your bike over when your lips wrapped around her nipple, the way you curled your fingers just as you began to suckle made her mind go blank, and legs shake. The sound of your delighted moan made her feel an overwhelming warmth, an unexpected wave of pride flooded her chest at the idea that you'd like her milk enough to moan like that.

"Thank you daddy," she clutched tightly to your biceps, curling her nails into the skin for grounding that she usually found in bed sheets. As you moved in rushed kisses over to her other breast you could feel her hips trying to meet your thrusts, shaking your bike again.

"Stay still," you mumbled around her nipple, making her urge to move higher, but even in her dizzy state she still managed to cooperate. In the bed you wouldn't mind, normally you'd encourage her desperate thrusts as you teased her, but this wasn't your usual spot; the bike wasn't exactly the safest place for her writhing.

Scarlett's quick compliance made you beam, "You're always such a good girl for me."

Scarlett smiled dopily, she was a sucker for your praises, her walls clenched tightly around you when you returned her smile. Nothing could ever really describe just how much she loved your beautiful smile, it was almost always all she needed to want to jump your bones.

"Kiss me," she begged, the desperation clear as day when her lip had trembled in anticipation. You didn't waver in your stare as you neglected to give in to her pleas, you instead continued to piston three fingers into her slick hole, curling them every few thrusts, and doing so before you couldn't resist the temptation to kiss her.

"You're close," you panted the truth against her lips as you reluctantly pulled back, if you could you'd kiss her until your lips went numb. She whined, her eyes then fluttered open at the loss of your sensational lips took effect on her. The pleading in the haze of her eyes was clear, she needed you to give her permission, to send her tumbling over that edge. "Go on kitten, come for daddy, mess up my bike like a good girl."

Her back instantaneously arched into your handlebars, the horn being set off as her body trembled, her orgasm had taken it's full effect. You watched in amazement as her arousal gushed around your digits, it was only her first release of the night and she squirted all over.

"Let's get you cleaned up," you whispered as you nibbled down her jawline, soft red marks left behind that you knew would fade come morning, she had a meeting tomorrow after all.

Scarlett was beyond dizzy, your moves turned her brain into mush, but even in a delirious state she knew what she wanted, and she'd get it. You had both always had such high libidos, but with the baby neither of you had the time or better yet the energy to keep up with them.

But in this jealous fueled daze Scarlett was not short on energy, no, only patience. As you went to guide her to the bedroom for aftercare she stopped you, even with shaky legs she managed to shove you down onto the couch, "Lay down, and let me mark my territory," you knew she wasn't asking, clearly you weren't rebutting.

"Thank you daddy," she straddled your thighs so that she could lean in to peck your lips, you saw the way she eyed your top, so as a reward for her manners you slipped it off as she rose.

"Come on kitten, let daddy make you feel good," you beckoned the short circuiting woman forward, and without letting another minute fly by she crawled up your body, her abundant wetness smeared on your skin, and the feeling left you salivating for her essence.

Neither of you felt like teasing tonight, so the blonde plopped her sopping folds onto your face, so you followed her lead, and immediately began to devour her. Raspy, choked moans echoed off the walls of your quaint living room, with how sensitive she was it didn't take long for her to grow sloppy with the way she rode. Without even looking you gripped her hips, now guiding her thrusts, and pressing down harshly to help your tongue reach her deeper.

With your arms wrapped tightly around her thighs you used all your strength to flip her onto her back, the jostling movement led your tongue to press into her sensitive spot just as your thumb showed up to stimulate her clit.

"Oh fuck," Scarlett bucked her hips in sync with your tongue as you continued to fuck her fluttering hole even after her cum shot down your throat, and her entire body subsequently slumped into the lived in couch cushions.

Scarlett's face was serene as she rode out the bliss you'd given her, she tiredly smiled when your lips trailed over her body, tenderness was all that you offered as you kissed over her skin. Lips lingering over the marks she'd despised until you made her love them the way you did.

"Daddy," she groggily whimpered your title, her hands haphazardly reached down for you, and her nails dug into your shoulder blades so that she could pull you up and into her lips.

"You're insatiable Scarlett," you chuckled as she relinquished her lips hold on you, she met your amusement with a smirk of her own, "If you had a smoke show for a wife you'd be too."

"I do," you deadpanned, and she smirked even wider as she winked, "Glad you're self aware."

"Oh, I am, the amount of people that want you is endless," you huffed, a twinge of jealousy to rival hers showing through, but she helped to melt it away with another kiss to your lips.

"We're clearly just Hollywood's hottest couple," she reasoned, "I guess I should have expected all the attention, of course people want you."

"I really do hope you understand that you're all I'll ever want Scarlett," your eyes glistened with happiness, visions of your future with her all you needed to bring you to tears, "You, and Leo are my entire world, nothing will change that."

"I miss him," she reaffirms her earlier feelings, as do you, "Same, I need my bubba butt back."

"But wait, I have a proposal," she mused, and looked to you with a sinful grin and dark eyes.

"I'm listening."

"Well, my meeting won't end until like five, and it's over an hour away to my moms," she spoke with feigned exasperation, "Why would we pick him up tomorrow near his bedtime? That's just irresponsible. We should let him sleep, and use our bonus night off for an overdue date."

"Hmm," you hummed, pretending as if you were actually thinking over her sex coded offer, "I could just pick him up in the morning," you didn't mean it, but you'd never give up the opportunity to tease, and neither would she.

"Nope," she popped the p, and smirked up, "You're coming to the office baby girl, and we'll be taking your bike so no room for the baby."

"Oh, we are now?"

"Yeah, you are my guinea pig for the day as we test out our newest products, I didn't tell you?"

"No, you most certainly didn't," you grumbled, and climbed off of her, she went to protest the loss of your warmth but she didn't get the chance as you threw her over your shoulder.

"If I'm your guinea pig tomorrow, then you're my cum dump for the night," you threw her down onto the mattress, smirking as her dilated eyes widened at your promise, and so you winked. "What? Might as well use our free time wisely."

Scarlett smirked victoriously once you turned away to collect your strap, her plans for a full weekend now coming to life before her eyes. Leo's return will likely be postponed, it's a good thing she already confirmed a Monday pick up.

——

4,908 Words

❤️ Kaitlyn 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ You're just making sure I'm never gettin' over you ❞ [part 1/2]

Peter Parker x male!superhero!reader | break-up, light angst, mentions of nsf(t) stuff, 'nudes' | wc: 2k

masterlist; part1; part 2;

Peter had made sure to erase any traces of (Y/N) from their once-shared apartment. He finds himself tonguing his cheek as he confronts his ex-boyfriend on 'their' rooftop with a naughty Polaroid of (Y/N) in his hands.

Peter regretted even agreeing to spend the night out with Flash. He knew why he had but now he wished he hadn't - if he could, Peter was sure he would punch himself right in the jaw, so he'd experience this spiderweb (hah) of pain that climbed from up his jaw to his temple then and not now. The club he'd gone to was called Highball, nothing at all special other than the fact that Flash got VIP lounge access because of a friend. Peter had mulled over the thought for hours before deciding he needed something other than Grey's Anatomy to take the edge off his breakup. Flash had a whole entourage of friends and Peter mostly nodded his head to the bone-shaking music on the booth seats. He didn't hate the blonde for inviting him out. Sure, he had a somewhat complicated relationship with him, what with him being his high school bully and all. But Flash was just being nice and said something about Peter looking particularly pathetic. I probably look worse now, he thought with a muffled moan. He was hunched over his desk as he squirmed and knocked his knees together. A few concerned classmates glanced back, wondering what kind of drinks he'd gulped down to be this hungover. Sure, the brunette was clumsy, a bit messy too and came off as snarky if the smell of coffee wasn't emitting from the stains on his shirt but he was so studious! This was new. "Mr Parker" his head shot up faster than his headache liked, Peter grimaced and pursed his lips but mumbled out a 'yes, sir?' The professor eyed him apprehensively, was that slight disappointment Peter saw through his squinted eyes? "Your opinion on the current discussion, Mr Parker?" Peter bit back a snappy retort but his eyebrow twitched either way. The man had disturbed him just to ask for his opinion on whatever the fuck he'd been droning on about at 8-fucking-am? "It's uh, it's great, sir" he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose and nodding just slightly. "You...you think the modern-day slave trade is...great?" A few heads turned to stare and Peter's eyes widened. "O-Oh! Oh my God! N-No! Not at all!"

Peter elected to be the last student out of the lecture hall, worrying over his backpack which only had two wire-bound notebooks, stray pens bouncing around, a few crumpled receipts and his web shooters. His professor gave him a pointed look as he approached the front. Peter grinned sheepishly, "I'm sorry I just..." he trailed off. How was it easier to find an excuse for web-slinging than it was for getting drunk? The guilt probably made it harder to lie, he thought. "You have been concerning me as of late, Mr Parker. You show promise. I'm willing to look past your tardiness if you're alert and aware in this class, however, lately" Peter looked at his shoes as he scratched the back of his head. "I know, sir, just been a tough couple of days" his professor arched a brow. "Something to do with Mr (L/N)?" Peter's eyes widened, fist tightening on the strap of his backpack. It's been weeks since the breakup and Peter had taken the liberty of completely cutting-off contact, he'd even emptied their apartment of (Y/N)'s belongings. Hearing his name now felt so taboo. "He's been absent for a while now...after your" he scrunched his face up in pity "...tense, sudden, uhm, distant seating from each other". "Oh God" Peter was now covering his face. Had it been that obvious? A goddamn professor had taken notice! "I'm an old man, seen it all" Peter nodded while still hiding his face "Please don't let this ruin two of my best student's grades". "Yes, sir" he groaned as he walked out of the class.

The only comfort from today was the fact that he only had two lectures. Only one of which he had made a total buffoon out of himself. He'd have enough time to recuperate before it was time for patrol - AKA, nap time. Peter entered the apartment and greeted them aloud. No one answered. He felt stupid as he stood on the threshold of his front door, his grip on the poor doorknob making it squeak in alarm. Peter all but growled as he kicked it close and tossed his backpack on the stupid, lumpy, couch. "Come on, Petey. Lay with me" Peter grits his teeth together as he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He'd been petty in telling (Y/N) to get all his shit out of the apartment. Hell, he'd even opened all the windows to air out (Y/N)'s scent after a rough fight with Doc Ock which had left him bruised and annoyingly in need of (Y/N)'s tender care. He had no privilege anymore, but he wished he had, he could hear what (Y/N) would've told him. "Shh, I got you taken care of, pretty boy. Don't worry, I'm here, shh" "Fuck" he should have probably taken off the clothes he'd worn to the club - and his lectures - before he fell onto the mattress, but he felt his throat burn with the familiar rise of a sob and he simply turned to his side. "Fuckkk" (Y/N)'s side had that familiar dip, Peter could feel it, and it felt achingly foreign since he never laid on his side. Just an arm or leg tossed over the territory, maybe even his whole body if (Y/N) had gotten him in a pliant enough mood to spread his legs apart. Peter felt as though the dip was heating up in retaliation. Equally as peeved that (Y/N) wasn't there. Where he rightfully belonged, a voice whispered in his head. Peter felt tears slip past his eyelashes and he began sniffling.

The mattress wasn't exactly something he could simply toss out. Being a college student and freelance photographer whilst paying rent for a shitty apartment in New York meant that buying a new one wasn't in his budget. The whole gig as Spiderman didn't exactly pay well. Maybe he was being dramatic, imagining a dip in the mattress had feelings? Wanting to throw it out simply because his ex-boyfriend had slept on that side? He was definitely losing it. But he could do this, he could get over a boy. He had gotten over his previous partners, albeit, they did stay as friends...and they never made him feel as (Y/N) did but he'd gotten over them. For Christ's sake, he's fought against such a fantastical array of supervillains that would rather have him dead and squished on the sidewalk. He could get over a boy. With that thought in mind, Peter peeked open his eyes to stare at (Y/N)'s side of the mattress. The shitty round rattan bedside table (Y/N) had gotten from a sidewalk and refurbished for fun left a dust imprint on the floor that made Peter sigh, he'd need to wipe that away... He paused as he noticed a gleam of white stuck between the floor and mattress, hidden slightly by the bedsheets being bunched up above it. The brunette reached down, thinking nothing of it as he pulled it out. 'Meet me here, Spidey ♡ ' That was (Y/N)'s handwriting. Peter could not not know it from the hours they spent studying together. He turned it to the front and his face erupted in such delicious shades of red he did not know it could even make, it reach all the way up his ears and down his chest. (Y/N)'s vigilante suit was bunched around his hips, skin looking ever so delicious with only the camera flash, moonlight and New York lights washing over him. Peter felt his mouth go dry as he took in every little detail that shitty little Polaroid camera he'd gotten for (Y/N) for Christmas managed to capture. His lips were exposed, teeth slightly covered by a wicked tongue that was mid-lick and one of his eyes were exposed. His mask was lopsided in a way that reminded Peter of the times they'd meet up during patrol to kiss each other until oxygen ran out. "Fuck" Peter didn't need to look at the background to know where (Y/N) was. He knew exactly where the shithead had taken this picture. "Fuckkk" This day could not get any worse.

(Y/N) felt him before he heard him. Call it his spidey senses if you will, but (Y/N) could tell Peter apart from the millions of brunettes on this Earth even if his senses were taken. He'd worshipped that body too much to ever forget it. The usual thwip and thud came but then cool silence. (Y/N) hummed, feigning amusement as he straightened up from his crouched position on the ledge of the building. "Took you long enough, Spidey" "What is it that you want, (vigilante name)?" He turned his head ever so slightly to peer at Spiderman from over his shoulder. Peter gulped at the sight of (Y/N)'s darkened profile. The way the shadows sharpened the planes of his handsome face, his fingers ached to hold him. "Still bitchy?" And suddenly all that aching turned into ash in his mouth as his hands clenched into fists. "I don't have time for this" (Y/N) laughed, so sharp and loud it made Peter flinch. "No time for me but plenty of time for Flash Thompson and his goons?" (Y/N) faced him, taking steps towards him and a part of Peter cursed at himself for not moving back. He stood his ground, glaring at his ex-boyfriend through his mask. "You seriously think you can replace me with him?" (Y/N) sneered. "You seriously stalked me?" Peter said incredulously. A flash of hurt came across (Y/N)'s expression, his eyebrows sloping all pretty and it made Peter equally as hurt as he was angry. "No, I wasn't...I"

(Y/N) was so close, their chests nearly touching. But then he pulled away, arms crossing his chest as he turned to stare at the city instead. "I got worried" Peter swore his brows reached his hairline from that statement but he said nothing, knowing that (Y/N) was chewing on the insides of his cheeks as he tried to find the words to speak. Peter hated that he knew that about (Y/N). "I was an asshole, yelled things I didn't mean in the heat of the moment but I just, I can't sleep without knowing you're okay so I..." he took a breath, shoulders hugging his neck as he let his hands go limp by his side after a loud exhale. "I did some light stalking. Not Edward Cullen shit, I just make sure Spiderman isn't doing something stupid". Peter crossed his arms, watching (Y/N) for a long minute, urging him to continue. "You're usually back by 4 am when it's quiet, no bullshittery brewing. I checked the police scanners, so I know. I checked all the usual crime hotspots too, so I know. I checked if you were home so-" "You knew" Peter finished. (Y/N) swore he couldn't remember what made them fight so badly that he hadn't even fought when Peter told him to get the fuck out of their apartment. All he knew was the hotel mattress he had been sleeping on felt so foreign, uncomfortable, and strangely unclean - despite the hotel being on the higher end. (Y/N) couldn't sleep. Physically could not get his mind to shut up. Too spoiled by Peter's lips on his neck, drowsily sleep-talking, and Peter's arms around him holding him close so he didn't untether into the land of nightmares.

"...How'd you know I was at the club?" Peter scratched the back of his head and (Y/N)'s shoulders droop. His head shook as he chuckled. "Flash, asked me if I wanted to join" "But he knows we-" Peter scoffed as realized. Right. What better way to get your friends to get back together than drinks and dirty dancing? Nice try, Flash, Peter thought. He leaned against the door leading up to the rooftop, watching (Y/N) as he sat on the ledge, still facing each other. (Y/N) leaned on his hands, in the same pose as the Polaroid. Which prompted Peter to tongue his cheek. He reached into the neck area of his suit, mask lifting above his nose in the process, to pull out that goddamn Polaroid. His ex-boyfriend watched, crossed legs opening as Spiderman marched close and shoved it to his face. "Oh". "Oh," Peter mocked. "The 'light' stalking, I can forgive" (Y/N) perked up at that "But nudes?" With his mask partially lifted, (Y/N) could tell that Peter wasn't angry enough to be taken seriously - his lower lip trembles when he's excited. "Partial nude" he defended. "Unwanted partial nude" Peter retorted which made (Y/N) tilt his head as he pushed himself up to stand. Since Spiderman was between his legs as he towered and berated him, as (Y/N) rose, their breaths fanned across Peter's lips. They were closer than before. "Unwanted?" did he have to whisper so seductively? Peter felt his face warming. Peter tensed as (Y/N) pressed forward, their chests now touching. Peter scolded himself for wishing the suits they wore wasn't in the way. "Is that why you haven't tossed it away? Why haven’t you ripped it apart? Because you" his finger ghosted along Peter's sternum and towards his navel, "didn't like it?" Peter's lower lip trembled and (Y/N) fought back a smile as his hands wrapped around Peter's waist and he pulled him in. Closer. So close Peter swore the very air he was breathing was (Y/N)'s. "Never said I didn't like it" Peter whispered, his hands reaching between to cup (Y/N)'s face.

[dawn-moths]

"Player, Champagne, Showtime"

CHAPTER 2

Tomura & Dabi x Female Reader

word count: 23,400+

part 1 * part 2 * part 3 * ...

(After your fateful encounter with Tomura and Dabi, the trio of unfortunates you’ve found yourself a part of decides to try your luck at committing a high-risk robbery on some people from Dabi’s past. The payout will be huge, if things go according to plan. But, of course, nothing ever goes according to plan, so, by the end of the night, you all just hope you can make it out alive, and if you do, well, you might just have to start considering yourself a pretty good team.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! quirkless au, pretty plot heavy this chapter (no smut, but trust me, there will be plenty later down the line), violence and descriptions of gore, drugs, mentions of human trafficking, threats of sexual assault, reader gets hurt on purpose, once again the title is taken from the lyrics of “365 Fresh” by Triple H which this fic is based upon.

*ao3 mirror*

***

The following morning, you’d woken early, carefully slipping from Tomura’s warm, protective grasp on the couch and tiptoeing toward where you thought you might be able to find some water. Though, when you turned the corner, expecting to find the little cubicle room empty, you came face to face with the tattooed man who was becoming less of a stranger and more of a reluctant acquaintance with every passing hour.

And, the following morning, you’d finally learned his name.

“They call me Dabi,” he remarked after you’d pressed him about the matter in the makeshift kitchen. He leaned against the barely functioning mini fridge and studied you for a moment then, his crystal clear blues scrutinizing, as if testing you in some way.

“They?” you lightly scoffed. “And who are they?”

Dabi chuckled to himself, a hum of amusement accompanied by a grin that might’ve actually been genuine and soft, if such words were allowed to be used to describe someone like him. Then he pushed off from the fridge, causing the appliance to wobble on its uneven base for a couple shallow sways before migrating closer to you. “They…” he emphasized, leaning down to be right at your eye level, so close you could see your reflection shimmering in all that bright sapphire. “They’re the ones who we’re gonna make pay.”

You gaped at him, looking into a malicious vortex of cruel cerulean, cold yet burning with such an intense revenge it was startling. But then, just before the stretch of silence between the two of you could become suffocating, Tomura popped his head around the corner and asked, “What’s for breakfast?”

Dabi shot him a scathing glare, as if offended by the sound of his voice alone, and straightened back to his full height, replying with an irritated drone as he strolled past, hands shoved deep into his pockets, “Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. Though, I can’t promise any of it’s still edible…”

“Where are you going?” you asked, sauntering over to stand next to Tomura, who scratched absentmindedly at a red patch on the side of his neck. For now, you resisted the urge to reach over and clasp your hand with his to get him to stop, but later you knew you’d be applying some of the cheap lotion you kept at the bottom of your bag to it while he hissed at the sting of the salve soaking into his irritated flesh.

Dabi smirked and pulled a plastic baggie full of little white pills from his pocket, pinching it between his fingers and dangling it before him as if trying to entice you with it. “Just some extracurricular activities. Why?” He quirked an inky eyebrow, faking innocence for only a moment before that smug expression returned. “Wanna join me?”

You rolled your eyes, leaned back against Tomura, whose hands quickly found purchase on you for support. “You wish,” you scoffed. “Just don’t get so high you forget your way back. We won’t be coming to look for you.”

Dabi coughed out one loud, sardonic, “Ha!”, his mouth stretching into a too wide smile before dropping back to the general disinterest he usually carried about him, turning on his heel and stalking the rest of the way to the heavy metal door that led to the hallway painted with the glowing blue inferno. The only indicator you had to know he’d really left was the slam as the door closed behind him, leaving you and Tomura in the warehouse alone.

“Well, I guess we should see what he has in the fridge…” you muttered, spinning away from Tomura’s grasp and swinging open the rickety door of the minifridge, clicking your tongue in annoyance when you saw there were only three things in there— half a dozen eggs that were who knew how old, a six pack of some cheap beer, and half a gallon of milk that was nearly empty, likely drank straight from the jug.

You opened the crumpled cardboard carton of eggs, feeling a little optimistic when they still looked to be in pretty good shape, then peered over your shoulder at Tomura, who was rummaging through a plastic bin that served as Dabi’s pantry.

“Find anything?” you asked, coming over to check things out for yourself.

Tomura held out a half-full bag of some stale cereal hastily rolled at the opening in a failed attempt to preserve it longer. “Other than flamin’ hot cheetos and wasabi peas…” he muttered, sounding slightly defeated, “not much…”

“Wasabi peas?” you repeated, nearly laughing.

Tomura plucked up the plastic container of the little green and white morsels and gave it a playful shake, like a maraca, and then cracked a crooked, puzzled smirk. “Guy’s got some fuckin’ weird taste.”

You took the bag of cereal from him, unrolled it and reached in to see if the little niblets were too far gone or if a splash of some back-washed milk on the verge of expiration could save them. After an indecisive taste test, you handed the bag back to Tomura and said with a sigh, “Alright. I’ll see if I can find a frying pan. See if you can find any kind of bread anywhere, y’know, so long as it’s not moldy. Maybe we can make some egg sandwiches.”

“And the cereal?” he asked, reaching in to toss a handful of the sugary grahams into his mouth and seeming a little more satisfied with them than you were.

“If you’re willing to risk ingesting whatever state what’s left of the milk in there is in…” you shrugged, setting the eggs on top of the fridge while you began scavenging for anything you could use to cook over the rusted old hotplate, “then the cereal is all yours.”

Unable to find a bowl, Tomura settled for pouring the cereal straight into the milk jug and taking crunchy swigs, chewing before swallowing it down. He sort of winced a little upon the first gulp, but didn’t further elaborate on whether the milk had gone sour or not, almost like he himself couldn’t even quite figure it out, then proceeded to finish what was left, so you figured it couldn’t be that bad. Meanwhile, he also searched the other bins and tubs that held an unorganized array of varying food items until he managed to find half a loaf of bread, only three pieces left that weren’t infected with furry green spores.

“Ah! Found it!” you happily announced as you pulled a tiny, scratched up teflon pan from beneath a pile of dishes in the sink. It looked like it had been scratched to hell and back with the end of a metal fork, but you figured it would still do the job just fine.

“Still want eggs?” you asked, finagling with the faulty dial on the hotplate’s temperature gauge before finally getting it to turn on. Tomura nodded, taking a seat at the tiny table, only one folding chair topped with a thin, frayed cushion available, the other seat consisting of a couple empty wooden crates stacked atop each other, though it wasn’t much of a surprise to you that Dabi didn’t make a habit of keeping company.

Especially after what he’d said earlier.

They’re the ones who we’re gonna make pay.

By the sound of it, he had far more enemies than he did friends. In fact, you were starting to wonder if you and Tomura were the only people currently on semi-decent terms with him, and even considering it that was generous…

“Hey,” Tomura spoke, pulling you from your Dabi curiosities. Your gaze darted to meet his and he gave a cursory glance down at the eggs in the pan. “I’m no expert, but I think they might be burning…”

You turned your attention back to breakfast and swore under your breath as you quickly flipped them to the other side, a thin veil of smoke wafting up from the pan accompanied by a satisfying sizzle.

