#also his powers comes from any blood that includes his own

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — FIVE.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 8.3k.

NOTE. landlord identity theft case was adopted from this reddit post that i heard on a podcast HAHHAHAH. anyway, there’s a bit less action in this one and a bit more set-up, but things do get heating in the latter part of this chapter so i hope that satiates you, my fellow freaks. as usual, please please do drop in your thoughts and comments! enjoy! NEXT CHAPTER TO BE PUBLISHED.

EVER SINCE YOU GOT BACK TO WORK ON THURSDAY, THE MURMURS WOULDN’T STOP. You’re not sure how it started or who started it, but you’re pretty sure some kind of information had been circulating while you were on your short leave because when a Yoosun employee came to your office early in the morning to pick up some documents— first thing on your agenda since coming back— his eyes immediately darted to your fucked up, bandaged up hands, and his face paled. He then proceeded to cover the upper half of his face as he warily walked up to the documents on your desk like he’s trying to evade a wild animal.

“I—I’ll be delivering these now, attorney, th—thank you! I wasn’t looking at you at all!”

Then he darted off like a rabbit being hunted down.

What the fuck?

That wasn’t the only instance. Every time you crossed paths with a Nalkeutta member that isn’t Mark or any of the executives, they’d immediately scurry away and avoid your gaze— even when you’re just trying to politely greet them. It started to annoy you, so you cornered Renjun to ask him if there’s something you should know about. 

He explained that since you requested Mark to keep your whole stalker situation under wraps because it was personal, people had to fill in the gaps to supply the reason for your few days of absence. However the words “multiple injuries,” and “police station,” and “hospital bills,” managed to slip past the sworn secrecy, and the story somehow got twisted to you getting into a bar fight the night of your welcome party, and your poor victim got beaten half to death.

Apparently your messed up hands and unscathed face served as a confirmation to your alleged brutality. The cause couldn’t be attributed to your stalker, so everyone had to use their imagination. Now, there’s an ongoing rumor that you jumped a bar patron just because he was giving you eyes and it pissed you off.

“Is that how everyone perceives me?” you gawk in wonder and mild offense at their characterization of you.

“You walk around the halls looking like you’re one the way to kill someone, don’t act surprised when people start assuming that you already have.”

“Oh, come on! I did not kill him! He just barely got out of a concussion!”

Your mistake is deciding to corner Renjun in the breakroom— where everyone is free to enter and hear your gradually escalating conversation. You notice his Hyeongshin subordinates hesitating to walk in, looking like a group of deer in headlights and immediately avoiding your gaze the moment you direct your gaze, and they scatter off into the wilderness with murmured sorry’s and excuse me’s.

You realize that you just admitted to the crime they were alleging. Doesn’t matter if the facts got mixed up because at the end of the day, you did assault someone, you did do something out of your own character, and you do recognize the mirrored image that your actions reflected. 

Before this, everyone was just mildly intimidated by you, your freshly ironed blazers, and your three-inch heels. Now, they’re all avoiding you and your gaze as if you’re some sort of batshit loose cannon like Na Jaemin.

That’s where most of the offense comes from.

“I just got really pissed off! I didn’t know what came over me!”

To bring yourself back down to normalcy, you decide to take advantage of the contact that had been recently added to your phone that you’ve yet to contact since— which is why you’re currently sitting in an Instagram staple bakery at the university district of Yeongdeungpo, Natty trying her best to nod along with your rapid fire complaints, and the fact that she’s having trouble trying to keep up and catch the questionable shit in your rhetoric might be a silver-lining. 

“Don’t feel too bad, the creep deserved it,” she tries to assure, but it doesn’t pull through.

“I don’t feel bad nor do I feel guilty, but I do feel like a fucking barbarian and the way my co-workers look at me certainly isn’t helping my case.” She watches as you sink down with a groan and wallow in your yerba mate, totally clueless on what to say to make you feel better, but your despair is unsalvageable. “Someone even had to see me go apeshit. So fucking humiliating.”

“Were they a co-worker?” she asks. “Did that person yap to the rest of your office?”

“No, he’s the devil, but I’m pretty sure he kept his mouth shut at the very least,” you wail, face in your hands. If he did, then the narrative that you’re volatile and crazy wouldn’t be running around. 

She cocks her head. “Isn’t that a good thing…?”

You pull up your face, revealing a grimace. “There’s nothing good about that freak. Natty, he was treating me like shit for weeks then suddenly switched gears when I swore at his face because I had enough of his shit. Who the fuck does that? He watched me beat the shit out of a grown man and thought it was hot. I didn’t even ask about it. He just aired out his kinks unwarranted, like, what the hell?”

She does not need to know that you’re talking about Na Jaemin. And she surely does not need to know about the fact that you’re under the same illegal company as him— your shared high school tormentor. 

“If you like someone, don’t you wanna make things easier for them? But this guy seems to enjoy turning my work life into a living hell. Do you know how much overtime I had to take just because of him? God, It’s like he gets off of seeing me suffering and in pain. It just gets more confusing after he helped me with the whole stalker death threat situation.” And considering your history with him. You groan and massage the wrinkles on your forehead. “I have no idea how to deal with him. If I ignore him, he acts up. If I get mad, he eats it up like a psycho and does more shit to piss me off even more. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

You realize you’ve been rambling and flinch up to observe your companion’s reception. Surprisingly, she seems to be thinking deeply about it, a hum rolling off her tongue as she ponders over your situation, and you’re a little nervous that she’s gonna grill you about the identity of this guy, or something.

“Well, first of all—”

There’s a wash of relief when he doesn’t ask about his name. 

“—is he hot?”

And that relief is immediately punted out the window to make room for your sheer and visceral discomfort at that single insinuation, of which you try your best to hide from your face. The ghost of Na Jaemin replaces the image of Natty sitting before you— an apparition of the breakfast you shared with him against your will thanks to a brief moment of value-drigen weakness. That blunt, as-a-matter-of-factness in the manner he admitted to his attraction. Completely unabashed like a self-assured asshole. That fucking smirk pisses you off to the depths of hell.

“He’s not ugly,” you grit, waving the parasitic image of him away. Natty’s eyes immediately sparkle. Like she’d only been trying to be interested before but now she’s actually, genuinely interested. 

“Good enough,” she chirps. “If that’s the case, then just seduce him!”

What?

“Take advantage of his feelings! Don’t let him take control!” Her pure, unbridled enthusiasm is catching you off guard. “Does he piss you off just to get your attention?”

“Uhh, apparently…?”

“Great, then you gotta exploit that.” Suddenly, she’s tugging you out of your quaint cafe chair and dragging you out of the bakery like a woman on a newfound mission. “First thing’s first— shopping. C’mon, I know just the place.”

“I’m sorry, but what the hell led you to that conclusion?”

Natty stops to look at you like a disappointed mentor. “Honey, flirting is essentially psychological warfare. You gotta arm yourself in order to disarm the other person— which means we gotta update your wardrobe from flat and plain business casual to skirting the line of an office porno if you want him on his knees and doing everything you say. Don’t let him have the upper hand, girl. It’s time to retaliate.”

You really hate that she’s kind of making sense, but you’re not very keen on abandoning your workplace appropriate clothing in a building full of men— even when 80% of them have now been instilled with the fear that you may be a maneater— so you manage to stop Natty halfway from dragging you all the way to the boutique by pulling her attention to a trinket kiosk stationed near Byuksan High School. 

“I need a new phone strap. Help me pick one out.”

You’re a professional in your mid-twenties. It’s not very gratifying to voluntarily join a bunch of teenage prep students whose schoolbags are heavily weighted by a despicable amount of keyrings, but you will if you must.

“I never pegged you as an accessory girlie,” Natty muses, jangling a string of pink charms and beads in the air to show off to you.

You snatch it from her, and toss it back onto the display baskets. “That’s because I have an image to maintain and that image has no room for bubblegum pink. Hand me that black chain one.”

“How does this translate to your image?”

“As a miserable reminder of how I’m chained to my job.”

Natty laughs and continues digging around the kiosk’s assortment of displays. You notice the very indiscreet stares of judgement from the highschool girls you and Natty are congregating with as you pay for your new phone strap, as well as a funny looking dog keychain that you think Haechan might appreciate. When the standowner hands you the paperbag of your purchases, however, you notice her looking past you with a disappointed expression on her face, clicking her tongue and shaking her head the moment you finish the transaction.

“Tsk. These hooligans just keep acting out in broad daylight. Someone oughta call the cops on these delinquents.”

Huh. You turn your head to where she’s looking at, and there you notice— from the sliver of an alleyway— a group of seven to eight Byuksan students cackling and surrounding someone or something. Then you direct your gaze to the school gates with the very evident Byuksan High logo decorating the iron bars to confirm. Byuksan has never been part of Nalkeutta’s union. You shouldn’t be in an area with active gang activity. They’re probably just a group of juvenile bullies picking on a classmate.

If that were indeed the case, you would have left right now.

But then you notice that the two people the Byuksan students are ganging up on are wearing the glaring set of red blazers that you’re far too familiar with—

“Whoa aren’t those two kids from Ganghak? What are they doing here?”

—and then your stomach drops. Because those two kids are from Ganghak. Not just students from Ganghak— you’ve seen them at the fucking office building before. Park Jisung and Oh Sion, clearly troubled by the situation because no matter how skilled of a fighter you are, eight people is way too much to handle. 

The former is carrying a large duffel bag with him. Oh, for fuck’s sake, are they out on a job? You feel a headache coming. You bring a hand to your head and grit your teeth. This is trouble. This is gonna be so much trouble if they don’t manage to get out of this.

“Hey, are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” you breathe out as an internal debate is going on in your mind. Eight boys. A very enclosed space. What the fuck can you even do in this situation? God damn it all. “Natty, hold onto this for a sec.”

“Wait, where are you— hey!”

She yanks you back the moment she realizes you’re headed straight to the alley. You look back at her face riddled with alarm. “What are you doing?! Don’t tell me you’re actually planning on intervening. High schoolers are terrifying these days! They don’t give a shit if you’re a girl or an adult. Those punks might actually hurt you, you know.”

“Don’t worry, I have a plan.” No you fucking don’t. At least not yet. You’ll figure it out on the way there. “Just— ugh. Can you take a video from here? Make sure to get a clear shot of the Byuksan kids’ faces. And whatever happens, don’t even think about calling the police. Don’t.”

Natty looks baffled yet at the same time in awe. And then lets go of you with a relenting sigh. “Why are you even doing this?”

You blink. “...Alumni spirit?”

Now, you didn’t expect that to elicit any kind of effect, but Natty for some reason appears touched by the bullshit you just pulled out of your ass, and you suddenly feel guilty. “Is that…is that why you helped me out too?” she says with glassy eyes. “Gosh, you’re such a good person, you’re so cool. Go do your thing, attorney. I’ll back you up from here.”

Did she forget that you literally had no idea who she was until she spelled it out for you? However, there is no time to clear up the misunderstanding that you are, in fact, not the good person that she thinks you are because those two Ganghak kids might lose a bunch of inventory at any moment and subsequently lose their lives to either Mark or Na Jaemin— which just translates to more work for you in case it really does happen.

So before you can even iron out a plan, your feet are already racing towards the crevice, open phone in hand, and you dive in head first to whatever mess this is gonna be.

“Whoa. What kind of extracurricular activity is this?”

Catch their attention. Catch them off guard because what could be more bewildering than an adult woman in pumps suddenly sauntering into a clear bullying ring— swiveling her phone camera to catch their nametags and faces. 

“Let’s see, who do we have here? Lee Hyunsung, Jeon Sangwoo, Cheong Jitae, and—”

“Hey, lady, what do you think you’re doing?”

One of them smacks your hand away the moment your phone nears his face. The kid looks a little annoyed and confused. Mostly confused. You sigh and pocket your phone. “I should be asking you the same thing.” Your eyes flit over to Jisung and Sion. They are also very confused, but mostly nervous— probably because you showed up. They looked like they were ready to throw hands prior to your interrupt, but that wouldn’t have ended in any way good at all.

This is not in your fucking job description. Whatever. 

“You eight are clearly ganging up on these two boys over here. Don’t you know that bullying is a punishable offense? You boys should hurry along if you don’t want to ruin your college applications.”

The one in front of you— who you assume is their leader— just scoffs at your threat, eliciting the same amount of ridicule from the rest of his posse. “Seriously? Lady, these Ganghak bitches are walking around in our territory in broad daylight like they own the place or some shit. We’re just trying to teach them a proper lesson on respect and decorum.”

Your mouth twitches, a slight waver in the expression you’ve been maintaining. “Wow. Territory. Are you kids in some kind of gang or something? That’s an even graver crime. If I were you, I’d just let Ganghak off and protect the future I have in store.”

“Hah.” He juts his face forward, further into yours. You don’t flinch. “Or else what? You gonna report us, old lady?”

The other seven cackle. Your jaw clenches. Alright, that’s it. These kids are gonna fucking get it.

“Go ahead. But you gotta know that my dad’s a police officer— and he patrols this area. You can report us if you want but it ain’t gonna do shit, lady. This is our turf you’re on.”

You look at his nametag. Shin Hyunwoo. A smile curls on your lips. “Really?” Suddenly, all the confidence he’s wearing flinches the moment he’s forced to meet your gaze. You still have your phone out. You let him watch as you dial 119 for all of them to hear. “Wanna test your luck, kid?”

R—iiiiiiing. Ri—

“Yeongdeungpo Police Station. What’s your emergency?”

This is a gamble. A very risky gamble, but you’re pretty confident in your cards after being acquainted with the deck.

“Hey, can you get Officer Jung on the line? It’s important.”

The person from the other end of the line chokes upon recognizing your voice that the entire station is probably sick of at this point. “A—attorney!” And at that moment, your victory is sealed as horror and realization dawns upon the faces of most of the kids— all except their ringleader before you. “Y—yes, of course, one moment, please—”

A moment’s pause. 

“Attorney, is there a problem? What do you need?”

Maybe you should have actually taken Officer Jung’s number last time. He’s proving to be very useful.

“Officer Jung,” you make sure to greet with an abundance of familiarity. You make sure to look at this Shin Hyunwoo kid as you do. “I just wanted to ask a question. Is there an Officer Shin in your station?”

All that confident, pubescent bravado slowly melts away. “Well, yes, we have three. Shin Haesu, Shin Junsik, and Shin Byungkwan.” The moment Shin Hyunwoo winces at the exact moment Jaehyun pronounces the last name, you know you have your guy. “Why do you ask?”

“Ah, well,” you exhale with a smile. “Between you and Officer Shin Byungkwan— who’s higher in rank.”

You’re met with one second of silence before Officer Jung finally responds with, “That would be me.” Thank god he’s going along without any question. Is this what Natty was talking about? “Officer Shin is just a patrol officer.”

Fucking jackpot.

“Thank you, that’s all I needed to know! Have a great day, officer!”

The call ends. You drop your hand and look at Shin Hyunwoo who’s red in the face and about to piss himself in embarrassment, and when you look around, the rest of his friends aren’t faring any better. One of them looks more pissed than anything and is about to lunge at you with a punch when you raise a hand to stop him.

“Land that punch and a police report is gonna go through. You think I came here alone?” The kid stumbles, biting down his tongue in anger. You sigh and run your fingers through your hair. “Seriously, you had to pull this stunt in broad fucking daylight with a bunch of people out and about. I have your names and faces. Try anything funny and you can kiss your future goodbye.”

You settle a tap on Shin Hyunwoo’s shoulder, who flinches upon contact.

“Now get lost.”

Somehow, your intervention worked. The eight Byuksan delinquents run off, but not without at least one of them calling you an old lady again and flipping you off. You remind yourself that you are an adult with adult-level maturity. Park Jisung and Oh Sion look at your approaching figure cautiously. “A—attorney,” the former greets with a bow, still clutching the duffel bag close. The latter sees this and mirrors his actions. You settle a few steps in front of them, arms crossed with a hefty release of breath.

“Is it only the two of you?”

“Y—yes. Jaemin hyung-nim sent us to pick up the commission and contracts from K Company.”

“Seriously?” What was that bastard thinking sending these two kids alone to lug around a giant sack of cash? Is he trying to test them, or something? Or maybe he just doesn’t give a fuck and sent the first two people he saw. That seems to match his personality more. Regardless this could have ended really badly. “Anyway, are you two headed back to Nalkeutta now?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Stop being so stiff,” you huff, pulling out your phone to text Natty that all is good, and that she should go ahead because you offered to drive the Ganghak kids home. She responds almost immediately with puppy dog eye emojis and more gracious compliments about your goodwill and kindness. You shudder as a chill runs down your spine. “Well, let’s go. My car’s parked nearby. It’d be quicker and safer to just drive back to the office.”

The two follow you like a pair of lost ducklings. They settle into the backseat, not budging a single word even when you start the engine and start driving.

It’s only when you pull up in front of the company building that Oh Sion musters up his voice to say, “Attorney,” he starts. “You’re so cool.”

Your fingers twitch against the steering wheel. Your eyes flit up to the mirror to see the two boys looking at you with something akin to admiration in their eyes— respect, perhaps. You’re not quite sure. It’s new. Especially considering how your image has been tanked thus far.

“Wanna be cool like me?”

You settle an elbow over the seatrest, cocking your head to look at the two boys with a smile. Their eyes glimmer expectantly. You huff out a laugh.

“Quit Nalkeutta and get back to fucking school.”

That’s when you unlock the car doors and shoo them off. You don’t want to go back in there after already clocking out for the day. They bow goodbye from outside and you wave them goodbye, driving off. 

You thought that’d be the last you’ll be seeing of those kids. Yet the next morning, you catch them loitering in front of your office, occasionally peeking through blinds as if you can’t see them, but you can. You very much can. It’s very hard to focus on drafting your contracts when there are two meerkats popping out intermittently through your office window. 

“What do those two idiots want?” 

Narrowing your eyes into the top of Park Jisung’s head peeking through the crack in the blinds, you’re just about ready to get up, get out, and just ask them what their deal is, but before your ass even leaves the comfortable cushion of your office chair, the door is sprung open— revealing the two boys being barrelled into your office by one Na Jaemin.

“Move it, move your fucking feet— oh, hey, attorney.”

To say that you’re unimpressed by the sight before you is an understatement. “First of all, learn to knock.” Na Jaemin simply brandishes you with a grin and a shrug. You give up with a sigh. “Second of all, what do you want?”

“Not me,” he answers, referring to the nervous pair that is Oh Sion and Park Jisung, who both swallow down a gulp in sync the moment Na Jaemin throws his arms around their shoulders. “These two have been hesitating to knock for the past thirty fucking minutes to the point that it got annoying. Thought they needed a little push and a shove.”

“How thoughtful,” you flatly say.

“What a good boss should be,” he muses a little too gratifyingly.  

You roll your eyes as you switch the gears of your attention. “So, what is it?”

The two engage in a quiet argument for a moment before Jisung shoots Sion a look, and the latter finally grits up the courage to speak, albeit still nervous. “There’s—there’s just something I wanted to ask you, attorney. You know, as a professional…?” 

This piques your interest. What kind of legal concerns would a high school gang member be facing?

“Go ahead.”

“Well, uh, hypothetically— if you find out that your landlord has been using your identity to apply for credit card loans…and when you find out and confront him about it, he threatens to file an eviction against you if you choose to press charges—”

Well, okay.

“Can he— can he do that?”

Oh Sion bats his eyes at you expectantly. You are, quite frankly, taken aback. 

“Attorney…?”

Man, you were expecting a girl problem or a teacher inflicting corporal punishment. Not a whole fraud and identity theft case. “Sit down,” you grunt, beckoning him closer. Then your tired eyes flit over to Na Jaemin, whose attention seems to be provoked by the issue, so your mouth twitches into a sneer. “Jisung, you can stay. You. Get out.”

“C’mon, let me stay,” he whines, tromping over to land a hand onto your desk, leaning over. “This sounds interesting. I wanna see you attorneying this shit up.”

Natty’s advice wanders into your brain. Does he piss you off just to get your attention? Great, then you gotta exploit that. You gotta use everything within your disposal to make life in hell a bit more bearable.  

“Na Jaemin.” 

You start your first attempt at testing the waters— which is honestly a little nerve-wracking considering there’s always a chance of this biting you in the ass in the future. 

But, fuck it. What more do you have to lose?

“I’ll have lunch with you tomorrow if you fuck off for the entire day. What do you say?”

The way Na Jaemin’s gaze shifts nearly makes you regret it at that very instance.

“Drinks,” he counter-offers.

What a pain in the ass. “Dinner,” you grit.

“Dinner tonight,” he presses. Then something on your desk catches his attention— which he promptly swipes and jangles in the air. “And this ugly dog thing.”

That ugly dog thing was supposed to be for Haechan, but whatever. “Alright,” you accept in defeat. “But you give me two days of peace instead of one. How does that sound?”

He flashes teeth at you, already taking a step back. “Deal.”

“Great. Now fuck off.”

Na Jaemin finally leaves your office, leaving behind two confused kids, staring at you like what the hell just happened. Park Jisung has been working here for a bit— even before Mark officially acquired you— so it must have been a bone-chilling shock to his boss to act like that. However, that is none of your concern, nor do you give a fuck about the image he’s projecting to his subordinates. “Sion-ah,” you turn. “Can you tell me more about your whole landlord situation?”

Park Sion tells you that it’s his father’s identity that their landlord has been using, and they’d only found out last month after receiving a letter in the mail that they owed a credit card company almost a million won— from an account his father never opened. This was followed by another letter from a different company. Sion doesn’t know exactly how it happened from simply overhearing conversations between his parents, but apparently their landlord had been using his dad’s name to open those accounts.

“I’ve only been eavesdropping since. They haven’t exactly brought it up to me so I don’t know the details…” he continues, trailing off hesitantly, looking down to his lap because he seems to be having trouble meeting your gaze. “We—we don’t have the money for a lawyer or anything, so I thought I could come to you for some advice, attorney. I—I understand if you don’t want to, though! Sorry, I—I just wanted to take my chances.”

You inhale sharply. Man. For fuck’s sake.

“Ugh.”

You’re not a charity worker. You’re not a god forsaken saint. You’re not motherfucking Mother Teresa. You have enough shit on your plate as is and playing pro bono for this case won’t do you any favors. You’re already neck deep and paperwork and you certainly have no intention of getting buried further underneath.

