#and i’m too afraid to break him on day one just to get his weapon in 😭

[chil-aglia]

𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

Check-up

Didn’t have time to make art for this chapter. So, you get this instead. 

Be sure to read the tags on my Ao3 so you guys know what you’re getting yourselves into.

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3 days…it had been 3 days since Giovanni suddenly vanished off the grid. It caused a panic for the others, his brothers have been searching high and low, non-stop.

But they found nothing. Raphael had called in for backup, asking—begging, his human friends to help search for Giovanni. Mikey done the same thing but with Draxum.

It was all too hard to handle, but they couldn’t give up. Not when they had just started getting Giovanni to open up, let him have fun and be…normal. Donnie frantically typed away on his computer, scanning for surveillance footage, and clues for his older brother. He slams his fist in the keyboard, groaning in frustration as he glares at the screen.

A large red ‘X’ seen. No sign of Giovanni.

”Fuck…! Why can’t I find him?!” He hissed at himself, gripping his hands over his head. He was pissed off at himself. Why didn’t he install the tracker into Giovanni when he had so many chances?!

If he had, he would’ve been able to locate his missing brother in a heartbeat. Leo had walked in, hearing the commotion as he narrowed his eyes.

”Donnie you’re going to hurt your hand if you slam it again.”

”I don’t care. Gio is missing a-and I can’t do anything to find him!”

Leo frowns at his twin. He knew Donnie was eating himself up on the inside, staying up late and scanning every camera in the city. It had everyone worry, but they understood.

Leo took a moment to calm himself down, he was trying so hard to not just break down. He was the leader now. So he had to act like it.

”Donnie…we need to narrow down the possibilities of what happened to Gio.”

Leo took note that Raph, and Mikey entered the room as well, along with an exhausted Splinter. “Narrow down the possibilities…okay, we can do that.” Donnie mumbles in agreement as he looks to the others.

”Gio wouldn’t just leave out of the blue. He’s not like that.” Raph declares, the youngest turtle nodding in utter agreement. “Yeah! A-and even if he did, he seems like the type to at least leave a letter for us, right?” Mikey tilts his head, frowning at the thought of Giovanni leaving the family.

Splinter hums and shakes his head, “Perhaps…he was kidnapped?” He suggests, the comment having the boys freeze upon realisation as they all share a concern look.

”Kidnapped…but who would want to kidnap him? All the villains we know wouldn’t have the courage to do that just because they hate us.” Donnie analysed but Leo was quick to correct him, glaring ahead.

”Actually…there’s one person we know who is known for kidnapping.”

At first it was quiet, until Splinter softly gasps and narrowed his own eyes.

”Big Mama.”

-----

Splinter stayed back home, in case the others like April or even Draxum called for any updated news. The four brothers however decided to pay a visit to a certain spider lady.

They run through the hotel corridors before reaching Big Mama’s office, Raph forcing the door open as they all stumble in, weapons ready for a fight.

”All right Big Mama, where is he?!”

Big Mama spins around on her chair, she was in her human form as she smiles politely. “Turtlyboos. My, you sure know how to make an entrance.” She giggles before tilting her head and resting her elbows upon her desk in front of her.

”Now, remind me why you decided to break into my splendid hotel?”

Leo growls, stepping forward with his katanas raised and pointed at her. “Our brother. He’s been kidnapped and we believe you have something to do with it.” He huffs but Big Mama only widens her eyes before taking and waving her finger at them.

”I’m afraid your wrong blue one. I don’t have Giovanni.”

Donnie tenses and glared at the yokai, “We never mentioned his name. This proves that you know him!” He announces, but he steps back when Big Mama stood up from her chair and made her way over to them slightly.

”I only know of him because you boys have been taking him around the city, fighting crime and whatnot. It’s adorable really.”

She sighs and leans back against her desk, her hand tapping against the wood. “He also came by a few months ago. I introduced myself to him and even told him that he and his brothers are welcomed here any time.” She added with amusement, especially when she saw the puzzled expressions on their faces.

Giovanni had actually met Big Mama? When? How? Why?

Leo had many questions, but he shook his head. There were more important things at hand. “So, he’s not here? At all? You know nothing about his disappearance?” Leo inquired again, voice firm but also laced with panic.

Big Mama nodded. “I’m afraid I haven’t got a clue about this. I feel such sympathy for him. From what I remember, he was pretty skittish. If he was indeed kidnapped…well, I can only wonder what he’s feeling and going through.”

Her words were enough to make the boys quiet, tension thick in the air as they all turn around and leave the room.

None of them had said a word to each other. But even without mind melding there was one thing that they were all thinking.

Where the hell is their brother?

-----

It was quiet, the sound of ragged breaths being inhaled and exhaled was heard. The white tiled room was cold and bright. Too bright.

The only time Giovanni managed to make the room dark was when he lowered his head into his shell. He felt safe there, a sense of privacy. The lights in the room never turned off. He wondered if that was a way to make whoever were in these cells go crazy. Unable to tell if it was day or night.

Giovanni already didn’t know how long he’s been in the E.P.F. base for. Given he was knocked out upon arriving and then knocked out again for hours when he was in that operation room.

It confused him, but he tried his best to not show a hint of weakness. He thinks he was doing well in that department. But then again, that could just be his mind messing with him.

Giovanni was curled up to a corner of the room, refusing to get comfortable on the thin mattress that they gave him. It was a poor excuse of a bed. 

Giovanni didn’t have company from when he awoke from his dazed nap. The only time there was a hint of anyone watching him was when the door of his cell opened and a yokai would walk in slightly and push over a tray of food and water for him. They would then leave him be.

Giovanni didn’t dare try and eat the food they gave to him. He would take the water, giving a few cautious sips before gulping it down his throat. The tray would then get taken away a few hours later, leaving him back to be alone with his thoughts.

He gave a grumble as he leans his face against his propped-up knee, wincing when he felt a short wave of pain inside his mouth. He licked his tongue over his teeth, before stopping at the tooth he was missing. It was starting to grow back, but the process of it was a bit of a pain that he had to put up with. His neck was sore as he gently rubs his hand along the side, pausing when he felt phantom discomfort from the memory of being injected with a needle.

He gave a little whimper and lowers his head slightly into the comfort of his carapace.

He wanted to go home. Surely his friends and family were already looking for him. 

He closed his eyes, trying to rest but he didn’t get a chance to relax when the cell door opened, making him flinch at the sound as he perks up in alert.

”I apologise for the long wait.”

It was a new voice, and Giovanni lightly glares at the figure of a man walking in. “It’s been quite a while S129. I’m glad that you’ve returned to us.” The man was alone, with a monotone voice that had Giovanni shuddering.

The man steps closer inside the cell before stopping and staring. Giovanni took in the man’s appearance briefly before he froze, eyes wide like saucers and mouth hung open slightly into bewilderment.

The man was tall and healthily thin. He wore a black suit and black tie. His raven coloured hair that was once quite short from memory had grown out a bit longer, slicked back.

Pale skin and completing the look he donned dark sunglasses that reflected the frightened state of Giovanni.

He remembered who this man was. How could he ever forget?

John Bishop came back into his life again. After all these years.

”I hope you haven’t forgotten me. I worked closely with you from your time with us as a child.” John comments, hands still at his side as he took in the appearance of Giovanni.

John remembered when Giovanni was only a child. He was much smaller in comparison now.

But now Giovanni was grown. Still looking the same but he was obviously different. Older and muscles all toned out in the right places. From the looks of it he was being taken care of, healthy.

John opens his mouth to say something, but Giovanni beat him to it. “I-I remember you…Mr. Bishop.” He rasps out, head hung low, avoiding meeting his gaze, even if they were hidden behind those dark glasses.

John hums in acknowledgement, a tiny grin plastered on his lips for a moment. “Good. I was worried about that. It has been too long after all.” He noted, but Giovanni didn’t respond, his body shaking.

”You’ve grown.”

”Y…yeah. I have.”

John walks over, ignoring how the mutant before him tensed. Giovanni sharply gasps when John cupped under his chin and forced the turtle to look up at him. His pupils small and wild but he didn’t move away.

”According to my math, you must be at least a young adult. 18? 19?” He concluded, but he wasn’t expecting a correction or answer from Giovanni, letting him go as the yellow-bellied slider exhaled out a breath he was holding in.

Soon the sounds of heels clicking grabbed his attention. Madeline walks in with a soft and welcoming smile. “Hello, I see you’ve become re-acquainted with your other primary carer for your time here.” She informs, side eyeing John who crossed his arms, not bothering to even look at her in acknowledgment.

But Madeline didn’t seem to care as she focuses on Giovanni. “You’re in need for a check-up today.” She states, which had Giovanni shake his head in response. “N-no…no more needles.” He begs but Madeline only softly chuckles and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

”There will be no needles. It’s a simple check-up to make sure you’re all healthy. Right, Mr. Bishop?”

Both Giovanni and Madeline look back over to the agent who nods firmly. “Correct.”

Giovanni remains hesitant but he then thought that if he was going to somehow leave the facility, he would have to know where he was going. With a little nod of reluctance agreement, John Bishop strides toward him and took out handcuffs from his pockets.

He clamps them down over Giovanni’s wrist before walking away to the open door. Madeline stays beside Giovanni, leading the mutant out the cell and into the corridors once more.

The black panther yokai was present once more, gripping firmly onto the mutant to stop him from doing anything stupid. John led the way, Madeline standing behind Giovanni who was in the middle being dragged.

Giovanni darts his eyes around at each passing door, taking in every detail he could. The signs, the left and right turns. The number of cells nearby.

He gazed over to an open door, almost leaping out in joy when he spotted his gear and weapon being displayed on a wall. It was a storage room from the looks of it.

He was tugged forward, losing his concentration as he glanced up at the panther who could only growl lowly at him, making Giovanni somewhat cower under the intense gaze as he looks ahead.

They come to a set of two doors, John pushing them open. Giovanni was expecting to be greeted to another operation room like last time. But to his confusion, the room he stepped into looked more like an actual med bay.

Madeline walks past him and comfortably gestured to him to sit on the bed. Giovanni stood on the spot, not wanting to really listen to the people who kidnapped him.

He nervously casts a glance to John who stood in the corner, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as he silently and eerily surveyed the mutant.

”No need to be afraid.” Madeline softly cooed, giving her best comforting look which finally had Giovanni to take control of his legs as he anxiously made his way over and sat on the bed, his legs dangling over as he fiddled with his hands.

He watched with cautious anticipation as Madeline hums a soft tune, walking around and gathering tools for this check-up.

He was relieved that he didn’t see any needles. As they had promised him.

Madeline appears in his line of vision, holding a stick that you would see at the doctors for when they check your mouth.

”Open wide for me sweetheart.”

Giovanni gulps, but he hesitantly listens and opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue as he flinched when the wooden stick made contact with his stretched-out tongue. Madeline took out a small flashlight from her pocket and shined it inside the mouth. Giovanni was naturally nervous; shoulders tense and shaking as Madeline soothed him.

”It’s all right. You’re doing so good.” She praises before moving away and throwing the stick in the bin. “It’s only been 3 days, and your tooth is already regenerating. Fascinating.” She announced, looking rather surprised and pleased with the outcome.

Giovanni didn’t say anything, closing his mouth and keeping a watchful eye on Dr. Brookes. She returns back with a blood pressure monitor, gently wrapping the blood pressure cuff around Giovanni’s arm as the cuff started to compress.

”Blood pressure is high. But I assume that’s because you’re still anxious.” She noted, gazing back at Giovanni who lowered his head to avoid eye contact. 

She takes the compression blood pressure machine off his arm, placing it back into its spot on a desk. “Open your mouth once more for me.” She advises, holding a temperature thermometer. Giovanni listens as he felt the thermometer placed in his mouth.

He waits a few seconds before the thermometer was plucked out. Madeline himself and nods to herself. “Temperature normal for a turtle.” She spoke out loud, listing off everything she was doing.

This went on for a bit, doing the all the ‘necessary’ things that one would do in a simple check-up. No needles were present, which only had Giovanni relax a bit.

”Almost done. I’m going to feel around your body to make sure all the bones are intact.”

Giovanni flinched when she got close to him, moving slightly back for distance. Madeline hums and gently settled her palm against his cheek, rubbing her thumb in circles to ease the skittish mutant.

”Relax Giovanni. It won’t hurt a bit. Perhaps some discomfort, but it’s all necessary.” She explains, waiting for Giovanni to relax at her touch.

When his muscles weren’t as tense as earlier, she began to feel his arms. Taking her time with him. Moving her fingers up and down and around his toned body.

She did the same on the other arm. She traced her hands up along his plastron, making Giovanni shiver as she placed two fingers alongside his neck and his jawline. ”Tense here. I see you’ve gotten into a few fights before being brought here.” She noted, but Giovanni didn’t question as to how she knew that.

Her hands leave his neck before touching his thighs, making Giovanni yelp when she gripped his skin slightly. Shaking at her touch as he closed his eyes tightly when she began venturing her curious hands around his legs and lower body.

She was getting a bit too touchy for his taste, but he didn’t want to show weakness. Not in front of his captors. She eventually left his legs and moved around to go behind him, leaning him forward as she traced along his shell.

But that didn’t take much time as she hums and walks to a desk, jotting down her observations on a piece of paper that was attached to a clipboard.

”All done. See? A simple check-up. We’ll be monitoring you and—“

She began to explain but stopped when she heard a quiet sob. She turns around and saw Giovanni shaking, curling up slightly as tears rolled out his eyes.

Madeline approached him and rubbed at his shoulder soothingly. “Oh dear, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She inquired, as she glances up at John who made no move to comfort the turtle.

“Home…I-I wanna go home. Please…” Giovanni begs, he didn’t want to be here anymore. He never did. He tried to stay strong, but it was very overwhelming for him to take in.

He didn’t even hear or see John move from his spot until he felt a firm hand grasp his other shoulder. Followed by John’s voice whispering in his ear.

“You are home, with the E.P.F. Or did you forget S129?”

Giovanni stared down in silence, his body felt limp and heavy. This was his home?

How though…? This place didn’t have his brothers or father, no friends around to come and visit him.

But he was raised here from his time as a baby. Was this place technically a home to him?

“Take him back to the cell.” John gives the order to the panther yokai who had been standing near the door. They pull Giovanni off the bed and forced him to stand. Dragging him out the room.

Giovanni didn’t fight back. Lost in his own thoughts.

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What's this? Such a quick update already!

I APOLOGISE FOR ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES THAT WERE MADE, I TYPE PRETTY FAST AND OFTEN DON’T SEE THEM UNTIL I ACTUALLY PUBLISH THE CHAPTER. THEN I’D TRY AND FIX ANY MISTAKES WHEN I SEE ONE.

quotev - 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

Ao3 - 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

First chapter here

Next chapter here

[atomic87]

my hal came in finally 🥹🥹🥹🥹

[forwards-beckon-rebound]

jason todd with a partner who’s afraid of guns

ft. gn!reader, mentions of guns (obviously), other weapons, potential home break ins, just jason being a little paranoid but we love him for that anyways

i imagine he would already have his vigilante and personal life very separate (he's just a guy :( who wants some normalcy and domesticity)

so i don't really imagine him letting his partner see much of his red hood persona

like he's not exactly bringing you to fights or anything even remotely dangerous

so, knock on wood, you’ll never have to see him actually shoot anybody, but he will still try to find ways to keep you safe when he’s not there

probably soooo very very protective of you, like even if he was practically in love with you, would hesitate to start a relationship until he's sure that his enemies won't have a way to use you against him

he's going to like one safe house to store his stuff and then probably another one just to throw people off of his tracks before he heads to your place

i think if his partner wasn't afraid of him guns at home, like is just scared of handling them, he would probably have one on him when he's going home

to protect himself because he could be attacked anywhere and also in case something happens at home (his worst nightmare is walking home to an empty apartment when he knows you should be home and in bed)

and he normally would have a stash of weapons in the house, including guns, in case either of you have to defend yourselves

like preferablyyyyyyy he teaches you the basics like how to load a gun, turn the safety on and off, and shoot, but if not there are plenty of other weapons to choose from

and he’ll let you know where they all are (it’s not hard, like you’ll probably run into a few on accident throughout the day anyways) and will tell you where the guns are so you can avoid them if you so wish (he’ll probably have them in case he’s home and needs them though)

super paranoid guy but considering everything he's been through and how many people he's antagonized in gotham, makes sense

however, if his partner is afraid of even having them lying around, he's definitely willing to make some changes. he still uses them while he's fighting, but subconsciously, he might be less likely to reach for them

he's not bringing any guns home (probably just settle for some knives, idk why but he seems like he would steal batarangs for funsies so he might have some on hand)

like he’ll drop off his guns when he gets to one of his safe houses and then arm himself to the moon with other stuff (sorry again i fear he is a little paranoid but like it’s understandable)

as far as weapons in the house...i think he'll still have a few guns, just in case, but he'll make sure it's not somewhere you could easily find them, like if you guys both have your own offices then he’ll leave them in his

honestly, for your peace of mind, he probably won't tell you the exact location, just lets you know that there are a few for life or death situations (unless you ask for the location, in which case he's more than happy to tell you)

so many other weapons though. i genuinely don't think he'd compromise too much on that one. again, if you don't like sharp objects or anything like that, at the very least, he is putting pepper spray in every room and a metal baseball bat

and probably some flares, smoke bombs, nonlethal stuff so you can run to safety if you don't want to deal with the assailant head-on, but best believe you’ll know how to use all of them very well

and there’s always self defence moves, although i think he prays that you never have to get to that point

why am i imagining jason practicing escape routes with you from different places in your apartment like it's some sort of fire drill

“okay pretend i’m the attacker and i come in through the window with a knife while you’re washing the dishes. what are you going to do?”

“cry?”

“no, sweetheart, remember, if you’re in the kitchen and they don’t have any long distance weapons then you go with escape plan C.”

“bitch how tf am i supposed to remember all of the plans.”

HE DOES IT OUT OF LOVE

will actually stress tf out if you don’t do it so uhhhhhhhhh yeah i’d start studying

will make you practice it every once in a while just to keep it fresh

and it’ll be random too because “crime doesn’t give you a heads up in gotham”

on the plus side if you have any weird requests he’ll probably feel bad and do them

like if you want fresh flowers in the house at all times? babe, he was going to do that anyways. onlt the best for you

you want to decorate the house in whatever style you like? here’s his card (being a crime lord does make good money)

doesn’t matter if he likes it or not, it’s only fair. you get to decorate your place with cute throw pillows, he gets to hide a few daggers under the sofa, same difference

or like if you want his location at all times? and hourly check ups?

honestly, he’s touched that you care about his safety as much as he cares about yours. he’ll make sure it’s encrypted so nobody can hack into your phone and see that, but he’s more than willing to whip out his phone in chasing down some villain to tell you he’s gonna be late for dinner or whatever

guys, at the end of the day, he just really loves and cares for his partner, and he'll do whatever makes you the safest and most comfortable

he has some…interesting habits but it’s all to make sure you stay safe

and he makes up for it by bringing home little trinkets that remind him of you and planning elaborate date nights and all of that cute stuff to show how much he cares

and who knows, if you still remember escape plan p maybe he’ll have a little treat planned!

[heliosunny]

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Adventurine x Reader

The moment the egg cracked open, you expected something simple. A creature, perhaps a loyal companion to aid you in your travels, something small, manageable. But as the smooth shell split apart, the air shimmered with a strange energy, and a shadow emerged from within.

A man.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and unfairly beautiful, he stretched as though shaking off centuries of sleep. Golden hair framed his face in wild, tousled strands, catching the light like threads of molten metal. His striking eyes, a combination of cyan and magenta, locked onto yours, vivid and sharp, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“Well, well.” His voice was smooth, indulgent, laced with quiet amusement. “Aren’t you lucky?”

Before you could even process what was happening, he moved. A strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into an embrace. His warmth pressed against you, a sharp contrast to the cool air of the room.

“I’m Aventurine~” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “And it looks like I’m yours.”

You knew what this was. You’d read about it before. Baby duck syndrome. The first thing a newborn creature sees, it imprints upon, forms an unbreakable bond.

You tried to step back. His arms didn’t budge.

“Aventurine” you said carefully, your voice wavering, “maybe we should-”

He chuckled, cutting you off. “There’s no need to be so stiff, treasure. You don’t have to worry.” His hand lifted, brushing strands of hair from your face. The touch was gentle. “I’ll take care of you.”

You swallowed. “That’s… not necessary.”

His smile widened. “Oh, but it is.”

“No need to be afraid” he murmured, tilting his head. “I already know everything about you.”

“What?”

His fingers trailed down your arm, slow and deliberate. “I was inside that egg for three days, listening. Watching. Learning. Every little thing about you.” His voice dropped to a whisper, almost reverent. “And now… I finally get to touch you.”

“That’s not—”

His thumb brushed over your pulse, feeling the rapid beat beneath your skin. A low hum of satisfaction rumbled in his throat.

“Excited?” He chuckled. “I can’t blame you. After all… you summoned me.”

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks.

You had put in the currency. You had pulled the lever. You had brought him into existence.

In his eyes, that meant one thing. You belonged to him. Panic rose in your throat, but before you could say anything else, Aventurine cupped your face between his hands, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“I’ll be good to you” he promised, his voice velvet-soft. “I’ll be everything you need. Everything you want.” His fingers pressed a little harder, just enough to make your heart hammer in warning. “And in return… you’ll be mine.”

Aventurine’s stomach growled. It was the first break in the tension since his… dramatic arrival.

His intense stare melted for a brief moment into something almost normal as he placed a hand over his stomach and huffed, looking mildly embarrassed.

You took the opportunity. If he’s hungry, then I have a reason to step away.

“I’ll cook something” you blurted out, turning toward the small kitchenette. “Why don’t you take a bath in the meantime?”

Aventurine blinked, then smiled lazily. “Taking care of me already? How sweet.”

You ignored the implication, already moving toward the ingredients you had. Not much. Barely enough for a proper meal, but you could make do.

Aventurine stretched, then smirked. “Guess I’ll take you up on that offer. But don’t miss me too much, alright?”

Oh, I won’t.

As soon as you heard the water running, you bolted. Not out the door, no, that would be reckless, but to quickly gather anything that would help. New clothes. A weapon. Supplies. An excuse to have some space from him.

The weapon shop was your first stop. If you were going to survive with him, he needed gear, something that would let him fight in the dungeons, earn his keep.

The shopkeeper eyed you as you browsed. “Buying for someone?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. He’s… new.”

That wasn’t a lie.

“Well, let’s see what he can handle.”

Aventurine arrived just as the shopkeeper was about to suggest something basic. He had changed into the spare clothes you found earlier, but they fit him loosely, still damp from his shower. His golden hair was dripping, and damn him, he still looked effortlessly elegant.

He immediately came to your side, standing just a bit too close. “You’re picking out a weapon for me?” His voice was teasing, but there was a pleased edge to it.

“It’s practical” you muttered. “If you’re staying with me, you’ll need to fight.”

“Oh? You want me to protect you?”

“That’s… not what I said.”

The shopkeeper, blissfully unaware of the tension, gestured toward a set of swords and daggers. “Here, try these.”

Aventurine barely spared them a glance. Instead, his fingers brushed over a dark-bladed dagger with intricate carvings. The moment he touched it, a faint shimmer of magic pulsed through the air.

The shopkeeper’s eyes widened. “That’s—”

Aventurine flipped the dagger in his hand, a smirk playing on his lips. “Defense magic, huh? That’s a useful trick.” He twirled the blade effortlessly before giving you a sidelong glance. “See? I can handle myself.”

You frowned. He’s skilled. More than you expected.

Still, you paid for the weapon. Better for him to have it and use it for dungeon runs than… whatever else he has in mind.

After stocking up, you both headed home, passing through the market district. That’s when Aventurine’s sharp gaze locked onto something.

A crowd.

A gambling crowd.

People were shouting excitedly, coins clinking as dice rolled.

His lips curled in amusement. “What’s this?”

You tensed. “A waste of time.”

His smirk widened. “Come on, treasure. A little gamble never hurt anyone.”

“It does when you lose all your money.”

“But what if I don’t lose?”

You exhaled sharply. “Aventurine—”

Too late. He was already striding forward.

You groaned, following reluctantly. This was a terrible idea.

The moment Aventurine placed a bet, something strange happened.

The dice always landed in his favor. Cards always turned in his favor.

People muttered, eyes narrowing. “Is he cheating?”

“Not a chance” the dealer said grimly. “I’ve been watching. He’s just… insanely lucky.”

Within minutes, Aventurine had doubled, then tripled his winnings. He turned to you, holding up a handful of winnings with a wicked grin. “See? I told you.”

You crossed your arms. “It’s dangerous to win too much.”

His eyes glowed with amusement. “Why? Afraid someone might get jealous?”

Yes. But that wasn’t the real problem. The problem was him. The way he enjoyed pushing limits.

You grabbed his wrist. “We’re leaving.”

Aventurine blinked, then smirked. “Oh? Possessive already?”

Still, he let you pull him away, even as the crowd buzzed behind you.

As you walked back home, Aventurine toyed with a golden coin between his fingers, glancing at you with unreadable intent.

“You know…” His voice was low, teasing. “Maybe I really am the luckiest man alive.”

You didn’t respond. But as he slipped his free hand into yours, holding it far too tightly, you realized something chilling: He wasn’t talking about the gambling.

You woke up to an empty room.

For a moment, panic gripped your chest. Had he left? Had he changed his mind?

