#and is smart enough to put down is fucking knife and reach for the matches or wood chipper

[domesticgoddess22]

A night With Joel Miller

Dad's enemy!joel

Ao3 | masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings : dub-con, unprotected PIV, breeding kink, mild gun violence, dark!joel miller, raider!joel, deep throating, spanking, daddy kink, creampie, dom!Joel, dad's enemy!joel, praise kink, captivity word count: 4.1k summary: You're scavenging around an old CD store in Austin when the notorious Joel Miller catches you alone. Clickers swarm the street, so he takes you upstairs to hide out for the night. He says you were free to leave, but you stay and things get steamy.

a/n: This is my little one shot I posted to Ao3 awhile back. I've been considering making it a series once I finish some chapters of Wish Upon A Cowboy. Also this is the first time I've ever posted a fic on Tumblr so I hope I'm doing it right<3

~~~

You were always the adventurous type, always exploring, always curious. Never doing what you’re told and trading obedience for the sweet thrill of temptation. Your old man only caught you traversing through Austin by yourself a handful of times now. Those were the times you were lazy, slipped up a little, enough for someone in the faction to notice you were missing and rat you out. Your dad would send his guys after you like you were some fucking kid that couldn’t handle yourself out there. The other 300 times you did it, he had no idea you had even left your room.

Tonight was another one of those nights. 

You were on your way to an old CD store to see if you could scrap up something new to listen to. It was time to put Sweet Home Alabama to fucking rest and change up the tunes, and if you were lucky, maybe you’d find an old Nirvana CD still intact.

The beam of your flashlight reflected on what little shine the CD cases had left to offer, most of them dusty and scratched, tossed across the rubble like relics. 

The sound of a gun clicked behind your ears.

“Don’t move,” a low, smokey voice breathed into the shell of your ear. Instinctively, your arms shot up, palms facing outward. The Nirvana case crashed at your feet, fragments of plastic splintered this way and that. “Turn around. Slowly. ” 

You obeyed, heart hammering, blood pumping, eyes beginning to tear. When you do turn to face him, you’re blinded by a blaring flashlight pointed at you. 

“‘s just you here?” 

“Yes–yes it’s just me, I swear it.” 

“Ain’t it a bit dangerous for a little thing like you to be runnin’ around Austin…?” He aimed the light away so it’s pointed somewhere off to your left, scanning the room before his eyes lock back onto yours. “... Alone. ” 

You could see him more clearly now, tall, broad shoulders, face lined with stress, and eyes so cold, you’re sure he’d seen death more than you ever had. You were no match for him either, even with the revolver strapped to your ankle and a knife in your bra. He was too big. Too imposing. 

“I uh…” you swallowed the acidic bile creeping up your throat. “I like to live on the edge.”

“Mmm,” he licked his teeth, studying you. “That ain’t very smart. Lot more out here to be ‘fraid of than infected.”

He’s going to fucking kill you, isn’t he?

“My dad will raise hell if anythin’ happens to me.” 

“Your dad, huh?”

“Mhm. Old man is probably on a wild goose chase lookin’ for me as we speak.”

He chuckles darkly, “I ain’t scared of your daddy.”

“Look, man, I don't have much on me,” you plea, eyebrows knitted inward. Maybe he’d pity you and let you loose.

“Not much, but sounds like you got somethin’.”

“Got a granola bar.”

“Think your life is worth a granola bar?” He cocked his brow.

You rolled your eyes. “Got a revolver on my left ankle. Map in my back pocket with some marks where my dad hides his shit. Happy?”

His lips tugged into a smile that didn’t reflect in his eyes, “Atta girl.” 

In one flood motion, he binds your wrists together with one hand, tucking his gun back into his belt and then patting down your pant legs searching for weapons. When he reaches your ankles, he takes the revolver. 

“‘s only got one bullet,” he grumbled.

“Times are tough.” People are out there stealing your faction’s shit.

He straightens, your arms are pinned against your head now and his eyes are dark, boring into yours. His grip tightens and he steps closer, a greedy hand sliding into your back jean pocket, you wince at the feel of a man’s hand on your ass.

“Other pocket.”

He grabs your wrists with his left hand, letting his right hand explore your left pocket this time, his fingers grabbing the little paper you told him about.

“Easy, cowboy.” You drawl, eyelashes fluttering, eyes trailing up his washed-out green flannel. Up, up, up until they land on his wide chest. His thick shoulders. And then finally, his eyes, dark and matched with an expression so stern and sharp it could cut glass. 

His stare burns into you like he’s turning your flirtatious words repeatedly in his head. And then his gaze falls to your lips. The weight of his hand is hot on your waist now, even through layers of cotton, you can feel his heat in this late October cold.

There’s a distant sound of a soda can rolling down the pavement, knocking into rubble, and then feet shuffling.

“What was that?” 

The man looks over the shelves to see what you can’t at your height.

“Clickers. Come on.” He tugged you by the waist, guiding you to the back exit and up a flight of stairs. 

“Woah, where are we going?” You whispered harshly.

“You’d rather stay out here?” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder and your gaze follows. There was a dozen clickers roaming around. How convenient. 

“If you give me my fucking gun back, yeah.”

“You got one bullet, kid. There’s fuckin’ ten of ‘em out there.” You step into an old apartment and the front door clicks behind you. He scopes out the rooms. “It’s clear. We can stay here for the night. If we gotta fight, better we do it in the daylight.” 

“I’m not stayin’ the night here with a stranger. Especially not a hunter. ” The word was thick on your tongue. Hunters were despicable people who stooped to the lowest of the low.

“By all means darlin’, you wanna test your luck, go right ahead. I ain’t stoppin’ you.” 

You scowled at that, but he was right. It seemed like you’d finally got yourself into a pickle, and despite your attempt to look calm and collected, you were scared shitless right now. Either you were going to spend the night with this random guy or try to dodge all the clickers and make it back home.

“Fine,” you rolled your shoulders in defeat. “But I’m not sleepin’. As soon as the sun comes up and the clickers disperse, I’m out.” 

“Don’t sleep then,” he murmured, looking through the cupboards and drawers for any remnants of the past.

“Still got that granola bar? ’m gettin’ pretty hungry.”

You threw the granola bar at his chest and he smirked, tearing the wrapper open.

“Thanks, Darlin’.”

“Not like you were gonna give me a choice.” 

Joel sat on the old couch and leaned back, arm propped against the back cushion. Legs spread. Brown eyes on you. He had removed his green flannel, exposing just a simple black tee barely holding onto his muscles. It took every ounce of sense in you to ignore how fucking good he looked. 

“Like what you see?” He said, a cocky grin on his face. Your eyes flicked elsewhere, dancing around the room to find something else to occupy your mind with.

“Don’t flatter yourself, old man.”

Arrogant son-of-a-bitch.

“What’s your deal?” he pried.  “You runnin’ away from your daddy or some’n?”

“Nah.”

“Then?”

“Just like goin’ out. Seein’ the world.”

He scoffed. “‘m surprised he lets you run ‘round Austin all by yourself.” 

“He doesn’t. Doesn’t think I can handle myself out here.”

The man cocked a brow, challenging you.

“I can handle myself. I’m twenty-seven years old.” 

“You wanna handle yourself, darlin’, you better scope out places before hangin’ out in ‘em,” he grumbled, chewing on the granola bar. He pointed the rest of it in your direction, nodding his head in a gesture for you to take the rest.

“You’re lettin’ me have the last bite?”

“Take it, ‘fore I change my mind.”

You snatched it from him. “Did ya finally learn you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar?”

“You sayin’ I won you over, sweet thing?”

“Not a chance. I still don’t trust you.”

“Probably for the best.”

“That so?”

“I ain’t really a good guy.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. You robbed an innocent girl, nearly killin’ over a damn granola bar and a half-empty revolver. Swell guy.”

“Hey, you woulda been dead without me.” He sat forward with his elbows on his knees and pointed a finger at you. “Clickers woulda chased after your dumb ass, loud as you were with those old CD cases and whatnot.”

“Whatever,” you slumped into the armchair across from him. “Wouldn't of made noise and dropped Nirvana if you hadn't surprised me.”

“Nirvana ain’t worth dyin’ over, kid.”

“Then what is?”

“Som’ else.”

“Go on,” you waved your hand, urging him to enlighten you on what he considers music worth dying for.

“The Eagles. If I see you again after this, I’ll give ya a listen. Got a few CDs of my own.”

“Okie dokie, random hunter dude that robbed me.” Because intentionally hanging out with a hunter sounded like a smart plan.

“Joel,” he leaned back against the cushion again.

Your blood was ice in your veins.

“What?” 

“My name. It’s Joel.” Your eyes were still wide in shock as Joel shook his head, tossing his hands like what don’t you understand?

“As in… Joel Miller?”

“Yeah?”

Joel fucking Miller.

This whole time you’ve been with the heartless hunter your dad cursed daily. 

Now that you could put a face to the name, it was hard to believe he looked so attractive. With the way your dad talked about him, you imagined Joel as an ugly troll.

“My dad would have a heart attack if he knew I was with you right now. He hates your guts, ya know.”

“Your dad? You’ll need to fill me in, sweetheart, I got a lotta guys that hate me.”

You tell him about your dad and watch the way Joel’s head nodded slowly in recognition.

“He’s had it out for me ‘n my guys for some time now. Can’t say I blame ‘im.” His eyes shifted to the left in thought, probably flashing back to the terrible things he’s done, and then his brown orbs fell back on you. “If I’m rememberin’ right, you must be…”

He tastes your name on his lips with a southern drawl as sweet as tea. 

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I know a lotta ‘bout your faction. Stole from ya ‘nuff times.” 

“Lovely.”

“Gotta survive, baby. Ain’t got somebody to do the dirty work for me like you do.”

“And what are you implyin’?”

“‘m just sayin’. And you’re dad ‘n I ain’t so different. Just survivin’ the best way we know how. Only difference is, he probably does what he does to protect you. I do what I do just… ‘cuz. ”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Pretend you know anythin’ about me or my old man.”

“I don’t have to pretend. You’re an open book, darlin’,” he says with that same damn smirk on his face.

“Nah, I’m not,” you fold your arms across your chest and turn your gaze to the world outside the window. Below is a congregation of clickers on the road, confirmation that you were trapped alone with this man for the evening. 

The couch creaks when Joel stands, a divet in the old cushion left behind in his absence. He steps toward you, his belt buckle a few inches from your face. Saliva builds in your mouth and you swallow. Hard.

Rough fingers grip your chin, tilting your head upward to look into the dark eyes that gaze down upon you. 

“You look like you’ve been cravin’ some fun. Daddy’s been keepin’ you cooped up, ain’t he?” He exhales, a whiskey aroma riding the small breeze from his lips all the way to yours.

There’s an ache between your legs and your cheeks feel hot with shame. Your pulse quickened, and Joel fucking knew it. He could feel it. 

You had two options: deny it and look away, or embrace the thrill.

“Joel… What are you…” Your voice trailed off and you look bewildered, but your hand finds a place on his thigh. The denim feels hot on your palm.

“I can help you with that. Make you feel good.” He’s leaning down now, his breath on your lips. “Anybody ever made you feel good before?”

“N-No one,” you stutter, glossing over the memories of one of the guys from your faction. You were both young, inexperienced. It was nothing but a night of experimentation and pain, and then it never happened again.

Joel nodded slowly, releasing his grip on your chin and then moving back to the couch, eyes dark, right arm relaxed along the backside of the seat, left hand lifting two fingers that gesture for you to come hither.

If you were being fucking honest, the attraction began the second he pat you down and only deepened when you found out who he was. It felt like a dangerous thrill knowing you were with the very man your father would forbid you to be near.

“Come’re,” Joel pat his lap.

Without batting your eyes, without even thinking twice, you obeyed. You found a spot on his thigh, thick enough for you to have ample space to sit.

The gray bristles in his beard were more noticeable up close. You guessed he was in his mid to late 40s. He slowly tugged your jeans off and tossed them on the floor.

Joel’s palm rested on your naked thigh, kneading into your skin with his face buried in your neck, licking and biting and licking again, growing increasingly heady with each one until he was sucking on your neck so hard you could feel it turn purple. Then his fingers brushed the fabric of your panties and you squealed from the sudden contact.

“You okay, sweet thing? He breathed into your hair.

“I’m nervous.”

“‘S okay,’ his voice was a low whisper into your clavicle, followed by soft kisses on the side of your neck. “Why are ya nervous?”

“Um… just shy, I guess… Never done this much.”

He groaned when the tips of his fingers felt your dripping heat. “Fuck–you’re so wet.”

Eyes lidded with lust and back arched to give him more access, you start to grind on his hand. Moaning at his touch,  the wet heat that pools between your legs and soaks his hand, the way his fingers caress your folds in a circular motion.

“Good girl.”

The praise sent a tingling feeling through your core.

You were a good girl for him.

He rubbed your little bud more furiously now, picking up the pace and then he slid a thick digit into your slick. You bit your lip to stifle the moans that came in uncontrollable tidal waves as he pumped his finger in and out, in and out, in and out.

Just when you think you’re going to reach your peak, he firmly grips your waist on either side, lifting your ass until you crash down onto the seat of the cushion. His lips were on your pussy, before the two of you ever even kissed, you noted. He groaned the second his tongue glided across your wet slit, and the sound vibrates against your soft lips.

“Couldn’t resist… Baby… Fuck–Taste so fuckin’ sweet.” He babbled into your dripping lips, the stone-cold man from earlier was long gone, and now in his stead was a man drunk with lust. He was melting from your pheromones, your scent, your wetness. It felt good to know that you had that effect on him.

Joel bucked his hips into the couch with each lick and suck, growing more sporadic and sloppy in his rhythm. You weren’t an expert in the matters of men in the bedroom, but he clearly wasn’t going to hang on much longer–that much you knew. 

A rough hand cupped your mound and then toyed with your sensitive nipple. He pumped his finger back into you, his tongue still keeping the pressure on your bud. Joel slid in another finger, and then another until three of his thick digits are stretching you to the brim, viciously fucking into you until you were screaming his name and begging him for more. He conceded, guiding you to the sweet bliss of the finish line. 

Your chest was heaving, forehead tacky, and eyes planted on the popcorn ceiling above you as you came to. Two blinks later, the sound of a zipper snapped you out of your daze and you shifted your gaze to the space between your spread legs.

Joel had his cock out, thick and angry, veins pulsing. 

He was huge.  

Your mouth watered at the sight of it as you watched him jerk himself off to your body. 

You got on your knees, bending to show him the nice curve of your backside, face now inches away from his cock. He lets go as you place a hand on his jean pocket and steady yourself, and then he plunges into your mouth. 

Joel’s hands snaked through your hair and latched onto the backside of your head, pumping his cock into the back of your throat in five relentless thrusts. You choked from the sudden penetration and he quickly pulled out, his head sliding out of your lips with a “pop.”

“Too much?”

“No.” You wiped the string of saliva that connected you to him. “I like it.” And you liked that as cold and mean as he played off, he cared about whether or not he was hurting you.

His eyes went dark and there was a ghost of a smile pulled at his lips in satisfaction. And then his cock was sliding past your lips again and gliding against your tongue. You rolled your tongue around and suck him in as far as you could. He groaned, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“Ain’t gonna last long. Got me… all wound up.”

You moaned affectionately as he picked up the pace, thrusting and groaning, mumbling profanities. You even swore he said your name as his hot cream pumped into your mouth. 

Hands now pressed to his lower back for support, he was so deep that his balls were pressed to your chin and you felt him straining to release every drop. You realize that his gun, and yours, are tucked into his belt right by your hands. When he settled, you leaned back, swallowed, and licked your finger.

“You look so sexy right now,” he said, voice deep and gravelly, thick with the aftermath of sex.

You’d never felt this sexy before. Hair disheveled, naked ass resting on the back of your ankles, T-shirt barely covering your womanhood but leaving just enough to the imagination, and your breasts peeking out of the V.

Joel bent down until his body was completely imposing yours, caging you in. Your brows caved inward, looking up at him doe-eyed and uncertain of what he planned to do next. He wrapped one around your waist, pulling you into his embrace while his other hand creeps across your neck. 

He surprised you with an intimate kiss. It was romantic, demanding, and dangerous. Joel commanded your tongue to dance with his, exploring your mouth with fervor like he belonged there. 

“Turn around. Face down. Ass up,” he says in a husky whisper. You look up at him wide-eyed. “Now.” He commanded.

“Yes, daddy.” 

Ass up, just like he asked, he slapped your asscheek. You felt his chest against your back and his breath on the shell of your ear.

“This might hurt a little, just be a good girl for me, okay?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded eagerly.

“What was that? ” He said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Atta girl.” 

He slapped your ass again. The head of his cock was jabbing at your entrance, pulsing with desire. He bucked it in his hand and lined it up to your slit and pressed in. Hard.

“Fuuuuuck.” He groaned and you screamed in an odd mixture of pain and pleasure.

He was so big he nearly ripped you in two, yet the way you wrapped tightly around him, sucking him in felt so right. The wetness of his tongue glided up your back and along the side of your neck.

There was a little bit of relief as he pulled his cock out, but then he thrust back in, his balls slapping against your lips so deep it had you seeing stars. Rinse and repeat. In and out, in and out.

His thrusts were angry and unrelenting.

The way he twisted your nipple and squeezed your tit was downright cruel.

You were putty in Joel’s hands and he fucking knew it.

“Please. More. Please, please, please.” The voice that left your lips was hoarse and desperate but you needed it. You needed him.

At the back of your neck, you felt the weight of his calloused palm pinning you down. 

“Such a tight little thing. Fuckin’ mine.” He grabbed your chin and forced you to look him in the eye. “You got that? Say it.”

“I’m yours, Joel.”

Somehow, his cock pulsed and stretched you even more to the brim. The feel of your slick mixed with his juice was oozing out of you, trickling down your leg.

One hand still pinning you down, Joel’s other hand was now petting your swollen heat. 

“Fuck, baby, I ain’t gonna hold out much longer. You’re so good to me. So tight. ‘m gonna cum in this wet pussy.”

“Joel, I’m gonna cum…” You trailed off, but you were already on the edge. His fingers were rubbing you at just the right speed, and his dirty sweet nothings were setting you ablaze. 

He continued to rub and thrust at just the right angle, the squelching sound of his cock pumping in and out of your sex only further heightened your arousal. 

In the heat of the moment, you didn’t even care that Joel was on the brink of filling you with his seed. You were dazed, delirious, and desperate. The three dangerous Ds, because condoms and birth control were a thing of the past. The apocalypse was a gamble for those who wanted to partake in life’s good old-fashioned pleasures.

You were ready to take that risk for the brief moment of pleasure because Joel had you wrapped around his finger and you were ready to swallow his seed. Hell, your unhinged state didn’t even care if you got pregnant with his baby as he sloppily slammed his cock into you, groaning and threatening to cum inside you. 

He didn’t seem to care either.

“H-Harder.” You beg, and that was it. That’s what set him over the edge, pouring into you like an explosion of white-hot milk and screaming profanities. He rubbed your clit while he rode his high, and then you came together, jaws slack, eyes rolled. 

Two people who, for a brief moment in time, could indulge in the comfort of each other’s bodies and forget that the world had gone to shit.

Joel flipped you over, his cock still buried inside of you, and leaned down to kiss you. It was a gentle kiss this time. The kiss of a lover. 

There was an undeniable spark between you that transcended beyond a mere one-night stand. Neither of you spoke a word of it. Instead, you fell asleep in his arms, and with his cock going limp inside you.

—------------

“Good morning, Joel.” You pointed two guns at the man as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

When he made sense of the situation, he chuckled darkly, wiping his face with his hands.

“Oh, darlin’, you are full of surprises ain’t ya?” His chocolate-brown eyes landed on yours and you felt your heart skip a beat, your grip on both guns loosened in a moment of weakness.

“Told ya I know how to take care of myself.”

“I can see that.” He put his arms behind his head, looking far too relaxed for a man who had two bullets aimed at him. “Did your daddy send you out to do this?”

You smirked, eyes flicking over to the old map that you made sure to leave on the table.

“I’m not gonna shoot you. Just wanted to say goodbye.” 

He licked his teeth and nodded.

“See ya, cowboy.”

And then you left him there and something tugged at you to stay but you didn’t, because you knew that it would be the death of you if you did.

“You want to tell me why the fuck you have Joel Miller’s gun?” your dad asked when you made it back to the base.

Dad had found out you left and had his guys check you for bites. When they did, they found the gun marked with an ‘M’, which was something Joel did to all of his weapons. Weapons that he stole.

“I was just helping us out a little, Dad.”

[empyrean-thrones]

CHAPTER NINE

-XADEN-

“You don’t think you’ll need those?” Sorrengail asks, gripping two of her daggers and facing me on the mat with an impressive lack of trembling. Hell, she looks more pissed than she does terrified that I’m about to end her, even though I’ve handed my weapons to Imogen.

“This is reckless,”  Sgaeyl lectures.

“Nope. Not when you brought enough for the both of us.” My mouth quirks into a smile as I crook my fingers at her, then lock my shields firmly in place, since Aetos hovers close by. The second-year is good on the mat, even if he’s a little too straight-laced to really be the best in this place. “Let’s go.”

She takes a fighting stance, and I forget the members of Second Squad surrounding the mat, forget the mission I’m due to fly this weekend, focusing solely on her. Violet Sorrengail. The five-foot-nothing daughter of the general who executed my father. I have every right to ruin her, according to the Codex. She might fall under my chain of command, but she’s not in my squad.

I could snap her neck and no one in this room would interfere. But the hundred and seven souls I’m responsible for would pay the price. So what the fuck am I doing on this mat?

Her posture changes subtly, her wrist flicking a second before she flings a dagger at my damned chest.

I catch it by pure reflex, then cluck my tongue at her. “Already seen that move.”

That  is what I’m doing out here. Took me all of two weeks to realize she’s somehow figured out who she’ll be facing and has been poisoning her opponents. That brilliant, devious mind might regrettably be a complete turn-on, but she’s going to get herself killed if she depends solely on that method—and flinging daggers like a carnival act. To my surprise, the thought doesn’t sit right with me. Nothing about her does.

She attacks in a typical first-year swipe-and-kick combo, which is as easy to predict as it is to block. I pluck the badly balanced dagger from her grip and catch her by the thigh, using her own momentum and slight bodyweight against her to drop her to the mat.

Her hazel eyes flare wide as she stares up at me, fighting to draw breath, and I drop the dagger at her side and kick it out of her reach, toward the squad leader who should have taught her better.

Were she any other opponent, I’d put the blade against her throat, proving my point and ending the match, but fuck me if I don’t feel like I somehow owe the first-year for keeping her mouth shut about the meeting she saw under the oak tree. My form of gratitude just happens to be not killing her as she lies at my feet, battling her own lungs.

Her ribs finally rise, and she heaves herself upward to a sitting position, then tries to plunge a knife in my thigh.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I block the strike with my right forearm, then take hold of her wrist with my left hand and disarm her as I lean down into her space, mere inches from her face. “Going for blood today, are we, Violence?” I whisper.

Rage shines in those mesmerizing eyes as I drop her blade to the mat and kick it out of reach also. She’s too easy to disarm, and her false confidence that she’s not will get her killed. And why the fuck isn’t she using weapons suited for her body type and fighting style? Not that she actually has  a fighting style yet.

“My name is Violet,” she retorts, and I half expect her to hiss at me like a cat. That’s exactly what she reminds me of, all sleek lines and bared claws. Only the pulse fluttering beneath my fingertips gives away her fear.

Violet  is too soft of a name for her. Too breakable. I’m well aware of the shit people talk about her bones and joints, but from what I’ve seen, the woman has a core of steel.

“I think my version fits you better.” I release her wrist and stand to my full height, offering her a hand up and hoping she’s too smart to take it. “We’re not done yet.”

But she does.

Fuck me, she’s naive. I pull her to her feet, then whip her around before she can get her bearings, twisting her arm behind her back and trapping our hands between us as I tug her hard against my chest. Too naive for this place.

“Damn it!” she snaps.

I slip one of her obnoxiously big daggers from her thigh sheath and lift it to the soft skin of her throat, pinning her in place with my forearm. Her head falls back against my chest, the silver ends of her hair braided up like a crown. She barely reaches my collarbone, so I dip my head so the others won’t hear, and gods she smells really fucking  good like—

No thinking about how she smells, jackass.

“Don’t trust a single person who faces you on this mat,” I lecture quietly near the shell of her ear, careful to keep my mouth off her. Since when do I think about putting my mouth  on an opponent?

“Even someone who owes me a favor?” she retorts, keeping her voice equally low.

Warmth flares in my chest in appreciation of her discretion, her quick observation that this lesson isn’t for public dissemination, and I drop the knife, kicking it to her squad leader just like the other two and ignoring the bluster of threat in his stern expression.

“I’m the one who decides when to grant that favor. Not you.” I release her so I don’t dislocate her shoulder and step back.

She acts immediately, spinning with a raised fist, and I bat it away from my throat.

“Good.” I can’t help but smile as I block her next attempt just as easily. “Going for the throat is your best option, as long as it’s exposed.”

Her cheeks flush, anger narrowing her eyes as she kicks in the same fucking combination she’s already tried, and I grab hold of her thigh again, unsheathing the last dagger there and letting it fall before I release her. I lift my scarred eyebrow in sheer disappointment. She’s smarter than that. “I expect you to learn from your mistakes.” I kick it to Aetos.

She retrieves her next weapon from her rib sheath and takes a defensive stance as she circles me. It’s all I can do not to sigh in complete, utter annoyance. I don’t need to see her to hear every step on the mat behind me as she hesitates.

“You going to prance or are you going to strike?” That should get her moving.

The shadows on the mat give her away, and I twist and duck as she jabs forward, the knife slicing through the air where I’d been standing. At least she really went for it, but the move leaves her exposed, so I use her arm to flip her around the side of my torso, sending her face-first into the mat and following her down.

She gasps when I wrench her arm into a submission hold, forcing her to drop the dagger. Careful to balance most of my weight on my right, I set my left knee onto her back just enough to stress her. She has to learn how to move under pressure, how to think on the edge of death. I strip away another of her daggers and fling it at the squad leader’s feet, then pull another from her ribs and set it to the exposed skin beneath her jaw.

Then I invade what little space she has. “Taking out your enemy before the battle is really smart; I’ll give that to you,” I whisper into her ear, and she tenses beneath me. Yeah, Violence, I know what you’ve been up to. “Problem is, if you aren’t testing yourself in here”—I drag the blade down her neck, careful not to draw blood—“then you’re not going to get any better.”

“You’d rather I die, no doubt,” she spits back, the side of her face squished against the mat.

“And be denied the pleasure of your company?” Sarcasm drips from my retort.

“I fucking hate you.”

A corner of my mouth lifts. Gods, she’s just as merciless as Sgaeyl when it comes to her tongue. “That doesn’t make you special.”

I gain my feet and kick the knives to Aetos, leaving Sorrengail with two more to fight with as I offer my hand again.

She scowls, but doesn’t take the help this time, standing on her own, and another smile curves my mouth. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. Every single one of her expressions is beautifully raw. There’s no guile. No artifice. But there’s also no control. “She can be taught.”

“She’s a quick learner,” she fires back.

“That remains to be seen.” I take two steps backward and beckon her forward by crooking my fingers again.

“You’ve made your damn point.” Her voice rises to a public level, and Imogen gasps behind me, no doubt worried that I’ll lose my temper and kill the first-year.

But killing her is the last thing on my mind.

“Trust me, I’ve barely gotten started.” I cross my arms and shift my weight back, curious to see what she does next and even more perplexed as to why I care so damned much.

Sure, she’s beautiful, but I’ve never let the symmetry of someone’s facial features sway me. And it’s not the palpable hatred in her ever-changing eyes, either. I’m used to being loathed. But the combination of her hatred and her silence about seeing us meet is too intriguing to ignore—

She moves, and I’m too fucking distracted to react like usual, and when she kicks for the backs of my knees, I fall. Hard.

Holy shit.

“What did I say about being reckless?” Sgaeyl pushes through my shields. “The silver-haired girl is a distraction you can’t aff—”

I plant my feet on that mental hillside in Tyrrendor and reinforce my shields, blocking her out. She’s never going to let me live this down.

Sorrengail lands on my back and attempts a headlock. Good for her. It’s a solid choice, but she isn’t physically strong enough to cut off my air supply. She’s fighting like she’s six inches taller and has another forty pounds on her instead of leaning into her actual strengths.