But—

“Um…attorney…? Is everything okay…?”

You sigh. You groan. You swing over to a drawer on your desk to fish out a business card sliding the same over your desk. You’re not happy about this, and that fact is definitely showing through your face. “Take this. Tell your parents to give me a call.”

Oh Sion jolts in his seat, blinking in disbelief. “Really?”

You’re really, really not happy about this, but your karma is bad enough already. Denying a kid in desperation would make you less than human at this point. You might be set on going to hell already, so the least you can do is hold onto the barest sliver of your humanity. “Yeah, just take it before I change my mind. If that’s all, then you two— shoo. Go. Leave. I still have work to do.”

Before you can wrack your brain about how in the world you’re gonna organize your planner spreadsheet from this point forward, Park Jisung, who’d been doing but being a silent pillar of support for Sion this entire time, adds another serving of stress to your already full plate.

“Attorney?” he raises, Oh Sion already halfway out the door while he remains inside. “Can I ask you something?”

“What is it this time?” you grunt, not even looking at him in order to preemptively nurse your incoming headache with a pen massaging circles into your temple as you continue your mental laments. Why hasn’t cloning been invented yet? Do you have to convince Mark to add another person to your department? That’s the only possible way you can handle Sion’s case without gumming things up in Nalkeutta. If that’s the case, then—

“Um...did you attend Ganghak in high school?”

The pen makes a hollow clatter against your desk.

“What?”

A million thoughts filter into your head in one, quick flicker. 

“Close the door,” you say after a second’s pause. “How do you know that, Jisung-ah?”

“It’s just that…I saw some of the past yearbooks before, and I kinda recognized you when the boss was giving you a tour of the building,” he says before a tight swallow. You drill your eyes into him. He looks away. “And I, uh, also saw that you were in the same graduating class as Jaemin hyung-nim.”

This is great. This is so great for you. Fucking fantastic. You want to quit and die.

“I see,” you answer. You ponder. Every second of silence that passes adds another bead of sweat to Park Jisung’s forehead. Your fingernails clatter against the polished table of your desk. You look at him when you admit, “I did attend Ganghak for my last two years of high school. And I was in Na Jaemin’s class.”

There’s no point in denying it. 

“This is a pretty funny coincidence, isn’t it? But I’d appreciate it if you keep this information to yourself, Jisung-ah.”

The only thing you can do now is damage control.

“O—oh! Yes, of course, attorney. I was just curious. I guess that would explain why you and Jaemin hyung-nim seemed so close.”

Close. You mask your sour feelings with a stiff smile. “Don’t mention this to him either. I’m not very fond of talking about my educational background. I’m only humoring you because you seem like a nice kid from my alma mater.” He nods profusely. You press your lips together even more. “Now run along. If Sion asks what’s keeping you, tell him you were just asking me how to apply for a driver’s license without parents’ consent.”

“Yes, ma’am! Thank you!”

The door shuts. At that very moment, you feel your shoulder melt as you sink into your chair.

Everything’s gotten fucked since you took Na Jaemin as a client. There’s no inherent issue about you going to Ganghak for a few years. The problem lies in the fact that during those years, you were Na Jaemin’s fucking alarm clock that he didn’t give enough of a shit to even remember. If he does remember, then he wouldn’t be ever so desperately trying to get in your pants at present. He’d be forcing your dignity down your throat the moment you blew up on him because what kind of alarm clock dares to look him in the eye?

He didn’t respect you enough to treat you like a human being back then. And if someone triggers that sense of recollection in him— you’d be done for. 

He’s already a shitty co-worker as is, but at least you have his shitty feelings for you to take advantage of. If that’s overruled by the memory of you being his subservient, walking, talking, inanimate pushover of an alarm clock, then you’d have lost your sole and single leverage over him. Zero. None.

But there’s only one instance in which you’d even consider telling him about his forgotten history with you—

“Ugh.”

Your eyes flit over to your wall clock. Nine forty-three. Seven more hours before your dinner at gun point with him.

“I should pack some digestive pills.”

—and that’s if he ends up falling down, down the line of being far too in love with you to even care about that history. The odds aren’t in your favor. So you just have to continue living as is until your bluff wears out.

*ㅤ

“Your taste in restaurants doesn’t match the trash regularly spewing out of your mouth.” 

That doesn’t mean you’d be acting like a doormat, though.

“Just shut the fuck up and eat, you ungrateful shit.”

You stick your tongue out before digging into the steak dinner he’s paying for. He says he thought you were a pushover until you started him like shit— so you might as well continue treating him like shit and sprinkle him the occasional bouts of positive attention, if that’s what gets him off. And what better way to tick off an egotistical freak than by talking about other men in front of him? 

“Hey,” you start, wadding off the sauce lingering on your lips. “How receptive would Mark be if I bring in another lawyer into the company?”

Your theory is proven by the way his eyebrows twitch at the mere mention of Mark. “Fuck if I know,” he sneers, pointing an accusatory fork at you. “I take you to a nice, fancy dinner and the first thing you talk about is work. Is that all you plan on talking about?”

“Duh. Take a look at my workload. Do you think I have a life outside of this shitty job?”

Na Jaemin simply stifles a low chuckle at your bitter declaration, continuing to pick apart his meal.

“At least this pays better than the last one,” you sigh, continuing to wake your fork around. Your dinner companion seems to be enjoying your tragic monologue. “I swear. The moment I save up enough money, I’m gonna dip, move countries, change my name and buy a new identity so that Mark Lee won’t be able to chase me down.”

He swallows down a mouthful of food. “Should you be telling me all this?”

You snort, beckoning a waiter to refill your wine. “Why, are you gonna snitch on me to your owner? You’re more obedient than I thought.”

That provocation ticks him ever the slightest— evident in the strain on his jaw despite the apparent grin. You down your drink to mask a flinch of nervousness, but you push forward, setting the glass down as you lift your head up, batting your eyes prettily at him with a sweet smile as if you hadn’t just demeaned him. This catches him off guard, and whatever bite he was about to snark dissipates with a cough from him as he peers to the side and tugs on his collar, waving the same waiter for a glass of water, but in a much less polite manner than you did.

There’s a tug on your lips. Natty was right. You gotta make sure to give him a treat at least once a day so he doesn’t act out as an attempt to get your attention again.

“Na Jaemin,” you hum, eyeing him carefully. “Aren’t you curious about what your subordinates came to me for this morning?”

“Not really,” he answers half-heartedly. “Did they kill someone, or some shit?”

“Wow. Such a great boss,” you drawl. “They were your Ganghak juniors, you know.” 

That was a fishing line. Just to get a read on what exactly he feels about his alma mater, which in turn may make your case better or worse in light of the fact that he doesn’t remember his history with you.

“So?” He simply raises a brow. “Am I supposed to give a shit?”

Yeah, you shouldn’t have expected anything more from him. “Whatever. Anyway—”

A phone call interrupts. As in, the default iPhone ringtone blaring from Na Jaemin’s pocket, which triggers his annoyance, but he pulls it out anyway to answer with a pissed off, “What?”

You pick apart your mashed potatoes while observing the way Na Jaemin’s expression twists and shifts from his usual hot-tempered annoyance, to being annoyed-confused, and then annoyed-stressed, based on the way he hisses into the phone while digging a claw into his hair. 

“The fuck do you mean Lucy is vomitting?”

Oh. Oh, wow. 

“I gave you one fucking job, you useless son of a—” His fit is extinguished by a loud groan, slumping back into his chair. You continue eating your food with heightened interest. This is a new look. This is nice. “Listen,” he continues into the phone, practically spitting venom. “You better be there when I get home. If you run away, I’ll kill you twice over.” Then he angrily sets his phone down on the table with a clatter.

You perk up with a curious gaze. “Trouble at home?”

Na Jaemin lets out a disappointed exhale. “As much as I’d hate to cut our date short, attorney—”

“Not a fucking date.”

“Yeah, whatever, I don’t give a fuck,” he dismissively says, focused on the watch on his wrist as he picks up his coat from the back of the chair. “I gotta go check on my daughter and stomp on the useless fuck I left to babysit her. Fucking son of a bitch.”

Well, that’s news. “You have a kid?”

“Yeah. Three.” He flashes you his phone screen. There are indeed three— three cats, that is. You buffer for a moment. The dots refuse to connect. He retrieves his phone before your brain finishes processing. “I was gonna give you a ride home, but—”

“I brought my car, It’s fine. Just go.” The mutt is a cat dad. Of fucking course. That makes sense. No it fucking doesn't. It’s almost terrifying to see him care for another living being. “And don’t forget about our deal.”

All he does is flash you a smile before dipping. What the fuck does that mean?

Whatever the case, when you finish your meal and attempt to bill out, you’re informed that everything’s been taken care of by the, quote-unquote, gentleman you were dining with. It really doesn’t sit well within your stomach that Na Jaemin now has you in debt— or maybe he’s doing this on purpose to manipulate you into spending more time with him. What a sneaky bastard.

Anyhow, the next morning, you’re deadset on fixing a solution to your excessive workload problem. So the first thing you do after clocking in is traversing the sets of stairs that lead to Mark’s office in order to negotiate the idea of bringing in a second lawyer into the company. You’d already texted your candidate last night and have arranged a friendly meeting later this afternoon. You don’t foresee any reason for Mark to object.

“There’s no issue with having another person onboard your team,” was Mark’s response to your concern. “But the main point of conversation is trust, attorney. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

“I know,” you say. “I’ll be sure to vet you a trustworthy candidate.”

He gleams at you. “I look forward to it.”

The moment you leave Mark’s office, your lungs are refilled with a dose of air. “Great. Good. This is great,” you release with a huff, marching towards the staircase to the third floor.

You’ve stopped using the elevator since whenever you end up riding the same flight as anyone other than Mark or the four executives, they end up sweating like buckets as if they’d been trapped in the same room as an axe-murderer. It’s not very self-esteem boosting whenever your elevator companions immediately bolt off the second the doors crack open. You’d much rather take the extra effort than be implicitly insulted to your face.

The problem with this is that you have to pass by the stinky, sweaty gym to get back to your floor. And you’re just unfortunate enough to bump into Na Jaemin just as he’s finished his morning workout session.

“Oh.”

Your eyes meet. You flinch and shoot your gaze down. Big mistake because he’s wearing an almost translucent white tank top, making eye-contact with a whole load of chest instead, and you almost choke on your spit. “Uh.” You lose the timing to nonchalantly brush past him— and the bastard notices. Of course he fucking does with that smug grin on his face. But he honors the deal you made and settles with a simple good morning before taking a swig from his water bottle and walking off.

“Oh, hello again, attorney,” Mark gives a surprised yet pleasant welcome back to his office. “Did you forget something?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s none of your business,” you rapid-fire answer, back pressed against the closed door.

Your boss eyes you curiously, a smile playing on his face. “Well, you better finish your business soon because Renjun is waiting for you in your office. He’s requesting legal assistance for another external meeting over lunch. But you appear to be feverish. We can reschedule the meeting another—”

“No!” Your eyes widen. Mark raises a brow. “I—I mean, no, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine. I can join him. I’m just tired from climbing the stairs.”

“Well, alright,” he hums. “Now, off you go, then.”

This is perhaps the lowest point of your career. All you wanted was to avoid walking in the same direction as him, but your flight and fight kicked in. These in-office gyms are incredibly unprofessional and detrimental to overall company productivity. You’d submit a petition to take it down if only you had the fucking time. 

“What are you muttering and swearing about like a lunatic? You’re scaring the grown men around,” is how Renjun greets you, but you look at him like he’s the second coming of Christ. Thank god you’d be spending the entire day out of the building. There’s no risk of bumping into that demon again.

The meeting is at a fancy brunch place, so you and Renjun order enough mimosas to get through this shitty meeting on company time, with company money. The both of you are always on the same page, it’s great. Even when the meeting has ended, you two loiter and talk shit at a nearby cafe instead until he eventually gets called back to the office— while you remain and wait for your fellow lawyer and future co-worker.

“Attorney Kim Jungwoo,” you greet him when he arrives. “How’s JJS treating you?”

Yes. You intend on dragging your old friend into this hell with you— a very well paying hell with a more tolerable boss. Of course, you ease him into it over frappes and cheesecake. He says life at JSS is the same as you’d left it: depressing, deplorable, and Kim Doyoung dumping all the work to his junior associates while taking all the credit. That’s your perfect segue to offering him a position at Nalkeutta.

“Unlike Doyoung, I’m giving you free reign, here,” you say, offering him the draft employment contract you quickly whipped up at 11 p.m. on caffeine last night. “You don’t have to sign or answer now. We can iron out the details later. I just wanted to present you with everything that we can offer.”

Jungwoo skims over the binded papers, interested. “You were pretty devastated when Doyoung sold you off, so this is a bit of a surprise,” he says, gaze flitting up with a hum. “What’s making you happy in Nakeutta, attorney?”

You learn back, mirroring his expression. “Page three.”

“Oh, yeah? Let me ch— holy shit. Are you sure this isn’t a misprint?”

“No, I cleared it with the boss earlier,” you boast confidently. “Also, there’s an in-office gym. That’s gotta be enough to convince you.”

Jungwoo says you’re making it very hard for him to refuse and you say that’s the point. You let him mull over the contract for a while longer while you finish up your frappe and zone out with the ambient cafe tunes. 

It’s an afternoon weekday, so it isn’t very crowded. It’s peaceful. Quiet. Meaning the moment the sound atmosphere gets interrupted by the sound of a jingling bell, your attention is immediately strayed away by the noise, and your eyes widen— and you nearly choke on your spit for the second time today.

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss under your breathe, immediately darting around to look for a place to run off to. “Oh, fuck, don’t do this to me. Don’t you fucking dare do this to me, please—”

Jungwoo looks up from the document in concern. “Hey, you good, at—”

“Attorney.”

The sing-song tune of a third voice jumps in. “Fuck,” you repeat, unable to escape so you force your head up to acknowledge the looming and unwelcome presence. “Na Jaemin, I thought we had an agreement. It hasn’t been two days.”

He basks in your attention, pressing a hand against the backseat leather of the booth to lean into you. “Yeah, well our date got cut short last night so I figured my time sitting in the corner would too.”

“Ugh.” Your face falls into your hands. “Please tell me you’re here by accident. Please don’t tell me you deliberately came here to ruin my day.”

“Take a good guess, attorney. Had a nice chat with Renjun in the company lobby.”

You grit your teeth. That fucking snitch, you gotta knock him down a peg from your list of favorite co-workers. But that would mean Haechan would become first, but you don’t want to give that other asshole the gratification. Nothing ever goes right for you.

Before you can further lament the shittiness of your life, Jungwoo reminds you that he’s still here by clearing his throat, causing you to flinch and sit back straight to see the interested quirk on his lips as he sends insinuating glances between you and Na Jaemin. What kind of ideas is this guy getting? You can’t even dread that because you’re too busy thinking of a way to get out of this because if Jungwoo sees your co-worker— who’s already sending Jungwoo dirty glares— acting insane, he won’t take the delicious bait you spent all night preparing.

“Is this a co-worker?” Jungwoo playfully asks. “Aren’t you gonna introduce us, attorney.”

An idea sparks. Wait. Wait, hold on, this could work.

“Indeed. What great timing.”

You stretch your mouth into a smile and yank Na Jaemin down by the belt. 

“Jungwoo, this is one of Nalkeutta’s executives— Na Jaemin. Jaemin, this is Kim Jungwoo. A former co-worker from JSS Law Firm.”

He came here with his own two feet. Might as well use the hell out of uselessness.

“Oh, I remember you!” Jungwoo cheerfully remarks, looking at Na Jaemin directly. Your former co-worker obviously doesn’t know better and you immediately gulp.“I saw you in the firm once. We didn’t get the chance to talk, but it’s nice to officially meet you, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

You hope your smile is enough to mask your nervous heartrate and you peer at Na Jaemin, noticing his pissed off annoyance from the way his upper lip twitches as he runs his tongue against bared teeth. “Yeah? You won’t be seeing anything much if you don’t keep your fucking eyes dow—”

Before you can think, you place a firm hand on his thigh.

Then you squeeze.

And he freezes.

Behave, you scratch into the fabric of his jeans. Please.

The three second pause that lapses before Na Jaemin finally returns the greeting felt like a three second dip into ice cold water. “It’s my pleasure, Kim Jungwoo-ssi.” And then you finally resurface from the ice with a relieved sigh because that was a close fucking call. 

Still. You’re not allowed to rest just yet because while Jungwoo and Na Jaemin are having an unusually normal conversation, you sit there with the occasional auto-generated responses as you think about the possible consequences of your prior actions— and the fact that you did this. You made Na Jaemin do this. You. He’s currently exchanging his gym routines with Jungwoo who’s making firm eye contact with him when otherwise your poor friend would have been flung to the other end of the cafe by now like everyone else that came before him. 

This is fucking insane. You’re not sure how you’re feeling about this.

“Sorry, excuse me for a sec,” Jungwoo says, looking down at his phone. “Doyoung’s calling. Gotta take this.”

He gets up to leave the cafe and you take this opportunity to make a run for it too. “I—I gotta use the rest—eep!”

Na Jaemin yanks you back down into the seat cushions and settles a firm hold around your hips, pressing a firm squeeze to your thigh as he leans closer like some form of revenge for all the crap you pulled on him earlier. “Did I behave well enough for you, attorney?” he muses, hot breath hitting the side of your face. “But this deal is gonna cost you a lot more than just dinner.”

A chill runs down your spine. Yup. You knew there were gonna be consequences. You should have thought things through.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[deadindenial]

[ochibrochi]

spontaneous magic manifestation was NOT mentioned in the parenting handbook 😬

I know this isn’t how magic in dc works, but the fact that Damian’s ancestry includes some pretty powerful magic users is… INTERESTING 🤔? Drabble under the cut!

I wanna preface that I'M NOT SAYIN' that Damian should/does have magic powers, but there’s still so much unexplored potential with Damian's character, and the thought that he has a dormant adeptness in magic is somewhat compelling to me. Most importantly it would FREAK! BRUCE! OUT!!!!! What is this, magic puberty 😭??

By DC laws, anyone has the ability to learn magic, but it is also possible to be an innate ability. The Al Ghuls are no strangers to the occult-- Ra's has had increasingly been portrayed as a magic user, and the recent establishment of his mother being a sorceress/witch?? Even Talia dabbled in a bit of magic, I think. There is a catch that their power is suggested to be due to Lazarus exposure, but for arguments sake let's say the Al Ghul lineage is inherently proficient in magic (and Lazarus exposure simply enhances it).

I can't recall "magic" being a part of Damian's training/upbringing (I'm still slowly catching-up on Damian comics so apologies if I miss any canon examples of magic use). Not sure why Talia wouldn't want her little "heir to an ancient assassin empire baby" to learn magic, but it would at least give reason to Damian not knowing about his magic potential, or lack of interest in it.

Through the power of pseudo storytelling, what if Damian's encounter with Mother Soul could have triggered a manifestation of magic that was once dormant; like a pressure cooker waiting to explode with energy when it hasn't been given a safe outlet.

I've yet to read a satisfying arc where Damian truly gets to contemplate his Al Ghul roots outside of "dad is good guy, mum is bad guy". Damian's initial character growth stems from him running away from, and renouncing his association with the League (i.e. "I'm nothing like you, mother and grandfather!").

The most recent thing I've read was Robin (2021), and whilst Damian is much more cordial with his mother, there's still an emotional distance and sense of distrust/resentment (for good reason, even if the context was some cartoonishly evil writing). But there is a silver-lining that they still appear to be fond of each other, in a melancholy kind of way.

Realizing he's "genetically" primed for magic would be especially confronting to Damian. There's no denying his Al Ghul blood, forcing him to confront a facet of himself he can no longer ignore or reject. A family that he likely has to approach for help/guidance.

Damian is put in a position of acknowledging this power could be used for good, to be stronger, to fight crime, balancing it with the implication that what he possesses could be rooted in dark magic (Lazarus enchantment).

If he decides to embrace it, would that be too much of an endorsement of the Al Ghul's dark occultism? Can he separate the two ideas? What if he can't control it? What if he accidentally hurts someone? What if has the ability to save someone where his other skills fall short?

Ideally, I'd love for this hypothetical story to lead into Damian exploring his Al Ghul heritage more intimately, historically, and spiritually (à la RSoB: Year of Redemption adventures). Another little coming-of-age self discovery journey.

I have my own little personal thoughts on what Damian decides to do with his magic powers, but I'd like to leave that open to interpretation... By the end of it I hope that he will at least find some forgiveness over resentment, and a balance between accepting that side of his family a little easier. It is finally a sense of inner peace :)

Any thoughts? Did I get any characterisation wrong? Let's talk over on my DC blog @arkhamochi! I'm currently trying to read all Damian-centric comics until I catch up with the current run. I'm hungry for discussion and analysis!!!!!!

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion Jealousy Part 2

The graphic extension to this but a lil less serious and definitely not sfw.

CW: Jealous spawn astarion who is still a sweetheart, but the drow twins get under his skin. graphic sex scenes, oral, relatively tame honestly. The sex part will be under the cut btw which is m/f. Also vampire man drinks blood. mentionable incorrect language for sex workers

~

It was odd, being home in Baldur’s Gate without the threat of Cazador always looming. Odd, but equally as wonderful. It had been so thoughtful, if not a little idiotic for Cazador to end up being your first stop in the city. The fight itself had been a blur, a barrage of intense emotions and bloody violence. Astarion had come so close to losing himself back there, losing everything that made him better than the man who almost ruined him. But then… you stopped him. You saw something more in him, a chance for a better life. A more meaningful life, away from the shackles of vampiric power obsessions. 

He was officially free. Now he could exist without any fear of his disgusting master’s retribution. He could just… be. Well… not including his darling’s own myriad of enemies that seemed to follow them about everywhere. And there was still the matter of defeating the elder brain, and lord knows if any of you made it through that alive. But at least his personal demons were slain and out of the picture.

Every little step counted after all. Perhaps some of your delusional hopefulness had finally started to rub off on him, but Astarion was actually starting to look forward to his future. Your future, together. All he had to do was get through a few more perilous adventures and then he’d really have you all to himself. 

