#and I’m not even old enough to legally smoke or drink to take the edge off -_-

[my-chemical-rot]

If life doesn’t get less stressful than this then what even is the point -_-

[dragonmuse]

Oh no. You mentioned in an ask the possibility of Charlie meeting Lucius in a universe like 'one winged dove.' Is there any chance that he would ever come across Izzy and Lucius or even Read in 'one winged dove?' I personally consider this one of Izzy's most sane AU's, so I'm interested in how he would even view Charlie. Is he a one-night-threesome or a wounded bird, à la Read? Is the coast just too removed from Charlie's story? Could this actually be a healthy AU for these three? Will you ever tell me when to stop asking you questions, because otherwise I might never stop?

(Ask FOREVER, I love these questions so much! CW on this one, Charlie is dosed with something unspecified at a club that he did not consent to take.)

The phone ringing woke Izzy out of a dead sleep. He fumbled for it, dread growing in him. Lucius had gone out tonight and the clock gave a late hour.

"Hello," he sat upright, reaching for the bedside lamp.

"Hi," Lucius sounded stressed. Izzy turned on the light.

"What's going on?"

"I'm sorry to do this, but can you come get me and this dumb ass twink I just scrapped off the sidewalk? I don't know what he took, but he's flying and if I leave him here, I'm going to think about it for the rest of my life."

"Yeah, yes, shit," Izzy said immediately. "Where are you?"

“The Sweet Shop, you remember where it is?”

“Out on route 15, right?” 

“You’ve got it, horrible garish neon lights.  Nononono, you get back here. Right, I’m the...no, don’t- fine. Sure. Go ahead,” Lucius sighed. “He’s petting my hair. I think someone spiked his drink, I saw him earlier in the night and he was not this out of it.” 

“I can be there in twenty, fast enough or should I see if someone closer can get there?” 

“I can occupy him for that long,” Lucius decided. “And I’d like to just get him to bed. Or couch. Read there tonight?” 

“No, she’s at hers, but yeah if he’s whacked trying to get him up the stairs might be tough.” He pulled on shorts and sweatshirt, called it good on an outfit. His wallet and keys were in a dish by the door, a delicate clay piece that Lucius had bought years ago. Back when neither of them had been sure this was all for good.

But there were bowls for keys now, routines, and the worn away edges of their sharper parts. Fifteen years, no end in sight.  Izzy would do a lot worse  and harder things than wake up in the middle of the night to help Lucius scrape a kid off the ground to maintain that. 

He didn’t speed much, not liking his chances of keeping a civil tongue in his head to a cop at this hour, but there was no one on the roads. Twenty minutes was more like fifteen, especially when he found a parking spot practically in front of the place. It was a searingly bright monstrosity of a club, the light harsh on his night vision. There was a spillover of people outside, people in the height of their youth in beautiful outfits, smoking all manner of things. He could not have looked more out of place if he tried. Good thing he didn’t give a shit. 

“Over here!” Lucius called and Izzy spotted him by the doorway. The kid was draped over him  was a tall drink of water with a fine shower of golden hair and wearing only the faint suggestion of clothing. 

“You all right?” Izzy checked again as he got closer. 

“I’m fine,” Lucius smiled tiredly at him. “Sorry for waking you.” 

Izzy shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. How you feeling, kid?” 

“Mmf,” the boy said into Lucius shoulder. 

“Charlie,” Lucius nudged him a little. “This is my husband, Izzy. Say hello.” 

Charlie turned his head, bright eyes, long lashes and fine, barely there eyebrows. He did not look drinking age. 

“Hellloo, Izzy,” the kid slurred. 

“How old are you?” Izzy demanded. 

“Why?” Charlie attempted to stand up on his own power and wobbled. “If you’re interested, I’m legal.” 

“Classy,” Lucius sighed. “He hit on me too. The ID says 24, but...” 

“Yeah, no fucking way,” Izzy agreed. “But if he’s actually a minor, we can’t just take him home, we’ll get arrested for kidnapping.” 

“Nooo, I am,” Charlie insisted and fumbled into his wallet. There was the west coast ID card in front, but with shaky fingers, Charlie slid out another card. From a very familiar location. Very far away. “See?” 

Izzy took it and examined it. No way to be sure it was legit, but it certainly looked right and the year was far more believable. 

“19,” he told Lucius, putting the ID back in the wallet and returning it to Charlie. “Okay,  kid, did you come out with anyone tonight?” 

“Noooooo private secret stuff, shhhh,” Charlie mumbled. 

Shit. 

“Fine. You want to come home with us?” 

“Yeah,” Charlie gave him a look under heavy-lidded eyes that probably worked on other teenage dirtbags. “I’d like that a lot.” 

“I was going to ask how you found him, but I think I figured it out,” Izzy said dryly. 

“If you say anything about birds of a feather, I’m stealing the car and teaching myself how to drive on the way home,” Lucius glared at him. 

“Nah, you were never this ham-fisted about it. All right, let’s go then.” 

Despite being clearly high as a kite, Charlie managed to make it into the car under his own power, getting into the backseat and not even complaining when Lucius abandoned him there to get in the front passenger seat. 

“It’s dark, huh?” Charlie mumbled as Izzy started the car.  

“It’s late,” Lucius said quietly. “Not long to our place. Try not to throw up.” 

“I’m not sick.” 

“Yet,” Lucius mumbled. “We should put a wastebasket next to the couch.” 

The drive was surprisingly quiet. Charlie kept starting questions, than trailing off. When Izzy looked through the rearview mirror, the kid was mostly just staring at the road like it might contain the mysteries of the world. Lucius started to yawn, his own club clothes (tasteful and more of a suggestion of what might be to come rather than a full on offer) were wrinkled and sweaty.  

“I’ll get him settled on the couch,” Izzy decided when they reached the house. “You can go get ready for bed.” 

“You sure?” Lucius glanced at him. “I’m the one that brought him home.” 

“And he just needs water and sleep, I can get that done. Just help me get him inside.” 

“I don’t need help,” Charlie muttered, but he sounded half-asleep already. Good that would be easier. 

Charlie was too tall for Izzy to shoulder, so they leaned him against Lucius, with Izzy doing a careful spotting to get him up the stairs. The mosaic door still shone prettily even with just the one hallway light coming through. Charlie blinked at it, 

“You live here?” 

“We do,” Lucius confirmed as Izzy got the door opened. 

“It’s nice,” Charlie said vaguely.  

“Thanks.” 

Lucius dropped him onto the couch cushions and shook out his arm. He headed straight for the stairs, already unbuttoning his shirt while Izzy got the blanket out of the chest they used as a coffee table. 

“What’s that for?” Charlie asked, eyebrows flying up. 

“For you,” Izzy explained. 

“You brought me back here to smother me in a blanket?” He asked a little blankly. “Weird kink, but sure.” 

“Not sure,” Izzy said sharply. “Fuck, kid. Just lay down. You’re going to take a nap.” 

“No no, not supposed to spend the night,” but Charlie took the blanket. “Was just gonna blow off some steam then head out.” 

“Did you drink?” 

“Of course I did, one shot to get ready, two at the club,” Charlie shrugged. “Maybe one more after that?” 

“Did you take anything?” 

“Lucy asked me that too.” 

“Call him that to his face and he will throw an entire fit,” Izzy warned him. “Loud and endless. Did you take anything?” 

“No,” Charlie said sullenly. “I don’t take candy from strangers.” 

“Well someone slipped you something because your pupils are blown,” Izzy told him. “So you sleep it off here and we’ll figure out the rest in the morning.” 

“No sex?” Charlie determined with a pout. 

“Life’s a bitch,” Izzy agreed. “You don’t get to fuck the grizzled old man of your dreams. Lay down.” 

The kid didn’t so much lay down as he gently fell over and Izzy wound up shaking the blanket out over him and shoving a pillow under his head. Then he put a glass of water in his immediate eyeline, and a wastebasket next to the bed with a fresh liner. By the time that was done, the kid was knocked out. 

That was the best they’d manage tonight. Uneasy, Izzy left him there and trailed upstairs. Lucius was still in the bathroom, shower running. Izzy considered his options and went in, the steam blowing out. 

“He’s out.” 

“Good,” Lucius sigh carried over the pounding water. “Poor little fucker. 19.” 

“19,” Izzy repeated. “Good thing he washed up on your shore.” 

“Mm, paying it forward,” Lucius turned off the water, drawing the curtain back. Izzy gave him a slow once over, then handed him a towel. “Yeah, not tonight, I think. Be too twitchy.” 

“Mm. Yeah, me too,” Izzy shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a free show.” 

“Who says it’s free?” Lucius grinned, toweling off his hair. “I might need some sugar.” 

“I’ll make you pancakes in the morning.” 

“Deal.” 

They got into bed not long after, Lucius hand landing on the small of Izzy’s back as soon as they were settled. It was good feeling, a settling one, even with the new worry downstairs. Izzy’s eyes closed heavily. Sleep reclaimed him with a clawing hand. 

He woke up some hours laters, before his usual alarm. He listened carefully, heard the stirring down the stairs. Carefully, he rolled out from under Lucius’ arm and pulled his shorts on again. T-shirt too, even though he usually wouldn’t bother this time of day. 

Walking quietly, he caught their guest looking frantically at his phone which was apparently very dead. 

“I’ve got a charger,” Izzy offered and the kid jumped to his feet. Izzy stayed on the stairs. 

“Where am I?” He demanded. 

“I don’t know what you remember about last night, but you hit on my husband and he realized you’d been drugged,” Izzy said carefully. “We took you home and put you on the couch. No one else touched you and we can call you an Uber if you want to leave now.” 

Charlie looked at him warily. “How do I know that’s true?” 

“You don’t, but the door is unlocked and if you go down to the end of our street and turn right, you’ll get to town. There’s a diner with a hostess that’ll let you make a phone call if you’d rather.” 

“I...” Charlie looked to the door. “Fuck. My head hurts so much. I was drugged?” 

“Yeah, probably. You said you didn’t take anything,” Izzy came down the last few steps. “But you looked high as hell.” 

“Shit,” Charlie shook his head. “Okay, uh....can I use your bathroom? And maybe die of embarrassment in it?” 

“It’s not your fault,” Izzy said firmly. “But yeah, go ahead. It’s upstairs first door on the right. If you want to wash up,  a friend of ours is about your size. She’s got a spare change of clothes under the sink that you can borrow.  I’m going to start breakfast, you want some pancakes?” 

“Coffee?” he asked hopefully. 

“There can be coffee.” 

“Thank you,” Charlie said emphatically, waited for Izzy to go into the kitchen, then must’ve dashed upstairs. 

The pipes came to life, so he’d chosen to shower, for the best for all of them probably.  Izzy concentrated on putting together the batter, the simplicity of a repeated task easier than thinking through the sludge of his under-rested brain. 

“I take it our new friend didn’t cut and run,” Lucius slouched into the kitchen, wrapped an arm around Izzy’s stomach and dropped his forehead onto his shoulder. “Yay.” 

“You found this one,” Izzy reminded him. 

“I know, but can’t I still blame you? It’s contagious, maybe.” 

“Yeah, the worst STD, sudden impulse to not leave people to the mercy of other rancid humans.” 

“Mmfph,” Lucius said into his shoulder. 

They stayed like that while Izzy made the first few pancakes. Any temptation Izzy had to shake Lucius off had died somewhere in the far past. He liked the awkwardness of his affection, the way it was heavy and trusting. Even if it was a pain in the ass to flip pancakes that way. 

They both heard hesitant feet on the stairs and Lucius placed a last kiss on his neck before drawing away to pull down mugs. 

“Charlie,” he called out, “do you want coffee?” 

“More than anything,” came the soft answer and Charlie came warily into the kitchen. Read’s sweatshirt fit him well enough, the loose shorts close enough. They were both old and faded, things she wouldn’t mind parting with if they never made it back. 

“I’ll bet, how do you take it?” 

“Just milk, thanks,” Charlie watched Lucius for a moment. “Okay...yeah I do remember you. You had on that green shirt, open a couple of buttons. And you weren’t dancing.” 

“Don’t bother with it,” Lucius agreed. “That when the memories start to go sideways?” 

“No, we talked, I danced, got another drink...then yeah, then it gets hazy.” 

“Hard to know then, but I’ll call the club, tell them to run back the security tapes. They’ll figure it out and turn the guy in. They don’t want to get a reputation of allowing that.” 

“Why would they listen?” Charlie asked stiffly. 

Lucius turned to regard him with a smirk, “Because I am a gigantic pain in the ass, who knows half the gays in twenty mile radius and the ones I don’t know, I still recognize on sight. This isn’t a big place and I am not afraid of posting very obnoxious tagged messages on social media.” 

“Oh,” Charlie nodded slowly. “Okay. Uh. Thanks then. For everything.” 

“Do you have somewhere we can take you once you’re fed and rehydrated?” Lucius asked, attempting casual and not quite managing it. 

“I have a hotel room. I only came out here for a meet and our flights got staggered because of a ridiculous booking error. I volunteered to take the last one out, figuring I’d get a night on my own. Jokes on me, huh?” He sat down heavily.  

“Sometimes shit happens,” Izzy shrugged. “You didn’t know. Blame the asshole that did it to you.” 

“When’s your flight?” Lucius realized with concern. 

“Late tonight,” Charlie sat his chin on his palm. “Red eye. I was going to just hang at the airport once I checked out. Nap there, probably.” 

“Fun. Well, at least we’re not in a rush then,” Lucius gave him a tight smile and poured the coffee. 

Over breakfast, of which Charlie ate a disturbing amount, Lucius and Izzy teased out that Charlie was a competitive swimmer at a college on the other side of the country. He was an English major and had a friend named Amir. 

That was it. Lucius, normally great at getting people’s life story, was thwarted at every turn. It was friendly enough. Charlie was good at turning questions back on them, or evading with too much information about other things. It was good work, Izzy could appreciate it, but it wasn’t going to fix the issue. 

“Listen,” Izzy interrupted another evasion. “We don’t need to know your life story. We want to make sure you don’t die.” 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Lucius conceded. “I mean I’d like to know you, but we don’t have time for that. What I want to make sure is that we don’t drive you the airport, drop you into the abyss without anything else to guide you. You got anyone to talk to about this stuff? About going out like this?”

“I don’t need-” 

“Is there anyone?” Izzy repeated. 

Charlie hesitated, then admitted, “Amir and I talk about about it sometimes, but he’s got less experience than I do.” 

“Woof, okay,” Lucius glanced at Izzy. “I’ll start, you tag in?” 

“Yeah, go for it.” 

The crash course in safety didn’t take long really, but by the end of it Charlie looked like someone had slapped him. Izzy didn’t wade too far into his own waters, yet even the complications of consent beyond the bare minimum seemed to shake the kid up. 

“My parents think I’m still a virgin,” he admitted. “Never been kissed.” 

“Homophobes?” Lucius guessed. 

“No. My father and stepparent are queer,” Charlie shook his head. “I’m just not there yet.” 

“Story there,” Lucius determined and moved on. “We’ll give you our numbers. You have any questions, any fears, anything, you can reach out.” 

“Why? I mean you guys already did more than enough.” 

“Because no one did it for us and it fucked us up,” Izzy said, dropping his hand onto Lucius’ thigh. “Or fucked me up anyway. This one is good at muddling through.” 

“I had some help,” Lucius contended, lacing their fingers together. “So. Serious shit over. I was going to just sit outside and sketch this morning. Iz?” 

“Go for a walk on the shore.” 

“Walk or patio?” Lucius offered to Charlie. 

“Walk.” 

Charlie had a long stride and he was fast. He darted down the beach, but came back to Izzy when he gauged his pace and slowed to meet it after a while. 

“Have you lived here long?” 

“More than twenty years,” Izzy told him. “Started off back east, but this place settled in me.” 

“Lucius too? You have the same accent.” 

“Yeah, he came around a little later. Found him.” he pointed up the beach a little, “Right about there.” 

“Took him home like a shell?” 

“Something like that,” Izzy agreed. “Got married years later though.” 

“Why the wait?” 

“He was young. Not as young as you, but we both figured he needed some time to figure out if this was it for him. He left his whole life behind. When he rounded on thirty, it seemed like it was going to stick for good, so I asked and here we are.” 

“But he was out last night.” 

“I go out too sometimes,” Izzy shrugged. “Like he was saying, as long as everyone knows, can find a way to be okay with it,  and you talk about it, nearly anything can work. Luc told me upfront that he wanted to have some freedom. I asked if he’d come home after and he said yes and he always has. So. Hard to get worked up about it.” 

“Huh,” Charlie shoved his hands into the hoodie’s front pocket. “And you still talk about it?” 

“Gotta,” he sighed. “No one can mind read as it turns out.” 

“Mind reading would be a nightmare if it was real though,” Charlie grimaced. “Can you just imagine?” 

“Never really thought about it.” 

“Never having privacy in your own head? Some gnarly stuff happens in there.” 

“....you make a good point.” 

They walked for over an hour and when they got back to the house, Lucius had barely moved though his tablet had the full body of sketch on it, already gaining meat in details and the like. 

“My hand is cramping. I’m going to go pick up groceries. Charlie, come with me.You look like you can carry things.” 

“Uh, okay, is it a far drive?” 

“We’re walking.” 

Once they returned from that, Izzy drove Charlie and his now half-charged phone to his hotel. 

“You’re sure you don’t mind taking me to the airport?” Charlie double-checked. 

“We’re headed to dinner that way. On our way,” which was true as of the five minute whispered conversation they’d had while Charlie checked his phone. 

“You’re awesome! Thanks!” 

So Charlie and his carry on spent the afternoon watching tv with Lucius and then wandering into Izzy’s workshop to learn about the power of sanders. He ate the last of the banana bread Izzy had made earlier that week, even after murdering a burger for lunch. 

The airport really wasn’t far and Charlie and Lucius filled the drive arguing about books that Izzy had never read. It was easy enough to slide into the departure lane. Lucius twisted around before Charlie could get out of the car and repeated solemnly, 

“You need us, you text or call. Got it?” 

“I won’t-” 

“What the fuck else are we doing?” Izzy caught Charlie’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “You’re not alone, kid. And it doesn’t have to be life or death. Just whatever.” 

“Yeah, okay,” he said quietly. 

And then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd. 

“Think we’ll ever hear from him again?” Lucius asked, sadly. 

“Dunno,” Izzy sighed. “Probably not.”

But they did. It took a few weeks, but they got tentative texts about nothing at all. Just hellos and joking questions that they both responded to quickly every time. Then they came more often, once or twice a week. Once a phone call to Lucius about an essay, then another to Izzy about changing oil in his car. 

Tiny messages in bottles floating across the country. A bridge spanning thousands of miles. Being built. Tested. Holding. 

The call came late, they were both in bed this time. 

“Charlie?” Lucius answered. 

“I’m not okay,” Charlie's voice broke. “I need some help.” 

He was back in the house in twelve hours. He stayed for a week. He met Read and Anne. Spent mornings in Lucius’ studio, afternoons at the bike shop. He went for walks on the beach and was allowed out with them to Scout’s bar though he only drank soda. 

“If I call my parents and tell them, will you stay with me?” he asked the day before he was meant to go back. Back to a new therapy appointment and a promise to check in weekly.  

“Of course,” Lucius assured him. “Whatever you need.” 

They did. Quiet and present. Watching as the kid’s walls tumbled and crashed. They stayed quiet as a familiar voice crackled over the phone. Another problem, for another day. For now, they were just with him. 

And even years later when Charlie didn’t need much guidance or help anymore, he’d keep coming back for a week in the summer and another in the winter. A home away from home.

[tarisilmarwen]

RobStar Week 2022, Day 5 - Bodyguard

(Played around with the premise for this one a few times, eventually settled on the classic Violently Protective Girlfriend Starfire.

If the trope ain’t broke don’t fix it lol.)

---

Robin glanced towards her as they crept towards the unassuming threshold.

The villain dive bar's exterior belied none of the seedy happenings surely going on inside.  A single lamplight hung out over the metal door, beaming down weak white light onto the concrete step.

Starfire studied the place with a careful sweep of her eyes.  As Robin stepped back to whisper with the others, going over final checks of his and her earpieces, running through their contingency plans again, she felt a nervous shiver rise up her back.

One hand went to grip her other wrist, fiddle with the numerous thin bangle bracelets she was sporting as part of her disguise.  She and Robin were both in frayed grunge casuals, her in jean shorts and a close-fitting white babydoll top, him in loose-fitting everything, fake tattoos covering his arms and the bare swath behind his neck—"Bruce would murder me if I got real ones," he'd explained to her—eyes hidden behind dark shades.  Her hair was pulled up in two high pigtails, dyed vivid pink and the ends spiked out in all directions.  Raven had let her borrow some of her limited makeup to add black-tipped lips and smokey eyeshadow.

Starfire had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror before they had left the Tower and started.

She didn't recognize herself.

She supposed that was the point.

Starfire tried to tell herself that this mission wasn't any different than the time they had played students at Dixon Cedar High School, tried not to think about the fact that this particular secret bar was apparently the favorite hideout of nearly all of the Titans' frequent villains, tried not to let the churning feeling in her stomach overwhelm her.

Cyborg had wanted to be the one accompanying Robin for this one—"I'm the only one who can pass as old enough to legally drink," he'd pointed out rather convincingly—but after only a moment of thought and consideration, it had been her that Robin turned to.

She would have probably insisted upon coming even if he hadn't picked her.

Finally, the moment she'd been dreading came.  Robin stepped away from Raven and Beast Boy.  She let Cyborg make a last check over her holographic ring, making sure the subtle projection to disguise her alien eyes and features was active.

And then they stepped out into the alleyway and approached the door.

Starfire stayed close to Robin's shoulder, shadowing him silently.  He knocked on the door, whispering the coded password when the peephole window slid open.  Thick locks chunked open and then the door was swinging inward, a loud blare of synth music with pounding bass hitting their ears.

Robin stepped through and Starfire followed, the dimly-lit neon-colored haze taking both of them.

Starfire's sense of danger stayed wound tight.  The flashing multicolored strobes lit limbs, bodies, the edges of tables and chairs, pulsing in time to the music.  The stench of sweat and smoke and free-flowing alcohol hit her nose.  She cast her eyes warily through the crowd.  Their informant had assured them that Slade and other big-names didn't ever come to these parties—found it beneath them—but she half expected to see a flash of his orange and black mask lurking in every shadow anyway.

She did see an alarming number of villains.

There, in a booth against the wall, Johnny Rancid, his arms draped around a couple giggling women sipping brightly-colored drinks.

On the dance floor, Fang and Kitten, entwined in an odd and rather disturbing-looking embrace.

Further in, she even spied her sister, sitting up on a bar counter with her head tilted back, apparently busy drinking her cloaked companion under the table, if the rows of empty shot glasses lined up on the counter were any indication.  Blackfire polished off her drink with a flourish, to a scattering of cheers and applause from onlookers.

Starfire frowned, and shied away from that side of the bar, stepping closer to Robin.

They scanned the room methodically, slipping in and out of gaps in the crowd, recording devices active and listening.

Robin brushed by the secret conversations without looking like he was eavesdropping and Starfire stood as a silent guard by his shoulder.  Her eyes flicked anxiously towards the digital clock on the wall.

One hour.  That was how long they would stay.  Long enough to hopefully get insight into the inner workings and hierarchy of their rogues gallery, gleam some of their future plans.  Maybe head off a doomsday plot or two.  She wasn't certain what to expect, exactly.  All she knew was that being in this place, close-quarters with some of their most dangerous villains, many of whom had it personally out for her boyfriend...

With a sharp glare and a step forward, she warded off the interested expression of a girl in the corner, blocking the girl's eyeline to Robin, sending a warning with her eyes.

The girl pouted briefly and then turned back to her circle of friends, gabbing away nonchalantly.

Satisfied, Starfire returned her attention to Robin, who was surreptitiously planting an audio bug underneath one of the tables.

They made another careful circuit of the room.  Starfire projected her prickliest "Don't touch me" vibes, shoulders back and neck straight to make herself even taller, a wary glare furrowing her brows.  Robin was never more than a foot or two away from her, and she kept careful watch over him, making note of anyone who seemed overly curious about him.

Her skin crawled with unease.  The smoke was starting to itch in her lungs.

She glanced towards the clock once again; it had been thirty-three minutes.

In the seconds that her eyes weren't on him, she heard him give a startled cut-off yelp.

Starfire whipped her head around just in time to catch the fizzle of Red X teleporting himself and Robin away.

"Plix!" she cursed with a hiss, lurching forward a step into the empty space.  Her eyes darted around frantically, looking this way and that.  No one seemed to have taken notice.

"Starfire, what's wrong?" buzzed Raven's voice in her earpiece.

Starfire stepped quickly through the crowd, bringing a hand up to shield that ear.  "I fear Red X has made us," she explained, pushing past several bodies, straining her eyes and resisting the urge to float up above everyone's heads.  "He took Robin somewhere, I cannot see where."

"He won't have gone far, his teleportation only has a limited range," Cyborg said.  A whirr on the line told her he was pinging Robin's locator beacon.  "I got him!  Back hallway, just past the bathrooms."

Starfire hurried in that direction at once.

***

"Not exactly the place I'd expect to see you, kid," Red X quipped.

Robin muffled an indignant yell through the thief's hand, clamped tight over his mouth, and with a sharp motion rammed his elbow into Red X's stomach.

The arms around him loosened as Red X doubled inwards with a groan, and Robin used that distraction to pull free, whipping around and pulling a bird-a-rang out from one of the generous pockets in his cargo pants.

He went into a rigid stance, free hand out, other hand drawn back, wary and on guard, back to the gray wall of the dingy back hallway.

"Easy!" Red X coughed, putting up his hands.  "Do you want to alert the whole club you're here?"

"Only if you give me a reason," Robin growled in warning.  "How did you know?"

Red X straightened, brushing himself off.  "Try skipping the hair gel next time, kid," he advised.  "I'd recognize those spikes anywhere."

Robin didn't relax, tightening his grip on the bird-a-rang.  "What do you want?" he demanded.

"In on whatever cool espionage you're doing, for starters," the thief replied.

Robin narrowed his eyes.  "You want to help us?" he asked, a bit incredulous.  "Why?"

"Let's just say times are tough and xenothium is a little hard to come by these days," the thief dismissed, waving a hand.  "But if you can hook me up with just a little vial—"

"Out of the question," Robin interrupted immediately.

"Aww c'mon!  I have so many juicy secrets to dish!" Rex X complained.

Robin studied the older boy, trying to gauge his sincerity.  His eyes stayed narrow and firm.  "How do I know you won't just rat us out to every villain out in that bar?" he asked.

The other boy sighed in annoyance and, in a motion so fast Robin barely caught it, flash-teleported closer to get within Robin's guard.  Even as Robin was startling back, his eyes widening in surprise, Red X had pushed into his space, forced him up against the wall, his back to the metal.  Crimson blades extended from Red X's gauntlets, the edges pressed dangerously close to Robin's throat, as the thief pinned him in place.

"If I wanted to expose you I'd have already done it," he said, and Robin tried not to gulp as the xenothium blade scraped his skin.  "You came underprepared and underequipped, kid.  You should know better."

Robin tried to formulate a brave response but didn't have to—a set of tanned fingers latched onto Red X's wrist and began squeezing and crushing.

"Aaah!" the thief cried in complaint, crumpling at once.  "Aaaaaaand that would be the protective super-strong alien girlfriend!" he wheezed, forcibly stepping back and retracting the blades, trying to pry her off his injured wrist.  "Gah!"

Starfire released him, letting him stumble back.  Robin felt waves of relief upon seeing her, straightening back up with confidence.

The Tamaranian princess was searing a violent glare at Red X, taking up position next to Robin's side.

"You will keep your distance from him," she warned.

"Noted," he keened thinly, still nursing his wrist.

After a moment or two Red X recovered his composure.