Luckily, the eggs had been saved in time thanks to Tomura’s warning, all six successfully scrambled— three for you and three for him, courtesy of Dabi’s current obligations to his drugs. Using two of the three slices of bread, you fashioned yourself a sandwich which, despite being a little soggy once the eggs soaked into the untoasted bread, wasn’t half bad, while Tomura tried his best to eat his opened-faced on the last slice on account of already having finished all the cereal.

You hadn’t even realized how hungry you’d been until you’d wolfed the whole thing down, suddenly craving more. “You said you found cheetos earlier?” you inquired with Tomura, whose eggs had fallen into a mushy mess on his plate, carefully picking up what he could with his fingers so that none of it would go to waste.

He paused mid-bite and his eyes widened a fraction as he spoke from one corner of his full mouth, “Yeah…?”

You cracked a mischievous grin, licking a couple of your fingers before saying, “Go get ‘em,” prompting Tomura to rise from his seat and retrieve the entire snack bin, dragging it across the dirty concrete floor to sit beside the cramped table.

As you dug out the flamin’ hot cheetos, along with some crumbling chocolate chip cookies, laying an array of other snacks across the table for you and Tomura to choose from, you rhetorically asked, “Think he’ll mind?”

Tomura scoffed, unable to hide the crooked smirk that pulled up one corner of his chapped lips as he tore open a bag of salt and vinegar chips. “His fault for telling us to help ourselves anyway.”

And so the two of you feasted on a smorgasbord of all things salty and sweet, fattening and processed, all the while trading flirty banter and off-handed comments about everything else that had led you two to end up sitting at the uneven little table in this repurposed warehouse.

When there was a lull in conversation, both of you drifting off into the full-bellied aftermath of an oncoming food coma, you asked Tomura, “Do you believe in fate?”

He seemed to take a moment to think about that, all the while staring at you, tracing the features of your face with his eyes as if trying to commit you to memory, to resurface any shred of a glimpse he may have caught of you in a hypothetical previous life. “No,” he finally answered, paired with a minute shaking of his head. “No, I think fate is a bunch of bullshit. I think we make our own destinies. At least, I’d like to think that.”

“So you think the good things that happen to us are because we worked for it and the bad things that happen to us are because we deserve it?”

“Not necessarily,” he elaborated. “I just think that nothing is predetermined. One decision leads to an outcome and so on and so forth. It’s as simple as that.”

You lazily rested your cheek in your palm, slouching over the tabletop a little more, considering him with a teasing look. “Sounds like you got life all figured out, huh?”

Tomura flashed a nervous smile, beginning to scratch at the irritated spot on his neck again, his skin becoming more inflamed there with every passing hour. “I just think, if there is a God, he’s got a cruel sense of humor.”

“Bet he’s laughing at us right now,” you remarked, low, almost under your breath, wearing a sad smile as you lowered your head to rest atop your arms on the table. Then, glancing up at Tomura through your lashes, you concluded with, “Though, if it’s a show he wants…” You nudged Tomura’s foot under the table with your own, entwining your ankles, bare feet turned cool from the chill creeping up through the concrete. Tomura watched you carefully, as if trying to anticipate your next move and beat you to it first. But as your foot traveled up his leg until it was just barely brushing against his inner thigh, his expression darkened into the intense hunter’s stare of a predator about to capture its prey, hungry and confident.

“Yeah?” he tempted, replying to the unspoken request your actions were currently insinuating.

You nodded, returning your foot back to your side of the table, standing and offering him your hand. “Yeah,” you confirmed, and as Tomura swallowed your hand within his own, he was once again reminded of that hazy, haloed image he’d seen of you the very first night you’d met on those dark city streets.

He’d asked if you were an angel back then, but as you guided him towards the beat up old couch, straddling his lap the moment he was seated and beginning to kiss him like you couldn’t breathe without his air filling your lungs, he knew you must be something way beyond that, the feeling of your body pressed against his transcending heavenly.

“Think he’ll mind?” you playfully asked through a quiet, breathy chuckle, your lips hovering just above Tomura’s, letting him taste your words on his tongue.

He smirked, shifting you to lay on your back as he crawled over you, kissing you again, deeper, harder, enough to have you gasping for air by the end of it. “Fuck what he thinks,” he remarked, a raw edge to his raspy voice.

And if Dabi could’ve seen you two like that, shamelessly fucking on his couch, he probably would’ve killed you both.

But he was too busy making his own slow, sweet sentiment to his beloved painkillers on some rooftop halfway across town, sulking under a greying sky with a half-smoked cigarette caught between two lazily curled fingers, staring at his tattoos until the high made the inked images bend and sway.

***

Low thunder grumbled from far in the distance, the vibrations purring in Dabi’s chest as he watched the storm rolling in over the shiny high-rise buildings of the city’s center, soon to soak the gleaming metropolis down to the bone.

The wind was always stronger from up here. In the humid summer months, it felt good. In the winter, it was almost unbearable. And during a storm…

During a storm it felt electric, as if he could breathe in the invisible sparks bouncing through the air, tiny firecrackers lacing through his blood and making him feel invincible.

The painkillers helped dull the sharp, barbed edges that always seemed to splinter back to life inside his brain, temporarily alleviating the tension that corded through his muscles and wove its way through his lanky, wraithish frame, chasing the worries away, if only for a little while. The nicotine got his wheels turning again, the ritualistic practice of inhaling the smoke and holding it in his lungs for as long as he could before breathing it out acting as a countdown until his next notion of how to strike.

Sometimes he came up here without his addictions tagging along, even if just to stare at that shimmering oasis of a city spiking up in the distance, the skyline like an irregular heartbeat on an EKG, and remind himself why he still wanted to burn it all to the ground.

He was also reminded why he was so afraid to go back.

But what Dabi found himself pondering over on this particular afternoon was a rather unexpected development in his most recent schemes. Because, of all the details he’d overlooked or ignored in previous, criminally-inclined, chaotic plans, the last thing he’d thought he’d have to worry about was catching feelings for someone like you.

He’d never admit to it out loud, but Dabi was well aware why his stomach twisted every time he saw you and Tomura too close to each other, why he had to force himself to look away when you two stared into each other’s eyes like you were actually in love and not just two fucked up slum rats just like him, only way more chemically attratched to each other than a murderer and a suicidal had a right to be.

He was the odd man out. The third wheel. The silent reject. And for what?

All because he’d gone and kicked you both out of that stolen car, practically delivered his current predicament to your doorstep and wished you well as he sped off down the desolate midnight streets with only an ear grating tire screech to remember him by.

“So stupid,” he muttered to himself, leaning back against the roof, staring into the blotchy void of the greyscale sky, stormy winds causing the clouds to race across the view overhead. He cupped a palm to the back of his neck, closing his eyes as he took a final drag of his cigarette, flicking the remains down onto the street below, bringing his other hand to join the one that was already cushioning the back of his skull. Then, again, through a forlorn, tired sigh, “So fucking stupid…”

He wondered how he always seemed to sabotage himself in hindsight, whether by getting hooked on the little white pills that he’d sworn “would only be for a little bit, just until I get out of here and put this city far behind me”, only to get roped up in a couple gangs gone wrong and end up losing every last penny he’d scrounged up in order to escape the hellhole of the slums. Or the time he’d been a homeless teen skulking around the streets, trusting all the wrong people despite his intuition warning against it just because they’d offered him some food and a corner shielded from the rain to sleep in.

And now there was you, perhaps the only girl in the entire prefecture he had a chance with, and what had he done?

He’d gone and said all the wrong things, done all the wrong things, and fucked it all up.

But then, as the charcoal clouds covering the city center began to drift closer to his part of town, little sparkling flashes of lightning laced throughout the mass of black and grey, a new perspective occured to Dabi. Because, yes, while his own choices had led him to become a hopeless, orphaned addict, he’d still found a way to survive.

Through all his hardship and loss and misfortune, he’d learned how to still come out on top in the end, even if he was bruised and battered and barely standing.

So why couldn’t he apply the same rules to winning you over?

Doing something to remove Tomura from the picture was the obvious answer, but with how quickly the two of you had become attached, it would also be obvious who was at fault if the scrawny, silver-haired boy went missing or turned up dead somewhere, even if he had tried to kill himself during your original meeting.

No, simple problems required simple solutions, so going to all the trouble to lure Tomura out and dispose of him would just end up being too much work. Dabi would have to get you alone with him, make some attempt to get to know you better, get to know your secrets, your weaknesses, convince you that you were better off with him, that he had more to offer you than Tomura.

As the first fat droplets of rain speckled the rooftop, darkening the concrete of the street below with watery freckles until the steady drizzle morphed into a full on downpour, drenching everything in sight, Dabi rose from the roof, climbed down the fire escape, and navigated the maze of alleys back to his hideout, several different schemes now cooking in the back of his mind.

He definitely had more to offer you. Or at least he liked to think he did. But, truth be told, none of you really had anything to offer each other at the moment except some twisted form of solidarity between rejected members of society. But you had the most to lose. Because Dabi did know one of your secrets. He knew you were a murderer, and, while he’d figured the guy had probably deserved it, that didn’t change the fact that the cops would likely see it otherwise.

You knew Dabi was already trying to lay low from law enforcement from how he’d acted in the diner that day and— well, there was also the fact that he stole and pawned off a car.

And Tomura, well, other than trying to commit suicide and drag others unwillingly into it, Dabi didn’t know what else he was guilty of, though the fact that he knew someone like Spinner— a man who could procure all sorts of illegal and nefarious goods— said it was probably worse than he’d let on.

So, the first step for any of you to have a chance at making it out of this place, whether it was all together or just you and Dabi, if he got his way, was finding a way to make some money.

The rain beat down hard on anything not hidden beneath cover, Dabi included by the time he had to make a run for the last stretch of his journey back to the warehouse. But the adrenaline was aiding his brain in working double time, skin prickling with needles of cold and heart racing until he swung open the door and found himself in the comfort of his painted hallway, the blue flames glowing through the dark after a few seconds and welcoming their artist home.

And it was then, in the vortex of the cerulean inferno, as cold water droplets raced down his neck and chest and stirred a shiver in his bones, that the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

Dabi smirked to himself, a malicious, mean smile that made him look a little crazy as the blue light cast dimly over his face.

There was no way it could be that easy. There was just no way.

But, it’s like people always said…

Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

***

A camera flash bathed the crime scene in blinding white light, there one instant and then gone the next like a ghost.

Just like the perpetrator, Keigo thought to himself, peering over the photographer’s shoulder and scribbling down some theories on his notepad, pen scritching across the page quietly as he listened in on the testimony of one of the establishment’s employees, his back facing her as he pretended not to eavesdrop.

“—still can’t get in contact with her,” a young woman explained, sounding distressed. She was one of a few hairdressers at the rundown barber shop. Besides her, there was only one employee left that the police hadn’t yet spoken to about the owner’s sudden and rather gruesome death— 

You.

“Could you give us her number?” the other officer asked, in the middle of taking his own notes.

The girl shrugged, pulling her phone out from her bag. “Yeah, I mean, sure, it’s just…” She pulled up your contact info, turning the screen around to show it to the cop. “She rarely ever picks up, even if she does know the caller. I doubt you’ll be able to reach her, but if you do, please let me know. We’re worried about her…”

The officer thanked the woman for her cooperation after jotting down the phone number, heading off to exchange notes with another investigator, which is when Keigo swooped in to do what he was best at…

Charming the rest of the truth out of someone who might know a little more than they were letting on.

“Excuse me, miss… Mind if I ask you a few more questions?” he inquired politely. At first, your co-worker looked annoyed, finally about to be able to go home after over an hour’s worth of questioning, her back turned to the new detective. But when she turned around and saw those lovely umber eyes and all that wavy, golden hair, she reconsidered rushing off.

“Sure,” she smiled, dropping her phone back into her bag and readjusting the purse strap over her shoulder. “But then I really do have to get going. I promised my sister I’d pick up her kid from daycare since she’s working a double today.”

“It’ll only take a moment, I promise,” Keigo assured her through a carefree chuckle, knowing full well he’d snagged her hook, line, and sinker the moment she blushed and began playing with her hair.

“So, this co-worker of yours… The one you can’t seem to get in contact with…” he began. “When’s the last time any of you actually saw her?”

The woman took a moment to recall that information, then nodded to herself and answered, “We were working together the morning before the mur—” She caught herself about to use a word that might’ve been perceived as harsh, even if she, as well as everyone else who worked at that barber shop, couldn’t care less if your awful boss had been gutted and bled dry like the pig he was and left to rot in the alley, then cleared her throat and quickly amended with a slightly more sensitive, “The morning before the incident… I left a couple hours before closing to head to my other job, and she said she’d close up by herself so I wasn’t late— I’m kind of already in trouble with my other boss for cutting it too close too often…” She gave a nervous chuckle and kept twirling a ringletted strand of hair around her manicured finger, sneaking coy glances at Keigo through her false lashes.

“So she was the only one in the shop when the murder took place?” Keigo asked, though it was more to himself than to your flirty co-worker. Then, after quickly scribbling something down among his patchwork web of notes, he muttered in a low, almost menacing growl, “Interesting…”

“I think one of the other girls called her yesterday morning. We all got a call. Y’know, after poor Himari walked in to open and found all that blood and the body and…” She chewed at her bottom lip, worrying the thick gloss away with an incisor, clearly still bothered by the image of such a massacre even if it was of someone she hated.

“I see…” Keigo continued, circling your name among the list of employees, condemning you as the most likely suspect in black ink. “Do you happen to know where she lives?” he asked next, then rephrased the question as, “Or rather, have any of you been by her place since this happened? You know,” he cracked a sympathetic smile, giving a flash of perfect white teeth, “just to make sure she’s ok.”

“Ren said that, when she called her, she said she wasn’t feeling very well and had the rest of her appointments canceled or something like that…” your co-worker recalled. “I don’t think anyone went over to check on her though.”

Just for good measure, Keigo asked if she would mind giving him your address. And, while all of you usually knew better than to give out each other’s personal information to anyone who asked for it, no matter how handsome said anyone may be, she figured nothing bad could come of sharing it with a kind detective just trying to do his job.

Plus, it’s not like she thought you had been the one to finally do that horrible man in.

Unfortunately for you though, while she could cut and style hair like a master of the craft, she’d never been the brightest among the group of you that worked together when it came to common sense.

So, after obtaining your apartment’s address, Keigo wished the girl a good day, reminding her he’d be in touch if he needed any information reconfirmed or followed up on.

“Just gimme a call if you need anything,” she said, giving him a wink over her shoulder. “You know where to find me.” After that, she was gone, leaving only Keigo, the forensic photographer, and two officers lingering at the scene.

After exchanging some last minute details, they decided to call it a day and head back to the precinct. The others seemed to think this was going to be a troublesome investigation, more so because there had been no witnesses and it was in the part of town none of them really wanted to make a habit of traveling to if they could help it, not really seeming to care that a man had been killed using a straight razor.

They’d say things on the ride back like, “Stuff like this happens all the time in this part of town. I don’t get why the Chief insists on us going down there unless one of them comes to our part of the city to stir up trouble first,” and “Some old guy got slashed. So what? It’s only interesting if it’s a pretty young girl or something. Can’t believe we have to do overtime to solve a case that doesn’t even have the concern of any next of kin,” but Keigo knew that, if his hunch was right—  and, let’s face it, it usually was— then this case was going to end up being more than any of them originally bargained for.

Maybe, if he was lucky, it might just turn out to be entertaining in the meantime too.

But first thing was first.

He had to find you.

Because you— little miss missing in action, the ghost of closing— were the first key to finding where this case led.

Actually, fuck the key. You were the whole damn door, lock and all.

***

“I told you to help yourself to whatever was in the fridge,” Dabi growled as he surveyed the damage to his secret snack stash, colorful wrappers and torn, metallic plastic packaging littering the kitchen table leaving blatant evidence of you and Tomura’s raid. Then, under his breath he complained, “God… Now I’m gonna have to start robbing the local Seven Eleven again… And I know they got me on CCTV last time…”

All the while, amidst Dabi’s rambled tirade of passive-aggressive complaints, you and Tomura were sitting atop the uneven counter, watching the inky-haired member of your hodge-podge trio with gaping stares and furrowed brows as if he’d left the warehouse with one head and returned with two.

Then, finally, after swiping the shredded remains into an already half full trash can (one that was likely stolen, as the logo for a local cafe was stamped on the front in white spray paint), Dabi whirled around to face you two, looking more than miffed as he snapped out a short-tempered, “And get the fuck off my counter!”

You jumped down, tiptoeing a few short steps towards him, Tomura sliding ungracefully off the counter a few seconds after. “Dabi…” you began, cautious, as if trying to talk someone off the ledge. Then you asked, as if this was the most distressing factor of the current equation, “Why are you soaking wet?”

Just seeming to register this to himself now, Dabi’s tense shoulders sagged, weighed down by heavy, soggy clothes, raven spikes matted flat to his head (you thought you saw a few droplets of diluted black race down his face but figured it could just be a trick of the light) and let out a defeated sigh.

“‘Cause it’s fucking pouring outside,” he said, adding on as his eyes squinted into a slight glare, “Maybe if you two wouldn’t have been crunching on all my shit then you would’ve heard it beating down on the roof.”

“Look, man, we’re sorry, it’s just—” Tomura began to apologize, actually sounding sort of heartfelt, but was cut off when Dabi shot him a scathing look.

Before things could begin to escalate between the two of them, as they so often tended to do, you stepped in, drawing closer to Dabi, and in a tone far too caring and soft for someone like him, you sighed and said, “Where do you keep your towels? You’re going to catch a cold if you stay wet like that…”

Dabi glanced from you, to Tomura, then back to you, his expression melting from hostile into something much more tired. And how he wanted to take you by the hand and lead you to his makeshift bathroom, give you one of his raggedy old towels that was frayed at the edges and eaten through with tiny holes and tears, sit on the edge of the grimy old tub and just let you work the fabric over his head, drying his hair and his face before peeling off his drenched clothes and letting you pat the water from the rest of him, if you’d be so kind.

But that kind of intimacy— that kind of care— was so foreign to Dabi, so long forgotten, that the thought of the emotions that might follow terrified him more than the need to be taken care of enticed him.

“I can do it myself,” he scoffed, all those sharp edges and harsh lines etching their way back into his voice and features. Then, right before rounding the corner of the kitchen cubicle, he peered back over his shoulder and said, “Oh, and, meeting in the living room in ten minutes…” The smirk that curled on his lips then caused a spark of fear and excitement to flare in your chest. It was the kind of smile only the totally insane or arrogant could wear. It was a smile that said, “I know something you don’t,” and, in this case, you hoped that something would play in your favor.

“Meeting?” Tomura asked, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms, not looking too thrilled at the vague order. “Meeting about what?”

Dabi turned around the rest of the way, leaned against what served as the cubicle’s doorway, and simply stated, “I think I have an idea. And it just might be crazy enough to work.”

***

Your apartment had been easy to find. Even easier to break into, since Keigo was well versed in picking the old, cheap locks used to provide a false sense of safety to anyone living in the rundown old buildings this far from the city’s sparkling center.

Because, despite the fact that the agency’s newest golden boy looked, sounded, and acted like he’d been raised in the privileged lap of the city’s luxury, Keigo was and always would be, to some degree, just another kid raised among the rats of the slums.

Sure, he hadn’t called the maze of narrow alleys and crumbling architecture home in over a decade now— he had the foster family who’d taken him in at thirteen and decided to keep him once he proved to hold some form of talent and intelligence to thank for that— but he could still remember what it felt like to navigate the dark tunnels and cramped spaces woven throughout the downtown area.

The only thing that had really changed, Keigo had thought to himself as he’d struggled to squeeze through a tiny opening on his journey through the cluttered side streets, was him. No longer was he the malnourished, spindly little kid with scraped knees and dirt-smudged cheeks who could slip through any opening, steal what food and supplies were needed to survive, and slither out in a flash, sprinting back to his little tarp-tent covering spread out at the end of an adjacent alley like a cobweb hanging loosely in the corner of an attic.

Now he was bigger, stronger, still lean and lithe but in a way that spoke more to health than starvation. But, most importantly, he was smarter, more cunning, blessed with the carefully studied and learned ability to talk his way into or out of any situation the job called for.

He’d already had a whole spiel rehearsed on the off chance he knocked on your door and you actually were dumb enough to answer. Though, of course, as was the more likely scenario from the start, you were nowhere to be found, your residency left vacant and in slight disarray. Aside from your unmade bed and a couple dishes scattered in the sink though, not much seemed out of the ordinary at first glance.

But any detective worth his salt knew that first glance meant near to nothing.

It was the digging further, the unearthing of unseen evidence, that really told you anything worthwhile about who or what a person was. And, at first, he wasn’t even entirely sure what he was looking for, but after rifling through your cabinets and drawers, flipping through your little calendar book that you’d used to keep track of things like your scheduled appointments for work or jotted down notes about items to pick up at the grocery store next payday, Keigo made his way into the bathroom and discovered the golden egg of the scene.

Balled up and tossed into the bathtub was a heap of clothing— your clothing— and, with hands gloved as to not leave any fingerprints or evidence of his own behind, he carefully tugged one article free from the pile. It was a shirt— your shirt— and it was covered in what was unmistakably recognized as the dark, dried remains of human blood.

Too much to be your own, Keigo figured instantly, and upon taking a closer look at the skirt that had been tangled with a tanktop, he could tell that, whatever had happened, it had been a rather messy affair.

It all added up— you disappearing right after your boss turned up dead, the blood on your clothes belonging to the man you’d most likely killed with one of the razors found around the barbershop— but yet, Keigo got the sense that there was far more to this than currently presented itself.

He wasn’t so much troubled by the likelihood of you— a young, attractive girl who’d been unfortunate to end up in the darker parts of town— killing your boss— a man whose lost life hadn’t been mourned much if the way his next of kin had sounded when they’d received the news over a phone call the morning the body was discovered. In fact, Keigo didn’t even really care why you’d done it. Again, he was familiar with the kinds of people who crawled between the cracks in this section of the city. He had a pretty good idea.

It was more so this feeling, this unrelenting intuition that, whatever you’d gotten yourself roped up in, it was far from done.

His phone buzzed in his back pocket then, interrupting his chain of thought for a moment as he peeled off a glove and clicked the answer button, one of his co-workers back at the precinct on the other line.

“Hey, so I know it’s technically your day off—” he began, and Keigo already knew where this was headed, preemptively rolling his eyes. “But we just got some new evidence on that other case you were working on and before we go any further the chief is insisting you take a look at it…” Keigo held the phone between his shoulder and his cheek, slipping the other glove back on before kneeling down to shift through whatever you had under your bathroom sink but finding nothing of particular interest. “So do you think it would be possible to just stop by at some point today? All the other guys are gettin’ pretty restless with the whole thing. Plus, you know they look up to you, Hawks—”

Keigo bristled slightly at the nickname as his co-worker continued to ramble on. He closed the cabinet, pulled the shower curtain three quarters of the way across just the way he’d found it, and strolled back into the main area of the studio, standing between your bed and the partially sectioned off kitchen area.

He checked his watch. 12:45 PM. He’d really wanted to drop by the new noodle place that had just opened up around the block from his own apartment in the city center, maybe catch a late afternoon showing of one of the 80’s action movies they were currently rerunning at the theatre, then have a nice, relaxing night before the whirlwind of work resumed the following morning.

This time though, his guilty conscience got the better of him, so he cut in before the guy on the other end of the call exhausted himself from trying to convince him and said, “Alright. I can be there in half an hour,” before getting a much relieved thank you in response. He hung up the call, just about to leave before remembering what he’d been about to do right before his phone rang.

Pulling the shower curtain back open to reveal the bloody clothes in the tub, Keigo snapped a few photos on his personal phone before returning everything to its previous, hastily yet lazily hidden state, then slipped back out of the apartment, making sure to relock the door, tossing the gloves in a rusted dumpster down the block from the building.

Even as he worked on sorting out and discussing the newly discovered details from the case he’d been called in about, a piece of his mind was still turning its wheels about you. So much still seemed— felt— uncertain.

But he was onto you.

All he had to do now was figure out where you went.

***

Black water sloshed against the edge of the docks, night turning it dark and oil-slick as is caught shimmering reflections of the hooked moon hanging overhead, salty air corroding away at rotting boards that creaked underfoot with the threat of breaking every time someone was brave enough to tread over them.

Located on the very edge of the city, there were only two types of people who ventured out this far— people looking for a place to hide or people who already had something to hide.

But, in this case, that was going to work in your favor. Because, like most crimes committed beyond the formally recognized city limits, if there was a case of breaking and entering, theft, or even murder, most times it wasn’t taken seriously, if even investigated at all. 