I don’t bother with her arms. Twisting quickly, I break her grip and grasp the backs of her thighs in one motion, throwing us into a roll that ends with me pinning her back to the mat. Before she can take another breath, I put my forearm against the delicate line of her throat but don’t press.

There are over a dozen different ways to end her in this position, and I have all the leverage. But though my hips anchor hers to the mat, I have most of my weight braced on my left arm so I don’t crush her.

She’s well and fucking caught, and the flash of fear that’s quickly masked by fury in her eyes tells me she knows it, too.

Damn it. I don’t want  to crush her.

What the fuck is happening to me?

She grabs for a dagger and makes the monumental mistake of going for my shoulder.

I abandon her throat and capture her wrist, pinning it above her head. Then I watch her face with rapt fascination as her expression shifts from wide-eyed shock, to tensing fear, to pursed-lipped anger all in a matter of seconds. The speed with which she processes information and compartmentalizes her feelings is such an advantage, and I doubt she even knows it.

Pink flushes up her neck and into her cheeks, and suddenly I find myself studying her for an entirely different reason. The blush, the skittered pulse, the way her gaze flicks toward my mouth for less than a second… I’m not the only one attracted here.

Fuck. This is dangerous. She  is dangerous.

The world outside the mat ceases to exist as my focus narrows to just Violence. She really is stunning, especially when pissed. Tension surges between us, and my heartbeat jumps despite my best effort to lock that shit down. But damn if I’m not critically aware of the feel of her body beneath mine, the warmth of her skin under my fingertips, the way her breath catches as I lower my face to hers slowly.

Sliding my fingers up the heel of her hand, I force her fist open, then toss the blade across the mat before freeing her wrist.

“Get your dagger,” I demand.

“What?” Her eyes fly wide.

“Get. Your. Dagger,” I repeat, moving her hand with mine and dragging it to her ribs, to the last of her daggers. I curl my fingers around hers, grabbing the hilt.

Even her hands are soft. Fragile. Breakable. And if I don’t teach her how to use her petite size to her advantage, the next opponent will use it to shatter her. And for some fucking reason I can’t identify or deny…I care.

Gods damn it.

“You’re tiny.” Anger simmers in my stomach.

“Well aware.” She glares.

“So stop going for bigger moves that expose you.” I bring our laced hands to my side and drag the tip down my ribs. “A rib shot would have worked just fine.” Then I lead our hands around to my back, leaving myself vulnerable for the first time since I walked into this prison of a war college. “Kidneys are a good fit from this angle, too.”

She swallows, and I fight the urge to watch the motion of her throat, holding her gaze instead. I swear, her eyes seem different every time I look into them. No wonder I can’t look away.

I bring our hands to my waist, keeping my eyes locked on hers. “Chances are, if your opponent is in armor, it’s weak here. Those are three easy places you could have struck before your opponent would have had time to stop you.”

Her lips part, and she draws a shaky breath.

“Do you hear me?” I’m sure as hell not repeating this lesson.

She nods.

“Good. Because you can’t poison every enemy you come across,” I whisper, watching the blood drain from her face as I level the accusation. “You’re not going to have time to offer tea to some Braevi gryphon rider when they come at you.”

“How did you know?” She tenses under me, and fuck , her thighs clench around my hips.

I have to get the fuck off her before she realizes she has another weapon at her disposal when it comes to me. “Oh, Violence, you’re good, but I’ve known better poison masters. The trick is to not make it quite so obvious.”

Brennan would give one of his frustrated sighs if he knew just how obvious his little sister was. Then again, he’d also try to kick my ass for the position I have Violence in.

A bitter taste floods my mouth. She has no clue he’s alive.

She opens her mouth like she’s about to speak.

“I think she’s been taught enough for the day,” Aetos barks.

It takes every ounce of control I possess not to startle at the sudden reminder that we’re not alone. “He always that overprotective?” I mutter, putting a couple of inches between us.

“He cares about me.” She narrows her eyes at me, which I’m starting to think is her default expression.

“He’s holding you back. Don’t worry. Your little poisoning secret is safe with me.” I arch my scarred brow and hope she gets the hint to keep my secret safe, too. Then I slide our joined hands along her side and sheathe the jewel-hilted blade she has no business carrying. It’s too fucking big for her. Too easy to knock loose.

“You’re not going to disarm me?” she questions as I slip my fingers from hers and lift my weight off her.

Thank gods  she has the common sense to release my hips from the grip of her thighs, because mine has fled, replaced by the urge to leave them right where they were and carry her to the nearest empty room to see just how attracted  we both are.

But that way lies absolute disaster.

“Nope. Defenseless women have never been my type. We’re done for today.” I stand immediately, leaving her there, and walk to the edge of the mat to get my weapons from Imogen.

“What the hell was that?” she whispers, handing back the last of my knives.

“Aetos.” I ignore her question and turn toward the squad leader across the mat, who’s busy coddling Violence as usual.

His head snaps toward mine, and the anger there almost makes me smile.

“She could use a little less protection and a little more instruction.” I level an accusatory look on him until he nods, then turn and walk away.

“You in the mood to spar with first-years?” Garrick asks, keeping pace with me once I’m a few steps from Second Squad, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Or just that  particular first-year?”

“Sometimes I hate how fucking observant you are.”

“It’s hard to miss the way you look at her,” he says, lowering his voice.

“Like I want to kill her?” I retort, spotting an interesting match in Claw Section.

“Or fu—”

“Don’t finish that sentence when I’m in the mood to hit people.” We’re mutually assured destruction against each other, which makes us the perfect sparring partners, but I’m just aggravated enough to do some real damage to my best friend, despite the size he has on me.

“Oh, would you, please?” He puts his hand to his heart and grins. “I need you to use those big, strong hands to show me—”

I shove his shoulder hard enough to send him staggering sideways and keep walking out of his section and into Claw. The farther the better when it comes to Sorrengail.

[steppingstonesuniverseguide]

One More Step Out of the Pit: Chapter 9/26

Summary: It had been Tommy and Tubbo for practically forever. They clawed their way out of hell together. They discovered their superpowers together. They started working for the Superhero Guild together before even coming of age. Tommy probably owed Tubbo his life ten times over. So, when the three supervillains he'd been assigned to bring in managed to take Tubbo hostage, well, there was really only one thing to do.

He knew, of course, he was signing himself up for torture and death by offering that trade, but that was okay.

It'd have to be okay.

AO3 Link (See AO3 for Warnings.)

(This story is finished and has been posted on AO3 for a while, but I'm posting it on Tumblr so it's somewhere else too (considering the day AO3 was down a bit ago). The author notes will all be kept as well. If you are following the blog and don't want to see these posts, block the tag #backlog.)

Author Note: There are needles, drugs, and medical things in this chapter fyi. This stuff starts at “He is biting me now," and goes to "A hand fell on Phil’s shoulder."

Adrenaline once again proved itself to be one hell of a drug, because the moment Phil brought attention to Tommy’s wound, the boy went from sleepy, cuddly kitten to injured, cornered wildcat. It was simultaneously less and more worrying. Less because it had been strange and confusing behavior coming from the usual rather boastful superhero. More because that was a lot of blood in the sheets and the little fucker wasn’t letting him get close enough to see why and was possibly injuring himself more in the process.

“Tommy,” Phil said in exasperation. The boy looked like a murder victim in the white blood covered outfit, didn’t have his powers, and was locked in a room with him, but he was also fucking fast even injured and smart enough to know if Phil managed to lay a hand on him, that was the end of it. Phil took the time to mash the ‘get the fuck here’ button on his watch while trying to back Tommy into a corner. Tommy was not having any of that, however, weaving around the couple of chairs and the bed while matching every one of his steps. “Calm down, I just want to see it.”

“Fuck you!” Tommy responded. Fantastic.

“Mate…”

“I’m your prisoner, not your slave. I don’t gotta do what you say!”

“You are literally bleeding all over my floor.”

“And you. Are. A. Bitch!”

Phil understood why Will wanted to throttle this kid.

As though his thoughts had summoned him, the door to the cell beeped and then started to open. Phil put his body between Tommy and the door when he saw him notice the noise. The last thing they needed was for him to get out of the room when Phil couldn’t even catch him in it.

“What the fuck?” Will said immediately on entry, seeing the red stained twisted bedsheets half on the floor, the trails of blood all over the tile from where Tommy had been weaving back and forth across the room and the bloody handprint on the wall next to Phil’s head.

“Close the door,” Phil ordered. Will did and it clicked, autolocking behind him.

“What the fuck?” Will repeated.

“If you even think about opening your bitch mouth, I’m going to start stabbing shit. I will stab you. I will stab you in the face.”

“Does he have a knife?!” Wilbur asked, alarmed and completely confused.

“No, he doesn’t have a knife.”

“I do have a knife,” Tommy claimed. “It’s a huge knife, and if you come anywhere near me or try to use your stupid screamy powers on me, I will bring it out and use it!”

“Tommy, I just want to help you,” said Phil with a frown. He was half hidden behind a chair, his eyes bopping between the two of them. His hand had come out to steady himself with the back of the chair since he was fucking woozy with blood loss. It left an imprint of red on the fabric.

Luckily, the door beeped again, and Technoblade entered the room. Wilbur was still standing in front of the door, so Tommy didn’t have a chance to bolt. Will reached over to close the door behind him. Techno’s eyes took in the scene for a moment and then met eyes with Phil. As always, Techno immediately knew exactly what Phil needed and was prepared to provide.

He turned to Tommy. “You are going to come over here, or I am going to come get you,” he informed Tommy.

To the credit of Tommy’s survival instincts, his eyes did widen, and he paused for a long moment. And yet… “Fucking try it asshole.”

He took a stumbling step away from the chair ready to play the same game of ring around the rosy with Techno as he’d done with Phil, but Technoblade simply hopped onto the seat and then over the back of it to land in front of him in two swift movements. Tommy went to scramble away, but Techno snagged his arm. The boy came around swinging, but Techno didn’t even have to dodge because it went wide.

Techno swept him off his feet eliciting a squeak of protest somewhere between indignant and in pain. Phil winced, but it got the job done.

Techno easily carried him over to the bed despite him still trying to fight. He set him down and pinned him with one arm over the chest. Techno then looked over at Phil expectantly.

Phil blinked and then was over at the bedside a second later. Tommy was still cursing them out and fighting, but his movements were getting more sluggish by the moment.

Now that he was finally relatively still, it was clear where the blood was coming from since the entire right side of his torso was soaked. Phil reached out and carefully peeled the once white shirt away from it. There was a piece of fabric tied around his waist, covering the wound, though if it had been red before or not could not be decerned.

He was trying to figure out the best way to get that off when a hand with a pair of scissors came into view. Phil looked over to see Wilbur digging through the first aid bag already. There was one stored in the observation room next door and he must have slipped in to grab it without them noticing.

Phil took the scissors and quickly snipped through the fabric to access the wound. He recognized what it was immediately: a stab wound. It wasn’t horribly long, and Phil knew it probably looked worse than it actually was because of the blood considering Tommy was still conscious and had been putting up a fight a moment ago, but it still made him freeze.

Wilbur nudged him out of the way to get a look for himself. “He’s not going to die,” Wilbur reassured Phil after a moment, but then pressed his lips together to peer up at the pinned boy’s face. “Despite his best efforts.”

The boy hissed and seemed to remember that while his upper half was restrained, his legs still worked.

“Little fucker!” Wilbur spat as he jumped away from the foot aiming at his face. “You know, I was going to ask if you wanted to be numbed or put under, but I don’t trust you to keep still.”

“He is biting me now,” Techno notified them blankly. He used his free arm to press his forehead back into the bed.

“I’ll get the needles,” Wilbur said. He pushed Phil again, leading him to take a step back from the bed.

He could hear Tommy saying something to Techno but it turned to a garbled mess in Phil’s ears. His eyes tracked Wilbur as he sifted through the medical bag to find the needles and drugs he needed. Wilbur knew what he was doing around medical stuff far more than Phil or Techno. Learning how to prevent death had been a bit of a special interest to him for decades. He knew plenty about wounds and how to fix them. Techno moved to hold one of Tommy’s arm down and the needle went in.

Wilbur had been scared of needles when he was 7. Things had changed.

It didn’t take long for Tommy’s body to still. Except for the breathing. Still breathing. Wilbur was already back digging in the med bag as Techno stood up straight, no longer needing to keep the boy from struggling.

“Uh… Phil?” Techno asked.

Will’s eyes flashed to Phil, and he paused in his gathering of medical equipment, seeing more than most people ever could. Most of his existence was spent just observing after all. “Techno, get him out of here.”

Techno hesitated. “Don’t you need…”

“I can handle a suture on my own,” Will said. “Bastard’ll be fine. Go.”

A hand fell on Phil’s shoulder and Phil looked up. Techno was taller than him. He’d been right, drinking coffee as a child hadn’t stunted his growth at all. He didn’t quite realize his feet were going anywhere until a door snapped shut behind him.

There was silence.

“Who’d you call?” Techno asked.

“Hmmm?”

“The phone call, Phil. You went to make a phone call earlier.”

“Oh,” Phil said. “Puffy.”

“Wanted to make sure Clinanthium got back alright?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“Yeah,” Phil said. “Yeah, she’d already picked him up.” He and The Captain had been friends back in the day. They were still friends in a way. He’d offered her a place with them again at the end of the phone call and she’d refused once more, but there’d been more hesitation this time. She’d asked about the Red Glider. He guessed he’d lied to her when he’d said he was fine.

“Phil?”

“Why the fuck was he bleeding, Technoblade?”

Techno leaned against the wall and frowned at him. “If you’re asking if it happened here,” he said, “Obviously not. You could see it’d already been sewn up once before. He ripped his stitches. I had eyes on him the whole time and there wasn’t anything that could’ve made them rip, so he must have pulled it before he got here.”

“He changed clothes,” Phil said.

“I didn’t watch him,” Techno explained. “He was wearing red before so none of us saw and then he probably couldn’t bleed enough before getting here to notice. Then he was under the bed covers.”

“But why would he hide it?” Phil asked.

“It’s a weakness,” Techno said without hesitation, as though he knew. As though it made perfect sense really. “He’s probably worried it’ll be used against him.”

And Phil forgot sometimes after having fought back-to-back with him for so many years, after watching how Will could cajole him with puppy dog eyes into letting him play with his hair until he inevitably fell asleep on the delighted man’s lap, after all the times he’d fallen asleep on the couch and didn’t stir when Phil carried him to his room, after all the experiments he patiently let Will do on him with his voice, he forgot that Techno did know. He knew what it was like not to trust people to have so much as basic human decency let alone anything more.

Phil’s mind flashed back to a fifteen-year-old Technoblade who’d broken a glass and sliced his hand to shit when Phil had been away from their hideout. He’d managed to hide it for a week before Phil had finally noticed he’d been using his right hand for things he normally used the left.

It had been a battle of wills that spanned hours to get the boy to show it to him. When he finally had, he’d sat as tense as a bowstring as though he expected Phil to treat the already damaged skin roughly, to hurt him more for fun. It had been infected despite Techno having done his best to keep it clean on his own and he’d had to lance it before sewing it back up and providing antibiotics. It had been a horribly emotionally taxing experience that he had not wanted to repeat ever.

Yet here he was again.

God. Tommy had been shaky and pale and he looked like a child. And he’d leaned against Phil woozy as he’d bled out from a stab wound.

Here he was again.

“Phil,” Techno said, and Phil’s eyes snapped back to him. “Will’s got him, yeah?”

“Right,” Phil said. “Wilbur is in there and patching him up.”

“So, he’ll be fine. What can we do in the meantime for when that’s done?”

Phil thought. “He’ll need clean sheets and clothes,” he said, “maybe more blankets since he might be cold while recovering, and we’ll need cleaning supplies for the floor and furniture. He’ll need a lot of fluids and he wasn’t able to eat most of the macaroni and cheese, so maybe broth or soup?”

“Blankets, bleach, and broth,” Techno said. “Sounds doable.”

“Alliteration?” Phil asked mildly.

“It makes it easier to remember,” he claimed.

“Or the Blade’s just a poetry nerd,” he teased lightly.

Techno bumped shoulders with him. “Shut it old man. What are you? 75?”

“Something like that,” Phil said, rolling his eyes.

Wilbur was humming when they returned, which in one way was not a surprise because the boy could rarely manage to shut up with or without using his powers. But also, this was the kid he supposedly wanted to drown in a lake he was humming an achingly soft tune to. He was already long done with the stiches judging by the fact that he’d started an IV drip and cleaned up the medical supplies he’d used. Now he was just seated on one of the chairs, one leg tucked under him and humming a song that reverberated through the room like windchimes in the breeze.

“What?” he asked, cutting off the song when he noticed Techno was staring at him.

“Going soft, Will?”

“Fuck off, it’s for medical purposes.” Techno continued to look at him and he bristled. “I don’t have to like him to not want him to die.”

“Is he at risk of dying?” Techno asked. “That doesn’t look like a blood transfusion.”

“He doesn’t need a blood transfusion. He hadn’t lost enough blood to be anything other than woozy.” He did not answer the actual question, Phil noted. “I see you brought a change of bed sheets. We should probably change them.”

Will had already taken the ruined white shirt off of him and used a rag to clean off the worst of the blood on his skin before moving him to the least blood-soaked part of the bed. They went ahead and changed him into a new set of clothing, and then Phil held him while the other two changed the bedsheets.

“He’s very light,” Phil said with a frown. He knew he had superstrength, but that just meant he was more used to carrying healthy, full-grown adults than most people.

“Oh, no, here we go,” said Technoblade under his breath.

Wilbur reached over and smacked him upside the head without even looking. “You were malnourished.”

“He would put butter in my coffee.”

“I like butter in coffee,” Will said.

“If I was going to let you put coffee in your six-year-old body, you were at least going to get some nutritional benefit from it,” Phil said.

“You are both horrible people for different reasons,” Techno replied. “You can put him down now.”

Phil looked down at the boy’s sleeping face and squeezed him lightly.

“…Phil?”

Phil settled him down onto the clean sheets and reached out to carefully move a strand of hair out of his face.

“He’s not as fucking annoying when he’s asleep,” Wilbur commented, sounding royally pissed about this fact.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” Techno mumbled and got a glare in return.

“I should have drowned you in the bathtub the day Father brought you home.”

“Because I’m sure that would have worked out for you,” Techno drawled.

“…Do you want to go Blade?”

“No,” Phil said.

“I could take him, Phil,” Wilbur claimed.

“Since when?”

“You fuckers destroyed my shed last time. No.”

Author Note: Inconsistencies in the timeline? Nah, we call that plot seasoning. ;)

[masks-n-steel]

who do u think would win in a fight?? michael or jason?? i’m putting my money on jason, he’d knock the shit out of michael lol

Plus Michael’s ... mortal

[e-vasong]

I’ve already talked about a Leverage crossover where the Hargreeves are conmen but I'm. losing it thinking about. a Leverage AU where the Leverage team sees these kids on tv, and they just go.  oh shit, that’s just fucking wrong.  (I know the timelines don’t match up but let’s pretend the umbrella kids were born a little later, or that Leverage takes place a little earlier, or something like that.  I don’t know.)

But these fucking umbrella kids show up on TV, and at first none of them are paying much attention. Not right away.  They’re busy running cons, and none of them except Hardison watch TV for fun very often.

So they’ve all heard bits and pieces about this Umbrella thing, and aren’t quite sure what to make of it.  Superhumans, huh? Eliot mutters at one point. Whatever. Our lives are already so goddamn weird.

But eventually they catch a broadcast while they’re home in between cases.  it’s playing in the background while they’re enjoying a meal together at the brewery.

The Umbrella Academy saves the day yet again! the broadcaster declares cheerily. We go now to a statement at the Louvre from their leader, Sir Reginald Hargreeves.

It’s just novel enough to catch their attention--being who they are, they all perk up at the word Louvre--and it gets them half-watching as they chat over breakfast.

It’s Parker that sees it first.  She’s Parker, so what catches her attention is actually not the fact that one of them is covered in blood, nor is it the fact that their father is calling them by numbers instead of names.  It’s the way that they stand, tense and upright.  It’s the way that the one covered in blood is trembling minutely, so fine that it’s almost imperceptible. But she notices. And she notices the way that the one to the bloodied boy’s left--the fifth one in line--leans over ever-so-subtly when their father is looking away. Whispers something with the barest movement of his lips. And then, after a moment of hesitation, he links hands with his shaking brother, twining their fingers together.  Parker knows that whisper, knows what this is. She used to do that with her brother.  Used to hold Nick’s hand, just like that, when their fosters were scaring him, trying to provide comfort even despite the fear of being caught.

It’s not long before the others follow her gaze. She’s stopped engaging in the conversation entirely, is just staring at the television with a death glare, nose wrinkled.

“Parker, baby,” Hardison says.  “That’s your angry face.”

“I’m angry,” she says, and doesn’t elaborate.

“Got it,” Hardison takes it in stride, as he always does.

Eliot’s frowning at the TV.  Unlike Parker, his eye does jump to the most obvious thing first.  To the boy, no older than eleven or twelve probably, drenched head to toe with blood.  There’s no rips in his clothing; Eliot’s pretty sure the blood isn’t his. He’s standing up straight, but his shoulders are slightly hunched.  Like he’s injured.  Broken ribs, maybe?  And he’s been taught to hide them too. He’s also not the only one with that too-stiff posture. These kids aren’t standing up straight. They’re standing at attention.  Number One, their father calls one of them, and what are those? Fucking callsigns?  

Sophie and Nate are watching too.  Their faces are carefully blank.  They aren’t happy, Parker’s pretty sure, but they’re trying not to react.

“What the hell?” Hardison says slowly.  He’s the last one to catch on, though only by a very narrow margin.  He lacks Sophie and Nate’s cynicism, and the years of personal experience Parker and Eliot have, but he’s still too smart to not figure it out almost immediately.  And he is first one to abandon the stunned stillness that’s fallen over the rest of them, pulling his laptop out of his bag, already quickly tapping away at the keys.

“This ain’t right,” Eliot says, voice a growl in his chest.  “This is--this is--it’s televised child abuse.”

Sophie makes a quiet noise of agreement then. “It is,” she says, quietly disgusted. “Those poor children.”

Nate is still staring at the screen, lips pressed flat.

“This Reginald guy looks rich,” Parker says.  Then: “Can we kill him?”

Eliot chokes on his drink.

“How is this even legal?” Sophie asks.  She sounds curious, though not particularly surprised by the grievous violation of child protection laws before her. “It’s so...blatant.”

“Sir Reginald Hargreeves,” Hardison says, no longer typing.  “He is--oh shit.” And the typing resumes, faster and a little more panicked than before.

“Hardison?” Nate prods after a moment, giving Hardison a sidelong glance.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all good,” Hardison says.  “The INTERPOL files on this guy are locked up tight though.  Almost tripped their security system there.  I didn’t, of course, but--”

“You couldn’t get in?” Eliot says, smirking.

“Yet,” Hardison says.  “Dammit, man, it’s been less than five minutes.  Give me a couple hours and that thing is mincemeat.  Metaphorically speaking, of course.  But I do see what’s going on here and,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment.  “Y’all, this is hinky.”

“Yes, I think we got that,” Nate says.  The corner of his lip twitches up.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hardison says.  “This guy has got friends everywhere.  No one knows how he got the kids, but it looks like he technically bought them--”

“He what?” Sophie sounds like she’s been suckerpunched.  Parker can’t think of the last time she heard Sophie sound so shocked.

“Oh yeah.  You think that’s bad?  The numbers aren’t code names  The numbers are their name names.  Like, legally.  I just found an article that said he ordered them by how useful he thinks they are, but judging by the adoption papers it was actually in the order he, uh,” Hardison coughs, “acquired them.”

Eliot is swaying where he stands.  “Common tactic.  He’s pitting them against one another so they’ll be easier to control.  It undermines the self worth of the ones lower on the scale and makes the ones that are higher up feel obligated to do what he wants.  Son of a bitch.”

“...And it looks like he leveraged their powers as excuse to gain exemptions from child protection laws,” Hardison continues like he hasn’t been interrupted.  “Claimed their abilities meant they don’t need the same safeguards.”

“That’s bullshit!” Eliot sounds thunderous.

“I know, buddy,” Hardison reaches over blindly, waving his hand around vaguely until he finds Eliot’s shoulder.  He gives it a comforting squeeze.  “I didn’t write it.”

Eliot heaves in a shuddering breath.  “That’s just--”

“Evil,” Sophie finishes.  

“I’m inclined to agree,” Nate says.  He’s not watching the TV anymore.  He’s staring off into the middle distance, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh!” Parker perks up.  All the grief and distress that had been brewing on her face vanishes like storm clouds parting for the sun.  “Nate! Nate, are you scheming?  You look like you’re scheming.”

Nate makes a noncommittal grunt.  “It would be dangerous.”

“They’re in danger,” Sophie says softly, jerking her head in the television’s direction.

Eliot’s long-since gotten to his feet.  He’s pacing, and that’s how Parker knows he’s furious.  When Eliot is too angry to stand it, he has to move, has to find some way to handle the rage roiling under his skin.  Usually he cooks, chopping vegetables with furious aplomb.  And when he can’t cook, he paces.  

“They’re fucking child soldiers,” he says.  “I can’t--” he cuts himself off with a furious shake of the head.  I can’t believe, he was about to say, Parker thinks, but he had to stop because that’s not true.  Eliot knows better than anyone what the government--what the world does to people they find useful, whether its skill or power that makes them so.

“Y’all are behind,” Hardison says in sing-song.  “I’m already trying to burn this motherfucker down.”

“Hardison, do not tip our hand,” Nate says, snapping into his leader-voice automatically.  Parker grins.  He’s already got a plan, then.  She knew all that reluctance was just for show.  Sophie laughs, as clear and bright as the ringing of a bell, and even Eliot perks up.  

Hardison grumbles, closing his laptop and stuffing it back in his messenger bag.  

Nate is grinning a little too, though it’s that angry smile he gets sometimes when Parker knows he’s thinking about hurting bad people.  She understands.  She's wearing hers too right now.  Nate glances them all over, and for all the malice dripping off the knife’s edge of that smile, his eyes are soft.  Maybe even a little proud.

“Fine. Fine. You guys win,” Nate says, lifting his hands in defeat.  He’s putting on a show of being beleaguered, but Parker can hear the sparking anger in his voice, and oh, how could she have forgotten?  Sophie is so gently righteous, Hardison so achingly distressed, and Eliot so full of fire and fury that she almost didn’t notice Nate’s seething wrath, nearly forgot that Nate looks at every injured child in need of help and thinks of Sam.  “Everyone, get your things.  Hardison, get us some plane tickets.  Let’s go steal some children.”

“Okay, okay.  I ain’t complaining cause, like, fuck that guy,” Hardison says, slinging his bag over his shoulder.  “But stealing children?  Could you have made us sound anymore like kidnappers?”

“Hardison!”

“I’m just saying.”

[songmingisthighs]

[9.55] mafia!wooyoung × reader

⇀ good thing you're smart, if not Wooyoung wouldn't have a whole attitude change

⇁ tw : violence, torture, kindapping, mafia life

⇁ part 1 / 2 / 3

⇁ disclaimer : the author does not support any and all criminal/illegal acts. the narrative written in this story is purely fiction out of the author's imagination. the things written here does not portray real mafia life nor is the author aware of how the mafia life is like. the author is a hermit loser.

You don't remember how long it has been since they captured you. Being stuck in a basement would do that apparently.

Whoever was behind your capture had been torturing you beyond your own imagination. They had starved you, hit you, kicked you, attempted to drown you, tied you in an uncomfortable position every night, and sent in someone to make sure you don't get an ounce of sleep.

All that just to get information on Wooyoung.

Currently, you're being tied to a chair, being once again interrogated for informations you had no clue about, "things would be much easier if you'd just give us what we want," the buff man in front of you said, he held a knife to your cheek but at this point you couldn't even flinch, "where is Jung Wooyoung's headquarters?"

Your cold outfit was clinging onto you like second skin, it's uncomfortable and it's dirty, the cold had definitely impacted your health.

Recently all you've been able to feel is just the headache and the burn from inside your body. Not even the abuse given to you was able to inflict you pain.

Everything's just numb.

You look up at the man, almost with a challenging look as you press your face daringly to the blade, "I. Don't. Know." you spat each word like venom.