"I'd really prefer not to make a scene," he told them.  "Half a vial and I can tell you exactly who the most dangerous person in that bar is.  Full vial and I'll help you take them down myself."

Conflict flickered through Robin's heart.  His eyes pinched and he bit his lip.  He shouldn't even consider the deal—Red X was a constant reminder of Robin's failures, a glaring testament to his worst mistakes—but his baser, "Batman" instincts were strongly considering the offer.

Starfire's pointed growl of, "We do not require your help." reoriented him though.

Robin made his face soften apologetically.  "I can't in good conscience give you any xenothium," he told Red X.  "But if you really want to help, any information you can give us would be appreciated."

The thief crossed his arms stiffly, clearly frowning behind the mask.

Starfire drew slightly closer to him, her fists tightening.

Seeing the move, Red X sighed, his shoulders going slack.

"I am way too fond of you, kiddos," he said.

Robin sent Starfire a grin as the thief uncrossed his arms and started to dish some very interesting information.  A silent thank you was sent skyward for the presence of the alien princess, tough and unyielding and someone he'd always feel safe around.

It was nice to have a girl like her backing him up, he thought.

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦ ♪ ◦∘ Timothée Chalamet - Concerto ∘◦ ♪ ◦∘

A/N - I wrote and posted this almost a year ago on my Wattpad. My writing has evolved a lot since then, but I’m still proud of this piece, and hope you enjoy it. I do not know Tim, nor do I claim to in any way. This is a work of fiction and entirely my own. 

Warnings - smut. Detailed (but protected and consensual) sex, slight BDSM, overstimulation. Cursing. Legal alcohol consumption and smoking. Also 10k words of sickening fluff though, even the smut is fluffy.

Summary - At a classical music concert, the last person you expect to meet is a young man as charming and suave as Timothée. And the last thing you expected is for him to invite you back to his flat. Turns out music really is food for the soul, and other things...

IT’S A FRIDAY EVENING IN NEW YORK CITY. The sun is setting behind the towering silhouettes of undulating buildings all across the city, the moon casting shadows all around au contraire to the luminescence of building lights, beaming all around as well as the street lamps, bringing colour and light to people’s faces in the dark.

You’re standing on the pavement outside Symphony Space Concert Hall on the Upper West Side, people watching. Nothing more or less conspicuous, just observing everyone flooding into the hall, though none of them seem to be under 50 years of age. After checking the time, you take your phone out of the pocket attached to your delicate silk jumpsuit you’re wearing for the night, the one reserved for classy parties and sophisticated concerts only (though very handy). You open the email holding your ticket for the evening, a Poulenc appreciation concert, and you show it to the bouncer who grants you entry to the auditorium.

The room looks incredible. Photos of Francis Poulenc, as well as some old parchment sheets of his music spread out delicately over the usually bare walls. The lights create a perfect ambience in the hall for what's sure to be an incredible evening. The red velvet seats are half full, dotted with people at least twice your age, except from one seat near the front where you can see merely a defined jaw and brown curls. On the stage stands two glossy black grand pianos, slotted beside one another with plush velvet stools and their lids propped up, allowing one to see the inner workings of such wonderful instruments. Behind the pianos are seats enough for an entire orchestra, creating a crescent moon shape. A couple of the seats already have instruments atop them, aching for their owners to play beautiful melodies with them. You make your way down to where your seat is, familiar with the layout of the auditorium. You’re on the right hand side of the centre stalls, third row back, but as you arrive, there’s a boy you saw earlier, not much older than yourself.

“Hi, do you mind if I squeeze past?” You ask him, watching his head jolt up from the programme to reveal a mop of beautiful dark brown curls framing his chiselled face, piercing green eyes with flecks of hazel when the light changed direction. You recognise him, an actor, you simply can’t place him.

His look of incredulity melts into a smile. “Sure.” He says, moving his legs so that you can squeeze past and take your reserved seat on his left. He turns to face you, smiling. He’s wearing a crisp navy suit with a pale blue shirt and a matching tie. He looks well presented, and by his nervous and lopsided smile, you guess that he’s rather nervous to be at the concert alone too. “Timothée.” He tells you, holding his hand out.

You return his gesture, smiling right back at him, and tell him your name. “You here alone?” You ask him, turning in your seat to get a better view. He nods.

“Thought I’d be the only under fifty here.” He laughs, “I’m 24 by the way, but I shan’t ask your name since you're a lady.” You can't help but laugh at this, just a little giggle at how sweet he is, but your interaction is cut short as the lights turn down in the auditorium but shine brighter on the stage, and a full orchestra enters the stage, accompanied by their instruments, two pianists and a conductor. Murmurs in the hall settle down to a faint hum while the musicians tune to the sound of the oboe, and then begin to play.

The music is mesmerising, starting with orchestral pieces with faint piano accompaniment, then just a nocturne for piano, split between the two lead pianists. You could listen to it all night, but an interval has to come. As the lights slowly turn back up, you see an infantile smile on Timothée’s face, as though he’s just watched the most excellent thing in the world.

“Come on,” you say to him, smiling sadly while you tap his knee, “let’s get a drink.”

He reluctantly stands up to follow you out of the auditorium and to the small bar area. You order two margarita’s without consulting him, but he seems grateful as you sit beside each other on a high table, people watching once again.

“What's your job then?” He asks you, making small talk.

“I’m a piano major at Juilliard, teaching piano on the side though.” You respond, and he seems really taken aback. His jaw falls a little slack while his eyes bulge a tad.

“Wow, you must be excellent!” You blush a little at his words, elegantly taking a sip from your drink while he eyes you carefully. You feel awkward under his gaze, though flattered nonetheless. He’s gorgeous, and he’s complimenting you and accepting drinks from you, what a night.

“What about you?” You inquire. He's an actor, you know that, but asking means that you may be able to get some more context and maybe it’ll click where you’ve seen him before. He clears his throat, and you can see some older people walking by who pull faces, judging the pair of you, but you brush them off.

“I’m an actor, mainly small films though.” He says, remaining vague. You don’t push much more, realising that he probably likes not being fawned all over for once, so you simply ask of the favourite names he’s had the honour of working alongside, which must be an uncommonly asked question because a light flickers behind his eyes.

“Selena Gomez, Steve Carell, Armie Hammer, Saoirse Ronan, Emma Watson, Robert Pattinson, Maia Mitchell…” He begins to list, but only when he mentions Maia does it click. You aren't huge into films, but you have seen him in a film with Maia Mitchell and Maika Monroe a few years ago.

“Hot summer nights, right? You were in that?” His cheeks turn a magnificent crimson and he bows his head as though embarrassed. He mumbles something along the lines of ‘not my best performance’, but you disagree. “I think you were wonderful, and did you mention Armie Hammer?” He nods again, seeming a little brighter. You take another sip from your drink, and he follows suit, watching your poised movements.

“Call Me By Your Name.” You nod in recognition, you remember watching the film when it first came out and loving the music from it.

“You’re excellent you know, at piano I mean, and the intimate scenes aren’t half bad either, you make them better.” You say with a teasing smirk on your painted lips, making Timothée’s eyes widen again. You chuckle and grasp his hand, dragging him into the auditorium for the second half.

The second half is a whole concerto, Poulenc’s Concerto For Two Pianos And Orchestra. Ten minutes in, Timothée’s hand finds your thigh and seems very comfortable, so comfortable in fact that you don't dare move it. As the concerto flows further on, his hand slides further up your clothed leg and squeezes your upper thigh a little You tense under his touch, infatuation and lust filling every cell and exiting through your pores, just waiting for more passion to fill your body and make you drunk on the feeling.

When finally the concert ends, both of you stand to applaud the musicians for a solid few minutes, and you could swear you see a tear leaving Timothée’s mysterious eyes and rolling down his heavenly made, painfully defined cheekbones. While you clap, you surreptitiously edge closer together, millimetre by millimetre until you’re hip to hip with elbows nudging. Your head comes up to his chin, making you feel a little small, but you’ll feel even smaller once your heels come off. Once the majority of the audience have filed out, you grasp his hand and pull him through the crowds where you stand on the corner of the pavement, only metres from the venue. You’re reluctant to loosen your grip on his slim hand, as he is with yours.

“Cigarette?” He offers, holding a half full box out to you. You half smile and shake your head in refusal.

“I don’t mind if you do though.” You say, meeting his gaze. “I love the taste of smoke when I kiss someone.” You add in a whisper, leaning up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He goes rigid, making you smirk to yourself. This is going to be a good night.

He lights his cigarette and takes slow drag, only looking away to blow the smoke in an opposite direction to you. How respectful, you think, as your stomach fills with butterflies and bubbles with anticipation. He puts it out on top of a bin and throws it away without littering, and just that small and helpful gesture makes you crave his touch, having his fingers trace your sweaty skin and making your body tingle, your back arch with desire and pleasure.

“Wanna get a drink?” You ask, pointing to a nice bar across the road. You’re desperate to sleep with him, but not without pleasantries first. He, however, shakes his head and intricately entwines his fingers with yours.

“I’ll do you one better than a drink.” His smirk sets off a different kind of longing in you, forcing your body to follow him wherever he takes you.

As you walk, he starts conversation, but you’re so breathless from the desperation speed walking that your answers are brief. He asks you why you attended the concert, only to remember that you’re a music student and piano teacher; so in turn, you ask him the same question.

“When I was doing Call Me By Your Name, I had to learn the piano, and while I was learning classical pieces, I kind of just fell in love with classical piano music, I don’t know.”

His nervousness is sweet, making him appear far more humble than anyone of his stature would usually be.

You get to his building after a twenty minute dash in heels, and he pulls you flush against him while entering through the revolving doors, allowing you to lay your weight on him for a moment while you gather your breath. You feel his heartbeat thudding and racing against his ribs, reverberating against your own chest. You turn around to face him and place your hand on his chest.

“Breathe.” You say to him, allowing him to release a long held breathy chuckle. You leave the doors, both laughing, and fervently press the buttons to wait upon a lift. “So,” You then continue, breaking the silence where only your breaths were heard. “Favourite piano piece from the Call Me By Your Name soundtrack?”

“Hallelujah Junction!” You both answer at the same time, just as the lift doors open. You fall into the lift in a fit of giggles, clinging onto each other. You find yourself with your back pressed against the cold metal handle bar in the elevator with Timothée’s face inches away from your own. Your breath mingles together. As soon as he presses the button to his floor, he nudges his nose with your own.

“God, you're so beautiful.” he says seconds before his mouth is pressed hotly against your own, kissing you with an unrivalled passion. Your lips mould and move together like it’s second nature. His one hand holds your waist while both of yours grip his face, feeling a slight stubble.

The lift dings and he drags you out, unlocking his apartment door and leading you inside.

“Welcome to Casa del Timmy.” he says while hugging you from behind, allowing you to get a full view.

His apartment is stunning. Sleek, yet also vintage. Your eyes follow across the perimeter through a door to the left, where he has an office area containing a sleek white desk with a mac and a stack of papers and pens, next to it is a vintage white bookcase stacked as high as possible with novels of all shapes and sizes, and even an indie style rug underneath a colourful modern dining set..

The door next to the office is a kitchen, white countertops with wooden cupboards and a beautiful view of the city out of the window. To the right is a set of glass doors that open onto a small balcony where you can see the whole city, even Manhattan and Brooklyn depending which way you look and how the moon beams down. There’s a closed door right in front of you and through the entry hall and living room which you assume is his bedroom held behind a golden doorknob.

His living room, where you remain standing, holds an array of house plants with a couple of very comfortable looking plush sofas, his TV stand as well as his coffee table look like polished vintage items, refurbished from a flea market maybe, while his book shelf and rug are grand and modern. The best part of all though is a grand piano in an oak wood, matching the wood from his television table, and you become instantly entranced by the instrument that you don’t even notice the velvet stool or the perfectly organised cabinet of music, with a guitar propped up against it.

“Wow.” You breathe. Timothée grips you tighter, trailing kisses across your shoulder and up the side of your neck, inhaling every few seconds to treasure the scent of your perfume. Gardenia, rose champagne, grapefruit, davana; heavenly. You grip his hands with your own, holding them tightly where they’re settled on your tummy. You roll your head against his shoulder to give him better access to kiss you, but he stops abruptly and leads you to the piano stool. He opens the cabinet and pulls out a well loved piece of music.

“I know it’s for two pianos, but let's have some fun.” He says, grinning at you, an infectious smile that you can’t help but return. Hallelujah Junction, first movement. He puts the music out on the piano and takes a seat beside you, your thighs touching and hands overlapping as they begin to glide over the keys.

Playing this piece is second nature to you, allowing you to find your way easily, slipping your fingers between Timothée’s, and the white and black keys. You begin a harmonious melody spanning the whole of the piano, but after only a couple of pages, you realise that its not working as your notes cross over, making it very difficult to play on just one piano. You laugh together, but only for a moment before he is trailing his tongue up your neck, then your lips, and delving inside your mouth. You gasp, moaning into the passionate kiss that he’s giving you, and within seconds you find yourself straddling his lap on the piano stool. You trap his thighs between yours, moving and grinding your hips a little against his to receive more friction where you can feel how needy he is.

Within seconds, he has your legs wrapped around his waist and his teeth on your clavicle. The pleasure makes sounds escape your lips that you didn’t even realise were possible. You knot your ankles as he stands up with one hand around your waist and the other feeling his way around his apartment. After a few funny missteps and close calls of him dropping you while only walking the expanse of his living room, he pins you against his bedroom door, finding your lips again

He gently pokes at your dusty pink bottom lip with his tongue, slipping his tongue back into your mouth, exploring avidly and devouring every taste of you that he can muster. You do the same, but become too infatuated by his taste to put much more passion into it: gin, mint, bergamot and smoke. Smoke, sugar and sin, the most deadly combination of them all, and that's all you can smell on him, making you moan even louder. An erotic moan that makes Timothée twist open the handle to his bedroom door as quickly as is humanly possible.

He as good as throws you onto the bed, but undeniably, it turns you on a lot to see his dominant side this early on into the evening. He doesn't seem like the type to pin you down and boss you around, but as he shuts his bedroom door and delicately takes off his probably very expensive shoes, you can see a glint in his eye, almost as if he’s planning on doing unspeakably pleasurable things to you. Just the thought makes you wetter than before.

As he locks the door and shuts his shoes away, you take a quick look around the room. His bed is nice, comfortable and exquisitely large, like other things you hope. He has a nice colourful throw, vintage looking pillows to match his nightstand, holding only a pillbox, a glass of water, hand sanitiser, and a box of tissues. The simplicity makes you want to laugh, but you restrain yourself. He has a big dresser to match his bedside table with the drawers a little skewwhiff and clothes poking out. His wardrobe is fitted to the wall and by the looks of it, surprisingly neat too. That much cannot be said for his sofa though. A plush, light grey sofa sits on one side of his room just away from the window, and it's covered with clothes. At least he made the bed though, that's more than you can say for most 20-odd year old mans rooms that you’ve been into.

He sheds his blazer and crawls up to where he left you on the bed, needy and craving more. He looks down at you with desperation in his eyes, and you can’t help but to attack his lips, threading one hand in his beautiful dark curls while the other nimbly pulls open his tie and undoes his shirt. You shrug it off his shoulders and run your nails up and down his spine. You feel him shiver beneath his touch while your hands travel all over his body. His shoulders, his biceps, his toned stomach; he’s skinny, but has enough substance to him to be strong and sexy as hell.

“You’ll kill me if you stop.” He whispers, followed by a string of breathy curses. His eyes roll into the back of his head, giving you ample opportunity to grasp his shoulders and slip the pair of you over, pinning him beneath you. His eyes flit all over your face before kissing you again.

“You are so freaking beautiful.” He mumbles between kisses. He slips his hands up to find the zip of your jumpsuit which he slides down crazily fast, only breaking the kiss to shrug it off your shoulders. He just lies in awe, noticing that you don’t have a bra on beneath it. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he examines every undulation of your body, following the swell of your breasts right down to your hips. Your nerves return under his scrutiny, making you want to hide your face, but instead he holds your wrists behind you.

“You never have to cover up,” he says, nothing more or less than genuine love in his eyes, “not for me.”

Despite only meeting him hours ago, you know that you can trust him, so you ungracefully clamber off his lap and lie on your back to shimmy off your burden of a jumpsuit. He practically leaps at the opportunity to worship your body, before him in only your panties. He starts at your ankle, placing feather light kisses all the way from your ankle, up your leg, not minding the slight harshness of your legs, and only stops at your knee joint to switch his lips to his tongue, licking a straight line all the way up your inner thigh, stopping centimetres from where you need him the most. Not through any of this ritual does he break eye contact though. He skips over your panties and only pulls them down a little to trail kisses from your pelvic bone, up past your navel, through the valley of your breasts, and finally back to your lips. He makes you feel things that you could only dream of before meeting him.

“Timothée…” you breathe, hearing his breath hitch in his throat at the way your tongue curls around his name.

You reach between the two of you to his trousers. You undo the belt buckle with ease and push his trousers off his hips and down his thin legs, allowing him to kick them off at the bottom. He seems embarrassed, wearing Y-fronts that make more visible just how much he wants you.

“How about we strip together?” You offer, and Timothée reluctantly nods. He pushes himself off of you and stands up, giving you a hand to stand up as well. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the moment you left the concert hall. “3, 2, 1…”

You both remove your underwear, pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them, only to step closer together so that your chests are flush against one another. He moves his hand up to cup your face, brushing your hair away from your face while tilting your chin up, capturing your lips in a lustful yet also sensual kiss.

He nudges you and your legs hit the bed, making you topple over and break the kiss from a giggle, but he doesn’t seem to mind and only laughs with you, moving your body further onto the mattress. He doesn't go to you again, he just lies beside you and dances his fingers absently down your pubic bone, ghosting circles around your clit.

“Jesus Christ.” You exclaim at the sudden feeling. Timothée kisses your jawline, but adds in between kisses, “Less of that, darling, I’m Jewish.”

You can’t help but laugh at him. You know he’s joking, just trying to mess with you, but as a punishment for laughing, he thrusts two fingers inside you with no warning, making you cry out in a mixture of both pain and overwhelming pleasure.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, never going deeper than the second knuckle even when you cry out for more. Only when your moans turn to gasps for breath and you’re writhing beneath him does he delve in further and add his thumb to your clit, giving you a more intense orgasm than you’ve ever had before.

You immediately feel blood rushing back to your cheeks, colouring them from embarrassment, but Timothée doesn’t mind. He removes his hand from your core, and makes sure your eyes are fixated on his every movement as he licks his hand clean of all your cum. You’re so turned on that you even reach for his own hand, interlacing all your fingers except for his index one, of which he takes the hint and slips it into your open mouth, allowing your tongue to curl around it, making him groan.

He slips further down the bed and locks his eyes onto yours, you can see different shades of green and hazel in them and a whole world locked behind those beautiful eyes. Slowly, he delves into your heat, licking up everything that his hands missed. His mouth works wonders, sending your mind into a state of mild euphoria. The tip of his nose nudges your clit and you can feel yourself involuntarily gasp, so when Timothée finishes savouring every taste of you that he can get, he harshly bites your sensitive clit for just a moment, stimulating parts of your mind and body that you didn’t know could feel pleasure, let alone pleasure that intense.

He comes back up and kisses your lips, planting his hands in your hair as you kiss him back and get lost in the moment, your tongues dance together in an exploration, an experimentation of passion.

You pull away after a minute or so, gasping for air. Timothée examines your face for a moment, and you find yourself once again losing your thoughts and sanity in his eyes, until you feel the tip of his throbbing cock brush against your bare thigh. You feel bad for how much he’s been neglecting his own levels of desire in order to pleasure you, so you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. He takes a sharp intake of breath and flutters his eyes closed, his long dark eyelashes twitching alongside his eyelids whenever you grasp harder or pump him.

He’s surprisingly big, causing you to take longer while rubbing your hand up and down his member. Half way down one thrust, you squeeze his cock a little, hearing him whimper a little. The mere sound of him drowns your core in want. You edge your way down the bed and swallow as much of his dick as you can take until his tip hits the back of your throat. He lets out the most sensual guttural groan that you’ve ever heard, his eyes still closed while placing his hand on the back of your head to keep you steady. You bring your head back up to look at him while your tongue swirls his tip, his mouth is parted a little with breathy moans of your name escaping every once in a while, his eyelids switching from being lazily half open to squeezed so tightly shut that they wrinkle a little.

You go back down slowly, inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks. You work your hand in the part of him that won’t fit in your mouth and continue to bob your head up and down. You lick a strip up a vein on the underside of his dick, making him near enough scream your name. With one final bob of your head where you deep throat him, you pull away with plump lips, climbing up his body to straddle his waist. He looks up at you with wide and loving eyes, pulling you down for a sensual kiss.

“Are you clean?” He asks breathlessly, kissing down the hickeys that he’s already littered your skin with.

“Yeah, i got tested after my last break up a few months ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since. Is that because I just…” He nods and you laugh a little, the vibrations from his chuckle rumble throughout your body.

“I did the same, but I’ll still…” You get what he’s saying and climb off him. He flings open the top drawer of his bedside table and after a minute or so of rooting through it he pulls out a condom packet and places it next to his glass of water. You give him a questioning look with your brows knitted together, but Timothée just smiles at you. He slips one slim arm beneath your back and the other under your knee joint before scooping you up and holding you close to his chest.

“Well hey there Timothée.” You say with a chuckle, secretly astonished at how strong he is, because with one arm still holding you, he throws away the decorative pillows and pulls the duvet back, throwing you onto the mattress and leaping on top of you. You smile into his kiss, savouring every second of the feel of his lips pressed hotly against your own, the taste of smoke driving you crazy.

He pulls away and sits up, tearing open the condom packet and grasping his hand sanitiser. He flicks the lid open and squeezes it liberally onto his hands before applying it and rubbing it into yours. “Are you sure?” He asks you, and your urgent kiss to his jawline is followed by a string of fervent reassurances that you are desperate to have him inside you, though you respect that he wants consent and that he wants to be clean. He slips the condom on, his eyes trained on your lips and the way they part from wanting every few seconds. He’s enjoying torturing you and making you wait, the same way that you edged him but denied him orgasm.

He slips the condom on and slowly enters in one smooth stroke. You gasp at the contact, especially how deep he goes with the first thrust, so deep that his pubic bone hits your own. He reaches for the duvet and he pulls it up over his shoulders, covering the pair of you since he can see that you’re shivering a little in the open. He looks for reassurance, but then begins to thrust inside you, holding his weight above you. You can see his biceps tensing while trying to hold his weight up and keep a steady rhythm.

“How about we spice this up?” He suggests, a sly smirk playing on his lips. He cocks an eyebrow, and the sun hits his face at an angelic angle, only making him more beautiful. You nod eagerly to him, only making his smirk grow wider.

“Yes Mr Timothée,” you say, triggering a dominant smirk to relight behind those stunning eyes.

“That's Mr Chalamet to you tonight, Miss.” Words cannot even explain how wet he makes you by saying that, already making your mind want to submit to his every want. You let out a whimper and remove your hands from his hips to lay above your head on the pillows. He joins his fingers around your wrist and proceeds to lay his slender hand flat against your wrists, preventing you from moving.

“Is this okay?” He asks, his movements coming to a halt. You nod and kiss him again. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He must really enjoy what he’s doing to you. “Yes Mr Chalamet.” You reply, making your eyes as doe like and innocent as possible.

Timothée’s thrusts restart, faster this time. You moan louder, ecstasy filling every inch of your spent body before you’ve even properly begun. His moans are lower, more like groans, all of your name. It sounds heavenly coming from his lips, the way his mouth moves when he says your name just makes it better. His hips hit yours with vigour, adjusting to get a better position where he hits the best spot inside of you.

“There Timothée!” You scream desperately, your back arching on the mattress while your hands fight to break free. Submitting isn’t as easy as you hoped.

“I’m close.” He warns you and frees your wrists, but he doesn’t let your hand go too far. He interlocks his fingers with yours, using one elbow to prop himself up. His thrusts turn sloppy, more fervent, and just as he’s finishing, he digs his thumb into your clit.

Your entire body turns limp, screaming his name in a state of complete euphoria like you’ve never felt before. It travels from your brain to the tips of your fingers, setting a fire in your belly and making your toes curl. Your back arches so far off the bed that your chest becomes pressed against Timothée’s, your breasts moving in time with his breathing. You feel him come to his own climax, silencing his screams by kissing you with more passion than he has before.

You ride out your highs, but the level of pleasure illuminating every nerve ending in your body means that you don’t notice Timothée pulling out and disposing of the condom, you only notice when he flops down beside you on the bed and pulls you closer to his slightly sweaty body. You rest your head on his chest that seems to be glowing in the moonlight from the sheen of sweat. He absently plaits your hair, staring off into the distance. The faint thudding of his heart within his ribs comforts you, it's a little faster than would be normal, making you smile a little.

“How was that?” His hand grips around your shoulder even tighter, pulling you closer to his body. He seems content in simply holding you, maybe he just enjoys cuddling. “Wait, don’t answer that.” He corrects himself, his pupils dilating and his excellent, angelic body going rigid. You chuckle to yourself, drawing circles on his chest with the pad of your forefinger,

“Excellent, Mr Chalamet.” You tease him.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He looks fearful, fretting, it's evident in the sudden sulk of his face, pulling his cheeks and forehead down. You shake your head again, slowly but surely moving your leg to lie over his. Ye inclines his neck to place a gentle kiss to our hairline, and you can feel him smile into it.

“Timothée?”

“Yes beautiful?” Just his simple words make you giggle and blush, such a sweet sentiment from a gorgeous and well meaning man.

“I’m hungry.” You say, feeling slightly embarrassed. He laughs, you feel his body move from it, and he proceeds to pepper your face with the softest and sweetest kisses possible.

“I’ll make us some food, grab any shirt you want and meet me in the kitchen.”

You watch him pull on a pair of grey sweat pants and walk out. His pale hips sway just a little as he walks, and he looks so lanky from where you’re laying on his bed, the covers pulled up around your chest. He kissed your forehead before heading to the kitchen, what kind of a man does that on the first night? He’s a famous actor and the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, let alone a couple of years above yourself. He really knows how to please a girl, your skin rises in tiny goosebumps of pleasure while a shiver shoots down your spine and leaps across your synapses just at the mere thought of what he did to you, by far the best climax you’ve ever had.

You slowly slide out from under his warm, plush covers that smell just like him, only leaving with severe reluctance that melts away as soon as you shrug on the pale blue button down that he wore for the concert. Only a few hours ago you’d met at a concert for old people, already having a common interest that few your age have, yet he’s so eager about classical piano which is so special to you. You fiddle with the buttons, leaving the top few open in hopes of another round - he is making you an almost-midnight feast after all.

You walk out of his room and pad barefoot across his living room floor, only to have a little grey cat come and rub at your feet. You lean down to tickle behind its ears, hearing it meow, and you continue your way too where Timothée has left the kitchen door open for you. He’s standing over the stove with some ingredients laid out on the spotlessly clean countertops. You smile in spite of yourself, running a hand through your messy hair before wrapping your arms around his torso from behind. You place a couple of kisses to his shoulder blades until he turns around and picks you up in one swift movement, sitting you on the counter so that you meet his height.

“It looks better on you.” He whispers, pulling you closer by your bare thighs to plant a kiss on your lips. He’s making you feel things you’ve never experienced before, you can’t wipe the smile off your face for the first time in a while, and he's making you food in the middle of the night after cuddling you.

Dreamboat.

After watching him cook for a while, you slip out of his kitchen and take a seat at his piano. You run your fingers over the smooth wood, it’s well loved but well kept. Then you take a seat on the stool. You can feel where Timothée sits to play, your smile turning a little sad. There’s so much to him that people won’t see because he’s getting famous, but he’s still a person and that’s something that you’re able to experience first-hand.