All that said, Astarion could really go without the frequent visits to the local brothel. Was it the best place in the city for gathering information? Yes. It seemed that every walk of life in Baldur’s Gate found their way into Shar’s Caress and if you were going to find alternative passage to the underworld, this would be the best place to find it. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. For one there were the unwelcome advances to his own person, the concept of grace and personal space apparently left at the door. He was so very close to breaking the hand of the next person who thought it was appropriate to grab his ass. And if they could afford to get kicked out he would have by now. Your verbal, angry tirades in his defense could only scare off so many. 

But as terrible as his own discomfort was, it was nothing in the face of how often you were being fawned over. What was it about you that seemed to drive everyone mad? Yes you were objectively attractive, but this was frankly getting out of hand. First there was the green skinned druid doing something sensual to your mind, then there were the general stares and whispers as you walked by, and now a pair of gorgeous drow twins trying and failing to proposition you. 

It was getting tiresome. There were only so many times a man could take his lover being offered “free” services before he snapped. 

On one hand, he could respect the dedication they had to the craft. He could be considered something of a hired whore himself in his time, the old, “the first one’s free” was a tried and true trick. And he also knew, vaguely, that no one was actually trying to steal you from him. But on the other, he couldn’t help the fact that he wanted to claw their eyes out for looking at you so brazenly.

He hadn’t expected the eyes of the woman to wander over to him, like she was just noticing the possessive arm he had wrapped around your waist, “Is that your partner with you? How would you both feel about having a little fun?”

Absolutely fucking not. Maybe the old Astarion would have smiled and nodded, ready to do whatever was asked of him. But the man from that wretched era had died, or at the very least was dying. And he would be damned if he let you lay with another, never less participate in it. 

Astarion interrupted your overly-polite attempts stuttering of a refusal. He glared at them both, a sneer painted on his face, “We’ll be passing on that. You’d think the first no would have sufficed, but I suppose it’s not fair to expect everyone to have basic language comprehension. Now as illuminating as this conversation has been, we have places to be. Excuse us.”

Then he was pulling you away, happy to ignore the offended huffs of indignation he had left in his wake. 

“We’re supposed to be investigating, remember?” You said with a giggle, not even questioning him as he dragged you to the second floor, “Being rude is not the way we’ll find travel to the hells.”

“I highly doubt they would have been of use,” Astarion said as he pushed you into the first empty room he could find. He felt off, maybe even a little crazed as he turned to you, “Tell me darling, what is it about you that makes you so irresistible, hm?”

He crowded you against the closed door, ducking his head into the crook of your neck to breath you in. You smelled heavenly, you always did. He could trace the barest whiff of your blood from beneath your skin, always calling to him. You were the sweetest thing he ever tasted. Delicious even, for more reasons than one. 

“T-They just wanted my coin,” You gasped when he started to suck bruises into your skin, “That’s all.”

“I think they wanted a bit more than that,” Astarion bit out as he shoved his thigh between your legs, “What will it take for others to realize you’re mine.”

His hands were wandering, resting low to grip your hips. He was using them to move you, forcing you to grind against his thigh. You grasped at his shoulders, trying to bite back a moan as you stared at him with wide eyes, “You want to do it here? Does that door even lock?”

It looked like it didn’t, not that Astarion cared. Maybe walking in on him ravishing you would finally start getting the point across of who you belonged to. Astarion shrugged, "There are less appropriate venues than literal whore houses."

“But-”

“But I can tell you want it,” Astarion interrupted with a smirk, his hands barely working to move your body anymore. But that wasn’t stopping you from rubbing yourself all over him, “Just look at you darling. Desperate little thing. But if you really don’t want to…”

Astarion made a lazy attempt to step back, laughing out loud when your desperately pulled him back, your desire finally winning out over your common sense. But you were glaring at him, obviously annoyed that he was so good at riling you up. He had seen that look before, the one that just screamed that you were scheming something. 

He just hadn’t expected you to drop to your knees in front of him, huffing as you started to undo the fastenings to his pants, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit of a shit?”

“Maybe,” Astarion said with a strained laugh, his breath catching when you pulled his half-hard cock out, “But it seems to keep getting me the things I want.”

You rolled your eyes before licking a wide strip up his cock, like you weren’t directly proving his point. You looked amazing own there, you’re half-hearted glare morphing into a blissful haze. 

Gods, how were you real? Astarion wasn’t quite sure why you were such a fan of getting him down your throat, but he knew that he was a lucky bastard for it. 

“Sweet girl,” Astarion sighed, letting a hand drift down to tangle in your hair, “Sweet girl with a perfect mouth. And you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

You made a small, affirmative noise around his cock, taking him in deeper as you clutched at his thighs. You were so good at this, so well-trained after months of being together. He loved the soft, wet sounds that would escape your lips as you swallowed him down, the pretty way your eyes would water as you encouraged him to fuck your throat, how you would squirm in place on your knees, no doubt ruining your panties with how wet you were getting. 

And no one else would ever know. No one would get to see you like this again, feel you like this. Needy, desperate, and his. Oddly enough, that thought was what sent him over the edge. He came down your throat, groaning as you eagerly swallowed around him. 

You pulled off of him slowly, panting while you smiled up at him. There was the smallest string of spit mixed with his come, connecting from the head of his cock to your lips. You licked it up, still clinging to his thighs as you hazily stared up at him. Sweet enough to make his heart skip a beat, and his dick give a valiant twitch.

He pulled you to your feet, not wasting any time in smashing your lips together. He spun you around, pushing you towards what he prayed was a clean bed. 

He pushed you back onto the sheets, making quick work of tearing your pants down your legs as he grinned down at you, “Your turn.”

He kneeled in front of you; spreading his hands over your splayed thighs to peel off your underwear. The core of you was already glistening, slick enough to make Astarion’s mouth water. He licked his lips as he spread your legs further apart, shameless as he feasted on you with his eyes. 

You were shaking in his hold, biting your bottom lip when you whined, “Stop staring already…”

“But you’re so pretty here my sweet,” Astarion cooed, tracing a single finger over the seam of your cunt, “And you’re dripping. Poor thing, have I kept you waiting too long?”

You nodded excitedly above him, your hips bucking when he let his fingers dip in further between your pussy lips. He lightly traced your clit, softly laughing at the way the simple touch made you whine.

It was his own fault that you were so needy, a fact that brought a smirk to his lips. You always got so wet after you had him down your throat, soaked and gorgeous. 

Astarion dove right in, loudly moaning as he licked into your folds. He dragged his lips upward to suckle on your clit, basking in all the cries and whimpers escaping you.

He licked back down, teasing your hole with his tongue as your legs quivered around his head. He let the sharpness of his fangs scrape against you as he started to fuck you with his tongue, threatening your most intimate places.

He knew you liked that; little minx that you were. The slight risk of pain that was always looming. It made him want to sink his fangs in you for real, a hunger that he'd sate after he had you gushing into his mouth.

You were already close, he could tell from the way your cunt was tightening around his tongue; too worked up from the thrill of being in public and the taste of him still lingering on your tongue. Astarion trailed talented fingers up to rub against your clit, his tongue still curling inside of you as you cried out. Finally falling over the edge. But that wasn't stopping him from continuing to play with you.

You had to tug on Astarion’s hair for him to finally pull away, too over sensitive to handle his talented tongue. You were still trembling by the time he leaned back, licking his lips. He rested his head on your thigh, obviously pleased with himself as he grinned up at you. He could feel your heart racing against his cheek, the sound of your blood pumping singing through your veins. It had his mouth watering for a completely different reason. 

He let his fangs drag against the delicate skin of your inner thigh, looking up at you through his lashes, "Can I?"

A superfluous question. Not when he already knew the answer before it escaped your lips.

“Y-yeah," You mumbled, lovingly gazing down at him. He would never tire of seeing that look on your face, "But be gentle? Please?” 

"Of course my love," Astarion murmured, before promptly sinking his fangs into your flesh. He had to hold you down from the way you were still trembling, your quivering only getting worse at the pleasure mixed with pain. He didn’t let himself go rabid, just enough to get a taste. He was pulling back too soon, smiling to himself at the little whine you let out. He gently licked over the wound before standing, not yet swallowing the last drops on his tongue.

Instead he leaned forward to kiss you, more than happy to share the sweet taste of your blood as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

“Thank you my dear,” Astarion sighed as he pulled away, “That was exactly what I needed. Now I think that’s enough investigating for one day.” 

You sighed, taking the time to card your fingers through his hair, “Agreed. Though you might have to carry me out of here now.”

Wasn’t that a wonderful idea?

Astarion hummed as he pulled your clothing back on, “I think I like the sound of that," He didn't give you time to respond, too busy sweeping you up in his arms with a grin, "I'll be taking you up on that."

You squeaked when he hefted you up, bridal style, “I wasn’t being serious!”

But it was too late, Astarion was already kicking the door open. He shrugged at you, completely shameless as he winked at a few onlookers, "Then you shouldn't have suggested it."

You groaned, hiding your face in his shirt as he happily took you outside, “I’m going to get you back for this. I hope you know that.”

Astarion laughed as he kissed the top of your head, “I’m sure you will.”

It was a childish stunt, borderline on par with a jealous tantrum, but gods, did it feel good. Good enough to sate Astarion's obsessive tendencies for an impressive amount of time. Under normal circumstances. 

But what about your lives were normal?

[jen-with-a-pen]

𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is. 

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter–  to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day. 

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week. 

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.  

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together. 

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival. 

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A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’ 

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door. 

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger. 

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder. 

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit. 

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip. 

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing. 

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.  

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink. 

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it. 

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time. 

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell. 

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear. 

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below. 

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape. 

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully. 

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

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The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium. 

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form. 

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.” 

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan. 

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear. 

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours. 

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.” 

You wanted to take his finger and break it.  

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.” 

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion. 

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance. 

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles. 

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike. 

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The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. 

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously. 

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side. 

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?” 

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward. 

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard. 

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body. 

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!” 

“No! Fuck– Get off me!” 

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.” 

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone. 

“Is that all, Sergeant?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.” 

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged. 

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you. 

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.” 

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why. 

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door. 

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy. 

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however. 

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?” 

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release. 

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core. 

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs. 

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass. 

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.” 

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him. 

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure. 

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you. 

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!” 

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you. 

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode. 

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile. 

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

[itsthatmff]

Hello everything is fine? If requests are still open, can I request opm Garou, Saitama and Sonic with a partner capable of healing any serious injury and renewing their vital energy?

So interesting. It was my first time writing for sonic so don’t go too harsh on me 😞. And yes everything is fine! Just school stressing me out lmao. But I hope you enjoy!

Having an S/O who can heal wounds

Gn!reader

Included: Garou, Saitama, Sonic

Requests are open !!

Garou

It was in that shack where you and your friends often came to hang out because it was an unused and empty place in the middle of the forest that you found that white haired man resting after a long and tough fight.

It couldn’t even be considered resting the way he looked. Blood dripping down his body like water. Of course you immediately tended to him without thinking twice.

You were a B-class hero. Downplayed to the support role, a mere healer. People - especially the association did not see the potential in you. It always bothered you but in this situation you were lucky. God knows what Garou would have done if he had seen your name in the Heroes lexicon instead of just skipping the Pages with the B-class ranked heroes.

One instance lead to the other and it became the norm healing him up whenever he got injured. You developed a weak spot for him. The way he sat on the dust filled couch with his legs spread and his head leaned back. Always making snarky remarks. And always being shirtless.

“It’s great I have ya. Got my own private hopsital.”

“You good? Stop starin at my abs and heal them damnit..”

And of course he has a soft spot for you. May not show it but he cares for you in his own way.

It was when he began coming over for the most useless reasons that you realized he had a crush on you.

Like for instance before or in the middle of fights he’d come looking for you asking you to renew his energy. But after a while he came over every second day with the excuse that “What if I get into a fight?? I need all my power ya know.”

Once you start dating he eventually finds out about you being a hero. Doesn’t really care about it. He is just as upset with you that no one acknowledges your true powers and asks you if you want to join him on his hero hunting but you refuse.

That does not affect your relationship though.

Will lay on you as he lets you heal him. Is real snuggly. Will also groan extra loud to get you all flustered though.

Saitama

(Does this guy even get inured???)

After some research I’ve come to the conclusion that this guy has never gotten severely injured. He does feel pain but it barely hurts.

He does get some tiny scratches from time to time though.

Those if course you heal as his partner. He insists that he doesn’t need it but secretly loves the care you provide him.

When out on Monster battles you two are the best duo to see. While he takes care of the Monsters you take care of any citizens in the area.

He admires you so much and thinks you’re like the backbone of the heroes association because in the end you’re the one who contributes to the citizens and the heroes health.

If anyone dares to say otherwise they’ll have a problem with him.

Let’s you play support in video games because you’re “made for it”

What he does love getting from you are massages though. Your massages are magical because due to your healing and energy renewing powers they make one feel refreshed.

He’ll ask for one whenever he gets the chance.

“A massage’s always good. I can seriously start to feel the back and shoulder pain at my mid-20’s.”

Sonic

At first he’s very reluctant over getting treated by you.

The chairman he works for offered him a personal assistant/nurse. Which was you of course.

This guy knows no shame. Literally strips himself naked in front of you so you could inspect “all his wounds clearly.” It takes you some bickering around for him to put his clothes back on.

Also this guy CANNOT SIT STILL FOR A SINGLE MINUTE. always has to hop on from one place to another with his super speed. It’s just more ‘comfortable’. You literally have to cuff him down sometimes for him to sit still.

And will not stop talking during the treatments. Talking about being the fastest, avenging saitama and whatsoever.

It’s like a therapy and treatment session all at once.

Once you both start dating he gets so comfortable. Will enter the room and lay on you without saying a word expecting you to treat him.

Will justify the injuries he’s gotten like it’s his job.

“Ah that one..you see there was this frick of a cyborg who did not know when to quit. He chopped my hair off too..can you believe it?!”

“See but i’m still stronger than him though. Next time I’ll bring you his head as a souvenir.”

[pushingdaisies1]

Its never too late baby . . . ♡

(✧ ˚.) PAIRING-> James "Logan" Howlett {A.K.A} Wolverine x Mutant Reader >_<

(✧ ˚.) SUMMARY -> You were always someone who utilized your strengths. Physical and mental, you were a jack of all trades. You were a true hero to the students you taught within the school. Amongst the other X-men, you would always be one of them. But you had this little tick, that always annoyed Logan no doubt. You were a secretive person, too secretive for even his "standards." For others, you were a pillar of nurture and guidance. He saw your well-meaning nature from miles away. It was almost sickening to him how you would stretch your capabilities out to no end. He would never deny that he could be selfish. Sometimes it's more worth it to save your spine, than risk it for someone else. Though with the problems being thrown the team's way as of recent, he always saw you spinning your wheels. You wouldn't reason with him even when he of all people would lend you a shoulder to cry on. Even the students at the school could see it. With their childish snickers and big-eyed looks at your comfortable banter with Mr. Howlett whenever he helped with class. You were in love with the Wolverine. Again, out of all the Canadians - him? It wasn't something like a schoolgirl crush. It was an infatuation sort of deal. You burned for him mind body and soul. You would pretty much follow this scoundrel to the ends of the earth, even the end of your life if prompted. Which causes something to break between you two after you risk your livelihood for your family. The people that made up your heart, including Logan.

(✧ ˚.) AUTHORS NOTE -> hi party people!! I saw so much of the sweet reception for my first ever logan piece , so tysm!! Genuinely from the bottom of my heart the love means so much. As I’m currently going through my x-men marathon time if you will , I’ve had this idea brewing for a while. Thankfully the resurgence of logan content has given me the push needed to formulate this yk! This isn’t a part two to my previous logan post. That will be coming very shortly, but this is its own thing. Timeline wise... erm.... idrk a good place to put this SIGH. I'm thinking like in between x2 and the last stand. also one last final note , the title I took from Chemtrails over the country club. specifically the one lyric - "it's never too late baby so don't give up." felt like an appropriate whimsy title, nd I have been hearing that song everywhere lolz. Anyways, toodles!!! ᐢᗜᐢ (✧ ˚.) CWS (?) -> Descriptions of blood and graphic injury , they/them pronouns for reader !! , mentions of major character deal , Logan cares too much ... which could mean nothing , ur comatose for like the good first chunk of this , Jean and u have LORE!!!!! (not rlly but u and her have backstory beefers/her "passing" affect reader 100%) , mourning/grief, And that's on having no healing powers!! Buh-dun-csh!!

Your fall from grace was quick on the battlefield. This was supposed to just be any regular mission. You were using it as a way to clear your head after all. But you took a leap too far and now here you were, plummeting. The issue at hand was apprehended, sure. But you didn't leave the fight unscathed. Your vision grew too spotty for you to even make out your surroundings. Your hearing too even started to fog. Looking down, somehow or some way a large-sized piece of shrapnel metal had made it into your torso. Right in the sweet spot that was not in the lungs. Your legs began to wobble, losing your footing slowly but surely. You didn't realize your body was falling to the ground. The warm feeling rushing through you was the blood exiting from your hefty wound. It was ironic the last thing your eyes met before collapsing. Logan turned back around immediately once he noticed you weren't clamoring to the jet. His heart sunk to his stomach as he immediately sprung over to you. By the time your head had smacked against the ground, you went out. Your fingertips began to buzz, your fatigue lifting all of a sudden. All of the hurt and weight on your shoulders lifted? You felt freer than before, with a piece of debree stuck inside of your body no more. Even if some people regarded mutants as the next step in human evolution, a majority were still stuck with fleshy bodies. If only you were made out of steel. In this momentary unconsciousness, you thought about everything that went wrong. Your existence as a whole, joining the school. Moving up from student to teacher at Professor Xavier's school, like Scott and Ororo you were one of the first. Regarded as maybe one of the most useful of the bunch. No one could ever compete with Storm, the literal incarnate of a goddess. You thought of her as your eyes closed, embraced with the warm memories of your early days within the school.

The professor was never one to play favorites among his students. But when he searched you out and arrived with a less conniving Magneto at your door, it was clear you were special to him and his cause. From that day forward you were seen as a pillar of hope to a lot of the students. To some, you were like a mother, to others a guardian who would save them no matter the risk. To Logan Howlett - "The Wolverine", you were a coward. A coward that he admired. A coward he respected due to the ways you handled... stress in the simplest of terms. From the day he met you, he wandered around the halls of the mansion bewildered and confused. Something about you stuck out. He would've done something with this urge sooner if his eyes weren't honed in on another.

From day one you were not surprised how fast he fell and yearned for Jean. The woman you saw as your confidant, your best friend, she was magnificent. Smart and poised all in one with a strong set of mutant abilities. She was on the same power level as the professor, which made sense for their connection.

For living in Jean's shadow, you didn’t hate it. You were her right-hand man. Your balance was comforting, she was like your sister. The professor in small quiet moments of honesty to you liked to compare you to him and Magnus. When times were simpler they weren’t at opposing ends of the mutant kind spectrum. Yours and Jean's dynamic made you feel at ease with yourself. How could you worry? Your identity became a part of hers a long time ago. Logan saw more to that with you. Sure you could nag a lot of the time, and you always barked up his tree whenever he found ways to smoke on school grounds. But you just had this pull for him. He'd always find his way to see you first whenever entering a room. His brash and gritty attitude always got all mushy around you. He over time grew a lot more fond of the smallest details when it came to you. He was an amnesiac, his past only bits and pieces. But you made him feel grounded. You cherished his growth in ways no one else had. You were the reason why he was so drawn to the "now" of life. He needed that in times like this. He couldn't keep up for long after the realization that Jean was gone finally sunk in. Drowning at his one-sided attraction, the longing that he could've done more, you pulled him right out from that rut. Thank god that the two of you combined had horrible sleep schedules. His nightmares still stirred while you were suddenly afflicted with these with the memories of being on that jet when it wouldn't take off. That same pain rocketed through you every night as you were haunted by the sight of Jean finally swept into the oncoming flood. The feeling of grief ricocheted throughout the entire school. But you found your way to stay afloat. It was Logan, which you never thought of yourself admitting. But truth be told it was him. He was the most anchoring thing around you. Ororo distanced herself for the first month, while Scott cracked under the pressure of grief. Late nights dashing around the campus halls to the kitchen, out to the court where you two just talked. You had never seen him talk so much until you two became each other's support. It made you feel better seeing him smile more. Especially when it was at you. Again, you would never utter that truth EVER. At least that's what you thought. But his smile was a nice reminder of all of the light he held inside of him. As much as he despised ... everything, he was still so nurturing in his own ways. Nightmares were an excuse for him to be next to you. Nightmares were his excuse to hold you tight to his chest. The pain of loss was a collective "excuse" between the two of you to just .. be close.

Soon though, this ideal predicament between you both started to crack. Because even though she was dead, you still knew you would always be inferior. It may be all in your head but the hate kept you driven. It kept you driven but also mad. Small things would set you off soon enough. You knew deep down whenever he'd look into your eyes, it was a nice reminder of Jean. Even with how much he denied it when you came to him in tears, your bitter pain and grief clouded your judgment.

Logan saw that even with his help you were still hurting. He didn't want to get involved in it entirely as some of it was your own demon. But he saw how bad your spiraling was and still wouldn't accept his help. Not even from Ororo or Scott, not even the professor. Neither of you would admit who started the argument. It was late, and you were tired from pushing yourself to grade papers. Logan couldn't sleep and wandered his way to your classroom of course. The conversation was fine until he mentioned the problem. Your problem which you didn't want to deal with right now. As you were only running on a few hours of sleep. But even with Logan's usual "take and give no fucks" attitude, he knew he needed to push. You were slowly shutting yourself off this time, and he didn't expect himself to be a part of that mix. It was all a misunderstanding, but the two of you were angry and fire was thrown.