As Tomura and Dabi approached the chain link fence that tried and failed to deter trespassers, they were careful to stay out of sight and keep their heads down as they navigated the dark, debris strewn courtyard. It was littered with anything and everything from cigarette butts and playing cards and coins to the remains of clothing that had probably belonged to former enemies, now decaying bodies sunk to the bottom of the bay courtesy of some zipties and cinderblocks, scattered among wooden crates and broken glass.

Because even though this territory was technically owned by the city, it had been long claimed and occupied by some of the slum’s most notorious gangs, vultures landing to pick at the abandoned corpse left to rot on the desolate outskirts.

Dabi was far more suited to traversing this kind of terrain, footsteps quick and light as he ran from one cover to the next, clearly more familiar with the territory than Tomura, who more so scuttled and jumped clumsily a few generous strides behind his reluctant confidant, just barely avoiding being discovered by whoever had been put on watch that night.

But now, with their backs pressed to the wall and awaiting their signal in uncomfortable silence, the two boys tried not to instigate any unresolved issues with each other, which was to say, Dabi tried not to instigate any unresolved issues.

“Damn, what’s takin’ ‘er so long…” Dabi eventually grumbled under his breath, leg beginning to bounce and wishing he at least had a cigarette to pass the time with right now. Then, with unbridled sarcasm, “It’s not like she has the easiest part of the plan or anything…”

“Relax,” Tomura shot back through a hiss, growing tired with Dabi’s constant nagging, especially in an already high-tension environment. “Just give her time. Plus, she has to come all the way from the other side of the docks.”

Dabi felt his whole body coiling with the urge to jump into defense mode. To shoot back with some hurtful, low blow remark or, if he really had it his way, do something to trip the guy up and leave him in the dust the next time they had to move further into the nest of nemeses. It would hardly be his fault if Tomura got shot because he couldn’t run fast enough. You’d be distraught and the plan would go to shit, sure, but at least Dabi would still earn the reward of being able to pick up your devastated pieces after the fact.

But, once he took a second to apply some logic to that scenario, Dabi realized that jeopardizing the chance to nab one hundred-thousand dollars, even for a chance at winning you over, was a fucking dumb thing to risk. Well, really only about thirty-three thousand once it was split three ways between you.

But still. That was a hell of a lot more money than any of you had ever had your hands on— ever imagined having your hands on— and all in cash at that.

But the best part of it all— y’know, besides the life changing wealth— was the fact that Dabi was finally going to be able to score some revenge against those who had wronged him. Or, at least, a small portion of those who had wronged him. If he was being honest, he’d sort of lost count when it came to the tally. But these guys had been the most recent offense, which was good enough for him.

They were the ones who’d left him beaten and bloody in the alley the night he’d met you. The night he’d stolen from them, only to have them steal it right back, and caused Dabi to suffer the beginning stages of withdrawal from his beloved white pills.

Tonight he felt sharp though. Tonight he felt good. Tonight, he felt ready for anything that could come at him. There’s no reward without a little risk, he reminded himself, trying to keep calm while he and Tomura waited, pretty much out in the open, vulnerable and defenseless. On a similar note, Tomura’s line of reasoning had been that winning big prizes required playing difficult games.

You just hoped you made it out alive at the end of it all, one hundred-thousand dollars richer or not.

And so, running like your life depended on it, tears streaming down your face, knees skinned and wrists bruised, looking like you’d narrowly escaped a specific kind of hell, you called out, voice shredded and broken as you begged for help, cries echoing across the water and hopefully reaching its intended audience.

Something in Tomura’s chest ached at that sound, body instinctively pulled in your direction as if you actually needed saving. He stopped himself, reminded that it was all just an act, but even when he felt a nudge at his shoulder, Dabi dragging his attention back to the task at hand, the look Tomura wore was almost traumatized. Let me go to her, his eyes pleaded as carmine clashed with cobalt. Please, just let me go to her.

“C’mon,” Dabi beckoned, ignoring Tomura’s pained expression, already having swiftly picked the rickety old padlock securing a thick chain around the back door of the warehouse on the edge of the water, dropping the linked metals to the concrete slow and quiet. “We only get one shot at this. Don’t fuck it up.”

***

Three days ago, the trio of you had been huddled in the living room for Dabi’s impromptu “meeting”. You and Tomura sat side by side on the couch, thighs pressed together, while Dabi paced restlessly back and forth on the other side of the scuffed up coffee table that had most likely been salvaged from someone’s curbside or stolen from a junkyard. He still had a towel slung around his shoulders, darker stains smudged against the navy blue material from where he’d roughly rustled his hair dry, now wearing a clean white t-shirt and fresh pair of jeans.

“And that’s why they’ll never see it coming!” Dabi explained fervently, still trying to get his excited madness to rub off on you and Tomura. “They won’t even be able to trace it back to me— back to us— because you two practically don’t even exist to them!”

“But…” you began, hesitant to poke holes in his master plan lest he completely lose his cool. “Didn’t they see us the other day when we were running from them in the alley?”

Dabi dismissively waved away your concern, frowning for a moment as he quickly brushed over the fact that those were, “Completely different guys. I mean, there’s a chance they might know the guys we’re targeting, but they hole up on the other side of town. Don’t do much business together except for once in a while.”

“Oh, great!” you commented, faking pleasantry and relief before your expression and tone dropped back into unamused ridicule, “So you have friends in all the darkest corners then…”

“Don’t forget that the cops are probably still looking for you because you stole a car,” Tomura butt in, to which Dabi just narrowed his eyes and hissed back at him, “Not helping.”

“What’s the plan, Dabi?” you asked, point blank. With an exasperated shrug of your shoulders and a look of incredulity you said, “I mean, what? We break into where they keep the drugs or the money or whatever and then what? We just grab as much as we can carry and make a run for it? They’ll catch us in an instant— They’ll follow us right back here and then we’ll be even more fucked because we’ll have nowhere else to hide!”

“Need I remind you I have sev—”

“Several hideouts in every corner of the outskirts,” you completed his sentence, rendering him silent for just a little longer. “Yeah, I know. You told us. But if you think the three of us stand a chance against however many of them there are, then you’re delusional.”

Dabi ceased his pacing, facing you with arms crossed over his chest, tattoos on the most display you’d seen them yet with his usual jacket absent from his form, currently hung to dry over the side of one of the cubicle dividers, and asked bitterly, “Oh and what’s your plan then, princess? Gonna waltz in there and woo them with your feminine charms?”

A scornful response was on the tip of your tongue, just about to be spit right back at him when all of a sudden, something in your mind clicked.

“Actually,” you said, “that’s probably the smartest thing you’ve suggested so far.”

Dabi raked his hands over his face, though you could still see the way he rolled his eyes from between the cracks in his fingers, and muttered something indistinct under his breath that was muffled by his dramatic display of disbelief.

“But— Hey, listen—” you went on, forcing Dabi to pay attention. “Sure, it’s not like I’m gonna go in there and get them to hand over the goods with the power of seduction or whatever, but I do know something else that might work that only I can do.”

“And what’s that?”

You smirked, the idea just sick enough that it might actually succeed. “I can make myself worth something. A bounty or a runaway or—”

“Human trafficking,” Dabi interrupted, and while he looked like what he’d just suggested was as common as a cloud drifting across the sky, you and Tomura both stared at him like he’d just uttered the most offensive thing either of you had ever heard. “Yeah…” he nodded to himself, silently working over the details in his head. “Yeah, they mark those girls so, if they run away, they can always be returned, y’know, so long as the fucker runnin’ the show can pay up.”

“Hello? Hypothetical human trafficking victim sitting right here…” You waved your hand, causing Dabi’s electric blue gaze to snap back to meet yours. “Wanna ask me how I feel about this? ‘Cause it’s definitely not good.”

“Well how else do you propose you make yourself worth something, genius?”

“Well good luck making this plan work without me you snarky piece of—”

“Guys!” Tomura shouted over you and Dabi’s argument, his raspy voice sounding raw and jagged, like there were tiny shards of broken glass stuck in his throat. Once you and Dabi were looking at him, he cleared his throat and addressed you by name, saying, “Let’s just hear him out.” Tomura put his arm around you, tugging you slightly closer into his side as if trying to comfort you. “And Dabi—” His eyes narrowed with contempt at the man in question, warning him with his gaze. “Why don’t you explain it in a way that’s a little less…” He let the sentence trail off, searching for the right word, then settled on, “A little less like, y’know. Like she’s not actually in the room with us.”

Again, Dabi thought to himself that, if you weren’t around to act as Tomura’s shield, he’d have beaten this guy’s ass up, down, and all the way around town for the audacity he had of which to speak to him with. And in Dabi’s house, no less.

But, as all of you were coming to realize— some more begrudgingly than others— this was a plan that needed three. Not two. Not one. Three.

It was the magic number and, if nothing else, it was the only thing the group of you really had going for you.

So while you and Dabi brainstormed, cooking up a plot that your targets just might buy, Tomura took to mapping it all out, having Dabi help fill in the blanks in the shoddy blueprint of the waterside warehouse, as he’d seen the territory firsthand before, and giving you all a better visual of your positions and movements throughout the entire plan, given it went accordingly.

Though, as all of you knew but none of you dared to point out, nothing ever really went according to plan, no matter how much choreography went into it.

“But how are we really gonna sell it…?” Dabi murmured, glancing from the crudely drawn map to you back and forth a few times before holding on your face, your figure, trying to decipher if your acting abilities would be enough or if these guys— pieces of shit who’d likely dealt with real human trafficking victims before— would smell the inauthenticity from a mile away.

“Well…” You began, hesitant as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, his face only inches from yours as the three of you sat smushed together on the floor on one side of the coffee table, you nestled between the two boys. You sighed out a regretful breath, knowing if you didn’t force the words out now, they’d remain lodged in your throat. 

You stood from the huddle, hands on your hips as you rounded to the other side of the table. You looked from Dabi to Tomura then back to Dabi again, both of them looking at you caught in suspenseful confusion.

Then you shrugged and said, “I guess one of you is gonna have to hurt me.”

***

Dabi and Tomura had been met with a narrow hall dotted evenly with pools of cool light casted down from the flickering fluorescence after clipping the chain that had been secured around the back door.

The coast looked clear, until Dabi heard something and quickly pulled Tomura into a tiny crook in the hall as the sound of footsteps echoed in warning taps around the corner.

The two of them stood there, practically pressed chest to chest and trying to avoid eye contact, until the sound faded. The moment they were in the clear, Dabi shrugged out of the small space, nudging Tomura in the ribs amidst his haste.

“Just how many of them are there?” Tomura asked, keeping an ear out for any more unexpected visitors.

“Well, we saw at least five guarding the front,” Dabi recalled, continuing further down the dimly lit hallway, checking every corner before he turned it. Puddles of greenish-blue light pooled evenly along the floors, leaving small spaces of darkness that Dabi couldn’t help but picture someone lying in wait and ready to strike within. For a moment, he even thought he could make out a familiar face within the shadows— someone who he’d tried so hard to leave behind, who he’d escaped the moment he left home and set out on these crooked streets, yet still haunted him like a specter no matter how far he ran— his own personal, paternal monster.

“Hey,” Tomura whispered, pulling Dabi from his trance. “Are we gonna get going or what?”

Dabi glanced down the opposite hall, looked back to where he’d seen the wavy, mist-like image of his father’s face like an omen through a fog, then started down the other way. “It’s this way,” he directed, waving Tomura along after him to follow. “Stay close and don’t let your guard down.”

***

When the time came, you’d asked Tomura to do it. You had a feeling Dabi would take things too far, end up actually breaking your wrist after getting a preview of his grip strength from the time he’d hauled you up onto the roof along with him while you’d been running from your pursuers in the alley.

And Tomura hadn’t wanted to do it. Didn’t even like the thought of hurting you, despite how well acquainted he personally was with pain. But it hadn’t been up to him. You were the one that was going to have to suffer, so you got to choose who inflicted the suffering.

“Ok…” You winced, preparing yourself for what you knew was going to be an unpleasant experience. Tomura held your wrists in his grip, loose for now, but about to become a whole lot tighter. “I’m ready. Just do it—”

A high-pitched yelp escaped your throat upon the sudden pain, Tomura gritting his teeth as he dug his fingers into your tender skin as hard as he could without crushing the bone. You bit your tongue, a sob hitching in your chest and your feet stomping on the ground as you tried to distract yourself with anything that would help you outlast the pain.

“More?” Tomura asked, sounding distressed. “Or stop?”

For a second, you couldn’t answer, just hissed a sharp breath in and then panted a shaky exhale out. “Just… Ok— Ok, stop!” His grip released in an instant, you pulling your throbbing wrists into your chest, your pin-prickling hands taking turns rubbing the places where the imprint of Tomura’s fingers were already beginning to blotch in navy and violet from under your skin, dark bruises blooming bright and brutal over your flesh.

“Fuck…” you hissed, the pain subsiding a lot slower than you’d originally anticipated.

“Sorry…” Tomura huffed out, the word a wisp of air exhaled under his breath, his carmine gaze tracking you and hoping that when you next looked up at him it wouldn’t be with fear or contempt.

Just then, Dabi reentered the room with three cans of beer and an ice pack, setting the items on the coffee table and casting a somewhat nervous grimace towards your blossoming welts. “Did it work?” he asked, not sounding so thrilled about the current state of your plan now.

“I think so…” you muttered, Tomura lightly pressing the ice pack to one of your injuries, holding your wrist in his palm like it was made of the most delicate glass. “It’s just… I hate to say it, but it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than this to be convincing.”

When you met Tomura’s eyes, he was already wearing a look of pleading worry, all that wide, bright red begging you not to make him go any further than what he’d just regretfully done, even if it had been with your consent.

“Tomura…” you whispered, only loud enough for him to hear. “It’s ok. It’s not your fault. It’s—”

He snapped his gaze away from you, jaw clenching and looking like he was wrestling with about a dozen emotions at once, a sea of memories flooding him. He opened his mouth to speak only to close it again. But you gave him time to collect his thoughts, and once he’d finally picked out the words he wished to say, he told you, “Does it really have to be you? Is there anyway it could be me instead. I mean—”

“Tomura…” Lightly, with your free hand, you reached over to cradle his cheek, trying not to flinch when you bent your wrist a little too far under its current state. In that moment, it felt like it was just the two of you in that room, Dabi torn on whether to stay and express his disgust with your openly displayed affections or leave again and give you the room.

“It’s ok. Besides, this is the only way this works. Once we have the money we can go anywhere, right? We can go anywhere…” The thought of getting out of the city’s gutter had felt like such a far off dream to you for so long. Now, faced with the possibility of leaving the entire country behind if that’s what you so chose, well…

It was damn near impossible to imagine.

“Alright, well, if you two love birds are done making googly eyes at each other…” Dabi droned, breaking the delicate silence of the atmosphere with the sharp crack and sizzle of opening his beer, slurping the first sip noisily and making sure to swallow extra loud just out of spite, “I think we have a plan to get back to. This is time sensitive, remember? Tick tock, tick tock.”

Tomura shot Dabi a scathing glare, an unsightly sneer to match, but before another argument could ensue, you stood from the couch and said, “He’s right. We only have four more hours until we either do this or die trying…” You wandered over to an open space of scuffed concrete off to the side of what defined the perimeters of the living room, brushing away some dirt and debris with the side of your shoe. “That should be enough time for these bruises to darken.”

You looked back at the boys, both watching you with varying levels of confusion and intrigue, and then you locked eyes with Dabi, giving a short, beckoning nod of your head. “I’m not fucking around this time. Dabi. Get over here and push me.”

Dabi quirked up an inky eyebrow, beer can still raised to his lips. He finished his sip then placed the drink off to the side, resting his elbows on his spread knees. “Uh… Come again?”

“You heard me,” you taunted, shifting on your feet. “I mean, I’ve been beaten and abused by all kinds of people, right? That’s why I had to run away? So get over here and make it real. I can’t do it on my own.”

Dabi then looked to Tomura, who offered no assurance but also no protest, before sighing to himself and pushing up from the couch, lazily strolling over. You’d been afraid of him before, still felt some sense of nervousness in his unpredictable presence, but now, looking up at him, his shadow casting over you as he looked down at you right back, those cerulean eyes damn near glowing in the dark, you felt something you couldn’t place.

It wasn’t quite fear, but the way your heart skipped a beat in your chest told you to be wary still.

“Turn around,” Dabi muttered, voice low, the three syllables not so much an order as they were a suggestion.

You abided by his request, slowly turning so that your back faced him, already bracing your hands in front of you to catch you when you went down. “Just— Just count down from three or something,” you stuttered, suddenly wondering whether you were going to regret choosing him to do this or not.

Now standing from the couch, Tomura said your name, an anxious upturn to the end of it like he was warning you of something you already knew was coming.

“I mean, I don’t know if it would be better if I saw it coming… But I only wanna do this once so—”

“One…” Dabi began, drawing out the number as if that would buy you more time before you were subjected to even more pain.

“But not too hard—!” you warned through a startled gasp, preemptively flinching. “None of this will work if I break anything. And also—”

“Two…”

“Wait! Maybe I do wanna do it myself! I mean, maybe there’s a way to—”

You didn’t even hear Dabi say three, but the moment both his hands made quick, hard contact to your shoulder blades and you felt yourself surging forward, the rest of your protest was cut off with a gasp.

You stumbled to the ground and skid a little, yelping as electric bolts of pain shot through your knees and elbows as they collided with concrete, numbness ricocheting through your bones. You didn’t even register your skinned shins and nicked palms until you felt something wet dripping down your calf and touched it, fingers coming back with the bright redness of blood.

“Are you ok?” Tomura asked, coming to your side and taking a closer look at the latest injury. Dabi stood back, not necessarily admiring his violence but— ok, maybe he was a little bit.

“I’m fine…” you assured him, voice a little strained with discomfort as you staggered to stand, Tomura helping you back to your feet on wobbly legs. “I don’t think I wanna go further than this though…” You looked to Dabi, his gaze taking a moment to move from your bleeding knees to meet your beseeching eyes. “Please tell me this is enough?”

“Something around your throat might help,” he commented, and when Tomura gave him a look of disgust that very much translated to “dude, what the fuck” Dabi just shrugged and replied defensively, “I’m just sayin’! These guys are pieces of shit! If you think they draw the line at choking a girl—”

“Alright, enough!” you cut in, starting to feel a little nauseous. “If we need to take things that far— Fuck, I don’t know, I’ll have to steal some eyeshadow from the drug store and do it that way. I’m not letting either of you do that to me.”

He considered you, looking you up and down a few times before nodding to himself in contemplation. Then he said, “I think if we add some fake needle tracks and really fuck up your hair and makeup, put you in something a little less…” He vaguely gestured to the oversized outfit you were currently wearing, which consisted of a pair of Dabi’s boxer shorts (you’d been extremely adamant that he lend you clean ones) and an old black t-shirt adorned with the logo of some underground metal band. You cast him a look in response that agreed. Enough said.

“Alright, well, that settles it then. You two are gonna have to get me some things. And you’re gonna have to do it fast. Makeup takes a while.” Dabi asked you what you meant, though Tomura already seemed to have caught on, even if just partially. “Well, I can’t risk showing my face around you two on the off chance of one of them seeing us together before the job. It’ll blow our entire cover. So, you two are gonna have to go steal me some drug store makeup and a skirt or a dress or whatever you can get your hands on.”

After listing off some more specific items you thought you would need, more so in the realm of makeup than clothes, you sent the boys off to do some shoplifting. In the meantime, you navigated your way into the bathroom and searched around the disorganized cabinets until you found a nearly empty bottle of disinfectant, setting yourself up on the couch for a little pre-plan contemplation session while you carefully cleaned your open wounds, each sizzling sting of the peroxide on your skin making you wonder just many times you could ask yourself if you were going to be able to live to regret another decision you made.

***

The cheap slip dress was a size too big and the chunky costume jewelry earrings kept smacking you in the face with every bounding stride you took sprinting across the field, your feet bare and cold, adrenaline helping you forget your staged injuries for the time being. Clumpy streaks of mascara ran down your cheeks in pairs, biting the inside of your cheek, your lip, at one point even your own bruised wrist, just to force more tears to come.

Around your neck was Tomura’s handprint branded in dark violets faded around the edges with navy— eyeshadow, that is. You’d brushed it onto his hand before having him place his palm to your throat and apply just enough pressure to leave the residue on your skin. You’d spruced up the fine details yourself to make it appear as convincing as you could, even adding a few scratch tracks, some of which had been done with your own nails.

“Every little bit helps, I guess…” Dabi had said, almost sounding a little disturbed as he’d watched you mutilate yourself from the bathroom doorway.

“Yeah, well, it fucking better,” you’d said bitterly under your breath as you applied lipstick and then smudged it across the corner of your mouth with a tissue. You thought you looked the part. Now the only question was if they would believe it too.

With every nerve in your body screaming for you to stop, to turn around, to run away from the men pointing guns at you and not towards them, you forced yourself to press on. You just had to have faith in the fact that Dabi and Tomura— or, in the very least, Tomura— wouldn’t just abandon you to the wolves.

Or, who knows. Maybe they would. You’d only known them for five days, give or take.

“The fuck…?” one of the guys muttered, gazing over the barrel of his pistol at the silhouette frantically approaching, your distressed cries ringing out loud enough for the sound to reach them, though the words were still indistinguishable.

“Dunno…” another shrugged, lowering his gun, which caused some of the others to do the same. “Stay here though. I’ll go check it out.”

You came skidding to a halt right up against the chain link fence that caged the entrance, clutching the criss-crossed steel wire in shaking hands, sobbing as you babbled incoherently, more tears streaming down your face as you shook your head back and forth, rattling the fence in a desperate attempt to get in.

“Please!” you shrieked, making sure to anxiously glance behind you a few times for good measure. You were being chased after all. Pursued. Hunted down. “Please! Please, you have to help me! They’re after me! I— I can’t go back there!”

The man who’d volunteered to approach you stopped halfway between his colleagues and the fence, looking over his shoulder at them with slight confusion as if asking for some guidance, but when offered none, simply shuffled a few steps closer, finger still resting on the trigger, and asked, “Who’s after you?”

“The last thing you need to be is logical,” Dabi had instructed you on the drive over, having hot-wired the nearest vehicle he could find unattended after smashing the driver’s side window with a screwdriver, making quick work with getting the engine started and sneaking glances at you through the rearview mirror as you adjusted the cheap dress to stay up on your chest. “The less sense you make, the more time you’ll buy us.”

“Oh, god! Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god—!” You were practically hyperventilating at this point, making yourself lightheaded in the process but hoping that only added to your acting. “Please! Please just let me in! I— I’ll do anything! I just can’t go back there! He’ll— He’ll kill me! Please! Please, please, please, please, please!”

You clutched the gaps in the fence above your head, leaned forward so your forehead could press against the wire, sobbing yourself to a point of near faintness, and feeling an odd sense of pride when you felt the beam of their flashlights shining on your form. Starting at your hands and making their way all the way down to your feet before tracing back up again, their hesitation and silence spoke to the fact that they knew exactly the kind of person you’d escaped from.

Or, at least, the kind of person you wanted them to believe you’d escaped from.

“She one of Chisaki’s girls?” you heard one of them mutter, lifting your head to show off more of your smeared makeup and watery, bloodshot eyes.

“We’d have to check ‘er for the brand,” you heard another answer, and that made your stomach drop. Of all the effects you’d applied— both special and practical— a brand hadn’t been one of them.

“Well should we let ‘er in or just call ‘im?”

“Fuck if I know, man. I mean, unless there’s a reward for returnin’ ‘er, why not just keep ‘er for ourselves?” The three of you had agreed not to kill anyone unless absolutely necessary— more so because that would take too long and only complicate things— but that comment made you wish you’d voted in Dabi’s favor for taking as many of these assholes out as possible.

“Just let ‘er in. Take ‘er to the boss. He can decide what to do with ‘er.” He looked you up and down again, eyes landing on your fake needle tracks for a while until he said, “And if she is Chisaki’s… Well…” If you weren’t so terrified then, you might’ve been able to pick up on the fear in the man’s own voice, horrified yet curious as to what kind of monster this Chisaki person must be to scare these guys so much without even showing his face. “Just don’t let anyone put their hands on her until we confirm.”

And then, the gate was being unchained and swung open. You almost forgot to keep up the act, jumping from your temporarily dazed state back into the panicked pleading and rambled thank yous of a poor drug-addicted, abused, hostage-escapee of a girl who thought she was finally being saved.

But that had been the easy part.

Now you had to clear a path for Tomura and Dabi to grab the goods, grab you, and get the hell outta dodge.

*** 

The place was bigger on the inside than it looked and, also equally as troublesome, a complete fucking maze.