Eyes closed, you feel for F and Ab with both of your hands. You press the keys down gently, creating the soft blend of notes that is Clair De Lune. You fall lost in the music in a new way, a new feeling washing you with all of tonight's new sensations and sitting at a piano that is neither your own nor at school, it feels somewhat ethereal.

Your fingers glide all across the keys, black to white, flats to sharps, switching between octaves like its second nature. Your mind dances along with the rhythm, your whole mind, soul and being becoming lost in the symphony that you’re creating, one that you haven’t been able to create for a while, and it’s only thanks to Timothée.

You become so absorbed in playing that you don’t notice him leaving the kitchen to listen. He just stands in the doorway, leaning against it with his head lolled a little to the side, completely mesmerised by your movements, your music, and just everything you are. Only when you play the final notes are you alerted of his presence from the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet. He walks over to you with purpose, a slight grimace on his perfect lips, but he just hugs you. Timothée just holds you close to his chest, allowing you to entwine your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face in his bare chest.

“Stay the night?” He asks, such a simple request but he truly does seem anxious. You want to be genuine, kind, but it’ll be best to relieve the tension.

“You’re making me a late night post-sex feast and giving me your shirt, of course I’m staying the night.” After a moment of silence, he exhales a laugh and node, brushing a curl or two into his face. “Anyway, your cat likes me too, so it’d be a shame to disappoint the little cutie.”

After only a few minutes, you find yourself back in bed with Timothée. He’s carrying a tray full of food that looks and smells gorgeous, followed by his cat who decides to dance between his legs. He serves you a strangely shaped piece of an odd looking pizza, though it still looks excellent, and it has some perfectly cooked and seasoned vegetables next to it on a white plate.

“What is this?” You ask him as kindly as possible.

“Flammekueche with some vegetables. It’s a French pizza with crème fraiche and bacon. My dad makes it all the time and always gives me some that I just freeze and reheat. I can only make microwave meals and vegetables, so this isn’t bad for me.” The way he explains it makes him so endearing, and even makes the food seem more than enticing. “You’re not allergic to anything are you? Or vegetarian?” You shake your head with a smile, kissing him and thanking him for the meal even though he won’t let you touch it before you sanitise your hands.

You talk the whole while that you eat, learning little things about his favourite books and his family. His favourite book just happens to be Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a book you both know and love, and Timothee has a Jewish mother, a French father, an older sister, and he grew up in the city. You however are from out of the city with an exceptionally normal family, and your favourite book is Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. He seems to be growing fond of you, wiping the pizza sauce from your lip, followed by a kiss each time.

He places your plates on the floor as soon as you finish, snatching at the speed of light for some hand sanitiser, lube and another condom. You more than happily oblige with all of his steps and strip off his shirt, kissing the living daylights out of him before he’s even slotted the condom on. He kisses you back with equal fervour nonetheless, exploring your whole mouth with the tip of his tongue. He cautiously adds some lube to the sides of the condom and slips into you while you’re still atop him. You moan at the penetration, arching your body forwards and hereby giving Timothée a full view of your breasts and the way they bounce with his every thrust inside you.

You moan pornographically at his slow and passionate movements upwards and deep inside you, finding your special spot within moments. He settles his hands upon your hips, squeezing them and guiding your every movement. You ride him just the way he wants you to, you can see it in his eyes. He looks at you like a teenage boy would at a naked supermodel, of which you are only naked and most definitely not a supermodel, despite him treating you like one, and Timothée is thankfully older than a teenage boy yearning for sex.

“You look so fucking brilliant.” He tells you, admiring the way that your face contorts with pleasure while taking every inch of him.

You rhythmically grind your hips against him, swirling them occasionally just to hear him cry out. Nothing is a hinderance from you going faster, but this sex isn’t needing to be urgent to be satisfying. He squeezes your hips harder and you decides to move up a little further, bouncing back down on him as he becomes buried to the hilt in your desperate core. You do it again, engulfing him anew and moaning his name continually from the mix of friction and pleasure that’s sending you into another euphoria, but not enough to release again just yet.

Timothée still hasn’t taken his eyes off you, namely your breasts where he’s currently focussed, eyes trained on your hardened nipples - partly from not wearing a shirt and partly from Timothée’s ministrations. He leans up and captures your left nipple in his mouth, sucking and kissing and swirling his tongue around you in the most divine way possible. He moves his hands away from your hips too, allowing you to grind your hips on his in any way that you like. His one hand moves to your other breast, tweaking and pulling at your right peak and sending sensations through your body that you’d never realised could be real before; while his other slips to the rounds of your ass, squeezing delectably.

“Mr Chalamet, p-please,” you find yourself begging, leaning down while still riding him, his torture on your breasts never ceasing, not even when he thrusts his hips up one final time, allowing your core to devour him whole and sending you into your third otherworldly climax of the night.

“Timothée!” You scream, your climax pouring out of you. You feel him come too, and you hear him cry out your name like a blessing.

He doesn’t pressure you, he just waits until you’re able to clamber off him with as minimal pain and exhaustion as possible, though you do whine at the loss of contact as you lie beside him, his arms securely around you and holding you as close to him as possible. It doesn’t matter that you’re both sweaty or spent, it just feels special.

“Look at that, done before 1am.” He chides, cuddling into you. You laugh a little at him, especially his humour, but it is rather remarkable.

“Two rounds, a meal, and a concert. Can’t speak for you, but I’m knackered.” He smiles at you sleepily, passing you the shirt that you wore earlier. You shrug it on and do it up while Timothée puts his joggers back on and draws the curtains, leaving the two of you in dark for the most part. You lie further down, still close to his thin chest, you hear his breathing rattle a little, but it's soothing.

“Night beautiful.” Is the last thing you hear before falling asleep in his arms.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The only issue about sleeping with Timothée is that you forget it's a Saturday morning, and on Saturdays, you have to work. Your phone alarm starts to go off at 7.15 precisely, which when you’re home, gives you enough chance to get ready for teaching in a calm manner so that you aren’t already angry before teaching little children how to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Today however, that is not the case.

Timothée sleeps through it somehow, but your eyes are shocked wide awake, causing you to leap from the comfort and warmth of his bed and cuddles just to crawl on the floor in search of your phone and where it fell last night. You find it next to his door somehow, and switch the alarm off immediately, propping yourself up against the door to release a long held breath and to watch the sun rise through his windows. He looks so beautiful asleep, his lips parted slightly, soft snores escaping every so often, dark eyebrows furrowed and his mop of curls haphazardly lying around him like a halo. The morning glow makes his cheekbones appear even more defined.

You want to gather your belongings without waking him, get dressed and catch a cab back to your flat, but just as you go to open his door, he stirs.

“Where do you think you’re going beautiful? Come back to bed, I’m keeping you here with me forever.” You know he’s joking, and his words melt your heart and inhibitions a little, but you can’t justify staying

“I have to work, my first student is at 9.30.” You say, walking across to stand beside his bed and brush some hair off his forehead, kissing him and your lips lingering on his sweaty skin a little longer than they probably should have.

“And? I’ll drive you home in time, if you live near Juilliard then I know a shortcut. Just come back.” He's virtually pleading, puppy eyes and quivering lip just to add to the effect, and you simply can’t say no when he looks so perfect. You place your things on the floor by the bed and slip beside him, allowing your eyes to flutter shut just a moment longer.

His finger traces your naked body beneath the shirt, focussing on the bruises he left on your hips and the marks on your neck. Just his touch is enough to take control of your body, to give you goosebumps, to electrify every feeling of love and lust held within.

“Can I use your shower please?” You ask him, and he nods, placing his chin atop your head.

“I’ll take you to my bathroom and then I’ll make you breakfast. Grab whatever clothing you want from my room, but you can’t leave this bed until you agree to dinner with me tonight.”

Your heart rate increases tenfold at his gesture, and you want to take a leap of faith and say yes straight away, but that would be playing your cards too quickly. “We’ll see.” You respond sultrily, making your way to leave, but his strong grip pulls you flush against him with no space to move. You can hear him laughing in your ear.

“Say yes to dinner and then you can leave.” He slips his hands further down your front without losing his grip and decides to toy with your clit as though it’ll get you to talk.

“Y-yes! God, Timothée, of course I’ll go to dinner with you, just don’t stop!” You find it impossible to understand the shockwaves of pleasure pulsating and electrifying your every sense from an action as simple as the pads of his fore and middle fingers twisting and pressing your sensitive clit. It’s so incredible that after the previous night, it feels like overstimulation, and you can’t get enough.

“I’ll never stop.” He murmurs gruffly into your ear, you can hear the hoarseness that smoking causes but god it sounds and tastes so good.

He pulls your body closer and rolls you over. “Hey baby.” You say as calmly as you can, but within seconds you find yourself sitting on his face, half of his stunning bone structure lost beneath you. He delves his tongue into your already dripping heat, licking as far as he can get and only pulling away to kiss and suckle at your clit.

“Let me come Mr Chalamet!” You cry out, and with one final swipe of his tongue around your core and a squeeze of your ass, you let go. Timothée licks you clean while you still chant his name, and he proceeds to pick you up in order to carry you to the bathroom. You settle your heels at the base of his spine, digging in a little, and his arms tense beneath your ass from the manner he carries you. You like being above him, able to trace every line and bit of stubble on his face with your focussed eyes that he stares so deeply into at any given chance.

“Don’t be too long or I’ll be tempted to join you.”

You slowly cross the threshold of the bathroom, winking at him as you close the door. He inaudibly groans, but you can tell from his facial expression and the tension in his joggers that make him look utterly sexy. You slowly unbutton his shirt, reluctant to take it off, but when you step under the warm jet of his shower, that reluctance washes away along with any inhibitions you may have had about Timothée. He’s an angel: clean, respectful, enjoys classical music, has a cat, isn’t a cocky dickhead, and he’s literally the most gorgeous human being that you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You run your fingers through your hair, standing directly beneath his showerhead. The steam clouds your vision, but you can hear Timothée singing while he cooks, Mystery of Love. What a dork, you think, chuckling to yourself while you rinse Tim’s shower gel from your body, and you just know that after this you’ll smell like him, but he smells delectable. As the water hits the most sensitive parts of your body, you remember the previous night. Just the thought of what he did to you makes you crave his touch again.

Through the bathroom window, you can make out the New York traffic that builds every morning, accompanied by the screeching of tires and sirens and car horns. Despite it being a ruckus, it's soothing as you step out the shower and wrap yourself in one of Timothée’s fluffy towels.

“How do you look so sexy when you’re getting out of the shower? God, I can't stress it enough, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my life, even without any makeup and with your hair un-styled, just wrapped in my Goddamn towel. You’re gonna be mine, mark my words.” You feel tears come to your eyes at his kind words, watching him purposefully walk from the kitchen and all the way across his apartment just to place his hands on your waist and tell you how beautiful you are. Those words are better than a concerto to you.

Once you’ve finished getting dry in his bedroom, you ferret through his drawers until you pull out a white top with various tie dye patterns across it. It’s cute, very Timothée. You pull it on and it reaches your mid thighs, making it clock in your head just how much of a lanky lad he is. You bundle together your stuff and head out of his room, closing the door behind you and greeting him with a kiss. He sits you at the breakfast bar and serves you a proper cooked breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, and pancakes.

“There's ketchup and syrup in the cupboard if you’d like.” He offers, sidling up on the seat beside you, nudging the tip of your nose with his thumb. The smile hasn’t left your face since you met him.

“This is good, you’re an excellent cook.” You tell him, resting your hand on his. His cheeks glow an even brighter red in the cascading morning sunlight, dappled by his blinds, but he looks magnificent despite his embarrassment.

You take out your phone, just to take a picture of the breakfast while it’s still untouched, and of your hand held by Timothée’s, already wearing rings. You notice that he’s already wearing a silver chain too, and a couple of bracelets on the wrist away from your own, which you find unusually attractive.

“I wish you could stay all day.” he whispers, placing his forehead on yours.

“Me too.” you say softly, smiling sadly and caressing his cheek.

You finish your breakfast and make your way to the living room in a strange kind of waltz orchestrated by Timothée. He insists on holding your waist and turning around a little, moving your feet in sync until you yank him down onto the sofa, catching his lips mid sigh which leads to a much more passionate make out session than you anticipated. Once that’s over, he plaits your hair beautifully, explaining how it used to calm his sister down before an audition. By the time he’s finished a very good pair of plaits, you check the time and it’s already 9, time for you to leave with NYC traffic, but Tim won’t let you go.

��Not without a photo.” He insists, but you question his reasons. Who would want a photo of you with wet hair in plaits, an oversized tee-shirt and a bare face? But his answer is too sweet to refuse. “I like taking pictures of beautiful things, and of which, you are the most beautiful.” Your cheeks flush a raging scarlet, and Timothée takes your few moments of silence as the perfect opportunity to take a picture of you, sunlight hitting your face in all the right places, and he takes another for good measure, his hand on your cheek and his lips on yours, a kiss that shuts you up for good.

He takes you down the stairs right to the garage where he keeps his car, and surprisingly, it’s an understated car, not crazily extortionate nor flashy, something which you respect highly. He sits you in the passenger side, making sure to kiss you before closing the door, and he gets in the driver's side. After starting the engine and leaving the parking lot, he lays his palm flat against your thigh and keeps it there the whole drive while you change gears for him. You tell him all about your childhood, your high school, your time in uni while he tells you his life at a performing arts high school and then his life as an actor, he truly fascinates you.

Once he pulls up outside your building, he tries to convince you to let him come in, or at least walk you to your door, but on the grounds of not scaring the life out of your neighbours and students, you say no with a promise to see him later.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight that you won’t be able to walk.” He says, pulling you in for a final passionate kiss before you step out of the car. He made you wet just before you have to work, you’ll get him back later, but the revenge melts as soon as he leans out the window to blow you a kiss and tell you how stunning you are.

You’re so lost in your trance of Timothée that you don’t notice your first student tapping you on the shoulder and excitedly saying “Was that the Timothée Chalamet?”

You chuckle to yourself, watching him drive off into traffic, all for you. “Yes it was love, yes it was.”

[lillian-nator]

Them being mixtapes are a great idea, what if after Tommy gets drunk initially, dream gets dared to steal them, so he does, then he forgets that he has them and when Tommy Wakes the next morning he's in a panic bc The Mixtapes!! - 💙

Yeah! Something like that could work. 

I have two ideas, one of them I came up with during Spanish class, and the second one I came up with right now. 

Idea A.

My original idea is based off of the fact that Tommy like a week after he is told not to hang out with Dream anymore, goes and sneaks out to hang out. 

So, about two weeks after the party Tommy gets a text from either Purpled (who’s parents have no clue about the party) or Dream saying that ‘the gang’ was going to be hanging out at this abandoned bridge Karl found a while ago when he was driving around the town. So, Tommy, being the dumb fucking teenager he is, sneaks out his window with just his phone and a really thin jacket, and heads to the fucking abandoned bridge. 

So, like, it’s really cool lets not lie here. Like its an abandoned bridge, and a bunch of teenagers ranging from 15 to 19, are just sitting on it, legs dangling and shit. Here comes Dream doing some whack-ass parkour, and Big Q walking on the edge. I mean - lets not lie here either, Tommy is doing some dumb-ass parkour shit too, hanging from ledges and shit (no wonder Wilbur wants Tommy to stay the fuck away from the Dteam they encourage Tommy’s dumb shit). 

Enter BIG Q the resident family pothead. (this is Big Q the character we are talking about - and more so Big Q the character in this specific au, even though Big Q the character is also probably a pothead, not Quackity the person k cool). Anyways, so while they are all busy endangering their lives atop this ginormous abandoned bridge, Big Q is just chilling, smoking a joint. It gets passed around a couple times, just cause they were chilling at like 2 am in the morning - and what can I say, they are sleep deprived teenagers, they are gonna do some stupid shit.

Anyways, during all of this, they are playing truth or dare, and half way through Tommy just passes out leaning on Dream - because they are like best friends pog. So, then Dream gets a dare to steal Tommy’s mixtapes, because George saw Tommy listening to them on the way here. All of the boys know how much the mixtape means to him, and they really just want to see his reaction, but when Tommy woke up like 30 minutes later, he just gets up and stumbles home because he is cold and tired and really fucking hungry. 

So Enter Thomas Innit. Coming home at 3am, just straight through the front door because he is high out of his mind, and having a great time. Phil - who is the one who caught him - doesn’t catch on straight away because he doesn’t know the symptoms of being high, and lets not lie here, Tommy is really good at getting out of shit. (flashback to that one time he convinced niki to drown instead of niki convincing Tommy not to). 

What Phil does notice though, is that Tommy is wearing someone else’s jacket. 

It’s SapNap’s varsity jacket. 

So Tommy starts getting a lecture about sneaking out at night and how he was not supposed to hang out with Dream or SapNap, or that group of boys, until he is ungrounded. (did I mention that Phil definitely grounded Tommy for going to that party). Not to mention that he left the house when he was grounded; like Tommy what the hell? 

But then Wilbur comes downstairs because he is an awfully light sleeper and hears the commotion downstairs. Tommy, who is already kind of angry because he was having a really good time with his friends, and he knows that Purpled isn’t getting this lecture - and that Tubbo is still asleep - not to mention he really just wants to fucking eat. 

So, he pushes past Phil to get to the chip cabinet when Wilbur enters. He looks confused at first, but then spots the jacket. Wilbur is just getting ready to fucking kill someone when Phil pulls him aside and tells Wilbur that he had already given a lengthy lecture, and that he should lay off Tommy for the night. 

Wilbur begrudgingly agrees, only because he knows that lectures from Phil are the worst. So, he sits at the counter, and asks Tommy to hand him a bottle of water when he sees that his brother is snacking on the chips. Sure, Tommy takes a good minute to react, but Wilbur put that aside to sleepiness as it was 3am in the morning. 

As soon as Tommy turned around though, Wilbur’s anger shot through the roof. I mean, Wilbur could tell. He had spent enough time with Schlatt half-high trying to make out with Wilbur, to know what being high looked like - and that look was on his fucking 15-year-old brother. He could see it with the red-rimmed eyes, and the far off look, not to mention that Tommy had never been that relaxed in his life. 

He quickly stood up, almost knocking his stool to the ground, and grabbed Tommy by the chin to look at his face.

Phil: “Wilbur what are you doing? I already told you that I gave Tommy a lecture. Just let him eat -”  Wilbur: “Are you fucking high right now?” (I feel as though it is important to mention that Wilbur like growls this)  Phil: “What?” (you know how phil says this) Tommy: *like a moody teenager, gritting through his teeth* “No.”  Wilbur: “You’re fucking high.” He laughs, “Who the fuck gave you weed?” Tommy: “I don’t know. It was passed around! Can I have my chin back bro, I’m fucking hungry.”  Wilbur: “No you can’t ‘bro’. Why the fuck did you smoke weed?”  Tommy: “Why not? You hang with stoners.”  Wilbur: “Schlatt has smoked a couple times, I wouldn’t call him a stoner. And also, he’s fucking legal! He is 18 years old!”  Tommy: “Well Big Q is 18 too!” Wilbur: “So it was Quackity then? I’m gonna beat the shit out of him.” Wilbur goes to storm off, but Phil stops him.  Phil: “Both of you calm down!” Phil sighs rubbing his temple. “Tommy we are going to fucking talk about this in the morning. But, I’m not going to let you kill a Junior Wil. We will sort this out tomorrow. I know you aren’t happy, and I’m not either, but the kid is probably high out of his fucking mind right now, I’m not going to let you take advantage of that.”  Wilbur: He brushes Phil’s hand off of his shoulder, storming into the living room. “Fine. I’ll beat him up when he is sober. It’ll be funner anyways.” 

Tommy just storms up to his room, pissed that he didn’t get to finish his the rest of his chips, when his phone buzzes. 

It’s a text from Purpled asking if Tommy knows where he put his shoes. Tommy stifles a laugh, trying hard not to fucking wheeze - the weed wasn’t making this easy on him - but decides to throw his phone across the room, and faceplant onto the bed, hoping that tomorrow would never come. 

Let’s just say that Techno is mildly confused when he waked up the next morning to Wilbur pacing the room, and Phil tiredly drinking his third cup of coffee - chip bad thrown on the counter. 

And the mixtapes? Well, Tommy doesn’t know their missing. And Dream? He fucking forgets he has them. 

Idea B.

Dream steals the mixtapes on a dare the night of the party. 

Tommy doesn’t notice that he doesn’t have them the first few days. He is really, really just focused on the fact that he is upset at Wilbur. 

I mean, he tries hard not to be, because Wilbur came and picked him up from a party where he would’ve probably sat in just pure pain for the rest of night. He might’ve found safety in one of Dream’s guest bedrooms, or even in Dream’s loft bed - but he most likely would’ve crashed at Tubbo’s and he couldn’t deal with Eret’s rant right then. 

He loved Tubbo’s brother - sure, but he knew that if his own brothers saw the pain he was in, they would quit the lecturing for the night and just try to help him. 

He was right too. They helped him into the house, and stayed up with him when he threw up all night, and had a massive headache. They gave him Tylenol and tums, and dimmed all of the lights. Tommy wasn’t upset that he called his brothers no - but he wouldn’t be a teenage boy if he wasn’t irrationally angry at Phil for grounding him. 

He spent most of his time in his room, listening to music, or sneaking Tubbo through the window. Tubbo wasn’t fucking grounded - but then again, Tubbo barely had a few drinks of beer, and Tommy had uh - a few cans. 

In the long run, his brothers ended up being less angry with him and more angry at Dream for giving him the beer - which really didn’t make sense in Tommy’s mind due to the fact that he was the one who drank it, and he was the one who snuck out to the party in the first place. But, he guessed that it was the perks of being their baby brother, they could never really stay mad at him. 

But after a few days, he went to look for the tapes, and they were fucking gone. He didn’t know how to tell Wilbur - he couldn’t face Phil or Techno knowing that he lost his most prized possession. 

He came into Wilbur’s room bawling at like midnight one night, and Wilbur - who had no clue what was going on - just had to comfort his little brother. Through choked sobs Wilbur learnt that he had lost the tapes, and that he was ‘so, so, sorry wil. I don’t know how it happened, they were in my backpack when I got there.’ 

And what does Dream do with the disk? Well you’re gonna have to find out I guess. 

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

              BOUND SERIES: PART 1 (THE NEGOTIATION)

Prompt: Y/N decides to look for a Dom to have her first real Submissive experience. She just didn’t expect him to be so breath taking (Yes, it’s a shitty description, but I don’t wanna ruin it! Hahahah)

Word Count: Long-ish

Pairing: Drew McIntyre x Reader

Warnings: + 18, BDSM, cursing(me and my sailor’s mouth) and adult subjects (For now)

Notes: I’ll probably make a little series out of this, so here’s how it all started... Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories typing ‘masochist writes’ on the search bar on my page and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

Tagging: @blondekel77, @drew-is-boo, @akiko-tanaka, @drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan, @new-zealand-chic (maybe? sorry babe)

I was sitting in one of the outside tables at a small coffee shop, paitiently waiting for him to show up. He wasn´t late or anything like that, I was the one that arrived earlier, from what I’ve heard he was extremely on point. That's why I wasn't surprised when he turned around the corner at 2:00 p.m. sharp. The friend who've had indicated him to me, did mentioned his incredible size and beauty, but man I still got caught off guard by it.

He's a fucking walking dream. Bulky type, extremely tall, piercing blue grayish eyes, shoulder lenght black hair that was tighly secured in a low ponytail, dark beard, incredibly defined arms and thick strong thighs. He was dressed approprietely, not too fancy but not too sloppy either, simple rolled up sleeves plain black dress shirt, perfectly fitting jeans and some casual discreet boots. He was breath taking! And I wasn't the only one who've noticed his incredible dominieering energy that seems to exudes from his body naturally.

His eyes scanned through the tables 'til his gaze found mine, he confidently approached were I was sitting.

"Y/N I presume?" He has a slight accent, but I can't pick up from where...

It took me a second to recover "Yes, that's me" I give him a shy smile

He smiles widely back at me, letting a beautiful pair of dimples on display "I'm Drew"

"Y/N" I shook the hand he offered me, frowning soon afterwards "But you already know that" I whisper

He chuckled lightly "Can I get you anything from inside?" He points towards the coffee shop

"No, I'm good! But thank you" I raise my latte cup

"Ok then, I'll be right back" He says as he entered to grab himself a drink

My nerves was stariting to get the best out of me, I was sweating profusely, I felt like my hair was a mess, my makeup too minimal, my clothes too simple, I hadn't sprayed enough perfume, was there something on my teeth? Do I smell bad? What if he thinks I'm ugly? Or too fat? Should I try to suck my belly in? Is that gonna work? I could already feel all of those old ghosts from the past calling for me.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He says already sitting in front of me

I startled a little "Oh sorry, I didn't notice you came back"

"Yeah... Is there something bothering ya?" He carefully searchs my face for something...but I'm not sure what...

"Just you know, deep in thoughts" I try to shake it off

"Right.. Are these thoughts any related as to how much you're feeling insecure with your own image because of me?" He asks

*Damn! Why is he so good at this?* I thought

I debated whether or not I should lie to him, but I figured he would find out if I did eventually so I didn't bother

"Kind of, yeah.." I vaguely say

"Why Y/N?"

"Because I mean, look at you! Who wouldn't feel insecure around you? You're a very good looking man and well.."

"And you're a very good looking woman, so what's the matter? There's something else" He starts to search for something again and I can feel his getting close to find it..

I feel like I'm going through a polygraph test and he won't stop until he finds the truth "Daddy issues" I bitterly laugh "For real and not just you know, as a joke" I whisper as I prepare myself for him to walk off at any minute.

After 5 long minutes of silence I raise my head to find him still just sitting there, looking at me.

"Are you not gonna like..leave?" I ask softly

"Why would I?" He asks in a soothing voice

"Because, I'm fucked up?"

"And who isn't?" He lightly chuckles

"I- I'm confused" I whisper

"Look Y/N, I'm a man, a real man not an immature little boy. I'm not going to walk off because a beautiful adult woman has some self esteem issues due some fucked up things an immature little boy self proclaimed man did to her" He didn't even blinked "I'm not here to make you feel bad about yourself, I'm here so you can see your true self darling, not a twisted blurred vision from somebody else" He squeezed my hand

"Would you like to do this another time?" He asks

"No, please I- I would like to do this now if that's ok" It was weird how comfortable he made me feel

"Of course darling, whatever you'd like" He softly brush his fingers on my cheek "Thank you Y/N, for being honest, trusting me and being so up front about something so personal and hurtful" He hold my hand on his own and press a light kiss on my knuckles

He left me so speechless I could only nod in response.

"Where do you want to begin then, love?" He asks

"I've never officially done this before so, I don't kno- Where are you from? I can hear a very light accent, but is so faint I can't pick up where it's from" The curiosity took the best out of me.

He laughs before saying "Scotland, love"

"Oh, cool" Was all I could say

We've talked about everything, cultural differences, work, hobbies, movies, tv series, books, travels, food...it was pretty clear that we matched, which I was glad. My heart skipped in my chest once I heard his next question

"Well, I think we both can agree that there's some chemistry between us, love. So I would love to do a test scene with you so we can see if this chemistry goes beyond the talking. Would you be interest in that?"

"Yeah, of course. I would love that" I smile softly

"Good. Let's negotiate a scene then shall we?" He says mirroring my smile

He unlocks his cellphone and begin to type something on it.

"Alright, let's start with a simple one. Are you into pain?"

"Yes"

"To what level? Light, moderate or hard?"

"Moderate"

"Soft limits?"

"Um... age play, floggers, nipple clamps, temperature play, pet play, orientation play, exhibitionism..I guess that's it"

"Hard limits?"

"Scat play, minors/ children, chemical play, race play, needle play, serious bodily injury, animals and fisting"

"Do you have any medical issues Y/N?"