But then, the glowing screen of your status interface caught your eye. Your points had skyrocketed. You blinked, staring at the numbers increasing in real-time. What the hell? The only explanation was him. He had gone out and soloed a dungeon. You exhaled, rubbing your temples.

With a sigh, you moved to the kitchen, deciding to cook breakfast while you had the chance. Whatever his reasons, he had at least earned a meal. You prepared an extra plate, leaving it on the table for him in case he returned while you were out.

You needed time to yourself.

After everything that had happened: the imprinting, the suffocating presence, the gambling spree,... You needed some space to breathe.

As you strolled through the bustling streets, you found your gaze lingering on pet owners. Dogs trotting beside their humans, birds perched on shoulders, even a few rare magical beasts following their companions. It was normal. Yet your egg had spawned a man.

Why?

Your fingers tightened around your bag. Was this normal? Was there something wrong with that machine?

By the time you returned home, you heard voices.

Aventurine’s smooth, teasing tone. And a woman’s sharp, irritated response.

He’s arguing with someone?

You stepped inside, eyes immediately locking onto the scene.

Aventurine stood near the entrance, arms crossed, expression smug. His golden hair caught the light, making him look deceptively relaxed. The woman in front of him looked less amused. She had striking violet eyes, dark robes, and an air of authority. A merchant? A guild member?

“You owe us” she hissed.

Aventurine tilted his head, all mock innocence. “Do I?”

The woman’s gaze flickered to you as you entered, lips pressing into a thin line.

“You!” she said flatly. “You’re his keeper, aren’t you?”

Before you could respond, Aventurine’s smile sharpened. “Now, now,” he murmured, stepping toward you. His hand landed firmly on your lower back, pulling you close. “There’s no need to drag my dear partner into this.”

The woman scoffed. “So you haven’t told them, huh?”

You looked between them. “Told me what?”

Aventurine sighed dramatically. “It’s nothing serious. Just a little misunderstanding.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “He cheated.”

You froze. “What?”

Aventurine chuckled. “That’s a strong accusation.”

The woman crossed her arms. “You won an unnatural amount of times. The casino wants their money back.”

You knew he was lucky. But was it really cheating?

You turned to Aventurine, watching the way his lips twitched in amusement.

“…Did you?”

He grinned. “Define cheating.”

The woman huffed. “Listen. Just return the winnings and we won’t cause trouble.”

You hadn’t touched a single coin from his gambling spree. You had no interest in dirty money, and you had told him as much.

You turned to Aventurine. “Just give it back.”

His grip on you tightened.

“I don’t think I will.”

The woman scoffed. “Typical.”

Aventurine sighed, shaking his head. “Come on, treasure. Why should I give up something I rightfully won?” His eyes glinted with amusement—and challenge. “Unless, of course, you don’t trust me?”

Before you could argue, the woman straightened. “Fine. If you won’t return it, then prove it wasn’t a fluke.”

Aventurine raised a brow. “Oh?”

She smirked. “A wager.”

His expression lit up with interest. “Now that,” he purred, “sounds fun.”

You barely resisted the urge to slam your head against the wall.

Aventurine’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “A wager, huh?”

The woman smirked, arms crossed. “That’s right. A proper gambling match. If you win, you keep the money. If you lose, you return every last coin.”

Aventurine thrived on risk, thrill, danger—this was just entertainment to him. But if the casino was challenging him, that meant they weren’t convinced his luck was natural.

You saw the way Aventurine was looking at you: expectant, testing. As if he was waiting to see if you would stop him.

“I accept.” Aventurine’s grin widened.

The woman exhaled sharply, clearly expecting this answer. “Fine. Tomorrow night. High-stakes table.”

You hated everything about this.

The woman gave you a sharp look before turning on her heel and leaving.

The moment the door shut, you rounded on Aventurine. “What the hell was that?!”

He chuckled. “Oh, treasure. Don’t look so upset.”

“You just agreed to gamble against a casino! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?!”

He hummed, stepping closer, hands sliding into his pockets. “Dangerous? Or exciting?”

You scowled. “Aventurine!”

He caught your wrist, gently but firmly. “You doubt me.”

You hesitated.

“I don’t—” You exhaled sharply. “I don’t trust them. They wouldn’t offer this bet unless they had a plan.”

Aventurine chuckled, tugging you closer. “And yet… you’re worried about me.”

His fingers brushed over your pulse. “How sweet.”

You swallowed. “Just be careful.”

Aventurine smirked, pleased. “Of course. After all…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I wouldn’t want to leave you all alone.”

The casino was packed.

Golden lights flickered overhead, the air thick with tension and anticipation. Aventurine looked completely at ease, dressed in sleek black, looking dangerously elegant. His golden hair fell in loose waves, eyes gleaming like polished gems under the chandeliers.

You felt out of place beside him, but Aventurine didn’t let you stray. His arm remained draped around your waist, his fingers tracing small circles against your skin.

“You’re nervous” he murmured, lips dangerously close to your ear.

You stiffened. “I don’t trust this.”

He chuckled. “Then trust me.”

Before you could respond, the dealer motioned for the game to begin.

High stakes. One match. Winner takes all.

Aventurine’s smile was sharp as a knife.

The cards were dealt. Dice rolled. Coins clinked.

Aventurine played with effortless confidence.

Every turn, every call, he moved like he already knew the outcome. As if fate itself bent to his will.

The other players grew tense. Whispers spread.

A final roll. A reveal.

Aventurine leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Well… looks like I win.”

Then the woman from before scowled. “This—this isn’t normal.”

Aventurine tilted his head. “Are you accusing me of cheating?”

The casino staff shifted, uncertain. They wanted to. But there was no evidence.

Aventurine turned to you with a pleased smile. “See, treasure? Nothing to worry about.”

You exhaled shakily.

But as you looked at the dealer—at the way his hands trembled, his expression grim, you felt a creeping sense of unease.

Because Aventurine hadn’t just won. He had shattered the game entirely. And for the first time… you wondered if his luck was something more than just chance.

The moment you both stepped into your old apartment, you knew, you couldn’t stay here anymore. Not after the casino incident. Not after the way people had started watching you both. The absurd amount of points and money Aventurine had earned made you both a target. And that was the last thing you needed.

You exhaled. “We’re moving.”

Aventurine raised a brow, lounging lazily on the couch. “Oh?”

You crossed your arms. “We have the money for a better place. It’s safer this way.”

He tilted his head, studying you. Then, slowly, a pleased smile curled on his lips.

“Protecting me, are you?”

You stiffened. “I—no. I’m protecting myself.”

Aventurine only chuckled, stretching like a satisfied cat. “Mmm. Whatever you say, treasure.”

With a new apartment secured, you had another thought.

Aventurine looked like a disaster.

Not in the way you wanted, he was still frustratingly beautiful. But his clothes were either borrowed, stolen, or just not fitting his presence.

So you dragged him to the mall.

Aventurine smirked as you sifted through outfits, your eyes sharp with concentration. “I never took you for the type to play dress-up.”

You rolled your eyes. “You stick out too much in your usual mess. If we’re moving to a nicer place, you should at least look the part.”

He hummed in amusement but let you work. And, of course, the moment he tried on anything remotely elegant—he drew attention. Women whispered. Staff fawned over him. A group of admirers even giggled near the fitting rooms, watching as he adjusted a sleek black suit.

Aventurine was dangerous in a tailored outfit—sharp lines, golden hair effortlessly styled, eyes glinting with mischief. He thrived under the attention.

You, however, had enough.

Leaving him to entertain his admirers, you slipped away to the nearest bar. You just needed one drink. One moment to breathe without him watching you so closely.

The bar was dimly lit, quiet despite the low hum of conversation. You ordered something strong, letting the burn distract you from the ever-present weight of Aventurine’s presence.

But, of course…

It didn’t last long.

A glass clinked onto the counter beside you.

“You wound me, treasure.”

You tensed.

Aventurine slid into the seat beside you, smirking. His new outfit fit him far too well, making him look even more untouchable.

“You ran off” he murmured, swirling the drink in his hand. “Were you jealous?”

You scoffed. “I just needed a break.”

He chuckled, taking a slow sip. “And yet, here you are—drinking alone.”

You didn’t reply.

Aventurine leaned in, voice dangerously soft. “What am I going to do with you, hm?”

You ignored the shiver down your spine and ordered another drink.

The world blurred.

You hadn’t meant to drink so much, but Aventurine kept pushing.

Another glass. Another toast. Another teasing smile. By the time you stumbled out of the bar, the streets swayed beneath your feet.

Aventurine, of course, was perfectly fine.

He caught you easily, holding you upright with effortless strength.

“Tsk, tsk,” he hummed, lips brushing against your ear. “Look at you. Completely at my mercy.”

You hated how warm he felt.

Aventurine sighed, lifting you into his arms without effort.

“I guess I’ll have to take care of you, won’t I?”

You barely registered the journey back.

Soft sheets. A familiar scent. The feeling of being lowered onto the bed. Aventurine’s fingers brushed your forehead, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear.

“…You shouldn’t be so reckless, treasure.”

Your vision blurred. “M’fine…”

He chuckled, low and dark. “No. You’re really not.”

You were slipping—consciousness fading.

But just before sleep took you, you felt it.

A hand on your cheek. Aventurine’s voice, barely a whisper.

“…You don’t even realize, do you?”

A slow, deliberate sigh.

“I was always meant to be yours.”

---

Visit - Lucky Egg series

[Phainon]

[ineylesian]

— FELL ON BLACK DAYS

AVENTURINE X FEM! READER

AO3 | NAVIGATION

WORD COUNT — 9.5k

WARNINGS — spoilers for penacony’s storyline, enemies (??) to lovers, slowburn fr (it gets good i promise) mentions of genocide, mentions of child exploitation (not explicit), weapons & violence, smut, fem anatomy reader, sub!aventurine, mentions of traumatic events, one bed troupe

SUMMARY — Risk. It’s the word Aventurine lives by, a motto that claws at your heart when he’s gone. A reality that spills tears when he closes the door to your apartment, leaving only the ache of your heart in his absence. A danger that never guarantees the next time he chases his destiny will not be his last. 

You will never fight to change it, because that’s all it is. Destiny.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — AHHH i love aventurine so much he made me write again <333 i will defend this man to the end of the earth i swear. also holy word vomit, this is officially my longest piece!!

“BREAKING NEWS: Reports incoming that the International Peace Corporation has been seen with an employee suspected of Avgin origin from the planet Sigonia-IV. All habitants from this world were thought to have been wiped out or lost to the galaxy, so the appearance of this mysterious individual has grasped the attention of–”

The broadcast slowly fades into the background, overtaken by the synth and snare of a song that lightly shakes the ground at your feet. 

Sometimes you’re better of dead–

“Oh, you think you’ll be an asset? You’ll have to learn to make tough decisions on the go here if you want to succeed, so tell me…”

There’s a gun in your hand, it’s pointing at your head–

“You want to help this clan? Help claim this world and rid it from the remaining filth that roams?”

There’s a piercing screech amidst the bar, the high pitched wail of the speaker blasting the music fighting against the volume. A few seconds pass before the song picks back up again, a few lyrics skimmed through.

Which do you choose, a hard or soft option? (How much do you need?)

In a West End town, a dead end world, The East End boys and the West End girls–

“...”

“Before your initiation, you must make a prayer to the winds and mountains. Do you swear to devote your thoughts and beliefs to them, and reclaim the glory of Sigonia-IV?”

We’ve got no future, we’ve got no past

Here today, built to last–

“I swear.”

The bass fades and you’re left standing amidst a crowd of chatting people, some high on buzz, others passed out beside the restroom. Your eyes slowly fix forward, coming to a halt as the masses shift in formation, curving in a circle around the biggest table in the casino. Lined with forest green felt and red chips, hands bang against the surface joined in a cry of frustration. 

“God damn it. This is rigged!” A player screams, hot-faced and teeth grit. “YOU!”

He stomps his way around the table, stopping at the dealer’s chair, failing to gain any attention despite the magnitude of his boots on the floor. In retaliation, the man takes a fistfull of the dealer’s hair, spinning him violently around and grabbing the collar around his neck.

Seldom have there been times where you didn’t see him in this sort of setting, a man with glasses that carried the same orange tint as the drink in his hand, die mounted between his fingers as he speaks with a wealthy patron. His words weave like velvet on a fine tailored suit as he invites you to play a game of chance, and before the game has even begun, you’ve lost.

His name is Aventurine, and, just as his reputation precedes him, the corners of his lips turn upward as you enter his field of view. He is never one to be down on luck.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to exit the casino. The drinks have riled you up a bit too much, and I’m afraid you’re no longer sober enough to keep playing.”

The smell of outlandish alcohol hits your nose in a foul wave as he turns, rudely shrugging your hand off of his shoulder. 

“And who do you think you are? Protecting this weasel like that.” You take a step back as he advances, completely abandoning his grip on Aventurine as his gaze focuses on the emblem tailored to your shoulder. “You’re in on this scam too, aren’t you? Fuckin’ IPC, always looking to take money from people.” A sizable crowd has gathered at this point, and with that, guards are quick to stand at your side. You tilt your head to the side, extending a hand to gesture at the coat draped over his empty chair.

“You may gather your things and leave now, sir. Refusal to comply will result in you being forcibly removed.” 

A few more seconds of seething stares pass before he grumbles an insult toward you and rushes to gather his things, attempting to push the guards following him away. You sigh, turning to the dealer, who is now comfortable in his chair, feathered hat placed neatly on his lap as he shuffles the pool of cards pushed his way.

“Alright folks, now that’s over with, how about another–”

“Mr. Aventurine unfortunately won’t be able to join you all this round.” You quickly cut him off, laying the newly layered deck of cards onto the table. “May I have a word, please?”

The blonde takes a glance between you and the rest of the patrons at the table before nodding, allowing a charismatic smile to decorate his face as he slides the cards forward. 

“Of course. Miss Antonia, would you please find another dealer to step in for the remaining games?”

He gathers a kind nod from a nearby waitress, before turning to follow you outside of the casino. As the door opens, strong drafts of icy wind blow against your face, and you hear a shiver from behind.

“Sheesh, couldn’t we at least have talked inside? I didn’t come prepared to stand in the cold…”

You send a look his way, and Aventurine’s hands rise, lips pursed in faux apology. He pushes his glasses farther into his nose bridge as you lean against the casino’s exterior wall, shielding yourself from the chill. It’s clear he’s not taking you seriously, stifling out a yawn and rubbing his eyes before he even spares you a glance.

“Here to lecture me about the, wait…” His eyes suddenly narrow, honing in on your uniform. “Who are you?”

You remain silent, watching as he taps a few fingers against his forehead, thinking. The talisman of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department sits firmly laid into your uniform. A smoothly carved onyx, inferior to the cornerstone you know he possesses and certainly lacking in power. His eyes linger on the stone for a few moments, biting the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head back up.

“Never seen that stone before..” He says after a few seconds, voice substantially lower. “What rank are you?”

His gaze is opaque, on guard. You resist the urge to bite your lip, figuring lying in this kind of situation wouldn’t be the best decision. Subconsciously, you bring a hand up to your stone, adjusting your coat flap before bringing it back down. 

“P39.”

His eyebrows form a sharp line, but his lips remain flat. The lens behind thick shades linger on the stone, burning into the lights that reflect off of the darkness. He’s never seen someone who isn’t a part of the Ten Cornerstones wear something like this, so who are you?

“If you’re here to try and convince me to do something, I’m not interested. I’ve had enough orders drilled into my head since I came to Jarilo-VI.”

His forefront is confident, but you can see the hand that lingers at his side, struggling to stay put. It reeks of mild uncertainty, and a lack of security. He doesn’t feel safe when he’s not in control.

“I’m here to tell you that your assignment’s changed.” Your response is straight and to the point. There’s no room to betray any underlying feelings of guilt you may have from years passed. “You’ll be with me and my team, we’re going to the Loufu in three days to sort some business out. I suggest you finish your deals here before we go.”

“Well then.” Aventurine clicks his tongue, mild annoyance riding the smile that forms on his lips. “Let’s acquaint ourselves then, shall we? You must know who I am, so please allow me the pleasure of returning the favor.”

A small passage of frosty air rises into the atmosphere as he breathes, hand extending in formality. You take it, slowly shaking, taking in the defensive rise of his shoulders. It seems he has zero tolerance for strangers.

“Nice to meet you, Aventurine. They call this stone the onyx.”

–

The Interastral Peace Corporation only takes workers to be strong-minded and just as toughly willed. In the Strategic Investment Department, greed is a virtue, and wanting nothing but it all is a prayer. Those who earn their spot as a cornerstone will stop at no means to chase their desires. 

Aventurine values risk, but he always loves to have control in his corner. Without control, the chips in his hands are of no use, and his bargains crumble beneath him. 

A gambler's true nightmare, sitting right between his eyes.

Your relation to him is a true mystery, despite all of the digging he’s been doing after arriving at the Loufu. Despite the numerous deals you’ve closed together, he still fails to know anything about you, other than the fact that you have quick wit and fascinating knowledge of the universe. He won’t dare approach you directly, his inhibitions are too high and he knows too little.

However, there’s something off about you and that stone of yours. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen before.

“Does the IPC really need that many funds to perform a vitality check on the Sky-Faring Commission? From what I remember, this is nearly triple the amount of last year’s fee.”

“Well, Helm Master, from what our reports say, you had agreed to the accumulation of interest based on reports of safety in the Loufu. Based on recent events, there has been a substantial raise in alarm concerning the safety of the citizens here. We hope you can understand.”

Aventurine unfolds his hands, sliding a glossy black dossier over to the woman known as Yukong. After skimming over the first page of analysis, she sighs, and places her hand over the cover.

“Is it possible that we could touch bases on this later this week? I need time to look over these documents and discuss them with my team before making any decisions.”

Biting back a groan of exasperation, you nod, politely shaking her hand and bowing your head when she stands. What you thought was going to be a quick excursion of debt collecting had turned into two long weeks of debate, and you’re starting to lose sleep. After Yukong exits, you run a hand through your hair, allowing the flow from the outside to flood your ears..

You can admit, the place they chose is certainly impressive in its theatrics, blooming with tall fountains of pristine water and a live band of foxians playing classical music on a mahogany stage. 

After a few minutes of jotting down notes you find yourself leaning against the bar’s edge, elbows cool against smooth wood. Your thoughts swirl like the vibrato of the woman singing a cover of a local song in a language unknown to you, but it’s calming, and you begin to itch with the desire to order a drink.

The waiter polishing glasses near you seems to pick up on your wants, quietly gesturing with her hand that she’ll take your order.

“A Rose in Rain, please.”

She makes your drink at an astonishing speed, sliding the glass next to your hands with a smile. You stare at the royal blue liquid sitting at the rim, contemplating if the hangover will be worth it.

Aventurine eyes the finger that rests along the base of the glass, humming quietly to himself. He figures there’s no better way to get to know someone than through a few drinks.

“You gonna drink that or keep staring at it?”

You turn your head, watching as he slides onto the barstool next to you. He raises his three outer fingers, ordering a small glass of Wintry Garden before turning to face you.

It’s been a long month with the Cornerstone. His approach remains restricted, evident in his snippets of sarcasm that he still doesn’t trust you. Your situation is… unusual, so you tolerate it. However, there still lies a fear within that he’ll go deeper than what’s for his own good.

“Do you usually drink? Or are you afraid to spill your guts?”

His words drip with conviction, blindly accusing you with the corners of his mouth tilted upward. It’s been too long, and he still doesn’t know a damn thing about you other than the stone you wear. He needs to flip this in his favor, fast.

Aventurine’s fingers drum against the bar’s edge as he picks up his drink, taking a small sip. The slight tilt of his head inclines you to start yours too, drinking half of the tall glass in one swig. His eyebrows raise in surprise when the drink hits the table, taking all but a few seconds to completely down the entirety of its contents, a resounding clink following.

When you don’t rush to finish your own drink, Aventurine chuckles, crossing his arms as he turns to face you fully. He’s eyeing you, daring smile plastered on his face.

“What, scared?”

He’s challenging you. And it works, since your drink is empty and you’re ordering a second round in a matter of seconds. Fizz sluggishly bubbles down your throat, followed by rich spots of thick, clear syrup.

A few drinks is all it takes for you to begin feeling lightheaded, pressing a palm into your eye to try and alleviate the nausea. Aventurine is at least 6 drinks in, setting down his next with an exaggerated sigh. Raising his hand for another, he lightly dings his glass against yours, the scent of redsunset sauce high on his breath.

“Let’s talk, Onyx.” He remarks, placing his hands on the table as the bartender comes over. “What’s the real deal with you? How come I haven’t seen you anywhere in the IPC and you show up in my faction one random day?”

You cough, attempting to clear your throat before you answer. It’s tough to keep your resolve with the amount of alcohol in your system.

“Maybe you’re just not perceptive enough, I’ve always been around.”

It’s clear he doesn’t like your answer. Another drink down.

“How many years have you worked for the IPC?”

“Almost 4 now.”

“What’s the entrance project that got you into the Strategy Department?”

You hesitate, and he grins, satisfied. This interrogation is going as planned.

“Well then? I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad, unless you’re more dangerous than you seem.”

It’s your turn to down a drink, wiping a small trace off of your chin as you think.

“Izumo.” You answer, short, watching as his fingers clasp tighter around the glass in his hand. Surprise.

“You really expect me to believe that?” He scoffs, a tinge of fire evident in his voice. “No one goes to Izumo any more, not after the slash.”

“You’d be surprised at the sheer amount of people that go to Magatsu no Morokami to uncover history. The IPC has their eyes set on valuable relics left behind from the war.”

He leans forward, dangerously close to your face. Past the thick orange lens of his aviators, you can see the irate spark in his eyes, alight with a plethora of shades you’ve never seen before.

“It’s not wise to lie to your superiors.”

You back away, sliding your card across the counter to the bartender. The moment Aventurine gets up to follow, you stop in your tracks, holding a small drive in his direction. You have some tricks up your sleeve, too.

“You’ll change your mind.”

He pauses, slightly bent over in a stupor of alcohol. 

“Best keep your cards close to your chest, Aventurine. Snooping in places you don’t belong bodes bad fortune.”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. Slowly, he takes the drive from your hand, leaning back onto the bar’s surface, eyebrows knit in thought. The world is suddenly too loud and amidst a flurry of harmonic bellows and blinding lights, you disappear. 

—

INTERASTRAL PEACE CORPORATION, STRATEGY INVESTMENT DEPARTMENT HQ | ONE MONTH LATER

“I guess I should apologize.”

Several weeks of absence. You look up from the papers on your desk, watching as Aventurine places your drive back on your desk. He straightens back up, waiting for you to respond.

“Understandable.” You answer, finalizing a document with a quick signature. “I would have had my apprehensions too.”

“Still do, but it’s better to work with someone you tolerate, right?”

You look up. He shrugs, eyeing the papers you have scattered around.

You had given him a flash drive with your report on Izumo, or, at least, a report on it. Sometimes things are left best buried. Still, Aventurine is certainly not stupid, and you know that. The final version of the report is vague and full of small incidents that contrast the planet’s true history There are inconsistencies, but he seems a little less hostile for the time being.

“Whatever you’re hiding from me, I intend to find out in due time. But I can’t do that if we’re at odds.” A hand is extended your way, held a little less straight and professional. “Let’s just try and hate each other a little less, huh?”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you take his hand and shake it for the second time. Aventurine smiles at you, a little less pointedly, but still on guard.

“Friends it is, then.”

His grip tightens slightly at the proclamation, leaving your veins seared and eyes wavering. As if you just made a deal with the devil. Your gaze drags along the fancies of his coat, figuring this is just another gamble he’s won. Something closer to certain death; the passion for it intrigues you.

Sooner or later you’ll suffer the consequences of a lie, you tell yourself. There’s no good outcome when striking up an agreement with a gambler, especially one like Aventurine.

Especially when the gambler is holding a knife to your throat.

The blade is cool, barely holding back from your trachea. Leather gloves hold a fistfull of your hair, shoving you down onto the filing cabinet you were sifting through moments before. Your eyes dart around, only able to see the edge of his shoe pressing against your ankle and the papers you dropped scattered across the floor.

“Just as I thought we were getting along.” His spits, words slithering around your chest and settling around your neck. “It was only a matter of time before you slipped up.”

Confusion spreads across your features, and Aventurine scoffs. His shoe digs deeper into your achilles, and you stagger against the metal. 

“What the Hell are you talking about?” Your words come out choked, gasping for air against Aventurine’s hold.

“That man, the one you had a long conversation with at the meeting tonight? You two seemed to get along.” Aventurine’s breath runs short out of anger, grip scalding against your skin. “You know him, don’t you?”

You close your eyes, tracing the night’s events back several hours. You only recall shaking two men’s hands, one being the esteemed Doctor Ratio’s, and the other the reason why you were down in the IPCs archives. He was dressed nothing short of what a gentleman would wear, offering you many commending words as he spoke of the recent inflation concerning the astral economy. However, you didn’t miss the brilliant stone embedded in the shell of his tie, reflecting vibrant colors you’ve only seen once in your lifetime. And neither did he.

“Pretty stone isn’t it?.” Aventurine continues, pressing your hands against the wall you’re shoved against. “I’ve seen it a lot throughout my lifetime, but I’m sure you know that already. Silly me, forgetting how easy it is to conceal them.”

He reaches for your shoulder, and you push back, using the slightly stagger of his feet to grab the blade’s edge, violently smashing your head into his and spinning him around. His blade traded for your stone. 

“I’d like to know…” His fingers flip the stone around, taking in the colorless mass, like a void amidst the stars. With a quick swipe of his hand, a lighter is held to it, engulfing the black in a dance of pale fire. Aventurine shakes the rising smoke off of him after a few moments, and your eyes narrow.