The man laughed, pretty amused at how daring you are being, "you're his wife, there is no way you wouldn't have known," you rolled your eyes at him, bitter that he used the word 'wife' because you know fully well that Wooyoung would never treat you as such, "then I must've not been his wife now, am I?" You retorted back at him, slightly shocking him because this is the first time within the (apparently) 7 days you've been captured that you had said something else other than 'I don't know' or 'fuck you'.

Everyone was startled at the revelation, they probably hadn't concidered that you might not be Wooyoung's wife. No one really know about Wooyoung's personal life, it seems.

Seeing their hesitance, you take this as your chance of escaping.

The buff man grab your hair harshly, his eyes narrowing at you in suspicion, "don't lie to me, whore, if you're not his wife, then why'd you have a wedding ring on?" "Stole it from my mistress before I ran away, needed the money," you lied easily, surprising yourself.

"And why are you wearing it?" He asked again, "to make it less inconspicuous, people need to believe that this belongs to me or else they'll alert the cops that I'm a thief,"

He seemed to be having an inner turmoil on whether or not he should believe you.

With how you've been acting and the lack of evidence that you are Wooyoung's wife, you could really have been the wrong target.

"That means Handong lied to us," he said as he push your head away, talking to one of the men next to him, "bring him in and get this bitch out," he said simply before turning back to leave.

But before he walked out of the room, he looked back once more at you with a bitter smirk, "make sure to... deal... with her first, insurance for your silence,"

When the doors closed, 5 men approach your figure, still tied on the chair.

One of them crouch down in front of you, he brush your hair out of your face with a sad smile, "I'm sorry that we have to do this, pretty girl," confused at what he said, you just stared at him. But then he suddenly slap you so hard that you fell down along with the chair you're tied to.

And thus began one of the longest night of your life.

Meanwhile Wooyoung was getting antsy. His men couldn't find you anywhere and there isn't a second when he didn't regret turning his abundance of cctv off

He spent his days either in meetings or trying to track your whereabouts. San had to step in and actually force him to eat, going as far as cuffing him to his chair and spoon-fed him, even throwing a cheesy "would (Y/N) be happy to see you in this state?" At him to which he replied, "considering how I treat her, I wouldn't be surprised if she is,"

So far, neither yours nor his parents were aware of your disappearance. His dad only asked about you once to ensure he still has leverage, which of course Wooyoung lied, he's already stressed over your disappearance the last thing he need is for his dad to bit his head off.

Each night he spent sleeping in his bedroom, moping to the fact that he genuinely misses and worried about you. He regret taking you for granted, taking your presence for granted. Now, he could only imagine your sleeping form next to him using the memories of when he actually slept in bed with you. He used to be able to feel your warmth next to him, now it's just cold and he dislike it.

Tonight was no different. Before he got into bed, he went to the walk-in closet and look at all the dresses he had brought you to events that you went to (re : events he was forced brought you because his parents would be there). He remembered every how you looked in every single one of them.

It's pathetic of him, to be pining over the woman he claimed to have no care about.

Just as he turned the walk-in closet's lights off, there were commotions from downstairs, then a huge bang like his front doors had been barged open.

Diving into his instincts, Wooyoung grabbed the nearest gun he had hid all around the room and ran out, thinking that it was a raid by his rivals.

But when he looked down from the second floor to the living room, his heart wrenched and he froze.

San had you in his arms, you looked sickly pale with bruises all over your exposed arms and legs, clothes had chunks of them torn, and you weren't moving. One would assume that you're dead.

Wooyoung dropped his gun and ran to his friend who had just put you on the couch.

The sight of you looking so broken panicked him. He wanted to hold you and be glad that you're home, but he doesn't wanna hurt you. He wanted to tell you how sorry he is and that he'll make up to you but he's not sure whether or not you're still alive.

He snapped his head towards his staff, "call the doctor! Call Kang Yeosang in!" He barked to which his staffs immediately obeyed, scrambling to do as he ordered.

"God, baby, who did this to you?" He muttered to himself, reaching forward to brush your hair out of your face.

You stirred a bit when you heard his voice ans managed to open your eyes despite the splitting headache and the soreness all over your body.

When your eyes met his, you smiled, "hey, what are you doing in my dreams?" You croaked out, throat obviously sore and beyond parched from having been denied fluids for so long. It was your turn to brush his bangs from his eyes, something you've always wanted to do but know never could considering his dislike that turned out to be hatred towards you.

You suddenly frown at him, making his gaze on you softer, "I'm sorry," you muttered, not able to speak louder. At that, he tilted his head, "for what?" "Not being able to stay gone, I had to had the will to live, I should've let them kill me," you said before you slip into unconsciousness, rendering Wooyoung speechless at your words.

Before he was able to retaliate, San had swoop you back into his arms to take you to an empty room so Yeosang could come in and treat you.

"No," Wooyoung called, stopping San in his tracks, "bring her to my- our room, she should feel comfortable," to which San just nodded and obey, knowing how important it is to have you next to him as much as him next to you.

Yeosang came in not long after and spent 3 hours cleaning and stitching your wounds, checking for possible internal injuries, all the while making sure he's handling you with the utmost care as Wooyoung had been glaring daggers at him. Whether it serve to be a warning to not harm you or a sign of jealousy as Yeosang had a perfectly valid reason to cut your shirt and shorts off for handling.

"I can't make a clear diagnosis without checking for internal injuries, we have to take her to the hospital," Yeosang said. But Wooyoung just snap at him, "then freaking bring the machines here! She's not leaving this mansion and she's not leaving my side!"

Both men just stared at each other for a few minutes, Yeosang holding onto his ground on wanting simplicity, and Wooyoung being afraid of losing you from his sight again.

Knowing how stubborn his friend can be, Yeosang was first to crack, sighing and nodding at Wooyoung, "I'll see what I can do," he said simply before going out to talk to San about possibly transporting some of his machines.

The rest of the night, Wooyoung took care of you. He had put you in one of his large, white button up because it's the easiest to put on you. He stayed by your side in a chair, afraid that he might hurt you (than he already necessary does with his words) if he were to slip in bed with you.

As he watch you, his hands moved to held yours in his. His thumbs were rubbing the back of your hand when it suddenly caught on something.

Looking down, he noticed that it's your wedding ring, matching his own which he's wearing.

It brought a smile to his face seeing you're still holding onto it so dearly. You could've left it for him to find and throw away the day you left, but you had decided to take it with you.

Could it be that despite everything he's done to you, you don't want to completely erase him from your mind?

And that's what made Wooyoung broke down and cried.

He didn't deserve you, not one bit. But despite that, he knows that he's the only one capable enough of taking care of you, to provide for whatever it is that you need.

So at that moment, with you back in hia arms, he decided to step up and assume his responsibilities and treat you as how you deserve to be treated.

[ukai-simp-services]

just tonight

oikawa tōru x fem!reader warnings: smoking weed, cursing, degrading/humiliating, nsfw and smut ofc, corruption kink, slight biblical references, y/n is kinda bitchy, voyeurism, temp/heat play, high during intercourse, choking, dumbdification. a/n: i literally don’t even like smoking or care for it at all BUT THIS FUCKING IDEA CAME TO MY HEAD AND OOOHH BOY. so here’s an alternate universe oikawa being a mf bad boy stoner with piercings and tattoos, and lowkey an asshole.

  fake friends, fake fucking friends, you thought to yourself. you were standing outside of the loud - practically vibrating - club. the one that your friends invited you to; yet here you were, alone while they were driving away with sloppy looking men that just wanted to hook up with them. 

  bass-boosted music rang through your ears, while the ground you walked on literally shook from the bouncing club. you felt a wave of goosebumps rise on your skin, the dress you were wearing was a little too short and it didn't help that the sleeves were spaghetti straps. it was only the beginning of summer, a late june night with a chilling breeze. not to mention, you were two fucking hours away from home, you had no car and a dead phone. the best you could hope for was that someone was kind enough to call a cab for you, or an uber - but there was no one around, except for the people inside the club that you could no longer enter.

  “someone looks lost~” a low, yet teasing voice came from behind you.

  you whipped your head around; taken aback by the sudden voice, but felt slightly relieved when you were greeted by the presence of a young man.

  “yeah, i guess you could say that...” your voice was timid as you trailed off, still nervous of this unknown man gracing your presence. 

  “’s not safe for a pretty girl like you to be walking around this area with that lost look on your face, you could attract some bad news.” he stepped closer and closer to you, almost hesitantly. 

  “like you?” you cocked an eyebrow back at him, gesturing to the array of large, black tattoos littering his arms.

  he clicked his tongue at you, ”should someone like you really be judging others by their looks?” the stranger got uncomfortably closer and you could see that his eyes resembled a warm brown color and his fluffy hair matched them. his face certainly didn't match the rest of his appearance. 

  “someone like me? i look exactly like what i am, a girl who's stranded with no phone or car and could use a nice person to call her a cab home. get lost, creep.” you practically spat back. 

  you spun on your heel and began walking away, you half expected him to chase after you and snatch you into the darkness of an ally, and half expected him to just give up and walk away. your speed-walking was put to a halt when he did neither of those things, when he started laughing hysterically. you spun around quickly out of curiosity to see him doubled over, crouched down on the ground trying to get a grip on himself. 

  “what's so funny?” you were both pissed and skeeved out, what the hell was this asshole creepy laughing at you for?

  he began wiping the tears from his eyes dramatically, “nothing, sorry. it’s just that girls like you are so stereotypical. always looking down on men like me, always thinking you're better than everyone else. it’s just kinda funny instead of insulting.” 

  you were at a loss for words, did you really come off that bitchy? and didn't you have a right to? he was the one lurking in the shadows.

  “i'd call you a cab, but i left my phone at home. i could go get it and come back?”

  somehow, you weren't convinced he’d let you go that easy. something about his tone when he first approached you, was just too teasing and insinuating. 

  “no thanks, i can find someone else to call one for me.” you nervously tugged at the chain on your purse, you knew that was a damn lie. the streets were empty, and this man was your only hope.

  he smirked, a knowing look planted on his face. he wouldn't push, but he knew you'd have to resort to his help in the end. 

  “suit your self.” he treaded away slowly, eagerly expecting your plea to come. 

  you furrowed your eyebrows slightly, he wasn't going to keep pushing you? was he not just saying how unsafe the streets were for a young girl like you?

  “actually- wait.” you stammered hesitantly, embarrassed that you needed his attention again. 

  he turned around swiftly, a small smirk gracing his lips - smugly trying to hold back a grin. 

  “i'm sorry, could you please call me a taxi?” you failed to notice his sly expression.

  “sure thing, but will you be safe here on your own while i get my phone?” he feigned the worry in his voice and the twinkle in his eyes. 

  you bit your lip, hesitant to pick your next words.

  “how long would you be?”

  “should be a 10 minute walk there, another 10 minutes back.”

  “so, 20 minutes?”

  “yes, around 20.” the mysterious man toyed with something between his long, slender fingers, barely giving you a glance. 

  “oh...” you looked around awkwardly, you thought 20 minutes might be too long. who knows what kind of person would approach you, plus it felt like the breeze against your so very exposed legs was getting colder by the minute.

  he looked up to catch your nervous gaze.

  “of course, you could join me on the walk, wait outside my house when we get there.” he pursed his lips, making it look like he had just thought up the idea with no further intentions. 

  no, no fucking way you would go with him.

  but in his gaze, you caught something. a glint in his eyes; trust, comfort. 

  your better judgement faltered as you lost yourself in the charm he held in his eyes, the start to many more risks you would take that night. 

  despite his eccentric look; piercings littering his ears, leather jacket with the sleeves rolled up, obscene tattoos and all black attire - he had a deep warmth in his eyes. and you may have felt so stupid in the moment, but you found yourself trusting that warmth.

  “okay, can't be worse than staying here alone right?”

  he chuckled, “right.”

  but were you actually wrong?

  the walk to his apartment was quiet, mostly because you were nervous he was gonna snap and pull a knife out and murder you in an ally.

  “you know, you don't have to walk 10 feet away from me, right?” the guy looked over his shoulder and squinted his eyes at you. 

  you bit your lip, deciding to stride a little closer to him - making a more comfortable distance.

  “i don't even know your name, mystery man.” 

  he chuckled, stepping to the side a little to give you more room to walk.

  “neither do i, mystery woman.”

  “wouldn't you like to know, i asked first anyway.”

  you were now walking by his side, a little more confident than you were before. your fingers held themselves behind your back, purse still hooked over your shoulder.

  “it’s oikawa, tōru oikawa.” his eyes flickered up to yours, hopeful for you to open up and tell him your name too.

  “told me your full name huh, i guess i should too.” you rocked on your heels nervously. you were still uneasy about telling him your full name for some reason, but when you looked into his orbs of warm chocolate brown, you felt like you could trust this man with your life.

  “l/n y/n.”

  he smirked, looking up ahead at the road again, “pretty name, definitely suits a pretty girl.”

  you rolled your eyes at his sudden flattery, he seemed to do a lot of that - you noticed.

  the two of you continued walking for a few more minutes, casual conversation bouncing off each other. you noticed he began to slow down his faster walking pace when you both reached a tall apartment building.

  “we’re home.” he winked at you.

  “oh shut it, don’t take too long please. it’s so cold...” you hopped from foot to foot and rubbed your exposed biceps with your hands.

  oikawa thought for a moment - running his tongue over his teeth while contemplating how to make what he was about to say not sound creepy.

  “why don’t you come in with me? it’d only take a second and i don’t trust the people around this area to leave you alone out here.”

  you paused for a moment, you were usually very street smart and would know exactly how to avoid this situation. if he were any other guy, you’d just say ‘no thanks, i can handle myself’ and refuse his offer - but his eyes, why were you so allured by his eyes? what was it about him that you trusted? 

  “it’s okay if you’re uncomfortable, i’ll be quick and you can wait out here-“

  “no, wait. i'll come, just...don’t pull anything weird, kay?” you were readjusting your purse on your shoulder as you hesitantly stepped closer to the apartment door.

  “of course, i’d never.” there was a glint of mischief in his eye after the words left his lips, but you didn’t notice it.

  after oikawa let you into his apartment, you were greeted by the strongest smell of weed in your life - and a lot of loud talking and laughter. you were just about ready to turn on your heel and leave.

  “sorry ‘bout that, my friends are really loud.” oikawa apologized and locked the door behind you.

  you waved him off, dismissing his apology. you didn’t care about his loud friends, you were just bothered by the disgusting scent of marijuana that hit your nostrils. you wouldn’t tell him that though, at least not yet.

  you followed oikawa into the living room; also known as the source of where the horrid smell was coming from. the room was dimly lit and felt bigger than it looked. there was an L-shaped brown couch in the center of the room being occupied by 3 men - seemingly the same age as oikawa and yourself.

  “hey guys, this is y/n. she got lost and needs me to call her a ride home. do you guys know where my phone is?” oikawa spoke to the men in front of you, they all seemed to immediately drop their conversation the second oikawa walked in.

  “nah man, i dunno.” a boy with short light brown hair spoke up while twiddling a blunt between his fingers.

  oikawa sighed and ran a hand through his hair, quickly scanning the room for his phone before looking back at you.

  “wait here for a sec while i go look in my room, kay?” he raised an eyebrow at you before hearing your response.

  you would’ve snorted at the tall man with tattoos and ripped jeans using the term “kay”, if it weren’t for the intimating group of men staring you down at the moment.

  “sure.” you forced a nod, signaling oikawa to exit the room.

  you looked around the room awkwardly, hands clasped together against your thighs. you weren’t sure how long he would take, and you certainly weren’t up for small talk with these ‘troublesome’ looking guys.

  “take a seat, we don’t bite.” the man with messy black hair and thick eyebrows chuckled at you.

  yeah right, “that’s ok, i-“

  “i insist.” his voice was deep and his eyes were burning holes into your own. you weren’t sure how someone so high could come off so serious.

  you swallowed down your nerves and took a seat on the far right of all the boys on the couch, plopping down next to one of the quieter men; he had spiky black hair and wore a denim jacket. 

  “so, ‘kawa’s picking up strangers off the street n bringing 'em into our apartment now, eh?” the man next to you spoke up, plucking the blunt from his friends fingers and placing it between his own lips. 

  the light-haired man laughed, following it with a cough from previously inhaling the smoke, “wouldn’t be much of a surprise, knowing him.”

  you wrinkled your nose at their laughter. you tried to be polite, you really did, but you simply didn't belong here; didn't belong in a room with these ‘delinquents’.

  “i am not, ‘from the streets’, for your information. i don't even live around here, i was just clubbing with my friends, but they-” 

  “yeah yeah, we get it. you're a typical stuck-up girl who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” the light-haired boy (it would really help if they told you their names) mocked you in a high-pitched voice.

  “i'm not stuck up, i just-” he kept cutting you off.

  “oh please, the second you walked in here, you were sticking up your nose at us, looking us up and down with a disapproving glare. you're just that kind of girl, face it.” 

  the messy-haired man chuckled lowly at his friend’s joke and added, “just oikawa’s type!”

  “that's enough, you two.” the quieter man next to you spoke up for a second time, giving the other two men a threatening glare. 

  you swallowed awkwardly as the room became quiet, only the soft sounds of sucking in smoke from the blunt being passed around were heard. 

  you were busy absentmindedly picking at the polish on your nails, a nervous habit, when a small orange glow next to your head caught your eye. 

  “you wanna hit?” the guy next to you was holding the blunt out for you to grab, the strong smell getting a little too close to your nostrils. 

  you scrunched your nose at his offer, shaking your head to further decline.

  “no thanks, i don't really do that stuff.”

  the spikey-haired male nodded - accepting your decision and taking an extra hit himself, when you heard a chuckle come from behind him.

  “god, she really is a prude.” the voice of the impudent light-haired man spoke again.

  you were just about ready to bite back a reply, but the man sat in-between the two men with the deeper voice beat you to it. 

  “makki, bet you 10 bucks she was only at that club for a half-hour before she was beggin’ her friends to go. that's probably why they ditched her stuck-up ass.” the boys cackled in unison at their stupid jokes. if they weren't pissing you off so much, you might even had found their cackles funny. 

  “makki, mattsun, shut your mouths.” the man next to you rose his voice slightly. you were thankful that he was sticking up for you, but there was no way you'd let it go without defending yourself.

  “ha, sorry that i actually have my life together and don't need a mind-altering drug to live my every day life. you guys are the pathetic ones, not me.” you laughed bitterly at them. what you were saying was only half true; you didn't have your life together and you couldn't care less if people that weren't you did mind-altering drugs, but you did think they were pathetic. 

  3 pairs of eyes widened in your direction in response your bitchy remark, they knew they had it coming - yet they were still surprised to hear it. 

  “please, humble yourself sweetheart. you aren't any better than us for not doing drugs.” the man with dark hair, presumably mattsun, laughed coldly at you whilst leaning further back into the cushion of the couch. 

  “yeah, you're only missing out.” the man called makki chimed in.

  “missing out? oh please, on what? a fried brain? smelly breath? black lungs? yeah, i think I'm doing just fine.” you leaned back against the couch, content with the newfound confidence you held. you weren't normally this snappy with people you first met, so this was quite a shift in your usual dynamic. 

  this time, all three boys laughed at you, this included the quieter man who's name you still did not know. 

  “oh darling, you're cracking me up. just say that you're a prude and go, you're honestly embarrassing yourself.” makki pushed your argument further. 

  “yeah, you shouldn't knock something before you try it. just because you're a virgin doesn't mean you have to act-” 

  “what makes you think that im a virgin? what does weed have to do with my sex life, like at all?” your voice was getting defensively higher and you were now leaning over the man in between you and makki and mattsun to get your point across. 

  “you're not a virgin because you don't smoke weed, but you don't smoke weed because you're a virgin.” makki put it bluntly, staring straight at you with a completely blank face. the two boys next to him chuckled at his stupidity. you were completely dumbfounded. 

  “you're joking right? this has to be a joke. you can't seriously think that i’m some prude who's never had sex before just because i've never smoked weed before - and never will.” you were crossing your right leg over your left now, lifting your posture significantly to get a better look at the men.

  “actually, sweetheart. that's exactly what we think.” mattsun glanced over at you, half-lidded eyes burning into your own. 

  you felt a shudder run through your body at the nickname, trying your hardest to push down the heat rising to your cheeks and somehow maintain your snarky persona. 

  “i-”

  “found my phone- what is going on here?” oikawa entering the living room interrupted your retaliation, suddenly becoming confused with the obvious tense atmosphere in the room. 

  “tch, your little prude of a friend over here just called us pathetic for smoking weed.” makki rolled his eyes before placing the blunt between his lips, it was now a quarter of the size it was before when you first entered the home. 

  “only because your asshole friends were calling me a prude and a virgin for not smoking.” you snapped back immediately, turning your body to face oikawa to make your point. 

  “asshole friends? that isn't very nice now is it, sweetheart?” mattsun teased you again, using the same nickname that you were shamefully flustered by before. 

  you opened your mouth to argue back, but oikawa interrupted your spiteful words with a long laugh.

  “i knew you were a stereotypical stuck-up girl the second i met you, didn't i y/n? this comes off as no surprise to me.” oikawa’s arms were now crossed and he was eyeing you down from his standing position above you.

  “oooh, her name is y/n. just sounds like a prude’s name.” makki proceeded to torment you. 

  “come on asswipes, be gentlemen.” the quieter man next to you spoke up again for the first time in quite a few minutes. 

  “sorry, iwa-chan, but i’m gonna have to side with makki and mattsun this time. if y/n wants to act like a little prudent brat, then she’ll just have to be treated like one.” oikawa stepped closer to your spot on the couch, a teasing lilt to his voice.

  you were flustered by how fast oikawa’s personality had shifted, he had alluded you to think he was a charming, trustworthy man not even 20 minutes ago. where was that energy now?

  “such a stuck-up brat, probably gonna live to be a perfect little virgin mary, yeah? never gonna compromise her health, never gonna sleep with a man, and never gonna commit a sin, isn't that right?” oikawa now stood directly in front of you, legs brushing against yours with your head at eye level with his crotch. 

  you hesitated for a moment, contemplating if your pride was really worth doing this. 

  of course it was.

  “pass me the fucking blunt.” your head whipped towards makki, holding your hand out towards him, praying to god that he couldn't see how much you were shaking.

  makki widened his reddened eyes at you while trying to figure out if you were being serious or not.

  “are you deaf? let me take a fucking hit.” your eyes were dead and cold, boring into his surprised ones.

  “alright... now that's what i like to see.” makki’s lips curled up into a smirk as he passed you the medium-sized, glowing blunt. 

  everybody’s eyes were on you as your held the object between your thumb and your pointer finger, mimicking the movements you've seen others do so many times before.

  “you sure you can handle the smoke, darling?” oikawa’s voice was anything but caring and sweet, it held a mocking tone laced with faux sympathy. 

  no, you were very sure that you couldn't, but you were too stubborn to go back now. your pride was on the line and you would be damned if you didn't prove yourself to these four men.

  you looked up at oikawa through your thick lashes, placing the blunt between your lips at the slowest, most seductive speed. 

  “i'm a big girl. i think i'll be alright, kay?

  oikawa let a low chuckle out, still staring down at you from his tall position above you with his head slightly tilted to the side. 

  “we’ll see about that.” his voice came out deeper and smoother than it had before.

  you wanted so badly to prove to these assholes that you weren't as prudent as they made you out to be. sure, you were a little pretentious and always stuck your nose up in disapproval when your friends did similar actions that these boys did, but secretly, you always wished you could let yourself loose like everyone else. you were raised to be a perfect, well-behaved girl, so you've always kind of stuck by that title for as long as you knew. just going to clubs, like you did tonight, was totally out of your comfort zone. if tonight was going to be the one night where you let yourself loose, then there was no reason that you couldn't do this, right?

  you seemed to underestimate how many hits it would take for a lightweight like you to get even the slightest bit high, all you wanted was a little buzz - just to get these dickheads off your back. 

  it was only after coughing up an entire lung after your two first hits, that you realized that this might've not been such a good idea.

  you set down the glass of water that iwaizumi - the only nice guy out of the bunch - got you from the tap. you were four hits in and absolutely miserable. your entire chest felt on fire and to make matters worse, you didn't even feel high yet - not like you would know what that felt like, anyway. 

  “nuh-uh, that's enough for you.” oikawa quickly snatched the blunt from your fingers before you could react.

  you rolled your eyes, not wanting to back down from what felt like a competition. 

  “pft, look who's the pussy now.” you reached to grab for the small piece of blunt left in oikawa’s hand, but your slow reaction rate caused you to miss horribly. 

  “i’m not a pussy, i just know what'll happen to a light-weight like you. if you over-do it you're bound to get sick, and the last thing i need is some random girl who pushed her limits to lose her shit in front of me.” oikawa’s words were harsh, but a playful smirk was planted on his lips. 

  you weren't having it.

  he was right, you had pushed your limits - and oikawa didn't know the half of how stubborn you were. you weren't about to let the guy that was just making fun of you for being so prude, to change his mind and withhold you from proving yourself. 

  “thanks for the advice, but i promise you i can handle myself.” you spat back at the man hovering over you, proceeding to snatch the blunt back from his hand. 

  oikawa chuckled and shook his head at you, deciding to take a seat on the coffee table in front of you.

  “suit yourself.”

  you continued the assault on your lungs; taking long hits of the remainder of the blunt, coughing hysterically, drowning yourself in water, then repeating the process again. you'd think the group of boys would have some complaints about you hogging the last few hits of their weed, but they just sat back and reveled in the sight of you struggling to keep up your pride, entertained at the sight of your flushed cheeks. 

  it wasn't until you were sucking at practically nothing that you realized you'd finished the blunt, still unsatisfied with the lack of buzz you felt.

  “wow that was exactly what I thought it would be, a total waste of money and lung health.” you laughed dryly, leaning back onto the couch in discontent. 

  “not your money.” mattsun rolled his eyes at you.

  “just wait till it hits, she’ll be fucked.” makki laughed loudly at your expense, nodding his head in your direction at mattsun. 

  all the guys chuckled in unison, they seemed to do that a lot through out the night.

  “glad our weed was just a waste to you, maybe buy your own next time.” oikawa’s eyes held mischief in them as they glared at you, a playful scowl on his lips.

  “oh i’m sorry, did i waste your precious weed?” you jutted your bottom lip out in a faux pout, your eyes containing an unintentionally seductive glint in them. 

  oikawa narrowed his eyes back at you, feeding into the little game you were starting. 

  “yeah, I think you did. how ‘bout you pay up for it, hm sweetheart?” he leaned over his lap, forearms resting on the tops of his thighs and his face nearing closer to yours. 

  your mouth opened to retort something back, but words failed to come out as your vision started becoming hazy and an urge to laugh started sprouting in your stomach. you couldn't contain the laughter that spilled from your mouth, cheeks heating up and body beginning to feel numb. 

  “yeah...she’s gone.” iwaizumi chuckled. 

  oikawa smirked at you, his face still so close to yours that you could faintly feel the warmth of his breath on you. 

  “no i’m not...” you let out a few more giggles as you felt a numbing feeling take over your arms and legs. you slapped your legs in hopes to regain some feeling in them, giggling once again at how heightened your senses were becoming. 