"No"

"Do you take any type of prescripted medication?"

"Yeah, contraceptive pills"

"Do you have any addictions? Legal or illegal substances"

"I smoke cigarrettes, sporadically"

"What word would you like do use as our safewords?"

"I would like to keep the three basic colors please"

"Ok, and safe signs? For when your mouth is restained"

"I don't know.."

"What do you think about 1,2,3? 1 for green, 2 for yellow and 3 for red?" He asks

"That sounds good"

"What would you like as aftercare?"

"Um..maybe some cuddling? And some candy" I blush and he sweetly smiles

"Are you ok with the following: General bondage, spanking, sex toys, degradation, praise, breath play, trichophilia, edge play, fear play?"

"Yes, I'm ok with all"

"Would you like to have intercourse?"

I froze at that question

"Y/N, I asked if you would be interested in having intercourse?" He says softly

"I didn't knew that was an option" I whispered

"Generally it isn’t, but like I said, you're a very beautiful woman and I would be lying if I said I don't feel attracted to you" His eyes were glued to mine “But that’s up to you, love”

“Yes I would be interested in it” I murmured

He smiles fondly “Is there anything else, besides fisting, you don’t look forward to do during intercourse?”

“Not really..I just have a problem with anal”

“You don’t like it?” He asks

“I don’t mind it actually, is just that, past experiences were not really that pleasant”

“I see..well anal sex can be extremely pleasurable to the woman, but that will depends on who’s performing it. We have to prep you properly before hand, have the right amount of lubrication and patience, love. But we’ll get to that when it’s time, don’t worry. I’ll never do something that we have not fully agreed on with before hand”

I nod.

“Okay, double penetration, how do you feel about it?”

“I’ve never done it, but I would like to try it”

He smirks at me “Alright, love. So, as our test scene I was thinking about setting a time limit, like 30 to 40 minutes to keep the scene short, just to feel our chemistry together”

“I’m good with that” I respond

“What would you look forward to do on that scene?”

“Um...some bondage..degradation maybe? And maybe intercourse too?” I blush

“That sounds like a plan, love” He winks “When would you like to do it?”

“Can we do it now?” I eagerly ask

“I like the way you think Y/N” He smirks as he got up from the chair “C’mon love” He offers me his hand “Let’s tie you up”

I took his hand as we walk down the sideblock. Oh God, what the hell was I doing?...

                                To Be Continued....

Thoughts on this series 👉👈?

[topsytervy]

Hello ~ Rafe Cameron

This is Part 2 to Goodbye cause I had the thought in my head and I didn't want to write it only for it to sit in my docs so you can read Goodbye (aka Part 1) here.

Blurb: A lot can change in five years.

Word Count: 3,677

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, smoking, cocaine, spelling/grammar mistakes, i think that's it.

Small note: I’m 19 and have never planned a wedding. I’ve been to my fair share of weddings as guests and my only experience with a wedding would have been when my sister got married, however, her in-laws are kind of assholes so her wedding was really lowkey and shit, like it took place in my sister backyard lowkey, cause her mother-in-law was like 'Im not paying for anything cause you guys wont last but I'll pay for your sisters weddings' so like I’m winging half of this shit if not most of it. I’m sorry.

~~~~~

It was 5 years later.

You were 21, along with the rest of the pogues, and able to legally drink and purchase alcohol. So no more hassle with a fake ID.

Nothing had changed except for college and jobs. You and JJ had broken up after two years of dating and, much to everyone's surprise, it was like nothing had ever happened between you two.

It was insanely easy to slip back into the friend zone with JJ, despite both of you thinking that it would be awkward. Both of you fell back into old habits fairly quickly. Sure there were the first couple of weeks where you two felt as if you had to force normality but after that, it was like nothing happened. Sure, JJ still called you princess and you still found yourself hiding into his side during scary movies, but those were habits you two had prior to dating, and old habits die hard.

The only other difference was that John B and Sarah were getting married.

They were planning on getting married at The Lodge at Bear River in fall which meant a ferry to the mainland and then an almost 8-hour road trip to the venue. 

You, Kie, and Wheezie were bridesmaids, Kie being maid of honor, and Pope, JJ, and much to John B's displeasure, Rafe were groomsmen, JJ being best man. 

You and Pope were walking together which left Rafe and his half-sister to walk together. 

Rafe looked at his sister and John B, trying to stay as unphased as possible. "Y/N's gonna be a part of the wedding party?" He asked, taking a drag from his cigarette from his spot by the pool. 

John B and Sarah were outside at the patio table with their wedding planner, going over guests and the wedding party. The three looked over at Rafe and Sarah nodded.

"Why wouldn't she?"

"No reason. If you need someone to walk with her, I'll do it." He told her as nonchalantly as possible. 

"She's walking with Pope." John B responded. Rafe made a face as he brought the cigarette back up to his lips and John B narrowed his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry. Is there a problem?" Sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"No. No problem. It's your wedding."

John B rolled his eyes before turning back to the wedding planner. 

Rafe stood up and walked inside, flipping John B the bird as he walked by. He felt as if John B was put on this earth just to make him miserable at this point.

Rafe walked over to the bar and fixed himself a drink, Wheezie rolling her eyes from her spot on the couch in between Rose and Ward, who were currently scrolling through formal wear for the wedding. 

"Dad, Rafe's day drinking... again." The now eighteen-year-old piped up.

Rafe glared at her. "Just wait Wheezie. This will be you in a few years." He told his half-sister with a smirk.

Wheezie scrunched up her face in disgust at the sight of her brother holding his cigarette in one hand and drink in the other.

Rose, a glass of wine in her hand, rolled her eyes at her stepson as Ward, a gin and tonic in his hand, just sighed. "It's five o'clock somewhere, Wheezie." 

Rafe clinked his glass against his father’s as he made his way upstairs to his old room that he was temporarily staying in since his apartment building had taken some damage during the latest hurricane and was currently getting the necessary repairs done, and closed the door behind him. He sat down at his old desk chair and looked at the corkboard above the desk where a couple of polaroid pictures of you hung. The pictures were the first thing Rafe went looking for when he had gotten back to his apartment, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw the little lockbox he had stored the polaroids still in the closet and completely unscathed. Rafe downed his drink as he swiveled his chair back and forth. 

Of course, John B wouldn't pair you and him up. That would be helping a brother out. Rafe did everything he could to show that he changed once he heard you and JJ broke up.

 He quit cocaine and took up cigarettes instead. He went back to college and got a business degree. He was currently working and getting along with his father. He had his life together, mostly, and on track. The only thing missing from his life was you.

He had barely spent more than 5 minutes in a room with you since the breakup because you were either by JJ or you retreated as far from him as possible. He'd casually bring you up in conversation with John B and your friend would just roll his eyes. 

"We don't bring you up in conversations, Rafe." John B told him one day.

That cut the blue-eyed man deep.

Especially since this was after Rafe gave John B the money he needed to buy Sarah an engagement ring. 

Some wingman John B was.

Rafe stood up with a sigh and walked downstairs, deciding to bring the entire bottle of whiskey upstairs since he could already tell it was going to be one of those nights. He halted by the patio door though when he heard his sister and John B start talking.

“Would it be that bad to pair Rafe and Y/N up for the wedding? I highly doubt Wheezie wants to walk with him. At least Y/N won’t whine about it.” She asked as she placed a hand on his arm, the wedding planner nowhere in sight.

Rafe leaned against the wall, biting his lip as he waited for John B’s answer. If Rafe was being honest, he was kind of surprised that his sister would even consider asking John B that since she could care less about what Rafe wanted.

“Sarah, I love you but you did not see her that day or the day after or the following month and a half after that. Do you know how hard it was seeing Y/N like that? Heartbroken. Not wanting to get out of bed. Thinking she did the wrong thing and that caused him to go over the edge. Do you know how many times JJ, Pope, Kie and I caught her reading the obituaries to make sure Rafe’s name wasn’t in there?” John B looked at his fiancée. “I’m not pairing them up together without her permission. That’s that.”

“Then ask her.”

"What?" 

"Ask Y/N if she wants to walk with Rafe?" Sarah saw the 'are you kidding' look in John B's eyes. "I'm serious John B. Rafe's changed a lot and, despite what you think, you cannot keep her from talking or seeing my brother all your life."

"I can try." The curly-haired boy stated, crossing his arms.

"You know what, JB? You are acting like a damn child. It is not going to break Y/N/N if you ask her one small question that contains the name Rafe, okay? I'm sure she can hear his name and not break down or something. It's been long enough. Let him have that 5 minutes he needs to talk to her cause, yeah I do not doubt that Y/N took their breakup hard, but what about Rafe? Hmm? Believe it or not John B, but my brother has fucking feelings too, okay. He probably took that break up just as hard and Wheezie and I witnessed it. So stop acting like even whispering Rafe's name will break her and just fucking ask her if she wants to walk with Rafe or Pope."

"Fine. If it makes you and Rafe happy, I'll ask her." John B huffed.

Rafe didn't stay to hear the rest, just turned around and walked back to his room, the whiskey bottle long forgotten. 

****

Fall had come quickly and the wedding date came even faster. It was like Rafe blinked and then he was on the ferry two days before the wedding, sitting next to you, very awkwardly might I add, his leg bouncing up and down as he played with his fingers. It was like he didn't know what to do with his hands. After all these years, the most natural thing to do with one of his hands was still to place it on your thigh and the amount of willpower it took to not do that exact thing was unbelievable.

Rafe had told his dad that he was going to rent his own car because eight hours in a car with his family was a hard no for him. 

So there he was, walking over to the car he rented and opening the door before stopping and watching you get in a car with Pope, Kie, and JJ.

You glanced up just before you got in, making eye contact with him. You gave him a small smile to make it a little less awkward and Rafe returned the smile before hopping into the car. He watched you guys pull away and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh before putting the key into the ignition and starting the car. 

This was going to be the longest three days of his life.

***

He was happy for the long-ass drive of day one considering once everyone got to the hotel, there was a silent, collective decision to all just turn in for the night. 

Day two was a little less chill. After being awoken by a panicked banging on the door of his hotel room, Rafe got out of bed as quickly as he could and opened the door, only to be greeted by Sarah who roughly pushed past him into his room.

“Yeah. Come on in. Good morning to you too.” He deadpanned before shutting the door.

“What the hell am I doing, Rafe?” She asked out of the blue, causing a look of confusion to settle on his face.

“I don’t know. You tell me.” He stated.

He watched as Sarah sat on his bed and ran her hands through her hair, letting out a breath. “Is this too soon? Am I getting married too young? Like, I’m 21, Rafe. I should be out getting blackout drunk and having hookups and having regrets but instead, I’m doing the exact opposite.” She rambled.

“Okay. I see what’s happening now.” Rafe walked over and sat down next to Sarah. “Sarah, trust me when I say that marrying John B will not hurt any of that. I guarantee that you and John B will get blackout drunk together and call someone for a ride. I guarantee you will be having hookups, it’s just that all of them will be with John B. And you will have regrets. What those regrets are, I have no fucking clue but life is full of them. Trust me, I have a lot of regrets and I’m only 24.” Rafe told her. “But, I don’t think marrying John B is going to be one of your regrets. Canceling this wedding would be. After all, the venue does say no refunds.”

Sarah snorted slightly and Rafe bumped his shoulder against hers. “Believe me, Sarah, if anyone is ready to get married at this age, it’s you. You came down with a damn binder filled to the brim when you were like seven and placed it in front of me and dad on the coffee table and told dad to start making connections with everyone in that binder, right down to the dress designer.”

Sarah smiled before turning and wrapping her arms around Rafe. “Who would’ve thought you could give a pep talk. And liked John B.” She said.

Rafe slowly wrapped his arms around his younger sister. “Apparently you because you came to me. However, this does not mean I like John B. I am not going to start canceling shit just to have some one-on-one time with that curly-haired surfer dude. Okay? I simply tolerate him because he somehow makes you happy.”

After breakfast and lunch that he spent with Wheezie, last-minute plans when he walked to your room to ask you to lunch only to knock and have you answer the door which caused him to quickly abandon that plan and say “Whoops sorry. Room 202 for Wheeze,”, the rehearsal dinner came quickly. 

In all honesty, Rafe wasn't really paying attention to the dinner at all. How could he when you were right there, quite literally within his reach, laughing and smiling?

The actual wedding day itself was stressful leading up to the ceremony but after everyone got where they needed to be, it was smooth sailing. Rafe and Wheezie walked out after Kie and JJ. 

Rafe watched you walk down with Pope and couldn't help the pang of jealousy he felt in his chest. He also couldn't help but imagine himself as the groom and you in a white dress, walking down the aisle towards him.

He quickly shook the thought from his head though, watching you take your place next to Wheezie before turning your attention towards the door to watch his dad and sister walkout. 

You glanced over at Rafe and smiled slightly when you saw him bring a hand up to his cheek, wiping away a tear. You turned your attention to John B before Rafe could look over and catch you staring.

You saw John B wipe his hands on his trousers as subtly as he could. You caught JJ's eyes and he shook his head, mouthing 'fucking whipped' to you.

You nodded and moved your eyes between Sarah and John B before settling them back on JJ. 'Obviously' you mouthed back before the pair of you stopped before someone caught you.

In all honesty, Sarah did and she saw Rafe catch the interaction as well, noticing him swallow hard.

The ceremony went smoothly with no objections -Rafe fought back the urge to object just to mess with everyone but he knew his entire family wouldn't appreciate the humor- and after pictures, everyone moved inside for the reception as the sun began to set.

Dinner and drinks were served, toasts were made -JJ had made sure to include a few of John B's stupid and most embarrassing moments, much to Rafe's pleasure-, and then the dancing began. 

Sarah and Ward had their father/daughter dance and then John B and Sarah had their first dance before everyone else was encouraged to join them on the dance floor.

Wheezie walked over to Rafe and Rafe looked at her. "I am not nearly drunk enough to get out on that floor and dance with you Wheezie."

Wheezie just rolled her eyes. "You have a shot right now to go ask Y/N to dance and no one will even notice you. Take it." Rafe ignored her. "Oh, okay. So you can sit there and stare but you don't have the balls to walk up to her and say 'wanna dance'?"

Rafe glared at his half-sister. "Watch your mouth, Wheezie."

Wheezie took one last glance at the dance floor and shrugged. "That's fine. Looks like someone else did."

Rafe had never scanned a crowd faster than he did right there and sure enough, there you were, a cousin of his with his hands on your waist and yours on his shoulders, moving slowly around the dance floor.

"I'm going out for a smoke," Rafe muttered before getting up and making his way out of the building. 

He stood outside and brought out his pack of cigarettes, along with his lighter, and opened up the little carton. He withdrew a cigarette before closing the pack and shoving it back into his pocket, placing the cigarette between his lips. He heard the song from inside end before another one started back up as he flicked the spark wheel a couple of times, his thumb landing on the fork before a flame appeared.

He cupped his hand in front of the flame and brought the flame to the cigarette that rested between his lips, making a mental note to buy a new lighter since his was running out of juice.

Rafe heard the door open and close as he shoved the lighter back into his pocket and inhaled. He blew out the smoke before looking over to see who had joined him and was a little surprised to see you.

Of course, Rafe knew at some point you'd duck out of the party for some fresh air considering in social situations where they were tons of people, you needed to get away for a bit and recharge your social battery. He just didn't expect you to do that so soon.

You both stared out in front of you, not saying anything and Rafe brought the cigarette to his lips again, taking another drag.

"It's beautiful out here." You breathed out, trying to start some conversation.

Rafe nodded as he exhaled. "Yeah, it is."

"I wouldn't mind getting married here." You added absent-mindedly.

If Rafe had a drink right now, he would've choked at your words. He nodded nonetheless. "Yeah. It's a pretty nice place to get married."

You looked over at Rafe. "You gonna be okay over there, big guy?"

Rafe turned his head to look at you, confusion written all over his face. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw you wipe a tear away, bub." Rafe's heart sped up at the nickname that you used to use on him. "When Sarah was walking down the aisle. You gonna be okay or should the same reaction be expected at Wheezie's wedding too?" You smiled as Rafe groaned, tilting his head to look at the almost pitch-black sky.

"Don't even mention Wheezie getting married. To me, she's still that annoying thirteen-year-old that was always eavesdropping and snooping through shit." 

"Awe, Rafe. You got a soft spot for your sisters now. That’s so sweet." You cooed, knowing that when he was 19, the only thing he did was complain about the two Cameron girls. "Seriously though, I think it's sweet that you walked with Wheezie and that you shed a tear today." You told him.

Rafe couldn't stop the words that tumbled out of his mouth. "I wanted to walk with you but you told John B you'd rather walk with Pope."

Way to go, dumbass, he thought to himself.

"What are you talking about?" It was your turn to look confused.

Rafe sighed, taking another drag from his cigarette and letting the smoke pour past his lips as he spoke. "I offered to walk with you and John B said no. I overheard him and Sarah talking a bit later and Sarah told him that it wouldn't hurt to ask if you wanted to walk with me or not. And I think you know the rest."

He might as well fess up about it since his mouth and brain already decided to rat him out anyway.

You shook your head. "I don't know the rest because John B never asked me who I wanted to walk with nor did he ask if I wanted to walk with you."

Rafe looked over at you, his eyes locked on yours. He knew when you were lying and this was not one of those times.

He chuckled before shaking his head. "God. He's such a dick."

You ignored his comment about one of your best friends and walked closer to him. "You seriously wanted to walk with me?"

Rafe nodded, looking down at the ground. He was in way over his head, admitting that after half a decade he was still thinking about you and wanting to be with you. Even if it was for like a 20-second walk down an aisle.

You felt a blush grow on your cheeks as you looked down at your hands, playing with your fingers.

A beat passed before you spoke, keeping your head down. "If it makes you feel better… I would've said yes."

Rafe looked at you. "Yeah?"

You nodded and he took another drag from his cigarette.

"Can we start over?" He asked.

"What?" Your Y/E/C eyes lifted from the ground to meet his blue ones.

"Can we start over?"

You bit your lip. "Yeah. Sure."

Rafe cleared his throat before placing a small smile on his face and giving a little bow. "Hello. I'm Rafe."

You breathed out a laugh before giving Rafe a slight curtsy. "Hello, Rafe. I'm Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Rafe shook his head. "Oh no. The pleasure is all mine."

Your heads both turned to the building when the song changed once again to a slower song and Rafe took Wheezie's advice on seizing an opportunity. 

"You still like this song?" You nodded once more and Rafe put out his cigarette before extending his hand to you. "Would you like to dance?"

You smiled and took his hand. "Of course."

He placed his hands on your waist and yours looped around his neck, him starting to sway you two slightly.

"You look amazing by the way." Rafe complimented, taking in the lavender color of your bridesmaid dress.

"Thank you. You look rather dashing yourself." You took your hands from his neck and straightened his tie before returning them to where they previously were.

You moved closer to Rafe, resting your head on his chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Rafe?" You mumbled towards the end of the song.

"Mhm?"

"I missed you." You admitted.

Rafe smiled before placing a kiss at the top of your head. "I missed you too, Y/N/N."

"Rafe?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you maybe wanna ride back to the ferry together? 8 hours is a long trip.  Especially when you're alone and I have to deal with JJ, Pope, and Kie." 

You heard Rafe’s heart speed up a bit before it calmed back down as he took a deep breath. 

"I would love that."

~~~~~~~

[essaysbyciara]

Old Habits Die Hard | Part Nine: Stuck In My Ways

SYNOPSIS | PART ONE: DAYS BEFORE | PART TWO: JUST BE GOOD TO ME | PART THREE: RECOGNIZE THE BUTTERFLIES | PART FOUR: DOWN THE STAIRS AND TO YOUR LEFT| PART FIVE: JUST KNOW | PART SIX: JUST & RIGHTEOUS | PART SEVEN: BACKSEAT | PART EIGHT: WEAK IN THE KNEES

Warnings: Language, lightweight mentions of sexual situations, mention of marijuana use

The penultimate chapter of Old Habits Die Hard! Whew, this has been a long one but we’re down to the final two parts of a story that kicked my ass lol. Taglist is STILL OPEN for the finale if you want to get in while it’s hot! Love you all, you beautiful people. 

STUCK IN MY WAYS

“Aye, yo shor- how long you in the city?”

Maleek’s -- or Leek -- introduction last summer was a scary one. Standing outside of papi’s, draped under Dave’s arm,  Dave and his crew stopped their conversations as a midnight blue Caprice classic creeped up to the edge of the corner. Everyone, including Dave, grew on guard, their demeanors ceasing to exist at the drop of a hat because a never-before-seen whip with barely-legal tinted windows came to a complete stop. As the passenger’s side window dropped, Dave whispered to you to go inside of the store to grab him something to eat, his favorite: turkey hoagie, everything on it. You could hear the growl in his undertone as if it was an order. You obliged out of a fright only to hear laughter mere seconds later once Leek’s solid body came bouncing out of the sunroof to one of his latest tracks.

Leek was the neighborhood rapper. He spent thirty minutes or so showing his videos on YouTube the one night you were in the studio with him and his crew. He was dope, you couldn’t lie. Built like a linebacker, Leek’s full ahki beard and super tatted-up upper body was a bad one. You caught yourself fantasizing about how bad Leek could really be but quickly remember that Dave got to you first. Thank God.

“Only for today, Leek. I’m heading back down tonight.”

“Damn. Dope of you to come up for your mans.”

You’d small talk Leek except he’s cutting into your homework of trying to figure out your getaway from this party to wherever Dave wanted to take you. Dave still lingered upstairs as you bobbed and weaved through the party to find Yahya. You were hoping that in the time it would take for you to get through Dave’s extended-extended family, you could come up with an excuse to get away for a few hours.

You could fake a  run to the beauty supply store for some braiding hair but the stores back home were good and hood enough to find the yaki you needed. You promised to take Yahya to papi’s for that hoagie, so no store run could be in order. Your entire family is at Pardi’s house so no “run up to my cousins house right quick” would work. You keep thinking of what to say as Dave rips another message through your DMs. It’s an address and an agreement to meet in thirty minutes.

“Oh, Dave? Yeah. I’m happy he’s home.”

“Who else you think I was talking about? Y’all still down, right?”

Leek’s inquiry throws you off guard. You knew he had a lightweight crush on you -- Dave once joked that he could see Leek’s mouth hit the floor when you walked into the studio that night -- but now the boldness to ask your status in this moment is taking you back to a DM from Leek that you deleted but never told Dave about.

“Dave and I? We’re cool. We ain’t down like we were but we’re cool. My fiance’ helped Dave with his case. That’s why I’m here.”

Leek notices the blinding engagement ring you ignored up until this moment and suddenly, so do you. It’s the first time in hours that you remembered your  man at home and like Chante’ Moore said, “he’s been good…” to you. Your conscience hurries you to dead your quest to find quiet time with Dave. You wouldn’t be on your best behavior; there would be no guarantees that Dave would stand on the right side of history. Upstairs, for that brief moment, your lips touched Dave’s neck and almost caught a bite. Dave used to love that move, digging deeper into you as you almost broke skin so he could commence to breaking your back. You fell into his body by mistake but his hands knew what they were doing. Tracing your stripes down to the seam of your panties was intentional. You pooled at the idea of him taking them off.

You aren’t naive. You wanted Dave and he wanted you. The moment was beyond brief yet beyond impactful. Leek’s unforeseen act as an impromptu guardian angel stops you from making the worst mistake of your life.

“Ahh, congrats ma!” Leek reluctantly goes in for a brotherly-esque hug. You give him a church hug in return, that side hug catching Yahya’s attention as he exits the backyard area to  look for you. He grabs your wrist as you release Leek from your innocent clutches.

“Excuse me, brotha ... [Y/N], you ready to go?” You quickly nod your head up and down in the direction of your forever. Leek didn’t like the way your man cut into his moment but he hastily concedes after you tap your hand on his chest and send your well wishes.

“We still heading over to that hoagie spot, right?” Yahya tapping his stomach as he grabs the car keys from his left pocket.  “I’m dying. And Ms. Gwen’s food looked smackin’. Took me a lot to not go in, baby girl…”

“You could’ve ate. We’ll be up here again.”

“Nah, nah. The way you were talking about this damn sandwich. I want a hit.”  

Dave’s message feels like an afterthought as you jump into the passenger seat. Your meetup was only twenty minutes away but you broke the spell of Dave and tried to forget.  A light tap on the passenger side window wakes you up.

“Y’all leaving already?! Damn.” Uncle Trace daps Yahya through the car window, a mix of weed and Polo Red wafting past your nose.

“Yeah, Unc…” Yahya’s salutation makes your heart smile. “...we gotta get back to homebase.”

“Aight, king. Get my niece home safe. Love you, [Y/N].”

As you direct Yahya to the cornerstone named papi’s, you couldn’t help but  stare at the way he commanded the streets. The potholes that got the best of him the last time he came here are no match for him today. He’s even driving with one hand, something he never did before -- or that you never peeped. His level of comfort on the side of town that you also call home is reminding you right before your eyes that you’re the luckiest girl in the world. All from calling your Uncle Trace by a pet name.

You find a spot close to papi’s and walk in with enough time. Yahya commands for you to order for him and you obey: turkey hoagie, everything on it. You order a chicken cheesesteak, wrapping your arms around Yahya’s waist as you both small talk about the week ahead. You weren’t letting go for anything in this world. Yahya briefly lets go to grab two Tahitian Treats out of the cooler. His big hands grab the drinks, hoagies and you up to the counter.

“Let me get two vanilla dutches, please.”

“Yah- what you doing?  You don’t smoke.”

“I usually don’t. Don’t mean I haven’t. I’m tryna finish this weekend out right. We still celebrating.”

“That’s fine but who the hell you get the weed from?”

“Unc.”

Unbeknownst to you, that dap between included an eighth of silver haze.

“Oh, this is it. You ain’t coming around my family anymore. Nope.”

“I’m Jerri’s favorite. You can’t do that…”

Dave doesn’t know what to do. It’s been some time since your message and you haven’t sent an “OK” or any signal of your arrival. He paces down the steps and out the door, running into Trace talking on the steps to Dave’s uncle, Clifford.  He tries ignoring them both but Trace isn’t having it.

“Yo, you leaving your own party, man?”

“My bad, Trace. I gotta make a run up Olney real quick for something. I’ll be back though…” Dave’s last words trail in the air as he walks down the street toward papi’s. Somehow Trace’s old self catches up to him.

“Bruh, slow down. You just got home…” Somehow Trace’s reminder does indeed slow Dave down. He’s been moving too fast since you agreed to meet up with him. He can’t keep up with his mind.

Dave didn’t know what to do when you sent that message. He felt a semblance of guilt for touching your spot, for letting your body fall into his, for staring at you as if he wasn’t going to see you again. For all the thoughts he had as you both sat in the same room where he’d coax the devil out of your body night after night. He was willing to risk it all only if you wanted it. Your message answered his prayer.

“Yeah, Trace. I know. I just gotta get out the house for a second too…”

“Oh, no doubt. They think that once you out, you wanna see the world. You just want the world to know you good, that’s it.” Trace’s wisdom plummets Dave.

It’s been his truth since he got home from jail. He didn’t want to be surrounded by the people who didn’t check on him or his mother; the people who ignored Pardi’s angered Facebook posts about Dave’s situation. People who donated to the bail fund out of guilt, not out of care. The only people who cared to know his fate  were his mother, Pardi, Trace, Yahya and you, even if you never reached out. He knew you to be the catalyst to his freedom even if you at one time secretly fought it.

You walked up those steps to his old room to see if he was okay. You knew that large crowds made him skittish. Something within you broke the rules to see if he needed a safe space to be. That summer, you were that. Dave unleashed his heart out to you in ways that even his mother would never see. Despite what seemed different about you, you weren’t afraid of his story. He felt close to you, letting you into a world that you didn’t know but could feel.

Dave wanted one more chance to feel you. Yahya be damned.