Your shared feelings were complicated. This whole ordeal with him brought out the "worst parts" of your love for him. He too was dealing with his internal dilemma. How could he move on from Jean and you were still latched onto the idea of her? It was a stupid question that was brought up in a Logan way, which of course caused the spat to escalate. His poor mistake was what he shouted. Already with the fear of waking one or even all of the students, you hated what he even dared to utter. "We're friends, you need to calm down about this whole obsession thing bub!" Originally you were thinking of just heading to bed. You were too tired to continue on with this constant bickering. But that's when you exploded on him. You regretted every last word you said to his face. Because it was you speaking your honest truth. About what you felt for him, about your hurt and your pain. How Jean was practically your lifeline. Losing her was like losing a piece of yourself. Especially since you rubbed it in about the kiss he and her shared. That you had seen and that made you sick to your stomach. A couple hours later she was dead. Your heightened emotions make you feel almost dizzy. The more you talked the more you realized his expressions distinct shift. As he was reaching out for you, you immediately swatted his arm askew. He didn't realize he hated to see you cry as much as he did until now. With broken sobs, you ran out of your classroom. The papers once stacked neatly were now laid messily all over your desk. You made sure to keep quiet. What broke your heart even more was a half-awake Rogue you ran into. She looked even more awake seeing your distraught state. Her feet tip-toed against the wooden floors of the hall before she looked at you. A big reason you and Logan were so close too, was because of Rogue. She was a good kid, he always rubbed off on her. He told you everything about how he and Rogue met. You were so enamored hearing him recount even the foggiest of memories. It could even be arguments with Scott he had, you'd just sit there with wide eyes as you listened. His word became your gospel. It warmed you to your core hearing him almost sound like a dad. He had looked out for her from the beginning. You always tried to do the same even when he left for Alklai Lake for answers.

It was so silly when she had practically pushed you and Logan to talk. She was just a kid and you two took up the almost suto role of her protectors. Friend or parent, she too found two trusted people to confide in. So you immediately went into "teacher mode" as soon as she saw you with watery eyes. She looked puzzled when her face met yours. You calmed down her storm of questions as she sputtered on and on. What's wrong? , is something happening? Are you okay? The hug you shared was one of the last meaningful hugs you had with another living being. You practically cradled her in your arms as you helped her calm down. She looked up at you, her larger brown eyes almost like the ones of a puppy. "Please don't be lying to me... y'know ah don't like liars." She whispered softly, her bubbly southern accent quiet. Your heart broke into a couple more pieces as you lied through your teeth. With a content nod, you bidded her a goodnight. Turning back to your room to drown your sorrow in god knows what. It had only been a good couple of months after Jeans' death that a mission arose. The X-men were laying low after everything at the base. For the school's and students' sake. But it was always on time when something bad happened for the team to fix. Old enemies came a-knocking and this time it wasn't Magneto. It was all supposed to be an in-and-out operation. You immediately clamored to get your hands dirty once again. You and Logan hadn't been talking for the last couple of days. Not even meeting in the dead of night to speak to another. You longed to hear about his afternoons subbing with Storm. This was your chance to regain some well-needed level-headedness. The thrill of doing what's right for a better tomorrow always made you feel better The mission even got Scott to come out of his puddle of mourning. Making you feel even better seeing your good friend so triumphant as he quickly clamored for his uniform. You and Logan didn't even brush shoulders as Storm and Scott dashed off to prepare the jet for takeoff. Everything should have gone fine. You should have all made it out alive. Every single one of you, that's what you had planned. Your lapse in judgment will always be your curse. Because now here you were, in the lap of the man that made your stomach churn. That made you feel LIKE that silly schoolgirl feeling you despised. Snapping back to reality, you realize where you are currently laid. Logan's eyes eased from his previous panicked look of fear as he saw you conscious. You were still bleeding but it seems that with quick medical attention either one of them got it to lessen. Your heart raced as you felt the warmness of his hands as they pressed against your cheeks. "Come on, there you go. Just focus on me." He cooed to your heaving chest. In the far back of the jet, you couldn't see Ororo or Scott. What you could see though was the remnants of blood on Logan's suit. He must have carried you off of the rubble and into the X-jet. Your smile was nothing compared to the horrid wince that left you. Finally, after this long moment of ease, the pain set in.

Going down to hold your gut, you shuddered as your vision all of a sudden wavered. You took in a sharp breath as finally, you noticed how in bad shape you were. Red filled your palm as you shuddered. Thankfully Logan noticed you and your shaky breath and immediately gripped your hand. Even in this state, you were currently in, you would always be able to focus on him. "I know, I know it's scary. You got hit pretty bad, but it's okay. Just focus on me and you'll be okay? I have you." He encouraged softly with that comforting rasp in his throat. His eyes were shaken and his lip was firm. Though his mood lightened somewhat because at least now you were awake.

You tried to speak but you were so weak. That same fatigue stung you as you stumbled over your words. He cradled you in his arms as he kept his eyes only on you. Your weary mind still around belittling you, another one of your eerily humane curses. He saw your chest quicken and lip quiver as your eyes began to lull, you were struggling. "Hey .. don't strain yourself - what is it?" He too began to worry as you saw his vulnerability bloom. Finally your chest steady as you took in one big breath of air. You let out the one thing keeping you from slipping back into rest in one huff. "Don't let me die, asshole." The asshole part came out more garbled from you after you coughed out your last words. Your last words before your eyes fell closed. For some reason, your hearing stayed for just a while longer. In and out, you could hear him cursing under his breath. The last thing you hear is Logan's panicked shouting at Scott, "Can this hunk of metal go any faster?!"

Finally, after so much pain, there was quiet. Peace and quiet after your constant heartache. You felt freed from the chains of reality. From birth to now, now seemed like your death. You left your current reality with a bitter-sweet smile as you felt consciousness swarm over you.

You couldn't feel how long you were out. Oh, but Logan could. Six weeks you lay in the infirmary. With some sort of miracle and hope, Ororo was barely able to stabilize you. The team rushed back into the mansion in panic as your wounds were assessed. But no, you couldn't feel the panic that coursed through your loved ones as you lay so peacefully. You didn't know your heart rate was being tracked. You were stable but anyone could guess it'd take you a while to re-reach consciousness. That your accident broke the barely well Scott Summers. But most of all it affected Logan to the core. He felt his world shake under him as he finally realized what had just happened. Something snapped in a man so stuck in his ways. Those words you said to him before you went back down. They were short but in the moment meant so much. Not to mention the fact that even Logan, so careless and free, was guilty. Every time he came back just to see you, he wanted to curl over and into you. Just like how he mourned Jean, he mourned you. Though .. he couldn't because you were technically still here. He may have not noticed it but everyone else could. The lack of your presence hindered him the worst. He missed the way you'd bother him out of the blue during the quiet time around the school. He missed you telling him about your life. He missed the shitty snort you did when you laughed too hard at one of his bad jokes. He missed seeing you happy. He missed seeing you move around. Pestering students for turning in assignments late or cheating. He missed the feel of your lips against his forehead when his nightmares of Jean flared up. He missed the way you looked at him. The way you saw him not only as a man but as himself. He didn't know how to admit it but he.. missed you. He missed you so bad and it was eating away at him. He spent hours out of his day visiting you. Like what you two always did when you were alone, he talked. About his day, what he ate, and even the lessons he overheard. The school got even quieter with you gone and he hated it. He felt bitter and broken, he didn't want to feel like that. He especially missed the way he felt with you. Almost like being on cloud nine. He finally understood the pain you felt when Jean died. This time on a more intimate level than he'd like to admit. He felt like the moon was ripped away from him after the sun. Now he was just the lonely tide, washing away against the shore until you returned. Ororo did all she could to help. All she could do was maintain your physical well-being as your body healed with rest. Logan hated the wait. The time you spent not walking around the halls of the school was maybe one of the worst times in his life. Since it hit him so deep on a real level. In this array of pain and even more guilt, he felt something dawn on him as you were still comatose. He was in love with you, Logan was in love with you. He felt like an idiot but the realization would always stay true. No matter how stupid he felt. As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew. In the middle of his thought process, he heard the swift slide open of the infirmary doors.

Right now he was standing over you. The one thing that kept his spirits high about your recovery was the gentle rise and lower of your chest. He didn't have to look behind him to know it was Storm. She too had taken her time checking in on your unconscious form. He sighed as she walked up right beside him. She gently cupped the examination table where your body would lay. She looked down at her hands with a bitter-sweet smile on her lips. She looked over to Logan, who was at a pause with himself. She decided to finally break the long silence. "You know they'll be fine, right?" She hummed as she glanced up to look over you. He chuckled softly as his brow pinched. His chuckle came out more like a rugged scoff. "I know, this just feels weird." He sucked in a breath of stale air. "It was funny the first night you arrived at the mansion.." Storm drew up a memory of that fateful night. "As soon as I and Scott brought you in, they immediately volunteered to help Jean down here with your examination. They were always enamored with your set of abilities. You were one of a kind to them especially, I suppose." Now his hands gripped into the sides of the examination table. He looked down, in pity of you and himself. How could he be so blind? Storm butted in once more as she noticed his demeanor shift. "All I'm saying is, they'd be happy to know how much you worried." He nodded in response, reminiscing when things were good. From your first encounter to now, his heart warmed. "I'd do it for anyone else." He gritted out as he bit back a smile. The truth was he was still in agony about Jean's loss. It felt wrong to love you as he had longed for her after all of this time. But you felt like a whole different story. He didn't have to sit in agony knowing that no matter what his love would always be with another. You always gave him the time and day, hell even down to the minute to just be honest. He needed you at his side no matter what you were to him. Maybe you were more than a friend, maybe he was crazy about you, but you understood him. In a way maybe Jean never had. Ororo knew he needed more time so she complied with the awkwardness in the air. "I'll give you some more time. Rest easy Logan, they'd want that." She insisted before making her way out of the infirmary. He immediately looked down back at you, before looking back at the monitor tracking your heart. He sighed, biting into his lip. He stuttered the only thing that had been keeping him sane since he last felt your eyes open. "Don't fail me now dimples... I need you." He gritted as his teeth were practically ground into his gums. It has become a regular part of his routine now. Once the students were back in their dorms for the night, down to the infirmary he goes. He could never be tired of seeing you at rest. Seeing you okay and not in pain. He just wished he could hear you speak. He hoped that you could hear his pleas for you to wake.

As much as he longed for you he just bided his time. Like the fool he was, like the idiot he felt like when you made him so weak. You made him feel the most human he ever could feel.

That day was supposed to be a normal day. Classes had been more and more brief. After the loss of Jean and you being "put out." But he did not expect to see what he did next. Going into the elevator to head downstairs, to of course see you as always. He was ready to talk about what you missed away and so on. His chest tightened once he saw what was right in front of him. It was you, you were walking? You were awake and on your own two feet. Your midsection was still bandaged but at least you were standing up straight. But then it finally clicked. Wait, you shouldn't even be walking around right now?!

He immediately ran to steady you once your expression went more absent. "Welcome back to the land of the living." He roughly inquired with a small, pleased grin. "I feel like shit, so don't start with me Wolvie." You gritted out with that smile that made him too feel all good on the inside. Quickly, his arms calmly wrapped around you. He longed for your embrace for too long. It wasn't like you were fighting him when he enacted this. You wrapped your arms around him too. He made sure not to squeeze too tight with your bandages and all. A gentleman must stay mindful, he could recall you poking at him as he had a beer bottle half hidden in his jacket.

Your head gently rested in the crook of his neck. That quiet he hated so much before when seeing you in the infirmary was warmer now. He liked the peace and quiet between the two of you when you were there WITH him. After some minutes passed, you met him back face to face. You eyes lingered as you watched the way he swallowed in with composure. You had longed for him to see you. Finally, all the puzzle pieces were clicking, and with your luck all at once. You knew before this would have never happened. It felt wrong and almost hurtful for you to be doing this. But go big or go home I guess. It was you who initiated it, and he gratefully complied. Still keeping you steady, once your lips met his hand immediately went to cup your cheek. In the bliss shared, all of a sudden it felt right. The tender embrace of your lips with his felt good. It was hungry and it was liberating. You could feel his heart beating out of his chest as quick gasps for air were taken. "I'm sorry." He uttered out, forehead against yours. "I know." You said with a sanguine look in your eye. "I love you." He uttered again at a rapid pace. "I know." You purred, your eyes looking back into his hazy ones. Things would always be complicated between the both of you. But deep down you had hope. Maybe not now, someday things could just be normal between you and The Wolverine. That's all you wanted and that's all you dreamed of. Yours and his timing by all means was horrible. So it wasn't surprising this delightful moment got interrupted by Scott of all people. You and Logan looked back, hands immediately darting off of one another. Time to address THAT later.

Scott's mouth fell agape as he began to regret coming down here in the first place. He readjusted his glasses with a small scowl. "Well hello to you too, and Logan." He turned his head to give him that same look. "Wanted to check on you but clearly -" He made sure to put a specific emphasis on 'clearly.' "That job has been overtaken by him.. I'll get Ororo." Before either you or Logan could interrupt him, Scott was already pressing buttons up to the main floor. Now that it was just the two of you bubbling laughs were shared. You felt finally okay. You felt like yourself after those months of nothing but remembrance. You and The Wolverine wormed back into conversation as you could finally talk BACK to him. Another thing you wouldn't ever admit was that yes, you did hear him. His gentle words would always be your favorite secret. After that display of affection though, your and Logan's bond never stayed just a little secret after that. Even after all the trial and error, and the more soon to come, you finally had another moment. Another moment that you could look at when you are older and with more grays on your head. Logan Howlett was yours, no matter how much the universe wanted to throw you around a loop. You'd always have him by your side, till the end of time. Nothing would stop you from cherishing this connection. Not even the burning phoenix crackling over the horizon. You and Logan against time baby.

ꔫ✉ reblogs/interaction is appreciated <3

[improbable-outset]

📄 𝐋𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎3 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Use of syringe and needles in the beginning, Wife!Reader, SMUT, Miguel rutting, heavy mentions of your pheromones, olphactophilia, Lab sex, overstimulation, breeding kink. You’re driving him nuts…all puns intended lol

𝐀/𝐍: I was planning for this to be in the same universe as For Biology. But it can be read by itself too. Also lmk if the Spanish phrases need fixing 🥹🥹

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You catch Miguel doing something he shouldn’t while dropping off his lunch. Now you both have to face the consequences.

The lab was bathed in a sterile glow of fluorescent lights as Miguel loaded the syringe gun with a shimmering liquid— Rapture.

The fluid inside the vial danced with an underlying glow as he positioned the syringe over his forearm with practiced precision.

The needle neared his skin and with one steady breath, he pushed it in. The liquid filled his bloodstream and a rush of power coursed through his veins.

Once the vial was bottomed out, he withdrew the syringe from his arm. The lab's stagnant atmosphere couldn’t overshadow the electric charge that was now enveloping him.

Miguel didn’t register the hiss of the lab doors open until your voice tore through the silence in the room. “Is that the second shot you’re taking?!” Your voice demanded clarity and answers from him.

Miguel didn’t turn to look at you, instead he silently put the empty syringe gun on the desk in front of him.

He could rapidly feel the effect of the Rapture in his bloodstream— the tingling sensation through his nerves and the blood rushing in his ears.

“What if I said it wasn’t,” he replied, though he knew where this would go.

“No me mientas, Miguel,” you resorted back. Miguel knew there was no point in lying to you when you saw him take the first Rupture shot this morning.

Despite not having any spider senses, he could smell your scent getting stronger as you stepped closer towards him with a heavy stride.

The Rapture was used to enhance his powers, that included his senses and strength.

But it was also a double-edged sword with its side effects. A gamble with his own equilibrium.

Your pheromones spiked his heart rate and the familiar rush of heat reached his cock. But he quickly dismissed it before it clouded his senses.

Now was not the time.

“Lyla, why didn’t you tell me she was coming?” He called out before Lyla’s marigold hologram appeared on his shoulder.

“She wanted to surprise you,” Lyla shrugged before quickly disappearing.

He craned his neck to see you hold out a paper bag in front of you. “And you forgot your lunch. But I think I came here just in time.”

You gestured at the empty syringe gun. He let out an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He wasn’t mad.

He could never be mad at you for visiting while he was on the clock— especially if you were delivering your homemade food. He just hated the predicament he was in right now.

It was obvious you weren’t going to drop the subject of his second Repture shot. You’ve been married to him long enough to know the side effects if things weren’t regulated properly.

Though, part of him was grateful that you understood his situation and that he could be this vulnerable with you.

You placed the paper bag on his desk before you started searching frantically through the lab.

“Lyla, where are the neutralisers? He always puts it in a different place whenever I come here and I could never find them,” you huffed in annoyance as you tried to locate the vials. The neutralisers helped to maintain his hormones and any side effects he could have from the Rapture.

The rest of the conversation with you and Lyla became a blur. As you bent over to reach the lower cabinets, Miguel’s eyes were glued on you— a captivating figure— and the dress you were wearing.

He had seen you wear that specific dress before but for some reason he couldn’t stop himself from noticing the small details and how the dress fitted you.

The skirt of the dress gave you a more feminine appearance. The balloon sleeve gave a visual flair to the whole outfit.

But he couldn’t tear his eyes off of the way it accentuated your hips and your curves.

It could be the side effects of the Rapture that was making him see things that he hadn’t noticed before, but now the neutraliser was the last thing on his mind.

He craved nothing more than to hike up your dress with his hands and reach the delicate part of you between your legs.

No!

Right now really wasn’t a good time for you to be here.

No matter how much he pushed those thoughts away, he could still feel himself lose his senses dangerously fast.

Suddenly, the night you confessed that you wanted to have a baby was reeling in his mind relentlessly— all he could focus on now was to breed you. And the way the dress was lifting up to reveal more of your legs as you bent over was only adding to his torment.

“Found them!” You exclaimed. After searching most of the lab cabinets, you found the vials with the neutralisers.

As Miguel stepped closer to approach you, he saw you held one of the vials out in your hand.

He seized your wrist and forced you up from the floor so you looked up at him.

“Necesitas irte,” The statement was punctured with authority, devoid of any room for negotiation.

Even if you were fully aware about the effects of his Rapture, he still couldn’t have you here. Not when he was in such a compromising position right now.

You frowned while still holding the vial in your grasp.

“I’m not leaving until I see you take the neutraliser,” Of course you were unfazed by his hard expression. You could easily break his assertive mask, but right now was a terrible time for your stubbornness.

“Amor…” It took every fiber of him to make himself sound as convincing as possible. Yet, he could still feel himself crack.

He could feel your pulse throbbing under his fingertips, even after he loosened his grip around your wrist. A vital sign of his wife’s consciousness and presence.

He imagined what it would be like having another heartbeat growing inside you, being nurtured and carried by you. He groaned at the mere thought.

“You…you threw away your birth control pills, right?” He already knew the answer but he had to be sure. He needed to hear it from you. Your scent was getting stronger by the second and his breathing quickened.

Your face scrunched in confusion by his question, completely oblivious to where the conversation was going. “Yes. What does that have to do with anything?”

Your simple answer made his dick twitch desperately under the digital suit. If he kept his sex drive at bay any longer, he will combust. He needed to be inside you.

He decided he wasn’t going to hold back his desires anymore. He was going to have his way with his wife.

“Let me breed you…please,” His voice was low in an attempt to conceal his faltering demeanor, but he knew you could easily see his weakness right through him.

“Mig…what…” the words lodged in your throat before he saw the change in your expression.

You quickly picked up on what was going on and realised that he was rutting. But you probably didn’t anticipate it to happen so quickly, otherwise you wouldn’t still be here.

He rolled his hips once against your lower body so you could feel his hard on, earning a gasp from you. He was deliberately rubbing against your clit through the skirt of the dress.

You still haven’t granted him permission, but he could see the way his request was churning in your mind. He pressed his forehead on yours and you looked up at him. He couldn’t read your expression but he could smell your pheromones and how much this was turning you on right now.

“Por favor,” he whispered before he kissed your cheek. He didn’t expect himself to sound so needy.

“Yeah…alright,” you answered. He sighed in relief, a fraction of his tension gone just from your permission alone.

He scooped you up before quickly placing you on one of the benches. His hands lifted the hem of your dress up, revealing more of your bare legs.

He noticed from his peripheral vision the glass vial slipped from your grasp and rolled off the bench before it shattered on the floor. But he paid no mind to it.

His hands halted once he reached your rear before pulling down your panties. He moaned when he saw the fabric candy wet from your arousal, emitting more of your scent.

Your pheromones were overpowering him now and it was driving him insane. You were soaked.

He wondered how long your clit had been throbbing for, how long you’ve been aroused by this. Perhaps you purposely wore a dress with only your panties underneath.

Once the panties were off, he got you to lean back further until your back was pressed against the bench. He lifted your dress higher to reveal your pussy. You were all slick and ready for him.

With a few taps on his watch, his digital suit vanished, leaving him with only his lab coat. His dick was throbbing pathetically with precum leaking from the tip.

He closed the gap between the two of you until his tip pressed against your opening and his precum mixed with your wetness.

He pushed himself in, feeling the resistance from your tight walls, until he was balls deep. Your mouth hung open as you were taking in everything from him.

The warmth from your pussy that was now engulfing his cock felt like a lifeline. He quickly kissed your temple because he knew we weren't going to hold back now.

Before you could lean into his touch, he started ramming himself into your poor cunt. Your eyes shot up in shock before you grabbed onto his biceps for support.

His pace was relentless and driven by the thought of filling you with his cum until they would finally stick. Your moans and the wet sounds filled his ears as he kept plunging himself into you.

You walls were squeezing his dick in all the right places and he couldn’t bring himself to slow down.

Each slap of his hips rocked your body on the bench further, threatening to slip away. But he held a tight grip on your waist so you would stay in place.

“I’ll get you knocked up, so everyone will know…You’re. With. Me.” He ended the last few syllables with a snap of his hips against your rear, adding emphasis and weight to his words.

You let out a breathy laugh between each thrust, amused by his statement.

“Miguel, I think the wedding bands give it away— ohmygod-” your sentence was cut off by a sudden hard thrust from his dick.

“That’s not enough and you know it, I need you full with my babies.” His words came out as a growl and his pace didn’t falter a fraction.

A few locks of his hair drooped from his head as he kept moving, sticking to the film of sweat that formed on his forehead.

He felt the contractions of your walls and he knew your orgasm was just a few thrusts away. You fists gripped the sleeves on his lab coat as you moaned loudly. He watched as your eyes squeezed shut and your climax came crashing down with each stroke from his dick.