  “oh god, wasn't expecting to have to babysit today.” makki groaned from the other side of the couch.

  “you literally aren't doing anything.” mattsun prodded back at him.

  “true, this is oikawa’s problem now.”

  the chesnut-haired man chuckled in front of you, pressing his hands to his knees as he pushed himself off the coffee table.

  “there's no way i’m letting you get in an uber tonight, come with me.” he held his hand out in front of your face.

  your mind was on a whole different level than his. your vision felt extremely clear, you couldn’t help how your eyes trailed over every tattoo and vein running down oikawa’s hand and forearm right in front of you - mouth unapologetically agape at the sight. 

  “come on, don't give me a hard time, yeah?” his voice sounded smoother than you ever heard it, it echoed in your brain and overstimulated your senses. you wanted to hear more. 

  “no.” you pouted, reddening eyes glancing up through your lashes to lock with his. 

  “no?”

  “no.” you were firm, or tried to be, another fit of giggles threatened to bubble out of your throat. 

  he cocked an eyebrow at you, clearly not following your message. 

  “want...oikawa...” you were unable to finish your sentence, your brain suddenly forgetting what words were supposed to come next.

  he leaned down to your height with his hands propped up against his knees, face merely inches from yours. he held a permanent smirk on his lips and his eyes teased you with faux seduction, oikawa almost always knew what he was doing. 

  “want me to do what?” his voice was lower than usual, softer too. 

  “need...” you knew you needed something, you just couldn't think of what.

  “yeah? keep going, baby.”

  you furrowed your brows in frustration, your brain was a little too hazy for your liking and the small bit of rationality that you still had inside you was getting fed up with how stupid you were acting. 

  “kiss.” you blurted out, then bit your lip and dropped your gaze as if you just exposed a secret that you weren't supposed to tell anymore. 

  “a kiss where?” he taunted you, bringing a finger underneath your chin to lift your gaze to his once more. 

  what felt like a few seconds to you - was almost a full minute in real time, of you staring up at oikawa; mouth agape, eyes hooded, not saying a word.

  “everywhere.” he almost couldn't hear you, because of how soft your words came out. 

  oikawa didn't show it, but his stomach erupted in warmth at your words, that same warmth flooding down to his crotch. he bit his tongue before responding to you, he knew damn well you were in no state of mind to be making these decisions. 

  but you just looked so pretty sitting below him like that; eyes lidded with the daze from your high mixed with lust, lips parted, and legs crossed to cover up the growing wetness coming from your core. 

  “mmm, tempting, but i don't particularly enjoy taking advantage of women while they're high.” he sighed, shaking his head in hopes it would get rid of his lewd thoughts.

  you pouted in return. sure, the buzz from your high was strong, strong enough to make you regret how bold you were acting when you woke up tomorrow, but not strong enough to have sex with someone you had no interest in. no, you had been looking him up and down all night long. you wanted this, the buzz just gave you the confidence you didn't have before - and who were you not to take this opportunity? 

  it wasn't just the lack of rationality from your high that made you want this from him, it was the heightened senses. every time you were close to him, everytime his eyes gazed over yours, you felt a million sparks burst through out your body. you were convinced that the second he touched you, your skin would ignite with flames. 

  you grabbed his hand, pulling him back in to destroy the distance he made between you two. 

  “i know what i want, and i've wanted this the whole night. despite what you think, i’m not some virgin mary. so are you gonna continue to act like a little pussy, or are you going to fuck mine?” 

  a gasp was heard from the right of you, makki. he quickly slapped a hand over his mouth after oikawa sent a glare his way. 

  “and what happens when you regret this tomorrow?” he raised an eyebrow down at you playfully.

  “something tells me that, that won't happen... unless, you're saying that it's short?” you questioned him with a gaze that fluttered down to his crotch, then back up to his eyes. 

  oikawa had to hold back the growl that threatened to escape his lips, and the hand that twitched in anticipation to squeeze your throat. 

  “oh, it’s most certainly not.”

  you had expected oikawa to take you back to his room, at least. 

  you didn't think he'd wrap his hand around your throat and push you up against the couch right there. 

  right in front of makki and mattsun.

  right next to iwaizumi. 

  you struggled against the strength of oikawa’s death grip around your neck, unsure if your hazy vision was from the loss of air you were getting or the impending high from the weed. 

  “you said you wanted to be fucked, right?” oikawa’s words were laced with a venom you hadn't heard from him before, his eyes sadistically glaring down into yours. 

  you opened your mouth to respond, but your words were cut off with a harsh cough from the painful position you were in. 

  “c’mon ‘kawa, at least loosen your grip a little.” iwaizumi’s voice of reason brought a warmth to your chest, suddenly grateful for his presence. 

  oikawa smirked above you, moving his hand from its grip on your throat to mindlessly caress the outside of your breasts, thumb pressing against the material of your dress where your nipples would be. 

 “fine, but only ‘cause iwa-chan said so.” you glared up at him, your competitive nature fighting the fear of him choking you again.

  you cleared your throat, well aware of the burning sensation still evident in your wind pipe, “i said i wanted to be fucked, yes, but not in front of your friends.” 

  that earned a chuckle from makki and mattsun - and a smirk from oikawa and iwaizumi. 

  “but i thought you wanted to prove you werent a little prude, i thought you would want to prove my friends wrong - or are you a coward like i predicted?” his thumb and middle finger were now pinching your nipple through the thin material of your dress and your bralette, making you squirm underneath him. 

  you could feel what you only assumed to be the peak of your high reaching, it was making every touch and every word from oikawa feel and sound 10 times better than it would've before. at this point you were willing to fuck him wherever he wanted. 

  cheeks flushed, and eyes averted to the side - away from oikawa’s face, you muttered a “fine.”

  “what was that, sweetheart? i can’t hear you.”

  “i said fine.”

  makki joined in on the teasing, “wait, what did she say oikawa? i cant hear from all the way over here.” 

  god, you couldn’t stand these fuckers.

  “i said, it’s fucking fine. jesus chri-” your aggrivated screams at the men were soon cut off by oikawa’s tight grip on your jaw, a searing kiss pressed against your lips soon following.

  “enough talking, you need to take my dick now.” oikawa was breathless after engaging in the fiery kiss, he was soon found ripping off your dress.

  you felt it, you felt the peak of your high approaching. everything felt so fucking good; his hands grazing your body as he ripped your dress off, the burning stares of makki, mattsun, and iwaizumi, and the empty buzz in the back of your head - it all made you feel breathless. 

  oikawa noticed your dazed out face, he hadn't even fucked you yet and you already appeared to be full of bliss. 

  “no fair, she’s high out of her mind and i’m sober. do me a favor and roll me a blunt while i eat her out, makki.” oikawa pouted above you, continuing to discard your clothing while he waited for makki to prepare him a blunt.

  you may have been peaking, but your mind jumped at the thought of oikawa eating you out. you were suddenly becoming extremely aware of the situation at hand again. 

  “i- are you sure about-” you stuttered, shaky hands from the numbing feeling of your high came down to grip at the soft panties you wore that oikawa was attempting to rip off. 

  “‘s the matter? has our little virgin mary never had her pussy licked before?” oikawa smirked down at your burning body, both burning in embarrassment and in an immense amount of desire. 

  you decided to stay silent, gaze averting to the side once again.

  oikawa wasn't having it, he gripped your chin with his free hand - pulling your gaze back to his.

  “you were all bark before, where's the bite? don't disappoint me now, y/n” his gaze was intense, to say the least, and your body still felt like it was floating from the peak. 

  you swallowed the thickness inside your throat, building the small amount of courage you had left. 

  “i can bite, and i will.” you looked up at him with complete malice, and he mirrored your expression, adding his trademark smirk to his lips. 

  “we’ll see about that, little one.” 

  the unexpected nickname had your head spinning, you were quick to feel a familiar heartbeat thumping down towards your core. 

  you soon felt extremely aware of the way he was touching you, head lowering down towards your thighs, gently pushing your hand away from its grip on your panties. 

  it was true, you hadn't been eaten out before. you only had sex once and your boyfriend at the time finished in 30 seconds, tops - leaving you unsatisfied and humiliated. 

  but oikawa felt different, even though the sex was initiated to save your pride - a competitive desire to prove yourself to people you had just met - you could tell that behind his teasing, he cared about your pleasure. it showed in his small touches; the way he gently caressed your skin before ridiculing you, the way his eye flickered up to yours before dipping his head in-between your thighs. you sensed the emotions he held deep inside of him, the ones he kept hidden. maybe that's the reason you felt you could trust him, maybe that's why you didn't run out of his house the second you saw his sketchy friends.

  maybe that’s why you so badly wanted to prove yourself to him. 

  makki began to roll a blunt, as instructed by oikawa, as he began eating you out. mattsun and iwaizumi’s eyes burned holes into your skin as they watched.

  your body twitched after the first few licks from him, immediately becoming obsessed with the feeling. oikawa’s tongue felt warm and soft against your clit, the slow pace of the circles around the bud were driving your body crazy. your thighs instinctively went to close around his head, but he held them down with a firm grasp, only intensifying the pace of his tongue in disapproval of how your body misbehaved.

  “relax.” he drawled into your skin, continuing his assault on your clit.

  you bit your lip and nodded in response, trying to keep your calm as your body had never experienced such pleasure before. 

  oikawa expertly switched his tongue from your clit to your hole, replacing the stimulation on your clit with his thumb whilst fucking you slowly with his firm tongue. you unintentionally let out a loud whine, head thrusting back into the plush pillow of the couch and fingers going to thread in oikawa’s brown locks.

  “feels good?” the voice came from next to you, iwaizumi’s. 

  your eyes glazed over to his, lids becoming heavy and lips parting open as you panted out a “yes.”

  oikawa noticed your attention diverting over from him to his best friend, his brows furrowed in annoyance. to grasp your attention once more, he removed his tongue from your hole and replaced it on your clit again, then shoved his middle finger inside you with no warning - making sure to curl it all the way up. 

  his harsh actions against your cunt had you loudly moaning with your head thrown back in both pain and pleasure. just one of his fingers alone filled you up more than your exes entire cock ever did. 

  your eyes immediately squeezed shut at the feeling, toes curling from the sensation of his finger thrusting inside you, mixed with the feeling of his tongue swirling your clit. 

  oikawa lifted his head to click his tongue at you, “no baby, you’re gonna look at me while you cum, okay?” 

  his tone was sweet, but firm enough to make you quickly shoot your eyes open and nod at him obediently. 

  he mumbled a “good girl” before going back to licking up and down your cunt. he went through a routine of switching between circling your clit, swiping his tongue from side to side, sucking on your swollen bud, and rapidly lapping up your pussy - all while fucking you with his finger. 

  he didn't even get the chance to add a second finger before you felt your climax approaching. your head was still spacey from the high, so you weren't sure if this feeling was from oikawa or if it was just your hazy brain, but you found out sooner than later as you orgasm began to take over you. 

  oikawa got the idea that you were reaching your climax as your little hole pulsed around his finger and your legs shook around his head. as much as he wanted to tease and edge you, he decided he wanted to fuck you more.

  he helped you ride out your orgasm as his tongue prodded at your clit relentlessly, licking and sucking at the firm bud, finger curling further and further into the depths of your gummy walls, 

  euphoria took over you as you felt the numbing feeling from your high intertwine with the body-racking orgasm that oikawa was providing you. your entire body felt lighter than it ever had before; sweet, pure release exiting your body. 

  your head was spinning and your chest was heaving from the aftermath, your body began to feel extremely tired. the weight from the entire day you had came crashing over you, as the sweet release you once felt subsided. you felt good, but you needed a nap. 

  through eyes that were barely open, you watched as oikawa smirked down at your disheveled form and carefully grabbed something from makki’s outstretched hand. 

  “glad you enjoyed that, princess, but it’s my turn now.” oikawa stealthily unbuttoned his pants after placing his blunt in-between his lips, strategically sucking in the smoke and blowing it out without having to remove the object from his lips. 

  you nodded at him, half-understanding what he meant. you were by no means sober, but you definitely felt the strong buzz dying down. 

  “i’m gonna need verbal responses, sweetheart.” he leaned down just above your face, breathing out smoke as he got closer. the strong scent filled up your nostrils.

  you couldn't help but scrunch your nose up at the strong smell, you may have been sucking down a blunt yourself not even 30 minutes ago, but you would never get used to the grotesque odor. 

  oikawa noticed, and raised a curious brow at you. 

  “ah, so we still think weed is gross? after you smoked almost an entire blunt by yourself?” his tone seemed amusing, but his eyes told a whole different story.

  “god, first she wastes our weed and now she acts like she didn't even like it?” mattsun crossed his arms over his chest while facing you, eyes giving your naked body a once over. 

  you were too blissed out to even fight them this time, you just desperately wanted a nap, 

  “hey, all i said was that i’d prove to you guys i’m not a prude, and i did. doesn't mean i have to like the smell of your stinky weed.” your words were mumbled from your tired state, but still not wanting to accept defeat.

  “nah, i don't think you’ve proved yourself at all yet.” makki chuckled dryly at you.

  “yeah, all you've done is get high and be a fucking pillow princess for oikawa.” mattsun chimed in.

  “and a brat too.” makki added on to mattsun’s sentence. 

  oikawa raised his chin cockily, clearly satisfied with his friend’s insolent words. 

  then, an idea clicked in his mischievous mind. he narrowed his eyes down at your pathetic figure sprawled out underneath him as he thought about it. 

  “oh please, don't be sore losers. i smoked your fucking weed and let oikawa eat me out, just admit i’m not a prude like you thought i was.” you tried to regain the similar confident composure that you held before, glaring over at makki and mattsun. 

  “hmm, maybe you aren't a prude, but you're still a pretentious brat, and brats deserve to be tamed. don't you think?” oikawa’s voice was smooth and easy-going, but his words were dripping with malice.

  you found the courage to narrow your eyes back up at oikawa, despite the internal feeling of your heart hammering against your chest.

  “and how do you plan on doing that?” you tested him.

  he chuckled lowly at your obviously feigned confidence, he could just tell by your flushed cheeks.

  he lowered his face to hover above yours for the nth time that night, placing the blunt in-between his lips and sucking the smoke into his mouth. before even inhaling, he pulled your bottom lip down with his thumb and put his lips on yours, releasing the thick smoke into your mouth. 

  your once lidded eyes were now widened, your hand quickly came up to grab at oikawa’s arm. he pulled away quickly, chuckling at how you choked on the smoke - eyes watering up again just as they had done before. 

  “you-” you choked out another cough, “asshole.”

  oikawa raised an eyebrow at you, reveling in the way his best friends laughed from the sidelines at your expense.

  “mmm, i don't think you're in any position to be calling me names.”

  you glared up at him, quickly blinking away the stray tears that remained in-between your lashes.

  “oh, and what position would that be?” the fire you held before was coming back, and this time it wasn't because you wanted to prove yourself.

  no, you just wanted to see how far you could push him. 

  a familiar large hand came up instinctively to wrap around your throat, pushing you against the couch once again as he tauntingly held the burning blunt inches away from your face. 

  “i wouldn't test me, darling. clearly, you aren't aware of how far i'll go to put a bitch like you in your place.” he spat down at you, his eyes were dark and he was still holding the glowing blunt way too close to your face for your liking.

  but you couldn't stop yourself, you kept pushing and pushing. 

  “show me then. i’m not getting any younger here, am i?” 

  a laugh was heard from your right, it was quickly muffled as mattsun slapped a hand over the mouth of its carrier: makki, of course.

  oikawa clicked his tongue at your confidence, knowing damn well that you'd regret it later. 

  “sure, i’ll show you.” he spoke in a low voice as he brought the hand holding his blunt down your body, stopping when he reached your thigh. you sucked in a nervous breath in anticipation, the burning bud was only a centimeter away from the smooth skin of your exposed thigh. your heartbeat was increasing and you felt your blood running cold, you opened your mouth to protest at the last moment, but the sadistic man beat you to it.

  you felt a burning sensation press into the outside of your thigh, causing you to immediately grab at oikawa’s arm with a shrill scream escaping your mouth. the man only laughed above you, nudging your death grip on his arm off with ease.

  “what’s the matter? i thought you could handle it.” he jutted his bottom lip out to feign a sorrowful expression, you wanted to kill him. 

  “you just- you just fucking burned me.” your chest was heaving and you felt yourself slowly getting terrified at what would come next.

  the boys next to you were silent as they watched the scene unfold, oikawa could only smirk down at you. 

  he pulled another hit out of the blunt and dipped his head in-between the crevice of your neck and shoulder. you tensed at the feeling of his lips being so close to your skin, then relaxed when you felt him blow the warm smoke into your skin. the subtle feeling of the warmth from the smoke ghosting over your skin almost made you moan out loud. instead, your body betrayed you with a shudder.

  “mmm, something tells me you liked that. don't act so innocent, little slut.” your breath hitched at his words.

  “just because i may have liked that, doesn't mean i enjoyed being used as an ashtray.” you gestured towards your scorned thigh.  

  he chuckled lowly at you, then brought his free hand down towards the burn mark left in your skin and pressed his thumb against it slowly. this time, the painful feeling of a sting in your skin forced a guttural moan out of your throat, instead of a screech. you instinctively brought your hand up to cover your mouth, eyes wide in embarrassment. 

  “really? ‘cause i think you do.” oikawa laughed at your obvious humiliation and pulled your hand away from your mouth, rolling his eyes in the process.  

  “c’mon, quit acting like a damn prude still, darling. admit you're enjoying this shit.” mattsun spoke from his spot on the couch, now resting his right arm over the side of the couch to get a better look at you. 

  you scoffed at him, cocking your head towards him in response. 

  “i thought i was a brat, not a prude anymore.” 

  makki chuckled at your rebuttal.

  “’kawa, i think she’s getting a little too feisty again, you might wanna smoke her out again.” 

  you almost choked at his words, quickly whipping your head back to face oikawa. you felt your stomach drop at the devilish smirk he gave you. 

  you were just beginning to sober up, and they already wanted you dumbed down again? 

  “fair point, makki. i can't fuck her while she’s running her mouth like this, right?”

  before you knew it, your mouth was being filled with smoke again. oikawa restarted his method of sucking on the blunt before pressing his lips to yours again. your mind was entering a similar haze as before once again, body also being filled with warmth and pleasure as oikawa began rubbing his bare cock against your pussy. 

  before sliding in, he pressed his shortening blunt against your skin once more - this time, on the fat of your right hip. you pleasantly moaned at both the pain and pleasure from the sensation this time, and oikawa couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of your walls visibly crashing down. 

  he didn't even give you a second to adjust to the searing pain you felt on your skin before he was thrusting into you, causing you to practically scream at the feeling of his cock stretching you out. 

  “oh, f-fuck.” your nails made their home on the skin of his back, sinking into his smooth flesh in response to the pain you felt in your core. to your dismay, the numbing feeling that spread across your body from your high didn't help at all to prevent the newfound pain from oikawa’s cock entering you. 

  “god, look at her. our little virgin mary is being corrupted.” mattsun’s deep voice was heard from across the couch. you were surprised to look over and see him fisting his own girthy cock while staring down at you, makki and iwa were doing the exact same thing. 

  oikawa chuckled breathlessly at his comment, earning your attention back to him. 

  “shit, you're tighter than i expected, princess.” his bottom lip was caught between his teeth, his eyes were slightly hooded from his approaching high, and his tattoo littered arms were flexed in front of you for support - you decided you had never been more turned in your entire life. 

  “move, please.” you begged breathlessly, head feeling hazy and numb, while your body felt extremely sensitive to the touch. your senses were heightened once again and it had you craving an orgasm more than ever. 

   “since you asked so politely.” oikawa’s hips began snapping at that moment, hard thrusts sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. 

  next to you, the three boys began pumping their cocks with more fervor, pace quickening in time with oikawa’s. 

  oikawa didn't cease his antics of blowing smoke into your mouth either. with his cock slamming into you at such an ungodly speed, your lips were constantly parted open - leaving him easy access to fill up your lungs with the same smoke you disdained so much. 

  your body was betraying your mind. physically, you felt fucking amazing - but mentally, you wanted to yell at oikawa to quit his abuse on your lungs. 

  “q-quit it with the smoke. i think i’m high enough.” you stumbled over your words.

  oikawa bit down on your neck in response to your distaste, hot breath fanning over your ear to whisper lowly, “quit being a fucking brat first, and take what i give you.” 

  you shut your mouth obediently, until makki chimed in.

  “you should be grateful that oikawa is being so generous as to blow his weed into your mouth without making you do a damn thing. say thank you, slut.” his words were harsh and gritted through his clenched teeth as he pumped his cock harder, eyes burning into your skin. 

  you whimpered at his pitiless words and at the feeling of oikawa thrusting into you with more power, clearly encouraged by his friends praise.

  “i-” your remark was cut off by oikawa’s firm hand around your throat once more.

  “what do you have to say to me?” his eyes burned into yours, telling you that his question was not actually a question, but a demand. 

  “t-thank you, oikawa.” your eyes were brimming with tears from the lack of oxygen circulating towards your brain. 

  he only squeezed harder.

  “what's my fucking name.” his lips were ghosting over yours now, his hot breath only added to the heat that was already evident on your face. 

  your bottom lip wobbled, you had no idea what kind of name he would like. if you guessed wrong, what would he do?

  “thank you, sir.” you silently prayed you chose the right one, and your prayer was granted as oikawa removed his tight grip from your throat and smashed his lips onto yours - practically growling into the kiss. 

  you moaned into his mouth as you felt the pleasure in your stomach building up at an increasingly fast speed. your head was spinning and your body was on fire, you never felt better in your life.

  “feels...so fucking good.” your words came out in pants. you could barely think straight anymore; your mind was only filled with oikawa’s cock and the impending numbness from weed. 

  your attention was snatched from oikawa as you heard a deep guttral moan come from the side of you, it was iwaizumi’s. the once quiet man was becoming more vocal as his own orgasm was approaching.

  “yeah, you like getting high and getting fucked in front of random strangers you just met, huh?” your face burned at his surprising words, never did you expect to hear such a sentence come from (what you thought was) such a polite man’s mouth. 

  then again, you never even expected you would ever be in a situation like this before either. 

  “y-yes, i do.” your walls had broken down and they could all see it. there was no more sticking your nose up at them anymore, no more bratty comments at the expense of their drug of choice, and no more pretending like you weren't enjoying yourself tonight - because you clearly were. 

  the boys chuckled all at once at your sudden submission, but oikawa wasn't surprised. 

  there was only a small bud left of what was the blunt in oikawa’s hand, but he manage to suck one more hit out of it. you parted your lips with expectations of him to release the puff of smoke into your mouth, but to your surprise, he ducked his head above your left breast and let out the smoke slowly over your perked nipple. the subtle sensation left goosebumps all over your body, causing you to moan under his soft touch.

  see, unbeknownst to you, oikawa was a man of observation - and he couldn't help but become blatantly aware of your body’s hypersensitivity to the small, subtle actions he went about. whether it be from the weed or from your inexperience in sexual situations, oikawa didn't know. he just knew he was extremely fascinated and infatuated with the way your body reacted to him. 

  he bored down into your lidded, reddening eyes, your lips were parted as you panted out his name and the look on your face only told him that you were gone.

  he swore he had never fucked somebody prettier than you, he silently hoped one day he'd get to see you with your lips wrapped around his cock. 

  unable to help himself, oikawa stuck his thumb into your mouth, pushing the digit as far in as it would go. 

  you were taken aback by the action at first, but your mind was quickly put at ease by the warm feeling of being filled by him in two different places at once. you swirled your tongue around his finger, both sucking on it and licking it.

  the sight in front of him had his knees practically buckling above you, he couldn't fight the approaching feeling of his orgasm unraveling before him. 

  “you're gonna be a good little girl and let me cum inside you, yeah?” his voice was hoarse, moans and grunts beginning to spill from his lips more while he looked down at you with complete darkness in his eyes. 

  god, you weren't thinking straight.

  but you really didn't care. 

  you nodded as best as you could with the spinning feeling inside your head, body filling to the brim with pleasure as you felt your own orgasm approaching you. oikawa quickened his pace as he felt your cunt squeezing his girth, almost like your body had a mind of its own to suck him dry. 

  “such a little slut, letting you fill her up with smoke and cum.” mattsun’s deep voice was heard from beside iwaizumi. his eyes were still glued to your form and the head of his cock was a bright red, begging for release. 

  “let’s see you try and act fucking innocent again after this.” makki added with a chuckle, he was just as close to finishing as his friend. 

  you moaned helplessly at their ridicules, feeling your coil so close to snapping.

  “god, you fucking revel in the attention don't you? you're literally getting off from being watched like this, so exposed and vulnerable.” mattsun spoke up again.

  yours and oikawa’s labored breathing harmonized as you both got closer and closer to your releases. 

  “they're right, you're such a little fucking attention whore. sucking in my cock like that while my friends watch. you're so desperate, it’s pathetic.” oikawa was internally amazed at himself for being able to muster a complete sentence out while his cock was so close to being practically milked. 

  you whined in response, your cheeks heating up. you didn't care about anything else, you just wanted to cum. 

  “p-please, i'm so close.” you cried out, tears beginning to brim at your eyes. 

  “fuck. cum, cum princess.” the voice came from your right side, your eyes trailed over to the source, being iwaizumi. 

  oikawa scoffed, “you don't listen to anyone else, got that? just me, sweetheart.” he shot daggers with his eyes towards iwaizumi, and he shot them right back at oikawa. 

  you blinked your eyes at oikawa, not realizing the competitive banter between them until now.

  “let her fucking cum already, ‘kawa.” iwa growled at his best friend, his cock was an angry red. you could tell he just wanted to finish, as well as makki and mattsun. 

  oikawa gritted his teeth, knowing damn well that his orgasm was approaching too. 

  “alright, cum for me, slut. squeeze my fucking cock with that pretty little cunt of yours, okay?” 

  his wish was your command, and it’s not like you were able to hold back anymore, anyway.

  you felt the coil snap inside you; already fuzzy mind going completely blank, mouth dropping open in a silent scream, and thighs shaking around oikawa’s torso. he felt your cunt pulse around his cock and he couldn't help how quick his orgasm followed after yours, teeth instinctively latching onto your shoulder as he pumped you full of his semen. 

  oikawa helped you ride out your high as he slowed down his thrusts, eventually ceasing them. your orgasm combined with oikawa’s was so intense, that you failed to even acknowledge that the three boys next to you were coming too, fists beginning to slow down their movements. 

  after a few minutes of collective panting heard throughout the room, makki broke the silence.

  “holy shit.”

  you agreed, holy shit was right. 

  after passing out on oikawa’s couch from pure exhaustion, the sobering-up man carried you, with some effort, to his room to spend the night. being the gentleman he was, he tucked you in carefully under the covers of his bed and set up a somewhat comfortable sleeping arrangement for himself on the living room couch. 

  before retreating to his makeshift bed to crash on for the night, he peaked into his room once more - eyes scanning over your sleeping figure as you slept soundly. he noticed that while you slept, all the worry and pouting that was usually so evident on your face seemed to fade away. you look relaxed, at ease even. he thought maybe you just needed to loosen up more, to let your worries fade away every so often, while you lose yourself in the late hours of the night.

  he thought that maybe, he could be the one to teach you how. 

[hargrove-mayfields]

Just A Dream Away

Chapter 5/13 read here on ao3!

for @harringrovebigbang