“...Why you have this?”

Turquoise meteorite, a brilliant blue stone infused with veins of a green just as bright. A kind of beauty that could only be found on Sigonia, tailored in a way only an Avgin could. The crafter spoke of a tactic that could hide the stone’s true color, while keeping its spirit alive with you still. 

Blood drips from your hand, staining your clothes a deep crimson. Gritting your teeth together, you slice a sleeve of your dress shirt off, slowly wrapping it around the wound. 

Aventurine stands, still, fury riding his waterline. His glasses sit beside his feet, hues of purple and blue wavering in the dim light. His hand slowly clenches, in and out, smoothing the cooled piece over his palm.

“What now, Katican?” His voice is quiet, gently ricocheting off of concrete walls. “Came to settle one last score, fulfilling your dream of tracking down the last Avgin? Oh, I bet you’re itching to use that knife right now.”

You step to the side, shaking bloodstained papers off of your feet. The knife drops to the ground, scraping cruelty against the ground as you kick it to a corner far out of your reach. A sharp intake of breath follows, and he steps back.

“I’m no Katican.” Your tone is low, locking eyes with Aventurine, his gaze darts from the knife to you. “The stone was a gift from an Avgin I saved during the second extinction.”

The air is stale, prickling with fear as you pass. Aventurine stands tall, but you know all too well that his greatest fear has come alight in this very room. The thought of coming face to face with a Katican chases him in his nightmares each dusk, a terror looming over his head akin to a raging storm. For once, he’s speechless, completely dumbstruck, mind racing to comprehend all that you’ve bestowed upon him. So little said, yet so great a burden unveiled. 

You would be right in telling him that such information is better left buried. Yet Aventurine knows only how to shatter the destiny that calls for him, and monumental change has left in its wake.

He opens his mouth to speak, yet words fail him. The hand holding the stone sits slotted behind his back, holding on to it as he would a birthright. A piece of his past that would never bless him again, sitting in the shade of Sigonia’s darkest nights, mimicking a color that does not belong to it. He wants to scream, take his knife and shove it so hard into your chest that it comes out on the other side. 

“I am on your side, Aventurine. I always have been.”

After forcing himself to swallow, he straightens up, but you’re already gone.

Distantly, a heavy thud hits the floor.

–

TUMBLEWEED, SALSOTTO.

“I’m Daisy, here this morning with Tumbleweed’s daily weather report. As usual, there’s sun about. However, a rude awakening is coming at around 6pm, as a pretty hefty thunderstorm is coming our way. Make sure you carry your umbrellas! And remember, as our beloved Fleetworld Marc says, thunder only happens when it’s destined.”

Destiny. The word lingers in your head as a pang of hunger hits your insides. Placing your last suitcase beside your bed, you set off for your hotel room’s kitchen. Reaching over and opening a cabinet, you groan when it reveals itself to be empty. 

Shrugging your coat over your shoulders, you pocket your room card. However, when you open your door, you’re quick to step back, feeling your heart rate spike instantly in shock. 

“Uh…” You take a few short breaths, regaining your composure. “Can I help you?”

The man standing before you is no other than Aventurine, chin receding as he looks at you with evident confusion.

“Can I help you?” He retorts, flipping his hotel card up to the light. “This is my room.”

You pull the exact same card out of your pocket, and the two of you share looks of bewilderment. After reading over the numbers on your card for what felt like the 50th time, Aventurine sighs, long and drawn out. 

“Well, this isn’t what I imagined when the front desk told me they could fit a room in for me.”

“I’ll go ask–”

You’re cut off with a swift wave of his hand.

“Don’t bother, I already did. They’re fully booked for the next week.”

Before you know it, both Aventurine and his bags are heading into your… your room. Exhaling, you mutter a quiet “okay..” and follow him inside. However, he’s quick to stop you once you make it past the bathroom, exaggeratedly pointing toward the wall to your right.

“This has to be some kind of joke, right?” Aventurine laughs, pulling his glasses off as if attempting to see better. 

His gaze is fixed on the bed sitting across from you. The single bed, accompanied with a single nightstand and a TV. In that moment, you both share a second groan, and Aventurine palms his face.

“I’ll figure this out.”

In a matter of moments, he’s gone, suitcases set haphazardly on the ground beside you. After a few minutes of thought, you head to the bathroom, soaking your hands in cold water. A brief inhale follows the icy chill that drags over your face, and you silently curse destiny. 

A few hours pass before Aventurine returns, shirt slightly ruffled, annoyance clearly displayed upon his features. The click of boots melds into the soft step of socks as he enters the kitchen, and you silently pass a bowl of fried rice you had been able to scavenge from a local grocery store over. Running a hand through his hair, he nods your way, sliding into the stool across from you and stopping the bowl with his fingers.

“As you could have guessed, there are zero people in this whole building willing to switch rooms with us.”

“Ah, yeah. Tourists are usually snobby.”

A hum signifies his response. Silence encompasses the room as a blanket would, save the soft clangs of silverware on bowls. You fix your gaze on the granite countertops, following intricately woven lines of mixed stone and drawing patterns in each section you come across. Becoming so immersed in the cracks, you don’t even notice when Aventurine passes you twice, once with his bowl, and once without. Seconds turn into minutes as you stare at the sheet of stone, only taken away from thought when he returns to the table, dressed in a black set of silk pyjamas. 

“What’s your story?”

Your eyelashes flutter, taken aback by the sudden inquiry. Raising your head, you push the now cold rice to the side and glance at the man across from you, fingers interlocked in wait. 

You’re shocked at the simplicity of it. The lack of accusations are a breath of fresh air when it comes to his words, typically cold fronted and dripping with malice. You would expect him to be angry still, perhaps even worse, giving that you lied, but you can feel the genuine curiosity lingering within. He seems to want to understand.

“I joined the IPC when I was young, almost ten years ago.” You start, fighting the urge to snap away from his gaze. “In my second year, word was out that there was trouble on Sigonia. It was thought that the IPC had it under control, but everyone knew there was something else coming.”

You pause. Aventurine remains quiet, attentive.

“I took it upon myself to convince my superiors to send me to Sigonia, despite their warnings. But… the work we did there, it wasn’t enough. I could help no one under the bounds of the IPC, so I sought out the Katicans. No more bounds. I was on the inside, where I could do things my own way.”

“Such lovely people, weren’t they?” He questions, apathy leaking from deep within. “Didn’t have a single care in the world other than themselves. They wanted to see everything burn, the women, children.”

“I have never seen a deeper hatred than what lies within them.”

You stop, again, toying with your fingers. Aventurine’s silence beckons you to proceed.

“I could only help so many, and they all ended up dying anyway. There was no escaping them, they were ruthless.” Your voice trails off, shaking your head slightly at the recollection of dark days in the wasteland they call Sigonia. No horrors match the ones that took place there. “I couldn’t imagine what you went through, any of you. And still, you’re alive.”

A word softly chants in your head. Destiny.

“Ever since I was born, I knew what was made out for me was never good.” Aventurine says, a hint of irony in his voice. “I fell on black days without knowing what it was like to live on the other side, and it’s been like that since.”

Flashes of your past mix in with current thought. You remember them, the Avign children, clinging to scraps of life even when it was evident their lives would soon end. Their eyes, just as brilliant as his, drowned by crashing waves, yet afloat on the prayer of hope. You imagine Aventurine was just like them, and you understand. Anger breeds and it seethes.

“How do you control it?” Such a simple question, yet so many answers. 

“I put it all into risk. Every single last bit of it. I gambled, and I won.” His pointer finger gently hits the table, and he raises his hand to wave it through the air. “I survive, and I bet again.”

“A bold motto, I must say.”

A small smile graces his features, shrugging lightheartedly.

“Luck seems to be on my side.”

You look to the side at the sound of a crack, noticing that rain has started to fall. The sky is obscured by deep grays, and the rumble beckons you to the sliding door separating you from the balcony. The crash of drops on concrete is soothing to your ears, bestowing a peace upon your heart you’ve failed to find for a while now. The serenity thickens as Aventurine steps to your side, the hues in a ring of his eyes reflecting the storm outside.

“I didn’t rain much back then.” He muses, gaze following the slow drizzle of fallen streaks on the balcony’s edge. “A privilege I can keep alive, now that I see it so often.”

You look to the side, meeting Aventurine’s eyes halfway. The corners of his lips turn up as he looks past you, covering his mouth as he stifles a yawn.

“Almost forgot about the bed.” He laughs, running a hand over his lower face. “You can have it, I’ll be okay on the floor.”

“Absolutely not!” You counter, head tilting in defiance. “I’ll be fine on the floor.”

“That would be extremely impolite of me.”

“As it would be for me…”

“Will you please just sleep on the bed?”

“I brought extra pillows! I’ll be more comfortable than you on the floor.”

Aventurine stops, sending you a half lidded look. You walk over to your suitcase, swiftly pulling the two large pillows you packed out, holding them at your sides. He walks over to you, snatching a pillow out from one of your arms before walking toward the bed.

“Or, how about this?” He shoves your pillow on top of the hotel provided one. “We put the extra pillows on the bed, and we both take a half.”

You purse your lips, and shrug in reason. After patting your pillow into place, you climb onto the bed, turning on your side to ensure you’re only taking up half of the bed. 

As you land on your other shoulder, you nearly touch noses with Aventurine. He chuckles, eyebrows raising in a teasing manner.

“It’s not often someone gets the chance to be this close to me.”

You groan, tugging the coarse blanket to your chest as you flip to your front. Stifling a few chuckles, Aventurine turns so his back is facing you.

Within a few minutes, quiet snores begin to drift through your ears. You sigh, and roll your eyes. And yet, only peace visits you in your dreams.

–

There have been few nights of your stay in Salsotto without rain. You’ve grown accustomed to the melodic pad of morning to the erratic roar of the night. This night is different, however, as dew is high in the air but the clouds of the afternoon are white, tainted with swirls of pink that bode better weather. 

You fumble with the pearls on your neck, carefully positioning them so they rest on your collarbone. All IPC events require a clearance of wear that is above the standard grade of formal, nothing short of extravagant, explaining the fine tailored suit you wear over your dress. Ivory on cream, a palette that bodes well when making business deals. 

Heels click on pavement, Tumbleweed’s National Museum in sight. Golden lights cast the establishment in an elegant glow, and the stream of classical cello welcomes your ears as you approach. Welcoming smiles are given your way as you enter the building, and you start a long night of shaking hands and business chatter with the esteemed mechanical aristocrat Screwllum. 

Leisure chats of the Genius Society’s next project flow in and out of wine chutes, with gentle opera joining new deals of funding. Another hand shake bodes your farewell to a philanthropist from the Herta Space Station, and you take a seat at one of the tables nearby, attempting to gather your thoughts. Sipping on a glass of sparkling rose, you start jotting down tonight’s business proposals onto your phone.

“Having fun?”

You look up, offering a smile toward your temporary hotelmate as you pull the chair next to you back.

“Was wondering when I’d run into you, Aventurine.” You say, clinking glasses with the blonde. “How many deals have you clinched tonight?”

“More than you, I bet.” You scrunch your nose, folding your arms after sliding your phone his way. Aventurine takes a look through your notes, smile expanding on his face as he progresses.

“...And it seems I would be right.” He exclaims, holding up two full hands. “Don’t feel bad. It’s the natural charm.”

“Mhm. Super natural, and not annoying at all.” You quip, earning a light jab in the shoulder.

Your past two weeks with Aventurine had proved to be an easier feat than you had thought. Beside the snoring (that you had learned to tune out), he had served as a good source of company, squandering your worries of lingering grudges as you spent more time around one another. You were grateful he had the will in his heart to see the reason behind what you had done, although you were a little surprised to see that he had forgiven you with such ease. 

Now, to you, he seemed to be an easy soul forced to carry burdens that were undeserving of him. 

“Hey.”

You’re roused from your thoughts by the gentle tap of Aventurine’s foot against your heel. He cocks his head, and you’re suddenly aware of the soft serenade filling the room, sung by an artist famous for this piece.

“Let’s get our minds off of business for a while. Care to dance?”

He straightens his jacket before standing up, beckoning you to do the same. You accept the hand outstretched, threatening to roll your eyes as Aventurine lays his other on your back, guiding you to the floor.

“Trying to show off?” 

Aventurine slowly spins you into a shroud of spotlight, laughing when your eyes go wide from the precision of his arms slowing you back down. 

“Of course.”

A look is shared between the two of you, and the dance begins. You recognize the piece, Seid Umschlungen, Millionen! (Be Embraced, You Millions!), and fall into a sort of waltz, slow, quick, slow. Your feet move in a symphony of chirping violin and cello vibrato, swirling carefully around other dancers as you step from box to box. 

The music quiets in a moment of repose, and you slow, winding your hands around his neck as you sway, in wait. 

“What’s with the long face?”

The question catches you off guard, as you weren’t aware that your thoughts had reflected off of your face. Lips pursing, you wonder whether taking the chance and ruining the moment is worth it, but the question nags deep within, festering like a cancer that will not cease until it is freed. 

“Do you forgive me?”

Strings echo and rise; Aventurine fits a hand behind your back before spinning you into dance. His eyebrows are furrowed lightly, as if your question had caught him off guard in some sort of way, but you both knew it was coming. Trust is an uncertain entity, not easily won or wagered, never certain in whether it’s attained or lost. Forgiveness is a trial for trust, and within inquiry lie a question of deeper truth that never made it to the surface

Do you hate me, Aventurine?

There have been many times in the passing days where you’ve been questioned about your time in Sigonia-IV. A test to determine whether your actions deserved merit. Recounting stories of countless lives you worked tirelessly to save at the risk of your own. Gallons of blood stained on your hands from the guilty, those whose karma ran the empty river beds of the desert red. 

So much, and yet nothing at all. It’s as if life is out to play some game of twisted fate, as you see all of the lives you could not save in the man right before you. The brand slightly hidden by his collar and wispy blonde, jewelry glittering at his wrists, irises that shine in the darkest of nights. Bewitching, yet so alive. 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He says, after some time. “You did a brave thing, I would be a fool to condemn you for it.”

Elation. It’s the feather touch of his hands, graceful in the way they dip you, nearly stopping time as you lay suspended. Your eyes lock, and you nearly drown in the glow of lavender and maya that stare back. Slowly, you feel one of his hands leave your back, dipping in his suit pocket and coming to rest in your vision. 

“Their memory is always alive somewhere. It’s up to us to keep it.”

You’re lifted to stand, and, amidst a rather slow spin, Aventurine pins the turquoise meteorite you’d thought was long gone onto the span of dress fabric above your chest. The resounding smile shared is trust.

You twirl and sink until the song comes to an end, stopping in a hold of hands and interlocked legs as orchestra is overtaken by voice. In the midst of fading spotlight, your breath evens out, and you find yourself following the gambler’s hand to escape the noise, elbows brushing on a balcony railing as you stare out into the fading daylight.

The sky is tinged with the baby blue of afternoon, arising into a deep interweave of violet and blush. A small, red casino chip flips between Aventurine’s fingers, rolling to sit between his pointer and thumb in short pauses.

“Got any tricks up your sleeve, gambler?”

Aventurine tilts his head to the side, invigorated by the rise of your lips, challenging, daring. The game you propose has risk, but what is life without taking leaps blind? Aventurine is sure he can see you now, after all.

With a flip of the chip and a wave of his hand, the red disappears, and a cool sensation lands firmly on your lips. His face is inches away from yours, fingers gently pressing against the chip that severs the distance between you.

“There are tricks to any risk, as long as you know what you’re doing.”

You raise your hand, sliding the chip from your mouth and palming it. When he doesn’t move, you tug on his collar, chin tilting upward to press your lips to his. The sensation is warm, gentle, as if you tread on ice that threatens to shatter. Honey sears your tongue, and you revel in the touch of his lips, soft as the velvet of his tie.

The moment is all too short, yet your mouth feels numb as you break away. In a moment of silence, you take the hand that sits lightly clamped around your wrist, sliding the chip in his palm and closing his fingers.

“I think I’ll be gambling a lot with you, Aventurine.”

His face moves closer, and you look down for a moment, noticing the hand that sits behind his back.

“I look forward to it.”

–

INTERASTRAL PEACE CORPORATION, STRATEGIC INVESTMENT HQ | TWO MONTHS LATER

Knock, knock.

“Coming.”

The door opens in fluid motion, revealing a room cast in gloom, tan shade, blinds drawn. 

“Hey, Aven.” You sigh, placing a chaste kiss on the blonde’s cheek. “Long day?”

“Long day.” He mirrors, offering to take the stack of papers off of your hands. You accept, slipping into the chair across from his desk. “Are you done for today?”

“Mhm.” 

Aventurine sits in his desk chair, shrugging the navy coat he sports onto the back. You stretch your arms behind your back, watching as deft hands undo the cross hatched tie representing the cornerstones from his collar. As he sets the piece down, his office phone starts to buzz, and he groans.

“Hello, this is Aventurine… Uh huh, what time?” He draws circles into ebony, holding the phone to his shoulder as he reaches for a notepad. However, as he clicks the pen in his hand, he nearly drops the phone, clearly startled. “Can you repeat that? Si- okay. I’m coming.”

In a flurry of movement, he stands, tie and coat snatched. 

“We have to go, right now.”

His tone is impatient, brimming with anxiety and unwilling to contest. You blink a few times before following him out of his office, grabbing his coat to hold onto as he fits his tie back to his shirt. The walk is silent, save a quiet “thank you” when you hand the coat over and the click of shoes on tile. Your nerves rise as you move, watching the way he frets with his gloves, tugging on the ends repeatedly. 

In a matter of minutes, you arrive at the boardroom of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department, stopping at the edge of the table as Jade turns around, followed by a concerned looking Topaz.

“Ah, Aventurine. What a surprise, I was sure not to include your name in the list of attendees tonight.“She sends a look to the white haired cornerstone, before directing her gaze to you. “Unfortunately, ranks below P40 are prohibited from attending this meeting. Guards, please see her out.”

You push against the guard that seizes your wrist, but are unable to resist as more come to his aid. After having the door shoved in your face, you’re dragged to the hallway outside of the meeting hall, forced to sit in wait. 

30 minutes. Another 30. An hour before the doors open, with Aventurine first, Topaz following close behind. He rushes past you, eyes on the ground, gone within seconds. Concern etches your features as Topaz runs up to you, lips pursed in distress,

“Aventurine-” She pauses, hand on her chest as she catches her breath. “Please go after him. You’re the only one that he’ll see now, after what just happened.”

“What happened?”

At your inquiry, she shakes her head, nodding her head toward the direction Aventurine took off in.

“It’s best you hear it from him. But, please, go see him tonight, he needs someone who’s close to his heart.”

Worry is quick to seep into your features, but you nod. A quick visit to his office and you’re off, taking the next jet off of Pier Point, to Klimt Republic. Weaving through streets and bullet trails full of life, you arrive in the heart of Klimt just two hours later, standing on the penthouse floor of an apartment complex worth more than the entire block you’re on.

Knock, knock.

Silence. You hesitate, and knock again. 

The shuffling of feet hit the floor, and you wait in anticipation, hands firmly at your sides as the noise stops. After a few moments, the door slowly opens, and you sigh in relief.

Aventurine stands, slightly hunched against the doorframe, hair disheveled, eyes red and irritated.

“Aven, what happ-”

A pair of hands seize your wrist, tugging you inside and slamming the door behind you. 

“Not now.” Your eyes widen at the plea in his voice, whole with a basal need that makes your chest tighten. “Please, just, make me forget about it right now.”

He looms over you, yet the shadow he casts is the antonym of threatening. Fear reeks off of him like vodka, as tears brim on his waterline. The feeling spreads to your skin like wildfire, and you feel him shake as you take his face in your hands, breathing shallow and scared.

The first taste of his lips is sweet, but the salt of his tears is quick to sink in. Clumsy and trembling, your bodies rock and hit walls as you make your way to his bedroom. You throw his coat to the side as he does yours, pushing him down onto his bed as you break for air. 

Aventurine’s hair flows out around him as he falls onto the mattress, shrouding him as a halo would. You chase after him, littering his neck with soft bites that elicit soft groans from the skin beneath. You unbutton half of his shirt before diving for his collarbone, reveling in the whines that respond as you nip and bruise. 

His hands reach for your pants, and you stop him before he can reach for your panties. 

“Ah-ah, hands behind your head.” Your voice pools out smooth, running a hand down his shirt. “Just relax and let me take care of you.” 

Gently pinning his hands above him, you let go, and he complies. You reward him with a kiss, messy and careless, pulling a string of saliva between your lips when you leave them. Your free hand pushes hair out of his eyes while the other works on the zipper of his slacks, watching as his fingers lock together as you apply pressure.

A shudder leaves Aventurine’s lips as you pull his boxers down, hand gently running along the length of his dick. Teeth tug at lips as you spit on your hand, working at his cock while running your free fingers along your folds. His neck lifts up as your hands move faster, and you grin, choking the noises that threaten to spill from your mouth at the display before you.

A sight like heaven, an angel laid out for worship. Aventurine’s skin is coated in a soft sheen of sweat that shines in the dim light, hand laid over one eye whilst the other remains barely open. Under the mix of hues that resemble wild fields of flowers, blush coats his cheekbones, a light to the darkness that blooms on his neck. The vulnerability of it makes your heart soar, and you feel a fire ignite in the depths of your being that fails to stoke.

The hand that toys with your clit lifts, prodding at Aventurine’s mouth as you lower yourself on his cock. Muffled whines vibrate around your fingers, and you moan at the fullness that envelops you. You swirl your fingers in his mouth, biting on your cheek as his tongue wraps around them, sucking on the sweet taste of you. 

His hands abruptly reach up, fingers winding and tangling in hair as they pull you down, replacing fingers with lips. The sensation is hot, as if an unquenchable balm has set your skin alight. 

“Feel good?”

“What kind of- ughh- question is that?” 

You clench around him as if it's instinct, and Aventurine calls your name as he would a prayer. His moans are akin to song, divine in melody, alluring in a way that shuts your mind off from anything else but him. One of his hands leaves your hair, fingers clumsily clamping around your own, holding you like fine china. 

The stretch of his dick does little to quench the hunger within, you crave more, a devout worshiper crying a hymn of need. Your motion becomes erratic, a twist of limbs and friction that siphons tears that streak down your cheeks, falling to mix in with the sweat on your lover’s face.

“Gonna-” Aventurine chokes on his own words, eyes shut harshly as he blinks back ecstasy. “Cum.”

Your words are lost to you, only managing to groan in response as Aventurine pulls you back to him. His lips seal over yours in a searing kiss, arms winding around your back to hold you still as your orgasm shakes you. White light flashes through closed eyes as you spasm around his dick, mixing with the cum that leaks inside of you. 

The room is quiet, save the howling wind of night and the dance of unstable breath. Blankets shuffle as you drop to Aventurine’s side, allowing him to drape your discarded shirt over your bare chest. Time seems to cease as you meet his gaze, touch serene as the plains of distant worlds as he encourages you to come closer. You accept, eyes closing for a moment, feeling the warm fan of his breath over your nose.

“The IPC is funding a project to excavate Sigonia.” The silence breaks, peace shatters and your eyes snap open. “Turquoise meteorites are rare, so they’ll scrape the whole planet dry until every last piece is gone.”

Your face falls, corners of your lips pulling downward. Aventurine’s eyes are half lidded, seemingly already accepting the fate of the planet he calls home. He refuses to look your way, eyes focused somewhere past you, the sorrow spreads and leaks into your soul as it opens further. A place so full of hatred and loss, yet a place that he will never be able to let go of. It burrows within the deepest neurons, refusing to snap and forget.

“You have to say something, Aven.” You pull at his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Whatever you have to do, I’ll help you.”

“The IPC doesn’t have time to listen to Avgin.” He sighs, hope stale on his breath. “Not even if it's the last one alive.”

You still, fingers falling to rest against his cheek. Aventurine’s eyes close, brows furrowing lightly against pale skin.

“Sigonia will fall, and only Kakavasha will remain.”

Defeat. It seems that what events occurred in that meeting room left no room for conversation. Guilt flows through your veins like it’s replaced the red, and your chest aches, latching onto the horror that no doubt holds sovereignty in his head.

Kakavasha. Blessed by the heavens yet cursed by the living world. Such a beautiful name that deserves no hell it endures. 

Amidst the quietude, Aventurine’s hand slithers under the blankets, latching onto your wrist. He traces skin, knuckles brushing against your own, coming to rest intertwined.

“Can we try something?”

You nod, and your hand is slowly lifted to the air, palm against palm between your chests. You’ve seen this motion back on Sigonia, yet it’s always remained distant to you, and the words echo in obscurity. 

“I’ll go through it once, and we can do it together.”

You nod, once more. Aventurine closes his eyes for a moment, reciting a prayer lost to you in time.

“May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… keeping your blood eternally pulsing. May your journey be forever peaceful… and your schemes be forever concealed.”

A brief pause passes. You sigh in unison, and lock eyes. A voice whispers within the depths of your mind, and you smile.

The memory is always alive somewhere. It’s up to us to keep it.

“May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… keeping your blood eternally pulsing. May your journey be forever peaceful… and your schemes be forever concealed.”

As the last words drift off of your lips, you bend your fingers, slotting them between his. Aventurine shares your sentiment; hope flashed in the gentle smile that graces his lips. Your eyes wander, and notice that a single tear trails down his face, disappearing into his skin as it rolls.