He stopped momentarily to move your legs that was wrapped around his waist and rested them on his shoulders. He had better leverage and could reach deeper inside you.

The change in position had you crying out helplessly as he pressed himself into you more. You just reached your peak and you were still riding out your high but he didn’t give you a chance to recollect yourself.

“Miguel-!”

You were overstimulated in bliss as his dick was hitting the bundle of nerves that he knew would drive you over the edge. You could only utter fragments of his name along with your low moans.

Miguel watched with pride as his wife was falling apart under him.

“That’s it, clench onto me. Just like that.”

He could’ve sworn this was the best thing he had experienced with you and he fucked you many times before.

Perhaps the Rapture made him twice as sensitive to all the pleasure he was receiving and more aware of how you were snug around him.

His pace was becoming sloppy and staggered and he could just about feel the edge of his orgasm. Just a little longer of him being soaked in your cunt that always fit to his size perfectly.

His hips flinched into yours one last time before his cum was pouring into the depths of your womb in hopes that you will get pregnant.

Bred by him until it stained you.

Your legs were limp and slipped off of his shoulders. He groaned at the sheer force of his own climax.

He thrusted himself a few more times while more cum was spilling from him. He eventually came to a halt with his dick still half way inside you.

Your breathing was still erratic but you still managed to lift your head up to see where your bodies were meshed together.

He caught a flicker of surprise in your face as you noticed the mess before you under your dress. You gazed back up at him again.

“So…are you satisfied? Do you want me to give the neutralisers now?” you managed to huffed out, still breathless.

Miguel responded by pushing the remaining half of his dick back into your swollen cunt with a wet slap. You let out a broken moan in shock.

“Not yet…”

His lips curled up slightly as he started to plunge himself into you again…

The neutraliser forgotten.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @thealleydog @lazyjellyfish300 @club-danger-zone @farrowroyale @idk1341 @tinauh14 @mybvalentine @migueloharastruelove @ghost-lantern @ginanet @miguels-aranita @francesca-the-1st @monarchberrysblog @ruby-rubes26 @loosecan @oharasfilipinawife @miguelzslvtz @pxtched @hwasoup @the-pan-liquid @homewreckingwreck

I don’t think this one ate :( …I suck at writing dialogues. But I’m so fly when it comes to writing inner conflicts, like with Miguel’s chain of thoughts in this story, and body language. That’s why there isn’t a lot of dialogues here. Maybe because I’m an overthinker and it’s easy to write a lot when it comes to what the character is thinking lol

Idk what it is I’m starting to fucking hate using tumblr now, it just feels a little miserable being here. That’s why AO3 >>> literally anything else

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Harding gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Lucanis, Emmrich, Neve, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

Family and past:

Harding's parents split up a few years ago. Her father lives in Amaranthine. She's okay with that and thinks her parents are happier apart

Harding’s mother never taught her how to cook, she's entirely self-taught

Harding carries around the first letter her Mother sent her after joining the Inquisition

Harding doesn't have siblings 

Harding had a mabari named Contessa who passed away from old age

(If in romance) Taash offers Harding to get a mabari together

Time with the Inquisition:

Back in Skyhold, Solas once told Harding he was sorry dwarves couldn’t dream

Harding thinks that if she had never joined the Inquisition, she probably would’ve got married and tended to goats

Harding volunteered for the Inquisition because their soldiers kept scaring the sheep because they all had super old maps. And because she didn't want to spend the rest of her life watching sheep

General: 

Harding likes sandwiches, they are one of her favourite foods 

Harding finds Treviso very beautiful (who doesn’t) 

Harding would bring a bow, clean socks and a spoon to a deserted island

Harding likes books about blood and gore

Harding doesn't like killing, but she doesn't feel bad about it. She compares it to farmers having to kill wild animals that get too close to their land, as sometimes a quick kill can prevent more suffering (i.e. if a wolf gets inside your sheepfold, your own animals will die in pain)

She says that this kind of mindset is the reason why a lot of Inquisition scouts came from farmers, as they need to kill people when necessary (even if those people aren’t their enemies personally), but don’t go out looking for it

Harding likes almonds. They are crunchy :) 

Harding is fascinated by Minrathous’s nightlife 

Harding doesn't drink alcohol 

Harding really likes puns

Harding has fought a Stormrider dragon before 

Harding has a detailed and decorated scrapbook with her kills (with doodles. Including a cute giant spider)

Harding never visited Nevarra before the Veilguard, though she had heard of Cumberland’s Summer Exhibition. Emmrich disregards it as just a market with a horse show 

Dwarves and magic:

Harding finds herself more hungry than usual since getting hew new powers

Neve and Emmrich hypothesise that Harding developing Titan powers may have increased her lifespan (or even granted her eternal life) 

Harding describes using her magic as “touching something vast and eternal, a well, deep inside”. Lucanis says that it sounds similar to him using his demon powers

Relationships with companions:

Bellara, Neve and Taash call her “Lace”. Davrin and Lucanis call her “Harding”

Emmrich calls her "Harding" most of the time, though he calls her "Lace" on two occasions (in a banter about Emmrook, and the one where he talks about seeing her aura differently after he becomes a Lich)

Harding grows special plants for Davrin to help him mask the griffon smell in his room

Harding grows truffles for Assan

Harding lets Assan sleep on her

To Lich!Emmrich, Harding appears different from other dwarves. She has a special aura (but it comes and goes)

Harding buys an enchanted barbed arrow to take out Lucanis/Spite if push comes to shove. She later tries to give it to Lucanis and apologises, but he insists she keeps it as a sign of his trust

Harding finds Teia intimidating because she is “polished” (Lucanis disagrees but notes she keeps good track of all utensils Viago poisoned at the table) 

Teia called Harding fearless in a conversation with Lucanis

Harding invites Neve to her house in Ferelden after Neve's apartment in Minrathous burns down, in case she wants to get away from the Lighthouse 

Harding is very excited about Neve taking over the Threads (“Do they have to kiss your hand?”) and wishes she were a crime boss

Harding once dreamt of Neve stealing her strawberry tarts

Harding starts humming Taash’s name to herself after they get together

About gifts from Taash: 

Harding doesn’t use the archery bracer because it feels so special she’s afraid it could get lost or get dirty

She also doesn’t wear the hairpin because she’s afraid to lose it

Taash got the cheese in Minrathous

Conclusion: get Harding cheese, it’s the only thing she isn’t afraid to actually use

Garden and plants: 

It's enough to mention a plant for it to start growing in Harding’s garden

The Fade plants normally don’t need tending. However, they may begin to wilt if that’s what you expect them to do 

Smuggler’s Rose clouds the person’s mind if you are wearing it like perfume, letting you pickpocket other people more easily

Sage bane mixed with troll moss can be used to treat toenail fungus

[bamtwozled]

I need to hear thoughts on craftsverse dan

the thing that fascinates me the most about him is that he’s kind of afraid of what he is. dan appears to be a much better conduit for the occult forces they’re trying to communicate with—in glitter faces, he draws the pentagram seemingly without his own knowledge, in potato prints he seems to have some ability to understand what they’ve summoned when it speaks to him, and in slime he’s the one entrusted with completing the ritual to bring Him into their world (there’s also the little clip of him spinning the slime bowl presumably with his mind, which isn’t on the same level but is still a “something’s up with this guy” indicator nonetheless).

and yet there are multiple points where he’s afraid of what’s happening to him. in glitter faces, he panics when he discovers that he’s drawn the pentagram, and phil has to guide him back from it. in slime, he’s very clearly upset both before and after cutting his hand open to contribute the blood, and only starts laughing again when phil does. when the ritual is complete and He rises, dan full-body flinches. he still does all these things he’s supposed to do, up to and including literally stabbing phil to death and carving out his heart, even though doing so does seem to pretty significantly affect him, but he’s clearly not as perfectly on board with everything they’re doing as phil is.

phil’s role is pretty straightforward. he’s the true believer, and the sacrifice that’s happy to be a sacrifice because of that faith. he’s the driving force in these videos. he’s always the one to introduce the craft and guide dan and the audience through it, and he has more lines that directly acknowledge his absolute faith (think “I can’t see, but that’s okay, because I believe” from potato prints, or “I’m happy to give it to him” when dan says “this was just a start, but he’ll need it straight from the source” in slime, and that attitude around his own impending death also contrasts with dan’s trepidation around his own much smaller blood sacrifice). there aren’t really any times where his devotion or persona waver, but dan’s do.

and like I think there are plenty of things you can read into that, although we get more into headcanon territory rather than a direct interpretation of the video. the simplest explanation is that he does believe on his own, it’s just not quite as unshakeable as phil’s faith and confidence. another interpretation that I’ve played with in the past is that his devotion is more to phil than to Him, and his belief comes more from following phil than directly of his own accord. phil’s “everybody makes mistakes” in glitter faces is just a silly little line about dan being left handed, but in looking at dan having some fear of his own abilities, it’s possible that he sees plenty of things about himself as being a mistake, especially if any of this manifested before he really knew what was happening. finding someone who accepts and likes that part of him, even if it’s just because it’s useful, would be welcome, and could easily push him into this acolyte mindset. but again that’s all just like interesting headcanon territory based on how their power dynamic seems to me to play out in their videos, and there are plenty of other equally valid ways to read it.

I just think “this is the one thing he was made perfectly for, and yet it scares him” is such a fun and fascinating basis for a character like this, and I think it adds a lot more depth and room for interesting speculation than if they’d both been 100% complete believers

[elodieunderglass]

Are there any trans characters in the Killieverse? Obviously, there’s a good selection of queer ones, including the titular jockey, but, just off the top of my head, I can’t think of any trans ones.

There’s a little bit of background activity -

Derek has a trans mother. His lesbian mothers are his biological parents, and she came out in his childhood. He inherited early baldness from her, but she decided to do a whole shaven-head butch thing with it. This is part of the general chillness of Derek’s mental landscape. (So he went bald early. So did his mom. It’s whatever.)

Miles is a bit GNC, in a baby Gen Alpha way. I think a lot of that cohort of kids are going to have their Own Thing about it.

BUT

Apologies for the quantum fucking nature of this response

in the quantum state we operate in, which is regrettably defined by the fact that I didn’t think about writing a book until five minutes ago, nobody major to the plot is currently trans.

However, this is the plan.

Throw Your Heart Over - a messed-up family falls apart. Lots of horses run in circles. Being very brave about it, a guy recovers his twin. (Probably about 10 chapters. Will require paid Irish, racetrack and horse behaviour accuracy readers, to be paid up-front. Was thinking of writing it and selling it to try to recover cost of paying various helpers.)

The Straight and Narrow - a messed-up guy flails around. Has narrowboats in it. (Will require Irish and Scottish dialogue readers, but much less work for them, and should be be cheap enough to produce. Thus, while possibly less interesting to the audience that wants to see Killie making a tit of himself, it could generate enough money to pay in advance for…)

Run for the Roses (working title) - idiot twins meet nerds while becoming Embroiled in situations. Killie gets taken out back and beaten up by the twin wolves of his demisexuality and bisexuality, whom he’s managed to avoid this far, but to his own disgust, he has to not only meet but master them, because he unfortunately met them at the same time as The Best Human In the World and he’s in love. (Will require Jewish accuracy reader, Irish dialogue reader and some form of RPG-knowing person.)

The Blood Always Comes Through (Heirs Above the Ground) - the horse dynasty has to deal with itself eventually, including such exciting set pieces as meeting Derek’s parents, forcibly rebooting Charlie’s horsegirl powers, Miles (could unpack to be a Whole Fucking Thing), several horse dynasty fights and showdowns, What The Hell That Murder Bill Did Was About, Killie’s gay wedding, and possibly a trans character. (Absolute carnage. Will need every sort of sensitivity and accuracy reader on the books. May never get to this one. Could be two books tbh.)

^^ I’d like to have a trans character come out during that one!! but I’d like it to be a bit of a surprise.

So unfortunately the answer is NO. But WATCH OUT.

If a SPECIFIC SERIES OF EVENTS unfurls to the point where I can produce four books, with ideally paying for the help needed for the next, there IS a trans named character.

So like, yes but also no.

But in a way that hopefully makes sense. There aren’t many reveals I’m specifically protecting but I feel like I gotta leave something worth paying money for (since I need the money for the next team of editors.)

And of course we can all headcanon whatever at any time. I think the merfolk in the mermaid AU should all be intersex on a level we can’t even comprehend, while still referring to themselves as the default/normal humans, and with everything happening on land having a qualifier (Air Gulls, Air Plants, Land Meat.) and the merfolk should, like, refer to land humans having things like Land Penises. This is very funny to me

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — THREE.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 5.8k.

NOTE. there was supposed to be more to this chapter, but it’d end up being way too long so i reserved it for the next one. anyway, hope you enjoy your first week at nalkeutta. feedback and comments much appreciated. happy reading! CHAPTER FOUR.

AFTER ONE ANGRY PHONE CALL, YOU FIND OUT MORE FROM MARK THE INTERNAL AGREEMENT BETWEEN JSS NALKEUTTA. Mark understands the precarious spot JSS is in, but can’t risk losing his major legal recourse whenever things get icky within his gang dealings. JSS recognizes the significant benefits it had been receiving by partnering with Nalkeutta, but this continued arrangement would be inimical in the long run.

So they came up with a very simple compromise. Nalkeutta will stop hiring lawyers from JSS if the firm simply hands over one of their lawyers to them, effectively cutting public ties between the two parties. However, Mark Lee will continue supporting JSS as a private investor, all while retaining the protection fee benefits that the firm has been enjoying thus far.

It’s a win-win situation for all. All except you.

You’re the only loser in this situation. These fuckers are tossing and trading you around like some sort of commodity.

“Are you happy that you’ve finally managed to poach me after all this time?”

Knowing very well how pissed you are, Mark offered to pick you up from your apartment. Today’s scheduled to be your first official day at Nalkeutta. He’s smiling in the driver’s seat of his fucking Bugatti, and it just makes you feel even shittier as your ass lands on the plush cushions of his unreasonably expensive car. “Seatbelt,” he simply tells you. You grunt and fasten it on. “I hope you’d change your mind about your transfer once you get a tour of our building.”

Oh, joy. A building tour. The best description for you and Mark in the car right now, driving down the sepia streets of Yeongdeungpo district, would be that of a chipper mom taking her angsty teen daughter to a birthday party, chin on palm, staring out the window and all.

He eventually pulls up to a tall, multi-windowed building. Very tall, wedged between two shorter establishments. You look at the towering building from inside the car, noticing the sign greeting you right above the well-mainted glass doors— Daybreak Security Company, it says. You release a scoff. Wow, what a disguise. 

Come to think of it, in the months you’ve worked with Nalkeutta, you’ve never actually been here before. Mark’s always the one visiting JSS, never the other way around, so there is the barest amount of curiosity here. “You can head in first and wait in the lobby,” he tells you. “I need to park this thing in the basement.” Your hand stops at the door handle, squinting back at Mark’s instruction. He laughs. “The staff are informed about your arrival. Most of them are out, anyway, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Dubious, but you don’t protest. Mark Lee stays hazarding by the sidewalk with one car window open, watching you as you make your way to the entrance. You tentatively look behind, only to be met by Mark’s close-eyed smile, waving a hand to prompt you inside the building. You grimace and spin your heels. What a psycho, you think, and you finally hear him restarting the car to leave once you’re already halfway through Nalkeutta’s doors.

Jeez. He and Doyoung are on the opposite ends of the boss spectrum— both equally despicable— but at least your former boss wasn’t as creepy or an active threat to your life. Heck, he was even a source of entertainment sometimes. You don’t think you can get away with the same disrespectful shit you’ve been pulling on Doyoung with Mark. The only reason why the latter has been letting you talk back so much is because he never saw you as a threat. Now that you’re in his territory, you can’t be so complacent.

Anyhow, you do as instructed and are currently waiting in the lobby, collecting curious stares here and there from an incorrigible amount of men coming in and out, and your best attempt at an impatient resting bitch face so that none of these fuckers try to talk to you is starting to be overcome by queasiness. When the hell is he coming back? You notice a group of guys in their early twenties whisper while sneaking glances at you from the corner— one of them you’re pretty sure you’d had to bail out before for a DUI.

Besides that glimmer of abnormality, the rest of the lobby is eerily normal, harboring the appearance of any other company office with potted plants and clean sofas and a receptionist corner. Granted, they are trying to pose as a very legal, very unsuspicious security company, but knowing what you know about Nalkeutta, it just makes you sick to the bones.

Eventually, Mark Lee shows up, emerging from the ground floor elevator near the couch you’ve been waiting on. You don’t even try to hide your annoyance. “Sorry, Had to take a phone call,” he says, smiling and sounding not very sorry at all while nudging you out of your seat. “C’mon, attorney. Let’s start the tour.”

You release a dead and pained groan. Mark pats you on the back for your enthusiasm, leading the way through.

Nalkeutta has four floors in total. The first floor is basically the entirety of Nalkeuta’s front— Daybreak Security Company, all decked out with an abundance of private meeting rooms for clients, consultation offices, and a bunch of flat out empty rooms labelled as storage, and bathrooms on each wing. There’s both a staircase and an elevator leading further up the floors or down to the basement parking lot. Mark says he’ll show you to your reserved parking spot later, and that alone is already tipping the scales between him and Doyoung on who is the better bad boss.

The second floor is reserved for the general office— divided into Nalkeutta’s four divisions and a common break area in the center, cushions and sofas already occupied by less than familiar faces. You don’t look at any of them and instead feast your eyes “You’ll also be stationed on this floor,” he tells you, smiling. “But we’ll save that part of the tour for last.”

Wow. You can’t wait to have another crowded cubicle sandwiched between roughed up gangsters who probably don’t know how to work a printer. Now that you think about it, it’s kind of uncanny that this notorious gang operates in a sterilized office setting. Mark Lee never fails to send you to the depths of discomfort.

“Now, to the next floor.” Up another level in the elevator are two very large conference rooms, an entire fucking gym area, and rooms and rooms of organized files and storages, each tightly chained with locks, but that’s not the point.

They have a gym here. There’s a freaking fully-equipped gym in the middle of all this corporate bullshit. Of fucking course there is.

“I’ll give you the keys to the locked rooms later,” he informs with a hum. “And you’re free to use the amenities up here.”

There’s no point hiding the sheer disgust on your face. “You’re offering me up to a biohazard chamber.” This is a male dominated building. You may be stereotyping, but you can’t imagine how hygienic these roughed up gangsters are. Mark always smells like baby lotion and fabric softener, but hospitals hide the smell of blood and death with a noxious amount of industrial chemicals and disinfectant. Look at him laughing at your repugnance. Evil, evil man.

“Alright, now let’s head up to the fifth floor.”

Riding up the elevator, you notice quickly that the uppermost floor has a lot less going on than the three below it. The first and only place Mark lets you enter is his private office— instructing you to knock thrice in case you have an urgent matter to discuss with him without informing him beforehand. The rest of the rooms on the floor are confidential, beyond your scope of authority.

He drops a set of keys onto your open palm. “But once you’ve worked with us for around three or four years, I might change my mind.”

It’s concerning how employee access to restricted information depends on the insane boss’s fickleness of mind. “Sure.” You pocket the keys. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Let me show you to your office.”

Your palm, still inside your slacks pocket, tightens around the keys. Office? No. No fucking way. Haha. He probably means just a cubicle. Your heart starts racing. Mark starts walking, and you hear the thumping in your ears coincide with your clacking heels against the hollow hallway. 

Office. Office. Your hopes are starting to rise up as the elevator brings you a level down. It dings. Mark leads you back into the fourth floor, and when you pass by the sets of cubicles divided in the open office area without your boss turning his head or stopping or even batting an eye— you start losing your shit. Holy crap. He stops in front of a close-doored room, interiors concealed by large blinds from the inside. 

There’s an acrylic placard attached to the door. It says Chief Legal Officer.

“This room is yours.”

When he opens the door, the first thing that greets you is the glistening name plate sitting parallel before you atop the sleek mahogany desk. 

It has your name on it. Gold. Avenir font. Engraved. Heavy enough to knock a man unconscious with one blow. You’re about to cry. Nevermind all that you said earlier. Fuck Kim Doyoung. Mark Lee is the best boss you could ever ask for.

“Hope the interior is to your liking, but you can change it up however you like.” 

That prompts you to actually take a look around, and holy shit— it’s almost as big as Doyoung’s office. There’s a substantial amount of organizers and cabinets. At the center sits a set of low, mustard settees and a small black coffee table to match. The floor is carpeted and lint-free. There’s a fucking mini fridge near the artificial potted plant in the corner. Your head snaps towards Mark. He laughs at your, speechless, open-mouthed, teary-eyed reaction to his surprise. 

“I’m guessing you’re satisfied with the office,” he says, looking like he’s about to say more but is interrupted by a silent buzz from his phone. He pulls it open, and his brows furrow for a split second. “Hmm. I still have to introduce you to Nalkeutta’s Executives, but something came up.” Mark pockets back his phone, and his usually pleasant expression takes over once more. “For now, I’ll let you get yourself settled in your office. I’ll send someone to pick you up in a while.”

The moment Mark Lee leaves the premises, you let out a scream, walk forward, drop down to your knees, and attempt to hug the entire length of your desk. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, cheek pressed against the cold surface of the red mahogany wood. “Oh my god, I’m naming you Savannah and you’ll be my new best friend.”

Savannah does not reciprocate your affections, but who gives a damn. You’re not sure how long you’ve been embracing your desk and inhaling the new office smell, but apparently long enough for someone to knock and push open your door with a sing-songy “Hellooo—!” The greeting quickly gets cut off the moment your widened eyes meet that of the intruder’s. Your knees are kissing the carpeted ground. Your head is cocked in a very uncomfortable manner in order to face the direction of the door— but not as uncomfortable as how the guy who just entered looks at the moment.

“Whoa, uh,” he double-takes. “Mark asked me to pick you up. You must be our new lawyer…?” 

You continue meeting the man’s gaze. You force your stiff shoulders back and slowly pull yourself up, patting down your pencil skirt. “Yes,” you start, promptly introducing yourself. “And you are?”