Watching Yahya yell  salutations to him and Trace from his car window as he drives by gut checks Dave. And makes him wonder if you’re with him. That would deviate from the plan that you created and Dave was on his way to fulfill.

“This is the best shit I’ve ever had, [Y/N]. You weren’t lyin’. Bruh…” Yahya delightfully wipes the last of the mayonnaise from the side of his mouth.

“Told you!”

“They should cater the wedding. I’m not playing.”

The unseasonably warm evening meets you and Yahya as you stare across at Camden’s waterfront. The pier is popping with families enjoying the last bits of early winter before the clocks strike back and school gets into a full swing. It’s a bit of calm before you two hit I-95 back to what sadly isn’t Chocolate City anymore. Yahya caresses your right knee as you stare over the Delaware. You were beyond ready to get home. Your future husband breaks your gaze. “I meant to ask you. Who was bruh all hugged up on you in the house?”

“Heh. Why?”

“You were church huggin’ him to death but he wasn’t getting a clue at all.”

“Oh that was Maleek, a friend of Dave. No big deal.” You play off Yahya’s somewhat jealous disposition even as it humors you. You rather him ask about Leek than Dave.  “Let me find out you jealous? Look at you.”

“Nah. I just know mad dudes are on you. I trust you though.” Up until an hour ago, he didn’t have a reason to do that.

“Dave was too, to be real.” You decide to break down all of the walls. The case was over. You think you’re over Dave. Yahya is minutes into a food coma.

“Well yeah, Jerri told me. Some teenager stuff. I saw those pictures. I’d be chasing you down the hallway too.”

“Boy, please. But no -- remember I told you about that lobbyist dude I dated who damn near ghosted me before we went to the Bahamas? I ended up coming up here for those weeks and Dave and I messed. Nothing serious.”

“You sure? Dude was eyefucking you real crazy at Jerri’s house last Summer.”

“Hold up? You saw that?!” What you thought you hid from Yahya, he saw in plain sight.

“Everybody could, damn.  Heh. It’s all good though. So was I.”

You joust your fingers into Yahya’s side causing him to fall into laughter. Four words suddenly send you into an orgasmic-level of relaxation. Yahya didn’t seem to care. Once you ride off the orgasmic high, you feel insanely stupid. One conversation lessened the guilt of a relationship that lasted two weeks but imprinted onto you for what felt like forever. A moment of repentance overdue coaxes witty banter out of Yahya, not the dissolution of a relationship. It shouldn’t have been this easy.

That’s how u feel?

Your walk back to the car is broken up by a message from Dave. Your lack of a response to his earlier texts told him that you were in the car that Yahya yelled his love from. Your broken promise to break up a happy home slowly breaks Dave’s heart even though he knew better than to break the rules.

You don’t know what to say in response, turning your phone on silent not to alert Yahya’s attention. There’s nothing for you to say. Dave does all the talking for you.

Yo. I’m not some snake ass nigga. I wasnt doin anything with you that you didnt want

You came lookin for me.

I can’t be friends with you?

You wake up to see Dave’s last message sent hours ago. Before you walk into your front door and out of Dave’s life forever, you send your final goodbye.

I don’t think it’s best. I’m sorry.

Taglist: @harleycativy @twistedcharismaaa @dorkskinneded @need-my-fics @ghostfacekill-monger @writerbee-ffs @chaneajoyyy @amyhennessyhouse @blackburnbook​

[jaywritessmut]

Weiß Chapter I- Business & Pleasure

*Weiß- White in German

Florian Munteanu x black female reader (All my fics are with black women in mind!)

Warnings: mentions of death & drug use, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks!)

Authors note: Sorry this took so long yall! I moved to a completely new state and that came with its own challenges and adjustments. Things have calmed down since but I’m about to start job hunting and house hunting which is exciting but also stressful AF! Pray for me! I apologize for any mistakes!

Word Count: 4.3K

Something about the smell of a hookah lounge drove her wild. The subtle sweetness in the air had always brought her peace, sometimes a bit of arousal. She found it much more tolerable than plain old cigarettes. But then again, cigarettes didn’t come in flavors like Blue Mist or Double Apple. She scanned the drink menu, impressed with the newer selections listed. Of course there were the outrageous names to contend with. Oil Spill? Typical Klaus she pondered. He’d always had an eye for the dramatic and it was one of the things she loved about him. How sad it was that she’d never hear one of his energetic, albeit coke fueled, rants again. She decided to pay homage to her eccentric companion and order one for old times sake. Her usual order of Jäger would have to wait.

The server took her order, fumbling over his pen as he scribbled it down. He was intimidated by her. She radiated authority and confidence. He had no idea who she was  but the level of service she was receiving let him know that she was definitely a VIP. Making a mistake could cost him his job.

He must be new. She smirked at the thought. How cute.

Most everyone here knew who she was. Her table had been closed off and ready for her with her usual selection. Sex on the beach with a deeper freezer hose. They even made sure to put it in a mango just how she liked it. As soon as she stepped her Manholo clad foot out of her pearl white BMW, she’d been escorted into the club. Tamir gave her a salacious grin while he watched her strut into the building. Yeah, he was still hoping for a piece of that. The line of impatient party goers stared on in envy as she was given preferential treatment. But she was the boss. And bosses waited for no one.

She thought about letting loose tonight. Lord knows she needed it. But tonight was all about business. She needed to think. And surprisingly she was able to do just that as the bass from the clubs stereos shook the room. They had a deal, she and Klaus. She provided the money and kept an eye on the financial and legal side of things while Klaus was the face. He managed the club events, payroll, employees, social media presence, you name it. He was good at being the center of attention while she worked behind the scenes. But he also handled the grittier parts of it all. He dealt with the foot soldiers, making sure they were moving product. And then with suppliers to make sure they weren’t getting screwed them over. Turf wars and partnerships were all handled by him. It was a messy arena that Klaus shielded her form. And it made sense.

She was a sheltered daughter of an American diplomat. Her experience growing up in Berlin was quite different from his. While he fought to escape the crime infested slum and shady gangs, she vacationed on glamorous yachts in Malta. As a kid, he’d learned about the proper price to charge for a kilo while she was taught French and art history. They came from two different worlds yet managed to build a successful enterprise together. And now with him gone, she had no idea what to do. Just why the fuck did he have to piss off the Russians?

From across the club, Florian studied her closely in amazement. Annalise Roper in the flesh. ‘Lise’ was what she went by with family and close friends. But to her secret associates, she was Snow, the cocaine queen of Deutschland. He was surprised to see her here tonight. He had had the pleasure of meeting her on only a few occasions but knew that it was rare for her to be at the club. And with the circumstances surrounding Klaus death, he would’ve thought she’d lay low and increase security. But her face was unknown in the underground circles. When rival gangs talked about taking out Snow they were expecting a blonde hair blue eyed type. Not the melanated beauty he was currently admiring. The whole thing was ingenious really.

He watched as she threw back a shot, the club lights reflecting off her deep mocha skin. Her all white ensemble gave her an ethereal appearance, as if she were floating above the crowd. The effect she had on him was evident from the noticeable bulge in his pants. Full luscious lips, sultry bedroom eyes, flawless skin. All of her features drove him wild. And that was just her face. The white midi dress she wore, clung to her curves sinfully almost like a second skin. He knew she worked out. A body like that had to be properly maintained and cared for. And he wanted to explore every inch of it.

Florian adjusted his pants before approaching her. She’d just finish placing another drink order, a Jäger with ginger beer. The already skittish server rushed from her table almost running straight into him. When he glared stoically at the poor kid, he took off faster than before, desperate to get away from the two of them. Her almond shaped eyes gazed at him curiously while she took a pull from the hose. She admired the way his clothes fit on his body. His tailored shirt accentuated his impressive biceps. and the first two buttons were undone, showcasing his signature gold chain. He had style, that was undeniable.

Florian fought the urge to look at her lips but they were too hard to resist. The image of them wrapped around the hose was enough to fuel his already wild imagination.

She let out the smoke she inhaled while maintaining eye contact

“Wusstest du nicht, dass es unhöflich ist zu starren?”

He couldn’t help the smirk that fell upon his lips. Sarcasm was her defense mechanism, but it only made him want her more.

“Ja. Ich bin nur überrascht dich hier zu sehen, Schnee”

Her eyes flashed in anger at his nickname for her. She hated the way it sounded in German. Schnee. It was nowhere near as sexy as Snow.

“Darf ich mich setzen?”

“Wirst du mich nerven?”

He took a seat next to her, ignoring her question. Asshole she thought to herself. But a very sexy asshole nonetheless. The jittery server returned with her drink and skittered off to help the next patron.

“Why do you hate me so much?” He leaned into her, pressing a muscular leg onto her. She’d always been in awe of his large frame, even daydreamed about being pinned underneath him while he did unspeakable things to her body. But she was his boss. And she didn’t fuck her employees.

“I don’t hate you. I’m irritated by you” she went to take a sip of her drink to take the edge off. Whichever bartender made it went heavy on the Jäger . She was grateful for it.

“Why? Because I turn you on?” She almost choked on her drink as he brought his mouth to her ear.

Composing herself, she turned to glare at him. But he remained unfazed by her anger.

“Who said you turn me on? And how do you even know what me being turned on looks like? You’ve never had me to know”

“We could change that tonight.”

She rolled her eyes in annoyance and turned away from him. He was a typical playboy, used to getting what he wanted with a few charming words. But she wasn’t falling for it.

"Don’t be like that. You know you want me”

“And what makes you say that?”

“Basic science. Your pupils dilate whenever I come around. And you think I don’t notice but you look me up and down while biting your lip. It’s really sexy by the way, makes me want to lean forward and nibble it myself”

She crossed her arms in indignation trying to prevent his words from having an affect on her. His eyes wandered low to admire the way her breasts were pushed together.

“You also clench your legs together when I speak to you. Just like you are right now. And if you let me, I can give you the friction you desperately need. All you have to do is say yes”

He softly strummed his finger against her thigh. The sensation made her dizzy and she struggled to compose herself. It had been a while. Her last relationship ended a year ago and the Tinder dates just weren’t cutting it anymore.

Florian leaned closer once more and brought his mouth to her ear.

“Want to bet on how many times I can make you come in one night?”

Her resolve weakened and she closed her eyes as she fought for control of her libido. This was not what she had in mind when she made her way to the club.

Fighting past her bodies screams for release, she sat up straight and scooted away from him.

“Flo, I’m here to think. I can’t be distracted. Not now”

He picked up on the solemn tone of her voice. Maybe he was coming in a little too strong. Her friend was just killed and now she was left with an illegal business that she felt ill equipped to run alone. His attempt at seducing her didn’t really help.

“He cared a lot about you, you know? And he respected the hell out of you”

She nodded as she took another pull from the hose, trying to fight back the tears that would undoubtedly come. Klaus truly was her friend. And because of some stupid deal that she didn’t even want him to take, he was dead. She’d never hear his infectious laugh or be on the receiving end of one of his bear hugs again. A chill ran through her as she blew out a plume of smoke.

“Snow, did you hear me?”

“What?”

“I said, let me take you home. This is the last place you need to be”

“I can’t. I need to be here”

“No you don��t. Elias has the club under control. We’ll figure out the rest ourselves, okay?”

Maybe now wasn’t the right time. She’d always prided herself on being rational and calculated. It was hard to be that way when so many emotions swirled through her heart and mind. Fear being the biggest one. What if this was all going to collapse? What if she was next?

She nodded, focusing on fighting back the unshed tears that blurred her vision. This was not how the night was supposed to go. But it was for the best. The business could wait. Right now she needed a distraction. She handed Florian her keys and let him guide her out the club, ignoring the curious stares that followed. Fuck them she thought. It was none of their business who she took home.

They rode in her car in silence. She was careful who she let drive her baby but she trusted Florian for some strange reason. Occasionally his eyes would wander over to her seat so that he could admire her toned legs. He imagined them wrapped around his waist while he drove into her. Or maybe over his shoulders while he pounded into her. Snow smirked to herself as she caught him staring in the mirror.

“Drei” she blurted out. He turned to her as best he could, a curious look on his face.

“You wanted to bet how many times you can make me come tonight. Die antwort ist drei”  

Surprise registered on his face as he took in what she was saying. She was giving him the green light, and he had no intention of passing up on the offer. Florian drove like a mad man, weaving through traffic with a fierce determination. The sounds of blaring car horns filled the air as he made his way to her apartment. When they finally pulled into the parking space outside, he turned the car off and turned to Snow. The tension in the air was thick and he fought to compose himself.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked

“Since when did you become such a gentleman?”

“I just don’t want you to regret this. If you say yes, I won’t hold back. If you say yes, then I’m going to make it my mission to explore every inch of your luscious body. Willst du das??”

With an unmistakable nod, she gave him the answer he wanted. She gazed into his hazel eyes, and found that his eyes were slowly flickering down to her plump lips. Florian leaned forward to kiss her, relishing in the feel of her soft lip against his. Her brought up a hand to tenderly stroke her cheek, causing her to gasp. He took the opportunity to slip in his tongue, gently coaxing her to deepen the kiss.

Something came over Snow as she unbuckled her seat belt and climbed over to straddle his lap. Without breaking the kiss, he leaned his seat back to give them more space. His hands lowered down to her ass which he held a tight grip on.

He broke the kiss, bringing his lips to the tender spot underneath her ear and began to place open mouth kisses there. The feeling made her head fuzzy with need and she felt her wetness drip from her center.

“Flo” she moaned, rocking her hips against his. She felt the substantial bulge in his jeans and it made her even more desperate for release. He chuckled against her skin before bringing his lips to hers and planting a hot open mouth kiss.

His hands moved strategically over her body, as if he was studying every spot that drew a response. He committed it to memory, trusting that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d get to taste her. He took both her hands in his and pinned them above her head and he continued to kiss her which she returned with fierce determination. The inside of his car began to fill with the sounds of her moans as he slid his hands up her right thigh.

His talented fingers began to glide between her legs. Much to his delight he discovered there were no panties to remove and his fingers found the source of the wetness sliding down her shapely mocha legs.

"Enjoying yourself are we?" he teased as he circled her clit. She moaned and shook, unable to formulate a response.

"Gut" he said as he slipped a finger inside and massaged her g-spot. She shuddered and felt himself hardened as her walls clenched his thick fingers.

He kissed her and continued to massage her inner walls while stroking her clit. The sensation of his mouth devouring her while stroking her most sensitive spot, caused heat to spread through her body. She knew her orgasm was close and she didn’t even care that they hadn’t even made it inside her apartment.

“Fuck, Flo, I’m-”

He pumped his fingers into her, stroking the soft spongy part of her with a wicked speed while coaxing her to her release. With added pressure on her clit, she detonated around him, her warm center tightening around him with a vice grip. He placed soft kisses on her neck, which she exposed to him as she threw her head back in ecstasy.

“That was one” she purred, coming down from her orgasm. She saw the flash of persistence in his eye and immediately knew she was in for a wild night. The gauntlet had been thrown down and he was more than ready to pick it up.

“Let’s get you in the house, jetzt” he growled before crushing his lips to hers.

They stumbled into the foyer of her apartment, a tangled mess of hands and lips. The ride up to her floor was nothing but him pushing her up against the elevator wall and teasing her already sensitive flesh. And right now, with them finally having privacy, she felt a mixture of excitement and fear.

“Where’s your bedroom?” he grunted, pulling his lips from hers.

“Upstairs, second room on the right”

With no effort, Florian picked her up and made his way up the steps. She began teasing him, suckling and nibbling on the soft flesh of his earlobe. His skin broke out in goosebumps making her smile with satisfaction. He made his way to her bedroom and crushed his lips onto hers, slamming the door behind him with his foot. They remained locked in a deep kiss, her legs wrapped around him, grinding on the front of his jeans. He tossed her onto the bed and she fell with a squeal of delight. After giggling and catching her breath she looked up at him.

He couldn't remember wanting anything so badly. He watched as she crawled on her hands and knees to the front of the bed and started to unbuckle his belt. Taking off his shirt, he measured the gorgeousness of her feminine curves as they lay before him. The gentle arch in her back, the slight hourglass form that widened into the luscious, full heart shape of her butt.

He needed to devour her; to put her in the ecstatic trance that drew him like a magnet to her in the first place. He needed to taste this irresistible creature.

She had succeeded in the arduous task of loosening his belt and had her little hand down the front of his boxers grasped gently around his thick member. He saw her eyes widen and her tongue trace across her lips in anticipation. He pushed his jeans to the ground so she could get an easier grip but when she went to take him in his mouth, he stopped her, took her hand off his member and kissed it.

"You first..."

Florian shoved Snow back onto the bed. She tumbled over with a giggle and a sigh as he crawled over the top of her. He teased her swollen clit with the tip of his shaft for a second and felt her shiver at the contact.

He began at her neck kissing slowly and biting gently, savoring her smell and every inch of her flavor. He made his way to her toned belly and grazed his lips over her navel, watching her toned tummy rise and fall as her breathing became more erratic. He positioned his shoulders under her thighs and gazed at her glistening pussy, laid open for him. Kissing the inside of her right thigh, then suckling the inside of her left, he reveled in her scent. It reminded him of citrus and honey.

With a long, flat tongue he tasted her.He groaned in appreciation at how sweet and juicy she tasted. Craving more, he  wrapped his arms around her legs and pulled her closer to his face, burying his mouth in her delicious folds. He could feel her wetness soaking his lips but it only made him more excited. His tongue danced around the sensitive flesh as he responded to her gasps and moans.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop” she begged.

His dick throbbed painfully, wanting in on the action. But this was for her. And he loved making her moan. It was such deep satisfaction to feel the power he had over her. She followed his lead, grinding her hips against the entirety of his mouth, using the friction to get closer and closer to her destination.

He flicked his tongue across her clit in a fluid motion and inserted two eager fingers into her slick center. Her moan rose into a pleasure-filled shriek, he heard her breath come in quicker and knew she was close to her release.

“Fuck!” she cried out, her walls tensing around his fingers as she released once more in a succulent explosion that left his mouth soaking to the bottom of his nose and his hand wet all the way to his wrist. His beard glistened with her juices and it drove him wild to be covered in her scent.

“That was two” he grunted, a sense of pride filling him. He had always been a competitive man and this was one game he was sure to win. She lay sprawled, unable to open her eyes, but with a contented smile on her lips as the waves of her body's aftershock shook her, gently bouncing her breasts. He knew she was more than ready for him.

He quickly stripped her of the rest of her clothing, the white midi dress discarded somewhere on her bedroom floor. He was surprised to discover that in addition to no panties, she’d forgone a bra as well.

“No underwear huh? Well aren’t we nasty” he taunted, as he stroked his dick along her already sensitive clit.

“Shut up and fuck me Florian” she growled, growing impatient. Two orgasms weren’t enough, she wanted more. She needed him to fill her.

He slid his body atop hers, looking deeply into her soulful brown eyes as he sank into her. Her nails dug into his skin as he pulled out before thrusting forward and bottoming out inside her.

He began long, slow, deep strokes wanting her to feel every ridge and vein of his thick cock. Her eyes were closed and she was moaning with every down stroke, perfectly in tune with his pace.

“So fucking wet” he gasped as her felt her soft folds took him in deeper and deeper. He had decided in that moment that this was his favorite place to be. He could spend the rest of his life between her thighs and die a happy man.

Her cheeks flushed as the walls of her pussy tightened around him. She knew he was big from the feel of his bulge in the car but she still gasped in surprise when he filled her up. The way he moved within her drove her wild and she was desperate for more. She hooked her leg around his waist, aching for him to be as close to him as she possibly could.

“Please baby, harder” she urged, wanting to feel him fully unleash on her.  Teasingly, he pulled all the way out until just the head was inside her and paused. She opened her eyes and looked at him pleadingly, biting her lower lip hard. He sank his cock back inside her and paused again, causing her to quiver.

“Fuck Flo, get to it!” she cried, causing something inside of him to snap. He picked up his pace, his hips thrusting in her with a feverish need. She was panting as he fucked her and leaned up to kiss him hungrily. His tongue entered her mouth even as his cock penetrated her, hitting that sweet spot. And with one sudden jerk of his hips, he felt her pussy grip him tightly before exploding all around him.

“Oh my fucking God!” she screamed as her entire body dissolved into the waves of pleasure flowing through her. Florian continued to move inside her, softly stroking her face and hair while whispering sweet words in her ear. She was completely shattered, but the hard cock pulsing inside of her told her that the night was far from over.

“And there’s three. Think you got one more for me baby?” he cooed. Her hooded gaze told him she was spent, but he was determined to win this bet. He knew he could push her past the brink of satisfaction one last time.

He pulled out of her and effortlessly flipped her over, leaving her chest pressed into the mattress. He then led her to the edge of the bed, pullingg her lower body up onto her knees. Standing behind her, Florian pushed her head down to the mattress and rubbed the head of my cock against her dripping wet slit.

With a quick thrust forward, he buried his cock inside her roughly, grabbing onto her hips for leverage.

“Fuck!” they both cried out simultaneously.

Snow arched her back, throwing her head back in ecstasy. He grabbed a handful of her hair and used it to pull her back against him as he slammed his cock into her hard and fast. She moaned wantonly, and he felt the familiar tremor of her walls.

“Are you going to come for me again baby?” he cooed into her ear.

She could barely respond but her body answered for him.

“Hold it liebling” he urged, as he pounded into her fiercely.

Her body shook with every thrust of his hips and she wondered just how she would fend off this impending orgasm. As if it wasn’t hard enough, he wrapped both hands around her neck and began fucking her harder.

Her body had no choice but to surrender to his brutal assault and she wailed into the mattress as she fought to stop herself from coming. His thick cock was buried deep inside of her, relentlessly filling her up and staking its claim over her. And just when she thought she couldn’t hold it any longer, he granted her release.

“Fuck, Snow, come! Come all over this dick!” he growled before emptying inside of her, coating her walls with thick ribbons of his cum. Her last orgasm ripped through her, leaving her a screaming mess underneath him. She had never been more thankful for her penthouse apartment that separated her from the rest of her neighbors.

Florian gently pulled out of her before laying next to her. They laid next to each other, both trying to calm their breathing and make sense of what had just transpired between them.

“So I guess I won the bet” he remarked smugly, while taking in her appearance. Her hair stuck to her forehead, dampened by the thin sheen of sweat that had broken out across her body.

“Shut up” she ragged, still struggling to catch her breath. He couldn’t help the chuckle that broke from his lips and pretty soon, they were both laughing hysterically, their arms and legs tangled together.

“What’s my prize. For exceeding your expectations?”

“The nut you got was enough of a prize” she retorted, her head now gently laid on his toned chest. She lazily drew circles around his pecs, relishing in the feel of his warm skin.

“Fair enough”

“But we do have a more serious issue on our hands now,” she continued. The problems she had at the club were still there and a few orgasms wouldn’t be enough to rid her of them. Florian looked down at her expectantly, waiting for her to explain what she meant.

“I need you to walk me through the business. I want to take over.”

Translations:

Wusstest du nicht, dass es unhöflich ist zu starren?- Didn’t you know that it’s rude to stare?

Ja. Ich bin nur überrascht, dich hier zu sehen, Schnee - Yeah, I’m just surprised to see you here Snow.

Darf ich mich setzen?”- May I sit?

“Wirst du mich nerven?- Are you going to annoy me?

Drei/Die antwort ist drei- Three/ The answer is three

Willst du das?- Do you want this?

Gu- Good

Jetzt-Now

Liebling- Darling

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list for this story! I hope you like it because I’m so excited to continue writing this!

[ayellowcurtain]

if you would be open to writing a fic of Lucas as a pole dancer? Maybe Eliott is a groomsman and goes along with his friends to a strip club for the bachelor's party or sth, and he's iffy about it at first but goes along anyway. And then he sees Lucas dancing, their eyes meet and Eliott's world stops and is never the same again…

Can you write Lucas and Eliott shotgunning?

Eliott watches, mesmerized, as the guy sits at the edge of his stage, his legs hanging close to Eliott’s. The music he was just dancing to is still playing loudly, making Eliott’s ears ring, but the lights are not so harsh anymore, lighting the main area again, not his stage. 

He’s staring at Eliott’s lips and he finally gets the hint, able to function again, moving closer, gently putting his fingers around the joint, flipping it, offering to the dancer to hold it if he wants. Eliott will give him anything he wants.  

He doesn’t grab it, doesn’t come closer, just looks Eliott in the eyes, meeting his gaze, opening his mouth slightly. Eliott can’t really ignore how his pants get tighter, he’s thankful the place is dark enough and not really legal. It’s not like anyone is caring if he’s getting hard with the thought of this boy dancing for him all night long. His friends are too drunk and too busy to notice it too.

Eliott sits at the edge of his seat, an old, probably disgusting velvety chair that so many people use every night. The stranger is hovering over him even though he’s clearly smaller.

Eliott tries not to think about his arms around this boy’s waist, how perfectly they would fit. Instead, he straightens his posture as much as he can, just a few inches in between them with the new position. The dancer mimics the way Eliott opens his mouth, they move their head to opposite sides so they can fit and once they’re more than close enough, Eliott gently blows the smoke inside his mouth.

He closes his mouth for a second then blows the smoke out slowly. Eliott tries to remember his future self to thank whoever is was, one of his friends, for giving the joint over his shoulder while he was watching the guy do his number. 

“You’re distracting with that joint in your hand.” The stranger explains and Eliott huffs a laugh, putting the cigarette between his lips again to smoke a little bit to calm his nerves first.

“I’m sorry.” He tries, not sure if that’s the right thing to say.

He’s been here for a while now. In this big, but almost pitch-black room. It only gets a little brighter when a show starts, the blue lights on the ceiling showing the crowd where the next mini stage is. Most of them are still lit, it’s late at night, almost everyone is busy with someone or something and the “private” numbers are probably over.

This is Eliott’s second joint of the night, he lost count of the beers and tequila shots. It’s Idriss’ bachelor's party and he forced Eliott to come and have a good time for once, forget about everything outside of this club and just live in the moment.

Eliott just had to sit on that chair in the first row, pretend he liked what he was seeing and then go home, tomorrow was going to be a good, long day. It just never crossed his mind a guy could come out to dance, do a show for him.

It wasn’t a private show, actually, but it felt like it. Eliott was so hypnotized he could hear the loud screams of encouragement and claps behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, to not drool, or to look anywhere else. The dancer was really good at what he was doing even though Eliott knew nothing about pole dancing to be so sure if this guy was any good. Their eyes just met and never let go. Eliott felt naked while watching because the boy was looking straight at him at all times. 

They stop quietly staring at each other when Idriss comes to the side of the stage, still clapping. He puts his hand inside the back pocket of his jeans and the same hand meets the boy’s hand, a big stack of money going from Idriss’ hand to the dancer.

Just like in the movies, while Eliott was watching the guy go up and down the pole gracefully, there was so much money being thrown at him. It felt like the paper fell in slow motion, slipping down the perfectly build body. But it was mainly small numbers. Whatever Idriss just gave the boy is a lot more than what he did while dancing.

“What’s your name?” Idriss asks him and Eliott can’t help but pay attention. The boy’s eyes are still on him anyway so he doesn’t feel like an intruder.

“Lucas.” He says shyly and Eliott can’t believe how good he is. At being so confident and flirty with his dance and with Eliott and now completely shy, talking so low you can barely hear him over the loud music still playing.

“You’re good at this, man. Nice to meet you, Lucas. I’m Idriss. Eliott’s best friend.” Idriss points at him like they’re not a meter away from each other. Like this wasn’t a plan Idriss made, forcing Eliott to sit right in front of that stage, with nobody by his side. Eliott fell right into the trap.

Idriss winks at him when he’s walking away, saying he and the boys will be at the bar. Eliott is left alone with Lucas again. 