Outside, you hear the crack of thunder. You pull Aventurine in, and in your clutch, the downpour begins.

–

Some months later…

The chatter of voices on the phone rouses you from sleep, rubbing a hand over your eyes in annoyance as you come to. Light spills through drawn curtains and open glass doors, filtering the room in hues of honey and hazel. 

“Mhm. Alright, I understand. Let’s schedule the interview for today.”

Songs of canaries and mourning doves flow through the air, and you sit up, raising a hand to block out the sun’s gaze. Aventurine sets his phone down on the bedside table, stifling a yawn with his hand. You roll onto your side, hand propped up onto your chin as you soak in the sight of your lover.

His hair is slightly ruffled from sleep, bangs astray and cast into his eyes. Only the top button of his sleep shirt is buttoned, leaving lean, sun kissed skin on display. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know.” You roll your eyes, allowing him to pull you in for a kiss. “Morning. Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You hum, knowing full well tonight has been one of the worst nights you’ve slept yet. Aventurine sees right through you, but chooses to say nothing, opting to pull you forward so half of your body drapes over him.

Today Aventurine leaves for Penacony. And, seeing as he was called in for a meeting, he’s probably leaving even sooner now. 

He seems to read your thoughts, offering a comforting peck to the corner of your lips in apology. Your hands card through his hair, head resting against his collarbone. 

You have your apprehensions about Penacony, having heard whispers on the streets of mysterious disappearances of people in the world’s famous dreamscape. The IPC has had a limited number of run-ins with the family, leading you to assume a recent grounds of suspicion has arised, and Aventurine was chosen as the solution. In his eyes, it’s just another gamble of life or death.

You’re roused from your thoughts by a tap on your cheek, making you look up at him.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.” His words do little to soothe you, but you listen regardless. “The risks I take are always foolproof.”

Risk. It’s the word Aventurine lives by, a motto that claws at your heart when he’s gone. A reality that spills tears when he closes the door to your apartment, leaving only the ache of your heart in his absence. A danger that never guarantees the next time he chases his destiny will not be his last. 

You will never fight to change it, because that’s all it is. Destiny.

His phone rings, and the two of you groan before he gets up and tells the person on the other line that he’s on his way. You watch from his side of the bed as he throws his clothes on, grabbing two packed suitcases from the side of the bed before bending over to give you a kiss. The touch of his lips is bittersweet, nearly taunting as it is over before it even begins. You peck him again, running a hand over his hairline to straighten his bangs.

“Be safe out there, Aven.”

He smiles, so radiant it rivals the sun and all that it shines on. You think yourself blessed to see it survive.

“I will. Luck is always on my side.”

And he leaves. You turn to the window, awaiting the rain.

[pearlessance]

Locked Doors - Idle Threats [ii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — You leave your front door unlocked. The devil invites himself in.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt

SERIES MASTERLIST

[crossposted to AO3]

In truth, Joel is glad to be rid of you.

Not because he didn’t enjoy himself, but because he’d enjoyed the night with you too much. The two of you had fallen into an easy, respectful energy for the remainder of your watch. 

Joel discovers you’re quite funny when he isn’t the butt of all your jokes. And he knows you’re beautiful, painfully so—but when you smile at him, truly smile, it lights up your whole face and ignites a warmth inside him he can’t explain, that he doesn’t even want to think about. 

So, yeah, it’s a bit of a relief when the next two watchmen take over and you go your separate ways. Joel sleeps real heavy that night, more relaxed than he’s been since he set foot in Jackson.

Until Tommy knocks on his door that afternoon, that is. The moment Joel opens it his brother asks, “What the hell did you do to her last night?”

Joel feels his anxiety spike. Tommy knows him better than anyone else, and he’s not sure why he thought your tryst in the tree blind would ever be kept secret. And he knows he shouldn’t lie, but he’s too embarrassed, too afraid of his brother’s judgment. So he shrugs and says, “We…had a conversation.”

“Conversation?” Tommy laughs and shakes his head, pushing into Joel's house. He sits at the kitchen table beside Ellie, who’s shoveling a bite of scrambled eggs into her mouth. “Nah. Nah, I don’t believe that.”

Hesitantly, Joel asks, “Why not?”

“That girl has been a pain in my ass every single day. Someone has a complaint about her, or she’s hollerin’ about something or other. Never does as she’s told—fights Maria and I on everything.” 

You listened to him real well last night. Joel resists the smirk that tugs on his lips.

Tommy continues. “So, I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when she comes knockin’ this morning asking Maria if she can take the rest of Mike’s shifts. After she threw a big tantrum about having to cover one of them.”

No. No. Joel’s mouth goes dry. 

He can’t spend another night with you. He can’t. He’s not strong enough.

Ellie’s brows furrow together as she looks between the two brothers. “Who?”

“Strawberry scone,” Joel supplies with a casual wave of his hand.

“Oh, my future wife,” Ellie corrects. Then she turns to Tommy with a scowl. “Be nice when you talk about her.”

“She ain’t nice,” he counters. 

Joel remembers how nice you’d been, begging him for mercy, begging for his hands, his mouth, his cock. How nice it sounded when you apologized to him, using that warm, wet tongue of yours as a weapon. He swallows. “We just talked. That’s all.”

Tommy eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t push the subject and Joel’s grateful for it. Instead, he says, “Yeah, well—maybe y'all can have a conversation about her giving Maria a break. She’s been back from that run for a month and she still won’t even talk to her. Maria’s tried, but she pretends she can’t hear or see her. Like she’s invisible.”

Ellie chuckles but quiets herself with another bite of eggs when Joel turns and scowls at her.

It’s a valid concern, Joel thinks. Maria and Tommy have been good to the people of Jackson, have been good to you. Given you a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, the protection of monitored walls. All in exchange for a little physical labor. 

Joel doesn’t know what happened on that run for Maria’s barbecue flavored chips, but he understands being angry. Complete and total silent treatment is a bit harsh, however. And for weeks at a time? It’s childish, absurd—bratty. He gives his brother a reassuring nod. “I’ll…see what I can do.”

Tommy thanks him, steals a forkful of Ellie’s eggs, and bolts out of the door as she yells after him. 

Once he’s gone and the noise has quieted, the panic begins to set in. 

He can’t be in there with you for another night. Joel knows he has to do something, find someone to cover his watch. Maybe Bonnie will be willing to switch him for a day or two. Just until Mike returns, until Joel can control his errant desires.

“I’ve got some stuff to get done today,” he tells Ellie. 

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, just…don’t go far,” he says, evading her question. “And don’t go alone, either. Stay with Dina.”

He half expects her to make some witty remark, but she must see something in him that stops her. Ellie nods slowly and asks, “Everything okay?”

No, it wasn’t. Not even close. But there’s no subtle way to explain his turmoil, no words to make her understand that Joel was currently at odds with himself and his morals. That perhaps he’d damned himself, damned you, all for a single night of perfect bliss. So he shrugs and says, “Fine.”

Bonnie’s house is a short walk from his. And when she opens the door, Joel can see her son lying on the couch in the living room. His cheeks are red and he’s got his thumb in his mouth, staring off into space. He can’t be older than four, and Joel begins to feel guilty before he can even say a word. “Joel? Everything alright?”

God, what was with people and that question today? Joel looks away from the little boy on the couch and instead at his mother, who has the same blonde curls. 

He has to ask, doesn’t he? He has to. This is about more than just his peace of mind. It’s about your safety. Safety from him. And you deserve that, after all. Being a brat doesn’t mean you deserve to be preyed upon by an older man. 

So, Joel swallows and forces the words out. “Hey, Bonnie. I was just wondering if maybe you could switch with me tonight. I’ll take your watch today if you’ll take the night shift.”

Please say yes. Please say yes. 

Her green eyes soften, and Joel knows the answer before she speaks. “Oh, I…I’m sorry, Joel. It’s just that Sammy is sick, and…and I feel bad enough being gone all afternoon, you know? And I don’t want to leave him during the night. You can understand, right?”

He nods quickly, not wanting to make more of a scene than he already has. “No, yeah, of course. Completely. I’m sorry I asked.”

They say their goodbyes, and Bonnie suggests that he ask Greg instead. 

But that thought unnerves him even more than being alone with you himself. 

Greg is older than Joel by almost ten years, pushing sixty-five. And he doesn’t think he’s that type of guy—but Joel didn’t think he was that type of guy until he’d been left alone with you, either. 

Maybe he’s wrong, though. Maybe Greg has more morality. Maybe he’s not as bad a man as Joel. Maybe he has more resistance to the forbidden fruit.

Maybe you’re safer with him.

It’s because of that particular thought Joel winds up on Greg’s porch.

And Greg gives him that same sympathetic look Bonnie did, and Joel’s back to square one. “I’ll ask around, though,” Greg says. “See if anyone else is willing.”

Joel thanks him, and busies himself in the stables, in the armory, in anything that keeps his hands busy and his thoughts far from you. He sends a prayer to whatever god may exist, hoping Greg will find him and let him know someone is interested in his shift. Not that Joel would be deserving of forgiveness nor a favor— especially from anyone worth praying to—but it doesn’t hurt to try. 

Nightfall comes too soon and eventually, he decides that maybe it’s better to seek out the source of the problem. To tear out the rot by the roots.

You answer the door after the second knock. You’re leaning against the frame, wearing those jeans again—that dark wash denim that’s skin tight, a gentle stitch of gold down the seam of the pockets.

Joel wonders where you found them, wonders how it’s possible that he’s been reduced to finding so much sex appeal in a pair of jeans, for Christ’s sake. Your black t-shirt is cut into a low V shape, and your breasts are pushed up because of your bra, providing him with a view so tempting it hurts.

“I hear you’re trying to get rid of me,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “If you didn’t like me, the least you could do is say so. Kinda shitty I had to find out from Greg, of all people.” You turn away from him and walk inside, leaving the door wide open. 

It’s an invitation. But Joel hesitates, because he knows, he knows what happens when he’s alone with you. Knows just how far he’ll go, how much he wants it. He’s not sure if it’s desire or shame or excitement that coils around his spine, gripping tight.

But it’s rude, isn’t it, to refuse? It’s not like you’re doing anything to tempt him apart from existing. Joel can handle that, can’t he? He’ll just explain himself. Have a quick five minute conversation about why he needs to avoid you at all costs, why you cannot—cannot—be on watch duty with him for another day.

And then he’ll leave. Wipe his hands clean of the guilt, the sin, of you. 

Joel walks inside and closes the door behind him. “You need to tell Maria you can’t be on watch tonight,” he says. 

Your house is small but cozy, more personalized than the other homes in Jackson. Cluttered with things you no doubt picked up on some of your runs—framed photos of landscapes, whimsically shaped, half-burned candles, a crinkled and slightly water damaged band poster that reads The Bravery. The kitchen on his left is quaint, the counters occupied by stacks of old, worn books. There’s an old vase with a faded picture of a cat sitting on the stove, filled with mismatched utensils. A small, square table sits in the corner with two upholstered chairs and in front of one of them, a leather-bound journal sits with a pen beside it.

Joel suddenly, more than anything else, wants to know what’s in that journal. Thinks about sneaking in late at night to flip through it. It’s well loved, and he knows even from several feet away that inside of it is you. The parts you don’t share with others, the parts he desperately wants to unearth. 

“And why would I do that?” You follow his gaze and casually move to close the journal. You wrap the leather cord around it twice, pick up the pen, and toss both into an inconspicuous drawer.

“Because I said so,” Joel says sharply. He’s standing by the front door still, and his skin prickles as you close the distance. And for good measure, he adds, “Because you’re not feeling well. You’re sick.”

You’re standing so close now he can feel the heat of your skin, beckoning to him, pulling him in. You’re so magnetic that he doesn’t pull away when you grab his hand and place his palm against the side of your neck. “Does it feel like I have a fever?”

Feverish? No. Warm, soft, addictive? Yes. Joel can feel your pulse beneath his hand, strong and steady. He can feel himself losing the battle already. He pulls his hand away and closes it into a fist behind his back. “Stop,” he says. “We can’t do this.”

You snort but turn away to give him some much needed space. “You can’t, you mean.”

He steps forward on instinct and freezes. He can’t bring himself to retreat, but he has the strength still to keep from going to you, from seeking you out just to feel you in his hands. That has to be enough. Joel knows he needs to say what he has to say and leave, before his resistance withers into nothing. “People are already starting to talk.”

“People,” you mock. “You mean your brother?” When he doesn’t deny it, you continue. “Let me guess—he said something this morning, asking about what we did all because I said I would pick up a couple of extra shifts.”

Joel doesn’t mention the other things Tommy said, about you being a pain in his ass. Joel can relate to it. “He also said you’ve been blatantly ignoring Maria.”

“No fucking shit I’ve been ignoring her,” you snap. But your eyes widen as Joel’s whole body tightens, seeing the mistake. 

But he isn’t here for that. He’s not. If you’re going to be a foul-mouthed brat, so be it. It’s not his place to discipline you. It can’t be. “You need to give her a break. Maria’s done right by all of us.” 

“Why? Because you said so?” You laugh, and it’s a sick, maniacal sound that grates against his nerves. So different than the soft airy giggles he’d heard last night. “Cut the shit and be honest with yourself, Joel. You want me to be nice to Maria so you don’t have to hear Tommy bitch about me anymore and you want me off watch duty with you because you’re afraid of me.”

“Afraid? Of a little girl?” Joel thinks you're joking at first. But you’re not laughing anymore, and when he realizes you’re serious he lets out a long sigh of frustration. It releases the tension in his shoulders just enough to keep him from losing it. “You think you know everything, but you don’t.”

“Well I’m not wrong,” you say, brows raised. 

It’s the attitude that gets to him, the contempt. Joel can’t stand it. He wants to take you by the throat and force you up against the wall. But he doesn’t, using the last of his patience to keep his feet planted firmly on the welcome mat.

“It was so good,” you say, the cadence of your voice lowering to a near whisper. There’s a warmth in your eyes that makes his chest ache. “I know you felt it too. You can’t tell me you didn’t. And even if you did, I wouldn’t believe you. I don’t believe you, Joel.”

The sound of his name in your mouth is nearly his undoing. It’s so pretty, you’re so pretty. Joel swallows hard, suddenly aware that for all he defiled yesterday, he’s never kissed you. Not truly. 

He’s kissed your forehead, your cheek, has tasted your skin and the wetness between your thighs. But he’s never once tasted the inside of your mouth or felt your tongue against his.

Joel clenches his teeth. 

He can’t. He shouldn’t.

But he has to. Good fucking God, he has to.

Joel reaches you in two strides. Your eyes widen in fear, but the moment he places his hands on either side of your face you’re melting, becoming pliable material for him to manipulate. Joel tilts your head up and leans down, crushing his mouth to yours.

You’re gripping his brown leather jacket, trying to keep your balance. But he’s crowding you, forcing himself into your space, into your mouth, pressing himself against you as if every inch of separation pains him.

Joel thinks you taste like bad decisions, like pomegranate seeds and glowing apple slices, like poisonous peach pits, like something so tempting it’s forbidden for good reason. He bites in anyway, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and dragging it out. You moan at the deviation from heaven, and he grabs a fistful of your ass and drags you impossibly closer as a low growl leaves his throat. 

He knows you can feel his cock through his jeans, pressing hard against your belly, but Joel does his very best to ignore it as he licks every soft part of you. He wants to remember this, to savor it, because he promises himself it’ll be the last time he ever takes advantage of you.

When he pulls away, Joel’s gasping for air like he’s never been kissed before. Like this is his first time, like you’re his first. It’s certainly the only time it’s ever been like this, heavy and weighted, hot and desperate and sacrilegious.

Your eyes are glassy and beautiful as you look up at him, fingers still clutched in his jacket. “You’re afraid of me, Joel,” you repeat, snaking a hand between you and rubbing his cock, squeezing softly over the denim. “You’re afraid of how good this feels because you’ve never been able to hold onto anything good in your entire life.”

And, distracted by the soft feel of your mouth, by your hand, he’s able to listen. To rid himself of guilt, of shame, truly hearing you. Joel silently wonders if you’ve been the conductor of this mess all along, if you’ve somehow seen behind the scenes, if you are, impossibly, the one who’s manipulated him. Because how else would you be able to rip those razor-sharp truths out of him? Truths he’s never faced, truths he’s never planned to. 

“It slips through your fingers every time, like smoke,” you say. 

Joel can’t pull himself away, can’t reestablish that distance he so carelessly erased. You feel too good, touching him, sighing softly between words as if he were the one touching you.

“And so you’ll push me away, so far that you can forget whatever it is you feel for me. And it’ll work. For a little while, anyway.” You rise to your tiptoes, swollen lips a breath away from his ear. “But one day you’ll be laying in bed with some lovely, soft spoken, age-appropriate woman, and you’ll look over at her and you’ll imagine me in her place. And I think you’ll miss bossing me around, and teaching me how to behave for you, and how good it feels to be inside of me.” His cock throbs in his jeans, and he feels you smile against his skin. “I think you’ll miss me real bad, Joel Miller.”

The picture you paint is a dreary one, and it leaves Joel cold. Even colder when you finally step back and he can’t feel the warmth of your skin anymore, the heat of your breath. But he doesn’t say that, because this feels like a goodbye—the goodbye he came here for. Joel steels himself, pushing that God-forsaken image far from his brain. “Tell Maria you’re sick,” he orders. 

And then he’s leaving, and it hurts to slam the door behind him, but he does it.

For the first time in days, Joel feels a drop of redemption trickle back into his bloodstream. 

Thankfully, you don’t show up to the tree blind to relieve Greg and Bonnie. But no one else does either, and Joel knows that you never even attempted to speak to Maria. A last-ditch effort at defiance. 

When they ask about you, he lies easily and says, “She’s running a little behind. Go on home, you’ll probably pass her on the way.” 

And they do as he suggests, leaving Joel in the tree blind alone with his thoughts. 

It’s almost as dangerous as being alone with you, because your words echo in his brain. I think you’ll miss me real bad, Joel Miller. 

He will. He does. Already, he misses the way your body feels against his. He misses the taste of your soft tongue. He misses your sweet laughter and carefree demeanor. He misses the innocence in your eyes when you look up at him like he has all the answers. Joel wants to give them to you, wants to take care of you. Wants to make you feel good, to protect you, to keep you safe. 

But you’re right. Goddamnit, you’re right. He is afraid of you. Terrified, in fact—because it could so easily turn into more than just physical need, more than just sinful desire. That one day you spoke into existence could come and he’d miss more than how it feels to be inside you, he’ll just miss you.

Joel knows how dangerous that is. It’s bad enough he’s gotta worry about Tommy and Ellie. Why would he want to add another name to that list? Another person he’d die for, another person he’d kill for.

It’s no good. He’s no good. 

Joel feels the ghost of your mouth against his and can’t resist pressing his knuckles to his lips, hoping to cement your DNA there so he can keep the lingering taste of you forever. 

But if not him, who else will take care of you? It’s dangerous outside these walls.

It’s only then he remembers his conversation with Tommy and Maria, who wouldn’t let Joel be on watch alone. Yet they let you go on runs alone, and often. 

The realization has his blood boiling.

Because if not him, then who? Some other, older man? Someone capable of enduring your fury, your foolishness, of knowing when to have a heavy hand and when to touch you softly? No. 

Fuck no. 

By the time his shift is over and the next two patrolmen come to relieve him, Joel knows right where he’s headed. They ask him where you went, if you ever showed up—and he covers for you. Saying, “I cut her loose early so she could get some sleep.” 

At first, he’s not sure why there’s an innate desire within him to lie for you, to keep you safe from ridicule or consequence. 

But as he’s walking to that white house on the corner of the street, Joel realizes that it’s because he doesn’t want anyone else to punish you—ever.

That’s his job.

And, Christ, does he have plans for you. 

Joel freezes a second before he bangs his fist against the door. The night is quiet and cold. The air is still. And, through the thin walls, he can hear you.

Can hear those sweet, soft moans. It’s faint, but it’s there. And Joel knows because those cute little sounds are forever embedded in his memory. 

All the blood in his brain rushes south at the image his mind produces. He can almost see you; sprawled out on your bed, legs parted with your hand between your thighs. He wonders what you’re thinking about and selfishly hopes it’s him. 

His hand shakes as he lowers it and reaches for the doorknob. You wouldn’t be so stupid, would you? 

The question is quickly answered when he twists the handle and encounters no resistance. Joel suddenly thinks of a quote his old, southern pastor once told him when he was a kid. Fittingly enough, he’d used it in a sermon about abstinence. 

Temptation is the devil looking through the keyhole. Yielding is opening the door and inviting him in.

But what is Joel to do when the devil leaves the door unlocked and wide open with a bratty little girl on the other side of it? How is he supposed to resist the forbidden fruit knowing just how sweet it tastes? 

He just can’t help himself. 

Joel eases his way inside, carefully closing the door behind him. He shrugs off his jacket and flannel, laying it over the back of the worn leather couch as if he belongs here. Your house is dark, but he’s able to follow the sound of your whimpering down the hallway. He pushes your bedroom door open as silently as he can—and what he finds is somehow a million times better than what he’d imagined.

You’re sitting in the center of your bed, straddling a pillow that’s folded in half between your legs. You’re facing the doorway, head tilted back and eyes closed in euphoria. Joel can see everything from here. The curtain over the window is open, the moonlight casting a purplish hue over your soft skin. 

His whole body tenses up as he watches you, eyes stuck on the wet spot between your legs. Joel almost doesn’t believe you’re real, nearly convinces himself you’re some sort of backlit, demonic little thing. Sent to him by the devil himself to ensure his damnation. As if it somehow wasn’t already a guaranteed thing, because Joel doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life, watching you desperately try to get yourself off.

You tilt your hips back and forth, moaning at the friction. The sounds you make are so beautiful, and Joel is thankful at this moment that you have little consideration for others. Because you’re moaning and whimpering loud enough that you don’t hear the wooden floor creak beneath his feet as he closes the space. 

In a sick, sinister way, Joel enjoys the fact that he’s watching you, so close he could reach out and touch you, and you have no idea. Pretty, stupid little girl. Joel is a bad man, you know. Real bad. And he could do whatever he wanted to you right now. Could cover your mouth with his hand so you can’t scream, could force you to your knees and have his way with you.

You let out a sweet sounding gasp, and Joel knows you’re close, nearly there. He would bet your clit is throbbing against your pillow, pussy just aching to be filled.

More than anything, more than teaching you how dangerous it is to leave your doors unlocked in the dead of night, Joel wants to help you. Wants to make you feel good. Wants to show you that yeah, one day he may be lying next to another woman thinking of you, but he will be the only man to ever satisfy your sadistic cravings. No one will ever be able to touch you again and make you feel as good as he does. 

He wraps his hand around your ankle and squeezes, anticipating the terrified cry you make in response. Joel holds tight, wrapping the other hand around your calf and pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

But not before you reach behind, pulling a serrated sawback knife from beneath the sheets. It’s clutched tight between your fingers as you hold it towards him. Your frightened eyes soften as recognition comes. He can hear your breathing settle, but your chest is still heaving. He doesn’t think you notice as his hands begin to slide up your legs, over the softness of your thighs. “Joel? What are you doing? Did you break into my house?”

There isn’t a single trace of alarm in your voice anymore, even though you’re still pointing that knife at him. “Didn’t have to,” he says, completely unfocused on the point of the weapon. Joel leans forward, running his hands over the swell of your hips, your ribs. He takes both breasts in his hands, unable to hold back the groan at the heavy feel of them. 

“I thought,” you swallow hard, inhaling a ragged breath. “I thought…you said—”

“I know what I said.” Joel takes the knife from your hand with ease and lays it on the battered nightstand. And the second he’s no longer under threat, he forces your back against the mattress and crawls between your legs, pulling them up over his hips. 

He pushes his hard cock against you, the denim of his jeans rough against your bare, sensitive skin. He watches the way you immediately soak the fabric, evidence of your near-release. You prop yourself up on your elbows, brows knitted together, the cutest little pout on your lips. “Wait,” you say, and he does. “I just…I don’t understand.”

Joel sees the concern etched on your face and thinks you’ve never looked so vulnerable in front of him as your eyes search for an explanation. He doesn’t have one that makes sense, that justifies his being here, justifies his hands as they roam freely over your skin. He pushes his hand through your hair, gently scratching your scalp. “You don’t have anyone to take care of you,” he mutters. “I’m gonna keep you safe, baby. Real safe.” 

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you argue. “I can keep myself safe just fine.” He twists his hand in your hair, pulling lightly. His free hand comes between you, and Joel forces you to watch as he runs his thumb through your folds, spreading you open.

He doesn’t reply to your proclamation because he doesn’t believe it and he doesn’t think you do, either. He speaks as he circles your clit with the pad of his thumb softly. “But I gotta keep you safe from me, too, sweetheart. Can’t let an old man touch you like this. You’re just a little girl.”

Your back arches, pushing against his hand. You’re grinding against his cock over his jeans, and Joel can feel himself leaking at the warmth of you. You breathe his name, begging for more, begging for him like he knew you would.

Joel slides his thumb down further, smirking at the groan you let out as he pushes it inside you. “Precious little thing,” he whispers to himself. He switches his thumb for his middle finger, turning his hand palm up so he can press hard on that sweet spot inside of you. Your legs immediately start to tremble around him, and Joel smiles to himself knowing he’s barely touched you and already he’s accomplished what he set out to do. “I know, baby,” he says. “No one else can make you feel this good, huh? Not that pillow, not your hands, no other man but me.”