~~~~

Robin gets to the phone first.

Steve was too busy wallowing in his bed to get up and answer, though he figures it might be worth seeing who it is that’s calling. None of the kids call him anymore, but he always considers, even if it’s for just a moment, that it could be an emergency. He’ll know whenever he decides to get up, or if Robin even decides to pick it up.

Its ring echoes shrill and loud in the apartment, the tone making him want to wrap himself in a blanket and never come out, so he slides out of his bed, calling down the stairs in search of a solution to end the noise, “You gonna get that Rob?”

For a moment, he wonders if she’ll even respond. It’s barely been a couple of hours since he made her cry, but she calls back, “Are you expecting a call?”

Relieved to know she at least still tolerates him, Steve answers, “Nope.”

“Then no.” Comes her simple response, and the phone ringing promptly dies out, “Guess it didn’t matter anyways.”

But almost immediately, it starts up again, somehow sounding more sharp than before. Steve tells her just to get it so the ringing will stop, coming down the steps to see for himself who it is calling.

He watches Robin pull the receiver from its base, in the place of a greeting going straight for, “What do you want?”

Steve takes note of the fact that her mood isn’t entirely better yet, though he’s definitely glad she’s taking those feelings out on the telephone and not on him, but, despite her abrasiveness, she still receives no response.

It looks like she’s going to hang up before she hears something, her features closing off as she focuses on whatever comes through the other end, “Hello? I can’t hear you. Who is this?”

There’s a whining static loud enough for even Steve to hear from the other side of the room, getting louder, and then a pop that makes the lights flicker and the phone die out, making Robin shriek and drop it, shaking out her hand.

“Son of a bitch shocked me.” She mumbles, picking up the dead receiver and showing Steve the two burnt ends.

In the moment though, something he’ll perhaps feel bad for another time, Steve isn’t worried about his friend. He isn’t rushing to see what happened and check if she got burnt, he instead just freezes up, filtering through the overwhelming questions filling his head to ask, “Did you hear who it was?”

“No, it just sounded like it was all distorted.”

Her answer is nonchalant, but it makes Steve feel weak and panicky, sitting down at the table as pale as a ghost.

That’s obviously not a normal reaction, and Robin asks, tone more afraid than concerned, which he thinks that’s appropriate for what just happened, “What’s going on Steve?”

Grimly, he explains, “Mrs Byers’ phone did that twice before, blowing up after a call just like that.”

“Okay, well maybe there’s just a storm coming and it’s just a coincidence that happened to her too?” She tries to reason, but Steve already knows, he's felt this dread before. “No, Robs. It happened because Will called her from the Upside Down.”

“But then that means-“ Robin starts, working through the implications, Steve finishing the statement for her, “Someone is trapped over there.”

“Holy shit, but the gate, hasn’t it been closed for a year and a half now?“

“Unless someone else opened it, yeah.”

Stiffly she nods, asking hesitantly, be it because of her questions or the disagreement between them earlier, “Well what do we do?”

A reflection of his lack for anything but pessimistic doomsdaying anymore, Steve worries, “What can we do, Robin? I’ve only ever fought the things that end up in our world, and you’ve never even seen half of the monsters that come from over there. We’re too overpowered here.”

More rational than her friend, Robin suggests, “I think we should get a hold of Eleven. You said she's the one that really understands any of this other dimension stuff. She can help.”

But Steve shakes his head, “Her powers are gone. She might know what to do, but I don’t think she’ll be able to do anything.”

“So you just want to leave whoever it is over there?”

“No, fuck no. That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what should we do?”