Lucas gets up again, walking back to his first place, sitting right in front of Eliott, the floor around him still covered with money that he’ll probably collect later. Lucas sighs, finally relaxing and letting the exhaustion of a long night of work take over him and Eliott watches quietly. Lucas closes his eyes for a second, his strong hand running through his thick, damp hair, putting it all back.

“Can you buy me a drink?” Lucas asked and Eliott wants him to mean it, not to be asking to get himself free drinks for the night.

“Do you really want a drink?” He asks, watching as Lucas’ hair rebels against him, everything going straight up again.

“Not really. We have expensive champagne waiting for us every night in our dressing room. I don’t need anyone to pay me anything, but I do want to spend time with you. The night is over, so…”

Eliott swallows hard, feeling so dumb and insensitive. He nods his head and Lucas slips down until his feet can finally meet the ground, standing so close to Eliott, walking to the bar first and Eliott follows, not sure how his legs manage to work, keeping him upright.

[enchantcdstories]

The Strength Within Her

Words: 2774

Tags: Pure fluff! Some swearing! 

A/N: Here’s the Brendan/Theo fic! I tried my best to fix their ending but its a little all over the place. 

Find it on A03

V watched as Theo slumped into the plastic chair, her head in her hands after having been just told that her best friend in the whole world was gone. Something ate away at V’s stomach, the gut feeling in the back of her head gnawing at her. Do something. Fix this. V tugged at her hair, taking a few steps away to think. Think, think, think.

She could buy the vending machine, sure, she had the eddies for it. V sighed. She couldn’t fix Brendan. She couldn’t fix that kind of machinery. V stopped, realization hitting her like Jackie’s ARCH bike when she called it and wasn’t paying attention. Viktor. That man could fix anything right?

“Hey...Theo? I’ll uh.. See you around okay? Call me if you need anything?” V said, turning to face the woman. She tried not to make direct eye contact, Theo’s face just looked so sad. The girl nodded, sinking her head back into her hands as V turned away.

Pulling up Viktor’s number onto her interface, V thumbed quietly with the zipper on her jacket- waiting for the ripperdoc himself to pick up.

“V! What’s up? Everything good? The engram treating you okay?” Viktor’s voice sounded concerned and almost preoccupied at the same time. V bit at her lip, looking back in the direction of Theo as she walked to where her car was.

“I’m good, I mean..about as good as I can get with an engram taking over my brain..listen, do you know anything about uh...vending machines?” V asked nervously, this whole idea sounding stupid. The silence on Viktor’s end wasn’t any more reassuring.

“Vending machines?” His voice was full of confusion and apprehension.

“Yeah..there’s.. a S.C.S.M that..got a firmware wipe and...look it’s really tough to explain, but do you think you could help me out?” V sounded more like a child begging for parental help than a young woman at this point. The sound of metal clanging made V wince, tempted to hang up and forget this whole crazy idea. Viktor sighed.

“I mean...I know fuck all about vending machines but a firmware revert shouldn’t be too hard?....Do I dare ask what this is all for?” V sighed herself and mentally checked to see how many eddies she still had left.

“It’s a long story, I can pay ya. Meet me at the maintenance point by Megabuilding H8 in an hour?” V said, covering her eyes as she squinted over to the direction of the shop that held Brendan. Viktor confirmed, muttering about her owning him anyways and hung up. V waited for Johnny to show up, complain about this getting in the way of his plan and it was all a waste of time. V secretly thought that He felt something for that vending machine too.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m sorry...how much for the fucker?” V said, leaning on the counter of the gonk that ran the maintenance point. “We aren’t even gonna like… take him anywhere special. We’re just gonna move him back to his original spot.” The man on the other side of the counter crossed his arms.

“You heard me. You wanna change him and shit? Lord knows what fucking else? You gotta pay.” V put her head on the counter, stressed and feeling her vision starting to glitch out from the chip that was shoved into her brain. The gonk spoke again as if he felt something for this whole situation.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll throw the papers in. Legally the hunk of junk will be yours.” V groaned again. Gods that was a lot of eddies. That could pay for the ankle upgrades she’d be saving for. She’d barely have enough left over to throw something Vik’s way. Still, the look on Theo’s face when she was away from Brendan…

“Fine...here..Just, give me the papers.” V said, exasperated as she extended her hand out, transferring the eddies. The man held the papers out, some sort of legal form that was like transferring the ownership of a car. ‘I could have bought a new car with that money’, V thought. She snatched the papers up, folding them and walking over to where a powered down Brendan sat. The man wheeled a dolly over, jamming the edge of it under the S.C.S.M. V could hear Viktor outside the shop, talking on his phone to a client or something. The moment Viktor laid eyes on the machine, V could see the light just fade from them- wondering what V got him into.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Okay so back up, hang on- We’re doing this for a girl? Is she in love with the thing? Is that legal?” Viktor said, a screwdriver in his mouth and he worked to pry the back panel of Brendan off. V had explained the whole situation to him, but clearly, Vik was bit out of the loop on the whole ‘super-smart AI vending machines’.

“I mean, all I heard was that he was her best friend...and the look on her face! I couldn’t just do nothing.” V shrugged, leaning against the wall as she watched Viktor work. Johnny had glitched over in the corner and was smoking a cigarette, keeping to himself. Viktor chuckled.

“Always the people pleaser, eh V?” He said, dropping the back panel on the floor and peering inside. V just rolled her eyes, picking at something on her boot. Viktor grunted as he sat up, looking over his tools and grunting.

“Can you like… fix him?” V asked. She wondered if she just paid a good stack of Eddies for something that could be pawned off for spare parts. Maybe she could just..give Theo his faceplate and call it good?

“Well I’ve reversed firmware’s before, but this might take a little longer. I’m no miracle worker.” Viktor looked over to V, his voice giving her a hint of reassurance. V scoffed. “You’ve fixed me up plenty of times, even if I do got a shelf life that’s worse than milk’s.” She tried to lighten the mood, but the look on Viktor’s face didn’t look like it helped. “What I’m saying is, if anyone can do it, it’s you. Probably. I think the guy at the shop only knew how to update firmware.” V said, trying to cover up her fuck up. “And imagine the look on Theo’s face when she see’s her best friend is back!” V chirped, her voice a faux cheery tone. Even Johnny winced at that, giving a thumbs down. V flipped him off.

Viktor brought over some little machine, pulling the cord from a little compartment on it and plugging it into Brendan. V leaned her head back against the wall, her mind wandering back to Theo’s heartbroken face. That poor girl’s face was ingrained in her brain.

“Chick had a rough life. She pack-bonded to that heap of metal. Don’t blame her one bit.” Johnny’s voice filled V’s head as he walked over, flicking his cigarette to the floor and watching as it flickered away into a million little pixels.

“She said something about a breakup, right? Or at least a tough relationship..” V said, internally to her engram. Johnny moved so he was sitting down next to her, elbow propped up on his knee.

“She’s got a sentient vending machine, you got a biochip of a super famous rockstar in your head. We all need our comfort objects, huh?” Johnny said, moving his elbow as if he was gonna elbow her ribs. V felt nothing but was somehow still annoyed.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At some point, as Viktor worked on Brendan, V fell asleep. It felt like it was the first time V had fallen asleep in days, sudden exhaustion kicking in. Viktor noticed a couple of hours ago, but chose to let her sleep anyways. The poor girl looked beat. Viktor finally wheeled away from the machine, having screwed the back panel in tightly and pulling out the electrical cord for the machine.

“Hey V, ‘bout to power this thing up, you wanna wake up?” Vik called, startling the merc awake. V groaned, rubbing at her eyes. Johnny was nowhere in sight, but Viktor was looking at her expectantly.

“What? Yeah, yeah I’m up. Plug ‘im in.” She said, moving to stand in front of the towering S.C.S.M. The vending machine lit up Vik’s entire shop, the pink of Brendan’s ‘clothes’ casting a deeper shade of pink across the walls.

“V! Boy am I glad to see you!” Brendan chirped, his eyes shifting left and right. V smiled, the same old Brendan was back.

“Hey bud, glad to see you too.” “What did I miss while I was gone? Any important drink orders I should remember?” Brendan said, his screen flickering just ever so slightly. V shook her head, glancing at Viktor. The man seemed just more confused, but sat back down on his chair.

“Nah, nothing like that. You were barely out for a day. Theo’s missing you something fierce though.” She said, hoping he still remembered her.

“Theo! Is she okay? Where is she? I hope she’s okay.” If a S.C.S.M could wag it’s tail like a puppy, Brendan would be doing that right about now.

“Relax, she’s fine. I kinda….told her that you were gone and she, well she took it pretty hard. Got the best ripperdoc in town to fix you up though. How do you uh...feel? Can you feel?” She added the last part under her breath. Brendan was silent for a moment, as if he was thinking.

“I would like to see Theo. I think I feel fine!” The machine said to her. V patted Brendan on the main screen...face-thing before moving over to Viktor. She extended her hand to him, intending to transfer some eddies to him.

“Thanks again, Vik, I know I keep saying I owe ya but this time...I really do owe ya. I got about...5k Eddies left, I hope that covers it.” She said, internally preparing to be broke for the next couple of days. Vik shook his head.

“Keep ‘em.”

“Vik-”

Viktor shook his head again. “Keep ‘em. You get to haul the thing back to Japantown though. I ain’t gonna help you with that.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Theo’s world felt...empty. Just the night before she had broken up her relationship, on the advice of Brendan of course. He helped her through so many rough patches and then this morning he was just….gone. She felt so powerless. The maintenance workers wouldn’t listen to her… she tried everything! Theo sat in one of the plastic chairs just in the first level of the megabuilding. Her apartment was a few floors up, she even remembers how she met Brendan. The one day she wanted a coffee from a vending machine and the S.C.S.M greeted her and asked if she was okay.

The rest was history.

He was so sweet, so caring. Knew exactly what to say when Theo struggled. Her daily routine revolved itself around Brendan now. Now? He was gone. Physically no, he wouldn’t be gone. The machine would be there still. But Brendan? His personality? Would be gone.

It was like a void in her heart, something in her life that was missing. She broke off her relationship and now with Brendan gone? Who did she have? Theo took a cigarette out of her pocket, sparking up the lighter and inhaling deeply. She wouldn’t cry over a stupid machine, yet here she was- tears threatening to spill.

Theo sat there for hours, watching the world go by as she sat in her little chair and smoked. She barely moved, barely felt. The sun eventually rose to it’s highest peak in the sky before falling back down. Night City falling under a blanket of colder temperatures as darkness fell. Theo stood up eventually. Her bones and muscles ached as she moved for the first time. She found her way to her apartment- purely on autopilot now.

Her apartment was cold, lonely, empty. It had been for a while, she realized, but now it felt more so. Theo was just about to head to bed when she heard a commotion out in the hall. Normally, especially in good old megabuilding H8, that wasn’t any cause for concern. The voice sounded oddly familiar though.

“..V?” Theo mumbled, getting up from her spot on the couch. She pressed the button for the door to slide open. V was there, standing in the hallway looking sweaty and exhausted.

And so was Brendan.

Theo leaned against the doorframe, confusion washing over her face.

“Hey uh...so listen, its a long story- but do you have space in your apartment? I was gonna put him back in his normal spot but...I’d hate to see him get vandalized or some shit.” V said, leaning an elbow on the dolly that was wedged under the S.C.S.M. Theo didn’t know what to say, merely opening her mouth like a fish. She merely moved out of the way as V struggled to haul the giant machine through the door.

“Vik fixed him up, just gotta plug him in and he’s good as new.” V said, grunting as she heaved the machine to Theo’s living room. He was angled awkwardly so he faced Theo’s bed, but no one cared at that point. She merely scurried out of the way, watching dumbly as V set Brendan down.

“He...I don’t...understand..” She said, unable to form words. V waved a hand, the cord flopping about. Theo reached for the cord, knowing where the only remaining outlet in her apartment was and plugging the machine in. Instantly her apartment was lit up with an otherworldly glow.

“That was some nap!.... Where am I?” Brendan chimed. V had leaned against the wall, watching as Theo moved to face Brendan. “Brendan?”

“Theo! Boy am I glad to see you! I missed you!” Tears pricked at Theo’s eyes. Happy ones this time. She looked over to V, rushing forward and gripping her in a bone shattering hug.

“Oh V… thank you, thank you so much!” She said, grinning up at her ‘friend’. V shrugged, not making eye contact.

“ was nothing, oh uh...here.” She said, taking the papers from her pants pocket. “He’s yours now, I guess? Your own personal uh..vending machine.” She shrugged. Theo just stared at the papers. She turned to Brendan, throwing her arms across the wide electronic.

“Oh gods I’ve missed you, B. I was so worried. They took you away I just...V tried to get you back and when she told me they wiped you… I thought… I’d never-” Theo was openly crying now, still clutching Brendan.

“It’s okay Theo, you’re strong, I believed in you all along. Am I in your apartment? You told me so much about your apartment!” Brendan chirped, his voice sounding more bubbly than usual. Theo nodded, a half sob half laugh escaping her lips.

“It is, you’re here and...you’re mine now! You don’t have to stay down on the street anymore.. No one’s gonna vandalize you!” Theo’s voice went on, about how much fun they would have now that Theo didn’t have to worry about him anymore. V rubbed the back of her neck, feeling like an intruder now.

“I’ll leave you guys to it, I guess. I’ll come visit at some point?” V didn’t know why she asked that, when she knew herself that her time was limited. Maybe Johnny would visit for her. Theo looked and nodded, before turning back to talk to her best friend. V let herself out quietly.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was dark now when V exited the megabuilding, her own stomach rumbling for some of the local food that filled the air’s scent. The entire day had been just a rollercoaster of emotions. She leaned down to light a smoke, one of the ones Johnny had begged her to smoke originally.

“Nothing like a happy ending, huh?” Johnny said, phasing next to her as she walked to her car. V said shrugged.

“I don’t get one, might as well give her one. She can go off and live her happy life with her vending machine. I got...a computer chip in my head that makes me smoke.” She shrugged. Johnny laughed.

��You got me. Ain’t that enough?” He said, referring to his whole body. V rolled her eyes.

“Well, out of all the engrams in the world, I’m glad I got Johnny fuckin’ Silverhand.”

[ofanya]

STATS / PINTEREST / CONNECTIONS / CLASSES

⌠ NATALIA DYER, 21, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, ANYA CASIRAGHI! according to their records, they’re a SECOND year, specializing in AWARENESS TRAINING, BREATH CONTROL, HAND TO HAND COMBAT + RESEARCH & DEVELOPMENT; and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (embroidery on lace, waking up early to catch the sunset, the scent of fresh strawberries, perfect balance on tiptoes). when it’s the (libra)’s birthday on 9/24/99, they always request their ARANCINI DI RISO from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. ⌿ kati, 24, she/her, est ⍀ @gallagherintro

INSPIRATION.

cho chang – harry potter 

grace blood – skins

esme cullen – twilight 

yue – avatar the last airbender

lexi howard – euphoria

laurel castillo – how to get away with murder

jane bennett – pride and predjudice 

ann perkins – parks & rec

kwon sun-hwa – lost

BACKGROUND + CLICK FOR BIO.

anya is the third-born casiraghi child after salvatore (oldest) and nico (second-oldest) and the first girl. she’s labeled extremely bright from a young age, but she doesn’t start speaking until she’s almost five years old. the casiraghi parents aren’t even concerned, they don’t think speech is an important quality for a girl. 

the first thing she ever says is a full sentence: “i want to go out with the boys.” it’s almost as if she could have spoken this whole time, she’d just been waiting. but of course, she’s told no, and she wants to be part of the lives that nico and salvatore lead but she’s pushed the side and told to be something else, something more ornamental. 

goes to ballet and etiquette classes instead ( the casiraghis are taught in their own home, much too good for even the best of private schools ) and often feels like she has to make up or carry things in lieu of the behavior of her younger sister. cecilia is reckless and insolent, does what she likes, and anya is jealous, but not jealous enough to do the same. anya is held to a higher standard as she’s meant to set an example and there’s a bit of bitterness that grows in her because of that. 

anya teaches herself as much about finance and business as salvatore and nico, but instead of her business or career prospects, her parents talk only of marriage proposals and future prospects. the education in espionage is a placeholder, she learns things so she’ll be able to make intelligent small talk at dinner parties or be a good companion for a man someday, not because she can run an empire. it’s very frustrating, but she takes this quietly, as always.

(DRUG ABUSE/OPIOIDS TW) anya breaks her ankle in dance practice when she’s 16, a compound fracture. it’ll heal, but she will never be able to dance in the same way again. there’s a numbness inside of her that only seems to be assuaged by the pills prescribed by her doctor that are intended to ease the pain. the pills ease the tightness in your chest every time she sits at the dinner table and long after her ankle heals, anya continues to use the pills like a crutch.

(OVERDOSE TW) she overdoses at 17 and is sent to a rehab facility. the entire ordeal is done very quietly, made to seem like a pleasant vacation – a dirty secret, something to be ashamed of, and it’s emphasized that anya should be so grateful to her family for taking care of her when she’s such a disappointment. she spends the summer at the best facility that money can by, and she returns clean, determined not to be such a disappointment, but the numbness doesn’t seem to quite fade. 

she heads to gallagher academy at 19, following her brother nico to school in america. she has no idea of the legal proceedings going on under her nose because she’s just so excited to get out of the house, unaware why her parents are so quick to send her away. nico hates it, finds it unpleasant and uncouth and a lot of the students are slovenly, but anya loves it, thrives under the guise of freedom and the ability to speak in a classroom where her voice matters.

naturally, the casiraghi family loses everything, as you might recall. her parents say that anya’s lucky she’s pretty because she could still marry nicely, and if it’s soon then the casiraghi name might still mean something. they remind anya of how much she owes them, how good they were to her when she attempted to sour the family name.

PERSONALITY.

DIPLOMATIC. is really good at choosing her words in a way that keeps the peace and is very intentional about the language that she chooses to use. she believes a lot in 'fairness’ and everyone getting a fair chance at things, so on, and she’s good at controlling difficult situations without upsetting ppl. 

NURTURING. has a very caring personality and always wants to look after others. she’s this way with plants and animals as well, and i think she’s really good at encouraging people to achieve their goals or advocate for themselves, she just can’t...do that for herself. but she will take care of u and smother u but in a loving way. 

RELIABLE. will show up at your doorstep in the rain with an umbrella, the first person to complete everything in the group project, if she makes you a promise she will follow through and then some. u can say some shit about anya, but she is fucking dependable and will come through for you whenever you need her most or you don’t think you need her at all, she’s still there. 

NON-CONFRONTATIONAL. will go out of her way to avoid a fight or try to keep the peace, she will also do this with others, putting herself in the middle of things to keep other people from fighting – she just will do ANYTHING to avoid a confrontation. annoying tbh. 

NAIVE. she really doesn’t know much about the world at large and will always find herself believing the best in people or hoping for the best case scenario when it isn’t always true. this could be seen as a good thing, but i think pretty much anyone has the ability to take advantage of her, it’s not hard. 

TIMID. anya has always had trouble advocating for herself and what she really wants, she has a lack of courage when it comes to fighting for her own passions and will easily take a backseat for others to take the spotlight. one direction vc: u don’t know ur beautiful

HEADCANONS.

idk why my brain was like . try to make this char into modern commentary on the 50s housewife but here we are 

i had no idea what i was doing with her late-talking thing except trying to somehow manifest how oppressive her home was, but rowan sent me some article about einstein syndrome and how late talkers like anya are highly analytical thinkers so we’re going with that ! 

was jumped on by a very big dog when she was very small and her face got scratched, so she has a bit of a fear of large dogs...it’s not that she doesn’t like them in theory, they just scare her and she hasn’t seemed to outgrow it. 

still loves to dance even though she’s well aware that she could never really do it professionally or on stage because of the way her ankle won’t bend, but you can usually catch her...somewhere on gallagher’s campus where she could practice privately ? 

also does a lot of yoga to center herself, she loves early mornings and generally her routine is to get up, make a cup of tea, watch the sunrise and then do a little bit of yoga. routine makes her feel in control so she has a habit of sticking to it.

loves to bake and is really good at it ! happy to binge great british bakeoff with anyone but then she will want to try all of the recipes and challenges herself. she likes the exact science of it and it’s another one of her hobbies that helps her feel like she maintains a sort of balance within herself. if you do it right, it all works out – baking makes sense.

she’s had one certain relationship when she was pretty young and definitely is not a person for one night stands, so...she’s a virgin ! 

in general she is baby but she is also mom. 

does not like most green vegetables but especially brussel sprouts. 

will wince when other people curse, has a tendency to speak very proper herself because of the way that she was raised. has extremely good manners, table or otherwise.  

gets really easily overwhelmed at big parties or functions with crowds of people and will generally find some excuse in order to, well, excuse herself. she just feels like she has to be ON all the time and it’s very exhausting to her, would much rather curl up and watch movies or something. 

is very straight edge, doesn’t drink/smoke/etc as a result of her past, she stays away from anything that could increase temptation and make her fall back into past habits. 

had/has a cat at home named gio, technically the family cat but it always felt the most like anya’s and it would sleep with her and everything however since the house was seized, no one has been able to find gio </3

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

best friend – i know, it’s hard to just plot this, but ! i would love someone who maybe was her roommate last year, the first person that anya met on campus and they just clicked right away and made anya feel really at home. i would love if this character was a foil for anya’s nurturing, softspoken nature, so a girl who is a bit louder and more confident. 

childhood crush – idk someone who could have known the casiraghi family for years or operated in that scene, maybe from a wealthy family and anya has a long-time unrequited crush on them. anya’s really kind, but she probably acts a bit standoffish or rude toward this character, so they probably think she hates them.  

bad influence – a character who’s a bit on the wild side who’s turned anya into their project – they want to get her out of her shell, help anya let loose and get out more, but maybe this is also some bad temptation for her since she has some...old bad habits. 

good influence (on) – anya is PEAK mom friend, so i’m looking for a connection that really displays that, someone she looks after. she’s the first person they call when they’re too fucked up and she’s always texting them the homework (and maybe the answers too).

ex-family friends – maybe your character’s family testified against the casiraghi family in the court case and helped send anya’s parents to prison. so, anya and your character used to be close friends but now she avoids your character out of familial obligation. 

fake dating? anya’s parents would like to pressure her into an engagement or see her with someone well-off, so if your character is from a rich asf family, perhaps they’ve done anya a solid. they’re not actually fake dating around campus or lying to their friends, but they’re close friends with anya and might go home with her to perpetrate the lie on a holiday when she goes to see sal and maybe they have taken a few cute selfies together for anya to send home – it would probably be YOUR character that suggests this to anya and encourages her to have a bit of freedom, so i imagine our chars would be friends. 

first love/ex – someone that anya might have known or met when she was younger, probably through family connections. they would’ve been around 15 at the time, so a genuine first relationship (like probably first kiss for her), but at this age her mental health was really bad and they probably broke up as a result of going to rehab. perhaps they feel guilty about not being more supportive or perhaps they did all they could but it was too heavy? we can discuss, but either way, super angsty.

protector – idk i would just love if someone saw how much of herself she puts into taking care of others and wanted to take care of her/look out for her instead and they’re just that friend who is really protective of her and reminds her to look after herself too

crush – i just want her to have a little bit of a crush/affinity for a girl that helps her realize that she’s not straight because she’s too repressed and never considered anything except heterosexuality til this point idk i just like when girls.

enemy – probably an ex-friend or something like that. maybe anya trusted them with a secret and they betrayed her or they tried to throw her under the bus to gain something. or maybe anya just got on your character’s bad side by being too much of a goody-two-shoes.

idk give me someone that relentlessly flirts with her because they think it’s hilarious that she gets so shy and doesn’t really know what to do about it, and she really does not know what to do about it ! 

also am down to brainstorm since i know the casiraghis already have a bit of a reputation so...i’m blessed taking a sibling connection and perhaps we can just bounce off of things you’ve already plotted with deanna and/or kit ( cecilia & n*co ) !

[sugarcookiesandsins]

Charmed [Episode 5]

➰ ot7 x reader, poly!bts x reader, mafia!bts ➰ they wouldn’t notice her until she was standing above them, a smoking gun in her hand a bullet in their heart 🌡 M   🛑  just y/n being a gutsy mf, mentions of death and suicide, dark humor 🕛  4.1k+

(Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list)

Tag List: @missseoulite @omgsuperstarg @slutkoo @asifetch7 @kawaiimusiccollection @namupeachs @xicanacorpse @bubbletae7 @crackhead1-800 @yeomjoo @crajishie @loveyoongles @knjkitten @btsarmysvtcarat @i-like-puppy-mg @inner-desire @nicoledelacour27 @kittaebrat @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore

The next month passed relatively calmly as you integrate yourself into the lives of 7 boys who wanted nothing to do with you. You seemed to clash with them on every topic, and you wondered if you would ever be able to live here without having to test the meal for any extra additives.

True, they couldn’t harm you, but there was a lot that could be done to a person without having them die as a result. The most you were fearful of was a kind of truth serum that you knew the boys had. In truth, you were sure that you weren’t supposed to find out about it until after they had successfully managed to use it on you but fate works in mysterious ways and you stumbled upon Jin making it in their sterile kitchen, isolating the benzodiazepines from bottles of Versed. It was their own blend, incorporating higher concentrations of midazolam than the legal dose.

You had never seen it in action, but you were also not willing to call their bluff so you remained on edge, watching everything you ate and touched that could have been handled by your worst enemies. It was an odd kind of life in that high-rise penthouse; isolated, yet not? 

You had once thought that nothing could beat escaping the depression of your one-bedroom studio, but among the richest of the rich you could only feel more clearly the ice of the tile seeping into your bones. It was jarring and made your skin crawl with the lifeless feeling that the place gave you. It made you wonder if the high life was worth it to you. You were happier in that run-down noodle house with the cranky mother figure who glared at you every time you sat down at her counter. Still, she never meant it and served you your favorite without having to ask.

It seemed odd that the both of you had a connection, despite the limited conversation that passed between the two of you, there was a subliminal communication that was always accompanied by the spiced scent of bone broth.

It seemed however that whoever controlled the boys thought that the eight of you had had enough bonding time and it was time that they used you for their own dirty means. Namjoon got a call ordering all of you to BigHit headquarters promptly at lunch time. It made you roll your eyes at how particular Namjoon was about being on time.

You couldn’t help but snicker at little minnows trying to act like the sharks of the ocean. Everyone who had looked into BigHit knew that the company had undergone a coup almost 10 years ago, resulting in the death of many of the party line type members who wanted to continue the orthodox ways of the mafia.

Included in the death count were the boys fathers, but it seemed they agreed and followed the new orders down to the fine print. Betrayal by the younger generations should be expected, expecially if the older fellows refused to adapt to a modernizing international spectrum.

Walking through the front doors of the building, you worked hard to maintain the neutral expression on your face. It seemed the hatred you had for this place ached to be let out, but with the seven guard dogs surrounding you, the need was strong for placidity.

Even the silver letters that spelled out ‘Law Office’, made you shiver in frustration. That’s where your father built his life and where his workers abandoned him to get gunned down in cold blood.

[MYG]

He knew this place, intimately.

It wasn’t hard not to notice the small shiver that ran through Eli as he stood beside me. We had been walking through some of the employee’s offices when he seemed to pull into his body, hiding.

This coming from the same man who had stared 6 gun barrels and could only think about getting a drink meant something. This place meant something to Eli; I knew there was more to him than meets the eye. I know that BigHit can be intimidating, but Eli was brave to the point of being stupid and yet somehow had survived this long with the kind of detached happiness that pissed off people without trying.

It was a rare combination, but he worked with it…or it worked him somehow. By the time we had gotten to the stairs, he had returned to his old self; eyes wide with curiosity as he took in the office.

It was fake. They were all fake, but then again aren’t we all.