He releases his hold on your hair, letting you relax against the mattress. Your spine is still arched at the base, allowing him easy access to where you want him most. When he slips another thick finger inside of you, your hands clutch the sheets and your pleading gets a whole lot more convincing. “Joel, please—please just… mmm, Oh, God—”

Even though they burn his throat, Joel forces the words out before he loses the courage. “This is the last time, pretty girl. The last time I’ll ever touch you, okay? I promise. Gotta keep you safe…startin’ tomorrow.”

He almost wonders if you heard him, so lost in your satisfaction as he fucks you with his fingers. But then you lean forward, pulling eagerly at his leather belt, and he hears you say, “Liar.”

Joel knows you don’t believe him, but it’s true. He just needs to get it out of his system—to be inside of you knowing it’s the last time so he can savor it properly. To memorize it so he never forgets. He watches, enraptured, as you unbuckle his belt. Your hands are so much smaller than his, trembling lightly as you pull his cock out. He chuckles darkly as you lick your lips and hurry to line him up at your entrance. His middle and index fingers are still buried deep inside of you, hooked upwards right where you need him. “You want it now, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you say so quickly he laughs. “Please, Joel, please.”

With his free hand, he knocks yours away and presses his tip into you between his fingers. “Right now, huh? So fuckin’ needy, can’t wait one more minute. Just wanna be so full’a me you’re beggin’ for it, s’that it?”

He inches in further, leaving his fingers inside of you, watching the glorious stretch it makes, relishing in the whine you let out in response. 

“Wait,” you say, fear laced in your voice as you realize his intent. Joel does—giving you the option to deny him, to say no. But you don’t. Of course you don’t. Instead, when your pretty eyes meet his dark gaze, something heated and curious appears on your face. 

Joel sinks into you further, even as you toss your head back and force the air from your lungs in a ragged exhale. He knows it must feel so full —because he can feel every inch of you, squeezing him like a vice. 

“It hurts,” you hiss, wincing. “Joel, I can’t—!”

“Yeah you can, baby,” he encourages. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Joel pulls back out slowly, cock glistening with your slick. “You say it hurts but this pretty pussy is just cryin’ for me, little girl.” When he pushes in again, stretching you slowly, he lets out a low groan at the feeling and doesn’t stop until he’s all the way in.

“Oh my God,” you whine, hooking your legs around his back. “It’s too much.”

“Is it?” Joel mocks, rocking his hips slowly. He can feel your body react immediately—walls fluttering around him with every movement. You’re a trembling, moaning mess, making an even bigger one all over the dark hair above his cock.

A single tear falls from the corner of your eye, and Joel leans forward to kiss it away. He presses his lips to your forehead and gently strokes the side of your face with his free hand. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I…it’s just,” you pause to let out an elated sigh as he thrusts in deep. “If this is the last time you—ohh, God, Joel—please, you’re gonna make me—”

“I know, little girl, I know,” he says. Joel thrusts his hips forward hard—once, twice, until your legs are shaking so bad he knows you’re one stroke away from combustion. And then he pulls his cock out of you, lips curling into a smirk at the whine you give in protest. “S’okay, baby, don't cry,” he promises, dropping to his knees and pulling you to the edge of the bed. “Wanna taste it, sweetheart.”

His mouth is bliss when he puts it on you, licking long, gentle strokes through your heat with his soft tongue. He uses both hands to spread your legs wide, holding you still even as you squirm, and his chest rumbles in satisfaction as he drinks you in. Joel wraps his lips around your clit and focuses his efforts there. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he groans against you as you tangle your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, grinding against his face as if you can’t get enough. 

Joel understands. He really, really does. Because even when your body pulls tight and you moan his name over and over, soaking his facial hair, his chin, his mouth—it’s not enough. He wants more, wants you impossibly closer, wants to hear nothing but your moans for the rest of his life. 

He doesn’t stop until your muscles begin to relax and your breathing slows. He releases your clit from between his lips and you shudder as he licks through your folds, devouring any trace of your orgasm left behind. The urge to praise your behavior rises in him, wanting to tell you how good you’re being, how perfect. 

But this—tonight—is about Joel. It’s a selfish act, his taking you. It’s for his memory, for his satisfaction. Which is why, when he crawls back over you, Joel rests his calloused hand against your neck and crushes his mouth to yours. You open up immediately, giving him an all access pass to your tongue, moaning at his reverence. You taste so fucking sweet, and Joel knows just how easy it would be to find obsession in kissing you.

With his free hand, he reaches down and pushes his jeans off the rest of the way, the metal belt buckle clanging to the floor. He pulls away for only a second to grip the back of his shirt collar and pull it over his head, discarding it quickly. 

And then he’s turning you over, grabbing your hips, and forcing them up. The sight of you with your face against the mattress and your arms braced in front of you, the enticing slope of your spine, your glistening, needy pussy—it’s almost too much. Joel’s cock throbs painfully, desperate to be inside of you. He runs his hands over the perfect globes of your ass, spreading you open. “You’re so pretty, baby. The cutest little girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, and your whimpering in response to his compliments is so cute it warms his heart.

You arch back for him, and Joel can’t resist his grin. You’re just so eager.

He gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip between your cheeks, watching it slide down your pussy until it reaches your clit. He lets out a sigh of relief as he pushes back into you, can’t resist leaning over and pressing sweet kisses to your spine. He won’t last long—not like this, buried so deep inside you there’s no end of you or beginning of him.

“Tell me how it feels,” he says. Joel’s thrusts are punishing and relentless. He slams into you, holding you down against the mattress with one hand and using the other to paw at your ass, pulling you back onto him every time he retreats. “This what you wanted? Hm? Wanted to be bent over and fucked like a whore, huh?”

“Yes,” you choke out. “It feels so good, Joel—fuck—”

His hips still. He fists his hand in your hair and pulls you up, back against his chest. His mouth is at your temple as he asks, “What was that?”

“I’m sorry—don't stop, don’t stop, please,” you beg. The words are desolate and frantic, but there’s a knowing, arrogant smirk on your face. 

You’re playing him, Joel suddenly realizes. Playing into his games to get what you want—you clever, bratty little girl. His palms twitch with the urge to force you into true submission instead of whatever this forgery of it is.

But he can’t do that in a single night. And so Joel decides to give you exactly what you want instead.

He wraps one hand around your throat, squeezing lightly as he presses your head to his shoulder. He uses the other to reach down and stroke your clit in soft circles, thrusting up into you all the while. “Aw, baby,” he tuts. “Look at you. You’re so fuckin’ easy. Doin’ whatever I want you to. Lettin’ me fuck you however I want.”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God—Joel I’m gonna—!”

Joel thrusts harder, circles your clit faster. Arousal pools low in his belly at the delicious way you say his name. “Give it to me, baby. Yeah, there you go. Mmhm, thaaaat’s it.” You squeeze him hard, and Joel has to close his eyes to hold himself back. 

Your moans are music to his ears, pretty little sounds that urge him on. His hand doesn’t stop, his hips don’t slow, and his mouth never quiets, filthy words sending you to immeasurable heights.

“Pussy was fuckin’ made for me. It’s soakin’ me so good. This what you like? Hm? Like to be fucked real rough, treated like a fuckin’ slut. That’s what makes it all wet, baby? Don’t you worry. I’ll give you everything you need, exactly what you’re beggin’ me for.” Joel feels your muscles go slack, but his hand on your neck only tightens, holding you upright. He doesn’t stop even as your hands fly to his between your legs, pulling at his wrist, needing reprieve.

“Joel, oh my God, please—I’m finished, I’m finished—!”

He presses your clit harder, fucks you deeper. “Ain’t this what you wanted? Didn’t want me to stop. Real sensitive, isn’t it?” His tone is so mocking, so mean. “Gonna fuck you till it hurts, pretty girl.”

You’re writhing in his hands, the cutest little tremors rocking through you. “It does, it does, Joel, please, it hurts so bad,” you cry. He kisses your tears away, savoring the taste of saltwater on his tongue. 

“Tell me who’s pussy this is,” he whispers in your ear. “Tell me baby, who’s pretty pussy is it? Huh?”

No answer comes right away. You’re too fucked out, fucked stupid, thoughts emptying out of your head. But Joel is there, right at the precipice, and he has to hear it before he follows you.

“C’mon little girl, use your words. Tell me,” he gently urges.

“Yours! It’s yours, I swear, Joel, fuck, fuck—!”

He pulls out of you just in time to spill his come onto your back, his cock sliding against your ass. Joel feels satisfaction down to his bones, knows that it’ll be easier to resist you now that he’s succumbed to his indulgences.

But as the euphoria fades, the guilt slowly starts to seep in. Joel lays you gently against the mattress, chest heaving.

“Don’t move,” he says. And then he’s leaving your room, picking up his flannel from the back of the couch. When he returns, he wipes away the mess he made, cleans up the lingering wetness between your legs.

While you climb up the bed and slide your shaky limbs beneath the thick comforter, Joel starts to pull his clothes back on. When he’s dressed in his boxers and t-shirt you ask, “Joel? Can you…can you stay? Just for a little bit?”

Your voice is so timid, so mousy, as if you’re embarrassed to even ask. He’s never heard you like this before. It tugs on his heartstrings, makes him feel the beginnings of exactly what he’s been trying so hard to avoid. 

That feeling chokes him, makes him feel covered in sin. Because you’re so young. So young that Joel should know better. He does know better. He’s just really, really bad at resisting temptation. Astronomically bad, in fact. And he doesn’t want to hurt you—truly, he doesn’t. Despite all he’s done and all he’s said, Joel has your best interest in mind. And he has no place there.

But, fuck, he wishes he did. 

Words don’t come easily to him. They never have. Especially when he has so much to say. “‘Course,” is all he manages.

Joel climbs in bed next to you, shoulders relaxing for what feels like the first time in a very long time as he pulls you close. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, rests his cheek against the top of your head. He’s so warm, like a big cocoon of heat and safety. 

The silence stretches on. And he thinks you may have fallen asleep already. But before you do, he says into the dark, “I didn’t mean it, you know. All the…the stuff I said. I don’t think you’re…”

You lift your head, turning those spellbinding eyes on him. He doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly isn’t for you to give him an award-winning smile and say, “Good to know Joel Miller doesn’t think I’m an actual whore. If he did, whatever would I do?”

He doesn’t pick up on your sarcasm right away. And you must see something on his face that’s real amusing—because you burst into a fit of girlish giggles and Joel can’t help but mirror your grin. 

“I’m kidding,” you say. And then you lean up and press a chaste kiss to his jaw. “Goodnight, Joel. You can let yourself out when you’re ready.” 

He waits until you fall asleep, until your breathing evens out and you turn away from him on your side. Joel gathers his things quietly and leaves through the front door. 

This time, he locks it up tight.

[part one] [part three]

[eightmakesonebraincell]

i have a little request! what happens with mafia mingi & yn? do they ever meet again? if so, how?

same with wooyoung! do they still meet at the convenience store every night? did he bring the others over to introduce reader to them?

oh im curious yeahhhhh

ateez as mafia members pt 2

original post here

pairing: mafia!mingi x reader, mafia!wooyoung x reader, mentions of ot8!mafia

genre: fluff, crack, a continuation of the mafia tropes brainrot-fest

length: 2.1k

c/w: explicit language, violence, weapons, mentions of alcohol, unedited

a/n: thank you anon for requesting (and special thanks @sorryimananti-romantic for validating my writing 🫶) this was only meant to be like a five dot-point thing explaining what happens, but obviously mafia!ateez has me in their chokehold. mafia!ateez in my brain: it's free real estate

mingi

it takes a few days for you to reopen your bar after your fateful meeting with ccg

ccg as in cute coat guy

because quite frankly, that night shook you up a little

mingi most definitely notices your absence

but it's not like he can just check up on how you're doing

not when your bar is closed and he has no real excuse to show up apart from "i was worried about you"

after he reports back to base and rejoins ateez, hongjoong's girlfriend offers to hack into the database and find out what your phone number is

("it'll literally take me like, two seconds")

mingi refuses though because he wants to do things the right way

at least...when it comes to things concerning you

after you reassure yourself that the thugs chasing after cute coat guy aren't going to kill you by association, you feel safe enough to open up the mist again

his leather coat usually sits draped over your chair behind the countertop

originally, you think about washing it before returning it to him

...whenever he shows up you suppose

but then you kind of like the smokey smell of gunpowder with an underlying hint of his cologne that is on the coat

so you leave it as it is

in fact, you might have actually worn it a couple of times

you like how the end of the coat brushes against your calves, how the sleeves fall past your fingertips, how it engulfs your entire frame like an embrace

but mostly, you like how it reminds you of the handsome stranger; who claims he is a good bad guy; who you still do not know the name of

you wonder if he made it back safely that night

you're wearing the coat as you're closing up for the night - it's already well past midnight

you're just about to reach for the last glass on one of the tables when you hear the door to your bar opening

"sorry, i’m closed for the nigh- oh," you pause

it’s ccg

who currently has one leg and arm halfway through the threshold of your door, now frozen mid-step at your words

“if now’s not a good time, i can come back another day?” he starts out hesitantly

“now’s great! good. yes,” you chuckle nervously and try not to be too enthusiastic at his appearance. “now’s good, come in”

you catch his eyes briefly flicker down for a moment before they return to your eyes

then he gives you a soft look and greets you gently, “hi”

“hi,” you return, brain shutting down on you

“you look cute in that,” he jerks his chin down slightly to motion at what he was looking at just moments ago

his leather coat

that you are currently wearing

you squeak in embarrassment, hands fumbling to take it off while you vomit out explanations as to why you’re wearing it

your fingers get caught up in the sleeves

but then he is stepping closer slowly so as not to alarm you, before he grasps the ends of the sleeves and helps tug them off your arms

mingi can’t help but use the opportunity to tenderly hold one of your hands

he’s missed the way your smaller hands fit snugly in his

“did you come back for your coat?” you try to break the silence, because otherwise you are afraid he will hear the heartbeats coming from inside your chest

he nods, “wanted to make sure you were okay, too”

there is a third reason that he does not say

that he just wanted to see you

“i’m okay now,” you reassure him

because he’s back now and he’s safe

he folds the leather coat and places it on the countertop before he says, “i don’t think i ever got your name?”

you tell him then ask him for his

“mingi”

“mingi,” you repeat

he repeats your name in return

“mingi,” you say yet again

“y/n”

you both laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole conversation

“mingi, want to help me close the bar?”

and so you find yourself in his company as you give him easy tasks to do

closing up has always been a tedious job, especially when your body and mind are groggy with fatigue

but with mingi around, an accidental brush whenever you shuffle past each other, a conversation easily flowing between you both, you are awake as ever

even long after all the tables and shot glasses have been cleaned and polished, floors swept, bottles of alcohol reorganised, mingi still has not left

and at some point during the night once you two sit at the countertop to rest your legs, both of you have subconsciously inched closer together in your seats, bodies seeking the warmth and proximity of the other

you are unsure how long you two talk for

but just like that first, fateful meeting with mingi, he stands up to take his leave all too soon

“goodnight, mingi”

mingi buffers for a minute before he decides to do it

he reaches out for your hand, clasping it gently to bring it up to his lips as he presses a light kiss against the back of your hand

and with a goodbye of his own, he turns for the door

except he lingers in the doorway, asking, “will i see you again?”

a smile graces your lips at the irony of the situation and you tell him it's not like you'll be going anywhere; he's free to come visit any time

but you also feel your stomach flutter

because last time, you were the one tugging on mingi’s vest, timidly wondering if that was going to be the last you saw of him

tonight, he is the one unwilling to part ways

not to say that you aren’t either

“i’ll see you around, then,” he says with finality, voice still soft-spoken

and then he leaves

but just mere seconds later you spot it

his leather coat

still folded on your counter where he had placed it earlier

"wait, your coat!" you rush outside with it

mingi is only a few feet away

he could very easily turn around and take it from you

but then he just winks, gives you a tip of his hat and says, "next time," before he's walking away again

you chew on the inside of your cheek to stop the silly grin from blooming across your face

because something tells you that you're going to be hanging on to mingi's coat for him for a while

even after next time

wooyoung

it feels like deja vu

a whole gang of mafia members sauntering into your convenience store like a scene straight out of a movie

admittedly, they are much more pleasing to the eye than the group that was chasing after wooyoung weeks ago

but still

these are several muscular men in tank tops, leather jackets and heavy chained necklaces

your hand itches for the comforting weight of the pepper spray in your purse that wooyoung had gotten you just last week

you haven't had a reason to need it since wooyoung basically lives in your store now

and he always walks you home after your shift

but now seems like a more than good enough time to use it

"you usually work the night shift here?"

a voice causes your eyes to snap up

the man at the head of the group addresses you with a quirk of his brow - it's pierced, you notice

"...yeah," you answer

you wonder if this is your last shift at work and at life

and then just like a repeat of last time, you spot wooyoung's frantic bounce of curls appear from across the street of your store

you pray to the heavens above that he isn't being chased by anyone else this time

because the thought of two gangs crossing paths inside your modest store?

you don't think it's going to look like a store after their fight is through

you see the way wooyoung's eyes widen when he spots the thugs just mere feet away from you and you see a curse form on his lips

you just need to hold out until he gets here

wooyoung will keep you safe

wooyoung will-

"then you must know," the man leans in a little closer to grab your attention, "where i can find-"

wooyoung bursts through the door

"-the super sour gummy worms?" the man finishes

you physically cannot help the words that blurt out of you in disbelief, "the fuck you just say?" 

"hongjoong!" wooyoung's piercing shout interrupts you both

wooyoung worms his way through the gang and you stare incredulously at him before you say, "the fuck did you just say?"

he ignores you in favour of pressing his hands against the chest of the man - hongjoong? - and trying to push him towards the doors of your store

quite unsuccessfully, you must add

"the fuck are you guys doing here?" wooyoung yells

"what the fuck is going on?" you demand

"holy fuck, not even hongjoong swears this much"

"fuck yeah, potty mouth!"

"stop swearing you fucktards!"

one of the men who has been lingering on the edge of the group sidles up to the counter, looking at you with an apologetic grimace

"sorry you have to deal with...this," he shakes his head just as another man comes to join you both, "i'm jongho, by the way"

"seonghwa," the other man introduces himself with a gentle voice

these mafia men are surprisingly kind

and normal

except, you suppose, anyone in comparison to wooyoung would be normal

"are you all wooyoung's, uhh, friends?" you don't know whether they know you know

they chuckle, "yeah, we're his friends. his brothers, too, you could say"

you realise the rest of the men have started to settle down and are standing in a rough semi-circle around your counter

wooyoung is currently grumbling and muttering indignantly under his breath with someone's arm thrown over his shoulders, though it looks more like he's a child being scolded by his father than it looks a friendly gesture

"so to what do i owe the pleasure of a visit from all of you?" you ask them, now that there is no swearing being thrown across the room and you realise they aren’t going to shoot you through the head

"had to see for ourselves who was making our wooyoung all smitten. always sneaking out at night like a tween"

"yunho!" wooyoung hisses and elbows said man in the ribs

except with the height difference, it's more like his hips

it's amusing to see how everyone has the upper hand over wooyoung's brattiness

"am i meeting the in-laws already?" you smirk at wooyoung, "you like me or something, jung wooyoung?"

he flushes bright red and you're quite positive that if you made him take his socks off, you would find him blushing straight down to his toes

"that's it!" he hollers, arms flailing and shooing everyone, "out! out! out!"

you know they can easily resist his pushy hands, but they simply snicker and let themselves be herded towards the doors

"bye, darling!" someone jumps up and down to catch your gaze over the heads of everyone else

"shut up, san!"

yunho, you think you recall his name being, flutters his fingers at you cheekily, "we'll be back soon!"

and then he lets out an indignant yelp when wooyoung slaps his back with a screech, "no, you guys won't!"

you're laughing heartily by this point, unrestrained and very much enjoying their antics

"bye, everyone," you wave them off and then blow wooyoung an exaggerated kiss, "see you later, wooyoungie!"

everyone cackles with glee at the sight of him trying to dig himself into the ground

the sound of their ruckus finally dies down as they exit and walk further away from your store

and then you hear a distant wail

"i didn't get my gummy worms!"

you shake your head with a fond smile and take a seat at the register, but not before setting aside a pack of those ‘super sour gummy worms’ for hongjoong

and then, like always, you look at the clock and count the seconds as they tick past

counting down the seconds until wooyoung comes back to see you

again

[desos-records]

the moments in the Lockwood and Co show that really break my heart are the ones where Lockwood’s armor cracks. god bless the actor, his expressions are so subtle but convey so much.

you see it a little when he’s asking Lucy if she’ll take the job (if she’ll stay), then a little with Kipps (telling Lucy not to stay), a bit when his charming words, a weapon as real as his rapier, fail completely on Barnes

but the first real break happens when Lucy’s possessed because he’s completely unprepared for this and it has nothing to do with the ghost and everything to do with how she’s touching his face and how she’s looking at him (like she loves him, like she means it when she says that). and worse, how she’s asking him not to hurt her (he’s afraid he will one day)

then again when Barnes tells Lockwood to fire Lucy (that he won’t be able to let her stay), probably because there’s no one to see his face. his mask shoots right back up as soon as he turns around. 

and again when Lucy threatens to quit

“we need you [I need you].” 

“why?” 

“because [it’s too soon to tell you this] because you’re [someone I already can’t stand the thought of losing] you’re Lucy Carlyle [and you make everything better]”

you see it a little after they blow up the well, but it looks more like a strange sort of relief than a break (Lucy and George are safe) and all he needs is a little grounding (holding Lucy’s hand). the real one happens when Fairfax calls his bluff and points a gun at him, not because of the gun, not really, but because his words can’t protect him (but Lucy can)

when he apologizes to Lucy for yelling at her (hiding how rattled he was by George’s comment about his feelings for her), his armor doesn’t break so much as he sets it down on purpose this time. he can’t stand the thought of hurting her and if he has to come out from behind his mask to make amends (if that’s what it takes for her to stay), he will

there are cracks all over his armor when Winkman threatens him (because his words mean nothing here), but it shatters when he threatens Lucy. he’s begging this man to kill him for the chance that Lucy lives. and oh, when Winkman says he’ll kill Lockwood first so he won’t have to watch her die (his words don’t just fail to protect him, they fail to protect her)

and you can see that part of him wants to set it down when Lucy asks him why he was so so quick to die for her, but he just managed to pull it back together and the wound is too raw. he understands that she’s angry with him (and he cannot stand that), but I’m not sure he understands why. because it doesn’t occur to him that she cares about him too (that she cannot stand the thought of losing him). all he can process right then is that Lucy’s alive and she’s angry with him, but at least she’s safe now

from the beginning he’s constantly trying to make sure she’s safe, but he’s more and more obvious about it. it isn’t George saying Lockwood’s in charge, not her, that gets him moving (he could barely sit still as it is), it’s the reminder that she’s in danger and he’s not there to make sure she’s safe. he was fully prepared to break down that basement door if it meant rescuing her. he grounds her the best way he knows how (the way his hand runs down her forearm before he holds her hand) and tells her

“we’ve got you now [I’m here].”

“you’re safe now, okay? you’re with us. [I’ll make sure you’re safe].”

there’s still more hairline fractures when he sees Lucy with Kipps, when he sees her with Fittes. which is why he gives her the necklace. the thought of her maybe choosing someone else sends him running to tell her how important she is to him (as clumsy as it is) and ask her to stay. it’s not as outright as before because it’s not just them, it’s everything he’s threatened by

“I can’t compete with this [with someone else for your favor]”

the worst of it, of course, is around the auction. before it starts, the DEPRAC agent sees right through him, giving Lockwood a painful reminder of his age (which he tries to act above) with one hand

and when he and Lucy are fighting, he pushes her away, would’ve charged in there alone, but she stays (it’s much too real now). she calls him out and his armor fails him, but he still can’t seem to process her point. he thinks just being around him (much less getting close to him) will hurt her. failing to understand that losing him would hurt her (and it is far too late to turn back)

and then after, when the DEPRAC agent dies and Lockwood is so quick to blame himself, it isn’t just a break. he loses all of it. his center is on full display, his fear and his bleeding heart. he can barely stand.

he still reaches out to Lucy to ground himself (because when he can’t protect himself, she does) and she’s so forceful with her feelings for him. she’s not gently touching his face, but holding his head and jarring him back to present (which is the real way Lucy loves). he can’t hold onto her properly or even look at her, but she’s the one who gives him back his armor. she presses their foreheads together and he takes a breath and he starts to build it back up

it’s ramshackle and unsteady, but it’s back by the time they step out of the car. it’s still nothing against Lucy. and he realizes here, as she’s walking away from him, what she’s been trying to tell him

so by the time he quietly steals into the kitchen, he’s left it behind again, because he’s learning that he doesn’t need it with Lucy (it’s hardly protection if it’s hurting her). this is his center too, the part full of love, and it’s no mistake that it happens in the kitchen, the center of their house. and he’s more honest than he’s ever been

“don’t give up on me.”

“the bottom of the thames used to be a far more appealing place to be.”

“and really no one would have cared.”

“but now... [now there’s you and you care and I won’t hurt something you care about].”

and of course it does come back during the final fight (it is a survival instinct after all) and when he’s collapsing, in pain, afraid (old habits don’t go away overnight). but Lucy and George push back before he goes too far

“this isn’t how you die.”

“how do you know?”

“we won’t let you.”

“never.”

he’s in a place where he can start healing (now that the wound’s been cleaned out), which is why he opens the door. because, yes, his armor is useful, but he doesn’t need it with George and Lucy

[gojosatoruhumper]

Kinktober day 6

Gojo Satoru x reader | Sadism

Promt: You were a new teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu high, but meet your old rival from high school - Satoru Gojo himself.