Very smooth. His gaze flickers down, making its way back up to meet your eyes— of which a wide grin starts to unfurl on his face. Your brow twitches. “Lee Haechan. Head of the Yoosun Department. My office is right across from yours.” He called Mark by his first name. Meaning, he must be one of his higher-ups. You wonder if it’s a Nalkeutta requirement to be rude and pretty in order to be promoted. “Nice to meet you, attorney. Seems like you’ll have no problem fitting right in.”

Haechan extends an arm for a handshake as if he didn’t just hit you with the worst insult you’ve been slapped with his fucking week. You respond with one firm shake before wiping the same palm against your blazer. 

He notices. You intended for him to notice. You beam at him with a smile. He’s still grinning, but slightly taken aback. “You’re fun.”

Mark has yet to orient you with the general organizational structure of Nalkeutta, but at the very least, there’s one thing you’re certain of.

“And you’re wasting time. What did Mark send you for?”

You answer to no one but him. Meaning, you’ve no reason to fake pleasantries with this Haechan guy. He barged into your office without waiting for admission. This guy needs to be taught a lesson.

“Oh, right,” he huffs. “He called us for a sudden meeting to meet the new head of our legal department, or something. I didn’t even know we had a legal department! Anyway, follow me, let’s head to the conference room. By the way, do you have a boyfriend?” The elevator doors close before you. You grace him with a response the moment he presses the floor button.

“You saw me in carnal embrace with my desk earlier. The only thing fucking me is my impending workload.”

Haechan chokes out a snorting laugh. “Holy shit,” he wheezes. “Is that a call for help? If so, I’m a pretty helpful guy.” 

You look at him, smiling. “Unless you’re a seventy-inch mahogany wood in width, I’m not interested.”

“Damn. High standards. I give, I give.”

You roll your eyes, taking the liberty of twisting the doorknob to the conference room before you. Your entrance is accompanied by a creak. At once, four sets of eyes immediately fall on you.

The first is the usual creepy ass gaze of Mark Lee, way too happy to see you. The next one is unfamiliar, covered by the glint of his glasses lens, but you don’t sense any animosity. The third is both blurry yet somewhat recognizable at the same time— a shiver down your spine when you meet his sharp glare. What the hell? This guy looks terrifying.

And the last one feels like walking back into a den that you swore you’d never return to. 

Na Jaemin’s eyes flicker up from his phone the moment you enter. You stifle a swear under your breath and shoot your gaze down. He flashes you a smile. Ah, fuck. Of course he’d be here. It totally slipped your mind thanks to the high from your new office and Lee Haechan trying to hook up with you. You’ve yet to judge whether or not a sick new office outweighs having to deal with this sick freak’s face every day. 

“Attorney!” he chirps from across the room, comfortably lounging on one of the office chairs lining the long conference table. A squeak accompanies every time the chair swivels from left to right, back and forth. “Long time no see.”

Yeah, you hoped it’d stay that way, but when did the scales ever tip in your favor? You swallow down any attempt of fear trying to break out and turn your head to the side. “Mark, what are we discussing?”

Standing at the head of the table, your new boss smiles at you. Not because of your flat enthusiasm. No way. He seems to be amused that you just ignored Na Jaemin point blank. “Ah, yes. I wanted to properly introduce you to our division executives and give you a briefer on the company.”

The annoying swiveling sound has stopped. You don’t dare look at that side in the room throughout the rest of the meeting.

“Alright, now that everyone’s here, let’s get started.”

Nalkeutta is divided into four divisions, and the other four brutes you’re trapped in this room right now are the executives of those four divisions respectively. You already know Na Jaemin is the man in charge of Ganghak. Lee Haechan has Yoosun. Glasses is introduced as Huang Renjun, who’s in charge of Hyeongshin. Big scary guy is Daehyeon’s Lee Jeno.

There’s a familiar ring to all of these division names. They’re all high schools in Yeongdeungpo. It starts to all make sense when Mark Lee tells you that this gang of his was founded nine years ago. 

Nalkeutta started as a juvenile gang by a bunch of fucked up high schoolers. And those schools continue to serve as breeding grounds for scumbags like them. This shit is insane.

“Hold on.” 

Your voice echoes, freezing the entire room. You narrow your eyes at the very comprehensive diagram of Nalkeutta’s organizational structure Huang Renjun is presenting up front on a laptop screen. 

“There’s something wrong with this.” You get up from your seat. You squeeze past Mark and Renjun, taking control of the touchpad to zoom into the upper part of the chart. Your name is underneath Mark’s, and on the same level as the four executives, but that’s not the problem here. “Why am I the only one under the legal department?” you lift your head up as you say this, eyes firmly locked into Mark. “Where are the rest of the lawyers?”

Mark Lee attempts to look apologetic and remorseful. “Attorney,” he starts, walking up. “You know well how hard it is for Nalkeutta to establish trust between our partners. We are in fact extremely grateful that we managed to get someone we trust very deeply to finally work with us directly.”

This son of a bitch. They couldn’t have at least pretended to give a fuck about your position.

How—how does he expect you to manage the legal affairs of this messed up organization all by yourself? Your blood starts to simmer. Fuck it, it’s already boiling, and you’re just about to blow up when Mark Lee opens his mouth before you could.

“Anyhow, let’s talk salary.”

Goddammit. This guy sure knows how to pacify you.

Jeno hands him a binded folder. He smiles and hands it over to you. “This is our employment contract. Let me know if you find any issues so we can negotiate, but the important part is here.” 

You glance down at the part of the page he’s tapping. Yearly salary. Your eyes fly wide open when you see the numbers on the page.

150,000,000 KRW. 

Your head shoots up from the folder. You look at him like he’s joking. He isn’t.

“Does this meet your standards, attorney?”

Motherfucker. First, a new office. Now this. It’s like he wants to strip you from your rights to complain.

‎*‎

Your first job under Nalkeutta is accompanying Huang Renjun to a client meeting in Yeongdeungpo’s Chinatown.

“Good to have you around, attorney.”

Well. Client meeting is a stretch. The quote-unquote client is a mixed-martial arts gym under Hyeongshin that’s been paying protection fees very diligently until last month. Hyeongshin’s grunts were sent to sniff around the other week to see what was up, and the owner of the gym was caught rendezvousing with a Cheongang under the bridge connecting Yeongdeungpo and Map.

Cheongang. If Yeongdeungpo has Nalkeutta, Map is controlled by a different gang called Cheongang. You don’t have much intel on them, save for the fact that this district was once part of their territory until Mark Lee came into the picture. Needless to say, the two gangs don’t have the most amicable relationship. This is going to be less of a client meeting and more of a beatdown for sure.

“Why am I even here?” you grunt in the car on the way to your destination. Huang Renjun is scrolling through his ipad as he sits next to you. He’s kind enough to respond to your mindless grumbles.

“Having a lawyer around is always useful,” he simply says. “Mark says this is your first exposure to the organization’s operations. You don’t have to do anything. Just observe.”

You peer at the side mirror and look at the other two Nalkeutta cars trailing behind this one. Huang Renjun is actually a lot nicer than you expected. Considering your first introductions to Nalkeutta were Na Jaemin and Mark Lee, this guys is a breath of fresh air.

The air turns rancid the moment you cross the paifang gate, and you watch as all hell breaks loose at the Rongyu Mixed-Martial Arts Gym at four in the fucking afternoon.

“Gijeol-ah I thought we had a relationship!”

You wince at the sound of Renjun’s voice.

“How could you cheat on us with these ugly Cheongang pricks?”

The gym’s doors are closed, but there’s almost a dozen people guarding it— all looking like they’re one second away from jumping the nearest person and beating the shit out of them. A few moments later, the door rattles open. A head pops out. He looks like he’s about to crap his pants.

“You— you Nalketta fuckers ask for too much shit! How could you raise the protection fees overnight? That’s not fucking fair!

You really feel like you shouldn’t be here, but for once in your life, you feel pretty thankful that there are lines and lines of tank built men surrounding you as a protective shield.

“Well, it’s part of the contract you signed, Gijeol-ah! This is your fingerprint isn’t it?” Renjun taunts further, holding up a contract before tapping on the bottom right page. “If you were having trouble, you could’ve just gone to me directly. Hyeongshin is pretty understanding, you know. We even let you off with just a warning last time when you were three months late in paying your loans. You should’ve been grateful that you’re not under Ganghak or Daehyeon.”

Nevermind. You no longer feel safe. You hear the nearest Hyeongshin guy next to you crack his knuckles. Another one starts warming up. You won’t be surprised if one of them is currently frothing at the mouth.

Huang Renjun drops his hands down. He sighs and hands you the contract. 

“But you went off to stab us in the back, Gijeol-ah. Unfortunately this is as far as my understanding extends.” 

You briefly skim over it. Wow. Mark Lee put work into this. It’s vague enough to bypass statutory limitations. They’re using Daybreak Security Company as the legal entity to ensure the contract’s validity. You see a few questionable provisions that might void this contract. And that’s gonna be your job to fix. Lucky you.

“You— you can go and shove your understanding up your ass! I’m sick and tired of Nalkeutta’s bullshit!”

“You’re breaking up with us? That’s too bad.” It’s starting. Huang Renjun lands a hand on one of his men’s shoulder. “Give me a call once you’re done.”

With that, they start to move forward. Renjun walks up to you and you hear a yell and the sounds of fists being thrown the moment he spins you around and prods you to the opposite direction of the noise. Various thuds and screams flood you from behind, the sounds of bones crushing and bodies crashing getting dimmer as you both continue to walk back to the car. 

“You hungry, attorney?” Huang Renjun asks. “I know a good dim sum place nearby.”

“Wait, what the fuck, hold on,” you stop. He turns to you, brow raised. “We’re leaving? Just like that?”

Renjun narrows his eyes. “What? You want to watch that disgusting mess?”

With that prompt, you hesitantly turn around, and there you see a Nalkeutta guy swinging a metal bat straight into the ribcage of one Cheongag grunt. Oof. You wince. What a waste of a good sunset.

“I don’t fight. What’s the point of having men working under you if you won’t put them to good use?” The both of you make it back to the car. The driver inside greets Renjun, and the latter waves him off. “But if it’s a hard job, then I just transfer the case to Ganghak or Daehyeon. Usually Ganghak. Most of those guys are just like their psychopath of a boss.”

Yeah. This guy isn’t normal, either. What did you expect? At least he’s polite to you.

You slide into the backset. “Dim sum sounds nice.”

“Great.” He follows not long after, leaving an instruction to the driver. “Take us to Mama Hong’s.”

Renjun was right. Mama Hong has a killer dim sum selection, and you’d bookmark it on your maps if this place didn’t remind you of a massacre that’s currently ongoing. You can’t exactly enjoy your pork buns to the fullest knowing full well that someone’s head is getting bashed in right now. The silver lining is the fact that Huang Renjun is a good conversationalist and has not once called you a bitch nor tried to get in your pants in the past two hours that you’ve been with him. 

He’s a pretty cool guy. He joined the gang for money because he was a dirt poor immigrant in high school but then at one point he realized he was in too deep to quit.

It’s good to know you’re both stuck in Nalkeutta because you treasure your lives. It’s like Mark Lee has an invisible loaded gun perpetually pointed at your heads. What a way to bond in solidarity.

The sun had long set when Renjun received the text that the job was done. “Let’s go,” he tells you. “Two hours of overtime is good enough.”

See, this guy speaks your language. 

It takes another twenty minutes to get back to the Nalkeutta building, jotting another extra hour on your DTR. Meaning three total hours of overtime pay. Fucking amazing. If things continue speeding at this rate, then you won’t be entirely miserable working here. You’re already walking out the sliding doors of hell and thinking about harvesting your crops the moment you get home— but that’s exactly the moment the world decides that you haven’t filled your daily quota of dread yet.

“Attorney.”

Goddammit. You should know by now that the moment you think things are going well, god’s just gonna immediately spit in your mouth and tell you to enjoy it.

Na Jaemin lights the cigarette between his teeth, embers cascading onto the ground only for a good second before he stops on it to flash you a smile. “Took you fucking long enough,” he says. “Come with me. New recruits screening.”

Your brows furrow. When you don’t move for ten seconds too long, Na Jaemin’s smile drops.

“Mark’s orders. Notarize their contracts, or some shit.”

For fuck’s sake, you just clocked out. Disgruntled, you force your body out of its frozen state and you hear the psycho walking in front of you mutter something under his breath— something you’re not curious enough to find out. He leads you to a parking garage just a few blocks away, and it’s at this moment that you realize that maybe he lied to beat the shit out of you without anything knowing.

That fear is shut down when the dim, flickering lights of the rundown garage reveal seven teenage boys standing in one line as if they’re about to run a military drill. They’re all wearing Ganghak uniforms. This is some kind of sick mockery.

“Alright, you fucking maggots.”

Jesus christ. The way you flinch at Na Jaemin’s voice is purely instinctual— something that hasn’t been deeply ingrained into the seven boys before you, it seems, because they continue standing stiff and still with their chins up as Na Jaemin saunters up to them. He fishes something out from his pocket. You squint. It’s a car key. He clicks on it. You wince, a sudden glaring of lights from behind the boys.

“There’s only one car. There’s seven of you.”

You hear his voice speak as your vision readjusts.

“Get to it.”

Hold on a second.

“Hey, hurry the fuck up. Why aren’t any of you moving?” Your mouth gapes. You watch the realization slowly sink into the seven faces in front of you— an expression that Na Jaemin doesn’t share because more than anything, he looks pretty annoyed right now. He lets out a grunt and flicks his wrist up to check the time. The look on his face when he drops it back down is enough to send at least three of the kids stuttering. “If no one hits the ground in three seconds, you’re all fucking death for wasting my time. One. Two. Thr—”

The sound of a knuckle hitting a jaw. You shut your eyes and look away. 

There’s nothing enjoyable about watching a bunch of teenagers beating the shit out of each other, but your co-worker seems to fashion a different opinion. “Whew.”  A nasty grin spreads on his face, just as one of the boys drops onto dusty cement, no sign of getting back up any time soon. “One down. Can’t wait for this shitshow to be fucking over.”

You’re horrified as you look at him, but that’s the problem— you’re looking at him, and this doesn’t go under his notice. 

Na Jaemin locks into you. He tosses his unfinished cigarette behind and traps you into an unwanted conversation. “We haven’t seen each other in a while, attorney,” he starts with a hum. “You haven’t even spared me a hello since you got here. It’s almost like all those weeks we spent in prison together are nothing to you.”

Even if you want to talk to him, what the hell are you supposed to say to that?

You resign by flitting your eyes to the side and looking away. You hear a scoff and the sound of a lighter click, followed by the reintroduction of his foul cigarette smoke wafting through the air around you. “Want a hit?” he asks. You grimace. You get a feeling that he won’t appreciate being ignored a third time. So you force an answer out of your suffocating throat, and you try your best to make it entertaining so he doesn’t sock you in the face for being dull and boring.

“No, thank you,” you quickly say. “I intend on dying from heart failure, not from my lungs collapsing.”

He lets out a huff. You almost mistake it for laughter. “Either way, you die.”

“That’s true, but I don’t want my breath smelling like rot before the rest of my body does.”

Silence. Uh-oh. You’re met with a prolonged silence, followed by the click of his tongue and you notice him tossing the second cigarette like the first one, a little less willingly this time. God. There’s no place for your eyes around here. In front, there’s a teen battle royale and to your left is a bastard who gets triggered by eye contact. There’s nowhere for you to look but down, and even then you can still hear the cacophony of pained groans and punches hitting.

“Had fun on your little excursion with Renjun?”

Why the fuck is he trying to make small talk now? “A bit. He didn’t force me to watch a massacre and treated me out to dim sum. It was great.”

“Hah.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck jolt.

“Ain’t that pretty fucking nice.”

Why the fuck is he mad about that?

You snap your head up, about to look at Na Jaemin, but your attention is pried off from him when you hear the gravelled roar of one of the Ganghak students in front. Your eyes blur from the whiplash— then you notice one boy battered with deep heavy breaths, standing above his fallen peers. His eyes are wide. There’s multiple bruises on the visible parts of his skin. The weight of your worry is trumped by Na Jaemin’s sheer apathy.

“I—I did it,” the boy breathes out. “I did it, hyung-nim.”

Na Jaemin looked like he was just watching his favorite show earlier. Now he looks like he can give less than two shits about what this kid had just pulled off. “Name.” You can never fucking figure him out.

“Sion…Oh Sion.”

He grunts. “Yeah, congrats, whatever.” He tosses the car keys to the ground. It lands next to one of the writhing kids groaning in pain. “Now get lost.”

Na Jaemin’s heels turn back and he quickly starts walking away. You’re flabbergasted. Your feet move one way, then quickly reverse. What the fuck. What are you supposed to do now?

“Hey!” You catch up to him, still looking back at the sight you’re leaving behind. “We’re leaving already? Doesn’t the kid need to sign a contract?” He’s walking way too fast. He leers at you with an annoyed grunt and starts walking even faster.

“I don’t have it. Fuck, whatever, he can do that shit tomorrow.”

“What?” It comes off as a screech. “I thought Mark asked me to be here!”

Na Jaemin suddenly stops. You bump into his shoulder and stumble back with a swear. When you draw your breath in to look up, you see that Na Jaemin is already looking at you with an intensity that burns away all the venom out of your throat, leaving nothing but silence behind.

“Mark didn’t say shit,” he spits out. You think he’s about to toss you into the nearest dumpster, but then you notice a wrinkle between his brows. It’s deep. It’s troubled. And then he lets out an exasperated groan. “Whatever.” 

Na Jaemin stomps away, leaving you in the dead of night to figure out what the fuck just happened.

‎*‎

Before making it back home to your apartment, you stop by a public phone booth to call an ambulance to the scene of the altercation. This is way too much overtime for your first official day, and the last hour wasn’t even paid because you already clocked out before Na Jaemin lied to your face just to make you watch a teenage fight right and throw a tantrum at the very end with no fucking explanation.

Needless to say, it was an eventful day. It gets even more eventful when you reach the door of your apartment, about to key in your passcode, until you notice a piece of paper sticking out from underneath the door gap.

Your brows knit together. You snap a picture of it before slipping it out of the door and finally letting yourself in, dropping your work bag onto the floor of your entryway to examine what had been lodged into your apartment.

It’s an envelope. A cream colored envelope with a few smudges on the paper.

You open it. You couldn’t be less prepared with what you’re about to read.

You’re fucking dead, bitch.

Wow. Now a literal death threat. It’s almost as if you’re not allowed to catch a fucking break.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[river-of-wine]

I know I’ve mentioned this plenty of times before but I’m still kind of annoyed by how the fanbase just kind of completely declawed the four lords and placed the entirety of the responsibility for their wrongdoings on Mother Miranda.

The Baker family are great, I love them, they’re an incredible unit of antagonists who are intended to be very sympathetic, at least for the most part. Jack and Marguerite in particular have lost all control over their minds and their bodies, turning into extremely violent murderers and cannibals who threaten and attack their own family, kill anyone unfortunate enough to come across them and, especially in Marguerite’s case, lose complete autonomy over their own bodies. Marguerite turns into a walking bug hive who’s only purpose is to feed her family and birth her new children. Jack is an unstoppable murderous force of patriarchal violence who has so much fun chasing down and harming his victims, which in the Daughters DLC includes even his own daughter. The exception to this is obviously Lucas, who has been cured of his infection and his acting of his own free will. All of this is caused by Eveline, everything Jack and Marguerite do controlled by her, and yet Eveline is just as sympathetic as the rest of them. She’s a ten year old girl. Even Jack, who has watched his family and their victims suffer because of her infection, doesn’t seem to hold any of it against her. She just wants a family of her own, after all. It’s a complex and tragic situation.

The four lords, while I suppose being similar in structure, are not the Baker family. Not in dynamic, not in character, not in the kind of tragedy that they embody. I could talk for a while about just how completely different they are, but I don’t know if I really need to.

The Baker family are so tragic because they were just innocent bystanders trying to help a woman and a little girl they found in a shipwreck out in a storm. That’s the only reason they ended up in the situation that they were in. While the lords have similar origins, being victims of Mother Miranda’s experiments to bring her daughter Eva back, an important distinction between them is that in the case of the lords, all four of them are still acting of their own free will. Yes, Mother Miranda has undeniable power over them. She leads the cult they are part of, she has control over the village, she is their superior. However, I really dislike when every negative action by the lords is pushed onto her, as if the lords are not all grown adults who are for the most part acting independently of her.

With Alcina, she is the head of her own extremely brutal crimes. I think a lot of people have forgotten quite how horrifying the situations of the maidens are, possibly due to the prevalence shipping between Alcina and the maidens, and though we have minimal information what we do know is very frightening. Alcina uses her work force like livestock, draining them for their blood in a cellar full of horrific torture devices, and leaves their corpses to shamble around, armed and ready to attack any unwanted guests that have slipped out of the daughter’s clutches so that Alcina still doesn’t have to do her own dirty work, given how highly above everyone but Mother Miranda she appears to view herself as. While yes, Alcina does need human blood to survive, her methods are brutal, and none of this has been enforced upon her by Mother Miranda. Similarly to Jack on occasion, she takes a great deal of pleasure in hurting and attacking Ethan as he runs from her. Additionally, everything she does to Ethan is against Mother Miranda’s request. While yes, it is retaliation after he killed Bela, the part I often see people leave out is that Alcina is equally as upset that he entered her property and was attempting to steal from her, and she isn’t just after him to kill him.

Alcina has also been an active participant in aiding Mother Miranda with at least one experiment, considering that I’d how she got her daughters. While I’m sure her strong admiration for Mother Miranda and Mother Miranda’s power over her has absolutely had an affect in this, that’s not something I’ll deny, Alcina is still a grown woman and in her written entries about this shows no qualms about her participation in this. Her general attitude towards others, using young women as a good source and turning men into scarecrows, also leads me to believe that she does not exactly care who gets hurt or taken advantage of when it comes to her and Mother Miranda’s personal endeavours.

Donna and Moreau are the two more sympathetic people within the four lords, but they are not innocent. To start with Moreau, he’s desperate for Mother Miranda’s approval, as well as the other lords. He’s insecure and lonely, and he’s doing what he has been instructed by Mother Miranda when it comes to protecting the flask. However, he does also take quite a bit of joy in trapping Ethan in the reservoir and swimming after him with the intention to eat and kill him. Moreau though, given his conditions and circumstances, is the one I think is the least to blame for what he does.