They continued in relative silence, save for the quiet greetings that passed between the boys and their connections within the company. Pretty soon the proverbial warning bells rang as the doors closed behind you, and you stared down the head of the BigHit mafia. Clad in his expensive tailored suit and looking way too smug behind the large glass desk, your fingers twitched to grab your semi and put a bullet between his slimy eyes.

“Welcome Eli.” The smile that broke over his face looked unnatural and you hated it. “It seems my boys have finally caught you.”

The air seemed to crackle at his words and this interaction gave you more than enough information. It seems that his boys don’t like to acknowledge failures, though that was already evident from Jungkook’s obsession with perfection. But neither were you the type to admit to something that never happened.

“They didn’t catch me. I turned myself in.” You avoided any use of honorifics or even of using his name so you would have to implement those. No one in BigHit deserved your respect as far as you were concerned. “I was getting bored of seeing them suffer and decided to be benevolent.” Casting a side glance at the men in the room, whose spines had gone stiff, you couldn’t help but let out a little laugh.

“Have they told you why?” You saw the man’s eye twitch and you couldn’t help but entertain the thought of how far you could annoy him before he reached his limit. Everyone has a breaking point after all.

“No they haven’t, but I’m sure you’re going to.” You knew exactly what he wanted out of you. But you played dumb like you always did.

“First of all, I want to welcome you to the ranks of BigHit.”

“First of all, I would like to reject that welcome as nowhere have I agreed to join BigHit.”

It was an outright refusal, but nothing less would do. The only way to leave was to die, and you really weren’t in the mood to fake your own death.

“Loyalty to BigHit would give you a lot of name in the circles.” He tried to coax you, promising higher pay and more stability; very contradictory for a mafia but then again before the incident you and your parents were very happy. The elephant in the room became part of the family having a seat at family dinners.

“I’m not the loyal kind.” Those words could be taken in one of two ways. A declaration of Eli’s independence from BigHit, which would be the safer option, or a threat that if Eli did join BigHit, that he would have no issue betraying them for his own gain. This would not sit well with anyone who ran a business as secretive as BigHit did.

The tension in the room rose to new suffocating heights. But Yoongi only saw Eli, with that aloof smile on his face; the eye of the storm and a bastion of peace. He looked happy to be the root of the tension, and on some base level, Yoongi understood that he loved causing trouble. That was his element and his strength.

Letting the words linger for a bit, you let out a laugh to dissipate the mood. “Why so dark faced,” Eli giggled. “I only mean that it wouldn’t be good strategy to tie myself down to a single company.”

The rest of them only stared. Here was a man who looked down the barrels of six guns simultaneously and only thought of his thirst. He just made a jab at the most revered mafia boss in Seoul and was now laughing it off like he was with old friends. For a moment, Namjoon didn’t know whether to fear or respect the blonde male.

“Besides,” Eli still wasn’t done with his dueling of words,” I don’t even know how good your boys are.” One side of his mouth fitted perfectly into the seams of a half-smile, haughty, arrogant and nothing less than a taunt.

The boys that flanked you on either side understood that this was your war to win with their boss and intruding would be the worst decision one could possibly make, so they kept their mouth shut. Still, their fists clenched as they silently swore to make you eat your words one day. You would see that they were not ones to be belittled.

“I’m sure my boys will show you that their previous failures are not the status quo.” He smiled, not forgetting to emphasize the possessive implications of his words.

“Now, despite your refusal to swear fealty to BigHit, we would like to hire you to help our boys with a job. The pay will be generous if you succeed, but if not I’m sure none of them would mind putting a bullet in your head for me.”

You laughed along,” They were all too willing to do it last week, so no. I’m sure they won’t mind. Then again, who says I won’t thank them for doing it.”

It was a shallow threat, but they didn’t have to know that. For now, you left the boss with the layout of the building and a vague sense of you being a suicidal motherfucker. Those were the worst, because the concept of risk did not exist to those all too willing to let death take them.

Moving forward, you made your most bold move yet. Pulling out the chair that stood on the opposite side of the desk, you took the liberty in sitting down. Psychologically speaking, you were trying to reduce his control of the space. With the room being his office, you understood that he felt some possessiveness of the room and expected complete control of the people who were in it. Taking a seat without his invitation and without asking permission was in direct conflict of his control.

“So, now that I am considering agreeing with you, who or what do you want me to steal?” Calm and collected, you propped your elbows on the desk and leaned forward, staring straight to his dark, beady eyes.

With a deep breath, he reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a folder. It was a plain manila folder with papers seemingly stuffed haphazardly into it. They seemed to be from various sources.

“The target is a hard drive that the government owns containing all the evidence they have regarding BigHit’s illegal activities.” His teeth gritted slightly as he spat the words out. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out exactly how much that fact displeased him.

The real question was why he would want to steal it. Considering the organization is still running and angry protestors, the government hadn’t released the information so what was the point in having – and then it hit you.

“They’re blackmailing you! Oh, that’s adorable!” Leaning back in the upholstered chair you cackled at the idea of the playground politics going on around you. The corners of your eyes crinkled in the most childish way but the glint cut through the boys like steel. They hadn’t learned much about you in these last few days that you had stayed with them, but what they did come to understand is that you prescribed to your own definition of the world in a way that was admirable.

The grimace that came over the boss’s face was forced. In the depths of his eyes, you could see that you had struck a nerve with him. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to show any remorse. True, he was not the exact man that had doomed your family, but considering his position, he had tom have been around for it and that still blacklists him in your book.

“So where is this supposed hard drive, or do I have to do all that for you as well,” you questioned him. From the chair, you watched as he got up and retrieved a manila folder from a file cabinet.

It was stuffed with multiple documents from various sources, some pages were torn and yellowing at the edges. Others were crisp and white, but each was carefully tucked away into the folder.

With reluctance, he handed the folder to you. In a way you expected more attitude from him, but that only proved to you how much BigHit needed you to help them. If these guys were willing to tuck their tails between their legs then this must be serious indeed.

Still, they deserved no sympathy from you; none of the men in this room deserved any empathy from you for that matter.

He waited as you gingerly opened the folder and quickly scanned through the documents in front of you to get an idea of what you were going to be dealing with. 

[PJM]

The room was quiet as Eli breezed through the haphazard scraps of paper before him, blue eyes shifting from left to right as he took in the information that the papers would have to offer. For a moment, I wondered what was going on in his head as he put together an image of the task in his head.

As much as I hated to admit it, I would have no choice but to listen to the head of blonde curls in the future. I may be able to obtain the equipment and set it up, but Eli would have the plan that would, hopefully, keep them all alive.

In the last few weeks, I had kept my distance from him, or as Jin hyung liked to call it, denial of the interloper that had made himself at home with is. This had also given him a chance to observe Eli from afar. The boy, for that was really what he was, had been boiled down to just being stupidly lucky, and knowing it. He courted death like an old friend, expecially with the workout stunt he pulled. Sure, the task itself wasn’t that hard when taking into the account the gap between the two opposite walls, but that wasn’t even taking into account the mental acuity it would take to come up with something like that on the fly.

I looked up at the quiet sigh that left Eli. He smiled softly, as if the papers were an old friend.

“It’s impossible.” 

What he was sending the boys on, was a proverbial suicide mission.

“What?” The man behind the desk paled for a moment, and you could almost see the sweat starting to grow around his hair line.

Holding back a growl, you tried to enunciate every single syllable to make it easier for him.

“It is im-poss-i-ble.” You focused your stare on him, refusing to back down. “These boys may be willing to put their lives on the line for you, but I’m not going to.”

“You have no choice,” the man spit out through gritted teeth. His fists clenched against the wood of the desk. “You either help us or you die.”

“And who’s gonna kill me? You? With the gun in your top-left drawer? Or one of the boys behind me? Who I’m gonna be keeping alive in this death trap,” you spoke, shaking the folder for further emphasis. Despite wanting to continue to push your acting skills, you let it be for now. “Still, I’ve taken a liking to them, so I’ll do it.” Getting up, you turned your back and started walking out, ending the conversation on your terms. 

[KNJ]

“He’s taken a liking to us? Since fucking when,” Jin whispered to me as we walk out of the office. It wasn’t commonplace for hyung to curse, but there was really no better way to express it. Since we had first met him, one of us had been at his throat constantly. Heck, Jungkook tried to shoot him that first night and damn near made him fall 50 stories that first morning.  

But he lied.

Looking up ahead, I watched Eli as he lead our little pack with his head buried in the back in the folder as he took a more careful look at all the information in there Behind him, Jimin kept a watchful eye on Eli as he moved on auto-pilot through the building. Then again, that is the wonder of a thief’s brain. Memorization and quick thinking tend to come easier to them.

I followed the boys into the car, waiting for someone, mostly Eli, to break the silence. He brought back that sad smile that he had on in the office before.

I shrugged out an answer for Jin as we got to the receptionist and the front door, “Who knows? For now, we just do what we do best. Play along and take precautions.” 

“I pity you all sometimes.” His voice was quiet and pensive, fingers still moving as they flipped through the pages on his lap.

“We don’t want your pity, so stop.” Jungkook’s voice was low and forceful. It made sense, he was a warrior and pity was weakness.

“You still haven’t learned, have you? I make my own decisions.” Eli’s voice never wavered in spite of the glare that Jungkook was shooting at him. “Anyways, I wasn’t lying when I said that he was sending you on a suicide mission. This is going to take a lot of training and coordination between the lot of us, so if you want to stay alive Kookie, I suggest you and Jimin start listening to me instead of fighting.”

Eli’s voice never wavered once, nor did his eyes leave the papers spread out on his lap. Despite this, the boys could see the way his eye trembled. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t seeing them. He was seeing the layout of the building and the way the operation would carry out.

The ride after that was silent, save for Eli asking for a pen from one of the boys as he jotted down notes on the manila folder. The chicken scratch was in shorthand, so none of the boys could read it, and they tried.

“Is that even English,” Taehyung questioned as he looked on over one of Eli’s shoulders.

“A variation of it yes,” Eli chuckled, and for the first time tore his eyes away from the documents. “Though I doubt you’re understand it.”

The other boys were silent as they watched the interaction between the two. Eli had always been slightly on edge around the boys, but for a bright and shining moment as he laughed, he relaxed.

Taehyung looked back into Eli’s eyes, bright and blue and clear, and smiled. It was the same smile he used on girls in the club, wide and white and big. “Teach me?”

“I can’t.”

Taehyung felt the world around him crack.

“It’s converse. Only thieves know it and none of you are thieves.”

The world cracked a little more. “I am a thief for your information. I have stolen more wallets and phone then years you’ve been alive.”

“What you are is a pickpocket. There is more art to being a con than that,” Eli mused as he gave off a melancholy sort of smile. “Material theft is nice an all, but there are far more interesting targets on a person; their thoughts, ideas, dreams.” A pregnant pause as all the boys listened despite their best efforts. “Their love.”

The seriousness with which he had thrown out that last item threw them all for a loop. Silence reigned as they all focused on the implication of his words. They didn’t have any time to respond as the car slower to a stop in front of their high-rise home.

Stepping out first, Eli did not hesitate in trudging ahead, through the doors and towards the elevators. Following him, with a more subdued pace were the boys, their conscious still turning over the words they had heard whilst on the road.

It raised more questions than it answered for them, yet that seemed to be the trend with Eli. Just when you thought you had figured him out, then he throws you for another loop or leads you by the hand down another rabbit hole of new mysteries. Infuriating as it was, somewhere deep down, the boys knew that they couldn’t blame him.

He only did what all good survivors of their dark world did; protect himself from others. If no one knows you, then they can’t hurt you. It was a hard lesson for some to learn, and those sods that didn’t, learned to face the consequences real quick.

The boys had seen more than their fair share of failures in their lifetimes, both their own and the shortcomings of others. They saw what was left of them when reality stripped them of their soul; it wasn’t a pretty sight to say the least.

The rest of the short walk to their front door was silent, each boy still having Eli’s words careening wildly through their heads. Eli immediately disappeared into his room, still scribbling his shorthand on the folder as he studied the notes in the folder.

The next morning, no one went for training or for a run. Eli hadn’t even come down for dinner the night before, choosing instead to lock himself in his room. He only deigned it important to appear for breakfast, dark circles just slightly more evident and ink blotches marring the baby soft skin of his hands.

He maintained a strict silence, maybe it was due to the stack of food, or it could be attributed to the cogs in his head that were still turning.

After mostly working his way through his plate, he took a sip of water and cleared his throat. From a silent breakfast, the others in the room turned to face him.

“It’s going to be rough, but it’s possible.” Setting down the silverware, Eli rubbed at his temples with his palms, continuing to speak into the silence with a slight muffle. “A shit ton of work, cooperation, and trust.”

“Trust,” Jimin nearly spat out. “You expect us to trust you?” Within his voice you heard all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t, but first and foremost, how could the boys trust you when that their entire lives centered around distrust.

All of them, especially Jimin, were wronged by the world until they learned to play their cards close to their chest and treat everyone as an enemy until they were proven a friend. This was the cruel reality when growing up as child of crime, expecially when being trained to reign over it.

Namjoon watched silently the showdown between you and Jimin. The tension between the two of you poignant enough to catch the attention of the others who may have otherwise been preoccupied with their breakfast.

He only sipped on his coffee silently as he contemplated what it would be like to function with you as part of his group. Being the defacto leader meant that he had the responsibility of understanding the dynamics of the others and the risks of introducing anew member. From the get-go, their bond was impregnable, having grown up together and suffered through their lowest together.

“Yes I do.” Eli’s voice was hard and left no room for argument. “Because if we don’t then we’re all going to die.” The words somehow seemed colder coming from the man that they all found to have the sunniest disposition, even when facing the leader of the local underworld.

“Let’s get to work then.” Yoongi was the last person who you expected to stand up for you, but then again it also made sense. He was the investigative genius of the group, but he also seemed to have the most sense of self-preservation among the boys. Did he want to work with Eli? No. But did he need to? Yes, so why bother wasting time.

Eli only nods in response and makes his way briefly back to his room to grab some papers before joining the others who had migrated into the living room. Spreading the papers on the coffee table, you begin to explain the death trap BigHit had assigned you all to rob.

[sweetlilpaulie]

Tiny Dancer

John X Reader

Caution: Heated moments, Strong language, Sexual references.

I’m actually quite proud of how this one turned out.

Enjoy, my cuties.

~~~

The room was on fire.

Not literally, of course, but the hundred bodies cramped up in a tiny club, definitely made it feel that way.

I love to dace, what can I say?

So here I was, in the heat of the moment, shoving away my introvert, and dancing like there was no tomorrow.

Maybe there wouldn’t be.

Who the fuck cares?

A few hours earlier, I was chatting with my best friend.

“I’ve got a man. You need a man! Babe, you could get any guy that you want, all you gotta do is look at him.”

Rolling my eyes, I sighed. “Lisa, I don’t need anybody. Just chill out. I’m fine just the way I am.” I smirked “Untouchable.”

“Dude, you can’t stay a virgin forever.”

“Yes, I can watch me!”

“Wanna bet?”

“Yes, actually.”

She grinned “I bet you 100 dollars to go to Mark’s tonight and get roaring drunk. If you comeback a virgin, I’ll eat my shoe.”

“And pay me 100 bucks.”

“Yes, that too.”

I shook her hand.

“Deal.”

I went to Mark’s.

I even went a little further and wore the most scandalous thing in my wardrobe. Spaghetti strapped, thigh length, skimpy black dress, if you’d even call it that, clung to my hourglass body like a long lost friend. Ruby studs and a matching necklace only added to my look. Of course, as any girl looking for a good time, I wore 3 inch heels that hurt like a bitch. I put so much makeup on my face that my guise didn’t even look remotely familiar.

“What to drink?” asked the bartender, wiping champagne flutes.

“Surprise me.” I grinned.

He smiled back “As you wish.” He got working, mixing his voodoo drink.

I glanced around the place. It was fairly quiet, for a club at least. 

Some old men smoking pipes in the back.

A girl and her girlfriends sipping margaritas at the bar.

“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy birthday dear Mia, Happy birthday to you!”

The girls clapped and the girl, who I assumed was Mia, took a sip of the drink. Immediately after, she coughed hysterically.

Amused, I presumed she had just gotten to legal drinking age and so she was living it up with her girlfriends.

Not a bad way to live, I thought, watching them a while.

The bartender came back with the surprise drink.

“Mad Hatter.” he said.

I stared at it. I was a pretty turquoise colour, and the edges were rimmed with pink.

I took a sip.

The flavour hit my tongue instantly. Definitely lime, along with something that tasted like melted jolly ranchers, vodka and something I couldn’t quite place.

Just as I took another sip, a large group came in. All of them were young men. Very handsome young men. I decided to pay them no mind.

At least for the moment.

As I continued taking sips, I felt one of the boys’ eyes on me. I shoved away the flirty impulse of turning, and winking at him and instead stared out at the town, which was getting darker by the minute.

Minutes ticked by, and more people came in.

The sound of chatter was starting to irritate me.

I stood up, and walked straight to the jukebox.

Once the music hit my ears, a sudden relief washed over me. I finished off the my drink and requested another one, a bit stronger this time. The bartender’s eyes raised, but he said nothing as he went to work on another one.

Once I got it, I threw back half of it. I was started to feel extremely relaxed and a bit woozy.

Normally, I’m a fairly mellow girl and don’t really care to be the center of attention. 

Oh, but tonight was different. I was the star of the show and every boy in the room wanted me.

But no fucking way would any of them get me.

I swayed and danced to the music.

I was the only one at first, but I didn’t give a fuck. Soon enough, birthday girl and her groupies joined me. Everyone started catching on, pushed back their chairs, and got lost in the music.

I ordered one “Mad Hatter” after another, letting the voodoo juices work their way into my system.

I was completely and utterly roaring drunk.

My arms and hips moved perfectly in sync to the rhythm. One boy after another tried making moves on me, wrapping their arms around my waist and stealing kisses. I’d let them for a while, but then I’d push them away, remaining the Untouchable.

But then, there was the boy.

That one damned boy.

Who ruined everything.

I parted the crowd like the red sea as I went to request another drink.

“You’re quite the dancer.”

I turned to the source of the words.

I smirked “I know. I don’t think I’ve had a chance with you yet. Wanna try?”

He smirked. 

“No thank you. I try to stay away from man eaters.”

I scowled at the remark “Who says smartass? I’m just trying to have a good time.”

His eyes darkened.

“I’ll show you a good time.”

I raised an eyebrow as I sipped another most likely drug-filled drink.

“Wanna bet? I doubt you’d last 5 seconds with me, pretty boy.”

“The name’s John.”

“Whatever. Don’t really care. So, what d’you say? Deal, or are you too chicken?”

He rose his hand up.

“Deal.”

I rose mine to shake, but he grabbed it and kissed it.

Like, really kissed it.

My heart went into my throat.

“You’re good.” I admitted.

He raised his eyes to me. “Oh, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

There was a gleam in his eyes which sent chills down my spine.

He pulled me off to the side and we started dancing. It was fairly normal, hands on my waist, mine around his neck.

Soon however, he pulled me closer and closer to him. He leaned toward me and for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. But instead he whispered in my ear.

“Tonight baby, you’re mine. And I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t walk.”

My body radiated with heat, my face flushed red. Nobody had said something so forward and confident to me, ever.

“What makes you think I want you to fuck me?”

He grinned wolfishly at me “This.”

This time he leaned in for the kiss.

And oh boy, what a kiss it was.

Not any little peck in high school could have prepared me for this. Who knew someones tongue could be so magical?

He mapped out my entire mouth before he let me breathe again.

He was a hot mess, hair tousled, lips big and pink, and his eyes, full of desire.

His hands lightly went up and down my figure.

“You’re sexy as fuck.”

I blushed slightly. Biting my lip, I looked at the ground. My Shy was rearing it’s head back, coming to haunt me, dammit. What happened to Miss Confident?”

He tilted my head up to face him. 

He licked his lips hungrily staring into my eyes and looking deep into my soul.

“Let’s get outta here.”

He grabbed my hand, and lead us out of Mark’s.

Some of the other boys I had seen him with earlier were smoking outside.

They turned and grinned at him.

“Ey, John! What ya up to?”

“None of your bloody business, Paul.”

They all looked at me and some of them oohed.

“Have fun Johnny!”

“Oh, fuck off Ringo.” John snapped.

He opened the car door for me and we were off.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. 

Today, I was supposed to prove that I didn’t need anybody by getting drunk and breaking all the boys’ hearts.

Now, I was in a car, bound to lose the very thing I promised I’d never do, in a manner of minutes.

Damn you, John,

We entered a fairly decent looking flat.

“Let me take your coat.”

I shrugged off my mink and walked further into the place.

“Well, welcome to my humble abode.”

It was then that I realized how drunk I was.

The room was spinning.

 “I think... I should sit down.” I slumped onto the couch.

“Right. Where were we? Ah, yes.” 

He turned on me.

He crawled on top of me. I felt the warmth of his breath on my skin, and the heat from the leather sofa underneath me.

He traced my lips.

“I believe I never caught your name. Care to oblige me with it?”

“(y/n).”

He smiled. “Unique. Very pretty. Like you.”

He leaned in once more.

“Now as much as I like this dress, I think it would look much better on the floor.”

I unbuttoned a few buttons on his shirt. 

“Whatever you say, handsome.”

He caught my lips once again for a searing kiss.

“I’m going to fuck you now.” he growled.

I smiled goofily, my eyes a bit glazed.

“Sounds good to me.”

~~~

“You owe me 100 dollars, I believe.” Lisa chirped brightly.

I groaned “Shut up, would ya? My head’s killing me.”

She smirked “I won’t stop till you say you lost.”

“Fine, you won. Now shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”

She grinned like a cat who got the cream. Passing me a coffee cup she said, “He seemed very handsome. What was his name?”

“John.” I winced. 

“(y/n), you’re human. We all need to give in to our desires sometimes. I’m glad you finally came to your senses.”

“Yeah, yeah...sure, whatever.” I grumbled.

Deep down, I was glad she was right.