Warnings: choking, sadism, edging kind of, crying, dacryphylia, slaping, violence, NSFW

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You were a new teacher at Jujutsu high, everyone liked you, the students and teachers were nice. Well except for the asshole Gojo Satoru.

You and him were enemies from the start. In high school he would always tease you, make fun of you and stuff like that. At first it was just silly impractical jokes until it got serious. You would always be arguing with each other over nothing. It got so bad that at one point you just had to move schools. Being the proud asshole he never once thought of saying sorry or anything, he was just happy you were out of his presence.

You had an important mission today, getting your weapon ready, which was your lucky bow and arrow. It was truly important to you, your dad had made it for you, engraving your and his names on the side of it. Your dad was a good sorcerer, always helping people as he could until an unidentified cursed spirit ended him.

You loved your father so much and that bow was the only thing left from him, you cherished it a lot. As you were leaving Jujutsu high, you felt a sudden change of aura, already sensing whose aura it is you felt your eyebrows twisting together.

“Can I help you?” You asked, not even looking up at him. “I’m afraid no, but we are going on this mission together” he said unbothered, hands in his pockets. You suddenly stopped “Huh? No way, I can handle myself” you reply, finally looking up at him. He had his stupid smile with his pearly whites glued to his face. “Yeah yeah sure princess” he said, continuing to walk in-front of you, whistling to himself.

‘When did he get so hot?’ you thought to yourself, watching him walk with this snow white hair over his face, he was feeling fancy today, ditching his blindfold for a pair of sunglasses, uniform tidy.

“Stop staring Y/n” he said turning back to you, with a smirk. “Why would i be staring at someone like you” you say acting disgusted, when in reality you really were staring at him.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The mission was going good so far, until the spirit took your bow out your hands and pushing you to the ground. Satoru was unbothered, even yawning. “Hey asshole” you yell, getting his attention “thought you can handle yourself, huh?” he said, knocking the cursed spirit over, killing it instantly, letting the bow fall to the ground, breaking it.

You witnessed it all in slow motion, gasping instantly. You quickly got up pushing Satoru by the shoulders. Hot tears were swelling up in your eyes. “Why did you have to do that?” you screamed at him, pushing him.

“Do what?” he asked rudely, but also confused. “My bow, it’s your fault” you became angry. He laughed. “Don’t worry princess i’ll get you a new one” he calmly said, closing his eyes smiling. That didn’t last long, a harsh slap meeting his face.

He opened his eyes again, glasses falling lower on his nose, exposing them. “You sure you wanna do that, princess?” he asked, just above a whisper. His long slender hand wrapped around your throat, choking you.

He felt himself getting aroused, seeing you in this vulnerable state, in his hands, tears running down your cheeks. He couldn’t lie to himself, he always thought you were hot. Always walking around with your mini skirts in high school, shirts buttoned up a little too low.

“Maybe i’ll say sorry in a different way” he said smirking, turning your head up to face him and connecting your lips together. He started choking you harder, causing you to moan.

It was started to get really hard to breathe, new tears forming in your eyes. You couldn’t help yourself but moan once again. “Hm? you enjoying this?” he asked, loosening his grip on your throat, bot quite releasing it yet.

You were getting weirdly aroused by all this, feel like you’re completely in Satoru’s hands. You stayed silent, not knowing what to reply until a slap landed on your now. “Answer princess” he smirked once again but all you could reply with was a simple nod.

Another slap landed, this time harsher. “I said answer, is that clear?” he asked once again, grip tightening. “Y-yes Satoru”

Another slap. “That’s Mr. Gojo for you” he said, even tho he was only a year older than you. “Yes, Mr. Gojo” you said, moaning.

He quickly pressed you against a wall, legs wrapped around your waist, hands now on your thighs, gripping hard. “Gojo it hurts” you cried, his nails digging into your flesh. “Bet you like it” he whispered, lips now harshly on your neck, leaving dark bruises.

Satorus bulge was rubbing against your clothed pussy, him intentionally pressing it harder. More tears rolled down your cheeks, them mixing with the mascara you wore, tightly gripping Satorus biceps for support.

“S-satoru” you gasped, choking on your own tears by now. “Hm?” he purred in your ear, tickling you. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Your dick” you answered, hands wrapping around his neck. “Yeah?” he raised an eyebrow and in a second your uniform pants and panties were ripped off and thrown on the ground, while Satoru continued teasing you with his bulge.

His hand slid over to your now bare ass, gripping till his knuckles turned white. Your head was now resting on his shoulders, staining his blue uniform with tears.

With no warning Gojo pushed his cock into your pussy, stretching you out instantly. “Gojo!” you screamed, pain washing over you. He started thrusting, skin slapping could be heard 3 blocks down. Good thing you were in an abandoned alley.

As tears kept streaming down he was getting closer to his climax. He usually lasted pretty long, but with you and your pretty face made that hard. His head fell over his shoulders, mouth agape. “Princess you feel so good” he moaned, picking up his pace.

You felt like you were getting ripped open by him, your long nails clinging into his neck. You could feel his cock twitching in you, hitting a new spot making you once again moan loudly.

He finally came, hot strings of cum shooting inside of you, making your toes curl. As you were about to reach your orgasm he suddenly pulled out. “Huh?” you quickly got mad.

“That’s what you get for slapping me princess” he walked away fixing himself up. You pulled your bottoms up quickly, picking up a rock throwing it at his head, his limitless technique dodging it.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Next day morning you heard a knock on your dorm room, as you opened the door half asleep, hair messy you saw your bow intact, flowing with more cursed energy with a little note beside it.

“Hope I made it good as new Princess. And I hope you behave better next time ♡ -S.G.”

[acourtofbooksandshadows]

Not So Routine- Chapter 8

Summary: Unexpected visitors cause your night to go astray. Luckily Mor is there to help anchor you.

Pairings: Eventual!Nessian x Afab!Reader Current!Mor x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Angst, men being disgusting foul little things, blood, weapons, swearing, wounds, passing out, vomit, bones breaking, child abuse from parent and death. Just please tread lightly if you are squeamish or uncomfortable with any of the above topics.

Word count: 3233

Bookshelf Series Bookshelf

It seemed that all the eventful experiences of the day were not in fact over. Because when you got home that night you paused dead in your tracks and stared widely at the forms waiting for you. Out of everyone you’d expected to be at your door it definitely wasn’t Azriel and Rhysand. You stared at them in shock and Rhysand tried to give you his best calming smile while Azriel didn’t even try to look less intimidating. 

“Oh, hello, I wasn’t expecting company today.” They were blocking your door and didn’t seem like they were going to move until your keys rattled. Rhysand stepped aside and Azriel tucked his wings in as you approached, you made quick work of the door before ushering them inside. You groaned as you realized you hadn’t cleaned up your apartment in a couple days. You hadn’t thought you’d need to since Mor was the only one that ever came over and she didn’t mind a bit of clutter. 

“I’m sorry for the mess. I wasn’t-” Your words were cut off by Rhysand. 

“Expecting company.” Nerves were working through you at a fast pace. You had a feeling that this wasn’t a friendly visit. Especially with the way Azriel seemed a little on edge. 

“Is this about Devlon?” You chewed on your lower lip so hard you started to taste blood before releasing it. 

“I’ve been gathering information on him and the males in ironcrest. I’m just wanting to iron out a few details with you.” Azriel’s voice surprised you as you realized this was the first time you’ve heard it. 

“Would either of you like tea or anything?” You stood awkwardly in the doorway to your kitchen that was just next to your front door. They both shook their head and you lead them towards your dining room table. You were thankful for the bench that lined one side of the table as Azriel was able to comfortably sit without his wings being in the way. 

“What would you like to know?” Azriel shot off a list of names in reply and had you confirm or deny their involvement. But you hadn’t known any of their names so that didn’t help at all. 

“We could try something different instead. If you’re comfortable with it of course.” You eyed Rhysand curiously already suspecting you wouldn’t like the words about to leave his mouth. 

“I could look at the memory and we could narrow down who they are that way.” A large wave of nausea took over you at the thought of reliving the experience that had scarred you not only physically but mentally and emotionally as well. 

“Does it have to be tonight?” You hadn’t realized you were picking at your nails until you pulled on a especially tender spot and you dropped your hands into your lap. 

“The sooner the better. I’m afraid that if they get wind of me digging around they might flee or try to hide any evidence of their activities.” Azriel’s voice shook you once again. Though from the stories you’ve heard of him you doubted anyone would figure out what he was up to. Unless of course he wanted them too. Rhysand seemed to take pity in the way you shook as he placed a calming hand on your arm from his spot next to you.

“Would you like me to request Mor join us?” You nodded your head quickly at his question, you knew her presence would help you undoubtedly. His eyes glazed over for a moment and after waiting with baited breath he came back. He didn’t even have to tell you what she said as she appeared in the space behind Rhysand. 

“I’m scared.” You whispered to her as she pulled a chair next to yours. She grabbed your hand that was closest to her and intertwined her fingers with yours. 

“I know but I’ll be here the whole time. Then we can go to bed afterwards.” She dragged the smooth skin of her thumb along the smooth skin of the back of your hand soothingly. You nodded your head at her before turning back to Rhysand, who was eyeing you and his cousin curiously. 

“I’m ready.” Somehow your voice came out steady and your hands didn’t shake. But nausea was something you couldn’t push away. This would be the first and the only time you showed it to someone else. 

“Would it be alright for me to share the memory with Azriel and Mor as you share it with me?” You nodded your head at him and began chewing on your lip again. Your eyes fluttered closed and then squeezed tight. Rhysand began to claw at your mind and you let out him enter as a shaky breath left your mouth. Once he found the memory you were whisked into it. 

When you had awoken that morning you groaned in pain. Your stomach and back felt like it was on fire and being stabbed all at once. You sat up with a wince and that’s when you noticed the wet feeling between your legs. You lifted the blanket up and stared at the blood that pooled between your legs. Panic set through you like water breaking through a damn. 

You weren’t exactly sure what was happening to you. But you knew that if your father found out that he’d find some way to punish you. So you got out of your bed and stood on shaky legs. There were chores that you needed to complete before Devlon came home. Even though you felt an ache and a sweat all over your body you couldn’t leave the chores unfinished. 

Your legs barely held you up as you exited your cramped room and made your way to the bathroom. You bunched up a small towel in your underwear to hopefully hold the blood that still steadily poured out of you. The rough feeling of the walls dug into your hand as you caught yourself from falling down the stairs when a particularly sharp jab spiked in your side. Your wings unused twitched open and closed behind you. After two large glasses of water to hold down the nausea and a mug of tea, with a bowl of oatmeal you finally started on your chores. 

Even though your father had a wife she did nothing to help you. Instead she would sit around most of the day and complain. She would complain about anything she could think of. Most of the time though it was you she’d complain about. Then there were some days where she would stay in her room and wouldn’t leave until your father came home. That left all the chores for you. It had become a routine at this point though. Wake up, eat breakfast, make your fathers bed, do the dishes, do the laundry, dust, sweep, mop, take care of the trash and then have dinner on the table by the time he comes home. 

You had just got done making dinner when your father came into the small house. The cramps had lessened as you worked around the house so you were going to bathe and wash the towels you had gone through while he ate dinner. But he called out to you when your foot met the second step of the stairs. You turned around nervously and you saw him take a deep breath. Then there was nothing but fury within his eyes. 

“Your first bleeding. Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Your whole body went on high alert as you looked at him. He was all but shaking with rage. The words wouldn’t leave your throat as fear settled within every nook of your body. 

“Answer me now.” He was baring his teeth at you, wings spreading out and chest puffing up. You shrank into yourself slowly under his gaze.

“It happened this morning, I didn’t know what was wrong. I am sorry.” You took the one step down and knelt before him. Wings sagging behind you and eyes gazing at the floor. You weren’t lying when you told him you had no idea what was happening. You had never been told of a first bleeding before. 

“You’re absolutely useless to me now. Go up to your room until I get you.” You hadn’t been prepared to be sent to your room. You’d normally receive your punishment immediately. It was typically a whipping with his belt or a couple of well placed kicks and punches to your body. 

You felt your breakfast from the morning coming up your throat as you stood and stalked up the stairs. Once you sat on your bed you stared at your wall for what felt like days but was really only a couple of hours. 

The trance you were in was broken as you heard your name being called through the house. You made quick work of going down the stairs and you went to kneel before your father again but he stopped you. The bile that you had finally choked down earlier threatened to come back up as he glared at you. He started walking towards the door and you stood in your place.

“Let’s go.” You hesitated at his words because you had never been allowed outside. From the day you were born all you had was the walls and rooms of your house. 

“I said let’s fucking go.” He stalked over to you and grabbed your hair roughly dragging you behind him. Your wings scraped against the floor as your legs stumbled beneath you to keep up right. The sharp chill of the breeze outside pierced the thin dress you wore and you hissed. You brought your hands up to your arms trying to rub heat into them. The snow seeped into the thin flats on your feet and chilled your toes instantly. 

You looked around and took in the sights of the camp you had only ever gazed upon from the windows in your house. No one was outside and that had you on edge even more than you already were. There was normally a slew of males drinking and rough housing at all hours. But right now it seemed everyone was inside. The wings on your back were twitching in agony at the sharp pricks of cold snapping at them. 

There was no sound to be heard other than your laboring breath and the curses from the male dragging you. The reality of the situation you were in finally set in as he dragged you closer to the trees. He pulled you through the foliage not doing anything to protect you against the lashing of the branches and leaves on your skin. You screamed as you hit a root in the ground and twisted your ankle, a loud crack ringing out through the silent night.

When you entered a clearing you noticed three males standing there. They all had wings but you didn’t recognize them as any of the males you had seen from the windows of your house. They didn’t even flinch at the way you were thrown to the ground before them. Your father spat at you as you cradled the wrist that had tried to catch you from your fall. 

“Do whatever you want to her. I don’t ever want to see her again.” His voice was pure venom as he directed the statement at the males. Before he promptly turned around and left the clearing.

Your eyes were wide and you pleaded with the males in front of you but they only laughed before one of them went to snatch you up. But you backed away from them as best you could with your injured leg and arm. That earned you a punch that went straight to your nose and cracked the bone efficiently. Blood sprayed out across your face and the ground and your head spun at the pain. 

You didn’t see the other one come up behind you. An arm wrapped around your neck and you clawed at the material of the shirt while you fought for your oxygen. He only squeezed harder even as your nails finally shredded his shirt and made contact with his skin. He brought you up and the tips of your now bare feet grazed the snow covered ground. Your vision blurred and you tried to let out a final plea but you couldn’t get a word out. The ache in your chest ebbed into a buzz throughout your body as your lungs continued to struggle. The last thing you heard before you passed out was the one that hadn’t approached you yet saying how much fun he was going to have with you. 

When you woke up, you gagged at the taste of blood in your mouth. You tried to open your eyes but they didn’t want to cooperate. It took you several more tries before they finally cracked open. You realized through the slits in your eyes that they were swollen. The dark room around you didn’t give you any clues as to where you were. But the laughing beyond the door gave you an idea. 

A loud scream ripped through your throat as you tried to stand. You looked down at your ankles and realized they were both shackled and the right one was swollen, bruised and had an odd angle to it. You tried to bring a hand down to your swollen ankle but noticed that they were also shackled and that your left wrist was in just about as poor condition as your ankle was. Your scream seemed to have garnered the attention of the Illyrians because the door was slamming open and light was flooding in. 

“Oh good, the bitch is awake.” You didn’t know where the voice was coming from as you squeezed your eyes shut. The light entering the room caused a sharp pain to throb through your head. 

“Now for that fun I talked about earlier.” You assumed he had a set of keys in his hand as you heard the sound of metal clanging together. Your suspicions were confirmed as you felt the shackles being unlocked from the floor. Two of them grabbed you under your armpits and started to drag you out to where they came from. You cracked your eyes open despite the light and tried to ignore the way the shackles pulled on your mangled wrist and ankle. 

The large table in the center of the room and the weapons lining the walls had you getting sick. The vomit mixed with the blood in your mouth and on your face and clothes as it came out of you. You heard one of the males next to you curse before a sharp pain radiated through your side. You glanced down and noticed there was a knife sticking out of your side. 

“Let’s get this done with. She’s fucking disgusting.” You figured you were even though you couldn’t see yourself. You knew there was blood and now vomit covering your face and clothes. You could feel blood pooling between your legs and down them. Your skin had tiny cuts and dirt and what not from being dragged through the forest and you were bruised in various places. 

“Get her on the table.” You tried once again to pull away from them but they only gripped you harder and the male that stabbed you twisted the knife. They picked you up and laid you face down on the table. Your nose smacked against the rough surface and you were sure they had broken it again. 

“What are you going to do?” Your question fell on deaf ears as they locked you down by your shackles and moved around the room. They all seemed perfectly in sync as they skirted around each other and handed each other different objects.

“Hold the half breed down. I’m gonna get started on the first one.” Your wings twitched at the words. Like they knew what was happening before you did. Pain shot through you with a vengeance as the first deep cut was made to your wing. You tried to push away the pain and fight but with the second deep cut you were succumbing to the black spots in your already hazy vision. 

The next time you opened your eyes you were numb. Every last part of you no longer feeling. You couldn’t feel the nasty cuts in your back were now laying bare on the dirty ground below you from where your wings were cut off. You couldn’t feel the snow seeping into your skin, the broken bones from earlier weren’t even a thought either as you stared up at the sun above you. A slow and cynical laugh left your lips as you realized this was the first time you had ever felt the sun on your skin. Because you couldn’t even feel the heat from it. 

A sound rang out somewhere near you but you couldn’t make it out as your ears rang. You hadn’t even noticed the blood that now poured down the sides of your neck and mixed in with your hair. Your eyes were still slits from the swelling when someone came and blocked the sun from your view. You blinked once and then twice, slowly as you tried to make out who was there. 

You watched their mouth move but couldn’t make out what they were saying. They came toward you and you couldn’t find it within you to fight them. Even when their wings finally came into view from where they stood tall and proud behind them. They knelt down beside you and hauled you into their arms. You didn’t feel any pain as they jostled you to adjust you better trying to avoid hitting the knife still lodged in your side. 

As you finally took in their face you realized it was a gorgeous female. You had never seen anyone as pretty as her, you decided. A small smile grazed your lips and you hoped this angel of death understood you were grateful for them before your eyes fluttered closed and you slipped into the darkness that had been fighting to consume you. 

A sob left your lips as you came back to your kitchen table. The males around the table looked at you in surprise and you shrunk into yourself but Mor was quick in standing up and gathering you into her arms, your legs wrapping around her middle. She smoothed a hand over your hair and laid a kiss on your forehead before whispering to her cousin and Azriel. You couldn’t understand what she was saying as your head was buried into her neck. 

She carried you to your room and laid you on your bed. You didn’t hear a door close but you felt a ripple of power through your apartment and figured that Rhysand must’ve winnowed away as Azriel slipped through his shadows. Mor carefully got you out of your day clothes and slipped you into a pair of sleep pants and a sleep shirt. She laid beside you once she was in similar attire and let you curl into her. She ran a hand up and down your back until you fell asleep with tear tracks down your face. Before you slipped into slumber you had uttered a sentence that rattled her bones. 

“I want the killing blows.”

A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed getting insight into readers past. There will be more Nesta and Cassian in the next part. Thank you all for reading and as always likes, comments, reblogs and follows are much appreciated.

Tags(open): @kmc1989 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @luvmoo @wolfsbane44 @acourtofinkandpapyrus @moonlwghts @maddietheshoe @hyemishii @fanboyluvr @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @pinksmellslikelove @waytoomanyteenagefeels @littlebbb @cat-or-kitten @brandywineeeee

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

You Been Holding Out On Me?

So it turned out that the Melissa x Reader tag was something I never knew I needed in my life until I stumbled across it. Since then, I've been addicted. I've been dabbling in trying to write for Abbott Elementary for a while, but this is the first I've posted.

Melissa x Teacher!Reader - a tiny bit of angst with a lot of fluff

**

You smile as you hear Melissa’s voice as you approach the break room.  You pause however, when you get close enough to hear her actual words.

“I know we’ve not been a thing for months now, but I thought he was maybe trying to get into my good books.  Long story short, they’re not from Gary and the vending machine might not be getting filled any time soon.”

You wince.  You had purposely not left a card with the gift you had arrived early to place on her desk that morning, but you hoped she might see it and think of you.  Evidently not if Gary was her first thought.  You figured a bouquet of candy bars would be more his style but maybe you were doing him a disservice. 

Turning on your heel, you decided maybe she just needed a little more time to figure it out.  And then maybe a little space to decide whether it was welcome.  Yes, the two of you were friends, and this was a huge gamble, but you figured it was either this or you blurted it out when your self-control finally failed in the face of her beauty.  At least this way, you could style it out under the guise of a friendly gift on Galentine’s Day if things went south.

*

“Janine!”

You had just been about to head to the break room, but paused on hearing Melissa’s voice. 

“You’re not responsible for these, are you?”

Poking your head around the door of your classroom you see her brandishing the box of cannoli at the woman like a weapon.

“Because if you are, you need to tell me where you got them.  They’re better than the one’s I get from Tony’s.  And I don’t say that lightly.”

Sounded like your months of improving and perfecting your recipe and technique had paid off.  Janine looks into the box, clearly intrigued.  “Not from me, I’m afraid.  They do look good though.”

You can’t help but chuckle as she goes to take one, only for her hand to be smacked away. 

“Hands off!  I asked if they were from you.  I didn’t say they were for you,” snaps Melissa, shifting to put the box back on her desk before storming off towards the breakroom.

You take a deep beath before heading in the same direction, lingering by the doorway of her empty classroom for a moment to see that the string of hearts that you left with the cannoli has been shifted on her desk and put in a better position to catch the light that streams in her classroom window.  You had chosen the plant rather than flowers, she once commenting that flowers just wither and die, like her romantic relationships. 

Making it to the breakroom, you take what has become your usual seat at the table with Barbara and Melissa.  It had raised a few eyebrows when the red head had removed her bag and kicked the chair out towards you one day, but her glare quickly quieted any questions anyone may have had and you had taken a seat before the offer could be rescinded. 

Taking your seat today feels just as nerve wracking as it did that day.  You offer a tight smile to Barbara, who raises an eyebrow at you.  You subtly shake your head, earning an eye roll.  She knew of your plan, and even approved.  What she didn’t understand though, was why you were so insistent on not saying a word to Melissa. 

“Barb, you didn’t slip anything on my desk this morning, did ya?”

“No, I didn’t,” said Barb.  “But if it’s these you’re looking for…” she trails off, reaching into her bag before taking out a small box of chocolates and handing them to the red head who grins gleefully.

“Aww, tell Ger I love him too!”

You frown, as do most of the occupants of the room. 

The first grade teacher sighs.  “Gerald likes to call Melissa my ‘work wife’, so every year, as well as my Valentine’s gift, he buys one for his ‘wife’s wife’.”

“And he buys the best chocolates,” says Melissa, doing a little happy dance as she opens the box. 

“Such a balanced meal,” comments Barbara as she tucks into her own salad. 

“I’ll eat healthy tomorrow,” grouches the red head.  “Today I got chocolates and cannoli.  Would be rude not to eat them.” 

You watch the exchange with a soft smile on your face, enjoying the rapport between the two of them.  You’re not expecting it when the box of chocolates is pushed across the table towards you. 

“Want one?”

You catch the surprise flicker across Barbara’s face, telling you this is unprecedented.  Quickly shifting your gaze to meet green eyes, you can’t help but smile.  “You sure?”

“You know I don’t offer to share food unless I mean it.”

*

“You’re going to have to tell her they’re from you,” says Barbara she stands beside you, watching over the kids as some make they make their way to the school busses and others into the arms of waiting parents.

“Do I though?” you ask, keeping your eyes forward.

“She’s already asked me again if it was me who left them,” she tells you.  “And now she’s off to track down Mr Johnson to interrogate him as to whether he saw anyone hanging around her classroom this morning.”

You snap your head round to look at her.  “She’s what?”  You clearly remember offering the man a cheerful little wave this morning as you left the red head’s room.

“I think she’d rather hear it from you and him,” she says softly.  “Go.  I got this covered.”

*

Mr Johnson isn’t in his office and your quick scout round the building hasn’t proven successful in tracking him down.  Melissa isn’t in her classroom either.  You glance at your watch.  She’s probably already headed home thinking you’re either a creep or a coward.  Either way you figure it’s time to head home and console yourself with a glass, or possibly even a bottle of wine.  It’s a Friday after all.  You can always sleep if off tomorrow. 

With heavy feet and a heavy heart, you head back towards your own classroom to pick up your bag.  You halt on seeing Melissa sitting comfortably in the chair at your desk.  “Hi.”

“Hey you,” she replies, her voice soft.  “So, a little bird told me they saw you sneaking out of my classroom this morning.”

“That little bird happen to push a cleaning cart around and have a death wish?” you mumble, approaching her hesitantly.  She reaches for your hand as you finally come to stand by your desk.

“Why didn’t you just tell me it was you?”

You shrug.  “I just…I heard you mention to Barb this morning you had messaged Gary to ask if he’d left them and figured if he was your first thought you wouldn’t want to know they were from me.”

Looking up as the hand holding your own squeezes gently, you see a blush dusting Melissa’s cheeks. 

“I messaged Gary because he was the only person I thought would be interested in sending me a Valentines,” she admitted.  “I should have known it wasn’t from him though.  He’d get me roses and some looted vending machine candy, not the best cannoli’s I’ve tasted outside my own family and a cute plant.”