“I don’t know..” Steve frowns, thinking hard before he answers determinedly, “But whoever it is, they reached out to us. We have to help them.”

~~~~

The phone doesn’t work.

What is Billy supposed to do? He’s tried everything, and with his last resort at reaching out a dud, he’s not sure what else he even can do.

So, in true Billy Hargrove fashion, he lashes out, cursing and unnecessarily yanking the phone jack out of the wall, the plastic handheld skidding across the kitchen tile into the corner, “Goddamnit!”

The noise may have been a mistake though, because, despite how sure he was the dogs wouldn’t find this place, he hears a chitter, and the click of claws on hardwood floors. The damn thing is in the house, and his machete is by the door.

A recurring theme with these hell beasts, is that there’s never enough time to run, but unless he wants to use decorative mugs or a cookie jar to fight it, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to try.

He makes two mistakes as he runs, the first being that he hesitates, not wanting to leave Steve. Even if he couldn’t find him he had gotten so damn close, but a snarl from the dog puts things into perspective, and, with a heavy feeling of remorse in his chest, he leaves through the backdoor as quietly as he can, bolting down the rotting back steps.

His second mistake is looking over his shoulder. Just as his boots touch brittle grass, he decides just to glance back and see how much space is between him and the hellhound, but the second he sees it, he just freezes up.

Because it’s fucking big, for one thing. It has to force itself through the door frame, meaning it’s wider than he is. It has a lot more teeth than the others. It’s skin is pale and it’s limbs much longer. Something tells him the others he’s seen are immature, and this one is close to its final form, whatever that may be. Either way, he’s decidedly not fucking around with that.

The daunting unfamiliarity of this part of Hawkins, intimidating as it is, isn’t Billy’s main concern right now. He just bolts like a coward, hoping against hope that there’ll be anything along his path he won’t have to corner himself to get that can be used as a weapon, basically his only other option for surviving this that this amped up dog will get bored of him fast.

But, and really, he knew this was the case, he just hadn’t wanted to admit he was prey yet, it easily charges him, going up on its back legs to knock him off his balance. It misses at first, so he thankfully doesn’t get pushed to the ground, but his reflexes, especially when blurred by emotion, are no match to a monster of this size, and before he can even process its next move, it clamps its teeth on his arm.

Now, he’s been here for a while. He’s had scratches and cuts and welts from their tails, but he’d always been quick enough, smart enough, prepared enough to not get bit. Which he really wishes was still something he could still attest to, because it fucking hurts. Razor sharp teeth from too many mouths tear into the muscle, a stinging pain all the way from the point of impact in his wrist up to his shoulder.

It’s his fault, all this stuff with Steve was getting to his head, feeling his presence and hearing his voice again for the first time in god knows how long only to be unable to reach him. It was doing things to his judgement.

But this is still bad. Really fucking bad.

As soon as it lets go, he knows it’s going to latch onto him again, so he does what he does best in a situation where he’s hurt and scared and alone. He cries, for one thing, but he also fights. But where he’d normally just use his fists and his ego to prove his strength, this world is built differently. Even with a pocket knife to stand up for himself that’s not enough to survive, but he’s still going to make it count. If at the end of this he goes down, it won’t be without a fight.

A fight to just get back to the way things were. To prove to himself he could do this and survive. For once in his fucking life, just to overcome hardship and move the hell forward, no cycles of hatred and pain, love and respect drawing him back. Nobody else in control of his body. Nobody else holding him back from being happy.

He just wants to survive this.

There’s blood on his jacket sleeve, but Billy refuses to look at how bad the wound truly is yet. There quite frankly isn’t enough oxygen down here to afford a panic, but from the pain and the blood alone, he knows it’s not going to be good for him.

The fighting isn’t going too well either, with only one arm not weighed down by injury and a knife the size of his palm his last standing lines of defense, it’s mostly him dodging the creature and flailing his limbs to either stop an incoming bite or confuse it, both of them too confident in its ability to tear him to shreds to advance further than that.

But it gets bored of fucking around with him, and it rises to its back legs again, and Billy knows he’s fucked, squeezing his eyes shut and blocking his face, but the attack never comes. There’s a huge crack of lightning in the ever looming storm above, and a chorus of eerie chittering from more dogs at varying degrees of closeness to where they are, and it draws the attention of the big one away.

While the monster is distracted, he uses that opportunity to his advantage, takes charge of his circumstances to give himself a fighting chance. That strategy never worked for him before, only ever got him into deeper shit, but he can’t exactly just stand here and be monster bait either so, though it breaks his heart to put that distance between him and Steve, Billy chooses to run.

[sweettodo]

Lady Boss ⟿ Levi Ackerman x reader

Vanilla, somewhat of a quicky, consensual, office fucking, boss.

1,722 words

Strutting down the halls with the upmost frustration, blood boiling, your veins pulsating through your angry fists. You couldn’t fathom how you were getting blamed for something you didn’t do.

Being the ‘mistress’ or in other words overseer for these excuses of men who all thought they deserved to be at a higher- scratch that; they were too fucking stupid to be as good as me.

So what if my brother - Jean, put me in the position I’m in today, but he didn’t just let me sit on my high horse, I needed to do work. ‘Who’d she sleep with to get that promotion?’

SMACK!

“That’s what you get for being a fucking peon. Go make yourself useful like cleaning the bottom of my feet.” The group of men cease speaking. You shake off your hand, you were not afraid to discipline these fuckups.

“So-”

“Sorry what was that? Speak up!” I shout. They sigh in defeat. ‘Someone put her in a mood today’ they simultaneously think in their heads. They hated your attitude, especially on these days.

“Sorry...damn.” That’s right, you thought to yourself, you let out a sigh and continue walking quickly down the large hallway of offices, our ... business was more or less a money laundering business, we were discreet and powerful. We racked in tons of cash and had plenty of allies.

You reach the large double door, slamming your fist against them a few times, you tapped your foot in anticipation.

“Well if it isn’t the biggest fuckup of the day, actually; month.” Chairman Levi scoffs, slowly letting you into the office. He moves back to his desk and you slam the door.

“You act like this was my fault. Your men are fucking stupid.”

“Your men actually, fun fact, you’re in charge of them. Therefore my hands are clean of this mess.”

“You act like I can babysit 25 men to hold a few wads of cash.” You snort, slamming paperwork onto his desk.

“And I’ll say it again, it is not my problem.” He crosses his arms, his body leaning against the windowsill, he was too cocky. You hated him, but you knew you needed to get out of this.

“It was actually twenty five thousand... hey, what do you think you’re in here for? To yell at me for your wrongdoings? I should demote you. I might as well make that call now-”

“Wait- uh.” I didn’t think before speaking, sounding weak on the spot, he stuffs his phone back in his slacks.

“How do you intend on fixing this mess?” He stands, slowly unbuttoning his black blazer, he was so toned.

“I’m a smart woman; I’ll figure this out without your input thank you.” Such a nasty attitude, on days where you two could cut the tension with a knife, days like this where his disgust towards you strengthened. How your hateful words spewed from your mouth. You’re a woman for god’s sake, act like it.

He drops his blazer so it hangs off his chair, he wanted you to feel intimidated of what he could do to you at anytime.

“Here’s the deal-” his finger points at you lazily and it taunts you, he drops his crossed arm stance and sits in his tall leather chair, “you can come here and I’ll help you, or I’ll let Jean now how much of an incompetent bitch you are, your choice.”

You pondered, you could possible wiggle your way out of Jean finding out; Levi reaches for the desk phone and begins dialing Jeans extension to his office, your heart drops, I quickly move towards him and grab his wrist and the neck of the phone, hanging it up before it could ring.

“See, you are a smart girl, I love it when you actually listen to me.” He chuckles, I mock him and wait to be dismissed, “take that off.”

What? What the fuck was he doing, your mouth drops open in utter shock, it was a mix of a dream come true and something ripped out of an erotic novel.

“Take what off?-”

“Your shirt.” He says matter of factly, the lump in your throat freezes while he does it himself, tired of him waiting for you to strip and get down on your knees.

Painfully, he looks down at you while he unbuttons each and every blouse button, your heart pounded; he was not close enough. You shoved the dirty thoughts to the back of your head, you needed to regain power.

“What are you going to do for me Mr. Ackerman?” You hold back his hands, he smirks.

“I’ll loan you the twenty five, you just gotta remember to pay me back babe.” ‘Oh fuck yes’ you secretly became excited to his words, this meant no Jean.

You shrug off your blouse, revealing the pinkish-nude lace bra you had on, he stares in awe at your perky boobs, they sat so nice. Countless thoughts ran his head, labeling every part of your body... ‘I’ll do this, and this’

“Liking what you see Lev-”

“You think just because I’m going to fuck you; that you can call me by my first name?”

“Sorry sir.” He turned you around, forcibly holding down the side of your head against the cold desk while he took his time once again, staring at every part of your body, he was in fucking love.

His body hot, you wanted to stand up and rip his clothes off him like the feral slut you were for him. You wanted to be his little toy, do whatever you want to me sir.

“You should keep wearing skirts to work, easy access.” He rubs your butt with his tough hands, he pushes up your skirt and the matching panties gave it away.

“Sir, let me help you.” You stand quickly and he takes a tiny step back, allowing you to speedily unbutton and you practically rip it off him, god he was so incredibly sculpted. As they say, god spent extra time on this one.

“Stop drooling,” you snap out of your trance and fiddle with his belt, unhooking it. He throbbed, his meme er begged to be fucked by you and Levi was too excited to see you.. and hear you, and taste you.

He doesn’t allow you to drop to your knees, ‘you’re too good for that’ he told himself, he wanted to see you fall apart beneath him.

“Just hurry up and fuck me then.” His eyes widen, his smirk grows as he pushes you back over onto the desk, bending you in half while he quickly moved your panties to the side. He was about to indulge.

You let out a squeal the moment he pushes himself into you, you sucked him in, he knew it was all too dangerous to fuck you now, you were going to have him pussy whipped.

It seems as if he has more and more to stuff you with; reaching spots previous men couldn’t reach, surpassing all nerves that you even knew existed.

“Wow- Sir.” You’re taken aback, you gasp when his hips finally clap against your ass and thighs, he was in all the way, you were fucking stuffed.

Swears fly from Levi’s mouth as he takes time with the first few thrusts, pumping out and back in; in and out in and out.

“I could be in this pussy ass day, my god, you’re clenching so hard.” He groans, he picks up the pace as he pulls apart your ass cheeks to fill you up as much as possible. Your spongey walls contacted and gushed around his big cock while your eyes rolled tot he back of your head in complete pleasure.

“Hmm it feels so good sir, please keep fucking me like this, I need it.” You moan, he follows your orders, he needed to move your position, he needed easier access to this goddess of a body, goddess of a pussy.

You both went into the office separate days of the week, rarely seeing each other.

“You know-” Levi pounds into you, “if our deal upholds, I need to be able to fuck you anytime I want.” His breathing ragged.

“Yes sir I understand.” You moan, mouth jammed open, your legs slowly wanting to give out as he takes you to different heights, this was gonna be a earth shattering orgasm.

He bit onto his bottom lip to stop himself from sounding like a moaning mess under your spell, you were dripping wet, it felt like a palace between your walls, silk sheets, sliding in and out, not easily. You were so tight he didn’t know what to do with you.

“S-sir I’m about to come.” You whine, pushing yourself against his cock, he lets out a tense breath of air, not expecting you to do the work for him.

“Then come.” Levi grabs the other hip, kicking apart your legs further and fucking you senselessly, you were a drooling mess.

Your body contacts once again, he slows down slightly while still fucking you hard with those powerful thrusts. You cream all over his dick, he’s starstruck by feeling those spasms and seeing your helpless body grasp behind her onto your wrist, it was enough to send you flying over the edge.

You release your seed into her, holding still for a few moments and pulling out making sure it seeps into every crevice in her pussy. Seeing both her and your come drip from her beautiful cat. It was a sight to see alright.

Levi’s muscles are weak, he needs to catch his breath, sit down. You wore him out so good just from those ten minutes of him tearing you apart. The same goes for you, you relax your body and breathe heavily whilst slowly picking up your panties from your ankles and pulling them up, tugging down your skirt and trying to limit your leg movement, afraid of not being able to walk.

You two stood in silence, redressing and regaining composure, “you have a very nice dick sir.” You purr in his ear, he thinks about other things to prevent him from getting hard again.

Glancing at his watch, he knows he’s off the clock, “come on, you’re coming home with me.” He grabs his belongings and you do the same. You were absolutely thrilled.

“Yes boss.” Giggling, you follow behind him closely, halls empty so no one would suspect a thing.

[choco-mark]

A Marriage of Inconvenience (4)

overall pairing: mafia!jeno x mafia!oc

overall genre: angst | smut | fluff

warnings: language, mentions of violence + death, oppression of women, murder/homicide, mentions of drugs + drug use + drugging someone else, mentions of severe injuries

summary: when two mafia gangs decide to end their family feud after decades, your mother decides to give your hand away to marriage of their son, lee jeno. he seemed to hate you from the moment he laid his eyes on you, but could the resolution lead to something much more than a bride and groom?

words: 4.1k

masterlist

requested by 🤡 anon

19 April

Jeno’s eyes trailed his older brother’s body, watching him walk in front of him while clenching his teeth, trying to get out of the grasps of his men. Taeyong had just barged into the van without a second word, his men killing each and every other soldier waiting to be dismissed except his two brothers, who were now being manhandled inside. “Don’t fight it,” he cooed, not looking back at Jeno as he glanced over to Mark, who was just as equally trying to get away. “I don’t want to kill you, you know. You are my brothers after all.”

“So then why are you abducting us?” Mark asked in an incredulous voice, the hallway coming to an end as Taeyong reached out the door in front of him, looking back at Jeno and then Mark. “Huh? Father was right, you’re insane!”

“Shut the fuck up!” He hissed back, closing in on Mark as his eyes scanned his face, lip tucking under his upper teeth as he tilted his head. “You don’t get it, Markie boy, you and your measly little baby brother here would never get it. Father had me start the second generation of NCT, I’m sure that you’ve figured it out by now, hmm? That’s how you’re here in the first place, you were clearly smart enough to track sweet Y/N’s messages, hmm? I knew you’d be able to do it,” he clicked his tongue, turning back around to give the door a bit of a tap.

“At least you’ll get to see your girl now, right baby Jeno?” Taeyong’s hand enclosed over the handle, giving it a harsh twist as he swung the door open, the red room with matching couches coming into view. His jaw dropped from the empty sight, only discarded roles littering the floor. “What the...”

“I can’t believe you fucking escaped,” Haechan snarled again, locking the handcuff around your wrist and then fastening the matching one to his own. “You were supposed to listen, sweetheart. It would have been much easier if you did so.” He raised his head, looking at your brother with hooded eyes. “I should’ve expected more from you too, you’re a Park after all.”

Your eyes, however, were fastened on the perfectly brandished knife that was tucked into the belt of the gorgeous man; just a single step backward and it could be in your hand, easily available to stab him with a sharp blow to the stomach. But it could only work if you were able to do it as quickly as possible, and in the condition you were in currently, you couldn’t trust yourself to move as fast. 

The moment that he stuck his hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out yet another deadly syringe, your twisted his other arm back as you stepped behind him, yanking the blade from his belt and holding it to his throat. However, Haechan was faster, his leg pulling Jisung towards him, the tip of the needle threatening to push into his skin at any moment. He let out a breathless chuckle, his head tilting upwards as you didn’t make a move. “Put the knife down and I won’t inject him.”

You hesitated, your eyes now on Jisung, who’s face looked absolutely mortified as he struggled to get out Haechan’s grip around his body, the chains around his wrists clashing together as he felt the needle pierce his skin in the slightest. There was a momentary wince from him, enough to let you pull down your hand, dropping the knife to the floor with a loud clang.

“Good girl.” He pulled at his arm, forcing you to stand beside him once again, the leg around your brother falling as he pulled away from him. Haechan glanced over at you, your eyes already drooping from the effects of the drug beforehand, making him break out into a nasty smile. “Oh darling, you’re so tired already?”

His right hand inched closer to your cuffed wrist, his own hand outstretching your arm as you noticed the familiar movements, your head shaking on its own accord as you tried to pull away. But he was stronger, keeping you in place as the needle pierced into your vein, injecting the substance into your body in one slow shot. “It’s either you or him, baby.” You heard his voice floating around in your mind as you drifted off, the effects of the drug being different than before. Wait, but why do I feel so... 

“You’re so brave for your family, Park Y/N.”

“Yeah, I got her,” Haechan’s voice was a low growl through the phone, calming Taeyong’s nerves as he continued to pace around the room, his eyes momentarily glancing to Jeno and Mark, who were now tied to the couches, their postures completely straight as they fought against the material. “Brother Park here got out of the rope and untied her too, apparently. He’s cuffed now.”

“Good,” he sighed into the speaker, a hand moving up to run through his dyed hair. “Bring them back to the red room. You gave them both a—” his sharp eyes focused on his youngest brother, who was currently giving him a look of death. “—dose, right?”

“We ran out. I knocked out Y/N, though, girl put up a bit of a fight when I threatened to touch the boy: tried to slit my throat.” There was a short, unamused chuckle from his end. “Open the door, the one on the right. She’s out cold, I’m gonna put her on the bed.” The call ended with that, the sound ringing through Taeyong’s ears as he sighed, waving away the rest of the men in the room. 

There was a bed in the room, a king-sized bed in front the couch that his brothers were currently tied to; the sheets were made of an expensive silk, hopefully, he thought, expensive enough for your liking. It was a perfect deep red, basically waiting to cover your soft body as he had gotten that bed with the thought of you in his mind. Your sharp figures, the poise of your body, almost everything being concealed by the colors of the bed, soothing him deep inside as he moved towards to door, swinging it open.

Haechan pushed in Jisung by the neck, nearly making him fall to his knees in front of Taeyong before he caught himself, stumbling forward instead. His huge eyes fixed on the man, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion before the straightened out again as Taeyong grabbed the tall boy by the collar, forcing him towards the other couch. “I wouldn’t have lured you over if I knew you would pull your precious sister away,” he said, quietly enough for him to hear as he pulled out more rope from under the couch, wrapping him down immediately. “You Parks are so fucking disobedient.”

Jeno had a clue who the pink-haired teenager was, assuming from the way he looked completely terrified as he laid his eyes on him. His eyes fluttered over to Haechan, who was walking over to the rest of them with you thrown over his shoulder, an arm secured over your thighs as he realized who that was. “You...”

He snapped his head over to Jeno at the whispered sound coming from his throat, raspy as he realized who it was; his ego soared, knowing that he had his brother’s fiancee fastened over his shoulder with you having no actual control over yourself as he smirked at the older boy. “Fancy seeing you here, brother. Taeyong said you would come; I didn’t believe it. Oh Mark, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

His face was twisted as he walked over to the bed, carefully laying your body against the soft mattress. Jeno and Mark watched him intently, Jeno’s fists curling involuntarily when he saw the silver-haired man’s hand brush away a few strands of hair from your face, the touch making you stir softly. Haechan cooed at the sight of you, sighing as he wished to press his lips against yours once again, but there was a hiss from the other side, making him look up. “Hands off,” Taeyong chirped, taking a seat next to Jisung with his head still facing backwards, scowling in annoyance. “I already told you, Haechan. She’s mine.”

He rolled his eyes, stepping back but ignoring his older brother’s word as he focused on Jeno, who was watching him as if he was about to pounce at any moment. “You got yourself a pretty Park and you took it for granted,” he ran a hand through his hair, giving your unconscious body one last look as he made his way over to the couches. “You’re so spoiled, Jeno, you don’t even know her value. And Father gave her to you, out of all of us. So fucking spoiled.”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” He shot back, even though he knew that Haechan was right. He had treated you like you were a piece of shit the entire time that you had been at their house, but it didn’t occur to him that not one, but two of his siblings were also pining after you. “What the hell did you do to her?!”

“And what do you mean she’s yours?” Jeno whipped his hair over to Taeyong, who was watching him in mock amusement as he raised an eyebrow. “What bullshit are you pulling, Taeyong? Abducting her from a mission that you were supposed to be at, both you and Donghyuck were supposed to be at, and using this place as what, your safe haven for some new mafia society? You do realize how fucking insane that sounds right?”

“No, Jeno, you don’t get it,” Taeyong deadpanned, glancing over at your brother, who was currently listening to the whole conversation in horror. Never did he think that your father giving away your hand to a Lee would lead to this, especially not including him, in the least. And now he was hearing that this was supposed to be some gang that he never heard about? “It’s not insane. You know why?”

“Because Park Y/N was supposed to be mine, right from the very beginning. Father set her up with you instead, because of what, some measly age difference? And brother, I already knew how you would treat her, just like you treat anyone that isn’t a Lee.” He sighed, leaning back against the soft cushions as he slapped a palm to Jisung’s thigh, startling the poor boy. “I wanted her to be the start of NCT 127. I wanted her to be my wife, a queen that would rule the way I wanted her to. But Father didn’t like that. She’s at the top of all of NCT, marked as one of the most graceful fighters, professional and beautiful. I’ve seen videos of her work before; her perfect slitting of a member of NCT Kim for trying to side-step her, that’s when I knew she had to be a part of the new generation. She’s perfect, Jeno, that’s what you don’t see. She’s better than you, than me, better than everyone else here.”

Taeyong leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees as he spread out his legs, cocking his head to the side. “That’s why Father sent you here, to get his precious treasure back before I’ve married her into the new clan. Isn’t that right? You aren’t here for your fiancee, or I should say, your ex-fiancee.” He opened his palm, the diamond ring that was fastened around your neck in a chain falling from a latch to his fingers, the jewelry dangling in front of Jeno and Mark’s faces. “It didn’t occur to me that this was the proposal ring until I saw it around her neck; she doesn’t wear necklaces, isn’t that right, Park?” He looked back at Jisung, whose eyes widened as he nodded slowly. “It’s pathetic, a fake ring around her neck. You couldn’t even put it around her finger like a man?!”

“It’s expensive,” Mark muttered under his breath, watching with pained eyes as he dropped it to the floor, a few sharp clangs ringing the room. Damn, I should’ve bought gold if I knew this was gonna happen. “Really expensive.” 

A slow jolt went through your body, the last few loud words bringing you out of your hazed slumber. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, closing almost immediately as you took a strangled breath, the voice of Taeyong’s rant moving on as you tried to raise yourself from the bed, but failed. You felt so weak, so much more weak than before as you sat up in the slightest, taking account of what was happening front of you. Mark’s eyes focused to your stirring body first, stifling a gasp as he realized that you were awake, his anxiety of never leaving the red room slowly dissipating as he quickly glanced away, trying not to make it too obvious. Your eyes met his however, and they widened at the sight of him, and you blinked a few times: was that really him?  

You recognized Haechan’s figure leaning against the opposite couch, his back facing you as you sat up completely, your posture catching Jeno’s attention as well. He didn’t give you a look, however, only acknowledging you for a moment as he quietly hoped that you would find a way to get them out of there. He was tied up, and so was Mark. The only one who was no longer chained was you, but you were already fazed from before, your mind being unable to process on anything that was going on.

Jisung. Jisung. Where’s Jisung? Your question was answered in an instant as you saw the dyed hair next to Taeyong, almost still as a statue as you realized that he couldn’t see you. He’s not hurt, right? He didn’t drug him, he injected me. I got it. I got the dose. Your thoughts were trying to convince yourself, making you shake your head as you tried to get back in focus. Mark and—Lee are tied to the couch though, probably Taeyong’s doing, I’m guessing. He really likes ropes, it looks like.

“ —She’ll love me eventually,” Taeyong’s voice finally found its way back into your brain as you swung your legs off the bed, grabbing a discarding knife on the bedside table at you tried not to make a noise, your footsteps being silent as you tried to listen to his words. You had already figured it out before, that Taeyong was the one who had requested for you to be sent over to the Lee household, that he was the one that wanted you to himself even though you were engaged to his brother. It sounded delusional. “That’s not the case, I don’t need her to love me yet. I have her now, and I’ll make her mine. One way or another. It’s just you that’s the problem.”