This gang had enough guys to cover their main entrance and the goods they kept inside, but not enough to have every inch of this place on lock. Besides, back when Dabi ran with them, it had been his job to hangout and watch for stragglers who might try and sneak up on whatever shithole they were calling base for the week in hopes of finding a stray window or door unattended. Since his departure, he’d been willing to bet they hadn’t bothered finding a replacement.

They hadn’t had a reason to. They’d never been infiltrated.

At least, not until tonight.

But even so, as they navigated the crumbling concrete halls like every corner they turned could be their last, Dabi was kicking himself for not bringing a gun. Too bad he didn’t even own one. Though, maybe tonight he’d get lucky enough to change that.

“Clear,” Tomura whispered, him and his inky-haired accomplice dashing down another long stretch until they finally grew closer to the heart of this place, distant voices now registering from off in the distance.

“Not far now,” Dabi said, also careful to keep his voice low. “When we get there we’ll just have to hang tight till we get her signal.”

It shouldn’t be long now, he figured. If things went according to plan, the guards would take the bait and let you inside. Someone would inform their leader and draw a bulk of the attention surrounding the goods elsewhere. From there, Tomura would cause an additional distraction while Dabi swooped in and grabbed the duffle bag or whatever sorry excuse for a hiding place the cash was stored in. He knew it would be in whatever room they kept the most heavily occupied. These guys might’ve had more than him, but not by much. They wouldn’t risk letting their guard down in fear of losing what they’d scored.

They might as well have lit up a blinking neon sign that flashed “I’M HERE! I’M HERE!” with an arrow pointing straight to where they stashed the money. That’s how confident Dabi was feeling about this plan. Besides, he kept reminding himself, he used to run with this crew. He knew they talked big and acted tough, but at the end of the day they were just as desperate and greedy as any other slum rat trying to survive was, himself included.

“…Should’a seen the look on ‘is face, man!” one boasted as Tomura and Dabi came upon their main hangout, crouching low beneath the windows cut out in the half-finished construction job, the glass never installed before the place had been left to be scavenged by the downtown dogs. “He was all like, ‘Please, I have a family! I have kids! You don’t have to do this!’” The man let out a dark chuckle, the sadistic sound making Dabi clench his jaw. “And I was all like, ‘Well I guess you should’a thought about that before you took out a loan you couldn’t repay.’”

“And then what?” a second guy asked, sounding high off his ass with the way his words slurred and sloshed together like water threatening to spill over the edge of a glass.

“Well then I fuckin’ slit his throat, obviously,” the leader, a man Dabi knew was called Jiro, shrugged, as if killing a man in cold blood was the most uninteresting topic in the world. Dabi took the risk of slowly peeking over the edge of his cover, trying to get a count on just how many guys they might have to deal with— or outrun— if things went south.

But, from the looks of it, there was just Jiro, one guy half asleep from whatever he was high on, and a third who slouched forward from his seat on the couch occasionally to tap the ashes of a dwindling cigarette into a chipped tray on the table, his leg bouncing anxiously while his gaze darted around as if expecting a threat to pop up any moment now. But, most importantly of all, Dabi noticed, was the gun secured at his belt. Now if only he could figure out an easy way to steal it…

“What we got?” Tomura asked, growing a little restless as Dabi sunk back below cover, filling him in on what he’d seen. Then, nodding to himself, Tomura said, “So if we get rid of the leader somehow, we could just take the other two out ourselves…”

“Yeah, but only if the paranoid one doesn’t get all trigger happy on us, which, trust me, one look at that guy and I can tell, given the chance, he will. So here’s what I’m thinking…”

As Dabi laid out the next phase, Tomura was only half listening. Truthfully, he was still too antsy wondering what was going to happen— or maybe already currently happening— to you to be able to fully focus on the task at hand.

“But first thing’s first,” Dabi decided, looking a little more conflicted than confident now. “We gotta figure out exactly where in there they’re keeping it. Once we locate the cash, we’ll have a better chance at actually getting out of here with it alive.”

That was something they both could agree on, at least, and Tomura suggested they split up to try and cover more ground. From where they were currently crouched, the view inside the shoddy lounge contained plenty of blind spots. Plenty of places for a duffle bag holding dozens of wads of bundled bills to hide. So, with Dabi venturing further around the right side and Tomura beginning to creep towards the left corner, the two of them attempted to better map out the area without being spotted, the tops of their heads bobbing up and down through the vacant window cutouts for only a few seconds at a time. But the closer they came to completing the circle, the more worried Dabi became.

Because he didn’t see anything worth much of anything anywhere.

“Shit…” he swore under his breath as he sunk back below cover, defeat already looming over him like a shadow. With his back pressed to the wall, the chill seeping through the concrete soaking through his clothes, Dabi was almost ready to call it off. To just slip out before there was time for even more losses to pile up and regroup back at the warehouse.

But that’s when he heard it.

A scream.

High and loud and splintered with terror.

He flinched at the sound of it, the blood-curdling cry pulling the attention of the other men in the room, their conversation suddenly going quiet except for one muttered, “The fuck…?” from High Guy.

Dabi lifted his gaze over his cover, locked eyes with Tomura across the way, even from this far able to tell how his crimson stare widened with pleading.

Let me go to her, let me go to her, let me go to her.

But Dabi shook his head, slow and warning, the gesture advising him to stay put for now.

“Well?” Jiro snapped, causing both the other men in the vicinity to wince. “Get the fuck up and go check it out!”

There was the sound of frantic, shuffling feet rushing out of the room, Dabi’s gun escaping as the man with it secured to his belt drew it and prepared his finger on the trigger as he and his more sluggish colleague disappeared off into a deeper part of the building, nearly spotting Tomura who pressed himself as hard and flat as he could against the wall he was hiding behind, waiting until he saw the darkness swallow them completely until he dared shift his position to meet back up with Dabi.

But Dabi didn’t move.

Not yet.

Jiro’s back was to him now, not a care in the world as he reclined and rested his arms across the top of the sofa, rolling his neck and groaning as a few joints popped, the red scorpion tattooed there shifting as the tendons moved beneath his skin, the crackling echoing faintly throughout the high-ceilinged space.

The way he saw it, Dabi had a choice to make. And it was now or never.

He leapt through the window opening with more cat-like grace than most people would’ve assumed him capable of, rubber-soled boots laced tight and landing soft and soundless against the dusty floor. 

Tomura popped up to try and see where his accomplice was currently at, but felt his stomach sink with dread when he saw Dabi sneaking up on Jiro, a length of stray rope that had been discarded amidst the other odds and ends of debris scattered across the floor held firm and taut between his hands.

What the fuck are you doing, he would’ve called out if it wouldn’t have meant sudden death. So instead, Tomura decided to double back and pursue his own mission, now that everyone seemed to be going rogue. 

But the thing was, Dabi was still technically doing things according to plan, just with a little improvisation tossed in at the last minute. Because he’d seen something Tomura hadn’t, and while things most certainly wouldn’t be going as smoothly as you all originally had hoped, you wouldn’t be leaving empty handed if he managed to actually pull it off.

Because placed on top of the coffee table and currency serving as Jiro’s foot rest was a metal box with a turn dial on the side— an item Dabi hadn’t been able to tell prior was actually a safe.

Here goes nothing, he thought to himself right before he slipped the rope over Jiro’s head and pulled it tight across the man’s throat. When the struggle started to look like it wasn’t going to turn out in Dabi’s favor, he growled out a desperate, “Tomura! A little help!” but was met with nothing except Jiro’s continued grunting, choking sounds and a fist colliding with his cheek.

Dabi went to just put the man into a headlock but Jiro threw his head back and cracked Dabi in the nose, blood gushing and temporarily spotting his vision with white. Dabi loosened his grip, giving Jiro just enough space and time to throw his assailant off of him and swivel around to look him in the face with wild, wrathful eyes.

“You—!” Jiro began to accuse, reaching for something inside his jacket, but Dabi was faster, barreling towards him and tackling him, both of them crashing through the coffee table before they hit the ground, the safe sliding across the floor until it went under one of the gaps of the wooden shipping crates stacked atop each other off to the side.

“Fuck—!” Dabi yelped, feeling his elbow crack down on the concrete with a sickening crunch, pain lancing through his bones like a lightning strike before his arm went numb from elbow to fingertips, which was probably for the best right now.

Because he didn’t have time for wincing and whining. Not when Jiro was already halfway to standing and wearing an expression of blind rage and bloodlust.

And then, reaching back into his coat, instead of pulling out a pistol like Dabi had originally anticipated, instead Jiro drew out a blade. An eighteen inch machete that gleamed in the dull, yellow light, freshly sharpened and hungry for its next victim.

And Jiro— Jiro was laughing.

He was laughing like a man who already knew he’d won.

“Gotta hand it to ya, kid…” he taunted, voice gravelly and strained from where the rope had bit into his throat, a rough, red mark rubbed raw across his skin. Dabi went to stand, but Jiro kicked him in the ribs hard, knocking the wind from his lungs. Then he pressed a grimy boot to Dabi’s chest, effectively pinning him in place, and concluding with a sinisterly amused, “You sure don’t know when to quit.”

Suddenly, Dabi was sixteen years old again, scrappy and weak and all alone. His hair was still snow white and his pale skin was unmarked, not even having gotten his first tattoo yet. He was hungry and desperate and all he had to his name was a black t-shirt, a pair of jeans, some combat boots, and a pocket knife.

He’d chosen the wrong guys to steal from loads of times during that first year, been beaten within an inch of his life too many times to count, and that had begun even before he’d fled to the streets, so what was one more time, right?

Only, this time, with the blade resting under his chin, Jiro intent on taking his sweet time making Dabi squirm before he made him bleed, Dabi had a feeling he wasn’t coming out of it alive.

So close, he thought with regret, both hands gripping Jiro’s ankle in his fists and attempting to lift some of the pressure from his bruised chest, but all that seemed to do was make the man stomp down harder. I was so fuckin’ close…

And that wasn’t just about the money.

“Now, here’s what’s gonna happen…” Jiro said, voice lowered to a ruthless hush. “I’m gonna handcuff you—” he gestured with the machete, “to that refrigerator over there. Then, I’m gonna go get the other guys ‘cause I’m sure they’d be just fuckin’ elated to see you again—” Dabi tried to twist free with one quick, harsh jostle, but to no avail. What Dabi had in height, Jiro had double of in strength. He knew he didn’t stand a chance. “And after that,” Jiro continued, ignoring Dabi’s growing despair like he was nothing more than a fly slowly buzzing about the room, the threat level only warrenting a light swat, “we’re all gonna take turns teaching you what happens when you keep try’na bite the hand that fuckin’ feeds…”

Dabi remembered his days serving as one of Jiro’s yes-men cronies, seventeen years old and halfway to a full sleeve of ink etched into his right arm, hair a fading blueish-black. He remembered the grueling hours, the shit jobs left especially for him because he was the newbie, yeah, let Dabi do all the things no one else wants to. He remembered the way his ribs began to show stark through the t-shirt he was outgrowing, could still feel the sour pang of starvation twisting just below his sternum. The headaches. The disorientation from going five days with nothing but a heel of stale bread and half a can of some other guy’s beer. Always left to beg and scavenge through the meager scraps of the packs’ provisions like the outcast runt of the litter.

Holding a scream back behind clenched teeth as he felt the pressure on his chest feel like it was soon to splinter ribs, Dabi spit, “When did you ever even try to feed me, motherfucker—” which in turn only earned him more agony. But if he was going to die tonight, he might as well hold nothing back.

And for what, Dabi wondered, eying the safe which taunted him from just a few short yards away under the crate,  Just for a fuckin’ chance at a life out of the gutter…

All he’d have to do would be to reach under there and grab it.

Pathetic.

“Enough chit-chat. Just be a good boy,” Jiro teased, pressing the blade’s edge harder against Dabi’s craning neck as he reached into his back pocket and produced the set of steel cuffs that clinked and clacked against each other as they were dangled before him, “and don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

***

They took you into the building, caged you in the center of their tight formation, guns still held at the ready, and led you to a room in the back filled with more dangerous looking men.

You felt your stomach flood with dread the moment all their heads turned in unison to the opening door, four new sets of eyes landing on your disheveled, abused, and terrified state with varying degrees of confusion and eagerness. 

“That don’t look like pizza,” one man huffed with sarcasm, his lips splitting into a smirk and causing the scar that ran through one side of his mouth to pull awkwardly. Then, turning back to his buddies, all of them holding playing cards close to their chests, occasionally darting their glances down to a growing pile of money wagered at the center of the table they were gathered around, he asked, “Any of you order an appetizer beforehand without tellin’ me about it?”

They all laughed, their mockery of you and your situation— or rather, the situation you were pretending to be in, which still made you just as sick knowing real victims were probably passed through their hands as regularly as a slice of pepperoni and cheese, by the sounds of it— causing you to begin shaking with fear, your entire body trembling like a rabbit surrounded by pack of salivating wolves.

“We found her by the front fence,” one of the men who’d led you through the building explained, and while he sounded a little more sympathetic than the new group you were faced with, if things began to escalate you doubted he’d do anything to stop it. And then, leaning in to speak quieter to the man with the scar, he said, “She might be one’a Chisaki’s girls…”

The man with the scar set his cards facedown on the edge of the table, pushing up from his seat with a sigh and strolling over to take a closer look at you. He leaned down to be on your level, his face only inches from yours as he studied your smeared lipstick and running mascara. He asked you, voice lowered to a quiet growl, “You one’a Chisaki’s girls? And don’t lie to me now, because, y’know that if you are, we don’t really have a choice here, right?”

He noticed you were shaking, your stare still spread wide with trauma and your jaw clenched shut as you felt tears begin to well in your eyes. You weren’t acting anymore. You didn’t have to. Not when every bit of this suddenly felt all too real.

“Shit…” he exhaled, seeming to come to his own conclusion as he straightened back to his full height, running his gaze up and down your bruised body. He seemed to be considering something, the room filling with an eerie, anticipatory silence, until he nodded to himself and said to the group that had guided you in, “Did you check for the brand?”

You felt your blood run cold.

Slowly backing away, as if intending to make a getaway and escape from eight armed men, your tears spilled over the edge, a few sparkling droplets racing down your cheeks in pairs as your back met something solid behind you.

His hands took hold of your shoulders before you’d even finished turning around to look at him, and you gasped when you looked back in front of you, the scarred man having closed the gap that had grown between you in barely a second.

“We’re really gonna need ya to cooperate, sweetheart,” he said, gravelly, condescending tone laced with a heavily implied command. “Or else we’re gonna have’ta hurt ya. And I don’t really think you would like that, would you?”

“Please—” you breathed, trying to twist free of your captor’s strong hold. You swallowed hard and then attempted to speak louder, fear crackling through your voice as you frantically stammered, “I— I don’t have a brand! I’m not one of Chisaki’s girls! Please, just— Just let me go. I swear I’ll—”

“Let you go?” the scarman repeated, clicking his tongue and flashing you a look of sarcastic concern as if to say “it’s so cute that you think that”. His friends were flanking him now, a wall of them stretching out before you with the others guarding the exit behind. He said, “Nah, sorry, hon, but that’s not how this works…” Before you could even get out one more syllable of a bargain or a plea, he nodded towards you and instructed his friends with two simple, condemning words. “Check ‘er.”

The hold on you vised tighter, another one of them coming to assist as your struggle increased, holding you in place as you thrashed and kicked and tried to get away. Your foot made contact with one of their thighs and you heard a growl of impatience right before a hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to scare you at first, then hard enough to choke you until you settled down.

“So that’s how you want it to be then?” Scar sighed, sounded disappointed with you. All activity to “search you” ceased for the moment as the others awaited his approval to continue. He reclaimed his original seat, looking rather bored with the whole ordeal now, slouching back and crossing one ankle over his knee. Then he snapped at the others, “Well the fuck are you waiting for? Hurry up and see if she has the brand!” Then, more so to himself, “If not, I call first dibs.”

You were crying. You were begging. You were writhing as several more sets of hands joined in the effort to try and rid your clothing from your body in search of Chisaki’s brand— the identical mark he had burned into all his whores to make sure no one else could try and claim them for their own. And while you had no idea who this Chisaki man was, just knowing he was notorious for such things made you feel like you were trapped in a vicious nightmare.

Before they could get your dress past your waist though, you let out an ear-piercing shriek, a kind of razor-sharp wail, stunning the men around you for a second before one of them went to clap a hand to your mouth, but he miscalculated slightly and allowed you the perfect opportunity to sink your teeth deep into the space between his pointer finger and thumb, clamping down until you felt a burst of bitter copper hit your tongue, coating your mouth in nauseating warmth.

You didn’t hear the man yelp over the pounding of your own panicked heart, though weren’t able to hold on for long as a thick, sharp-knuckled fist collided with your temple, causing you to fall slack for a moment as your head spun with vertigo and pain.

“Fuckin’ bitch—!” you heard someone swear through the muffled ringing that ran between your ears. You coughed out a pathetic sounding groan as your head lolled slightly to the side, your eyes fluttering and rolling as reality sloshed inside your vision like a fishbowl rocking back and forth on the edge of a shelf, just about ready to tip. “God— Bit me fuckin’ hard!”

“Oh shut up and finish it already!” the scarman barked, but when the others hesitated, too distracted with watching the blood well and spill down their friend’s wrist in fat red rivulets, a few drops already dripping down onto the floor and staining the dirty concrete, he pushed up from his seat and marched over, roughly hiking your dress up the rest of the way and quickly scanning for the telltale mark. Unable to find it on the front or back of you, he yanked the thin fabric back down to cover your body, completely uninterested in whatever ideas he had for you prior, and then decided, “Y’know what, fuck this. Bring her to the boss and have him decide what to do. She ain’t worth the trouble.” 

You were just sort of coming back to, though tried to stay as silent and still as possible for now, hoping it might buy you some time. You heard someone say, “C’mon man, wouldn’t be the first time we had a biter—” but was cut off by a distant crash-and-shatter sound that drew their collective hivemind attention in the direction that it came.

“What the fuck now?” Scar grumbled, and then, “Y’know what— Ok, you four, go back to guarding the front. If the boss finds out we left this place unattended he’ll have all our heads. You two, go see what that was all about, and you—” gesturing to the one you’d bitten, “fuckin’ tie her up or some shit until all this chaos is resolved and Jiro can decided what to do with ‘er.”

“And what about you?” one of them asked.

“I’m goin’ out for a smoke. And I swear, if any of you fuckers so much as even think about peekin’ at my cards, I’ll shoot you in the face myself. Reconvene in an hour—” A chuckle, the sound almost playful, teasing. “And don’t think I intend on lettin’ any of you off easy. I’m still gonna rob you blind at the end of the night.”

Some of them laughed. Some of them scoffed. All of them then went off to do as they’d been told, leaving you alone with Bitten-Hand, who kept mumbling passive-aggressive complaints under his breath about how he was always left cleaning up everyone else’s mess.

You let him drag your limp body to another corner of the room, fought the urge to jump up and run right then and there. But it wasn’t until you heard him shuffle a few feet away from you, cracking your view open to see him struggling with some zipties, that something inside you said, loud and bright, now.

You sprung up and dashed for the door, nearly stumbling over your own feet but surged with adrenaline again, which helped with the pain that was currently reduced to a faint throbbing behind your eyes and, well, almost everywhere else on your body at this point too.

You heard Bitten-Hand call out a more-desperate-than-angry, “Hey, wait!” just before you threw yourself against the door and came barreling back out into the hall. You didn’t look behind you to see if he was following. You knew he was. The sound of his boots hitting the concrete further down the long stretch of hallway behind you told you as much. But you didn’t stop running. Didn’t slow down.

You felt your eyes welling with tears again, your chest heaving with ragged, panting breaths as you neared the next corner. Maybe you could lose him, find some vacant room to slip into or some bit of cover to dive behind. But the moment you rounded the turn, you felt yourself getting yanked off to the side, a new palm covering your mouth as the other arm wrapped around your waist, submerging you both into the thick black darkness once again.

***

It hadn’t been easy, but Jiro had, in the end, gotten Dabi handcuffed to the busted old refrigerator. And no matter how hard he tried to yank against the pull handle the cuffs were liked around, the damn things wouldn’t give.

The room was empty, Jiro gone off to fetch his cronies, and the safe lay still as a stone where it had slid from the broken coffee table to underneath the wooden shipping crates. Dabi tried to force himself free once more, but it was no use. Plus, he was exhausted from everything that had led up to this too. He pressed his forehead to the cold steel of the stolen fridge and just breathed out a wobbly, defeated, “Fuck…”

He didn’t even have it in him to be pissed off at his own shitty life decisions for landing him here right now. What he was really angry about was how he’d roped you into all of this. Sure, the original plan had benefited from the part you had to play in it, but right from the start Dabi knew he should’ve just done this himself. It might’ve been riskier, taken him longer, but he was willing to bet he would’ve at least come out of it with something in the end. Either way, all it would’ve taken was one fuck up, but at least it would’ve just been his consequences to suffer.

Tomura was probably already shot dead and bleeding out in a hallway somewhere, he figured. That didn’t really bother him that much, given the fact that, because of Tomura’s abandonment, Dabi was, regretfully and beyond irritatingly, handcuffed to a fucking refrigerator and basically waiting to get the shit beat out of him before he was murdered as the grand finale. 

But you…

God, he’d never forgive himself for that.

So be it, he thought. Let them kill me. I fucking deserve it at this point anyway.

And so he waited.

Dabi stood there and waited to die.

***

The grip around you flexed slightly as you began to struggle, though, unlike your last encounter with people who wished to do you harm, the more of a fight you put up, the looser the hold on you became.

It wasn’t until you whirled around and let out a terrified sob that you caught a glimpse of silver amidst the shadows and a quick flash of those crimson eyes.

“T-Tomura…?” you squeaked, entire being beginning to shake with relief rather than horror now.

“Jesus— Are you ok?” he whispered, hands cautiously hovering about you like he was afraid even a single touch would make it worse. “You’re all—”

“Wait—” you cut in, pushing him back against the wall of the small closet of a room, pressing yourself against his chest until you heard Bitten-Hand’s running footsteps pass your cover and disappear down the next hall. You let out a shaking sigh, resting your forehead against his chest and trying to catch your breath, feeling a panic attack coming on but fighting to keep it at bay.

Slowly, and somewhat hesitantly, Tomura gently wrapped his long, spindly arms around your shivering form, holding you against him but in a way that made you feel safe, not trapped. And you were crying again, you think, your sobs muffled by his shirt and his skin as he stroked the back of your tousled hair and just kept on repeating in a low murmur, “It’s ok, I’m here. It’s ok,” until you were able to calm down enough to feel like separating from his grasp wouldn’t completely shatter your world.

And the next words out of your mouth were ones that shocked you both. Because where you’d meant to say, “We need to get out of here,” instead what came out was, “Where’s Dabi?”

Tomura stammered for a second, stalling, and then just admitted, “I don’t know.”

“Well we need to find him and get the fuck out of here,” you stated, panicked severity working back into your tone. “Forget the money. We just have to go.”

Tomura opened his mouth to protest— whether it was the idea of going back for Dabi or forgetting the money, he didn’t know— but then he registered the suffering in your eyes, the suffering that was written all over your body in bruises he knew he or Dabi hadn’t given you in preparation for this whole robbery-gone-wrong, and then bit back his reluctance, nodded firmly, and said, “Ok. But stay close to me.”

You didn’t intend to stray from his side. In fact, more often than not you found yourself clutching his arm as you both navigated your way back to the room where Tomura had seen the third member of your crew last, a few times almost causing him to trip.

“Should be just down this hall,” Tomura told you, checking to make sure the coast was clear before lightly pulling you along behind him. Oddly, you hadn’t seen anyone else in a while. You’d tried to compare notes, Tomura saying there had originally been three in the room you were doubling back to, you saying there had been five at the front but only four had led you inside to the room where another four had been waiting. Making it twelve you’d seen so far.

“But I bet there’s more than that skulking around this place,” Tomura muttered. He was willing to bet the total count was somewhere near double that, given how big the place was and the fact that you guys had only really traversed about half of it. Then, irritated, “Fuck, this whole thing was just a big fucking mistake…”

“Tomura…” you spoke, almost sympathetically. Then, figuring you probably didn’t have much else left to lose, you said, “Y’know, for what it’s worth, I’m really glad we hit you with the car that night.”

And when he looked at you, you were actually smiling. The expression was far softer or sweeter than you had a right to wear, given the current situation, and yet…

Tomura smiled too. “I’m really glad you hit me with the car that night too,” he said. “And even if—” He had to stop himself, finding the words even if we do die tonight to be a little harder to admit to than usual. He cleared his throat, then started from scratch. “Well, I just want you to know that spending the last few days with you has probably been the highlight of my entire life.”