“It’s a string of hearts,” you tell her quietly.

“I know what it is, hon,” she smiles.  “Where’d you get the cannoli’s anyway?”

“I made them,” you mumble.

Her eyes widen.  “You made them?” she asks, pointing to the now almost empty box that she’s clearly carried with her.  “You can make cannoli like that and this is the first time I’m tasting them?  You been holding out on me?”

Isn’t that just the truth.  A bigger truth than you’re ready to face in that moment. 

“You know, I think you’re holding out on me with more than the cannoli,” she says after a moment. 

You watch as she tugs the corner of a red envelope out from where you had hidden it under your desk pad, your eyes going wide. 

“I found this while I was waiting for you,” she tell you.  “Figured I was allowed to open it, seeing as it had my name on it.”

You let out a shaky breath.  She knows.  There’s no brushing this off as a gift between friends if she’s read the words written in that card.  You watch as she stands slowly, not reaching for your hands this time, but rather, reaching up to cup your cheeks.  “I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s okay?”

Not trusting yourself to speak, you instead manage a frantic nod, earning a chuckle from the red head before she leans in and presses her lips to yours in a gentle kiss. 

“Oh, and just in case it wasn’t clear, the answer to the question in your card is yes.  I’d love if the next time we had dinner it could be a date.”

[icycoldninja]

Hey love <3 it’s me again, and again I’m sorry if my English is bad hahah I promise I'm trying to improve.

I wanted to know if u could do a headcannon of the Sparda + V with a Fem Reader who has self-harm

It's something I've been going through for a long time and lately it's been a bit difficult for me to handle. I think it could be interesting to see how they would act in a situation like that and what their reaction would be, I feel like at least they wouldn't look at you so badly and they wouldn't judge u too much of the scars on your body haha ​​(cry 🕴️)

Again, if this may seem strange or something too inappropriate, u have every right to ignore it without a problem! 🛐 i really love ur writings 💞

Oh I'm so sorry to hear that. Thanks for requesting, and hopefully this lifts your spirits.

Sparda boys + V x Reader with self harm issues headcannons

Tw: Self harm

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante is the most supportive and loving partner you could hope for, always checking up on you and giving you hugs even when you don't think you need one.

-He doesn't judge your scars or ask you to hide them, if anything, he thinks they're beautiful.

-He will not hesitate to run in and stop you from hurting yourself, if he happens to catch you halfway in the act.

-He squashes you with cuddles and kisses, usually pinning you to the bed or couch to keep you from going anywhere.

-Kisses you all the time, every day, every night, sometimes even while you sleep. He loves you so much and wants you to know that.

-He will help you with your issues, always being there to listen to anything you might want to get out, or to calm you down when you're feeling particularly destructive.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil hates seeing you upset in any way, and while he's not really a touchy feely person, he wants to make you feel better.

-He does this by giving you motivating pep talks every time he has a chance to show you the foolishness behind your detrimental behavior.

-He also limits your access to sharp objects and otherwise dangerous tools.

-Sometimes, somehow, you find a way to break past his defenses and get your hands on a dangerous object, but Vergil will step in and keep you from bringing that object down on your flesh.

-He will then give you a stern, yet loving talking-to, expressing how much he loves you, and at the same time, how angry he is with you for allowing yourself to slip into darkness and depression so easily.

-Sometimes, however, his words backfire. Instead of lifting your spirits with inspiration, they make you feel worse, so he ends up cuddling you to sleep, silently begging for forgiveness and assuring you he loves you all at the same time.

□ Nero □

-Nero understands your struggles, but not how to help you.

-He knows the obvious stuff, to assure you of your self worth (cause you are worth it) and to limit your access to sharp objects.

-He spoils you with attention and affection whenever he's home, pulling you into his lap, cradling you while watching a movie, constantly kissing you as you drift off to sleep, etc.

-He will be there when you're at your lowest, even if he doesn't know what to do. He'll just sit there and hook his arm around you, letting you know he's there if you want to talk or anything.

-He isn't good at verbally comforting people, but he is a great listener, and listen he shall.

-Unload whatever you want on him, Nero will soak it all up like a sponge and then use that knowledge to figure out ways to help you more.

● V ●

-V doesn't judge anything, period.

-He doesn't make comments about your body, or your scars, or give you funny looks, or just treat you negatively in general.

-He loves you more than his own life and would do anything to keep you safe, loved, and happy.

-He won't let you bring any more harm to yourself. If he sees you do it or finds evidence that you have been doing it, he will take away your weapon and cling onto you tightly.

-He won't let go of you when you're cuddling because he's afraid you'll slip away and do something to yourself while he's asleep.

-He might not look it, but his grip is vice-like and he won't let go unless you pry him off of you with a crowbar.

[forgodsgoddamnsake]

Belly Dancer - 7

Warning: smut oral f/m receiving, language, angst(and fluff don't worry I don't wanna make you sad), mention of bullying, mention of anger issues and so on.

“Tell me a secret.” You said as you sat on the kitchen island in Harry’s white shirt.

He was cooking on the stove with his back to you, wearing a grey t-shirt.

“Hm, let me think about it.” He hummed, turned around to face you. “My father taught me how to use a gun when I was just twelve. Till now, never missed a shot.”

“Nah, that’s old news, tell me something I don’t know.”

“How is that old news?”

“It’s kinda obvious, you know?”

“No, I don’t, explain.” His eyebrows were furrowed.

“A guy at your age in that business, the way you were so confident using guns. That expertise with guns doesn’t come within two years of practice. It means that you’ve been around guns and weapons long enough. You never spoke of your dad at all, like he never existed, which also means that he had a hand in this.” You spoke, confidently.

“And you caught all that when we were firing the other day?” He asked, kind of surprised.

“Yes.”

“You’re bright, y/n.” He smiled. “Tell me a secret about you, too.” He said and you had to think about it as he turned off the stove.

“I got into a fight when I was younger, I kinda hurt the girl bad.”

“Oh, what happened?”

“I guess I had an anger issue. I’m not a person that you can get them angry easily, but once I’m angry, hell’s breaking loose. She was my friend and we were good until she started dressing differently and started ignoring me like we were never friends at all. One day we were in the same group and she made fun of my clothes in front of the whole class.” You bit your lip to hide the smirk. “I didn’t like criticism much, so I grabbed her and in the next second we were fighting and punching each other.”

“Are you happy that you did that?” He asked, noticing your smirk.

“I’d be lying if I said I am not. I am happy that I didn’t let her do that to me, no one is allowed to bully me or treat me like I’m nobody. To be honest, I like intimidating people. Since that fight, nobody at school had ever said anything to me that I didn’t like.” You looked him in the eyes and his smile widened.

Other guys might be intimidated by what you said, but he wasn’t. He appreciated that you were a person that didn’t let people walk all over her. It made him feel like he had a female version of himself.

 “I did that at elementary school as well, by the way. I scratched and pulled the hair of the bully in my school. She was a bitch that deserved to be scratched in the face. She told me I had bad hair, that I was ugly every damn day. I tried being a good girl till I just snapped, I couldn’t let her bring me down. Think I might still have this trait. Wouldn’t give it up, though, even it makes me appear like a violent person. People need to stay the fuck away from me if they ever think they can bully me and just walk away, fuck no.” You said, with zero regret.

He walked towards you, put his hands on either side of you on the kitchen island, gave you a big smirk.

“Badass, aren’t you?”

“I am, Gatsby.” You smiled as he gave you a peck on the lips.

“How about I give you another session so you can learn how to use guns properly?”

“I like the idea.”

--

You both stood in the same field that you stood in a month back with new green bottles on display for you to shoot. The weather was hot so pulling your hair up into a big bun was the best option. Harry was thinking that you might need to let your anger out on something that wouldn’t be hurt. He was damn right, the amount of anger you had was unbearable. The mixed-up feelings you had sometimes wouldn’t even let you concentrate on just one feeling, you were so angry at everything, no fear of anything, but on the other hand, there was this little girl inside you that was in a corner afraid of everything, defeated and so soft she could break.

Without realizing it, Harry was trying to help you and you felt that, but to you it seemed like he was trying to provide things to you, but you provided nothing. What could you give to a guy like Harry who already had everything?

Harry was trying to teach you how to shoot far targets, but you were failing terribly and he’d tease you with this. Until a car pulled over next to yours only for you to watch Michael get out of it with an expression you thought it was anger.

“Harry, minute please?” Michael asked as he looked you up and down. He didn’t like you.

“Okay, Harry I’ll be in the car, I have to call Sam anyways.” You said, excusing yourself. Harry nodded to you and put one of the guns in the wooden box as he said to Michael once they were all alone.

“What was that?”

“Bringing a girl to our field is okay by me, but what the fuck is it with you spending all your time with her? You didn’t show up, not even a call, you’re not answering your phone.” Michael said, trying to maintain his annoyance.

“Are we married or something? I’m having fun, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing’s wrong, H. But this’s got to stop, we’re fucked, Harry, we’re in a hole, we need to get the deal out of Ray, you hear me?” Michael huffed.

Harry cracked his knuckles and rolled his eyes, “We’ll have to get another deal out of any other person we know.”

“No, H, that’s not possible, we specifically want Russian arms and Ray is the only one that can provide us the supplies in such short notice.”

“I tried, Mike. I called him, he was pissed that I kicked him out of the after-party. I’m not sucking his balls to get this deal, okay?”

“I know he’s a piece of shit, but we have to convince him. Let y/n give him the dance he asked for, women have charm.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Harry spat.

“What else do you have in mind? This happened in the first place because of her.”

“So, the only way to fix this is to give him what he wants? Her?”

“It’s not like she’ll sleep with him, it’s her job, H. Y/N is a dancer, all’s she going to do is dance.”

“I’m not doing that to her, hear me? Not on my watch.” Harry said.

“Fuck you, this bitch is getting you wrapped around her finger, what’s with that? Did she give you a good jerking off or something?”

“The fuck you said?”

“You heard me, Harry. This girl’s not for you, man. We have work to do and all you do is follow her around like a lost puppy.”

Harry took a step towards Michael; their foreheads were touching and their eyes were seeing red. They were whispering in a way of anger.

“Say shit like that one more time, Miky, I fucking dare you.”

“Yeah, sure you do, stuffing your face in her pussy was not enough and now you’re turning your back on your friend.”

“You call yourself a friend, you son of a bitch?”

“Yeah, I do. I’m the one taking all of the responsibility so you can go have fun with your little sluts.”

“Get out of my face before I break yours.” Harry said and pushed Michael away, walked towards the car where you sat. He didn’t speak through the whole drive and he pulled over at your apartment. And that was it for the day.

That same night and after you were done with your job, Michael’s face appeared next to your car.

--

It had been six months since you knew Harry. Michael would show up almost every night at the club to convince you with the offer. You had many dates with Harry, most of them were just you guys having fun. You made sure not to talk too much about yourself, you thought you already did talk too much.

What happened at the after-party was still lingering in your head because Michael wouldn't stop showing for it, you didn’t want to make Harry lose a deal because of you. You felt heavy at the idea, you were alone for a long time and having a man take care of you was not something you were used to at the time.

You were ready to perform for Ray at his place as Michael asked you.

A part of you wanted to do this to prove to yourself that no one could tell you what to do or save you, that you were good all by yourself, the other part wanted to do it so you get Harry the deal. You had to provide him with something.

Angela was preparing your suit for the private performance in the private room the host had provided for you. Your bodyguard was waiting in the hallway, that was your only condition to accept the offer. You decided to wear a blue suit for the performance; you got into the suit, put on your makeup, were ready to do something you didn’t want so you shake off the feeling of a man protecting you.

You didn’t want someone to protect you.

Every breath you took was heavy like a million stone pressing into your throat. It had been a long time since you did something you did not want.

You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, and you saw that you weren’t happy about that whole thing.

Ray was sitting on a black armchair and the song had started as you asked Angela. You got out of the room and were ready for dancing the feeling off.

Angela saw the sadness lingering in your eyes, she’d been your assistant since the beginning so she noticed. Oh, she noticed the face of yours that was completely broken, yet expressionless. There was nothing she could do, she tried talking you out of it, but you only snapped at her. She sighed sadly as she watched you from the slightly open door.

That body suit was not too revealing, you chose one that covered most of you to get a little comfortable. Your waist drew a big circle, then you started dancing your body with no smile visible. Smiling was critical, but you couldn’t afford it so you danced with a poker face on.

However, you found your eyes tearing up, dancing with tears in your eyes, trying your best to not let them fall down your cheeks. The eyes of Ray were eating the sight of you which disgusted you even more. Disgusted by yourself, your body. You didn’t want to do this. Who could save you then?

Meanwhile, Harry was calling you and Angela answered as usual,

“Hello, Mr. Styles. Y/N is busy now.” She started, but he could hear the song playing in the background.

Harry knew that you were off the club that day, you did not tell him that you had any other performance as he was thinking of taking you out.

“Where exactly? I may drive y/n home.” He asked, confused.

She gave him the address and hung up. Angela completely ignored your order to not answer Harry’s calls. Angela felt that she had to step up and not let you do something that made you sad deeply. Michael was checking some guns out of a wooden box at one of Harry’s warehouses, then he looked at Harry to see him confused. Harry didn’t know why he was confused, “What’s wrong, H?” Mike asked inspecting a gun in his hand.

“Y/N is having a private performance she didn’t tell me about.” He looked at Mike, but Mike avoided any eye contact and that was something Harry noticed.

“Maybe she forgot.” Michael mumbled.

That look on Michael’s face is a liar’s look. They had been friends long enough, and Harry knew that he was lying.

“What do you know that I don’t, Michael?” Harry asked, rising from his chair. The warehouse was not lighted well, only a yellow light bulb. That deem light made Harry’s expression look a lot worse.

“Ugh, nothing.”

“You’re lying. What is it?”

“She asked me to give Ray the private performance he asked for, so we could get the deal we had to get which you blew. Satisfied?” Michael huffed looking to Harry.

“You made the girl I’m seeing perform behind my back!?” Harry yelled.

“She asked me not to tell, okay?”

“It is not, Mike, it is not okay.” Harry mumbled, seeing red.

He got out of the warehouse, jogging towards his car, followed by Michael who was calling his name to get him to slow down.

Meanwhile you were changing into your next suit, trying to suck in your tears.

--

In the garage where you kept your car, you were driving your legs to walk with Angela next to you, holding your bag. Harry’s figure appeared next to your car, leaning on it, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. You glared at Angela so she walked faster to open the trunk of the car.

"You owe me." You said bluntly with a poker face, walking to open your driver’s seat without even looking at him.

"Excuse me? I owe you?" He straightened up and raised his arms in confusion.

"Yes, you do. That shitty performance was for your own sake." You said, throwing your handbag inside violently.

He had to take a step towards you, "You did exactly what I told you not to do!" He yelled in your face.

"Hey! Don't raise your voice at me. I did this for your own sake." You slammed the car door, turning around to face him, raising your pointer at him.

"What sake was that? You think I care about some deal? No, darling, you did this all for your own sake. I won't fall for your shit!" His lips were curled upside down, like he was disgusted.

"Oh, really? Do you think I wanted to perform for that piece of shit? His eyes were practically undressing me every fucking second and I hated every second of it, Harry!" You yelled.

"And that is exactly why I told you not to perform, but you're too stubborn to listen. You had to make yourself appear like some independent girl, look where we are now! Because you're too fucking stubborn to listen to a fucking word I say!" He yelled back right in your face, but you gave him a sarcastic smile.

"So, this is my fault now? You asked me to be at that after-party where that shit asked me to perform!"

"It is your fault-"

"No, it fucking isn't-"

"It fucking is, y/n!"

"Stop yelling at me!"

"You stop yelling at me and listen for a change!"

"You started it!"

"Listen, all I asked was for you to not perform for him, but you fucked up everything I said and did what you wanted anyways. That is pure disrespect."

"Disrespect?!" You exclaimed.

None of you noticed that Angela was still standing by the car trunk, watching both of you yelling at each other.

"Yeah, y/n, disrespect. You went there and wore god knows what to show off your flesh for a guy that only wants to see what's underneath."

"I wore a suit, Harry, I wear them every day for god's sake!"

"You wear them on a stage, in front of an audience, you wear them at parties that you work at, not at somebody's house when he's the only audience." He yelled the last part.

"I did this for you." You whispered, looking to the ground.

"No, you fucking did not! You did this for yourself so you could say to yourself that no man could tell you what to do!"

"No, no, I did not." Your eyes teared a little. And you tried your best to not cry in front of anyone, but this was becoming too much for you to handle.

"Yeah, you did, you completely disrespected me. I cannot even look at you now." He ran his fingers in his hair, looking away.

"What do you wanna hear? That you were right? Yes, Harry, you fucking were right. I hated every second of it, I was literally crying. I did this because I could not bear the idea of someone protecting me!" You yelled the last sentence with your eyes full of tears. "And I wish I listened to you, I wish I could take it back and listen to what you said, but I can't. I can't reverse time and not do it. I only wanted to dance for you but I just couldn't let you protect me. I'm afraid, Harry, okay?" You sighed, a tear rolling on your cheek when he looked at you, his chest rising up and down.

"I'm afraid of every day I will suffer when you leave. I don't want to get used to you; I was fine before you came along. There will be nothing left of me if you break me like everyone else. I just can't give you the knife so you can kill me whenever you feel like it." You broke down and started crying, that was when he grabbed you to his chest to hug you, one arm around your neck.

You muffled through your tears. “I’m just afraid, Harry.”

He deepened the hug and kissed your temple before whispering in your ear, “I’m not leaving, y/n.”

“Yes, you are. Everybody leaves.”

“Not me, baby. Just please, listen to me, I don’t like being disrespected. I don’t want you to interfere with my work whatsoever, it’s no place for you. I know these people; you can’t be around them.” He said gently.

You sobbed a little and he pulled away a little to wipe off your tears with his fingers. He gave a kiss to your forehead and pulled you in his arms again.

“Awww.” Angela says, fingers intertwined. You both chuckled at her till Harry said, “I want you to go home, okay? I have some business to go through, then I’ll catch you there.”

“Okay, don’t be late, I cooked today.”

“Can’t wait to taste.” He said before giving you one last kiss on the forehead and leave.

You got into your car with Angela to drive her home. Angela cleared her throat as you were driving, “I’m sorry, y/n, I gave him the address.”

“It’s okay, Angela, sometimes we need people to step up for us.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No, honey, I’m not. I know that you just wanted to look out for me. I did a stupid thing, I didn’t even wanna do it, but I just did.” You huffed.

“Harry seems nice, he was really worried about you.” She said and you smiled at her words.

--

Harry pulled over by the warehouse, got out of the car with no expression, didn’t say hello to any of the guards as usual. He went in to find Michael sitting at his chair. Towers of boxes were filled inside the warehouse. Harry walked towards Michael and said without sitting, looking at Michael who raised his head to face Harry, “We’re done, Michael. I’ll have a word with the accountant so you can take all the money you put back, if you want arms instead that’s fine. I don’t want to see your face again.” Then Harry turned around to leave, but Michael’s voice stopped him.

“What? What’s that for? What did she tell you to make you turn against me?” Michael asked as Harry turned around once again.

“She didn’t say anything, she didn’t even mention your name. She took full responsibility of what she did, but I know better, Michael. I know you too much, I know that none of what you said was true.” Harry said lowly, yet angrily. “I know that she didn’t tell you not to tell me, I know that you must have convinced her to do that behind my back. Since that after-party she never not even for once mentioned that offer, and you wouldn’t shut up about it. You’re cunning, Michael, I’ll give you that.”

“And that’s why you’re leaving me behind? Harry, I’m your friend.”

“What kind of a friend are you, man? You know what? It’s not even about her at all, it’s about you going behind my back. You speak ill of the girl I like all the time; I suck it in and just give you the benefit of the doubt. But, no, Michael, not anymore.”

“We needed that deal, Harry, I had to do it.” Michael stood up.

“You got your deal. But you don’t have me anymore, we’re done.” Harry said and just left, leaving Michael back cursing himself.

Their friendship was perfect, they’d fuck girls, drink, do business, have each other’s back. No matter how much they fought, nothing led them to that point of no return. But Michael’s friendship was over to Harry, not because of you. If a friend could deceive another friend, then how could they trust one another?

Harry’s car was pulled over at your apartment, he rang the bell and you opened the door. You were in one of your cute pajamas, but once you opened the door and saw Harry’s face you had to open your arms for him. He went in your arms and hugged you tightly. He dug his face in the crook of your neck, trying to hold back his tears. You wrapped him tightly in your arms and rubbed his back gently, reassuring him.

“It’s gonna be okay, Harry.” You whispered in his ear and just stayed there for a while, the front door still open, in each other’s arms until Harry was moving his head and saw Jessica standing by her bedroom door, looking at you both.

“It’s been 5 minutes, aren’t you bored?” She commented and you had to chuckle. You both pulled away but kept his hand in yours.

“I didn’t know you were here; I wouldn’t have come.” He said, smirking at her.

“Y/N is a bad influence, isn’t she?” She said as she took a seat on the barstool.

Jessica was a redhead with lots of piercings and tattoos, she was taller than you and more muscular.

“Come on in, Gatsby, I’m making late dinner.” You said and led him in as you closed the front door behind him.

You let go of his hand and went right to the fridge to take out the food you had half-cooked earlier. You put the plates of the food on the island and jogged to your room and returned with a hairclip, you pulled your hair up with the hairclip. Then, you went to the fridge again to pour them both some juice.

“Wanna know the story behind the hairclip?” Jessica asked Harry with a big smirk on her face.

“Aren’t you a bitch?!” You exclaimed turning on the oven and put two pots on.

“Tell me.” Harry said as he sipped from his cup.

“Y/N was trying to cook me some food, what was the name of that dish, y/n?”

“It was an eastern dish, it consists of pasta, rice, fried onions, and lentil. It’s a hard dish to make.” You answered, going on with your cooking.

“Yeah, and she was going on with cooking till we smelled something burning, turns out she left her too long hair going around with her like a fucking Rapunzel.” Jessica said through her laughs and Harry’s eyes widened at you.

“My god, your hair burnt!?” He asked, looking at you.

“Just the tips I swear!” You said raising your middle finger at her. “I’ll get you, bitch.”

“Since that day she never turns on the stove without tying her hair up.”

“How did you guys meet?” Harry asked. You turned your head and looked at her, “Wanna tell him?”

She smiled at you, “We had a fight at one of the clubs. We were auditioning I looked her up and down, she looked like pick-me girl.”

“Fuck you, I didn’t. I minded my own business till you made that little comment of yours!”

“Tell me!” Harry laughed, “I’d like to know the whole story.”

“Okay, okay, y/n was flicking her hair all the time like she was the only girl on earth or something. She looked different; you know? I told her that there was some gum stuck in her hair.” Harry burst into laughing as you and Jessica laughed along yet she continued, “She got all riled up and kept looking for that gum till she missed the audition.”

“Oh my god, then what?” He asked through his laughs.

“She waited for me outside and was determined to pull my hair off.”

“Sounds like y/n.”

“Then when we were fighting, some guy held me in an inappropriate way, she yelled at him ‘Don’t touch her, pig’” Jessica laughed as she imitated you. “She kicked him in the nuts for me. Then we sat on the sidewalk, talking and became friends since then.”

“I’d never change a thing about it, Jess. I love you.” You said and then turned around and walked to the kitchen island facing both of them.

“Jessica had my back when everybody turned their backs on me. She lent me money, got me the job at the club, got me to stay with her when I had nowhere else to go.”

“We sound so gay.” She said and you both laughed and high-fived each other.

Harry looked at both of you and felt sad a little when he remembered Michael.

“Where’s the food, y/n? I gotta go soon.” She said and you turned to the stove again to finish your cooking.

“Okay, Jess, put the food in the plates, I gotta go to the bathroom.” You said and walked to the bathroom. Jessica nodded at you and stood to turn off the stove.

“You like her, just Harry?” She asked Harry, taking him off his thoughts.

“Yeah, I do, very much actually.”

“Y/N is a good girl, she has her bad moments, but she’s a really good friend. I have to tell you something really quick before she comes back, though I think she’ll be late. She takes her phone with her to scroll on.” She smirked and he chuckled. “Y/N may act tough, she’s tough but she needs someone to protect her from herself. She told me that a while back when she was drunk at yours she had a bad dream. That happens a lot, her family messed her up, she has zero contact with any of them, she’s only got me and now you. She doesn’t let people into her life that much so I need you to promise me that if you ever feel like you don’t want to be with her, just tell her the truth.”

“I want to be with her-“

“I’m just saying, I don’t wanna see my best friend like that. Just please, promise me that if you wanna let her go, let her go slowly. Don’t break her heart anymore than it already is. I love that bitch, she’s a person you can always lean on. She told me all about that fucker from her country, she loved him, listened to him, got him gifts, told him all words of affirmation, and he threw her like trash. I can’t let that happen before my eyes.”

“I promise I really want her, I have no intention of breaking her heart. She’s-“ He got cut off by your voice, “Who’re you two talking about?”

“No one, I was just telling him about the time when you were two and ran naked around the house.” Jessica said as she filled the plates with food.

“What’s that?” Harry asked pointing at his plate.

“Shut up and eat.” You said getting yourselves forks and spoons.

You started eating but soon Jessica got a phone call.

“I have to go, y/n.” She said, stuffing her mouth with food.

“Tell your boyfriend to fuck himself for me, please.” You said and she raised her middle finger and grabbed her purse and went to open the front door as she turned around.