Your fingers wrapped around the hilt, the familiar feel coursing through your veins as you found a little control. Closing your eyes, you aimed the knife at the long torso of Haechan, leaning forward to throw it but hesitating. You weren’t sure if the man was even truly a follower in whatever Taeyong’s plans were, but from the way he had looked at you in sympathy when you had begged him not to drug Jisung, it didn’t seem like he wanted to.

Mark caught your eye, nodding over towards Taeyong almost immediately as he saw you perched to aim at the other brother’s back. You took note of it, watching as everyone was still focusing on his preaching words of his new gang, his new generation, with you as his newly wed queen. At the sound of that, you couldn’t help but let out a quiet hiss, which didn’t go unknown to Haechan as you let the blade go soaring as your eyes blackened out for a brief moment.

But you never missed, that was something that everyone knew, and the blade had now lodged into Taeyong’s right shoulder blade, making him fall forward as he groaned loudly. Haechan moved towards you, his arms outstretched as he realized your shaky movements, but you bent down, swinging your leg fast enough to sweep him off his feet, making him collapse to the ground in an instant. As fast as you could move, you ran over to where Taeyong was reaching for the blade in his back, but you were there first, pulling it out of him immediately. “H-Haechan, call for—backup.”

“You won’t need it,” you pulled him to the ground, tracing the knife through his shirt, seeing the trail of blood it left as you stuffed it into your belt, your fist giving him a hard few blows to the abdomen. You glanced over at Jeno, watching as he continued struggling against the ropes and handing him the blade instead, quickly focusing back on Taeyong. “How do you want to die? I can strangle you? Use the knife? Maybe the ropes—”

There was a hand in your hair, yanking you back painfully as you felt Haechan’s hand tangle further into your locks as you let out a squeal of surprise, your back pressing flush against his chest, his heavy breathing being evident in your ear as an arm fastened around your waist. “I treated you so well,” he whispered as your hand grasped his wrist, trying to yank it away from your head. “Is this how you repay me?” You were about to knee him when there was a huge force from your side, knocking the both of you towards Jeno and Mark as Haechan groaned, his grip loosening around you as you looked over at Jisung, who was now standing proudly, his foot having been used for a good work.   

You noticed how Jeno was struggling to get out from the rope, and you moved forward quickly, grabbing Haechan and slamming him to the ground with all the force you had in your body. Snatching the knife, you cut through both Mark and Jeno’s ropes, setting their torsos free. There was a hand around your ankle as you leaned down to work at the ropes against Mark’s feet, making you fall down to the ground. “Stupid girl,” Taeyong muttered, dragging you closer to him as you grabbed at Jeno’s feet, slicing the rope in one motion to let him free. “Is that how you treat your fiancee?”

Jeno felt his blood boil at the words, his body taking over him as he stepped down on Taeyong’s arm harshly, clearly making a break to bone as he let go of his hold on you. Standing over him, he hoisted him up and against the couch, punching him painfully in the face a few times. “She’s not your fiancee,” he snarled, watching his knuckles grew with blood. “She’s mine.” 

As you set Mark free, you watched as Haechan finally recovered from the shock, his consciousness coming back to him as you stood over him, watching the pretty man intently. Jisung was in front of him, his feet by his head as you gestured for him to come over to you, and he came immediately, standing beside Mark. 

There was a burst of the door from the left side, a swarm of Taeyong’s men flooding into the room as Mark cursed under his breath, making you unaware for a moment as Haechan grabbed at your arm, making you fall down onto him. You pulled yourself up quickly, however, yet his strong leg kept you fastened to him, making you squirm. “You can’t get away now,” he chuckled softly, blood oozing from the corner of his lip. “You’ve lost, darling, just admit it.”

You stopped your movements for a brief second, the sound of his words ringing through you as you pushed yourself off of him, giving him a sharp, probably stinging slap to the face. “I don’t think you get it,” you kept your knees down on his arms, digging deep into his muscle as you felt like mocking him the way he had been doing to you this entire time. “I don’t lose.”

As the men started coming towards them, Jeno manhandled Taeyong to face away from him, pulling out the two glocks that he had stolen from the two of them, turning back to throw one at Mark. He also got his hands on a set of keys, realizing that they matched the colors of your brother’s cuffs, and he threw them his way, his eyes not moving to match his. Jisung caught them however, and Mark helped him out of them, giving him a stern yet soft look.

“You drugged me,” you continued, still looking down at Haechan, who was looking up at you with a twisted look, one that spoke a firm ‘i’m proud of it.’ “You drugged my brother, I shouldn’t let you go. I should kill you. Right now. Right here, right where you did it.” Your hands were already fastening around his neck as you heard Jeno and Mark shoot at the men, each of them falling instantly with a fatal hit. “I should—kill you.”

But the world seemed to go by you in a blur as Haechan’s expression never changed, the beautiful dusted look that would have enchanted anyone in a second brushing over you as you couldn’t bring yourself to actually close your fingers over his throat: to take his life away from him as quickly as he got it. “But you can’t, sweetheart. You won’t be able to kill me, because deep down, you know that you don’t have it in you.”

The words stung at you, engraving inside of your brain so deeply as you were hastily pulled off of him by Mark, who was urging you to leave with them. Your mind was still out of it, unable to focus on his face as he shook you by the shoulders, yelling something: let’s go? We have to leave? You weren’t sure, but he pushed you forward, making you move towards the door in a stumble.

Jeno was right behind you, Jisung by your side as you walked without control, not being able to understand the world around you. You felt hot, suffocated too: was it the summer? The heat was too much, maybe you should open a window. You shook your head violently, the red walls shaking in your vision. It’s not hot enough to open the window, turn on the fan instead. 

“Lee Jeno!” You turned around at the shout of the broken voice, your name being called straight after as your mind spinned, the dizziness not registering anything except for an injured Taeyong sitting up with a gun pointed straight at you, right for your heart. But, you thought, your head tilting shortly, I thought he wanted to marry me. And maybe he did, maybe he wanted to marry you if you had agreed with him, but the bullet had already been shot, making you brace for impact.

But it never hit, a gasp coming from another as you forced your eyes open, your eyes falling on the tall figure in front of you, which fell to the ground in a short second. It felt like it happened in slow motion to you, from the way you noticed it was Jisung, your mind trying to process everything at once as you let out a silent scream, seeing the blood pooling out from your brother’s chest. Except it wasn’t silent, it was deadly, and you fell down beside him, kneeling to his face as you panicked, your heart nearly stopping at the sight of him. 

Jisung, Jisung, Jisung. It was the only thing on your mind as you touched his body, his face, pulling him towards you as much as you could before there were hands on your shoulders, trying to move you away. Jeno, perhaps, but you didn’t care, your body shaking him away as you saw your tears ruining Jisung’s bloodstained T-shirt, the emotions becoming too much for you to realize as you continued blabbing out something, anything. He needs help, he’s hurt. He’s bleeding, he got shot. He’s hurt, Jisung’s hurt. Please help him.

Your mind went blank, your vision going dark, your body collapsing in an instance to the shock; and yet so much changed, a family torn apart by a single shot. Oh, isn’t it so sad?

previous | next

oh my god guys!!! it’s out finally after like..two weeks? a week? i’m sorry i made y’all wait for so long but this took..oh my god, a long time!! what’d you guys think?? 

[lover-of-trash-and-people]

bittersweet netflix shadow and bone finale (s1 e8) rewatch; accoutrement: white wine with ice cubes in it (no YOU'RE a mom drink shh)

my wine's like fruity I love her

light and darkness title card we love to see it

Inej looking at Alina before she goes below deck to hide <3

okay that 'what can you really do on your own' was like not fun that shit hurted

okay but Jesper's 'not enough'? <3

oh no my baby Zoya's first inkling that Darkles does not really care

omg Helnik just appeared and I remembered how much heartbreak I have to face in this episode

gods I love Danielle as Nina so so much

'this can't be it' said she with her pleading smile with downturned eyebrows MA'AM I-

don't break my dumb little heart

I might hate Calahan's little accent but they're making me tear up

oh gods I literally cannot keep a hold on myself when Dani's accent bleeds through with full force, it's like she comes more alive or smth

'I will keep you warm' SIR WHAT-

I am surprised they showed a leaning in for a kiss so soon but I'm not mad about it

her little eyebrow twitch at 'what are waffles'

when that rando said 'i hunt slavers now' a dread settled into me because I knew what was about to go down

Matthias looking somberly at the stuffed wolf's head </3

I am so incredibly entranced by this exchange between Fedyor and Nina and what it represents, it's very interesting that they pushed up their storyline to match with the timeline

damn it's kind of jarring to be back in the Fold

'REMEMBER WHO'S DRIVING'??!!!! *you better stop* meme, *i am, disgusted* meme, *oh wow, oh wow* meme

Mal you fucking idiot you could never take the crows by surprise

the music rising as Kaz starts explaining his thought process, fucking perfection

haha Mal bitchass Inej caught you

'Because if he isn't with Kirigan's crew, he's with ours' WHEN I TELL YOU I SCREAMED

'And why would we destroy the Fold? It's the greatest weapon we've got' valid point at the moment but you know I don't necessarily agree with your methods

the use of the light tunnel in the show instead of Alina just being a super flashlight in the books is quite an interesting addition as well

is this an inappropriate time to point out how pretty Ben Barnes is

okay I kind of love the depiction of the shadow powers okay sue me

'they are traitors who tried to kill you' why are you suddenly making valid points despite having kind of committed low scale genocide

'i never said I was smart' YES MAL BE THE VOICE OF HIMBOS EVERYWHERE

Kaz's face going from 'can you believe this idiot' at Mal to 'fuck me I'm gonna do the same thing aren't I' at Inej

'For who would oppose us now?' *himbo romantic rival appears out of nowhere and shoots at him* god I love this show

him standing calmly in his ridiculous all black attire after nodding at his soldier to stop the himbo in his tracks, i fucking can't

could she summon light without the Darkling making her after he put the collar on her until the uhm moment in the books? idts but in the show she can hmm

'only because I'm not in the game' you tell him Jesper

not me snickering at 'you'll be seen not as a saviour, but as a heretic' LMFAO

'Shame. I'll have to give that speech again now.' THIS SHOW IS A FUCKING COMEDY AND YOU CAN'T PROVE ME WRONG

YES LET'S FUCKING GO SULI SOLIDARITY

Darkles casually whipping the Cut out like a shuriken or a throwing knife at Jesper because he shot at him lmao I can't

INEJ FUCKING GHAFA STABBED ONE THE OLDEST AND MOST POWERFUL PEOPLE IN THAT WORLD AND THAT IS VERY TELLING OF HER POWER

that moment where you actually think that affected him despite having read the books and watched the show

and then he has to go and fucking say 'it will take more than this' and I can't be help but be a little bit impressed at this old fool's resilience

throwback to when he said 'the king is a child' sir you make some valid points sometimes and it does make it difficult to hate you

I would just like to inform everyone that it is currently 6:09 am IST and I am sipping my second mug of wine while watching netflix sab for the second time instead of doing my three papers that are due tomorrow

I'm sorry but Inej jumping to check on Zoya after she gets knocked over by the volcra? first class display of solidarity and sisterhood as well as Inej's inherent kindness

Kaz jumping in front of a FUCKING VOLCRA AND STABBING IT WITH HIS CANE to save Inej, you best believe love is true, kids

god the volcra are so ugly and gross, they did such a good job with them

they kind of remind me of these creatures (I think they might have been called Hollows or smth) from the Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children movie

STAG VISION TIME

despite my dislike for the callous nature with which the stag plotline was handled, I kind of dig the stag vision scene

'It's just me and you now, Alina. And we're all we need, anyway.' I actually feel bad for this old fool simping for this wonderful gorgeous powerful woman despite lying to her and manipulating her and exploiting her power

okay 'I never needed you' *stabs the bone fragment out of his hand* beautiful power move I fucking love you so so much

alright ben looking like ✨ that✨ not only in physical pain but also emotional pain at what the Darkling clearly considers another betrayal from this girl he wants to give the world and maybe? loves? maybe? or at least has feelings for makes my fucking heart hurt while simultaneously soar at Alina taking back control and reclaiming her power as her own and stepping into her own

'how do you claim such power' okay could have had better dialogue there writers

the fucking score lifting as she says 'you cannot claim what was not given to you' good people my heart is full

one day I'll talk about my defense of the chosen one trope because god damn I kind of love it

hmm I wonder was that brief hesitation that we saw on Alina's face due to her thinking about the 'you chose to betray our people' comment or the 'i was trying to save us' comment because that will define some of her actions in the later seasons (hopefully god if we get some, I honestly don't know what with this stupid brownface debacle)

I'm not saying talking about brownface and pointing out that it is wrong (for further context, I am actually brown) and harmful is stupid btw I'm talking about the incidents involving brownface in question

I don't wanna talk about this anymore but I might feel like I need to and end up posting about it idk

goodness Ivan actually believing in this cause makes me so sad because he too has been victimized by the system that ostracizes Grisha and he has every right to feel the way that he does

Ben actually fighting in that ridiculously heavy cloak and kefta when he's about to turn 40 this year makes me super impressed because I as a 19 year old sometimes wake up with muscle pulls after weeks of inactivity it's weird idk

also I understand that this Mal Darkling fight is completely fanservice and serves nearly no purpose to the plot in general but like I? love it?

'I don't have to kill you Darkling. Your past will do it for me' YES HIMBO GO OFF YOU TELL THAT OLD MAN GODS THAT WAS SEXY AS FUCK

maybe it's because I know Darkles will survive and will come out of it more powerful but I can't get myself to feel bad for him at the moment

Inej and Mal tearing up at Alina's condition made me almost feel something despite it being super obvious she was gonna be fine and save their asses at the last moment

HER POWER

a solitary Kaz in spotted on the western side of the newly expanded fold in his signature all black emo boy look

okay but the crows with zoya and malina is such an adorable team? I literally love them so much?

INEJ'S FUCKING SMILE AT ALINA GIVING HER THE DAGGER AND KAZ LOOKING AT HER AGSGSGSHSJSJSK MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE

SHE KNOWS JUST WHAT TO NAME IT WELL GIRLIE I KNOW IT TOO AND MY FUCKING HEART IS LITERALLY GONNA BURST

okay I know they had one interaction but Mal and Jesper would be besties in another universe

Kaz glaring at Jesper when he answers ''course not' to Alina's 'will you still be trying to kidnap me?' tell me one fucking adaptation that got the dynamics between characters this perfectly

okay why do I love that Alina kept the jewellery as maybe a small nod to she has the wits to, um, you know, I don't wanna say steal, but, um, yeah, steal it because she knew she would need money to survive on the run

oh Jessie I love you so much I wish you hadn't said those things on you ig story about the brownface

it's like every single celeb I grow attached to god's like nope that one is going to do or say something problematic (hey btw im not reassigning blame to god for stuff people have done out of their own free will, 'twas a joke)

AAAAAAAH them saying 'the deal is the deal' in the show even though they didn't have to but like they did and I love them for it

Inej literally not being able to not stare at Kaz's face and smile after this <3

'I didn't expect it to burn at all. But it can be destroyed in the end. Just like him' babe you're not wrong but like um just you wait

god Mal being on supportive boyfie mode is well, absolutely adorable, obviously, but I wish we got to see more of him as a person outside of his attachment to Alina

kaz my little demjin I wish you hadn't have had to suffer so much to meet the crows and find your calling

fastforwarding Zoya's arc is also an interesting choice to me

I wish the hug hadn't been done though, it didn't feel earned

maybe Alina awkwardly and half-heartedly (remember, at this point the alliance is fresh and they still don't entirely trust each other) reached for a hug and Zoya avoided her? and then the rest of Zoya's lines followed? that would have made more sense to me at least

I love Sujaya as well, she brought life into Zoya with whatever little screentime and scraps of writing she got

inej asking kaz 'what's your angle?' beep bop bleep morp I sense another incoming embarrassing love confession

'but we do need you' *stares at her face intensely* 'I need you' ah look at the clock, look's like it's time to screech and flap your arms like you're a volcra because you're incapable of containing your emotions

NO YOU CAN'T GO DIRECTLY FROM KANEJ PROGRESS TO HELNIK BREAKUP (TEMPORARY, MIND YOU)

helnik my loves you don't deserve this I'm so sorry for both of you

Matthias fucking smiling ruefully while he says 'this was... just a cruel joke all along' THIS IS NOT FUCKING OKAY

omg hellgate

AAAAAAAAH NINA IS ON THE SAME FRAME AS THE OG CROWS I CAN'T HANDLE THIS

CAMERA PAN FROM KAZ SAYING 'JUST HOW THIS ALL STARTED... WE'RE GONNA NEED A HEARTRENDED' TO NINA OVERHEARING HIM AND LOOKING OVER?????!!!!!! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING THIS TO ME?!

Nina genuinely being curious as to the status of the sun saint because she obviously still cares

Also, 'But she is a Saint' okay Kaz trying to earn brownie points you have succeeded

DID THAT SAILOR JUST SAY 'GOED MORGEN FENTOMEN' TO MALINA BECAUSE I AM NOT OKAY WITH THEM JUST THROWING THAT IN MY FACE ALL OF A SUDDEN

gods I know I'll probably see them again but my heart is full of sorrow as my eyes drink in the sight of my crows for the last time for a while

I know people were annoyed at the meadow flashbacks but guess what? as a darklina, I loved them

'now that the Darkling is dead' could have phrased that a little differently my dudes that line needed to hold more weight

am I glad that they showed Darkles in this state with his nichevo'ya as a tasty little cliffhanger despite not being entirely true to the source material? maybe but only because Ben Barnes saying 'follow' and the nichevo'ya doing exactly so sent a chill down my spine

well, that's it for now, I'll have to move on I guess, get back to my real life which I'm obviously not ready to do

thank you to whoever actually read these things

I probably should have just made reactions or commentary videos instead but I'm lazy

my tumblr will probably go into inactivity once more as I emerge from my stint in the grishaverse

it was quite short (less than 2 months), considering the length of my other obsessions but it was definitely more intense than the other ones

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ five

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 3.9K ➻ Rating: pg-15 now/M later ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one part five

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“Lieutenant. Nice of you to join us,” Yunho greets as he steps around the foot of the bed. You instinctively pull yourself up and sit up straighter. “Captain. You as well.”

“Let’s just get to business, Yunho.” Hongjoong steps out from behind the lieutenant’s back, dark eyes boring into you. “I want to get this over with.”

“O-Of course, Captain,” Yunho stammers. He moves around the bed to stand across from Hongjoong. “She has been making a quick recovery over the past couple of days. I expect a full recovery by the end of the week if not sooner. Vitals are all steady and manageable despite a lowered heart rate; however, she says that she’s not feeling any adverse effects from it.”

“Hm…” Hongjoong hums and glances past Yunho to look you in the eye. “I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of formally meeting me. Captain Kim Hongjoong of The Horizon. This is my lieutenant, Park Seonghwa. Of course, you may know us by other names seeing as you are military – or former military, was it?” Hongjoong pauses, the silence giving you an opportunity to respond, but you opt not to and instead stare back at the captain with blank eyes. “Scourge of the Black Sea and the Lieutenant of Death. And you, Miss L/N – the Ghost of Eros. Such a distinguished group of criminals all gathered in one place. I should’ve known you were much more than a petty soldier considering that you’ve got a mean right hook. You knocked Seonghwa on his ass so handily I thought he was going to die of shame.”

There is a lilt of humor to Hongjoong’s tone and only a sliver of vehemence and anger. The man’s presence alone is intimidation at its finest yet the mellifluous voice harbors none of that same intimidation. It’s a strange game he’s playing – dancing between cruelty and a carefree attitude – and you can’t figure out what his true intentions are.

“You don’t seem upset by the fact that I put your lieutenant on his ass,” you say, voice coming out surprisingly steady and even compared to how you’re feeling at the moment.

“Me? Upset? Of course not. It’s not my job as a captain to be upset for my crew. If he’s upset about it then that’s his problem. It only becomes mine when he fails to separate those feelings from doing his job properly. So, Lieutenant, are you upset?”

“No, not in the slightest,” Seonghwa answers, eyelids falling shut as he grins at you again. “More embarrassed than anything, getting my ass handed to me by a person who was injured.”

“Not because I’m a girl?” You inquire and dip your chin down a little bit.

“Not even close. It’s not about your gender – never was frankly – solely because you were injured in your obviously dominant arm.” Seonghwa folds his arms over his chest, seeming to puff it out a little as he matches your stare with an equally firey one of his own. Despite admitting weakness, he exudes confidence and power. It hits you at that moment. The strange aura surrounding each member of Hongjoong’s crew, and including the captain himself, makes sense as the puzzle pieces slip together in your mind.

These are criminals of the highest degree, men with extensive records and crimes that would take days to write down, and for some reason, that fact did not sink in sooner. Yes, you’ve had many an encounter with criminals. This should be nothing new for you but these men are far different than the petty criminals you had to deal with when part of the military. Even though you are considered to be one of them, a criminal on the same level as them, someone just as evil and cruel and merciless, you don't feel that way. A surge of fear courses through your body. Any one of these men could end your life in an instant with zero remorse or care. 

“What d-do you plan to–to do with me?” You direct the question at Hongjoong although it’s a struggle to drag your eyes off of the pretty lieutenant.

Another hum leaves the captain’s lips, and he looks away from you to stare at the ceiling for a moment. “Part of me wants to drop you out an airlock for attacking my lieutenant, sneaking aboard my ship, and stealing from my cargo hold. However, that is not what I’m going to do. I am merciless, yes, but I could drag your pain so much longer if I really wanted to. So give me a reason not to do that first.”

“Captain…” Seonghwa cuts in, reaching around Hongjoong to block his line of sight. “That isn’t the best idea. There is no point in torturing her if she can be useful.”

“Oh, so knocking you out counts as being useful nowadays?”

“Logic, Hongjoong. Think logically rather than emotionally. There are benefits to keeping her alive and well, especially considering who she is. Ghost of Eros isn’t a name thrown around lightly these days.”

“Yet there are also detriments to keeping her here.”

“If it’s space you’re worried about, we have more than enough of it. Plenty of empty rooms. She can stay in the med bay until she fully recovers then move into one of the empty rooms, no?” Seonghwa glances over to Yunho, who nods along with the words with fervor.

“Absolutely,” he says in a clear tone. “She should be ready to go any day now, and if we move her into one of the empty rooms, I can run post-operation checkups there rather than here.”

“You could also run those checkups from the brig. We have plenty of space down there as well,” Hongjoong argues, pushing Seonghwa’s extended arm out of the way.

“Be smart, Captain.”

“What are you insinuating, Lieutenant?”

“That you are thinking with your heart and not your head!” Seonghwa protests, voice climbing in volume. He steps around Hongjoong to face him head-on. “We have the space, and more than enough of it, so there is no point in putting her in the brig.”

“She is nothing more than a stowaway. That is reason enough, no?”

“No, because you never put Jongho in the brig for being a stowaway.”

“Jongho was useful, and he was barely a stowaway when I knew he was aboard the ship from the second we left that planet.”

“How do you know she can’t be useful as well? Hongjoong, at least give her a chance to be useful and carry her own weight until the next stop. You can dump her there if you don’t want her then.” The phrasing of Seonghwa’s words brings a scowl to your lips.

“Excuse me,” you intervene, climbing to your feet with shaky legs. “I am not an object or a piece of property that can be “dumped”!” Seonghwa shifts to look back at you.

“I’m sorry. I… That wasn’t what I meant to say,” he tries, the remorse evident in his furrowed brows. You return the apology with a half-hearted glare.

“In order to be useful aboard my ship, she needs to be able to shoot a gun,” Hongjoong cuts in and effectively redirects all attention back to him. “According to Yunho, that may not be a possibility anymore.”

“Wh–What?” You ask. Eyes find Yunho’s, and the second you make eye contact he glances away from you rather than facing you. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, you didn’t even tell her?” Hongjoong laughs. “Nerve damage.”

“Nerve damage?” You echo, a tremor rising through your body. Your legs fail to support you any longer, and you fall back to the bed.

“It’s not bad–”

“Not bad? Not bad compared to what?”

“It isn’t debilitating.��

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me sooner? Seeing as oh yea, it’s my fucking arm!” Yunho winces at the scathing rage in your tone.

“I wasn’t sure about the extent of the damage. Sometimes injuries like yours show nerve recovery over time. I needed to see if that was the case with you. There was – I didn’t want to tell you out of fear of upsetting you without knowing for certain what’s wrong.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you can still pull a trigger,” Hongjoong comments.

“But not aim a pistol as well as I used to,” you finish his train of thought, and he nods in affirmation.

“I don’t know if this will help but... we can correct some things through physical therapy and strengthening. Regain the ease you had with aiming,” Yunho offers, a sympathetic smile playing at his lips.

“But… I thought she didn’t need a fully functioning arm?” Seonghwa inquires, eyes finding Hongjoong.