And, god, how you wanted to just reach up and kiss him in that moment. To twine your fingers through his fluffy white waves and taste him one last time. And maybe you might’ve, just shrugged and thought, fuck it, before making one more bad decison before you all died here. But you didn’t get the chance before another figure turned down the long hallway, stopped in his tracks as he registered two unknowns before him, a long blade gleaming in the low light from where it was clutched in his hand by his side.

Jiro didn’t bother asking any stupid questions or attempting to monologue his sinister schemes that time. Instead, he just started straight for the two of you, not in a run, but a fast-paced walk that somehow made things seem all the more dire.

“Fuck!” Tomura gasped, already pulling you back down the hall from whence you’d just come before you could even figure out what was going on. You didn’t remember to ask, either. You just tried to keep up with Tomura as the man with the machete approached closer on your heels, all of you sprinting now.

Tomura must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere though, because suddenly he slammed to a halt and looked around with certainty as an even more worrying, “Uhhh…” escaped his chapped lips.

This was a part of the warehouse none of you had seen before, a wide room filled with all kinds of stolen goods— cars, appliances, pills, handbags, jewelry, you name it— sort of similar to Spinner’s contraband museum but nowhere near as glamorous or organized, but luckily, just in the nick of time, you and Tomura ducked behind a stacked display of tires that looked like they belonged to eighteen-wheelers, trying to cease your heavy breathing and hope Jiro didn’t know the ins and outs of this place too much better than you did.

“Wanna know the best thing about this place?” Jiro’s voice rang out as he began to navigate through the tightly packed space, hunting for you. “There’s only one way in and one way out, so…” He jumped up into the bed of a rusty old pickup truck, one foot propped up on the edge as he scanned the cluttered chaos, looking rather satisfied with himself. “All I really have to do is wait.” You and Tomura exchanged looks caught between despair and panic.

You could now consider yourselves officially trapped.

“I have an idea,” Tomura whispered, “but it’s gonna require us to split up.”

Instantly, you grabbed onto him, eyes gone wide with terror as you frantically replied, “No— We need to stay together until we get out of here!”

“Just trust me, it’ll only—”

“Don’t leave me again—” You were near sobbing now, bloodshot eyes welling with a fresh film of sparkling tears. You covered your mouth to try and contain the sounds that threatened to hitch in your chest, lest you give away your current position and alert Jiro, all the while mumbling incoherent pleas that all pretty much roughly translated to the same thing.

“Alright, just— Listen.” He placed his hands on your shoulders, felt you trembling beneath his palms. It took a few tries to get through to you, but eventually he had enough of your attention to explain, “We won’t have to go very far. Basically, each of us will take a side of the room. We’ll take turns making distractions to lure Jiro away from the door. Once we’ve got him far enough we can just sneak out and—”

“But what if—” What if something went wrong. What if Tomura was caught or you were caught and then you were killed. What if. What if. What if. What if.

You couldn’t get past the image of that machete buried into the side of one of your necks or sticking straight up from the center of your chests.

Taking a steadying breath, you tried to calm yourself down, then came to the conclusion that this was your best shot. “Alright,” you agreed, though every fiber of your being was fighting against the thought. “I’ll take the left, you take the right. But Tomura…” You looked into his eyes, searching for something, and then, in your moment of hesitation, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. It was a chaste kiss. Quick. Over before it really had the chance to begin. But it was enough for now. It was the promise for more once you made it out alive.

“I’ll be careful,” he said, cracking a tiny smile, as if he’d read your mind. “And don’t worry, I’ll pull him further to my side so he doesn’t get too close to yours. Just keep your head down and don’t let him know which one of us is which.” You weren’t feeling too confident, gazing down and off to the side as you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. As soon as he spoke your name though, tone sweet and soothing, you glanced back up at him. “You can do this,” he told you. “We can do this.”

Somehow, even if they were simple words that might turn out to be completely untrue, hearing them gave you the resolve you needed to participate in this plan. So off you went, carefully weaving your way through fishtanks full of broken jewelry and plastic bins of prescription drugs. Once you reached the far back corner, your eyes landed on some kind of big, blown glass sculpture, the art speckled through with a rainbow of color. It stood almost as tall as you did, and as you considered it you wondered why, and how, these guys had managed to bring it back to their base in one piece. Maybe it was worth a fortune, but it wouldn’t matter anymore, because with both hands placed against its side and a good push, it tipped, fell to the ground and shattered.

Jiro perked up from where he was still perched in the truckbed, tightening his grip on the machete’s handle as he swiveled around to face the direction the sound had come from. He chuckled darkly, the taunt echoing faintly throughout the room, and then jumped down from the truck with a heavy thud, starting in the direction of the crash.

“Ready to come out and play?” he provoked, a husky, off-key sing-song tone to his words, his footsteps scuffing closer your way. When he passed a severed car door, passengers side, from the looks of it, he scraped the end of the blade against the steel, a grating screech reverberating closer to where you tried your hardest not to cower in the corner.

And honestly, Jiro hoped he’d find you first. He hoped he’d get his hands on you, get to feel you writhe and squirm and struggle under his hold. He would relish in the look of horror that filled Tomura’s eyes as he was forced to watch your throat part with a thin red smile, deeper, darker crimson soon spilling out and soaking the front of you until you choked on your own blood and fell limp and lifeless to the ground. 

Then he’d go for the scrawny, scraggly, scratch-track streaked boy before he even had a chance to register the scene unfolding before him. He’d make a gorey mess of him too, only allowing you two to lie together one last time right before he had his boys drag your mangled corpses out back and burn the remains, scattering them into the bay before daybreak.

And Dabi…

Well, he figured he might want to force Dabi watch his friends’ bodies go up in flames right before he joined them in the grave too.

“Y’know, for what it’s worth,” Jiro began, his voice now way too close to your corner for comfort. For a moment— as much as you hated to even consider the idea— you began to fear that Tomura had merely been using you as bait, allowing you to take the fall while he made a quick and easy getaway. “If you guys had done this without Dabi, you might’ve stood a chance. I’ll admit, I didn’t see it comin’…” You were getting antsy now, ready to bolt off in any direction that wasn’t Jiro’s.

“And you…” His voice was practically hovering right above you now, all of your limbs suddenly locked with prey-like terror. Jiro’s ugly mug came into view from over the edge of your cover, his beady gaze colliding with your wide, terrified one, reminding you of your boss, the same perverse hunger glowing at the center of them. Shark’s eyes. “I think I might have a little fun with you first after a—”

Your body lurched with a sudden jolt, more tears spilling from your eyes and rolling down your ruddy cheeks to meet under your chin and drip onto your chest as you saw Jiro’s eyes glaze over and then roll, his sentence reduced to a thin, feeble whine for but a moment as his entire body stiffened and then went slack, dropping to the floor like a bag of rocks.

The machete slid from his grip and when his head smacked against the concrete, it left a rorschach smattering of red there, the back of his skull blooming with a hemorrhage.

You opened your mouth to let out a scream, but all that escaped was a distraught, animal moan.

You didn’t even notice Tomura’s figure looming like a shadow behind where the man’s body had just stood, a crowbar still raised with vengeful intent as if he thought the man he’d struck down would rise and try again. You were too busy watching the blood well and spill into a puddle on the floor.

“Are you ok?” he was saying to you, but all his words were muffled by the blood singing through your ears, everything around you feeling like it was swaying, body becoming lighter, head growing dizzier, until Tomura wrapped his arms around you, tucking your face into his chest to hide the view beyond him from your sight. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just— I saw the opportunity and I took it.”

Reality came crashing back over you like a violent, white-rimmed wave. You felt like you were going to be sick.

“It’s ok now,” Tomura kept on repeating, hugging you close, almost hard enough to crush you. “Let’s just go. Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. So you just let Tomura help you to your feet, grabbing up the machete on his way, as your team was severely lacking in weapons, and guide you towards the exit.

“Wait here,” he told you, still speaking quietly, afraid raising his voice any louder would destroy what little was left of you. “I forgot to get the keys.”

“The keys…?” you muttered, but Tomura was already gone.

Luckily, the journey to Jiro’s corpse and back was a short one, Tomura a little more familiar with the layout of the room now. He unhooked the ring that jingled with at least twelve different keys from Jiro’s belt loop, thumbing through them and hoping at least one of them would be useful to you down the line. He’d played enough games to know that sometimes even the smallest of items could be the difference between clearing the level and game over if left behind.

When he returned to you, you were curled in on yourself, arms wrapped around your shivering body with your forehead resting on your knees.

How much had you been through, up until now? And how more would you have to endure before all this suffering and trauma could finally come to and end?

“Hey…” He extended a hand toward you, feeling a little bit of the weight of his worry lift when you looked up at him, now appearing more tired than terrorized. “C’mon,” he said. “It’s time to go.”

“Dabi—”

“We’ll get him,” he promised, though didn’t sound so sure. And then, repeating more resolutely, “We’ll get him.”

Whether Dabi was even still alive, there was no way to know. But, for your sake at least, as much as Tomura was still caught between despising and respecting him, he found himself hoping that the third member of your trio had somehow survived.

***

It was sort of eerie, Dabi was beginning to think, that no one— not a single soul— had been seen or heard within his vicinity since Jiro had left him alone.

Hadn’t he gone off to get the others? Y’know, gather everyone ‘round for a good ol’ fashioned torture party?

But it had been too long. The place was big, but not that big. And the fact that none of the others had returned, even just out of coincidence, curiosity, or boredom, was weird too.

And what about you and Tomura?

Were you two even still alive, or had you just escaped without him, left him here to die?

All of them sounded like likely options, but still, the little sliver of hope that lodged itself in Dabi’s heart like a thorn told him to wait just a little bit longer before he started mourning the first real friends he could’ve had.

But even if you guys did come back for him, there was still the whole handcuffed to a refrigerator dilemma to deal with. You might have no choice but to leave him to be devoured by the wolves anyway.

“…Down here I think…” Dabi’s head lifted from where it rested against the side of the fridge, the rough, whispery voice dangerously familiar only for the fact that it made that slice of hope inside him twist like a blade. “Are you sure you can walk? You can always get on my back and I can carry you…”

“No, I think I’m ok, thanks…” Dabi’s heart fluttered at the sound of your voice. It made him wonder if he had dozed off and was dreaming, or if maybe somehow he was already dead and this was his own fucked up version of heaven.

And then there you were, looking like hell but still alive, one arm slung over Tomura’s shoulder, who also looked a little worse for wear but then again, didn’t he sort of always?

“Oh my god—!” Dabi barked out an incredulous laugh, the sound sharp but full of light, like the sun reflecting off of broken glass. “Oh my fucking god!”

“What the fuck?” Tomura asked once he registered Dabi’s current predicament.

It was then that Dabi’s disposition suddenly shifted, a deep scowl etched into his inky brows. “Yeah, what the fuck, Tomura?” He roughly jangled the chain linking the cuffs together against the handle of the fridge, as if he needed to further accentuate his point.

Tomura helped you down onto the nearest couch, leaving the machete by your side, and you were grateful for the rest and the weapon. Then he approached Dabi, slowing to a halt a few feet away and staring at him, hands shoved into his pockets like he was wracking his brain for a solution. Dabi stood, trying again, and failing, to yank himself free.

“Shit won’t budge!” he stated with an irritated shrug. “And I’m not too fuckin’ keen on dislocating my thumb.”

Tomura let out a sigh. You stared at your ravaged reflection in the gleam of the machete. Dabi shook the cuffs against the stainless steel just for the hell of it.

Then, finally, Tomura said, “Yeah, well, that guy who’s their leader or whatever is dead.”

In that moment, something made you look over and lock eyes with Dabi, his piercing blue gaze boring right into you, and then, you realized, the machete.

“Jiro’s dead…?” he repeated, though it was hard to tell whether he was shocked or devastated. Maybe a twisted mix of both. A crooked, deranged smirk then began to break out across his face, a maniacal chuckle bubbling up from deep within his chest until it became a full blown bout of hysteria.

This could’ve gone on for ten seconds, or it could’ve gone on for several minutes. Time seemed to shimmer and sway like sand through an hourglass, ungraspable, uncountable. It wasn’t until Tomura had had enough of all this madness, oddly enough, that he pulled out the ring of keys, the gentle jingle of them shutting Dabi up like a door slammed closed.

“No fuckin’ way!” Dabi exclaimed, his surprise genuine and almost endearing. Before Tomura even had a second to act or respond he blurted out, “Well— God, hurry up and unlock me already!”

You heard Tomura shifting through the keys, mumbling something to himself while Dabi craned his neck forward to try and pick the right one out. But the more they passed that weren’t the right one, the more anxious Dabi started to become. Until finally, the second to last key—

“Oh, oh!” Dabi called out. “That’s it! Hurry, hurry!”

Tomura put the small silver key into the cuffs’ tiny keyhole and turned it, the cuffs clattering to the concrete with a satisfying clank.

Dabi let out a stuttering sigh of disbelief, rubbing his wrists and relishing in his unexpected freedom for a moment before remembering the safe.

Perhaps this nightmare of an evening wouldn’t end up as a complete waste of time after all.

“Alright,” Dabi declared, strolling over to reach under the crate and swipe up the safe, tucking it snugly under his arm. “Let’s split, while we still can. We just have to—”

A loud bang immediately followed by a high whistle sang through the air as a bullet whizzed by and struck one of the crates directly behind Dabi, missing him to the left by only a hair. Tomura yanked both you and him behind the cover of the fridge as several more attempted to strike you, more guns firing from just beyond the cage of crumbling concrete you were now trapped within.

“Shit—!” Dabi swore under his breath, clutching the metal box to his chest like it would shield him, like it would save him.

“What now?” Tomura barked impatiently, having grown tired of all the mishaps this mission had brought several mishaps ago.

“Do we just run for it?” you tossed in, panicked.

“Uhh…” Dabi stalled, his own trepidation beginning to bubble up to the surface. More bullets struck the steel of the refrigerator, pinging off but approaching your cover with more and more accuracy, warning of the fact you were all about to be closed in on. Then, seeming to regain himself, you saw those cold blue eyes ignite with surety as he declared, “On the count of three, we all scatter. Meet back at the car, whoever gets there first, be ready to fuckin’ floor it once they get close enough to hit the tires—”

“No, wait— What about—” You began to protest.

“One—”

You weren’t going to make it out of this alive.

“Jesus, man! Just hold on a fucking second!”

They would mow you down the moment you showed yourself.

“Two—”

None of you were going to make it out of this alive.

“Oh, god! Please don’t—!”

Dabi flicked his gaze to meet yours. Held it as he said, “Three!”

And then you all ran for your lives.

Their aim followed in a tight trail at your heels, threats and shouts echoing behind you as you and Tomura bolted off in one direction and Dabi in another. He’d said for all of you to split up, but you hadn’t gotten the lay of the land like they had. You were lost without Tomura, though, honestly, he could only do his best to retrace his steps without Dabi around to lead the way.

But then he pulled you down the long stretch of hallway that Tomura now recalled being the first one he had walked down, the space narrower, the fluorescent lights flickering pale puddles against the scuffed cement floor.

“It’s this way,” he said, voice low but urgent, just on the cusp of disbelief that at least you two might have a chance at escape.

Dabi, on the other hand…

He’d been stuck with taking the long way around, several more guys in pursuit of him given he had what they valued most. And there’d been a fleeting moment where he wondered if there would be anything in the safe at all once he cracked it open, but with how desperately the others chased after him now, he knew it must be the whole damn lot.

And once they found out Jiro was dead, then what? Which one of them would rise to the top to take his place? Or would they all just end up killing each other in the end, fighting over their leader’s scraps like starving wild dogs?

Dabi skid around another corner, pulling down an empty metal shelf as he rushed by that was leaned against the wall in hopes that the slight obstacle might buy him a few more seconds of time. He felt a bullet graze his calf, bit his tongue at the sting of it, but forced himself to keep running. Soon he was around the bend to that telltale hallway, the final stretch, his chest heaving, lungs burning with the effort to travel as fast as his legs could carry him.

When he burst through the doors, the cool night air flooding his senses, he felt himself begin to slow his pace, entire body buzzing with adrenaline and relief all in the same breath. But then he heard another gunshot from the other side of the heavy metal push-doors and was shocked back to reality, which was that he wouldn’t be truly in the clear until he made it back to his warehouse, which meant he first had to make it back to the car.

He frantically searched the immediate surrounding area, looking for something, anything to block the door with. He found an old wooden rake and slotted it between the door bars. It wouldn’t hold for long, especially not with the force of at least four men trying to bust through on the other side, but it would be enough to at least gain the distance he needed on them.

The first slam-retract of the doors attempting to be broken past came when he was only about four yards away. Another by the time he was six, and after that, he stopped paying attention.

Because there was the car, sitting dark and patient off in the distance, two figures he recognized as you and Tomura hopping in, Tomura in the driver’s side and—

Dabi nearly halted in his tracks when the grinding, squealing horror of an engine that wouldn’t start pierce through the sloshing ambiance of the nearby bay. He heard a crash behind him, the handle of the rake splintering in half, a barrage of armed men racing his way.

“Guys—!” Dabi shouted, now close enough for you to hear him. You popped your head out from the passenger side’s rolled down window, dried tears still streaking your mascara smeared cheeks, hair a tousled mess and clothing all askew in the frenzy.

“It won’t start!” you half sobbed, half shrieked.

Tomura turned the key in the ignition again, earning the same, blood-chilling result.

“Fuck— Move over!” Dabi snapped, practically yanking Tomura out of the driver’s side as he tossed the safe into the back seat. Tomura didn’t get angry or wait for Dabi to solve the problem. There was no time. He jumped into the backseat to join the safe, and after one final, miraculous try, the engine purred back to life and Dabi slammed the door shut behind him, flooring it away from that nightmare as more bullets hit the ground just inches from your tires, one bursting through the back window as he swerved hard, nearly throwing you from the car as you scrambled to put on your seatbelt, and disappeared from the edge of the outskirts with nothing but a cloud of dust and the smell of burning rubber to remember him by.

***

You were not happy when you returned to the warehouse.

You were not giddy and curious enough to stay awake while Tomura and Dabi tried to crack open the safe.

You might’ve felt relieved to be alive, if not for the growing ache in your bones, flesh tender with bruises and the ghost of forceful hands that had grabbed you. Mainly, you just wanted to wash this day from your skin, to soak and scrub every last inch of your body until you felt like yourself again.

But instead what you did was find the quietest corner of the base to collapse in and fell asleep.

***

The following morning, early, when the sky was still pale with dawn’s soft, lulling light, you were awoken by the jittery mumbling of hysteria.

“…Holy shit—”

“—can’t fucking believe…”

“No, no, hold on…”

“…think we could just…”

“…not a good idea, it’s probably—”

You rose from your slumber, limbs heavy and aching with the night before, slowly rising to stand with a groan. You pulled the blanket further around your shoulders, a slight chill skittering up your spine, the slightly-too-big silk dress you hadn’t changed out of still clinging around your legs like a veil of cold as you slowly shuffled your way closer to all the hubbub.

“If I had a dollar for every time I…”

“Dude, it’s not even—”

“Sure it is, but only if you know the right people…”

The voices were getting clearer now, words spoken hurried, but hushed.

“She’s gonna freak when she sees this—” Dabi.

A raspy chuckle, and then, “Should I go see if she’s awake?” Tomura.

You rounded the corner of patchwork walls, some of the dividers a little leaning or lopsided in places, and announced with a sleep-rusted tone, “I am awake.” You cleared your throat, looked from the boys to the table in front of them, eyes widening when you saw the array of cash spread across the chipped wood, so much of it that it covered the entire surface and still left Dabi and Tomura clutching bundles of it in their hands.

“Holy shit—” you gasped, rushing over to kneel before the table, scooping up some of the bills and cradling them in your hands like they were delicate enough to turn to ash at just the slightest flex in your grip. “Is this really— You guys got it open?”

Dabi plopped down on the sofa across from you, Tomura opting for a seat on the floor, always needing to be closer to you, though whether that was out of necessity or habit now was lost to you both.

“Wasn’t fuckin’ easy…” Dabi drawled through a smirk. “But yeah. About half an hour ago.”

Your smile was widening, slowly but surely, like a flower blooming up through a crack in the concrete, hope fighting its way to the surface. “Oh my god…” You felt like maybe you were still dreaming, like you’d blink open bleary eyes and find yourself curled up under a frayed old blanket all over again like the day had reset itself. “How much is—”

“We’re still counting it,” Tomura cut in, handing you one of the thick wads of cash to thumb through, letting the bills fan through your fingers like one of those flip-books that made little doodles look like animations. “But we think it’s somewhere around fifty-thousand.”

You looked up to gaze upon their faces. Dark bruises hung under their bloodshot eyes, the most obvious sign that they hadn’t slept. They’d been up all night trying to crack the safe, desperation skittering like ants through their veins until success had brought them the catharsis of feeling like they’d earned their much needed rest.

“We decided…” Dabi began, leaning forward to set his stack of cash on the cluttered table, elbows perched on his knees as his fingers laced loosely to dangle before him. “Each of us will count it individually.”

“All of it?” you asked, eyeing the money-flood that drenched the table.

Dabi nodded. “All of it.”

“That way we know, when we all come up with the same amount, that the split will be even,” Tomura further explained, scooting closer to you still.

“And then…” you uttered absentmindedly, still in a daze.

“And then,” Dabi replied, “we can all go our separate ways…”

He leaned back to lounge against the couch, one hand cradling the back of his skull while the other remained bent awkwardly across his lap. His elbow was definitely fractured and he’d sustained a slight concussion, but for now, he figured, that could wait.

“Or…” he continued after a few beats of heavy silence, a tangible uncertainty hanging between you and Tomura as if you’d thought you’d heard him wrong.

“Or?” you pressed.

“Oh, I dunno…” Dabi sighed. “I was just thinkin’, we make sort of a not-so-terrible team—”

“You mean, besides all the shit that went wrong and nearly got us killed back there?” Tomura posed, unamused.

Dabi resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was too tired to argue right now. “I mean, despite the odds, we still came out on top. And it wouldn’t have worked without the three of us— y’know, aside from you abandoning the plan halfway through—”

“I saved your life—” Tomura cut in.

Under his breath, Dabi muttered, “Don’t know if I’d go that far, but—”

“Oh, I’m sorry—” Tomura, on the other hand, still had some fight left in him. “Next time I’ll make sure to leave you handcuffed to a fucking refrigerator so those guys can use you as target practice—”

“Ok! Ok—!” You called over their useless bickering, hands held out as if trying to keep them from advancing on each other, despite neither of them looking even halfway to making any kind of physical move. “Enough! None of that matters now. Next time, we’ll all stick to the plan, and make sure there’s a plan B just in case.”

“Not to mention,” Dabi continued, still droning with his I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude, “technically, Tomura, you shouldn’t even get the same cut as us since you didn’t really contribute as much—”

“Oh, fuck off!” Now Tomura stood, looking ready to throw a punch.

“Kidding—! I’m just kidding. Jesus…” Dabi was quick to remedy. Tomura relaxed a little, slowly lowering back to his seat beside you as you grabbed his hand and pulled him back to his senses.

“That’s another thing,” you said. “No matter what, if we do this, we all get the same share. No exceptions.” You locked eyes with Dabi, held his striking sapphire glare until you feared you might crack and shatter under the intensity of it. But then, begrudgingly, he clicked his tongue and agreed. 

“Fine,” he said. “But if either of you ever leaves me without backup again, I’ll make sure none of us gets anything.”

“Whatever, man…” Tomura mumbled, cheek resting in his palm, the exhaustion trying to ambush him.

“Well, same goes for me,” you pointed out. “I mean, was it even ever really in your plan to come help me out if things went south on my end?”

Dabi opened his mouth to defend himself, maybe protest, but then closed it again when he realized you had him on that one.

“Dude,” Tomura snapped, his grip tightening around your hand protectively. “What the hell? You said—”

“I know what I said!” Dabi shouted over the accusation. Then, simmering down a little, raking a shaky hand through his inky hair, “Fuck, just… I didn’t think it was gonna play out like that. I really didn’t. I mean, I knew it was risky, for all of us—” You shot him a bitter glare, causing him to backtrack with, “For you, especially, ok. I knew that. But I really thought—” He pulled his tattooed hands down his pale face, brain on its way to short circuiting from lack of sleep. “I never would’ve asked you to do it if I really thought those guys would…” But he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. To finish the thought.

“Ok…” you exhaled, figuring that was as close as you were going to get for an apology. “So, now what?”