“I don’t want you both doing stupid shit, as long as you’re under my roof, you live by my rules. Bye.” She said as she went out and closed the door behind her. You chuckled and looked over to Harry who was next to you, didn’t touch his food.

“Is there something bothering you, or you just don’t like my food?” You asked before putting the full spoon into your mouth.

“I had a talk with Mike.” He said lowly, playing with his food.

“What kind of a talk?”

“I ended our friendship.”

“What?” You let go of your spoon, giving him your full attention.

“I had to.”

“No, Harry, there’s nothing that could end that friendship of yours.”

“He made you perform for Ray, y/n!”

“He didn’t make me do shit, I agreed, this is my decision. You didn’t punish me for it, why punish him?”

“Because he knows better than to do such thing behind my back.”

“Michael loves you, Harry. He wanted to save your business with this deal, I told him not to tell you, I told him to stay out of it. He cares for you, baby, he didn’t want to do things behind your back. He made a mistake just like me, don’t punish him too hard.”

“He knows better, y/n.” He said with sadness all over his voice.

“Harry, you’re punishing him and you. Think of all the times he had your back, he wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“You damn should, he loves you like a brother.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me.”

Harry sighed and grabbed the spoon to his mouth and his eyes widened, “What is that? It’s so good.”

“It’s a secret.” You winked.

--

You both laid on your bed, Harry’s head on your lap as you played with his hair, you were reading a book and he was scrolling on his phone. You huffed and snatched the phone from his hand.

“Hey! What’s that for?”

“I want you to take my virginity.” You said with straight face.

“What?” He straightened up to face you.

“You heard me.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Why do you wanna give it up before marriage?”

“I think it’s time for me to let it go.”

“Why me, then?”

You brushed his hair with your fingers, “Because I like you, Harry. You mean so much to me now. You’re nice, gentle, and you take care of me. You treat me so good like I’m the only girl on earth. I want to give something so precious to a guy that’s become so precious to me.”

He smiled and cupped your face, “I can’t, I can’t take something that important from you.”

“I want you to, Harry. I didn’t wanna give it up to some guy that would leave me the next day. Ugh, I don’t know what’ll happen between us, and maybe it’s too soon. But before we do anything, I have to ask. Are we actually dating or what? We’ve never talked about it; we’ve been going out for about five months now.”

He thought about it for a moment, you had been going on dates for quite a while, but you never talked about where you were standing.

“I think we’ve went on dates more than a dozen times, so I think yeah, we are dating, y/n.” He answered, truthfully.

“Do you wanna?” You winked and he sighed.

“I can’t, I want you to have it the special way you deserve. You deserve to give it in the most special way possible.” He said as he caressed your cheek softly. “But I really need you to give me a blowjob before little Harry explode.” He grinned and you burst into laughing.

You cupped his face and pulled him in for a deep kiss, the kiss was emotional and so sweet. He got his tongue into your mouth and you followed. He bit your bottom lip a little and got you right under him as he was caressing your hips and waist.

He pulled away from the kiss only to lick on your neck. He kissed and licked your sweet spot as your moans got louder by the touch. He was right between your legs so you felt him getting harder above you. You craved touching him so your hands crawled under his t-shirt to strip him. Once he took of his shirt, he unbuttoned your pajama blouse to see you in a beautiful lace grey bra.

“I love every little detail of you, y/n.” He whispered as he walked the tip of his finger on the stretch marks on your breasts.

You hummed and cupped his dick through his jeans and you got a moan out of him. He took your bra off and threw it somewhere.

“I like you better this way.” He grinned and squeezed both breasts in his hands and put one nipple into his mouth to lick. Gave the same attention to the other nipple and they got harder and he felt an urge to twist them a little. He did and you gasped.

You felt shy dirty-talking so you stuck to the moaning. His hands were caressing your whole body as he was kissing his way down to the hem of your pants. He looked into your eyes and took off your pants and played with your pussy with his finger so slowly it killed you.

“Stop teasing me!” You whined.

“You do that all the time, now’s my turn.” He said on your pussy.

He grabbed the hem of your panties in between his teeth and took it off completely with your help, of course. He spread your legs and dove right in, licking on your clit gently as his hands crawled up to your breasts to squeeze them. You arched your back as you felt his tongue enter you slowly, your hands were deep in his hair tugging at it.

He twisted your nipples between his fingers as his tongue was moving from fucking you to drawing circles on your clit.

“You like that, princess?” He whispered and you couldn’t hear him clearly so he got no answer from you, only moans.

He pulled his tongue away and looked into your eyes and twisted your nipples just a little harder and you gasped.

“I said, you like that?” He repeated and you nodded. “Words, princess.”

“Yes, Harry, yes, I love it, please. Give me your tongue again, I’m so close, plea-“ You ended your sentence with a loud moan as he grabbed your clit between his lips to kiss and lick.

 “Harry, I’m gonna cum, I’m go-“ You were interrupted by the hard orgasm that hit you. You tugged on his hair harder and arched your back so hard. You pushed him a little from you as you were cumming and it made him smirk as he was watching your body shake under his touch.

“Fuck, that was so sexy.” His smirk grew wider as you pulled him up to kiss him deeply, violently.

You turned him over so you could be on top, You felt bold.

“I want you to cum in my mouth.” You whispered in his ear before kissing his neck. “Can I give you a love bite?” You asked and he only chuckled.

“You can do whatever you want, Rapunzel. I’m all yours.”

God, those nicknames did you good.

You gave him a couple of love-bites on his neck and near his shoulder-blade, you loved that he was not a silent guy in bed. Harry gave you all the moans you needed to figure that he was enjoying your touches. You kissed his neck one last time before using your two central teeth and tongue to make your way down on his body.

“Fuck, that’s new.” He moaned before helping him take his pants and boxers off, then he collected your hair with his two hands and had it in one fist.

You winked at him, “Not gonna tease you this time.”

“You better not to or I swea-Oh fuck!” He was interrupted as you put him in your mouth to stop him from talking. You felt his pre-cum on your tongue as you tried taking more of him without gagging. You put as much as you could down your throat until you gagged, kept him in there a little.

“Fuck, yes, you’re so good to me, princess.” He moaned pulling on your hair a little harder. Pulling your hair only made him harder.

You pushed him in and out of your mouth a little and got it out completely with a pop. He was trying to keep his eyes on you to appreciate the sight of you taking him in. You started licking his cock from the side as you were jerking him off with one hand. The other hand was gently massaging his balls.

You moaned while he was in your mouth and that sent him over the edge.

“Princess, I’m gonna cum. Don’t stop, don’t, don’t.” His moans were getting louder as you began pushing him in and out faster.

You felt his cum fill your mouth, but you didn’t stop until he was finished. You pulled him out of your mouth with his cum on your tongue. You looked at him, still in between his legs by his cock, you opened your mouth so he could see his cum on your tongue. He grabbed your bottom lip and bit his own.

“I wish I could take a picture; fuck you look incredibly sexy.” He groaned and you nodded. “What? Want me to take a picture?” He asked and you nodded again.

“Are you sure?” Again, he asked and you nodded.

He pulled your phone that was on the nightstand and you pressed your finger on it so it would unlock. He turned on the camera and took a picture.

He put the phone down.

“Swallow.” He ordered.

And you swallowed.

--

The picture was you, your eyes not in the scene. Your mouth open, cum all over your tongue, Harry’s finger pulling down your bottom lip, a strand of your hair was in sight.

[geekywritings]

“What now?” “You kiss me.”

Sooo, I was actually trying to work on the request with the sarcastic reader, but somehow the story took a life of its own. Buuut, I kinda like the result, so I want to share it with you anyway. I will get to the request once sarcastic muse hits!

So have instead a reader that uses sarcasm, flirtation and wit as a shield, but Cal sees right through it. Let’s just say, reader is having some trouble witht that and cuteness ensues.

___

Witty, sarcastic, snarky and flirtatious. Those were the words most would use to describe you and you were fine with it. The quips and dry jokes were your shield. You last defense after being betrayed one time too often.

You could easily joke with people, because that meant you could leave serious topics aside and drown your fear. Your “What are you afraid of? As if these guys can even shoot properly” during battle was the perfect cover for trying to suppress the memory of this type of weapons being aimed at you and your master.

Flirting was another great tactic to keep people emotionally at arm’s length. Because as long as you flirted, nobody asked anything deeper. Your heart was safe as long as everything remained superficial. And for the longest time, that had worked great.

Until you met Cal Kestis.

Despite everything you tried, he was worming his way through your defenses one smile and kind gesture at a time.

He laughed at your sarcastic quips during battle, when you mocked your enemies, but always asked if you were alright afterward.

He accepted the nicknames you were throwing his way, but always gave you that special smile that had your heart skip a beat whenever you did call him by his name.

He got angry when you flirted with some random guy, constantly stepping in and taking over the conversation himself and he always had a comeback for whatever witty comment you offered.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

You had been betrayed by your soldiers. You had been betrayed by the person who had initially offered you shelter and protection. And you had been betrayed by a man you thought had loved you. You were done trusting.

But how could you not trust Cal? How could you not fall in love when he proved every day that he was different?

“Why are you like this?”, you exploded one evening, the frustration breaking through, while you sat over a game of sabacc together in the Mantis. The two glasses of alcohol you’ve had probably weren’t helping.

“Like what?”, Cal asked, visibly taken aback.

“Like… you.”

Your less than clear answer earned you a raised brow.

“I have no clue what you mean.”

A frustrated huff escaped your lips and you leaned back on the couch, the game forgotten for a moment.

“Kind. Understanding. Loyal. Empathetic. Gentle. Funny. Bloody handsome too!”, you enumerated.

“And that’s bad?”

“Yes!”

“How much did you have to drink?”

You gave him a sarcastic look at that. “Clearly not enough.”

Cal leaned back himself, wondering where this was all coming from.

“You are making it so bloody hard, you know?”, you continued. “To not fall in love with you.”

You had tacked on the explanation before he could ask about it and the words had both of you go absolutely still. Only the humming of the engine was heard, as the Mantis rushed through hyperspace.

“You are in love with me?”, the red-haired Jedi was the first to speak hesitantly.

“No… Yes… I...” You sighed. “I didn’t want to fall in love again. I didn’t want to trust again. Why do you think I kept calling you Starboy instead of your name for the first few weeks? I thought you’d just leave anyway.”

“But I didn’t leave.”

“No, somehow you didn’t. And you always laughed at my stupid dry jokes.”

“I didn’t think they were stupid.”

“And you were never put off by my sarcasm somehow.”

“I think it’s actually endearing.”

“And that’s the problem, Cal! You are perfect. For me… and I… I’m not ready to have my heart pulled out, quartered, fried and served in pieces again.”

You were on the brink of something here, Cal sensed it and he chose his next words with care. “And you think I would do that to you?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he stared at you.

Seconds ticked by until you breathed a simple: “No.”

Slowly, Cal shifted closer to you on the couch, but didn’t dare reach out.

“You are special to me, Y/N. I would rather face Vader again than hurt you like you have been hurt before.”

Wait, what? He sounded as if he knew, even though you had never revealed the betrayals that plagued your heart. He seemed to read your expression just right, because he rubbed his neck, almost a little embarrassed all of a sudden.

“Psychometry… I can’t always control it. I saw things… when I cleaned away some of your clothes.”

“When?”

“Shortly after we’ve met.”

You were left stunned. He had always known and he had never treated you with pity or tried to offer support where it wasn’t asked for. He had just been himself around you.

“What now?”, he asked after another silence, unsure where you stood at this point.

“You kiss me, Starboy. That’s what.”

He did. There would be time to continue this strangely deep talk later.

[lyriquette]

Remnants of RWBY: Vytal Festival - Day 3: Alternate Universes

@remnants-of-rwby-events

The next offering is part of the Becoming AU, the Crack Taken Seriously fic where Ruby is mistakenly believed to be a Beacon professor by the rest of the school and Ozpin rolls with it. Antics ensue. But you don't need to read it to understand this chapter, which will probably be posted 2 weeks after to AO3.

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

Becoming AU / Perspective: Jaune

After Forever Fall, Cardin makes the mistake of disparaging Crocea Mors within Ruby's earshot.

------

It had been an...awkward couple of weeks after Forever Fall. 

He had expected Cardin to leave him alone after saving his life. He did not expect him to try and get all friendly instead. It was just extremely awkward, having Cardin try to include him in all of his team's activities and you know pretend like the whole blackmailing stuff never happened.

What's worse was that Cardin was genuinely sincere about these invitations too, which made it really hard to decline.

His team noticed too. And Nora was really getting hyped up on breaking Cardin's legs this time around, and no one believed him when he said that Cardin was trying to be nice instead of bullying him.

Which was why he was in this situation now. In the middle of the hallway, stuck making small talk with Cardin and the rest of his team, under the watchful eye of Ren and Nora a classroom away.

As for Pyrrha, well, she was suffering with him. Even her normally brilliant smile started to dim after fifteen minutes of this awkward situation - what could she do when Cardin was genuinely trying to be nice?

Well, at least his team won't think Cardin's trying to bully him anymore.

“I’m telling you that I’m perfectly fine with a sword and shield. It’s what I practice with, it’s what I know,” Jaune said wearily, mostly just wanting this conversation to end.

Unfortunately, Cardin didn’t want to comply with his silent wishes.  

“Look. You could definitely do better. Your sword and shield’s boring, outdated, and probably needs to retire in a museum somewhere. I know a couple shops where you can get a discou-” Any further words Cardin wanted to say seem to have gotten caught in his throat. Cardin's gaze was no longer on him but past his arm, where he caught a couple of red fading petals blowing in from behind.

That’s when Ruby just walked past him - from wherever she came from - and straight towards Cardin. He couldn't see her face, but from the way she was trembling, Ruby was not happy.

“Y-you’re kidding, right?” The normal bubbliness in Ruby’s voice was replaced with so much incredulity and anger that he believed Ruby had beef with Cardin over something unrelated entirely. Enough that Pyrrha and he immediately walked to their side, instinctively prepared to defuse the situation. 

At least until she dropped the bombshell.

“..Y-you’re seriously insulting Crocea Mors?” 

Seeing the intensity in Ruby’s steel eyes was scary - almost like watching a cat about to pounce a mouse. And Cardin clearly thought so too because he stumbled trying to step back and knocked into the wall behind him. 

It always confused him as to why Cardin would try his very best to avoid Ruby after his duel with her, despite Ruby losing that fight. Actually, it was a little funny that Mr. Tough Guy was so afraid of shy, cheerful Ruby.

...But looking at the slightly unhinged look in the younger girl's eyes, he’s starting to have an idea why. 

“I-I-I wasn’t…” Cardin stuttered to the amazement of the other members of his team. 

Ruby forwardly just stepped up and placed her hands on Cardin’s shoulders, which looked a little comical given that the guy had over a foot of height on her. 

“...Crocea Mors isn’t a weapon that you can ridicule,” Ruby whispered in dead seriousness, “It survived at least three generations in a Huntsman’s family. It survived the Great War. And it’ll probably survive you too.” 

He’s…pretty sure Ruby didn’t say ‘and that might be sooner rather than later' but oh boy did he feel it. And from the deer-in-headlights look Pyrrha’s giving him, she felt it too. 

“H-h-hey. Come on now. Let's not fight over that antique -” Russel remarked with a genial smile, sliding between Cardin and Ruby to try and make peace. And that smile wilted immediately after Ruby turned to him with a blank expression. Hell, even his mohawk looked like it wilted too. 

Gotta give him props though. 

What a true friend. 

“That antique was made with the best that Vacuoian steel-forging and Vale’s blacksmithing had to offer!” Ruby scathingly replied as she pushed Cardin away and stalked over to Russel, “Even today, blacksmiths and fabricator machines could only hope to match Crocea Mors’s durability and sharpness. 

“You wanna pit Shortwings against it for a couple hundred swings?” Ruby stomped a foot down and swung her arm to punctuate her point, “I will bet any amount of Lien that Shortwings shatters first!” 

Russell vigorously shook his head as quickly as he could - like a grade schooler knowing he did wrong. Unfortunately for him, it's clear Ruby was determined to hammer the lesson home.

“More importantly,” Ruby lowered her voice once more, “that antique had more thought put into it than most weapons today.”

“Crocea Mors was created specifically with the hope that its wielder would survive the Great War,” Ruby confidently declared, “And to do that, it was made to be both strong and reliable. Do you know what sand or water does to intricate mechanisms? It gums them up and then makes them useless.”

“Now of course, I built Crescent Rose here with a wicking system to deal with that,” Ruby affectionately added with a pat to the collapsed weapon hiding behind her cape, “but back then, who would know how to make that kind of mod?”

“Furthermore, whatever joints Crocea Mors had were made so well that the shield appears seamless when deployed,” Ruby lectured on, clearly calmer after her brief aside about her own weapon. It still didn’t stop her from prodding Russel’s chest every couple words though. “And as strong as every other part of the shield too.” 

So entranced he and Pyrrha were by this super assertive version of Ruby that they didn’t even realize Cardin and the rest of his team had already skedaddled. Only when Russel desperately gazed over at where Cardin was - and the indignant disbelief in the guy’s eyes - did they realize that the rest of team CRDL was just gone.

“Do you know which kingdoms preferred guerilla and ambush tactics the most? Mantle and Mistral!" Ruby continued on, gaining steam again, “Under those circumstances, a sheath that turns into a heater shield is a brilliant idea! Not to mention there’s a robust spring-loaded mechanism that can deliver a counter blow when the shield is deployed or even create a makeshift barricade to block a narrow passage.” 

"As for the sword, its excellence speaks for itself," Ruby then huffed as she closed in on a shrinking Russel, "but if you had any proper weapon knowledge, we wouldn’t be here right now."

“Keeping an edge that keen over three generations - an edge that can cleanly decapitate an Ursa Major in one swing - is a testament to both the blacksmith’s metalworking and Jaune’s family who maintained it well.”

…Well, now he was feeling guilty again about stealing Crocea Mors from the family.  

“Heck! Given how old this "antique" is, chances are it cut down someone who would’ve ended up killing your ancestors, giving you the opportunity to say such ignorant words today. ” Ruby continued on, “Really! You should be calling Crocea Mors your Granddadd- Wait Pyrrha, what are you-” 

Pyrrha had begun pulling the younger girl up and away from Russel, elbows latched underneath the other girl’s armpits.

Yeah, probably a good place to end things.

It still didn’t stop Pyrrha or himself from trying to stifle a laugh at the uncharacteristic Yang-like insult.

Definitely sisters, alright.

Still staring at Russel and being restrained by Pyrrha, Ruby frowned as she nudged her head towards him, “Come on, Jaune! He’s insulting your weapon! You should be defending Crocea Mors's honor!” 

“Errr…Ruby, I actually didn’t know all tha-”

Pyrrha shook her head violently, mouthing the word no. 

Russel, from the corner of his eyes, looked at him with an expression of gratefulness. 

Ruby slowly turned her head towards him. 

Oh. Crap.

[bleue-flora]

my theory for why he wanted ctommy to trust him and be his weapon is because of a few things. He saw potential in ctommy, he knew ctommy was good at leading people (in pogtopia he was the one who ralleyed everyone together), ctommy could easily sway anyone to like cdream which is useful hes a social weapon, ctommy is cdreams biggest enemy at that time so getting him on side would make cdream be able to achieve his goal better, he is irritated with ctommy for ruining his life so in a way getting ctommys trust could be done out of revenge as it breaks ctommy and rebuilds him to be better and to allign with cdreams happy family goal. 'If ctommy is in order than maybe everyone else can be too.' Its interesting he chooses to fake a friendship with ctommy instead of just torturing him the entire time in exile.

A lot of his manipulative actions in exile are a result of him believing ctommy being around anyone but himself would result in ctommy reverting back to a trouble maker, even ghostbur which is why he got rid of him imo.

Hmm interesting… No offense to Tommy but of the characters I see as good at swaying a crowd or being a leader or social weapon he does not necessarily come to mind. Besides Tubbo I feel like there aren’t really any instances where Tommy was the reason people did things. A lot of people hated Schlatt for other reasons so I’m not sure Tommy really rallied together Pogtopia. Quackity certainly wasn’t happy under Schlatt, he was mistreating Niki, Eret wanted redemption, Techno wanted to tear down the government, Fundy was against Schlatt day one and acting as a spy, members of the Badlands wanted chaos and for the factors to tear themselves apart… etc. So, I’m not sure we can say he has the power to inspire and rally people into fighting for a cause like Wilbur. Even Doomsday, I don’t personally think they were really swayed by Tommy’s speech, Sapnap and Punz were already going to side against Dream regardless, the people living in L’manberg or around didn’t want their house blown up etc. I’m not sure anyone fought because Tommy asked them or gathered them together, I think they were going to regardless. And Dream would know that, I mean look how fast they turned against Tommy with the Community House being blown up. So leader? - meh. Social weapon? - if you mean by talking over everyone lol then yeah, but convincing people of things? Inspiring them to fight for something - I’m just not sure I personally see it. Within reason right. Yes, everyone believe the things about Exile and stuff, but they saw how Tommy was screwed up after. So if Tommy was being manipulated into being Dream’s social weapon I don’t think they’d side with Tommy on Dream’s side.

Also, I’m not sure Tommy was his biggest threat at that point Quackity starting plotting to kill him imediately after the war, everyone else I don’t think liked him because he sided with Schlatt, a bunch of people that weren’t Tommy went after George as the king including Technoblade, hence his dethronement. Not to mention after gaining the revive book, he became afraid of a lot bigger things or larger threats to the point of building a prison to contain such evil that can’t be killed for whatever reason. Tommy was perhaps number 1 annoying bug, and certainly a threat or a possible catalyst to another war, but I don’t think Dream saw him as the biggest threat to his plans per se.

I’m not sure I follow the logic of taking revenge on someone via making them better mannered, trust you and become your friend so that you both can make everyone be peaceful as one big happy family. I mean if you wanna really do revenge like that is the true reason - you ruined my life so I’m going to ruin you - I think you’d start with destroying L’manberg before it even is able to pick up it’s pieces, kill Tubbo, explode his house as you said torture him. What do you need trust for? How bout just kill him and then with him removed you build your happy family and then maybe revive him later. It just doesn’t make sense, and Dream may be somewhat insane and extreme and emotional, but he does things for a reason that make logical sense for his goal. That is a defining difference between them actually - Tommy does not follow logic but feelings and doesn’t do things for his motivation, while Dream follows logic over feelings and does everything or makes everything work that was emotionally caused for his motivation. His emotions leak through the cracks but he doesn’t lead them dictate his over plans, so doesn’t Dream take out revenge on Tommy - I think yes, I think his emotions pushed him to make Tommy feel exactly like he did - abandoned, trapped, having lost everything over and over, but I don’t think that was the ultimate purpose. I think that was almost more so unintentional like waking up grumpy and being a jerk to people all day, except in this scenario having your world crumble around you and starting to take it out on the person who is fairly responsible.

Because, clearly based on what we see in Daedalus Dream isn’t an idiot who thinks torturing or breaking someone is how you manipulate them/get what you want. It doesn’t work, not in the dsmp and not in the real world. And he proves in Daedalus that with the upper hand, he doesn’t need to lay a hand on someone to get them to do what he wants, yet he does lay a hand on Tommy, which is counterproductive, giving me the impression that it’s not necessarily part of his plan. In other words, I do not think Exile was intended to be the cruel punishment it ended up being, I more so get the impression that it’s almost like Dream was trying to parent him.

Like think about it… Time out: sent away from everyone by yourself, Grounded: Unable to leave, Getting something taken away: losing items of value, Spankings: hitting as punishment for disobedience. All of these things are methods used by parents to enforce the ideas of good and bad in a child who doesn’t know any better. And don’t those kinda look like exactly what Dream does in Exile? Sure it’s so an extreme but the bad things Tommy did are extreme: murder, stealing, arson, slavery, torture, destruction…. Etc so in a twisted sort of way it kinda makes sense (Do Not take this as me agreeing with Dream’s methods or anything, I’m just looking at similarities. This isn’t about deserved or saying the behavior was justified or the right thing to do or whatever. All I’m looking at is reasoning and our purpose.)

Anyways… what was I saying? I might be getting lost in my thoughts oops. Oh okay, right isolation. I think I touched upon this somewhere, I do think it was with the purpose of preventing them from pointing out how Dream’s a bad person. I don’t think that people make Tommy a trouble maker, he does just fine on his own, and I don’t get the impression most people would try do ya know like arson with him or something. I mean again they turn against Tommy in the house, believing it was him and also being upset. I don’t get the feeling that they are A-okay with Tommy’s behavior much more than Dream is, but I think they support Tommy so they’ll have his back like good friends. So not so much revert in my opinion as turn against Dream if that makes sense. But then if Dream didn’t want Tommy to turn on him and actually become like friends or whatever why would he act so cruel, and thats where the emotions leak through the cracks make perhaps what was supposed to be a lesson into more so hell.

I mean later, when Phil makes Tommy burn a precious items and burn stone over and over and over again to teach him about how items are just things, isn’t that kinda similar to what Dream was doing in Exile?… though I also think Dream was afraid Tommy was going to get stuff to then revolt against Dream and try to kill him or whatever so maybe his fear (something he was definitely being consumed by) was at play there. I don’t know… Exile is just so… I don’t interesting and weird, but I don’t think it was supposed to be cruel, or to break/make Tommy into his puppet or weapon, it just doesn’t make sense, not with what happened nor with Dream’s motivation and characteristic behavior. He says to Sam in Daedalus that Exile wasn’t “morally perfect” and I think honestly part of him believes that…