I should do it again sometime.

~~~

[iridescentai]

Waiting

For two years, Takako’s been gone. Snatched out of Tomura’s life for the purpose of training, or something. Tomura doesn’t care. He’s just wants her back.

And then, she is.

warnings: underage drinking, dabi being dabi, possessive behavior, smut, safeword usage, panic attacks, happy ending i swear to god

“Hey, so, uh,” Dabi calls, into the dark room that he knows holds the leader of their ragtag little gang, since a TV lights up the back corner. “Are we just serving teenagers drinks now?”

Tomura didn’t even bother to look up from the videogame he was frantically mashing buttons and scoring combos on. “What?” 

Dabi sighed, well aware that his boss couldn’t give any less of a shit about him. “Teen. Bar. Kurogiri’s mixing a gin and tonic for some girl who barely looks legal.”

For some reason, the specific drink seemed to catch Tomura’s attention, and he paused his game. 

Paused it. 

Now that’s new. 

Tomura stood up, tossing the controller to the ground, and pivoted on his heel, facing Dabi entirely. 

“So… are we adding underage drinking to the list of heinous crimes we commit, or is this just for the hell of it-” Dabi wondered as Tomura approached him, but the other man never stopped to answer him. He merely shoved Dabi aside and stalked out into the hallway, something like an eager gleam in his eyes.

This was odd. Dabi had never seen Tomura hurry anywhere.

So he followed Tomura down the hall, down the stairs, and into the front room of the bar, the little facade they kept up to hide the criminal backroom dealings.

He watched Tomura pause at the foot of the stairs, watched him take a deep breath, shoulders lifting with the movement of his chest, and watched his leader bolt towards the center of the room.

The last time Tomura had moved this fast, he’d been attempting murder. 

This certainly will be interesting, Dabi mused as he peered around the corner.

But what he witnessed was not murder.

Quite the opposite, actually. And, Dabi thinks, this is much more interesting.

---

They collide with an audible thump.

"Missed you,"

"I'm so glad you're back,"

"God, I missed you so much,"

Quiet murmurs overlap, muffled where they're spoken into hair and clothing.

"It's been way too long." Tomura grumbles, clutching tighter to Takako's shoulders, eight fingers digging into her shirt. "Thought you were never coming back."

"Don't be silly." Takako giggles against his collarbone, where she's neatly tucked into his body. "He's not stupid enough to think he could separate us for good."

At the vague mention of his mentor, Shigaraki surges back, switching from clutching her tightly to holding her at arms length. He looks her up and down with wide eyes, looking for...for…

"I told him if he hurt you that I'd kill him," Tomura growls, still searching her for… visible wounds, it seems. 

"I'm okay. A little scarred from training, but okay." Takako assures him. "Honestly, he wasn't even there for any of it. It was all instructors and specialists and the one guy that cooked for me."

"Good." Tomura huffs, pulling her into a tight hug again. He seems satisfied to rest his chin atop her head and hold her to his chest.

"You got taller," the girl beneath him notes, winding her arms around his waist. 

"You're still short." Tomura shoots back, smiling to himself where she can't see him. 

She pinches him in the side nonetheless.

"Strength training doesn't do much for height." She mutters, rolling her eyes. "But I could probably pick you up now."

"Oh, yeah?" Shigaraki hums, a note of intrigue coloring his voice. "You'll have to show me later."

Takako nods against his shoulder, and, in case her agreement wasn't clear enough, squeezes him around the waist.

"You cut your hair," Tomura noted, running four fingers through the chin length bob she sported now. 

"Kept getting in the way." Takako explained. "I see you're growing yours out." She shoots back. Her head tilts back to look up at him, and brown eyes sweep over tangled locks before she adds, "I like it."

To her surprise, Tomura locks up in what looks like surprise, maroon eyes widening a smidge and darting away from hers. If she's not hallucinating, that's a blush on his cheeks.

"Oh," he murmurs, slowly meeting her eyes again, a tiny smile creeping onto his face. "You do?"

"'Course," Takako beams up at him, squeezes him around the waist again. "It looks good on you."

Tomura's smile widens enough to flash a sliver of teeth at her, and then it's gone. Typical.

---

What Dabi was not expecting was for Tomura to hug the girl. Nor was he expecting their fearless leader to drag her to the couch they’d shoved in the corner, sit her down, and demand to hear about everything that had happened in the last two years.

Then, when she was done, Tomura took his turn explaining what he’d been up to over the past two years of her apparent absence- which made Dabi wonder, how long has this girl been in Tomura’s life anyways?

And when Tomura starts stuttering and blushing- Shigaraki Tomura, who takes bullets to the chest and laughs about it, who doesn’t get excited for anything, except like… All Might and murder- when their fearless, apathetic boss starts acting like a lovestruck virgin, that’s when Dabi decides he needs a smoke. 

By the time Toga comes back from the mission she’d been sent on, Dabi’s stoned as fuck, and Tomura’s in the middle of telling this girl about the time All Might had walked through their front door.

(the time the entire police force destroyed their first hideout, sending them scuttling into the darkness until they’d set up shop here, courtesy of Tomura’s sugar daddy, the infamous, completely terrifying, All For One supervillian. Yeah, Dabi needs another hit.)

Toga walks through the front door, as happy as could be (despite the blood on her hands… or perhaps because of it…) and Dabi witnesses something odd.

New Girl’s attention snaps to Toga, tracking her across the room for a couple seconds before she twitches and slams her eyes shut.

“Gimme a second,” he hears the girl mumble, just as Toga reaches Dabi’s side. 

Toga settles down in a barstool just in time for the both of them to watch in awe as Shigaraki Tomura actually stops and waits. 

New Girl makes a face, spends a couple moments tracking her own breathing, then lets out a long sigh. When she opens her eyes again, her expression looks much less pinched than it did when Toga first walked into the room.

“Continue?” She hums, patiently waiting for Tomura’s story to move forward.

Tomura picks up right where he’d left off, as if she’d pressed pause on him. “-and this bitch ass kid exploded Father right off my goddamn face!”

“So… he’s dead, right?” The girl chirps, head tilting to one side in curiosity.

Okay, Dabi muses. So she’s familiar with Tomura’s explosive murderous rage and his weird attachment to the hand on his face…

“Nah,” Tomura brushes the thought off, “The police broke down the door before I could do anything.”

“The police what?” New Girl yelps, shocked. 

“Yeah, they beat the shit out of our old place, nearly broke us down too, but we got out just fine. No losses.” Tomura assures her- though he pauses, scratches at his neck, and adds, “Well, Sensei landed in jail after that, but I’m not all that concerned about him anymore.” 

“Really,” the girl breathes, seemingly awestruck by both announcements. 

Tomura merely nods. “This is my operation, after all, not his. It took me a while to realize that, but I’m finally comfortable on my own. It’s what he would’ve wanted: me making my own decisions, not held down by obligation to him or whatever.” 

New Girl purses her lips and nods back, thoroughly impressed. 

During their next pause in conversation, the silence is shattered by Dabi taking a particularly loud drag of his cigarette and huffing it out with a long sigh.

Tomura twitches, clearly irritated by the interruption, but New Girl turns her attention towards the other two occupants of the room (three, including Kurogiri behind them) and smiles.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” She announces as she stands, pushing up from the couch cushions with ease. “I’m Hiyashi Takako.”

---

Tomura’s not all too pleased to have Takako’s attention shift off of him, but he supposes the League members have to meet his second in command at some point. 

“Hi!” Toga bounds right up to her, sticking a bloodied hand out for Takako to shake. “I’m Himiko Toga, but you can call me Toga, because we’re going to be the best of friends, right?” She announces, grabbing the hand Takako has hesitantly offered and shaking it with gusto. “Can I call you Tacchan? Since we’re best friends?”

“No.” Tomura intones- and the edge to his voice tells everyone in the room that the point is nonnegotiable. They’ve all heard that tone before.

“Aw, Tomu-chan, you’re no fun!” Toga whines, peering around Takako to stick her tongue out at their ever apathetic leader. “What about… Takachan? Can that be mine?”

Tomura doesn’t say anything against the nickname, and Takako merely shrugs, so Toga cheers, bounding away with shouts of joy. 

Dabi doesn’t make any move to replace her, so Takako steps forwards to meet him instead. 

“Nice to meet you,” Takako offers, extending her non-bloodied hand for Dabi to shake. The man takes her little hand in his scarred palm and shakes, but he doesn’t let go until he puffs a cloud of smoke into her face. 

“My pleasure, princess,” he replies with a shit-eating grin- and, judging by the set of his shoulders, Shigaraki has half a mind to disintegrate him right there. 

Takako doesn’t look in the least bit fazed by the pet name, but she does wrinkle her nose a little bit at the cloud hovering around her head. “You like it strong, huh?” 

Dabi’s grin splits even wider, pulling at the rings in his cheeks. “Strong as I can get it.” 

“Interesting,” is all she says before taking a seat at the bar as well. “Nice to see you again, Kurogiri. Might I get another drink?”

Kurogiri merely blinks at her in response, then answers in his usual low timbre. “Your presence among us has been sorely missed, Hiyashi. The usual?”

Takako smiles at the sentiment, but shakes her head. “Something fruity, this time. I want to relax.”

“Coming right up.”

---

"You’ve gained weight."

"Fuck off," Takako grumbles, snuggling into Tomura's side. "It's mostly muscle."

"Mostly?" Tomura teases, wrapping an arm around her and squeezing her hip. "You're so soft now, Takako," he sing-songs, ruffling her hair, "is that what all this training was for? To fatten you up for me?"

"I am not fat, Shigaraki Tomura- I just carried you across the room, how can you say-"

Her complaints are cut off by Tomura's wiggling, shifting positions until a nose presses into her neck.

"I didn’t say you were fat, Tacchan," he breathes against her skin, making her shiver, "I was insinuating that you look delicious. Though, you’d look delicious either way."

Takako tenses up for a moment, no doubt surprised by his sudden advances, and Tomura immediately retreats, afraid he's scared her off. You see, there’s always been this tension between them, something that’s been building for years, but neither of them have ever acted on it. Tomura had already promised himself he’d go through with something as soon as she got back, but if he was wrong and somehow he read her wrong and she thinks this is wrong-

But she lets all the tension in her body out with a breath and worms an arm around his shoulders to hold him there against her.

"I missed you, Tenko." She whispers into his ear, soft and gentle, wistful. "It sure was lonely out there without you."

"I'm here now," Tomura assures her, settling against her side. "We can make up for lost time."

Takako yawns into his hair and nods in agreement. "But… can we put it off until tomorrow?" She murmurs, clearly falling asleep, "It's been awhile since I've… since I've…"

"Yeah, Takako," Tomura huffs out a laugh into her neck, "Goodnight."

---

Takako meets the rest of the crew the next morning.

Twice is his usual confusing self, but he’s cordial about his greeting. He tells her she has a pretty smile- which Tomura really doesn’t know how to feel about.

Magne is delighted to have another woman on the team- and she tells Takako they simply must do makeovers sometime soon. Takako seems pleased by the offer.

Mr. Compress is his usual debonair self, so he offers Takako a rose and a low, sweeping bow after shaking her hand. Tomura doesn’t like that, but Takako does, so he lets it slide.

Spinner seems relieved that the new addition isn’t another wackjob- and he tells her so under his breath later, looking pointedly over at Toga while he does. 

Takako introduces herself in return, telling them she’s already worked with Tomura in previous years, but she’s been off training for the past two years, so she hasn’t been able to join the team until now. 

“My Quirks are difficult to hone, you see,” she offers an explanation almost as an apology, smiling sheepishly as she glances over to Tomura, “So it took a little longer than expected.” 

“But it’s alright, because you’re back now!” Toga cheers. “Oh, we’re gonna stab so many people together! I can’t wait!!”

---

It’s later that day, after the meeting they’d all been gathered for concerning their next mission, that the tension that had been building between Takako and Tomura finally snaps. 

It begins, oddly enough, with Dabi.

Because, for some reason, Dabi had decided that- regardless of her clear involvement with Tomura- that Takako was fair game to flirt with.

“Tell me,” Dabi hums, sweeping up behind her where she sat at the bar, awaiting Tomura’s return from another meeting of his, “Where on earth did our most crusty leader find you?” 

Takako decides to ignore how close he’s standing in favor of answering completely honestly. “In a building he’d burned down.” 

That seems to catch Dabi off guard, but he only hesitates for a minute before sliding into the seat next to her. “There’s no way he just picked you up off the street. Not with a face like that,” he muses, reaching up to graze her cheek with a knuckle. 

Takako’s eyebrows furrow in distaste. “I don’t like what you’re implying,”

“You’re interpreting wrong,” Dabi assured her. “You’re prettier than any street whore I’ve ever encountered. I only meant you must have good genes, a good upbringing, to stand by the boss’ side.” 

Takako’s face twists up again. “You could say that.” 

“Oho,” Dabi smiles, enthused by the negative reaction. “Daddy issues?” 

After tossing the idea around in her head for a moment, Takako finally answers with, “You could say that.”

Amused and something like pleased, Dabi sits back in his chair and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. Takako watches with clear interest in her eyes when he lights one with a small blue flame off the end of his finger, and the burner maintains eye contact with her through the first drag and release of smoke.

“If you ever need somewhere to work those issues out,” Dabi intones, voice dropping lower than she’d ever heard it, “My bed’s always open.” 

Takako laughs, something sharp and amused by the idea. “Can’t find anyone else to warm your sheets?” 

Dabi smiles too, though his eye twitches at how hard-to-get she’s playing. “Oh, I’ll take just about anyone,” he admits, “Just know I can make room anytime you want.” 

“Sure,” Takako snorts, smiling to herself as if there’s something he doesn't know, “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Dabi’s smile eases out into something leering, and he lets his eyes wander when she checks her phone for new messages, but when he looks up again, something catches his eye.

“How long you been standin’ there, boss?” Dabi calls to the shadowed figure by the front door.

Takako’s head whips up in surprise, and she tracks Dabi’s gaze to where Tomura is downright glowering at the two across the room. 

“Tomu-”

She barely gets his name out before he’s stomping past her, heading up the stairs without a glance in her direction. 

Takako sighs, hangs her head, and turns back to the man sitting next to her. “I’m afraid that’s my cue. I’ll see you tomorrow, Dabi.”

“Of course, princess.” Dabi nods, taking another drag while he’s at it. 

As she heads towards the stairs, a thought occurs to him. 

“If you get kicked off your throne, you know where to find me,” 

Takako’s laughter echoes down the stairs.

---

Tomura is downright pouting in his room. By the time she gets there, he’s already turned on his TV and console, the screen already lit up with damage dealt and monsters slain. Father sits on the side table next to him, discarded until further notice.

Takako knows he must’ve listened in on some of their conversation. She’s not really in the mood to try and change his interpretation of the scene at hand- he’s probably already fixed his mind on some conclusion, and it will take a good bit of her willpower and communication skills to undo whatever knot he’s tied. 

So she just sits down next to him and watches him play.

It’s something they used to do when they were younger. Takako likes playing video games just fine, but she doesn’t dedicate days to playing like Tomura does, so she’s not good enough to keep up with him when they play together. So she’s just as content to watch him play- especially since he plays so well.

She makes sure to keep her commentary up- to let him know she’s paying attention to him, since he can’t check while his eyes are glued to the screen- keeping up the comments of “oh, damn,” and “shit, that thing didn’t stand a chance,” while he plays. Even little things like this are enough, it seems, because the anger in his shoulders is beginning to drain.

After all, if there’s one thing Tomura likes more than anything, it’s having his ego stroked. 

And as soon as she has that thought, it occurs to her what she can say to fix this.

“Tenko,” she hums, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Did you mean what you said, last night?” 

That makes him fumble, and she winces when blood red numbers flash across the screen, cutting his health bar in half. 

“It’s just that… I’ve had a long time by myself to think about you, and a long time to think about what I’d do when I got back, and I just couldn’t help but think while I was talking with Dabi just now…” 

Tomura tenses up even more, replacing what little tension he’d lost with double what he’d had before.

She’d treading on thin ice, but she knows her next sentence will shatter the floor beneath her in her favor.

“I don’t think anyone really understands that I belong to you and you alone.” She muses, as if that’s a light statement to drop out of nowhere. “No one really gets that you’re mine- and I’d hate to see any miscommunications about that kinda thing. You know how I am.” 

Tomura is still very tense beneath her, but considering the rampant wash of desires that rush over her Quirk’s radar, it’s a very different kind of tension taking hold of his body.

“Takako,” Tomura pipes up, still intensely focused in on the screen in front of him. “I want to make this very clear. And you probably know this already, so I’m only going to say it once.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve wanted to fuck your brains out for a very long time now.” Tomura announces, refusing to take his eyes off of his video game. “If you’re offering yourself to me, you should know what comes next.” 

Crude and to the point. That’s the Tomura she knows best. 

Takako only smiles against his shoulder before pushing herself upright. Tomura sighs as if she’s abandoned him entirely, but she’s not done yet. She swings a leg over his hips and plops herself down into his lap, shifted just enough to the side that he can still see the TV, if he so chooses. 

“I think,” she muses, humming directly into his ear, “That losing my brains for a night would be delightful. Care to do the honors?” 

The game roaring behind her head is paused immediately, and almost in the same moment, Tomura tosses his controller to the ground and surges up to press his lips to hers. 

They skip right over awkward first kisses- they've known each other too long and pined in secret for too many years to do anything but jump directly to teeth and tongue, open mouthed kisses and heavy breaths against each other’s lips, anything that will get them closer to each other.

Tomura licks and sucks at the inside of her mouth like a starving man, four fingers of each hand clawing at her back to pull her closer. Caught between moaning and sighing, all Takako can do is melt underneath him, her back arching and her head tilting up and back to give him total control over their messy kisses. 

“Taka- Takako,” Tomura sighs between sloppy sucks against her lips. “Are you- are you for real? Are you for real?” He demands, gripping her hips in order to pull her more snugly into his lap. 

At first, Takako’s only reply is a heavy grind into the tent that’s forming beneath her, dragging a stuttered groan from Tomura’s kiss swollen lips, but she gathers herself enough to respond verbally as well. 

“‘Course I’m serious, Tenko,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. She bounces in his lap again, just for good measure, and Tomura all but sings into the air between them. “Been waiting for this- waiting for you- for too long,”

“I’ll make you feel good,” Tomura blurts, bucking up into her heat almost as an afterthought. “I wanna see your face when you cum on my fingers.”

“That sounds delightful,” Takako sighs, tipping her head back as soon as he begins nosing at her neck. “I bet you’ll look pretty when I get my mouth on your cock.”

Tomura whines before latching onto the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and Takako echoes the sound when he sucks a mark into the sensitive skin there. 

“I would- I’d like that a lot,” he pants against her skin, eagerly grinding against her thrusts as she pushes down against him. “You wouldn’t be weirded out if I wanted you to sit on my face…?”

Takako barks out a laugh, amused at the thought. “You can put me in any position you want, as long as I come.” 

“Oh, promise?” Tomura shoots back, peering up at her with a leering smile pulling at his lips.

“Promise.” Takako assures him. “Ah, with conditions,” she adds as an afterthought, a little distracted by the sloppy line of kisses he’s trailing from her collarbones to the neckline of her shirt. “There’s probably some stuff that we’re gonna run into that freaks us out in the middle of a Moment,” she ponders the thought with as serious a face as she can manage while Tomura’s hands find the curve of her bosom. “You’re not gonna wanna say stop, and I’m not gonna wanna say stop, so whaddya say we come up with some kinda-”

“Takako, I know what a safeword is.” Tomura informs her from where he’s got his face pressed into her sternum. “The green light system works for me.” 

Takako makes a surprised noise somewhere in the back of her throat- which might have something to do with the way Tomura yanks her shirt up high enough to expose her bra- and shrugs in consent. “Works for me.” 

“Good.” He huffs. “Now, take this off before I destroy it.” 

---

Before Takako knows it, she’s been thrown over the arm of the couch they’d been sitting on, and Tomura is plowing into her from behind. 

She can’t stop moaning at the top of her lungs- and she’d think it was embarrassing if she had any capacity to think at all. Currently, her brain was busy processing the sensation of Tomura’s thick cock spearing her open with every wild thrust in and dragging against every sensitive spot she knew she owned on the way back out, balls slapping against her ass with every kick of his hips. Her breasts still tingled from the inordinate amount of time Tomura had spent sucking and licking at them, and they rub against the cushion below her with just enough friction to add to the medley of sensation frying her brain.

Not to mention, the way her clit drags over the couch cushion sent stars sparkling across her vision as well. It’s still sensitive and puffy from the first two orgasms he’d wrenched out of her with teeth, tongue, and the pads of his fingers, where he’d worked at her with a fervor she’d usually only seen thrown into his work until she’d come crying and gushing all over his hands.

“Ah- ah- I’m- you- you feel so so good inside me-” she babbled, unable to control her tongue while the fat head of his cock slammed against her g-spot. “Fill me up just right, Tenko, aahn-” 

“Yeah?” Tomura preened, gripping her hips a little tighter within his hold. He pulled her back on his next thrust in, driving him up against her cervix, against the deepest parts of her desire. Unable to control her voice, Takako cried out, her response completely lost to the moan that ripped from her throat instead. 

“Say my name when you come, Tacchan,” the villain cooed, angling his thrusts so he’d slam into her cervix again and again. “Let everyone know who’s making you feel so good.” 

Takako lifted her head from where she’d been laying against the couch cushions, a single thought pushing through the heavy curtain of arousal.

“Which name do you want me to- to shout?” She stammered, struggling to keep her tongue from lolling out of her mouth while he did his best to make good on his promise and fuck her brains right out of her. 

Tomura seriously considered the question for a moment, dragging slow across her g-spot while he thought, but came to a conclusion with a snap of his hips against hers. 

“I think, if we’re really going to get a point across, you should call me by the one everyone here knows me as.” He decided, picking his pace back up until he was rocking the couch with the force of his thrusts once again. 

Immediately lost to the sensation, Takako was a mess of moans almost immediately, clawing at the cushions in a futile attempt to ground herself while Tomura took his sweet time taking her apart piece by piece. 

She didn’t have to wait much longer for that telltale spark to set her aflame, and as soon as the sensation caught on, spreading like wildfire through her body, she might as well have let the whole world know.

“To-Tomura- I’m- I’m- I’m-” she stammered, the words knocked right back out of her fuzzy thoughts with every brutal thrust.

“Yes, Tacchan? What is it?” Tomura teased, hiking her hips high enough to expose her throbbing clit to his searching fingers. She keened when he found the sensitive bundle of nerves, ramping her pleasure up even higher as it coiled tight and hot within her stomach.

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna- please, Tomura, make me come!” She screamed, her pitch rising with every rub of his fingers and punch of his hips. 

“Of course, Tacchan, of course,” Tomura hummed- but his voice seemed a little choked off too, as if he were teetering on the edge as well. “Come for me.”

Now that was a command she couldn’t refuse. 

Her entire body locked up, voice pitching up in a scream as the coil within her snapped, her cunt squeezing and rippling around the thick, hot length that seemed dead set on dragging as much pleasure out of her as possible. It only took a moment of her keening and yowling and writhing underneath him for Tomura to snap as well, and with a final stutter of his hips, he buried himself completely within her and unloaded years of pent up desire into her willing body.

He all but collapsed on top of her after reaching his peak, content to lay there with his cock pulsing and softening within the slick, soft, molten heat of her cunt, still twitching in the aftermath of their orgasms.

And in the glow of post-orgasm, he barely heard Takako’s hoarse whisper.

“Red.”

---

At first he didn’t take her seriously, but when she broke down sobbing underneath him, he sprung into action pretty quickly. 

She spent the better half of the next two hours outright panicking about- of all things- the cum dripping down her thighs. She washed and re-washed and scooped it out of her like it was poison- even fished out some pill from one of her bags and swallowed it between hiccuping sobs. 

What dawned on him towards the latter half of her breakdown was that Takako had not come back from her years of training completely unscathed. 

(And maybe she’d had these fears before leaving him, she’d already had the seed planted, but they’d talked about things along this line before and she had never reacted like this. Whatever it was, it had grown into something nasty while she was gone.)

Something had wormed its way into her brain, adding to existing trauma and fears, and blown Takako’s general worry about having children of her own into a downright neurosis. 

And honestly? Tomura couldn’t blame her. 

As hot as the idea of filling her up with his cum was, it certainly wasn’t worth a child- not in the middle of this mess, not in the middle of a world he despised, not while he still had goals to achieve and people that wanted him dead. It certainly wasn’t worth making Takako react like this, curled up in his arms, heavy against his chest, crying about something that was Tomura’s fault, something he couldn’t fix.

She assured him over and over that he couldn’t have known, that she truly hadn’t known the extent of her fear until that exact moment, so they couldn’t blame themselves. They’d just have to avoid it in the future.

And she promised him, assured him over and over, that they’d definitely be doing this again in the future. Just... with a condom, next time.

(And when she walked around their home base with a limp the entire next day and still came back to him for more? Oh, his ego had never been stoked so high in his life.)

[not-the-cleavers]

Target II - Chapter 6

HOLY SHIT sorry for the delay but I seriously got into a rut of ‘I don’t wanna” then Queen happened but now Chapter 6 is here!!! Now I’m not going to lie I did channel Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds for a small section of this. Now Four comes across as a fuck boy in this chapter cause ya girl was dealing with some shit while writing this. Also I never thought that I would ever google “how to clean a gun” and “how to care for throwing knives” BUT HERE WE ARE!!!

Tags; @adrenaline-roulette​ and @amy-brooklyn99​ - if you would like to be tagged just let me know

Pairing; Four x Eight (female reader) Fandom; 6 Underground Warnings; Swearing, angst, mentions of trafficking again (sorry), violence against fellow ghosts and smoking Word count; 1.9k (total so far 9.8k) 

Summary; The team has moved onto their next target after dealing with Rovach Alimov, a war criminal named John Dough. Eight has just joined the team and is dying to show how much she deserves to be there

Catch up: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

A week has passed since my last interaction with Billy, was he avoiding me? I was able to keep my mind off the blonde for a while by concentrating on the hard drive and working out who John Dough interacted with most so we could hopefully take down his whole operation. Unfortunately, I made quick work of that task as Dough was meticulously organised. He had folders for business associates, shell companies, calendars and meetings with audio logs, he even had a folder for completed deals, and all were named as such. Normally organised hard drives were sought after, but all I wanted was a massive mess to have to dive into, search for what I need and take my mind off that stupidly beautiful blonde. So I started to make notes, prolonging my work and making the next brief easier, or at least that’s what I was telling myself. I decided a timeline was the best way to figure this guy out, so that’s exactly what I did. I hit play on a random playlist on my iPod to have play in the background while I focused. According to every system I had access to; John Dough did not exist before 2001 when he was 29. There are no birth or death certificates, no school, prison or medical records, no properties or loans under his name. He was effectively like us, a ghost. No real name or family, nothing tying him to anything before his crimes. Which began when he made a name for himself as a hitman. Starting slow, killing random strangers for other random strangers to make money, but without a conscious, it appeared he had no rules when it came to his murder for hire business. Three had previously mentioned almost all hitmen refuse to kill children, a few less refuse to kill women, but this guy had no cut off point. His youngest victim was just 6 months old when the car he was in with his mother exploded, as per the deal with the scumbag husband and father who paid him $500,000 for the hit. In 2008 he left the hitman business and became a human trafficker, more money and more risk involved with that particular lifestyle. And in that position he was able to create all sorts of partnerships with all types of psychopaths and lowlifes, so in 2011 when he decided that he wanted more money and more power, he became an arms dealer. His biggest earning clients were the terrorist cells he supplied with guns and chemical weapons. And that’s what he’s been doing for the past nine years, and that’s what caught One’s eye. One had a sneaking suspicion that Dough has supplied Rovach with the Sarin gas for the attack that he bore witness to all those years ago. Granted One had no idea I knew he was there during that attack, but I gather intelligence, of course I knew he was there.

Eight: Call a brief. One: You sure you’re ready, or do you still need your beauty sleep? Eight: Fuck off cunt. One: This better be fucking good. Hanger, 1 hour.

I busied myself, making seven copies of my notes and timeline and filed one copy into one folder for everyone, shoved another cigarette into my mouth and lit it, pocketed the pack and made my way over to the hanger with the files and my laptop. I had to set up to make this brief go smoothly, because unlike the rest of the ghosts, I have been legally dead for the past 3 years, well before One had recruited me. If One decided that he no longer needed me, I wasn’t stuck for options, he didn’t have to actually kill me and I could make do on my own, and he knew that.

I wirelessly connected my laptop to the multiple screens around the room, giving everyone a decent view of what I’ve found, and just as I was placing the folders around our table, One entered the room, making a scene and complaining that I was making the room smell worse with my cigarettes. “I prefer cigarette smoke over the smell of dried blood that normally floods this room” I sneered in his direction. He just rolled his eyes in response. Slowly everyone filtered in and took their seats, Billy was last in and refused to make eye contact with you. Fuck him; he doesn’t know what he’s missing! With a slight shake of my head I steadied my breath and started going over everything I know. “Alrighty squirrel friends, I have delved deep into this monsters hard drive and this is what I’ve learnt…” I started my monologue, going over the time line I created with all his victims in the early days, moving onto his trafficking days with the photos found a week ago inside their own manila folder for only the brave to look at. Four pushed that folder as far away from him as possible as soon as I mention what was inside. Finishing with his latest weapons deals that were leading to innocent deaths in the hundreds of thousands to possible millions. “Prior to 2001, there is nothing on him. I have no idea what this man was doing before he turned 29 so just in case it wasn’t obvious; John Dough is not his birth name.” this caused a small chuckle from the ghosts. “But what I do know, he travels to meet this man” I flashed a picture of a fat, white and balding man up on the screens for the team to see “twice a month, to eat expensive meals, drink ridiculously old and pricey scotch, smoke Cuban cigars and fuck high end prostitutes. Not to mention secure guns and chemical weapons for the people Dough sells to. His name is Stanislav Zakirov, a high level member of the Russian Mob. Now we could go after this piece of shit as well, but that would be more of a shit show than Hong Kong was. I would recommend hitting Dough after one of these meetings, after Zakirov leaves. This minimises the risk to us, keeps us away from the Russians, and means we can take this fucker down.” The room fell quiet as soon as I finished my speech; I was done talking so I just waited for someone to say something, a glance up at One revealed he was avoiding looking at me after his last words to me in person. After a few minutes with not a single word I decided I was done sitting around, I picked up my laptop once more, I walked past One and said loudly “Was that fucking good enough for you? Prick” lit another cigarette and walked out the hanger.  

Now with nothing to do to take my mind off everything that had happened over the past weeks I felt lost and unable to get rid of my anger, so a ritualistic activity was needed. Cleaning my guns and sharpening my knives. I walked to a rusted airplane fuselage across the lot that was upcycled into the armoury for the team, and over to my gear and started to lay out the items needed. I started with my knives, unsheathing the blades and placing them on the metal bench, and one by one sharpening them with my trusty bastard file, quickly washing away any shavings that might be left on the knife-edge and rubbing them down with lubricant, thankfully gun lubricant works for this as that’s all I had left. As I was sharpening the last blade I noticed it was slightly bent, possibly from the last mission, so I made quick work of straightening it out, placing it slightly offset from a piece of the fuselage and using my body weight. Not the best way to do it but after years I found it was the quickest. After all my knives were sharpened I started the formulaic process of cleaning my guns. Rolling out a towel and placing the brushes, lubricant, cleaning solvent and cotton swabs down and disassembling my guns one at a time. I found myself falling into rhythm, the clicks and smells of the cleaning solution taking my mind off the joke that was this teams current state of being. As I was working on my last gun my heightened instincts told me that someone was coming towards the armoury. I grabbed one of my knives and used my shirt to wipe away any remaining lubricant, and with one swift move I turned on the stool I was on and threw the blade. The knife pierced the plastic on the side of the planes body right by the door, a warning throw, not intended to harm but to scare away whoever was coming. “Fuck me dead Eight! You have to stop doing that to me” One’s voice, dripping with frustration and anger broke the silence of the room. “Maybe you should’ve learnt your lesson from last time and avoid sneaking up on me when I’m pissed off” I sneered, my attention was back to my gun, with one final click the barrel was back in place. “The fuck do you want, can’t you see I’m busy?” “Well we all wanted to know if you were coming back to the briefing or if you were gonna wallow here in self-pity” One snorted. That does it. I let loose another blade, this time aiming for his thigh, but he saw it coming and quickly dodged it. “See I did learn from last time” “Leave me alone One, I’m not in the mood for your bullshit right now. Last I checked, we were the ones working our asses off on your vendetta missions while you hang around out of danger and piss us all off.” I was yelling at this point. I was never one to hide my anger and One had hit just the right buttons, that and Four who was being the exact definition of a fuck boy right now, was enough to make me explode. “Now unless you’re here to apologise I suggest you get lost” my voice was almost a snarl at this point.

That’s when I noticed that the rest of the ghosts were also in the room with us, all but Two seemed surprised by my outburst, and even more so at my complete disregard to if I hit One or not. She had what almost looked like a smile on her lips. One pushed past them all in a huff, a string of profanities leaving his lips, all focused towards me. After a few awkward moments Two broke the silence. “Well I’m no pussy so I’ll speak. We agree with your plan, it’s smart and the easiest way to take him out. Also One is a dick. He wants to apologise but his ego is getting in the way” her French accent bringing an air of class to her words. The rest of the ghosts nodded along with her words.

“Right well he knows where to find me if he decides to pull his head out of his ass and apologise” I told her, standing from my position and making my way out of the room “excuse me, I need to be alone right now” I made my way past my team mates and out into the thick humidity of the Californian desert, unsure where I was going, but knowing I didn’t want to be around anyone.