Donna is hard to discuss because we know so little about her. Her parents are dead, as well as whoever Claudia was to her, she communicates through Angie and she can cause those who enter her house to hallucinate. According to Mother Miranda, Donna is severely mentally ill and that is what has made her an unfit vessel. I think a lot of people took this to mean that Donna is unaware of what she is doing, that the hallucinations she is showing Ethan are frightening, but after having been a fan of this game for years I just can’t agree with that anymore. Donna intentionally lures Ethan into her house with visions of his supposedly dead wife. Donna is going after fears she likely knows Ethan has, making him relive Mia’s death, take apart a mannequin of her, listen to her voice panic over something being horribly wrong with Rose, all building towards the horrifying baby that chases him through the house. There is no way Donna doesn’t understand how what she is showing Ethan is distressing, especially when you consider that, given how she can make herself appear and disappear at will within Ethan’s vision and that Angie is sitting in the hallways stationary and unspeaking, Donna was likely close by Ethan at all times and could see and hear his frightened reactions to what she was intentionally showing him.

Donna’s death is upsetting, but Ethan was not just chasing her down and killing her. Donna was attacking him, or at least she was controlling her dolls to do so. It’s still a hallucination, but Ethan doesn’t know that. When faced with a threat that is keeping you trapped and trying to end your life, you will likely try to get away or try to fight back, as Donna is doing to Ethan after he starts to attack her and Ethan is doing to Donna when he thinks his life is still in danger. I would also like to remind everybody that Donna communicates through Angie. What Angie is saying, that’s Donna. Angie doesn’t talk or move once she’s dead, it is Donna who controls her.

Lastly, Heisenberg. I think Heisenberg is the one of the four most entrenched in headcanons. Headcanons are fine, I am never in this post trying to suggest they aren’t, but my issue comes in when people use them to try and change the canon of the game. For example, it’s fine to believe that Heisenberg was experimented on by Mother Miranda as a child, but that isn’t canon. It’s fine to believe that Heisenberg mourned the deaths of his siblings, but that isn’t canon. The opposite is, with Heisenberg not viewing the cult as an actual family and being very openly mean to all three other lords, even Donna and Moreau who seemingly haven’t done anything to slight him. While his goal of killing another Miranda is a very understandable and sympathetic one given what she has done to him, using a six month old baby as a weapon and trying to bring her father into the mix only to try to get him killed when he denies him is not. I cannot overstate quite how little Heisenberg actually cared for Ethan and Rose’s safety when it came to his goal, and given that we are playing as Ethan, Rose is the priority.

Heisenberg has built an army of corpses he has presumably stolen and desecrated. This is kind of fucked up actually, and done completely independently of Mother Miranda. He also puts Ethan through a very dangerous lycan gauntlet before he even reaches the factory, which makes it even stranger to me that people seem to interpret Heisenberg’s deal as something that would have benefitted both him and Ethan and as if he ever had Ethan’s safety in mind.

All four of the lords have tragic aspects to them and there are definitely reasons to sympathise with all four. They’re victims of Mother Miranda, who knows they will all be killed. She wants them to be, giving her less to deal with by the time she has Eva back. They never meant anything to her. Not Alcina or Moreau, who were desperate for her attention. Not Donna, suffering from her unspecified but apparently severe mental illness. Not Heisenberg, who was seemingly her favourite creation. However, all of them are grown adults who do their own bad things independently of her.

And it’s fine to still like them. It’s fine for them to be your favourite character. It’s fine to have happy or nice headcanons about them or want to kiss them or be their friend or to want them to have survived. It’s fine to like characters who do shitty things. It’s to be expected in a game series like Resident Evil. It’s a horror game series. People are going to do bad things.

I just find it so boring when people take away all their bite. What makes a character like Lady Dimitrescu so fun it’s that she’s completely over the top. She’s campy and ridiculous, her castle layout makes no sense, she’s got three kids made of swarms of flies dressed like a set of goth triplets, she’s a lesbian who’s castle is full of naked statues of women, she turns into a big dragon and laughs maniacally while flying around and trying to eat you. She’s evil and it’s fun. It’s the same with Heisenberg. He’s a campy show off with a fun voice and a massive hammer he never actually uses. He can control metal. He looks like a cowboy. He pronounced Miranda in a funny way. He talks to you over an intercom while trying to get you killed. They’re fun and evil and they fight over who gets to kill Ethan like they’re two little kids. It’s absurd.

What makes a character like Donna so scary is that she’s silently working in the shadows, unassuming at a first glance and unseen for most of the time in her house. She is the least threatening of the four upon first glance, and yet she has undeniably the most frightening part of the game. Pretending as if Donna is completely unaware of what she is doing and babying her like she is an incapable child waters her down completely and takes away from the effectiveness of her character.

Villain characters are great! They’re very often the highlight of the story they are in, and they aren’t real! The four lords especially are often so completely exaggerated in what they do as well. It’s fine to like villains! It doesn’t make you bad! Characters can be bad people and you can still like them!

It’s just frustrating seeing a group of very fun and exciting villains, all designed with different aspects of horror, all over the top and campy and stupid and fun, all doing their own set of fucked up things, watered down to a set of poor innocent victims who have never done any wrong ever. If you want Jack and Marguerite, take Jack and Marguerite. Lady Dimitrescu loves killing and eating women and Karl Heisenberg turns corpses into soldiers. They’re bad people and they do comically exaggerated bad things. If you can’t stomach liking a character like that, horror is probably not the genre for you. Unless it’s Resident Evil 7, I suppose, but apparently tall women aren’t hot when it’s Marguerite Baker crawling on the walls.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

All Of Yourself - 1

Source for Pic

All Of Yourself 1

Word Count: 6277

Tags: Fem!Reader; Ruthless!Law; Obsessive!Cora; Intense!Doffy; Soft!Cora; Dark Themes; Modern Day World AU; Cora Lives; Law is damaged; Doflamingo is a walking red flag; Mafia Romance; Dark Romance Vibes; Dub Con; Degradation; Praise; NSFW; Oral Sex (reader performing); Penetrative Sex (P in V; P in M); Choking; Posessivness; Overstimulation; Multiple Orgasms; Filthy talk; Biting; Ownership; Physical Restrainment; Reverse Harem (no M/M, they only focus on you); Multiple Penetration; Orgasm Denial (just once); Why choose romance; Pierced!Law; Porn With Plot; Rough Sex; Still Unsure About Good or Bad Ending; Voyeurism; Future Tags Will/May include: Somnophilia; Breath Play; Spanking; Dom!Law; Dom!Doflamingo; Anal Play; Edging; Jealousy; Stockholm Syndrome; Free use of sexual toys; Violence; Torture; Blood; Gore;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You're on the run. The Donquixote Family is your only chance of protection, but that comes with a cost: you. All of you. Law demands control. Doflamingo claims ownership. Cora offers love. Trapped between their wants and your needs, where do you draw the line between captivity and surrender?

Notes: Ah, gosh, don't you all just love it when a splash of inspiration hits you in the face? I know I do... so after waking up to that fun musing about a modern day world, dark romance vibes, mafia AU, I wrote this... And I planned more for it. As I stated in another post, I don't have the bandwidth to fully focus on this story at the moment, since I want to dedicate myself to Kid's Story and to some personal projects, but this first chapter acts well as a one-shot for now. I'm planning to keep writing whenever I want a break from other fics, or am in a dark mood! I'm exploring themes that I'm not that used to writing, so this is very self-indulgent, bear with me.

Note 2: 'K, so in reverse harems, M/M is usually also explored. I won't do it in this story mainly because I don't vibe with CoraLaw, DoffyLaw, or CoraDoffy. Not shipshaming anyone! To each their own. I'm just explaining why it won't be happening here.

Masterlist

Divider by @cafekitsune

You had exactly two options: run away or die. 

It should’ve been a no-brainer; anyone would choose to run instead of dying, but you knew better. If you ran, you’d have to run to them. And they were far more ruthless than the dangerous people who wanted to kill you. 

But if you stayed… well, death wouldn’t come swiftly or mercifully. It would come in slow bursts of pain and prolonged torture. So, no matter how frightening the prospect of running to them might’ve been, that’s where you went.

-*-

“Well, well, well… what do we have here?” Donquixote Doflamingo’s voice reached you first. Your eyes were glued to the floor, not in reverence, but out of respect. You knew enough about this mafia lord to understand that he delighted in power, in being perceived as the most dangerous man in the city. So you’d give him exactly that. 

You had waited in the relentless rain outside one of his clubs, demanding to be taken to him. Certain that the six hours he made you wait were meant to test your resolve, you were more than willing to prove you were worthy of his attention. Of his protection. 

“I require refuge. A safe place to stay.” You hated how your voice trembled and shook, how your shoulders twitched, and how your eyes prickled. You’d have liked to say you weren’t afraid, but that would’ve been a blatant lie. 

“Look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes, princesa.” You had heard of him. The powerful older Donquixote, the ruthless brother. The leader everyone feared. Unhinged, deranged, unrestrained… you’d heard whispers that he was handsome in his insanity, but you had never considered them true. Until you were face to face with the devil himself. 

Doflamingo lounged in his leather chair. A mock throne set above a small dais in an opulent, though rather empty, room. His leg dangled by the side of the chair, swinging absently, the red of his three-piece suit mirrored the crimson of his tinted lenses. The way his chin rested against the knuckles of his veiny hand sent a shiver down your spine: a god in his throne, considering whether he wished to bless or smite.

“Ah, preciosa. Isn’t she, Corazon?” 

A tall figure, standing at his right, emerged from the shadows. Blond bangs covered his own crimson eyes, a saddened look in them. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from his thin lips, an addiction, certainly to blame for the charred feathers of his black coat. He wore tailored beige pants and a white dress shirt. He was the younger Donquixote: the kind one.

A hum was his response, a political, nonchalant one, but his eyes devoured your form, taking in your filthy bare feet, your dishevelled hair, and your crumpled, rain-soaked clothes. Assessing. Observing. Preying. 

“You’re running from what, exactly?” Cora tilted his head to the left. “Or from whom?”

Your wet fingers slipped against the cold marble floor as you used them to steady yourself. You weren’t quite on your knees, but still in a kneeling position, and your legs were starting to cramp. But there was no way you’d show weakness to someone like the Donquixotes.

“I cannot say,” you whispered, avoiding their gaze. You knew you couldn’t share this information, and perhaps, this would be what would eventually condemn you. 

“We can find out, you know? There are ways…” This voice was colder, controlled, laced with precision. Trafalgar Law. You’d heard of him, too, and of the things he did to make enemies talk: The Surgeon of Death. He must’ve been hiding in the shadows. A shiver ran its course from your nape to your tailbone, one that had nothing to do with the cold and damp soaking your clothes. You felt him before you saw him, a presence as sharp as a knife; a scent of disinfectant and warm pine. Inviting. Dangerous. 

He stood tall, though not as tall as the brothers, his dark hair and golden eyes contrasted with theirs. He was dressed all in black: black suit, black shirt, black tie, black soul.

“I can pull nerves from your body as if they were strings. Hang you up by them, watch you slowly bleed without ever truly succumbing to death. You’d talk then. I’m sure.” 

“I can’t,” you pleaded. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

Doflamingo straightened in his chair, watching you over the rim of his glasses. His grin spread wildly, maniacally. 

“Anything?”

You nodded then, locking your fate with theirs. You’d considered this on your way over. You knew they’d immediately take you up on this offer. The Donquixote Mafia liked to own, to possess, to control. 

And you were about to become their newest toy.

“Let’s get you out of those damp clothes then, mi querida. We wouldn’t want you catching a cold. Cora, would you do the honors?” 

Corazon flicked the butt of his cigarette to the pristine floor and crushed it. The leather of his shoes let out a squeak of protest as he rotated his foot to put it out. Then he shed his coat, letting it fall behind him in a crumpled, feathery mess. Clumsy fingers fumbled with the buttons of his dress shirt, but he managed to open them before reaching you.

You raised your head to stare at him and had to bite your cheek to stay silent. His pale skin was marred with old scars. You met his gaze then and found him smiling at you, a softness in his features you hadn’t expected. 

He leaned down, holding your arms to steady your trembling form, and brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “We shouldn't do this, Doffy. She looks innocent enough.”

Innocent? How wrong he was. 

Doffy didn’t answer, and Cora knew better than to repeat himself. “Can you remove your clothes for me, love?” The kindness in his voice almost broke you. You couldn’t have that. You needed to harden yourself to what was inevitably coming. 

A nod. Then trembling fingers trying to undo buttons and zippers, to pull wet, heavy fabric over your head and off your legs. 

“That’s it, lovely, you’re doing well. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” Somehow, you believed him. Even when you had no reason to. You focused your gaze on him when Doffy ordered you to remove your underwear, too. Perhaps you could tune out the other two, pretend they weren’t there. That it was just you and Cora.

The kind brother.

“Exquisite…” he uttered, a shuddered whisper that barely reached your ears. “I won’t harm you.” He promised again. Maybe more to himself than to you this time.

Cradling you in his arms, he took a deep breath and faced his brother as if he were about to wage war. 

“I’ll take her away, draw her a bath. My suite—”

“No,” Doflamingo’s voice rang with finality. “Here, Cora. You’ll take her here. We want to see. She said she would do anything, so she will give all of herself to all of us.”

Your breath hitched, a rapid hiss escaping between clenched teeth as fear clawed its way up your throat and squeezed. All of them. 

You ignored another shiver coursing through you, this one inching closer to your core, between your legs, and settling in your stomach. A shiver akin to excitement. 

Corazon grunted, and his jaw clenched, ticking twice before he set you on your feet again. He left you for a moment to fetch his coat, and you felt exposed. Not just because you were naked, but because Doflamingo’s intense eyes could bare your soul to him. You felt as if he could read your secrets and your thoughts. Worse, you felt as if he could read your desires. And they, somehow, involved them at this moment. 

Laying the black feathers at your feet, Corazon held you against his bare chest again. “Look at me, only me. Ignore them.”

You nodded, but it was easier said than done when the two men watching you were as intense as Doffy and Law. 

“If you want me to stop, tell me.”

“Stop being a sap and just fuck her, Cora,” Law rasped. Your head whipped to the side, your thighs immediately clenching in response to his words. He was leaning against the wall behind you, an unreadable expression behind his golden eyes. But Cora didn’t allow you to linger on him.

“Eyes on me, love,” he gently commanded. The tips of his fingers tilted your jaw, turning your face towards him. “There we go.”

He laid you down on the coat reverently, as one lays down something precious enough to break. Then he removed his clothes, his crimson eyes never leaving yours. When he positioned himself between your legs, your breath came in sharp bursts, and tears were already pooling at the corners of your eyes. 

This was always a possibility. When you considered running to them, you knew what it entailed. Belonging to the Donquixote Mafia was much more than being part of their family. Belonging to them meant giving yourself to them.

All of yourself.

To all of them. 

Cora’s hands engulfed yours gently, his fingers pressing and prying your hand open, forcing you to relax under his care. “That’s it, love, relax. Very good, you’re doing so well.” He peppered each praise with a soft kiss: your temple, then your nose, your jaw, your neck, your shoulders. 

Using his knee, he nudged your legs open, and when the cold air of Doflamingo’s sterile throne room hit your aching center, you shivered. The soft echo of footfalls told you Law was moving to a better position. Curious. You thought he wasn’t interested in taking what you had offered. 

You felt the shaky warmth of Cora’s shuddered breath when his lips hovered over yours. And then, with gentleness, he kissed you. Something so soft and warm that, for a moment, it made you forget where you were.

Until you heard Doflamingo’s soft chuckle and the clinking of his rings against a glass, reminding you he was watching, observing, and assessing. 

Cora pulled away, licking the seam between your lips. His hand brushed with soft strokes between your breasts, then over your stomach, and when it hovered over your entrance, you gasped.

“May I?” He was still asking for permission. And even though it was all a deception, the lie of you having any control over what was about to happen was too beautiful to pass up. 

So you nodded, agreeing to what was about to happen as if you had any agency over it. 

Soon, however, your thoughts of what was wrong or right about your situation disappeared from your mind, engulfed by the thick, seductive fog of lust and desire.

“You’re so wet for me already, love.” Cora’s whispered words were almost reverent. His fingers were nimble and long, and he used two to pump in and out of your cunt, curving them and hitting a spot that promptly turned your apprehension into want. 

He added another finger and pressed his thumb against your throbbing clit. With his weight over you, shielding most of what was happening from the other two men, it was almost easy to forget your surroundings. To escape harsh reality and pretend you and Corazon were two lovers giving in to their urges.

“That’s it, you’re taking my fingers so well,” Cora cooed, when you arched your back, grinding your hips against his hand, seeking more, begging for more. “Almost there, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” a muffled whisper tumbled out of your lips as you pressed a hand against your mouth to stop more noises or prayers from stumbling out, unwanted. 

“I want to hear her moans,” Doflamingo demanded, and the spell shattered. You and Cora were not alone. You and Cora were not lovers. This was just a game. And you were being used. 

All of yourself to all of them. 

“Stay with me,” Cora coaxed, but the pleasure slipped somewhere between his fingers and Doffy’s voice. 

“I can’t…” You whimpered, a single tear finally finding a way out, even when you were trying your hardest to hold it in.

“You can,” Cora assured. Withdrawing his fingers from your heat, he splayed his hand open over your stomach, pressing the tip of his weeping cock against your nub. 

You hissed, looking down with a sob. “I can’t!” Too big. It won’t fit. I’m scared. Those were words you wanted to say, but they would make you sound so pathetic that instead, you kept them all to yourself. 

“I've got you. Scream my name when you come, love. It’s Rosi.” He pushed his hips forward with a gentleness you should already expect from this kind giant. He didn’t bottom out, he didn’t shove himself hard or expect you to just take him. He pushed slowly, letting you adjust to his size, cooing in your ear, letting you know how precious you were and how well you were doing, kissing away your tears. 

Your hand flew over your mouth again, meaning to trap a traitorous moan from spilling out of your lips. But Cora gripped your wrist, placing the back of your hand against the warmth of his feathery coat. In a mimicry of his earlier gesture, he released the tension from your fist with his fingers and intertwined them with yours.

You locked eyes with him, then, watching as he soaked you in with nothing but tenderness. Beads of sweat were already dampening his forehead from the effort he was making to hold himself back. 

He pulled his hips back and pushed again, softly, gently. You could feel every ridge of his cock dragging slowly against your walls, sucking him in, welcoming him in. You gasped again. Not exactly a moan, but not a whimper. The sting of his size melted away with each small stroke. 

“More…” you begged, and your voice sounded foreign. It was easy to slip back into a dreamlike state. You and Corazon were alone, there was nobody else. You were lovers. Nothing else. You were not a runner trading yourself over for refuge. You weren’t terrified. 

Corazon nodded, a throaty noise rumbling his chest as he pulled out. He locked eyes with you again, and this time, there was a small hint of madness mixing with the softness you’d already seen there. 

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, no matter how beautifully wrapped it may be. 

When he snapped his hips forward this time, there was no hint of restraint. He sheathed himself to the base with one swift stroke, and you cried out. No muffled whimper, no small gasp. A cry and a wanton moan, loud enough to reverberate as an echo around the almost empty room.

Law grunted, moving again to another side to get a better view. Doffy laughed.

Cora leaned down, lips murmuring against your ear. Hushed words in a language you didn’t understand; a rapid litany of melodic sounds, urging you on, coaxing more cries and whimpers from you, and expertly succeeding. 

His hand pressed against your lower stomach as he let go of your fingers, using the other hand to lift your hips into a better angle. He reached deeper, harder, faster. 

“My name, love, my name,” he urged, teeth nipping your skin, fingernails digging indents everywhere he touched. 

A surge of heat made your vision go blank. You clenched around his cock, arched your back, and clawed at his coat, fisting feathers as you moaned and cried out ‘Rosi,’ exactly like he requested you to. 

You were still coming down from your high, black dots clouding your vision, chest heaving while you gulped for air, when you felt him close to you.

“My fucking turn,” Law’s voice was hoarser than before, unrestrained and untamed. 

Cora groaned, and you felt him lift your body against his, using his hands to wrap your legs around him and pulling you closer as he kept thrusting. “I’m not done!”

“Do I look like I care, Cora? Turn her around!” Law growled, his own madness revealing itself in the urgency of his movements as he fought to unbuckle his belt and open his shirt. 

Cora whimpered something about being close to finishing, but lifted you onto his lap. You mourned the loss of his fullness with a whimper of your own, but then he turned your back to his chest, placing your legs over his thighs and opening you up so he could bury his cock inside you again. 

“Rosi…” you moaned lustfully, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, claiming you. 

“Open your mouth,” Law commanded. 

You opened your eyes first, and even though they were half-lidded, you were still taken aback by the beauty of this dangerous man. He had tattoos. So many of them. Dark, obviously, intricate, covering his chest and his hands. Did he have more on his body? You couldn’t tell; he’d only opened his shirt and lowered his pants. 

“Are you going to be a good little slut and open that mouth for me, or do I have to clamp your nose until you’re gasping for air?” Law leaned down, golden eyes flickering with excitement and desire.

There was no kindness in them. Not like Cora’s. 

Cora thrust once and squeezed you tighter against him, his mouth wafting warm breath in your ear. “Do as he says, love, or he'll get rough.”

So you did. Locking your gaze with his, with as much defiance as you could while being fucked into bliss again by Cora, you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue, welcoming him in.

All of yourself, to all of them.

“Much better.” Law’s praise was more venomous than sweet, but you expected nothing less from him. Taking his cock out of his boxers, he palmed it and stroked it once. Your eyes widened: piercings, so many of them. They looked like little barbells, forming a sort of ladder along the underside of his cock. You flinched, angling your body closer to Cora, suddenly too overwhelmed, but Law’s grin only grew more dangerous.

“Don’t tell me our whore is afraid of some hardware?”

With a dark chuckle, he took a step forward, gripping your lower jaw with his hand and slamming his cock against your tongue. He was smaller than Cora, but thick and veiny. Still long enough for you to realise you wouldn't be able to take all of him into your mouth. 