“Now…” Dabi stood from the couch, boots dragging over the concrete floor as he slowly circled around to you and Tomura’s side of the table, sitting on the other side of you. “Well, now I guess we start counting.”

***

(Well… two years later and I’ve finally managed to finish chapter 2. In truth I’ve been wanting to get back to this series for a long, long time now, but knew it was going to be a big commitment (especially given how much more involved it became shortly after beginning to dive into this chapter) and due to some personal/life stuff I just didn’t have the time. Originally, this series was supposed to only be three chapters, but now it’s looking like it’ll end up being somewhere between five and ten, so please be patient with me while I write it.

But I’m happy to report that, this year, I really want to put a lot of focus into this series. I have some big ideas for it that I’m excited to share, especially the scenes that have literally been living in my mind rent free for over two years now lol. So please look forward to that!

As always, a big thank you so much to everyone for reading! I’ll see you next time! Byyyyyeee~)

[despicablebisexual]

Abracadabra by Steve Miller Band

part 1, part 2, part 3

Jotaro Kujo x Ex-wife!Reader

You take Jotaro back home on a whim, and the two of you reconnect for the first time in years.

warnings: explicit smut, MDNI. mildly dubious consent, oral sex, vaginal sex, unsafe sex, creampie

Jotaro hailed you two a cab as you stood outside the hall while you hung onto his arm. It was mostly deserted at this point, save for a few people in your same position. While you did get a few looks, no one really understood what was happening. Jotaro, always away and out of the country, was not always recognized, especially by a crowd of drunks. Only those on your team were familiar with who he was thanks to seeing pictures of him and Jolyne long times ago. Plus, most people had forgot you were ever married in the first place. It most likely looked like you just had company for the night. 

Waiting for a cab at this time of night was kind of sobering, and you began to realize what might happen. While the alcohol was still in control for both of you, a small part of your conscious told you this was only going to end in pain. You spiraled into an internal panic. What if he asks to see Jolyne? How will I explain to her that her dad is home but not staying? What if he asks to get back together?

The alcohol had gotten the best of you and revealed a small wish that had been lingering for a few years: getting back together. In an ideal world, you three could have remained together for forever, but it wasn’t possible with the lives stand users lead. You had mostly given up on that dream until tonight. In his peripheral, Jotaro watched you make faces as your internal monologue droned on. 

A cab pulled up finally and Jotaro opened the door before motioning for you to get in. You slid across the bench as he followed you in.

“Where to?”

Jotaro went to answer, but realized he didn’t know where you had come from tonight.

“427 Park Avenue, please.”

The cab driver nodded and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the roads.

“You don’t live at the house anymore?” Jotaro questioned.

You shrugged it off. “Too many memories there. I had to move.”

Not explaining yourself further, you leaned your head against the window, the cool glass helping you ground yourself as you still felt loopy from the alcohol. No more words were spoken for the rest of the car ride, Jotaro electing to remain silent.

**********

You stepped out onto the sidewalk as Jotaro paid the driver. It had only been about a fifteen minute drive, the fare not too expensive.

Not waiting for him, you walked up to the front door and got your keys out to unlock it. Soon, a large presence loomed from behind. As you fumbled with the keys, hoping to play it off as being drunk rather than nervous, Jotaro placed a hand on your shoulder, turning you around. His large frame cornered you into the door.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you squeaked.

“If you want me to go home, I’ll leave now. I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

You nodded. When Jotaro made a face, you realized he wanted you to respond.

“R-right…”

He sighed and dropped his arm. “Just go in and sleep.”

He turned to leave. You watched his back as he walked away, an all too familiar sight.

“Jojo, wait!”

He turned back with an eyebrow quirked. 

You approached him and softly whispered “come in. Have a cup of coffee with me.”

He muttered something under his breath and held onto his hat, covering up his handsome face. The quirk was another familiar sight, one you had always laughed at.

You turned and opened the door to your house finally, taking a deep breath as you crossed the point of no return with your ex-husband.

**********

You were a bit self-conscious as Jotaro took in the knick knacks, pictures, and other decor you had scattered around the house as you warmed up a pot of coffee. When you lived together, he had contributed a few things, but mainly left the decoration up to you, so perhaps it was a blast from the past for him. As he studied an old picture of Jolyne on her seventh birthday, you wondered what he thought about your new home.

He picked up the frame and held it closer to his face, his age showing as he squinted to see up close. Strong hands held up the frame and you couldn’t help but bite your lip at the thought of feeling his touch via them again. Your eyes drifted up his arm, to his neck and shoulders, before going further down, focusing in on the fit of his shirt on his taut abs.

The coffee pot beeped before you could further undress him with your eyes. You quickly jumped back into action and gathered mugs from the kitchen cabinet. While doing so, Jotaro sauntered back into the kitchen and stood next to you at the counter.

“Do you still like it black?”

He huffed in affirmation. With your back turned to him, you were embarrassed as you felt the burning gaze of his eyes. It was strange, you two had known each other for the better part of your lives, were devoted to each other at one point, but now you stood in your kitchen awkwardly, not sure if you could move the same anymore.

“Y/n.”

You turned back to him, abandoning pouring the sugar and creamer into your cup. “Hm?”

In a rare show of vulnerability, Jotaro took off his hat and set it on the counter next to him. His hand came up and ruffled his dark curls. He looked down at you, imposing as ever, with a burning desire in his eyes. He took a step forward, and like outside at the door, he cornered you into the counter.

“Forget the coffee.”

A strong hand came up and caressed your cheek. Unlike his outward demeanor, Jotaro was a romantic lover, and often let down his walls in times like these.

“Jojo…” you sighed, holding the back of his hand.

“I messed up in the past… I know I have.”

His hand caressed down your neck and shoulders, ran down the length of your torso, before stopping and holding onto your hips. The smell of alcohol was still faintly on his lips as he leaned in close, pulling you roughly by the hips.

“I can’t fix my mistakes,” he started as his lips teased yours, never coming into full contact. When you tried to make contact, he diverted towards your ear. “But I can show you at least for tonight that I can make it feel right. I can make you feel good,” he whispered, accentuating his point with a bite to your ear lobe.

His flirtation was intoxicating, and had you easily compliant. A nod of your head and a small moan from your lips was all he needed to continue. Jotaro captured your lips in a hungry kiss, stealing the air from your lungs. His hands encircled your waist and pulled you into him as far as possible. You mirrored his actions by grabbing at his shirt and holding him close. 

It wasn’t long before the kiss deepened, your tongue findings its way into his mouth, feeling very much like coming home.

Jotaro groaned against your lips when your teeth bit his bottom lip softly. Fueled by your reciprocated desire, Jotaro’s hands ran down the length of your back before gripping onto your thighs. He hoisted you up into his arms with ease.

“Where is your room?” he managed between passionate kisses. 

“Down the hall, to the left.”

Jotaro carried you to your bedroom. It was an arduous walk, considering how difficult it was to keep focus as you peppered kisses and love bites on his neck, but he managed to kick open the door and toss you down on the bed. You yelped in surprise before laughing, managing to make the 6’5” giant smile. 

You kicked off the heels you had worn for the evening as Jotaro tossed his jacket onto the floor and stepped out of his own dress shoes. With the white garment gone, his sculpted abdomen, chest, and arms were on full display beneath his tight, black turtle neck. He looked extremely distinguished, entirely too good-looking. 

“You look handsome as ever Jojo,” you whispered seductively.

He leaned down to give you a short, teasing kiss before grabbing you by the legs and pulling you to the edge of the bed. He laughed evilly as you yelped, making quick work of the dress pants you wore.

“You’ve got too many god damn clothes on to be talking so much.”

He tossed the pants over his shoulder and they hit the ground with a soft thud. Not wanting him to have all the fun, you sat up and reached for the hem of his sweater. He complied and lifted his arms so you could remove the article. 

You felt like you were unwrapping the best gift ever when his bare chest came into view. Jotaro was always exceptionally good-looking, but after not seeing him or touching him like this for the past six years, your eyes couldn’t tear away from his body. Your fingers came up to trace against his collarbone, before descending and scratching at where his small patch of hair started on his lower stomach. He took a deep breath when your fingers ran across his belt. 

“Can I?” you asked, palming his growing erection under the pants.

He took your hand and hauled you up so you were standing in front of him. He quickly turned you around so your back was touching his chest, and breathed “you first,” in your ear. He took your shirt and lifted it over your head, your bra following quickly. Now in front of him in just your underwear, he allowed you to turn and unbuckle his two belts, his white pants falling to the floor. With a nervous tug, you pulled down his boxers before guiding him to sit on the bed.

With his full nakedness on display, you sank to your knees in front of his aching cock. There weren’t many words to be said, your desire zeroing in on pleasuring him and nothing else. You kissed the tip of it as your anticipation grew, remembering all the other times he had used the thick and long length on you. 

Jotaro let out a quiet groan as you gripped the shaft, experimentally pumping it to get him to full arousal. Leaning forward, you licked a long stripe from bottom to top, wetting it for your hand.

“Y/n,” he moaned, gathering up your hair to get it out of your face. 

The thought to tease him occurred, maybe just get up and not blow him at all, but the ache of needing to be reunited with him and pleasure him to his fullest outweighed your mischief, so without a second thought you wrapped your mouth around him and got to work.

Your pace was steady and you could tell Jotaro approved based on how he unabashedly moaned and groaned above you.

“Your mouth feels like heaven,” he whispered, gripping your hair tighter. 

You let out a satisfied moan at the high praise, loving the way he let you know how good you made him feel. You continued to go down on him, now taking him as far as you could go. You held your face down for a second, before Jotaro pulled you off.

His left hand held your hair as his right cradled your face. His thumb rubbed against the outside of your lips and you immediately opened up to suck on the digit as he stared down at you.

“As tempting as you’re making it for me to come down your throat, I’d rather you sit down and let me taste you.”

You nodded eagerly as he pulled you up onto his lap, brushing your messy hair back so he could pull you into a searing kiss. Your clothed pussy made contact with his cock and you ground yourself down on it, hoping he’d soon put it in you. Jotaro swallowed up the moan you let out at the grinding.

“Patience woman, we’ll get to that later. I’m taking my time with you tonight.”

He stood you up and swiftly pulled down your underwear, smirking when you let out a surprised gasp. He gathered you back up in his lap before letting his back fall down onto the bed, taking you with him. You tried to kiss him, but his hands instead guided you up further until you got the message and scooted up to sit on his face. 

It was a position that had scared you a lot at first. You two were young and dumb college kids dating when he first approached you with the desire to do it. He awkwardly looked away with his hands in his pockets when he barely requested it. After adamantly telling you that he would be fine (being a walking wall of muscle and all), you finally agreed and did it. 

You loved it then as much as you loved it now.

His finger traced your outer lips, causing you to hiss at the contact, before moving away. His calloused hands ran up and down your thighs as he kissed his way inwards while his lips left a wet trail in its wake.

“Please–” you let out desperately, looking up to the ceiling.

“Please what?” he smirked.

You huffed as Jotaro continued to tease you. In all honestly, your glistening slit in front of him had him rock hard, but he refused to move on until you stated what you’d like him to do.

“Mm, Jojo, please don’t make me say it,” you whimpered as his thumb dipped in slightly to collect some of your slick.

“I want you to. Now c’mon, you’re making both of us suffer.”

He gave you a taste, running his tongue up slowly, just once. You groaned in frustration and embarrassment.

“Please, Jotaro, I want you to touch me.”

He smirked as he dove in, greedily licking up everything you had to offer. Although he seemed content to tease you all day, his mouth displayed his true intentions as it went to work eagerly. Your hands grasped his hair as he worked you, and your thighs closed in around his head. You moaned helplessly above him. While you squirmed around, Jotaro held you firmly in place. His large hands gripped your thighs tight and held you close. 

“Tastes so good…” he whispered lowly. 

You weren’t sure if you were meant to hear that, but you returned his sentiment. He felt so good, and you knew he knew it by the way your hips rocked on his face.  

It was embarrassing how he brought you to the brink so quickly, but as he held you down, your moans started to become more frequent and high pitched. As they continued, Jotaro’s satisfaction became more apparent as he groaned into your pussy.

“Jotaro!” you cried as you came, white light flashing in your eyes and back arching. He continued for another minute or so, licking up all the excess slick with delight and helping you ride out the waves of pleasure as you came back down to Earth.

Once your moans decreased to whimpers, Jotaro kissed his way away from your center, lightly slapping your ass before you got off.

“Mm, just like I remembered.” He wiped the slick from his chin while you made your way beside him.

You blushed. Jotaro had become quite the flirt in his older age. Either that, or he was genuinely happy to be reunited with you and was okay opening up his walls. 

The room stilled as you two caught your breath. Laying naked together in your bed with him was very surreal, and it made you somewhat nervous. On your right, you could see how painfully hard he was, but his face had gone back to its natural aloof state. He eyed you as you swallowed the saliva in your mouth.

“We can stop, if you’d like.”

You looked over at him with great confusion. Was he willingly blue balling himself?

“Do you not want to keep going? You look like you do.”

He rolled his eyes at the erection you pointed out. “I just don’t want to make you do something you don’t wanna do.”

“Who said I didn’t want to do it?” He shrugged his shoulders in response. 

It pained you a bit for having sex with him be so awkward. You two had done this countless times before, hell, you had a kid together, it shouldn’t be this awkward. In the heat of the moment, you two fell into your natural rhythm. But in the still moments like these? You two were tense.

You leaned over to very lightly kiss him. This kiss wasn’t fueled by pure lust, but was a way to tell him I’m okay. I want you, and I hope you want me too.

He seemed to get the message when his hands came up to hold your face as he deepened the kiss. It was much more loving than the previous had been. With the upcoming act on the horizon, the flame between the two of you turned into a roaring bonfire.

He slowly leaned over and gently pushed on your chest so that you were laying down and he could situate himself above you. One hand traveled back down to your center and a finger entered you to prepare you for him. Jotaro bit down on your lip as you moaned, slipping another finger in and pushing them in and out.

Once you were thoroughly prepared, he leaned back and grasped his cock. Jotaro loomed above you like a mountain. His face was hard and pensive as his tip just barely brushed your entrance. Your legs acted on instinct and spread for him as wide as possible. With one more look to make sure you were ready, Jotaro pushed in lightly upon seeing you nod.

You whined as soon as he slipped past the initial tight entrance. Both of you sighed in absolute relief as he made his way inside. 

Once fully sheathed, Jotaro paused just to take in the sight before him. Your head was thrown to the side, softly panting as you got used to the feeling of him fully inside you again. You gripped the sheets tightly and had a slight blush on your face. The scene was blissfully pornographic, and Jotaro felt deep pride at the fact that he was the one making you feel so good. 

“Jojo,” you sighed. “Please move.”

With you asking so politely, how could he deny you?

His hips moved with calculated precision as he began fucking into you. The pace gradually increased as your natural wetness guided you two and made obscene sounds. 

“Do you like that?” he asked with a quiet purr, his eyes focused on the place where you and him were connected. It turned him on greatly each time he watched himself disappear inside of you.

You nodded your head eagerly with closed eyes. “More, Jojo! Harder, please,” you begged.

He grabbed the side of your hips and took a breath before beginning to pound into you. The bed hit the wall in sync with his thrusts and the sound reverberated throughout the room, though it was partially obscured by your loud moans and Jotaro’s heavy breathing. 

The pleasure increased tenfold as Jotaro moved faster. Barely containing yourself, you held onto your breasts to ground yourself to reality. Despite already being in you, Jotaro still felt painfully hard as he watched you fall into a drunken state at his doing.

“Fuck y/n,” Jotaro threw his head back as he gripped your hips. “Feels so fucking good.”

Jotaro could barely contain himself at the feeling of your tight walls pulse and hold onto him. He felt his climax steadily approaching, but he wasn’t going to give in so easily. He had you in his arms for the first time in years, and he wasn’t going to waste it by cumming early. 

He instead shifted his focus to you. One hand made its way down to your clit while the other helped prop him up as he leaned down to kiss you. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, but it was the perfect thing to ground you as you threw your arms around his neck and shoulders, and your legs around his waist. His lips released yours and traveled further, moving to your neck where he sucked big, dark marks. He put a series of hickies on your collarbone and the side of your neck. In your sex haze, you completely ignored the fact that people would definitely see them.

“Gonna… cum… Jojo,” you breathed. 

He hummed and rubbed your clit with more passion, determined to have you finish. 

You cried out almost immediately and felt the coil in your stomach explode with such power, you were sure you were going to pass out. Jotaro didn’t draw it out this time. He immediately unsheathed and swatted your hips, signaling you to roll over. 

With his help, you got onto all fours and let your chest fall down to the bed. Jotaro had to bite down hard on his lip just to not cum at the sight of your face down and ass up. He wasted no time and entered quickly, resuming his hard pace. You practically howled at the sudden intrusion.

His hands held your hips tightly as he fucked into you with passion you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Each time you moaned out his name, he smacked your ass, silently explaining he loved the way you said it. You two fucked for a few minutes before you could feel him start to get more erratic.

“Mm, come inside me Jojo,” you moaned beneath him.

“You– ngh— said those exact words to me about twelve years ago… Nine months later we ended up in the labor and delivery room. No way,” he said breathlessly, though the thought of filling you up was extremely tempting. His hips moved on their own as he imagined it.

“Don’t worry,” you laughed between moans, “unlike then, I’ve got it covered this time.”

“Y-you’re on birth control?” he asked, gripping your hips tighter.

“I’m not looking to have anyone else’s baby,” you panted.

Jotaro refused to acknowledge his budding irritation at the implication that you might be on the pill because you were seeing someone else. Jealousy temporarily overriding his rational thinking, he gave you a particularly harsh thrust, one that caused you to cry even louder than you had been.

He smirked at the way Jojo fell from your lips so loudly. 

“Cum with me,” he ordered.

You nodded into the sheets and reached down to touch your clit. With all the energy you could muster, you brought yourself to the brink with him. Tears formed in your eyes from the insurmountable pressure building up.

His thrusts sped up quickly as he chased his end and your name fell rapidfire from his mouth. With one hard, final thrust, you both came at the same moment. The long forgotten feeling of his cum filling you came back, a small warmth entering you.

Once finished, he took a few breaths before slowly pulling out, careful to not overstimulate your sensitive pussy. With little grace, you rolled onto your back and watched as he walked into the bathroom, before coming back with a wet washcloth.

“Oh… thanks,” you blushed as he wiped up his seed. He nodded wordlessly before throwing it in the hamper. 

You sat up to take a long drink of water before offering the cup to Jotaro. He drank up the rest of it fast, taking a deep breath as he sat it back down. Both of you sit in silence as you watch him. You’re wary of him, assuming he’s going to put on his clothes and run far, far away, but, he manages to surprise you again.

“Do you still take up all the bed when you sleep?” he asks with an aloof expression.

You smile to yourself, happy to know he plans on spending the night.

“I’ll make room for you, Jojo.”

He hums in content as you two scoot around on the bed until you find a comfortable position. He’s laying on his back and holding you into his side. 

“I had fun.”

He groans. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

“Aw Jojo, did I embarrass y–” a large hand covers your mouth to shush you. He looks down at you with a playful smirk.

“Sleep.”

[salllzy]

The consort #1

Charlie knew that her parents were hiding something from her, missing family portraits on the walls and shredded photos. A photo album that had been hidden from her. She wasn't a child anymore and she knew that she couldn't ask them, not when it was clear that it was painful for them. She loved her parents, he truly did but they couldn't keep her sheltered forever. At some point, she needed to spread her wings and find her own way. It was part of the reason why she had started the hotel against their wishes, both of them telling her that sinners wouldn't redeem, that they would never change. That doing so would make her a target for Heaven, to attack. Neither of them wanted that and she understood it, she really did. But she couldn't take the not knowing any more. Then one day there was a knock at the door, a deer demon dressed all in red with a cane and she knew who he was by appearance alone. The Radio Demon. She had heard her parents curse him more than once and she wondered if he was truly as bad as the rumours made him sound, it was possible but at the same time it was Hell. Rumours were spread for fun. So she knew what was said about him, she knew the whispers and rumours that flooded the streets of the Pride Ring. She would be a fool to trust him and she knew that. Yet there was something familiar about him, so achingly familiar. The way he would twirl his cane, his voice, the way he would move. Even the way he read the newspaper was all familiar to her and she didn't know why. How was it that a demon that she had never met before given her such a feeling? It made no sense. Then Charlie learned a secret that no one else knew, Alastor had a daughter. Sarah. The moment she met the doe demon she was hit with the same feeling as when she first met Alastor and she didn't like it. She knew that asking her parents wouldn't give her the answers that she wanted and she knew that asking Alastor would be the same as getting blood from a stone. Impossible. But she needed answers, the feeling of knowing them was driving her insane. Or it felt like it. So she turned to the one she knew that she would get information from. "Do me a favour and stop asking." Charlie jerked back at the harsh tone of Sarah's voice, the doe demon snapped the book close and stood up. Despite the height difference between the pair, Charlie wasn't ashamed to admit that she was scared of Sarah, there was a coldness to the doe demon that didn't go away no matter how many times they interacted. "All you are doing is opening up wounds that have never healed, dad doesn't deserve it. What he needs is for you to stop asking questions, if the King and Queen haven't answered you? Then I wont give you the answers that you are looking for, let the past stay buried. For everyone's sake." Sarah's words were final and Charlie had felt herself deflate. The last option that she had? Hadn't worked out. Then the disastrous meeting with Adam happened and she had no other choice but to get her parents involved. When they arrived at the hotel she had been so excited to introduce them to everyone, what she hadn't counted on was how hostile her parents were towards Alastor and everyone saw it. Then there was a knock at the door and Sarah entered the hotel, her eyes were cold as she looked at the King and Queen, the mocking bow that she gave them told everyone just what she thought of them. "Dad, we have a slight problem and that Problem begins with the letter V and ends with an X." She walked over to the TV where 666 news was playing. "This just in the Radio Demon has a daughter, who is this loser? No one knows, is the Raio Demon ashamed of her or is there something else going on? Who the fuck knows, but we will find out." She turned the TV off with a look of disgust, red eyes moved towards the window where a VoxTek drone was flying around. Alastor snarled and made his way to the door, he yanked it open the hinges protested the vicious movement and the wood groaned in his hands. "Huh, this is rather tame for him"

[shimmerwindow]

I Never Really

Part Eighteen

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Angst, alcohol use, smut

Sexual content: Fingering n' fuckin. (it's a quick one)

Playlist | Masterlist

Tag List: @jazzyfigz @dont-go-home-without-me @poochiesworld @stardustcatcher @83rkblogs @jaketsguitar @dannys-dream @gretavanfan @do-it-jakey-baby @gvfpal @ignite-my-fire @gardensgatekeeper @torniturntomyarrow

“Are you busy tonight?” Josh’s voice was cheery on the other end of the phone you held to your ear. “You should come out with me and Danny!”

You had no desire to leave your dorm whatsoever. You hadn’t felt the need to leave, except for classes, for the past two weeks straight. Most of your free time was consumed with sleeping, to avoid the aches in your heart. “I really shouldn't. I’ve got some homework I should catch up on,” you lied.

“That’s what you said last time,” Josh said, sounding a little whiny. “Just come out. You won’t regret it.”

“I can’t. Have a good night, Josh.”

“Wait! Listen, you’ve been cooped up in there for weeks, haven’t you? That’s so terrible for the mind. Just a few drinks, nothing ridiculous, it’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

He’d called you a week ago asking the same thing, but he hadn’t alluded to knowing anything about the situation. You figured he must know, but he was giving you the space to only ask for support if you wanted it. And you didn’t feel like you deserved anything of the sort. “I feel fine.”

“You sound like you’ve spent the whole day fuckin’ crying. Just come out with us. Just for an hour, that’s all I’ll ask.”

He clearly wasn’t going to take no for an answer, stubborn as he was. You wouldn’t be surprised if you said no, he would come knocking at your door within minutes. “Fine. One hour. Then I’m going home.” You figured that was as long as you could hold it together for, anyway.

“Be there soon.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he hung up.

You pulled on something halfway decent-looking, trying your best in the mirror to cover up the dark circles under your eyes. You still looked a mess, but in the dark lighting of a bar, nobody would be able to tell you’d spent the last two weeks crying your eyes out nightly.

You met the two outside, Danny pulling the car around with Josh riding shotgun. You slid into the back, your mind in a daze, still unable to pull yourself out of the fog you’d been in.

“Hey, how ya doing?” Danny asked, turning around to give you a smile before he drove off.

“I’m alright.”

“You sure don’t look it. No offense,” Josh said, turning to face you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “None taken. Life’s been a bit hard lately.”

“I hear that,” Danny replied. “Sounds like you need a drink. Or five.”

“Not too much, now,” Josh said.

“I’m guessing...you guys know…” just attempting to say the words wracked your body with indescribable pain. The two of them stiffened, shifting uncomfortably in their seats. You wished you’d never brought it up at all.

“I mean, we don’t really want to…” Danny started.

Josh picked up where he left off. “If you want to talk about it, we’re here to listen. And help. If you want it, of course.”

“I don’t want to trouble you with all of that.” You waved a hand and offered a weak smile.

“It’s no trouble at all.” Danny flashed a grin at you through the rear view mirror.

“We can talk about it later,” you replied.

Later came quickly, several drinks in, as you and Josh slurred your words and spoke far too loudly over Danny, the only sober man in the room. One hour turned into many, and your heart finally opened, and you began to pour out all of the words you’d let linger inside of you. Voices drowned out most of your ramblings, as did the droning country-pop blaring from the radio.

“They’re both just fucking assholes,” you said with a flourish of your drink, nearly knocking a bystander in the head with it. “Both of them.”

“I don’t think you mean that.” Danny had been attempting to be the voice of reason, though it was difficult while caught between you and Josh.

“This whole situation is fucked up. I don’t get it, why didn’t you just tell Sam?” Josh asked.

“Because I knew he was fucking around with that other girl!”

“So what?” Josh gave an exaggerated shrug. “Fuck her. You deserve him more.”

“I think she was trying not to be a homewrecker, Josh,” Danny said.

“Exactly.” You set your drink down a bit too hard, sending droplets splattering onto your arm. “I really like him, I– I love him, so I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“You didn’t want to hurt him,” Danny began. “So you slept with his brother. Right.”

“Listen, I just thought…” You stopped in your tracks, the weight of your actions washing over you like waves of mercury once again. He had a point you couldn't refute.

“Those two, they’re always, like…” Josh snapped his fingers a few times, his eyes to the ceiling, searching for words. “They’ve got the same taste in women, I think. Causes problems sometimes.”

“Has anything like this happened before?” You asked.

“Not quite this severe.” Danny rested the toes of his shoes against the bar, leaning his chair back a bit. “You’ve got both of them all shook up like I haven’t seen before.”

“They don’t usually fight like that,” Josh added.

“Jake, he had a–” you gestured to your cheek, motioning in the shape of the bruise you’d seen. “Sam didn’t do that, did he?” You weren’t sure whether you actually wanted to know the answer.

The two exchanged glances, and Josh nodded, slowly.

You groaned, running a hand across your face. “Don’t tell me Jake busted Sam’s pretty face, too.”

Josh squinted at you, holding up two fingers in a pinching motion. “A little.”

“Jesus, I’m gonna kill both of them. Fighting over me like fucking cavemen.”

“It’s par for the sibling course, darling. Don’t worry about it too much,” Josh said. “We’ve all taken and given our fair share of ass-kickings.”

“Still doesn't make it right,” you sighed. “I wonder if Sam ever even liked me the way he said he did. Maybe he was just messing around so he could fuck.”

Josh blinked at you. “What on god’s green earth would make you think that?”

“Well, he just…he was able to move on so fast–”

“First of all,” Josh began, “All he’s talked to me about was you for the past fucking month. Also, he didn’t move on.”

“He didn't?”

“Of course not,” Danny chimed in before Josh could speak. “I don’t even think he’s seen anybody else since you. Not that we’ve heard, at least.”

“But I haven't seen him…not even once. Clearly he doesn’t care that much if–”

Josh cut you off with a loud, exaggerated groan. “Why are you arguing?”

“Josh,” Danny urged. “Be gentle.”

“Gentle? I don't need to be gentle. You–” he grabbed your shoulders, his light touch contrasting the edge to his words. “Need to realize that he loves you.”

“We never said that,” you said, struck suddenly by how Josh and Sam shared the same eyes. So kind, and inviting. “We never said I love you.”

“Then maybe you should. Because he's said it about you. Maybe not to your face, but he's made it plenty clear.”

“You just need to talk to him, honestly,” Danny said, gently lifting Josh’s hands from your shoulders. “Have you tried reaching out?”

“I haven’t,” you said, a bit guilty. “I thought that if he wanted anything to do with me, he’d have texted me first.”

“Then that’s exactly what you need to do. Call him, text him, hell – go knock on his door. Talk to him in person.” Danny watched you as your lip began to quiver, thinking about the anxiety of having to address your wrongs straight in the face. “It’s not gonna be easy. But you can’t just let this…fester. You two were made for each other.”

“Jesus, you really think so?”

“Everyone thinks so,” Josh said with a wide smile.

"Even Jake?" Just the act of letting his name grace your lips brought forth an entirely new wave of anxiety.

The two men paused, glancing at their drinks, though the silence was not awkward. "I think Jake..." Josh started, finding the right words. "I think he just wants you to be happy. He didn't really understand what was going on between you and Sam."

"Clearly," you mumbled.

"Jake is a bit territorial," Danny added, spreading his arms wide. "When Jake thinks a girl is his, he takes it seriously. More seriously than he probably should."

"Especially when he's not trying to date anyone." Josh's words betrayed a deeper annoyance, like this exact situation had played out far more than once. "It's partially on Sam for not mentioning how serious the two of you were sooner. But Jake won't sabotage you now that he knows," he shrugged. "But you still need to talk to Sam."

“Fine, then.” You took another deep swig from your drink. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him everything. Tomorrow.”

“Atta girl!” Josh exclaimed, giving you a pat on the back.

“I need a fucking cigarette,” you mumbled.

Outside, the sound from the crowd drained away, only the loudest of shouts and heaviest of glasses clinking audible behind the glass doors to the patio. You were too drunk at this point to keep a steady conversation going, but it was pleasurable nonetheless. Josh and Danny were an incredibly funny duo, and just a few minutes of casual talking had your sides in stitches from laughing.

You felt, dare you say, better. You did seem to have a terrible knack for avoiding talks you didn’t want to have. But Danny and Josh had assuaged those worries that kept you from saying what needed to be said. It was likely mostly the alcohol speaking, but you were feeling confident in your ability to finally speak to Sam. It needed to be done, no matter what. If nothing else, he deserved closure from you. An admission of the truth, straight from your lips.

The three of you couldn’t last long in the cold, huddling together to shield yourselves from the wind that whipped past the nearby buildings. Josh and Danny cracked first, and with a “fuck this,” they headed back into the bar, with you in tow. The two of them had just barely passed through the hallway back into the main section of the bar when they stopped dead in their tracks, so quickly you ran into Danny’s back, bumping your glass on him and sending an ice cube tumbling over the leather.

“Shit, sorry,” you mumbled, peering around both of them to see what had stopped them so suddenly.

It all seemed to happen so fast. Both of them turned around at the same time, stepping towards you, blabbing nonsense about how you should go back outside. But not before you caught a glimpse of the bar, straight ahead. Many unfamiliar faces, among them two you knew. One of which you knew well.

Sam sat at the bar, a drink in his hand, his arm around a girl, who was resting herself against him. A girl you recognized from your worst nightmares, some of which were waking. He was talking to her, a smile on his lips. In an instant, his eyes caught yours through the gap between Josh and Danny’s shoulders. His smile faded, turned into something you’d never seen. Like his lips would never know the sweet feeling of a smile again. And he turned away.

Josh and Danny had to nearly drag you back to Danny’s car, as your legs threatened to give out with every step with the force of your sobs. People stared, whispered at each other under their breath, but you didn’t care. You wished you’d gone blind. Your stomach churned on the ride home as you prayed to any god to turn back time just a few months.

Everything was a blur. You barely processed anything as Josh rubbed your back through your heaving cries, or kind words were offered from Danny when you screamed that Sam never cared about you at all. You wished you were being dramatic, you wished this was all not as serious as you were taking it. You wished you’d never thought of your future with him, that you’d never given yourself the space to hope and dream. The walls he’d broken down would be replaced swiftly, and sturdier than ever, you thought.

Danny, ever the caregiver, sat with you as Josh stumbled his way to bed. He gave you all the blankets you needed to quell the shaking your body refused to quit, as many tissues as you needed to dry your eyes. He listened as you rambled, drunkenly, about the same topics over and over. Rehashing the events of the past months, trying to make sense of it all, trying to find a solution, though there was none.

You'd taken Danny for some kind of frat-boy-type, player, seducer. But sitting in the living room with him, letting him hold your hand for support while he told you everything would be alright, you realized you’d painted him as far too one-dimensional. He was kind, and only wanted the best for you, even though he didn’t know you all that well.

You insisted you didn’t want to be a bother, and that you’d walk yourself home. He physically held you back as you tried to get up from the couch. “Absolutely the fuck not,” he said.

You’d pushed, saying you needed to be alone, you didn’t want to keep anyone up with your crying. “I should just go,” you insisted. “I can't–”

“Shush.” He placed a hand on top of your head, ruffling your hair a bit. “I didn’t bring down all those blankets and pillows for fun. Use them. Go to sleep.”

Sleep seemed like an impossible, far-away pipe dream right now, even through your exhaustion. Still, you were thankful he'd given you a warm place to rest your head, where you wouldn’t be entirely alone. “Thanks Danny,” you said, almost able to force a smile onto your face. “I’m sure I’m being a lot right now. I–”

“Don’t even think about apologizing. You needed a friend, that’s alright. Now go to bed.”

You did as he said, resting your head on the pillows. “Is…is he coming back tonight?” You glanced at the front door.

Danny followed your gaze to the door, looking at you plaintively. “Probably not. And Jake’s gone for at least the weekend. Don’t worry about that right now, though. You’ve been through enough tonight.”

You nodded in agreement, letting your swollen eyes slip shut as Danny turned off the lights. “Sleep well. We can talk in the morning.”

In the darkness, alone, your mind wanted you to think it all over again. You were exhausted, drained beyond belief, unable to even comprehend the events laid out in front of you. It took great effort, but you were finally able to relax just enough to drift into something resembling sleep.

That is, until you heard keys rattling in the front door. You shot up, staring at the door, your heart pounding immediately. Someone was out there. Someone was about to walk in. You prayed it was Jake, prayed he would simply walk right past you with nothing more than a half-smile and a nod. The door opened quietly, and you watched closely at the way the person swung it quickly past the points where it would creak.

Sam stood in the doorway, motionless, the door still open behind him, cold air pooling over you. He said your name, questioning, just barely loud enough for you to hear. You said nothing – what was there to say? You wished he would just ignore you, walk past you, go up to his room and slam the door. Instead, you watched, captivated, as he took his coat and shoes off, locked the door behind him, and sat down on the other end of the couch, cross-legged, facing you.

“Hey,” he said. A forced casualness tainted the word.

“You shouldn’t be doing this.” You meant that. There was no saving what you’d had.

“I know.” He let out a shaky sigh. “I don’t…know what to say.”

You could just barely see him, his features only dimly lit from a light in the kitchen. You pointed to his temple, where the remnants of a bruise darkened his skin. “Jake did that to you. Didn’t he?”

Sam nodded. “Does it look cool?” There was not an ounce of humor in the words.

“Why did you fight over me?”

“Because I thought I deserved you more.”

“You deserve far better than me.”

He tsked his tongue, shaking his head. “I don’t want anything but you.”

“But you were with that girl tonight.”

“Because you’re not mine anymore. Or, I guess, you never were.”

“Fair enough.”

“We never fucking talk,” he hissed. You were sure he would have shouted, if he could. “This is our problem. What we're doing right now. We never just fucking talk to each other. I’ve said it before, and neither of us change it.”

“I thought we were doing alright.”

“But you didn’t tell me you had been fucking my brother on the side.”

“It was twice. And I wanted to tell you, I was planning on it, I just–”

“Why? After everything I told you, why him?” You could see tears in his eyes, glistening against the glow from the streetlights peeking through the curtains.

You took a long pause. You wished there was a better answer, something more concrete or absolute, but the truth was all you wanted to say. “I don’t know. You weren’t there, and he was. It was fucking stupid of me. It wasn’t to hurt you, though. Not consciously. I saw you with her, and I figured there was no way you could want me more than someone who looks like that.”

“Right,” he scoffed. “Sure.”

“I’m trying to talk to you.” Another batch of tears was lining up behind your eyes, though you couldn’t fathom having any more left to cry. “I just want you to know the truth.”

“How am I supposed to trust you? Now, or ever?”

You could only shake your head. “I don’t know.”

“It’s been so hard,” he said, his hand coming to idly rest on yours, splayed out on the couch between the two of you. The simple touch felt like grabbing a fistful of snow with bare fingers, icy and shocking. “I don’t know…I’m just not me without you.”

“I know.” Tears started to fall again, and you didn’t bother wiping them away. Your eyes were already irritated enough from the hours you’d spent sobbing in this very spot. “I can’t bring myself to do anything.”

“What are we supposed to do now?”

“I think we have to answer that ourselves.”

“I just can’t survive without you.” His fingers walked up the back of your hand, wrapping gently around your forearm. “But we’re killing each other. I can’t…” He pulled his hand away, and hesitated. Stillness filled the air when his fingers ran across your cheek, wiping away a tear there. “I can’t see you like this. I can’t do this to you.”

“I can’t do this to you, either.” You mirrored his gesture, your thumb running trails over the tracks of tears on his face.

“Can I…” he shifted, gesturing to you to come closer. Despite your better judgment, you fell heavy into his arms, resting your cheek against his collarbone. That scent again, it hit you like waves, dredging up every hope and every wish you’d fought so hard to bury over the past two weeks. You wished you could lay this way forever, a familiar position you used to adopt when the two of you would lounge in bed together.

“Can we just pretend everything is normal?” You said, with the lightest hint of a forced laugh.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Please.” The word was choked, nearly a sob. “Just give me this one night with you.”

“We can’t.” His motions contradicted his words as his hands pulled you closer to his chest.

“Just tonight and then we can both forget.” It stung to say it, like a papercut. “We can forget about each other. I’ll forget about your whole family. It can be like we never happened.”

You heard him suck in a hitched breath through his teeth. With hands that trembled, he cupped the sides of your face and drew you in, stopping short of a kiss. You wanted nothing more than to break past his hands, meet your lips with his, feel every inch of him under your mouth. You needed him more than could be expressed in words or actions, it was far deeper, something soul-crushing and gut-wrenching.

He felt it too. And he was not strong enough to resist. He pulled you in, kissing you, with the fervor of a man who has waited his entire life for this moment. He tasted salty, the taste of your mutual tears collected on the corners of your lips; a reminder of that night at the bar with him, the salt of his neck.

You tried to hold yourself back. You knew you shouldn’t let this go any further, but your hands moved on their own to wrap around his neck. “We shouldn't do this,” you mumbled, peppering kisses along his jaw.

“Then stop.”

You couldn’t, and neither could he. It was so unceremonious, but there was something sacred about your movements. The way he ripped the blankets off of you, the way his hands slipped under your shirt, the way you pulled at his hair and fumbled with the button on his pants. Neither of you needed to ask – you were far past that point. It was all unsaid, as many things tended to be between the two of you. He only needed to give you that look he’d given you however many dozen times in the past, the one that you’d reply to with a nod and dewy doe-eyes.

Things were a blur, hands grasping and fingers trailing over flesh, lips colliding with fervor in dead silence and darkness. You could just barely see his face, but you didn’t need to see much. The sound of his breathing, the scent of his skin, it all led you back home.

He shoved your pants down to your knees, dragging you into his lap, his lips never leaving yours. He shifted your bodies, leaning his back against the couch, straddling your knees on either side of his.

“You always smell so good,” he whispered into the side of your neck. “I dream about it.” He slid a hand between the two of you, running a finger through the wetness already drenching your thighs. “I wake up sometimes and I could swear you’re right there next to me.”

You’d done the same, thought you were crazy for being surprised at the other half of your bed being cold and empty every morning. You couldn’t vocalize it, not when he slid a finger into you and you had to bite down on his shoulder to keep yourself silent. But he could feel it from you, the subtle agreement present in how your nails scratched thin lines into his biceps.

“Is that good?” He asked, his breath warming the shell of your ear.

You let out a muffled mhm, your teeth still sunk into his shoulder. If you hadn’t already broken the skin, you would leave a bruise for certain. He didn’t seem to mind, though.

You trailed your hands over the fabric of his shirt, down to where you'd managed to haphazardly undo the fly of his jeans. You hadn’t realized your fingers were cold until they settled on the warmth of his cock, making him suck a breath in through his teeth and jump back a bit. The two of you stifled muted laughs at the exchange, and even if it was only a glimpse, it was heartwarming to feel a brief moment of humor.

Your bodies moved in time quickly, your hand moving in languid strokes along his cock as he worked you open with his fingers. You didn’t want to wait, having waited long enough, having suffered more than enough lately. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes before you were begging him for it.

He slipped himself into you with little grace or fanfare, desperate for it. You let out a strained breath, watching what little of him you could see in the dark. You weren’t prepped quite enough, the stretch of him knocking the wind out of you.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the word coming out shaky. “You feel better than I remember.”

You let out a downright pathetic whimper, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, your legs already trembling.

“Move.” It was a command, not a request.

It was difficult, trying to force your body to move when each drag of your hips threatened to pull a moan from your lips.

Words piled up behind your teeth when he pulled you closer, his lips dragging across the skin of your neck. Your face buried in his hair, you tried to take all of this in. The silk of his hair against your cheek, the smell of sweat and cologne, the way his shoulders rose and fell with each shaking breath. It was so beautiful, so bittersweet, a gorgeous agony you’d never be able to forget.

“Just say it,” he said lowly. “I can tell you want to say it so just fucking say it.”

“I love you.” It spilled from your lips brutally, the sound crashing against the walls of the room like thrown fine china.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Sam.”

“More.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you, you’re everything to me, you’re my stars, my sky, my universe–”

He wrapped his hands tighter around you, tight enough that you could barely breathe. But you didn’t feel the need to breathe, not when you were filled with him, surrounded by him. Your mind started to unravel, giving in to sheer, untethered bliss. Your eyes slipped shut and in the darkness you could see gold.

“I love you too,” he said, softly, casually, like he’d said it a hundred times. Maybe, in his head, he had.

This couldn't be it. This couldn’t be the last time you’d feel him this way. He broke into a steady rhythm, keeping himself buried inside you for the most part, grinding his hips against you.

You mumbled sweet nonsense against his neck, planting kisses between every word, chanting his name like a mantra in the hopes you might stay this way forever. “I never want you to let me go.” Both physically and emotionally, you meant it both ways.

“I can’t,” he breathed. “I can’t imagine me without you. I can’t imagine the sky with no moon and no sun.”

You exhaled a breathy laugh against his skin. “Still so corny.”

“I know how much you love it.”

You had to fight desperately to keep quiet when his hands wrapped around the bottoms of your thighs, lifting and dropping you slightly with each thrust of his hips.

“Stay quiet, baby. You’re doing such a good job.”

He’d never talked to you like this before, never during sex. This was more than just sex, though. What you were doing was something intimate, something deeper, something you both desperately needed. Some kind of closure, or the opening of another door, you couldn’t tell which one quite yet.

A quiet moan slipped past your lips when his hand dropped down beneath you to press against your clit, the perfect amount of pressure, just the way you liked it. His free hand clasped over your mouth, gentle but forceful.

“Quiet, my love.”

My love.

You were getting close to a peak you knew you couldn't keep silent, waves of it washing over your body and sending sparks down your spine, into the tip of every limb. He pulled his hand away at just the right time for you to warn him.

“Sammy, I’m–”

“I know. I can feel it.” You could faintly hear the rumble of his own groans that he caught in his throat, keeping himself quiet with what seemed like great effort.

“Is it better?” He asked.

“What?” You gasped, your focus faltering.

“Do I fuck you better than he does?”

There was no hesitation. “Much better.”

He pulled back a bit, searching for your face in the darkness, finding it and catching your lips in a kiss. There were so many words unsaid that passed through that kiss, every confession, every lie you’d ever told, it was all so glaringly obvious in the way your lips met.

His fingers were digging in tighter against you, his legs starting to shake with effort. He was just as close as you were, fighting, struggling to hold himself back.

“I don’t think I can– oh, god, Sammy, I can’t keep this a quiet one,” you warned him.

“Me neither,” he laughed, breathlessly.

His hand shot up to cover your mouth as you let out a sound that was far too loud. He, too, grit his teeth against whatever noise threatened to make itself known as both of you tipped over the cliffside of your peaks, together. A groan like a sob tore itself out of his chest and he had to cover his own mouth, his head falling back against the couch.

You held onto his shoulders for dear life as he plunged you down into a world of untethered pleasure, his name falling from your lips even though it didn’t make a sound. Stars exploded across your vision, your legs failing you as all you could do was grind helplessly against him. Your hips moved of their own accord, chasing the remnants of bliss.

His fingers gripped your waist after a moment, stilling your movements. “Stop, stop, oh my god,” he whispered, a desperate edge to his voice from the overstimulation.

There was no rush to separate. Neither of you wanted this moment to end. It was clear this was not something you could stop. Your love was an unstoppable force, and you both were incapable of living without it.

“Did you mean it?” His tone was nonchalant, as if he didn’t care what your answer would be one way or the other.

“Of course I did.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

The question caught you off guard, diving in so deep so quickly as you were still dripping into his lap. Gazing into his eyes, and the profound sadness you found there, you spoke a thousand words all at once. Wanted you, got lonely, took the next best thing. You could see it in his face; he understood.

“We need distance,” he sighed. An ironic thing to say, given where he was mere minutes ago. “If we’re not going to date. If we don’t trust each other.”

“But tonight…?” you didn’t finish the sentence, letting it play out in each of your heads.

He didn’t reply, only lifting you off of him, the two of you haphazardly pulling yourselves back together, and he lead you by the hand up to his room.

[vivalas-vega]

real friends / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / part six

cobra is a lot of things... the main one being stubborn as all hell :/ pls lemme know what you think!!! I think I’m going to cap this story at ten parts but honestly don’t hold me to that lol

real friends / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / part six

add yourself to my taglist

one - two - three - four - five 

word count: 3.4k

warnings: language, angst, roo being the voice of reason, probable navy inaccuracies - I did some googling but honestly not much

Being back in a high school filled you with memories of the past you’d wished to leave exactly there, buried in a box six feet under never to see the light of day again but as it turns out, you had to make good on your promise sooner or later. You were standing in a gymnasium that smelled faintly of sweat and the cheap pizza that was wafting from the cafeteria just across the way as a principal droned on to the side of you while you and Hangman stood perhaps a hair closer than you would have liked. You hadn’t spoken since you slipped out the back of the Hard Deck, not for lack of trying however, Hangman had spent the past three days desperately trying to get ahold of you to no avail. You felt guilty, you really did, in all honesty you missed him. You had grown accustomed to having him around, to the silly text messages throughout the day, to spending more time together when out with the group… the group you’d also been avoiding much to your own dismay, but Phoenix had closed that door when a late-night-drop-by turned into making a case for the man… you were nothing if not stubborn, hellbent on seeing things through your way no matter how infuriating to yourself and those around you.

You were only snapped back to the present upon hearing your names as you were introduced, not hearing anything he’d said about the Navy’s two most decorated and accomplished pilots, and certainly not hearing Hangman’s brief chuckle at the statement. You floated to the middle of the basketball court, almost in a daze, as you slipped back into the girl you always were… the girl who put everything aside for the sake of her career.

“Those are our names, yes, but you’re under no obligation to refer to us as Lieutenant,” you said with a small smile, “I’m Cobra and this is Hangman.” you reintroduced. 

“Those are your names?” A girl in the front row asked, almost folded in on herself as she leaned back against a bleacher and you both chuckled.

“Sort of, those are our callsigns… everyone earns one eventually, almost like a nickname.” Hangman answered.

“How do you earn one?” she asked, leaning forward a little.

“You usually get one pretty early on, given to you by your peers based on something silly you’ve done or something that sticks… I became Cobra after a training mission where I flew rather fast and was quick to strike my target. Truth be told, it wasn’t said to me as a compliment but nonetheless it stuck,” you joked. “And Hangman, well uh- if I recall the story correctly he suggested the game during some down time and he’s been Hangman ever since,” you lied and you didn’t miss the smirk out of the corner of your eye. You thought telling the story of a cocky and brazen pilot who consistently left his teammates hanging was the opposite of what you should be telling the impressionable group of kids before you. “But anyways, back to why we’re here today… We are Naval fighter pilots, and I know what you’re thinking: the Navy has pilots? Seems a bit silly for the branch of the military that focuses on the sea to have anything to do with the sky but they go hand in hand more than you would think.”