“Lick it, slut.”

You let out a low groan, and Cora, sensing your apprehension towards Law, placed the tips of his index and middle fingers against your clit, circling it with soft presses as he kept his slow, steady thrusts. He was quickly building you up to another orgasm. You felt the heat already pooling inside your belly, spreading like wildfire down your center. 

With drool already dripping from the corners of your mouth, you used one hand to grip the base of Law's cock before you started to lick around it. Leaning your head and moaning as Cora's touch started to burn hotter and hotter, you panted onto Law's cock and licked the underside of it with a long swipe of your tongue, relishing the way the metal felt against the muscle and taking your time to lick around each piercing. 

Law grunted and took another step closer to you. Then, without any warning, he gripped the back of your head, fingers punishingly threading and pulling through strands of hair. Then he started to fuck your mouth mercilessly. 

“Fuck, such a good little slut for me, taking all my cock into your greedy little mouth. Take it all,” Law rasped through gritted teeth, pistoning his hips back and forth into your open mouth. You tried your hardest to shield your teeth from his piercings, certain he’d punish you if you hurt him. 

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel. 

And when the orgasm Cora built up slammed into you unannounced, you moaned around Law’s cock, fingers clawing at his legs as he slammed the back of your throat so hard you knew you’d be sore in the morning. Drool dripped down your chin, mingling with tears you couldn’t stop. Your vision blanked, and floating black dots were all you could focus on. 

Your chest hurt as you gagged and sobbed against Law’s unforgiving thrusts. You needed air. Desperately. 

“We’re almost there, love. You got this. Such a good girl for us, my love, taking us so well,” Cora murmured rapidly, his thrusts spasming hard and sloppy.

“You’re going to swallow every little drop of cum I give you, like a good little cumslut. Got it?” Law tightened his grip on your hair, and you moaned again as he pulled slightly away from your throat so you could take in a few desperate gulps of air. 

Cora’s grip on your waist tightened. Law pushed himself further inside you, and another wave of bliss started to crest on top of the last one. You were starting to feel guilty and ashamed because of how much you were enjoying this. How much you wanted their cocks inside you; how much you wanted to be coated in their cum.

But then, there was no more room for unwanted thoughts or feelings. 

Cora came first. Heaving and shuddering against your back, his arm gripping your waist so tight he might’ve stolen all the air from your body had Law not done that already. With three final jerks, he spilled his seed inside you, forcing another orgasm from your spent body.

You convulsed and whimpered against Law’s cock when he shoved it harshly into the back of your throat, gripping your head with both hands as his release dripped down and you swallowed every drop, just like he told you. 

When Law retreated, you gulped oxygen in long breaths, your head lolling back against Cora’s chest, where he cradled you sweetly, still buried inside you.

“You’re so perfect. So beautiful, look at you.”

You couldn’t. But you could imagine. Cum dripping down your thighs, yours and Cora’s, hair more dishevelled than it already was when you arrived, eyes red and tears soaking your face, where cum and drool were starting to crest. 

“Exquisite, indeed,” Doflamingo uttered from his throne, and you opened your eyes to see him. Law was buttoning his pants and retreating back to the shadows, one hand tousling his dark hair while he let out a string of curses. But Doflamingo was still in the same position you found him in when you arrived. 

He sipped the rest of his red wine and set the glass down at a small table next to the chair. Then he rose, unbuttoning his jacket and shedding it. The calculating steps he took towards you felt like nails being hammered into your coffin. 

Cora pulled out, finally, and you let out a small whimper, but he didn’t let go of your body. You were utterly spent and emotionally exhausted. 

“What are you hiding from us, cariño? You’re the keeper of whose secret?” Doflamingo crouched near you, tilting his head to the side, elbows resting against his parted knees. “Are you here to betray me?”

The air became colder. You felt Cora stiffen under you and heard Law shuffling again in the shadows. But Doflamingo watched you with nothing but a grin. The smell of his woodsy cologne and a hint of spices clung to your nostrils, invading your brain, and taking over what remained of your senses. 

“Because if you are, I will find out. And I won’t be as kind as my brother here. I will bare all your secrets, mi pequeña, and you won’t like it.”

You weren’t here to betray him or take his secrets. You were just here to survive. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“I have nothing to hide, except who I’m running from.” Your voice sounded small and apologetic. You had nothing more to give.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Doflamingo rose. His eyes never left yours while he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to reveal his muscled forearms. “Leave us,” he said to the room.

Cora stiffened again under you. “Doffy, you can’t—”

“I’m not going to repeat myself, little brother.”

Law was the first to open the door and step outside while Cora fought against his instincts to stay and protect you. With a final warning look from his brother, he kissed your temple and got up, dressing his pants and leaving without another word.

When the door clicked shut, the sound reverberated ominously against the walls. Doflamingo circled you like a predator circling prey, but you didn’t flinch. Wiping the combination of fluids from your mouth with the back of your hand, you tried to cover your naked self next, feeling, once again, bare under the intimidating man’s scrutiny. 

He sat in his throne once more, crossing his legs and staring at you. Time ticked on slowly as he observed you. Was this his way of trying to break you? Or was he reading you in another way?

“Crawl to me,” he demanded. 

You felt heat creep up your neck and flush your cheeks. Cora had been kind, Law had been ruthless. What could Doflamingo do to you that would be any different? It didn’t matter. This was the price to pay for safety and protection.

All of yourself. To all of them. 

So you shifted your body until your knees were against the marbled floor, hissing at the cold but mostly at the soreness of your body. Locking eyes with the most menacing man in this city, you started to crawl towards him.

His grin grew as he leaned back in his chair, hands propped on his thighs, the fabric of the perfectly tailored suit straining at the crotch where he held an erection. 

“Come to me, cariño.” 

And you did. 

You reached his feet and knelt down without him telling you to. You were showing him obedience, reverence, and respect. You needed him, and he still hadn’t granted you safety. Not yet. 

“Perfect, indeed,” he cooed softly. His tone was deceiving because there was nothing soft about Donquixote Doflamingo. He was ruthlessness, disguised as beauty. “You’re running from someone, then?”

Shit. You’d let that slip while still riding the bliss of your orgasms. Something or someone, Cora had asked earlier, and you had avoided an answer. Not anymore. 

“Yes,” You looked at him through your lashes, and he purred.

“Are you scared?”

“Of you?” you countered, tilting your head. 

“Oh, no, querida. I know you're scared of me. But are you scared of the people, or the person you are running from?”

A shiver made you tremble as your breath hitched with his affirmation. Yes, you were utterly terrified. No words were necessary for him to understand that. 

“Show me that I can trust you, and I’ll ruin anyone who tries to touch you.” 

These were promises of safety and protection. No. They were much more. These were words of devotion and worship. But was Donquixote Doflamingo capable of such a thing?

For you?

He got up, unbuckled his pants, and freed his massive cock. He was even larger than Cora, not by much, though, but thicker. When he sat down, he extended one hand for you to take. 

“Come here,” he coaxed. 

You rose on wobbly legs, taking his large hand and facing him. For a few seconds, you were lost in how your hand was engulfed by his much larger one. And how that small detail made you feel protected. 

Then he leaned forward, his face inches from yours, the maniacal grin returning. He reached out, his fingers wrapping around your throat, so tight they resembled a collar. “You gave them your body. Now, I’m going to take your soul.”

You barely had time to whimper. He pulled you closer as his lips crashed against yours. His kiss wasn’t as gentle as Cora’s; it was demanding, possessive, borderline obsessive. He licked the seam of your lips and forced his way in, sucking on your tongue, and nipping your lower lip hard enough to break skin. You gasped into him, and he drank the sound, claiming everything he took from you. 

Doflamingo’s hands kneaded your breasts, cupping and squeezing, leaving harsh marks with the force of his touch. He pinched your nipples, and your knees buckled, so he used his other hand to wrap his arm around your waist.

“Mine,” he growled, teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your neck. You could only moan and whimper, already dripping wet again from all his attention. 

Doflamingo pulled you over his lap, making you straddle him, giving you a twisted sense of control. You had none. You were utterly lost to him and his ministrations. 

The tip of his cock touched your slickened entrance, and you bucked your hips, looking for some friction, for something. His hands gripped your hips tightly, forcing you to stay still.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you? Fucked to bliss and back by Cora and Law, and you still want more?” Doffy’s chuckle vibrated against the hollow of your neck, where he sucked and bit. “Are you a gift to us? After all, gods are meant to be worshiped.”

Doflamingo rocked you back and forth against his cock, coating it in your slick, and every time the pressure reached your clit, you clenched, gritting your teeth. You didn’t need much more than that, just a few more strokes. 

“But are you a poisoned gift? Or a blessing?” He pushed you harder against his length, and a lewd moan escaped your lips as you arched your back, fingers clawing at Doffy’s chest, seeking release. 

“Doflamingo,” you whimpered, searching for more friction, but he was the one in control. Not you. Never you. 

“What a needy thing you are. You want to be filled by my cock, don’t you?” He rocked you again, and this time used his thumb to press against your clit, the tip of his cock probing your entrance, giving you a small preview of what was to come, winding you so tight you thought you might snap. 

You needed release. This was all too much. 

“Please…” You barely registered the words that spilled from your mouth, but he heard them.

“Already begging?” You started to pant as he rubbed harder, his cock plunging inside you so, so slowly, his thumb relentless against your swollen nub. 

A broken cry demanded to be set free. You were almost there…

“Not yet,” he rasped, stopping his motions and withdrawing from you. Emptiness and longing flooded you as a frustrated breath rolled between your clenched teeth. 

Doflamingo gathered slick from your folds, touching around your clit, dipping one finger inside you, but it wasn’t enough for release. It only served to frustrate you further. 

“Open,” he ordered, slicked fingers coating your lips, waiting for the warmth of your mouth. You did as he commanded, and he shoved his fingers so deep you gagged, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes as your pussy clenched around nothing. “Lick ‘em clean, pretty thing.”

But he didn’t let you lick his fingers properly. He just fucked your mouth with them, seemingly enjoying the way you gagged around the length of his digits as you tried your best to satisfy his whims. 

He withdrew his fingers and cupped your jaw with his wet hand. “Are you a spy?” This time, he wasn’t toying with you. The crimson in his eyes burned, and the grip with which he held you hurt. 

“I’m not,” you choked out. “I’m just running away.”

He released your hip and wrapped his free hand around your throat, and, once again, burned you with his gaze. His fingers squeezed so hard that you were gasping for breath. Soon, your nails clawed at his exposed forearms, your legs twitching as you tried to get away from him. 

So this was his denial of protection? They had toyed with you, taken from you, and now you were about to die at his hands?

“You have secrets, don’t you, querida?” Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t speak. “You know something others are willing to hunt for. That’s why you need our protection. Am I right?”

Air. You needed air. 

Your eyes rolled back in their sockets as your hands lost all strength, sagging at your sides, the only memory of your fight being a few scratches against Doffy’s tanned skin. 

And then he let go.

His hands released you for a desperate moment, during which you gasped for breath, inhaling oxygen like a dying woman. And then they claimed again, cupping your cheek, stilling you as he took your breath away once more, this time in a more merciful manner: a kiss.

You were still fighting to recover from the light-headedness his choking had caused you when he slammed his hips against you. Sheathing his cock as far as it would go, he split you open, hitting your cervix and coaxing a painful cry from your lips as you wrenched yourself free from his kiss. 

“Yes, that’s it, take all of my cock, princesa. You’re being so good to me.” Fingers entwined in your hair, gripping, tightening, pulling so hard that tears fell without shame, streaking your already ruined face and pooling at your chin. 

Doflamingo extended his long tongue, swiping away the tears and humming softly at the saltiness, his other hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. Then he slammed into you again with punishing thrusts. Out. In. Out. In. Barely giving you any time to breathe, process, or feel. 

And then you were falling without looking back. Blind pleasure surged through you, making you arch your back and open your legs further to him as he slammed harder. You moaned his name along with pleas and prayers, and you would’ve melted against his body, a boneless mass, had he not held you tightly. 

“Sí, cariño, sing to me. Call me your God and shower me with praises. Worship me and witness just how good I can be to you.”

He was not as kind as Cora, but he was not as ruthless as Law. He was an odd mix of both. Praising you while punishing you harshly, claiming you with brutal thrusts, and holding you close to his chest. 

He was divine. Addictive. Dangerous. 

You needed him. 

“Break apart for me, mi pequeña. I will learn your secrets. You will be truly mine.”

And perhaps you could tell him all your secrets. Perhaps you could be truly his - theirs. They would protect you. It was all right. You asked them to, you traded yourself for that purpose. 

All of yourself. To all of them. 

Doflamingo pulled out of you, leaving you empty. He got up and placed you in the chair again. With a grunt, he opened his shirt, buttons flying everywhere, and then he manhandled you into the position he wanted: back to him, chest facing the chair, legs propped up over the arms, leaving you open and exposed to him. 

“Hands behind your back,” he demanded. You looked over your shoulder at him as you obeyed his command. Sweat dampened his forehead, and beads of it trailed down his open shirt. He hadn’t removed many clothes as he took you. 

Once your hands touched your lower back, he gripped your wrists with his hand, restraining you. Leaning down, he whispered, voice thick with want and breathlessness: “Say you’re mine.”

It was a command. Even if it weren’t, you’re not sure you could’ve contested what you knew to be the truth. 

“I'm yours.” Your allegation was welcomed with a long swipe of his tongue on your sweaty neck.

“Sí, cariño, you are. You’re all ours now.”

With a hard shove, he positioned you again, pushing your face against the chair as he forced you to arch your back. Then he slammed into you once more without any warning. 

The new position was unforgiving, you had no control over anything. His cock slammed relentlessly, somehow hitting deeper than you ever thought. It was pain and pleasure; exhaustion and bliss, and you couldn’t contain any of your loud moans and whimpers. 

He was taking your soul, as promised.

“You belong to the Donquixote family. But you’re mine, first and foremost.” 

His.

This possessive claim was all it took for another orgasm to wash over you. This one was smaller, more contained, but so powerful that you nearly blacked out. Your ears were ringing so loudly your head felt light; drool dripped from your open mouth as you kept panting and moaning, your sounds now muffled against the upholstery of the chair. You couldn’t feel your hands, so tight was Doflamingo’s grip on them. 

But you were his now.

Doflamingo growled, the veins in his neck protruding as a maniacal grin took over his features again. He pistoned his cock deeper and harder into you, taking what little else you had to give. You were trembling, panting, a broken mess. 

“You’re mine!” he repeated with a growl and a few sloppy thrusts. “And I always protect what’s mine!” With a grunt, he stilled inside you, ropes of thick, hot cum spurting from his tip, hitting your walls and spilling off you. You wobbled, unsteady, and he gripped your waist, pulling you against his body and releasing your hands from his hold.

Protection. He had granted it. 

But at what cost? Because as you lay there, panting against his sweaty chest, you realised something: you had run away from monsters and headed straight into the arms of devils. 

Taglist: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @elysian-asphodel @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall @moldychefboyardeecan @dazzlingstarlight23 @bearg-bia @babyboofangirl @praline357 @walmartmihawk

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[starry-bi-sky]

DPxDC Masterpost

Almost all of my DPDC posts have the #Danny Fenton is Not the Ghost King tags, barring perhaps my earliest aus like my Thomas Wayne Au (which will be included in the post). This tag includes art i've made, asks i've answered, and non-fic au posts I've created. This is my main tag!

DPxDC posts under the main tag that don't have their own tag: Danny's Life-Changing Cross-Dimensional Roadtrip with A De-Aged Batman Danny is also Bruce Wayne (Starry goes back to their middle school roots) Danny being the first batkid (if i can get the creative juices flowing I will expand on this. mark my words) There is a Damian clone LOOSE in Amity Park. Oh wait, Danny's got him.

My Biggest DPxDC Aus #Danny Fenton is a Clone: all my posts talking about clone!Danny.

Clone Danny Masterpost: previously my pinned post. A no-powers au where Danny is also a clone of Bruce Wayne, also includes some clone^2

#Clone^2: Clone Damian + Clone Danny au combined, explores themes like identity, found family, and growing into your own as a person. Starting post Here.

#Childhood Friends Au or #Cfau: A childhood friends dead on main au that explores grief, how it may change a person, and how growing up in Crime Alley changed Danny. Contains heavier themes like smoking and mild violence.

#Danyal Al Ghul Au: No longer just my "older brother danyal" au, instead it hosts all of my Danyal Al Ghul aus! An excuse for me to delve into the psychological effects that growing up in the League would have on Danny that I don't really see in other DAG aus. Putting the 'assassin' in 'raised by assassins'. Now with a secondary masterpost listing all of my DAG aus!

My Minor DPxDC Aus Danny Fenton is Thomas Wayne: an oldie but a goodie! An reveal gone wrong au where Danny decides to go by his middle name 'Thomas' shortly after the events of TUE, and leaves Amity Park two years later. He finds out that Vlad cloned him again and finds an infant in the lab. Danny takes the baby, names him Bruce, and ends up adopted by the Waynes.

#Danny Fenton is Jason Todd au: An au where Danny is Jason Todd! He was adopted by the Fentons shortly after the events of the carjacking.

#Older Brother Danny: contains all of my aus where Danny is an Older Brother. This currently includes only my DAG posts but it's not limited to Danyal Al Ghul.

#Changeling Danny: a half-ghost? oh, wait, no. that's a changeling. even worse! Danny's got latent fey blood from a Fenton getting freaky with a faerie some dozen generations ago, and it reactivated with a fervor when he had his accident! Instead of a halfa, he became one of the Fair Folk.

#Blood blossom au: currently the name for the time being. A Nightingale/First Batkid au where Vlad poisons Danny with blood blossom extract, and it results in Danny running to Batman! Currently only one post, but it has a lot of branching pathways in the reblogs. Batdad centered! Now comes with its own fanfic!

#tales of the passerine: the official au name for my "Danny being the first batkid" post! This au is what inspired changeling Danny. It's the idea that Danny was the first to be adopted by Bruce, and features me favoring batdad over "lmfao Danny goes fuck you bruce and adopts the other kids" au. Because I want batdad.

(Nightingale is, so far, the official vigilante name for the Eldest Batkid Danny concept on my blog.)

#mother of monsters danny: specifically its mother of monsters dan but i digress. I was messing around with my fem!Danyal au and boom! Her evil timeline self is Layal, the terrifying Mother of Monsters who raises any manner of monstrous beasts. I love her <3

#martha knight au same song, different dance! This is a fem danny version of my aforementioned "Danny is Thomas Wayne" au. Except this time around, Danny is Martha! Arguably my favorite between the two, I feel like I'm able to do more with her than Thomas. Her au's vibe is After All by Christine Ebersole

Bonus Excerpt: a ficlet I made in response to a DPxDC Dead on Main prompt! It's not under the main tag as I didn't make the post, however it can be found if you search #fem danny fenton on my blog. I actually really love this idea so I may make it its own tag in the future.

[signanothername]

do you think killer might only have an aversion to his jacket after leaving nightmare? in a way I always thought it was his sort of comfort, or grounding, when he was with nm

though now, with color, he simply hates it or finds it unnerving to be around because it’s just a painful reminder.

also love your headcannons and art, they are very sparkly ✨✨✨

Thank youuu <333

To me, Killer always wanted to feel pretty, he just never got to do so under Nightmare, he only had that one jacket, and one pair of shirt/shorts and one pair of shoes, and only washed those whenever they needed the wash

Here’s the kicker tho, Nightmares wouldn’t have cared if Killer wore different clothes each time under him, in fact, Nightmare would’ve preferred it actually, Nightmare is a bit obsessed with his image, and he always makes sure that his space is clean and tidy, that also includes the people living with him under the same roof

If you notice, I never draw Murder with visible dust on him, not because I can’t, but because Nightmare wouldn’t allow Murder to stay with such dirt in his own castle

That goes for everyone, Nightmare tells MTT that he didn’t recruit animals under him constantly, that after each mission, he expects them to clean themselves up and not stain his castle with the dirt, blood, and dust on them

Nightmare can tolerate a stain or two, but he won’t have his subordinates looking absolutely disheveled

Of course, that makes MTT forced to clean themselves up if they don’t wanna get into trouble, and Killer especially, he’d do that even without Nightmare telling them so (as would Horror), Killer simply cares a bit about his looks, he’s not as obsessed with how he looks as Nightmare is, but Killer does prefer to look presentable at least

But that’s where Killer’s abuse comes in, while Nightmare wouldn’t even care if Killer wore something different, Killer never found himself doing so, not because he didn’t want to, but because he saw no point in it, his new clothes are gonna get ruined if he put them on then went on a mission right after when Nightmare ordered it, his new clothes made no difference when all Killer was allowed to do is stay at the castle or go out in an AU when Nightmare wished it (and Nightmare’s the only one who had the power to teleport them from one AU to another)

He saw no point in finding his own joy by wearing something he likes cause that could easily be used against him, a weakness, a vulnerability he would rather not open the door to in his environment

Of course, after he’s saved, Killer didn’t just simply let go of all of these ideas on the get go, in fact, it took him years to understand that he can now wear whatever he wished without any sort of limitations or consequences, not to mention, his undeniable nostalgia to Nightmare as well as his belief that Nightmare would either kill him sooner than later for betraying him, or that he’d end up back under Nightmare again

So Killer was convinced that there’s no point to changing up

And of course, comfort, this outfit is what he’d known for years, he can’t just let go all of a sudden

That of course, eventually changes as Killer is shown love and care, and it starts small, with Killer having one or two outfits besides his og one, and wearing these new outfits on rare occasions, but as time went on, his wardrobe filled up with newer outfits and he wore them more and more and his og clothes less and less, all subconsciously than an actual conscious decision on Killer’s part

And as time goes on further more and Killer learns and adapts and heals, he eventually finds himself in a new outfit every day, his og outfit completely forgotten to time and completely forgotten by Killer

Only to find it again, only this time, he can’t really wear it anymore, and Killer would come to the realization of how much he’s healed <3

I don’t necessarily think Killer would hate his old clothes after he’s saved, but rather, would always have a part of him unable to stop from growing a bit fond in a fucked up way, not that he’d want to actually go back to such times, but a part of him will always look back and think of how far he’d come, and how far back such memories are