“We ship out on Naval carriers around the world, the Navy allows us to get as close to our targets as possible without the risk of ground transportation, where we’re able to fly missions you’ll probably never hear about in the pursuit of keeping our country safe and stopping things before they even have the chance to happen,” Hangman added. 

“Because of the high pressure situations we’re put in, we had to go through pretty rigorous training to get here, starting in Rhode Island at Officer Candidate School, and then heading out to Florida for Naval Aviations School Command, however… where all the real fun happens is Top Gun. Top Gun is where the best of the best go to hone their skills and earn certification that puts them at the top of the call list for the most dangerous of missions. It’s where every pilot dreams of going, but very few are given the chance.” you said, trying not to smile at the way each kid was locked onto your every word… you supposed you might have gotten lucky with this bunch, you were usually met with yawns and blank stares. 

“When Cobra and I aren’t deployed that’s where we are, using the skills we’ve acquired from our own time at Top Gun and our own respective missions to teach the Navy’s most promising pilots flight maneuvers and aerial combat techniques to protect themselves and their country… and how to look cool while doing it,” he added with a laugh and you fought back a laugh of your own as you noticed each girl in the room watching his every hand gesture with rapt attention and looks of admiration. You wished you could blame them but you weren’t known for being hypocritical. 

“Have we made this sound super cool?” you asked and were met with eager nods, “for how awesome it is, it’s equal parts challenging and terrifying… if not more. This isn’t a path for everyone, should you find yourself in this position you will be tested to your limits daily and it will change who you are at your core… but for those up to it, it truly is the ride of a lifetime.” you finished as the principal opened up the room to questions and you nodded at the same girl who’d questioned your call signs, who’d started the assembly looking rather small and disinterested but the more you talked the more she leaned forward, opening her body language and watching the two of you as if you were the only thing in the world.

“What made you decide to become fighter pilots?” she asked and you and Hangman looked at each other before he nodded at you to go first.

“I’d always loved the idea of flying… on family vacations I much preferred the flights than the trips themselves, I’d always thought I’d go to traditional flight school and maybe become a commercial pilot but during a college fair in high school I met a Naval aviator who completely changed my trajectory,” you answered with a smile.

“For myself it was a little more roundabout, the idea was always there but I did a year of business school before deciding life in the cockpit was more my speed.” The rest of the questions went pretty standardly, how do you prepare for the really scary missions, what kind of jets do you fly, what does an average day look like, and the two of you answered them with grace and wit that had them eating out of the palms of your hands. When the principal motioned to dismiss everyone after thanking you for your time, you hung back awkwardly as you watched everyone file out of the gym, trying to keep as much distance between yourself and Hangman as you could. 

“Lieutenant- sorry, Cobra,” you heard behind you and you turned to see the girl from the front row. You could practically feel the anxiety rolling off of her and greeted her with a warm smile you’d hoped would ease her. “I just wanted to thank you for coming today, if there’s any truth to what my principal said I’m sure you have much better things to be doing… it’s just- I’ve sat through a lot of these assemblies whether it be the Navy, the Army, Marine Corp… you’re the first woman that’s spoken at one. You’re the opposite of what I associate with this career path and I think that’s really cool,” she said, fiddling with the strap of her bookbag and you couldn’t help but smile at her.

“What’s your name?” you asked, to which she responded Sadie. “Well, I won’t lie to you Sadie… I’m entirely outnumbered in my field,” you said with a laugh, “much like every woman no matter the branch of military. Is this something you’re interested in?”

She nodded, “I think so… I don’t know, I’ve spent the last six months stressed about what to do after graduation because nothing sounds appealing to me but listening to you talk about what you do… you seem so passionate and confident and it suddenly feels pretty clear.”

“You seem brave, which is one of the most important traits as a pilot… especially as a woman. If this is something you’re serious about you’ll have to work harder than your peers, it’ll be frustrating and there will be days you wonder why you’re doing it but eventually you get to where I am and you get a sense of pride that your male counterparts can never attain,” you reached into one of your pockets, “this has all my information on it. I’ll let you in on a little secret - that number doesn’t go anywhere,” you said, handing her your card as she softly laughed, “but I’m always accessible by email. If you ever have questions and want to talk more about it, or if the time comes to start your applications and you don’t know where to start feel free to reach out.” 

She took it graciously, tucking it into her bag and beaming up at you, “thank you, Cobra. I will definitely be using it,” she said before sticking her hand out to shake yours.

“You remind me a lot of myself. Word of advice? Don’t worry about what goes on in these halls, it doesn’t matter in the end. Just focus on your goal and maybe one day you’ll be on the other side of this conversation.” you said and she nodded before thanking you again and returning to her group of friends who were watching skeptically from beside the door.

“I think you just changed a life,” Hangman commented, having watched the entire interaction with a sense of adoration. “You’re really good at this, I know these aren’t our idea of fun but you should do it more often… they need to see a woman such as yourself in this position.”

You nodded, “she’s a good kid, I look forward to when she reaches out.” You went to find the principal to say your goodbyes and you were acutely aware of the way he was hot on your heels on your way to the parking lot but you refused to acknowledge it for fear of having a conversation that would rival the angst and drama already plaguing these hallways. He was quick to close your car door just as fast as you’d opened it and you steeled your gaze on the handle.

“Can we talk?” he asked and you kept your eyes anywhere but his, knowing the second you looked into the pools of emerald your resolve would go slipping through your fingers.

“I can’t do this right now, Hangman,” you replied, moving to open your door again.

“Cobra, please talk to me.” he pleaded and you sighed.

“Jake, please. Let me go,” you said and he nodded in defeat as you were all too quick to get in your car and leave his dejected figure in your rearview mirror. The emotion was quick to bubble it’s way to the surface as you navigated your way home on autopilot, not even sure how you made your way there until you were tearing through the space and to strip your uniform off to discard in a heap on your closet floor. You pulled the pins from your tight bun, running a hand through your hair, almost desperate to reestablish blood flow as if it would make you think more clearly. Before you could let your thoughts send you in a downward spiral you heard your doorbell ring and you sighed, already knowing who it was as you made your way to the foyer. 

You looked through the peephole, surprised as you threw the door open to reveal Rooster standing there with his hands in his pockets looking rather sheepish.

“Rooster? What are you doing here?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as his eyes trailed your form.

“Do you make a habit of opening your door like this? I’m sure the mailmen must love you,” he said, pushing his way into your home. You looked down to see that you hadn’t made any effort to clothe yourself after stripping of your uniform, leaving you in just a thin tank top and your underwear and you cursed under your breath as you disappeared down the hallway, reemerging in sweatpants and a cardigan pulled tightly around you. 

“Sorry, have a lot on my mind,” you muttered, standing awkwardly as he made himself comfortable and rooted around your fridge before producing two beers.

“That’s actually why I’m here,” he handed one to you as he made his way to settle into your couch and motioned for you to follow which you reluctantly did. “Would you like to tell me what’s going on?” he asked though you could tell by his tone it wasn’t really a question.

“Just taking some personal time, like we were encouraged to with this leave,” you replied before taking a sip and he snorted.

“Okay, and the actual answer?”

You sighed, “Rooster, what do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me why you’re avoiding everyone, and more specifically Hangman. I got a rather worrisome text from him not too long ago and I still don’t know why you left the bar earlier this week,” he was exasperated. It wasn’t necessarily unlike you to withhold details of what was going on with you but he was genuinely worried and Hangman’s constant questioning of whether or not he’d heard from you was doing nothing to ease the concern.

“I’m not avoiding him,” you mumbled.

“So… not answering his texts or calls and speeding out of a high school parking lot is what exactly?” 

“I wasn’t speeding, it was a very tasteful, very understated skedaddle and I don’t need to explain myself.”

“You do when it’s affecting the rest of us, and you definitely do when the two of you look like shit,” his patience was wearing thin but he was doing his best to keep his voice soft, “did he do something to you at the bar? Did he-” he cut himself off, taking a deep breath, “did he touch you or hurt you? Because if this is an entirely different conversation we’re having, you can talk to me.” 

You shook your head, “he didn’t do anything I didn’t give him the green light for.”

“So, something happened?”

“Fucking Christ, Roo. Yes, he followed me out onto the patio and he kissed me. Twice.”

“Okay, and why are you upset about this?” he prodded.

“He just… I-” you began stumbling over your words and took a deep breath to center yourself. “We were arguing and he just kissed me. Like, truly in-your-face yelling at each other and he decided that was the absolute best moment to lay one on me.”

“That’s kind of romantic,” he said, throwing his hands up in surrender when you glared at him, “what, it is. That’s like… your thing, it makes sense that’s what your first kiss was.”

“We shouldn’t have had a first kiss in the first place,” you protested.

“Are you seriously going to sit there and tell me what he did was so surprising?” he asked and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I just mean that you and Hangman make sense. I didn’t see it at first, mainly because despite your need to be a difficult asshole, you’re good. Like, truly good and I didn’t want Hangman getting anything good that could further blow his ego out of proportion but now that I do see it I can’t see this dance the two of you are doing as anything other than biding time.” 

“We don’t make sense, Roo. He is a serial womanizer and I am focused on advancing my rank. We can’t even have a few weeks of genuine friendship without reverting back to being at each other’s throats.”

“I think that’s called passion, Cobra. You’ve always had it, you’ve both just been so stubborn you’ve directed it elsewhere.” 

You sighed, “did Hangman put you up to this? Did Phoenix put you up to this?” you asked, recalling when she’d shown up the night after the incident saying very similar things.

“No, he did not… I merely told him I would do a welfare check, and well… Phoenix and I did talk but I brought this up of my own accord because I care about you and unfortunately I care about him too and I think you’re being too stubborn for your own good.” 

“I’m not being stubborn, Rooster, I’m sticking to my boundaries.”

“Boundaries you have in place, why? I’m all for boundaries, Cobra, but that’s not what you’re doing and you know it. You’re pushing him away.”

“Because this isn’t a good idea, because I can’t do this with him. It’s all about the chase for him, the second he gets me he’s going to get bored and move on after a few weeks and I can’t go there.”

“So, you’re scared,” he observed and you shook your head.

“I’m not scared, I’m being practical. Things are already awkward enough and barely anything happened, can you imagine what will happen if it goes any further?”

It was his turn to shake his head, “no, you’re scared. And that’s okay, but what are you scared of?” His incessant prodding was sending you off the deep end, your will to keep your mouth shut wavering with each passing second.

“I’m scared that the second it gets real he’s going to leave, because what you and Phoenix are suggesting… it’s not Hangman, we all know that. I’m going to let him in and we’re going to give it a shot and he’s going to leave, and then what? Then the group gets weird, work gets weird, and none of it will have been worth it.” you finally said, letting it out with an exhale.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been given the opportunity to see that side of Hangman. Most of the girls we meet in bars aren’t necessarily looking for a boyfriend, Cobra, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but dating with our life and schedule is kind of a pain. I think you’re being a little too hard on him,” he said softly. “I don’t know if you’ve got your walls built up so high you can’t see it but he’s different with you and we all see it. Sure, you fight like cats and dogs but for the most part he’s- I don’t know he’s softer when he’s around you. I’m pretty sure he can’t go two minutes without glancing in your direction to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I just don’t want to go there, Roo. It’s not worth it,” you sighed and he nodded.

“I think you’re wrong, but it is your life. I just think you should talk to him… put him out of his misery, put all of us out of our misery because I cannot take another day of him badgering me about you. He really cares about you, Cobra, I think you’re closing yourself off to the possibility of a lot of happiness.” With that he stood, placing a kiss to your cheek before taking his leave and leaving you alone to process everything he’d just said. You’d wanted to be mad at him, you really did, but it was so quintessentially Rooster to swoop in and try and fix the tension you didn’t have it in you to be mad. He might have had a point, several points actually, but you weren’t feeling quite that malleable yet, weren’t ready to admit that you may be wrong and that you’re maybe being too hard on him. If you were hard on him, if you kept your walls just as you’d built them you wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout. As your phone rang beside you, you picked it up to see a photo of Hangman, a perfect snapshot of his essence poised behind you at the pool table with a shit-eating grin, and you choked back tears as you silenced it and tossed it aside. Rooster might have chipped away at you but you just weren’t ready, not yet and certainly not tonight.

previous part / next part

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[perilousxrealm]

@catastrophicxfailure cont'd from here.

The last day of November brings the first snowfall of the year in New Asgard. It is one of the first harbingers of winter; the village is getting ready for the hibernation that would last for the next four to five months. First snow also means the end of the tourist season— less people taking tours, less press, and less obligations for the King; whose only task now is to get enough food for the village and ensure that all houses are ready to weather the big snowstorms that start halfway through December and last until April, if they are lucky.

She is in the Town hall, a usual spot for a mid-morning meeting with the Asgardian Elders, and the King is already wishing for the warm fire of the pub down the road, with a pint of mead and a private booth all to herself. It's her favorite part of the week, Fridays, for no one bothers her when they are out with their families or friends, either playing outside or having cozy dinners by the fireplace in their humble homes.

As one of the Elders drones about the importance of fixing the North road with the first sign of spring of the following year, the King picks up a piece of paper that falls from one of her many folders stacked in front of her. Her stomach drops when she sees the familiar handwriting on the torn parchment, something she thought she lost weeks ago.

May our next meeting be joyful.

Her own words thrown back at her, that cold morning when she woke up to the empty bed next to her, with Carol's scent still fresh on the pillowcase; and the King's cheeks flush with anger she has thought was already dealt with (thanks to many, many bottles of ale) as she crumples it in her hand. It passes unnoticed by the other Elders who have now moved onto discussing the roofing problem of a restaurant by the docks, and Valkyrie is thankful that no one seems to need her in that decision making, for once.

She is unable to focus through the rest of the session, giving absent-minded answers while her thoughts remain on the blonde that went completely awol since the time she saw her last. It does not help that many of the supers depend on Captain Marvel, yet call the King to ask about her whereabout approximately four out of seven days of the week.

Carol, Carol, Carol.

Despite King's stubborn refusal to think or talk about her past the curt 'No, I have not seen her' and 'No, I've got no idea where she is right now' proves futile every time alcohol touches her lips or another pretty woman propositions her with a fun night. She turns them down every time, picks up a bottle of whiskey, and walks home completely alone, where she ends up passing out on the couch until she is needed again the next morning.

"Your Majesty," a voice snaps her out of her reverie as she tightens the grip on the cursed piece of paper, and she looks up to see one of the shieldmaidens standing there, smiling at her. "A letter has just arrived for you, without a return address. Do you want me to open it?"

With a shake of head and a 'no, it's alright, thank you', Valkyrie excuses herself from the already-finished-meeting-turned-lunch and gets out in the crisp air to open it.

Inside, nothing but a postcard of the US state of Louisiana and coordinates, written on a typewriter. Anonymous.

Curiosity stronger than her own sense of impending doom, or danger even, the King walks back into the town hall, wishing everyone a good rest of the day and leaving a message for her secretary that she is going away for the weekend; with a copy of the coordinates just in case she goes missing. At this point, the promise of a mysterious adventure suddenly seems exciting and... what would be the worst possible thing that could happen?

----

One short Bifrost trip later, the King lands in her Midgardian suit and Dragonfang strapped to her back with several other necessities in the middle of nowhere, Louisiana. The late afternoon sun offers contrast to the gloomy New Asgardian day and she stands there for a moment, looking around and seeing nothing for miles, save for a singular house down the road.

"Hello?" she calls, passing through lines of trees — an orchard, perhaps? — and finds herself in front of a parked light aircraft that looks like it hasn't been flown in a while. Curiosity peaked some more, she calls with another hello?, this time a bit louder as she steps towards the house - completely regular looking on the outside - and hears a loud crash on the other side of it. She firmly grips the leather strap that holds her trusty sword and jogs to the source of the sound, only to see a mess of blonde hair on the ground, tangled in what seems to be outdoor lights.

"Carol?!" Flies out of her mouth, before her heart and brain can catch up to the implications of the entire situation. A moment later she is by her side, crouching. "Are you alright?"

[thunderclaw100]

[Kii belongs to @messinwitheddie ]

(I had this in my head for a while now and had to draw it out or I’d go mad if I didn’t!����)

Tallest Miyuki was in the middle of talking with her wardrobe staff. They were showing her a few selections of silkwear and pictures of her next body armor. Miyuki is feeling picky today and had been flipping through one clothing to the next. Her mood has been sour lately and it’s because more than one thing that’s been on her mind. First: not being allowed to be with the Irken she loves. Second: loosing her sworm. Third: Only getting to eat a certain amount of food. Her waist is not getting any smaller and people have been talking about it.

“Uugh! What now?!”

Miyuki felt her pak buzzing and it can only mean one thing. A control brain his hailing her, and she knows which one. She got up from her lounge couch, dismissed her drones and then leave her chambers to reach to room where the green control brain is awaiting her arrival. Miyuki, already knows this is going to be a an discussion about another one of her foolish antics, if she can remember whatever is was.

“Greetings, material brain. You wanted to speak with me….again?” She said without a hint of annoyance. The green control brain made a robotic noise. The screen in the front static before a hologram figure appears in Irken form. Kii stands before Miyuki, with her materialize orange wardrobe and a cape to add a bit of flow to it. She looked as radiant as the day she was in her younger years.

“Tallest Miyuki, what we’re you thinking? Leading that soldier on like that, with your lovey-dovey nonsense?” Kii said. Hovering towards Miyuki. Staring her down with those green, judgmental eyes of hers.

“I don’t understand….what did I do wrong?”

“I’m talking about that little talk you had with that cadet, Red! You dult!” Kii spat.

How the heck did she find out about that? Miyuki was in her private chambers, where no telepathic link to the control brains can reach her. Surely Red did not say anything about this after their talk, right? Miyuki looked up at the material brain. The disappointment she was giving her. Or was that disgust?

“Cadet Red needed a little comfort and a nudge in the right direction he wants to be. He shared his pain with me and I did the same with him.” Miyuki told her. Feeling a little anxious with the way Kii is circling around her like a defenseless prey.

“You’re encouraging him to embrace attachments to another drone. Have you learned nothing from our discussion of Spork?”

That was a low blow to Miyuki’s chest. Why bring up something that will bring nothing but heartache? The green control brain stopped moving around and stood in front of Miyuki.

“Spork’s situation is different from cadet Reds. I don’t get why you’re so against drones falling in love? Surely you felt love once, my maternal grace.” Miyuki said. Kii turned away from her.

“Love….I had no need for such a weak emotion. I had many sires, but no male was good enough to satisfy me. I hated them all and wished for their demise. They did not give me what I want but I’ve seen what they’ve done to our females, Miyuki. Kii shutters.

“pfft but aren’t you now connected to two males?” Miyuki smirked, hand on her hip. Why would Kii say she hates males if she allowed herself to be linked with two other former bodied tallest? Did they have anything to do with why she’s so angry at the world?

“Sox and Hitz? We have history together. One I wish not to speak of. They are part of the problem but I have always have a dislike of males in general. This empire relies on pure strength and intelligent alone. There is no room for romance and petty little feelings. I did what I can to make sure OUR gender stays relevant to this day! You have no idea what these men have done to us in my time. I don’t expect you to understand. You’re too young. Kii told her. Clenching her fingers in reminder of an incident in her past. Miyuki’s eye twitch.

“Forgive me for being so blunt but you’ve completely lost your mind. I have lead this empire forward to a bright future. You’ve seen the massive, right? With it we can make our travels for conquest more efficient than ever. It shouldn’t matter what our drones do with each other as long as they contribute to our goal.”

Miyuki went on and on. Countering the mother brain’s criticism of her. But the further she speaks, the more angrier the green control brain was getting. Kii hovered over to her.

*SLAP!!*

Miyuki eyes widen in shock as she touched her left cheek. Kii is in hologram form but that sting from that slap felt all too real. Kii was fuming with anger. “NEVER HAVE I MET SUCH INSOLENCE FROM ONE OF MY OWN FEMALES! You do NOT get to speak to me as if I am a mere smeet, Miyuki.” Kii snapped.

“I’m sorry…..I didn’t realize I was venting out on you, my grace. I just didn’t think it should be a problem for me or any other female to love….”

Kii growled. She felt the urge to slap this woman again but regain herself. “I told you before, during our last conversation that I will not have you ruin the work I put into making our females worth more than what they are. You remind me of another female tallest I’ve once had measured. But even she did not talk to me with such disrespect! How dare you?!”

“But I was just trying to-“

Kii clamped her hand over Miyuki’s mouth. “Do not interrupt me! You were supposed to be the example for all Irken females. A symbol that shows WE can carry ourselves with pride and dignity. That we let NO fucking male determine what we should be and how we should live.”

Kii removed her hand and hovered back a little. Miyuki looked at her with wide eyes. “Stars….who hurt you?” She said.

“Men hurt me. Just like they will do to you if you don’t sharpen up on them. Don’t think I don’t know what you did behind my back. I may not reach you in your chambers, but I do have drones who will watch and listen to everything you do, Miyuki. You cannot hide behind my blind spot. Can’t you see I’m trying to save us? A man’s world has brought nothing but tyranny and injustice.” Kii said. She turned around to get ready to return to her own duties. Miyuki had one more thing to say.

“Material brain? All I ever wanted is to make you proud of me. Not just as a female but a leader who wants to make a difference in our world. From our own history, we’ve been through so much already. I only wished you’ve seen the better side of our accomplishments and not dwell in the bad parts that lead the Irken empire to where it is today. Hardship-“

“Do not speak to me about hardships, Miyuki. I’ve seen them. I LIVED through the ones that brought me up and broke me down! You know NOTHING about real hardship until you put yourself on the line of it. Kii’s hologram figure phases out for a few seconds. Her system still needs to be checked upon, so she needs to go.

“From now on, I don’t want you getting close to that Spork soldier. Only when he is needed for important work or used as your escort. I do not want to see any of our females taking after you and your sneaky performance with a male. Disgusting! You may go now, Miyuki. Hail the maintenance for me. I need a system repair.”

“As you wish, maternal brain….” Miyuki bowed her head respectfully. Then turned away to leave the chamber the same time Kii’s hologram figure disappears. This talk has left the tallest feeling conflicted and a bit hurt. Miyuki touched her left cheek, where the green control brain has slapped her. It still feels tender, and it made her rethink her actions, and hold her tongue the next time she is summoned by the control brains. Miyuki said nothing to her drones when they saw her. Then she returned to her chambers to reflect.

[whatsissue]

Ukrainian Drones Hit Russian Weapons Factory, Kyiv Source Says

Ukrainian Drones Hit Russian Weapons Factory, Kyiv Source Says Ukrainian drones launched an overnight attack on a munitions factory located in central Russia, according to a source from Ukraine’s SBU Security Service. The strike targeted the Aleksinsky chemical plant in the Tula region, approximately 200 km (120 miles) south of Moscow. This facility is known for producing gunpowder, ammunition, and various weapons. Strategic Targeting The attack is part of a broader Ukrainian strategy aimed at disrupting factories that play a critical role in supporting Russia’s war efforts against Ukraine. As the conflict approaches its 1,000th day, Ukraine finds itself in a challenging position on the battlefield, facing a larger and better-equipped adversary. Current Battlefield Situation Recent reports indicate that Russian troops are making steady advances in the eastern Donetsk region, effectively breaching Ukrainian defense lines and causing significant destruction to towns and villages through the use of guided air bombs and artillery. The Ukrainian General Staff reported a complicated frontline situation, documenting over 170 combat clashes in the past 24 hours, with most occurring in the east. Impact of Strikes on Russian Facilities Ukrainian officials believe that targeting military facilities, warehouses, and airfields within Russia will disrupt the logistics and supply chains of Russian troops, potentially turning the tide of the war in Ukraine's favor. Since September, Ukraine has successfully struck several ammunition warehouses in Russia using domestically produced long-range drones, according to security officials. Calls for Support Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskiy has consistently urged Kyiv’s Western allies to provide additional long-range missiles and to relax restrictions on their use for targeting deep inside Russia. This appeal underscores Ukraine's need for enhanced military support to bolster its defense efforts in the ongoing conflict. Thank you for taking the time to read this article! Your thoughts and feedback are incredibly valuable to me. What do you think about the topics discussed? Please share your insights in the comments section below, as your input helps me create even better content. I’m also eager to hear your stories! If you have a special experience, a unique story, or interesting anecdotes from your life or surroundings, please send them to me at whatsissue@gmail.com. Your stories could inspire others and add depth to our discussions. If you enjoyed this post and want to stay updated with more informative and engaging articles, don’t forget to hit the subscribe button! I’m committed to bringing you the latest insights and trends, so stay tuned for upcoming posts. Wishing you a wonderful day ahead, and I look forward to connecting with you in the comments and reading your stories! Read the full article