“Huh?”

“To aim a sniper. You don’t need a fully functioning arm,” he elaborates for you. Your eyes fall into a sharp glare.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It means I know who you are. Ghost of Eros isn’t your only nickname. It only took one search in a military database to see who you are. Y/N L/N, wanted military traitor formerly of the operations assassinations and peace control units. Highly dangerous sniper. Wanted for theft of military property, desertion, capital betrayal, larceny, arson, evasion of arrest, the list goes on. Oh, and putting a bullet in the head of the King of Eros.”

Having someone list off your crimes is not as appealing as it would seem, and your shoulders fall further with each crime listed until Seonghwa mentions the last thing. It has you sitting up straight again, staring him down with such intensity that he actually seems surprised.

“It’s a hefty bounty on your head,” he continues in a much lower tone. “But an even heftier asset.”

Hongjoong releases a huff. “I have to agree with him on that, even though I don’t particularly want to. And yet I can’t help but wonder what drives a person to desertion?”

You refuse to answer the question. Instead, you press your teeth together, clenching your jaw and opting to remain silent in the face of the notorious captain.

“Putting a bullet in the head of a king is a pretty good reason. But that still begs the question: why put the bullet there in the first place?” Your chin dips closer to your chest as Hongjoong drives the metaphorical knife deeper into your chest. “I’ve put many a bullet in people’s heads; however, I’ve never had the luxury of doing it to a king. I have to say it’s quite interesting that you would murder someone like that.”

“It wasn’t murder,” you spit out. Your eyes find Hongjoong’s, and you find a taunting gleam in them. Perhaps this is what he wants – to drive you to a breaking point and see you lash out, and if he continues on like this then you won’t be able to resist the urge.

“Oh? Were you paid to do it then?”

You ball your fists around the sheets beneath you rather than responding. Your only answer is the continued glare you send his way.

“Stop it.” It’s Yunho’s voice that cuts in and bleeds through the mounting tensions between you and Hongjoong. “Stop, Hongjoong. She obviously doesn't want to talk about it. You don’t need to keep pushing it.”

“Stand down, Yunho. Are you the captain?”

“No, but–”

“No. You are not the captain and as such, you cannot tell me what to do. If I am even going to consider making her part of my crew, then I need to know her intentions.”

“I’m not going to kill any of you, if that’s what you mean.”

“How can I be sure of that, Miss L/N? Give me solid proof that you are a gentle and merciful soul. From what I can tell, there is none.”

“I am merely doing the same thing you and your whole crew are: just trying to fucking survive.”

“And what about when survival means killing someone? What would keep you from killing someone in my crew to survive?”

“Forgive me in advance for asking the same question of you. What would keep you from killing me when it comes to survival?” A huff escapes your lips, eyes stabbing daggers into Hongjoong’s form, and you extend the arm with the IV sticking out. “Take the IV out. If he wants me to shoot, then I’ll do just that.”

Both Seonghwa and Yunho whip their heads in your direction, Seonghwa’s eyes nearly bulging from his head. Yunho opens his mouth to retort but you still him by redirecting your glare to him. He moves towards you and slowly untwists the IV, leaving the catheter in place. Before stepping back though, he folds his fingers around your forearm and leans close to your ear.

“Seonghwa’s holster is on his right leg,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. The tall man leans back before Hongjoong or Seonghwa can comment on his odd behavior, and you barely process their expressions because your gaze moves for the gun lingering on Seonghwa’s right leg. You get to your feet with a fake sense of weakness.

In a split second, you dart for Seonghwa’s gun and jab the flat of your left hand against the back of his knee. Your right snatches the pistol from his holster with little trouble as Seonghwa is crumpling to the ground. You spin around while he falls, the barrel of the pistol finding a new home between Hongjoong’s eyes. He doesn’t flinch, nor does he move. His expression remains blank and unfocused. Seonghwa recovers, jumping up at exclaiming at the sight before him. Hongjoong lifts a hand and places it against Seonghwa’s chest.

“Stand down, Hwa.” Seonghwa listens to his captain albeit with great reluctance, and you try to steady your hand.

As silence overtakes the room again, the faint sound of the gun rattling against your quivering hand rises. It isn’t that you are afraid of firing the gun; you have shot a man just like this time and time again. You physically cannot get your arm to still. It’s twitching and shaking against your will, and no matter how much you focus, it doesn’t stop.

“Would you really fire the gun?” Hongjoong asks with his steely cold tone.

“In an instant,” comes your scathing response. “But that’s not what you want from me.”

“Hongjoong…” Seonghwa mutters. Out the corner of your eye, you can see his antsy moments, bouncing his weight from one foot to the other and ready to jump you for pointing a gun at his captain.

“What is it I want then?”

You blink, and Hongjoong is gone from sight. The gun clatters against the ground, pain spreads across your wrist, but it is nothing in comparison to the pain that sears through your whole arm a moment later. Hongjoong appears in your vision, standing beside you with his hand clenched around your bicep, directly over your recovering wound. A sadistic smile creeps across his features. Fingers dig into the bandage and push past the fabric to stab a finger into the hole covered by stitches. A loud cry of pain leaves your body. White blinds your vision, your legs give out under you, and Hongjoong holds you up with his tightening grip on your arm.

“Stop!” Yunho cries out, attempting to step between you and Hongjoong. “Fucking stop, Hongjoong! You’re hurting her!”

“Listen to me,” Hongjoong hisses. He yanks your arm, finger still pushed in your wound. A weak sob falls from your lips next. “Stupid ideas like that are the last thing I want.” His grip leaves your arm, but the pain doesn’t. It lingers, burns, seeps through your limb so much that you can barely think straight. His foot darts out and kicks Seonghwa’s gun in the man’s direction. “You can stay for the time being. However, the second I decide that you aren’t worth my trouble anymore, I will dump you either in space or on whatever planet is nearby. It’s your choice. I suggest you choose wisely next time.” Hongjoong stands up straight, face leaving your line of sight, and you watch his back retreat as he strides out the door, dark brown cloak billowing around him as he moves.

“Oh my god,” Yunho mutters. He is by your side in an instant, one hand finding purchase on your waist, and the other gently holds your arm. “Oh my fucking god. I can’t believe he did that.” He helps you back onto the bed then sits down beside you to pull the now bloodied bandage away from your skin.

“Are you okay?” The question comes from Seonghwa, but you can’t focus on him due to the pain in your system.

“He did a fucking number on my stitches.” Yunho sighs and gets up from the bed. “I’m gonna grab and needle and some thread, I’ll try my best to fix it quick. I will need to sterilize again as well as use some numbing ointment to just help with the pain.”

“It-it's okay,” you murmur, words slurring together. Seonghwa comes closer to the bed. He sits down beside you, careful not to touch you. When you feel the dip of the mattress, you tilt your head in his direction and blink at him in confusion. A smile decorates his lips, one that isn’t cynical or cruel, just one filled with sympathy.

“I’m sorry about your arm.”

“It’s fine. Not your fault anyways.”

“Yes, but I’m sorry for his actions. He’s too rash and thinks too much with his heart.”

“Oh, so he has one?” You joke. Your senses are slowly returning to you, words becoming more clear with each one spoken, and your vision is growing less fuzzy by the second.

“Surprisingly, yes.” Seonghwa chuckles, the sound as pretty as his face. “By the way… I have no hard feelings about the near concussion you gave me.”

“How nice of you.”

“Were I in your position, I would’ve done the same. If not worse. Especially seeing as you were wearing a military uniform. I was planning on killing you then and there before I felt the brand on your arm.”

“That damn brand seems to be a hot topic among you all.”

“You have to understand: it’s not every day we meet someone of your fame and caliber.” Seonghwa’s lips curl as he speaks. “Once Yunho redresses your arm, I can take you to your new quarters. They’re all ready for you.”

“What do you mean? How can they be ready already? Didn’t he just make the decision now?”

“Well, no. Apparently, he decided a while ago on his own accord. Hongjoong isn’t one for spur of the moment decisions. He takes a lot of time to decide on things, so I know for certain that he thought about whether you would stay or go for a long while. Thus, he most definitely decided prior to today.”

Yunho returns to the bed, medical supplies in hand along with another bottle of vodka.

“I, uh, I don’t have the belt this time so you may just want to grin and bear it. I would say bite down on a finger but you might take it clean off.” Delicate fingers find your left wrist, curling around them, and you glance over at Seonghwa.

“Try to focus on me instead of Yunho. It might help take some of the pain away.”

“I highly dou–” You’re cut off by your own scream, cold liquid pouring over your skin. Twisting, you press your fingers against Seonghwa’s hand and he grips you with an equally strong hold as Yunho sterilizes your wound.

“All done, all done,” Yunho announces. The stream of cold ceases but your arm still throbs even as Yunho dabs white ointment across it. He massages it into your skin with gentle touches. Once it goes clear, he pulls back and retrieves his small needle. “You don’t need to watch this bit if you don’t want to. I know some people are afraid of needles.” Despite Yunho’s warning, you continue to keep your eyes trained on the wound and watch as he pinches your skin together. The numbing gel he put across it worked quickly; you don’t feel a thing except for a strange heavy pressure on your skin.

“It’s fascinating work,” Seonghwa mutters, leaning forward to watch Yunho work as well. The healer laughs in response.

“It’s simple stuff actually. Nothing much to it.”

“Simple to you maybe but not anyone else.”

“It’s my job after all.” Yunho shrugs, hands remaining steady on your arm. “And I’m damn good at it, so it ought to be simple to me.”

It takes less than a minute for him to remove the old stitches and attach new ones. He works so fast that you think if you had blinked you would’ve missed the whole thing entirely.

“There, all done! It’s a little irritated from being jabbed at like that, but now that I’ve got the new stitches in, it should be just fine. The numbing ointment will wear off in an hour or so. If it hurts drastically then be sure to come back and tell me. I can get you some medicine if needed.”

“Is she all good to go now then?” Seonghwa asks. He unfolds his hand from yours, and you hadn’t even realized that you were still latched onto it all this time.

“Yep! Almost mint condition. You’re welcome.” Yunho sends a wink your way, cheeks scrunching up as he smiles. “You are free from my care at last. Don’t go messing anything up now, I patched you up perfectly. I don’t want my talent to go to waste, after all. I will check up and see how my stitches are holding up later today though.”

“Aw, have you got your post-patient loneliness already?” Seonghwa asks. Yunho responds with a scoff and swings a loosely clenched fist in his direction, which Seonghwa dodges with ease.

“Do be careful though. You still aren’t as strong as I had hoped you’d be. Walking too much will most likely make you lightheaded and woozy. Seonghwa, if she collapses, I’m blaming you.”

“Aye aye, Captain Yunho.” Seonghwa mocks the healer by bringing his hand up to his head and saluting him. “I’ll keep the princess on her feet.”

“Oh wow. Thanks, pretty boy. I feel oh so safe now.” You push yourself off the bed. Despite the shakiness in your legs, you step forward and trail after Seonghwa as he heads out the med bay. Before you step out of the room completely though, you hesitate in the doorframe. Yunho catches your lingering gaze as though he was expecting it. “Thank you again,” you say. The smile that comes to Yunho’s lips is neither cocky nor patronizing.

“Of course. I’m glad you made a good recovery.” He turns back to the bed where you were just seated but thinks twice about it and looks back at you. “Don’t be a stranger either. My door is always open for whatever you need.” He passes another wink your way, and the cheeky action has you choking on air. His laugh resounds in your ears as you move out of the room, shaky legs carrying you to Seonghwa’s side where he waits for you to catch up.

“Alright, follow me. If you get to feeling weak, just let me know and we can pause or I can help you along.” He pushes a loose strand of black hair from his forehead, and as the strands move you catch sight of a small emblem cut into his undercut. It disappears before you can fully examine it, however, and you have to move your gaze before Seonghwa notices your lingering stare.

“Wait–” you call out, and Seonghwa stops in his tracks. “I… I have a question for you before we go.”

✧✧✧

a/n: hello hello it’s tuesday my dudes ;) another chapter down, and most of the buildup and exposition doNE so things will be picking up in speed from here on out so yAY

taglist: @faeriewoobin​ @sugarrimajins​ @atinyinwonderland​

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[earliebirb]

i know you best

steve/tony, fluff, getting together, au: no powers, 1970 words 

“Excited?” Steve asks, panting a little with the exertion of carrying the box of potatoes in his arms. Tony nods, a bit apprehensive.

Steve enters the modest building and Tony follows suit. The wide dining room inside is already crowded with people, some sitting at the rows and rows of tables, some lining up for a steaming cup of tea or coffee. Steve leads Tony across the room, down a narrow hallway, and then pushes open a door with his shoulder. 

Immediately, hot and humid air hits Tony’s face. 

The kitchen is already bustling with life, volunteers getting ready to make dinner for the people waiting outside. 

Steve sets his box of potatoes down on a nearby counter and Tony moves to do the same with the box of carrots he is carrying, when a cheerful voice rings out:

“Steve!”

Tony sets his box on the counter distractedly, eyes fixated on the beautiful woman coming forward towards Steve with open arms. Steve laughs, enveloping her in a warm hug and something pulls at Tony’s heart. Tony can’t seem to take his eyes off the woman. Her beauty is radiant, her brown eyes bright with glee. When she turns to look at Tony, he gets a better look at how her beautiful brown waves frame her face nicely.

Even before Steve introduces her, Tony knows that this must be Peggy, the woman Steve talks about whenever he tells Tony about his weekly adventures at the soup kitchen. Tony doesn’t know her personally, but he has heard enough stories from Steve to know that this woman is just as beautiful inside as she is out and he knows that Steve is a good judge of character.

She extends a hand out to Tony. 

“Hi, I’m Peggy.” Her red lips widen into a lovely smile. 

Tony can totally see why Steve is in love with her. If this is what Tony is up against, for the first time he truly understands just how much he does not stand a chance. 

“Tony,” he says as he shakes her hand, giving her a smile of his own.

“Nice to finally meet you, Tony. I have heard so much about you,” Peggy gushes. 

From behind her, Steve sighs, cheeks flushing. 

“Peg,” he chides, voice dripping in fond exasperation.

Peggy turns to him with a smirk, one of her eyebrows raised mischievously. 

“Steve,” she mimics and gives him a light pinch on his arm, like they’re sharing the world’s greatest inside joke, and Tony?

Tony is totally fine. Tony is taking a closer look at the light brown patches on one of the potatoes in the box, his fingers reaching out to pick at them, because wow, they look really interesting right now. 

“You guys are just in time. We’re just about to make the vegetable soup,” Peggy says as she begins tying her brown locks up into a ponytail. “Hm, I think— Steve, you and I can begin peeling the potatoes and Tony…” she trails off, looking around the busy kitchen.

“Ah! You can chop up the onions. Would that be okay?” Peggy smiles expectantly. 

Despite his absolute lack of experience in the kitchen, Tony finds himself nodding. 

And so they get to work. 

Tony tries to focus on his task of chopping the onions, he really does, but it’s kind of hard to do so when the literal love of his life is trading light jokes and banter with the person he’s in love with just a few feet away from him, breaking into giggles every few minutes. The kitchen is loud enough that Tony can’t make out whatever they are saying, but they look like they are having too much fun. 

Briefly, he wonders if Steve ever feels half as happy when he spends time with Tony.

His focus is elsewhere instead of on the cutting board, his eyes are welling up with tears every few seconds because of the goddamn onions, and his heart is hurting, so in hindsight, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why he makes the clumsy mistake of slicing his finger with the knife.

“Fuck!” 

Tony lets the knife clatter onto the kitchen counter and blood begins dripping all over the cutting board. He hisses in pain and just as he is about to examine just how deep the wound is his wrist is abruptly grabbed by someone else.

Looking up in surprise, he sees Steve staring down at his bleeding finger, eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

“Tony, are you okay?”

Tony opens his mouth to answer but before he can, Steve brings the bloody finger to his mouth and begins sucking on Tony’s finger.

Tony’s brain goes offline after that. 

Steve pulls back to inspect the cut. Tony thinks the bleeding might have stopped, but honestly he can’t focus on anything at the moment because his finger was in Steve’s mouth. 

“God, you should be more careful,” he whispers to Tony.

“Is he okay? Are you okay?” A voice asks from beside him. Tony turns to look at Peggy, who is now staring at his finger worriedly. 

“Do you have a band-aid?” Steve asks.

“I’m pretty sure we keep a first aid kit in the restroom?” Peggy says, her voice rising up in slight uncertainty.

“Okay, we’ll be back in a minute.” Steve nods and turns around to head to the restroom, dragging Tony along by the wrist. 

He leads Tony to the sink, putting his injured finger under the running water for a few seconds before sitting Tony down on the closed lid of the toilet as he rummages around for a band-aid.

“God, Tony. What were you thinking?” Steve questions, his voice echoing in the small restroom.

Tony doesn’t know what came over him, but as he watches Steve meticulously wrap a band-aid over the cut on his finger, he blurts out:

“You two seem close.”

Steve looks momentarily thrown off by the non-sequitur, but he recovers fairly quickly, continuing his work with the band-aid.

“Who?” Steve asks as he scrutinizes his handiwork on Tony’s finger to make sure the wound has been properly covered. 

“You and Peggy.”

Steve stands up, balling up the wrapping of the band-aid in his fist and turning around to throw it in the trash can. 

“Well, yeah. We’ve known each other for a while. She’s my first friend here,” Steve replies as he pumps some liquid soap into his hand.

“You should ask her out,” Tony whispers almost inaudibly, but Steve’s ears pick it up anyway. The man freezes, his frothy hands pausing mid-motion under the running water.

“What?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at her. You look good together. Besides, I know that she’s totally your type,” Tony says, trying to infuse every bit of sincerity he can muster into his words, because he means it. He wants Steve to be happy, even if—

He swallows, fighting a wave of nausea rising up in his stomach.

Even if it’s with someone else. 

“Oh my God,” Steve breathes and his eyes linger on Tony for a beat too long. Then he turns to finish washing his hands, his mouth still ajar and his eyes deep in thought. 

“What?” Tony asks. 

Steve turns the tap off before turning around to lean against the sink, the edge of it digging into his hip. He gazes at Tony with something akin to wonder in his eyes.

“Peggy’s my type?”

“Isn’t she?” Tony tilts his head in question.

“What makes you so sure?” There’s something off about the way Steve asks the question but Tony can’t seem to put his finger on it. 

“You told me, remember? Your type?”

“I did?” The corner of Steve’s mouth hikes up in a lopsided smile.

“Uh, yeah, Steve. How could you forget?” Tony scoffs in disbelief.

Steve chuckles, looking down at the floor for a moment before resuming eye contact. 

“What was it again? My type?”

“Seriously? Stop messing with me, Steve.” Tony rolls his eyes. 

“No, seriously,” Steve says, biting his lower lip in a way that Tony knows means he is holding back a grin. “You said you’re so sure that Peggy’s my type. So tell me what you remember about my type.” 

Tony looks at Steve like he has sprouted a second head. “What are you doing?”

“Tony, just answer the question. Please,” Steve implores. 

“Ugh, fine.” Tony sighs. “You told me that your type is someone with brown hair, big and beautiful brown eyes, and that they have to be shorter than you, because it makes you want to protect them. Your ideal type is also someone who is kind, smart, and quick-witted. You want someone that you can talk about anything and everything with, someone you can joke around and argue with.” 

“Wow.” Steve grins in admiration. “You really do remember everything I told you.”

“Yeah, duh. I am an amazing friend, who also happens to be a genius.”

“You are smart. Most of the time,” Steve muses. Tony opens his mouth to express his indignation, when Steve continues: “And the characteristics you mentioned, all of them apply to Peggy?”

“Well, from what I’ve seen and heard, yeah. She’s one hundred percent your type,” Tony confirms, even as the truth of his own words makes his stomach turn.

Steve’s mouth twitches. “And you can’t think of any other person that matches that description?”

Oh, no. Is Steve in love with someone else?

Tony’s heart plummets, his eyes widening with realization.

“Oh my God, Steve,” Tony gasps.

Steve looks on patiently.

“You’re in love with Bucky? Steve, you can’t. He’s engaged to Sam.”

Steve blinks at him, jaw dropping slightly. Then he sighs. 

“Tony,” he calls.

Tony’s mind is reeling from this revelation.

“Steve, I’m so sorry,” Tony says and finds that he genuinely means it. Out of all the people Steve could be in love with—

“Tony, there is one characteristic you missed about my type.” 

Steve straightens up, taking a deep breath.

“My ideal type’s first name has to be Tony,” Steve says, looking straight into his eyes, “and their last name has to be Stark.”

That’s oddly specifi— Wait.

“And, Tony? Do you want to know what I think?”

What is happening? 

Steve bends down so that he is on Tony’s eye level, nose just inches away from brushing against Tony’s. Amazement dances in Steve’s blue eyes, a brilliant smile blooming on his face, slow and beautiful.

“I think Peggy was right all along,” Steve whispers. “You are jealous. And you do love me, too.”

Tony feels like someone is squeezing his lungs. He wonders if he is in the middle of some kind of fever dream. 

“...What?” Tony squeaks.

“You do, don’t you?” The way Steve’s smile turns bright and confident tells Tony he is already certain of the answer, even without Tony’s confirmation. Butterflies are wreaking havoc in Tony’s stomach. 

“But— But Peggy is—” 

“Married.”

Tony’s mouth stays unattractively open for a few embarrassing seconds before snapping shut.

“Her husband, Daniel, is just outside. In the dining room. You might’ve seen him when we walked pass. He’s one of the people serving coffee and tea.” 

Oh. 

Tony might have made a slight error in judgement here.

“Um,” Tony manages to say, ever so eloquent.

Steve steps closer, cupping Tony’s cheeks in his hands. He looks down at Tony adoringly. 

“I am so taking you out on a date after this. I am going to court the hell out of you, Tony Stark.”

Tony melts a little inside— okay, a lot, but he has a reputation to keep.

“This isn’t nineteenth century England. No one says court anymore, you dork.”

“But I’m your dork, right?” Steve counters smoothly, his breath on Tony’s lips.

Tony grabs him by the collar and kisses him in lieu of a reply.

[starman-john-tracy]

for @asteria-star for her birthdayyyyyyyyyyy <3 <3 <3

“Piss off Scott.” And he would, he really would under the force of that glare, only Star’s teeth are gritted hard enough that it looks like she might crack something, and she’s bent double with her fingers pressed hard against the gross, squelchy patch of red that’s spreading alarmingly quickly over the side of her t-shirt.

So instead of pissing off Scott approaches - looking like he’s trying to keep a snake from biting him; palms up and outward in a show of being unarmed, defenseless.

It doesn't work on her. She could throw Scott Tracy further than she trusts him.

“Keep away from me.” Star warns, low and dangerous, her expression cold. "I’m dealing with it, Tracy, it's none of your concern.” The last thing any of them expected from their trip to NYC was for Star to come back from a groceries errand with what looks like a horrible stab wound instead of the tea, Crocky Crunch cereal and fresh fruit she'd gone for.

She’s pretty sure that she hasn't been followed back here, though. She’d been careful - done several loops around the block, trying to blend into the shadows, to be certain that nothing could be traced back to the Tracy's - because while turning up at the hotel bruised, battered and bleeding wasn't exactly ideal, Star hadn’t really had much of a choice in the matter. She has nowhere else to go, after all. She’d hoped to sneak past both of the Tracy's rooms to her own without alerting them to the situation, but Scott, having chosen exactly the wrong moment to head for the bar downstairs, had scuppered that.

Stupid Scott, she thinks, scowling even as blood continues to seep steadily into the fibres of her shirt. Stupid Scott and his terrible timing.

John's been giving lectures here in NYC and Scott had kindly offered to be their pilot - as, outside of an emergency, neither spacefarer can be cleared to be in control of any vehicle, let alone a plane like the Tracy Two, for 48 hours after touchdown.

“But-” Scott opens his mouth to start to protest, but Star is already strategically shuffling away from him, toward the safety of her hotel room - paid for with Tracy money, she notes, as a sign of trust that she'll keep herself out of trouble or else the GDF will want her back in a cell. 

The only problem with that is that trouble tends to find her.

With blood-slippery fingers, Star swipes the room card shakily through the scanner on her door and shoves her way through it, kicking it shut behind her before Scott can catch up and get his foot in. There’s a hammering of fists on wood on the other side but Star resolutely ignores it, stumbling instead into the small, adjoining bathroom only for her knees to give out and she’s pitched, face first, onto the floor.

Star opens her eyes, hazy and unamused, to find her cheek pressed against cold tile, her fingers curled and bloodied in front of her face. Star bites back a groan, slapping both palms down and heaving herself to more of a sitting position; slouched and awful, before curling around the ragged, awful slash across her waist.

Oh fuck does it hurt.

She’s just peeling up the bloodied mess of her t-shirt when, of course, there’s a soft, quiet rap of knuckles against the bathroom door, and Star almost rolls her eyes because she knows exactly who Scott’s sicced on her.

“You can come in, John.” There’s an edge of what almost might be misery to her tone. This is what she gets for the GDF insisting that if she’s going to be on Earth, their hotel rooms have to be conjoined by the bathroom. So John can keep an eye on her, or the other way round, Star’s not sure at this point.

“What happened?” Tall, ginger and worried asks, ever so gently, already crouching at her side, and Star’s torn between the temptation to burst into tears, or to hit him for making her feel that way. There’s a chunky, green first aid kit in his hand (definitely IR standard, not the hotel’s), so he must have been warned. She watches him languidly, as he sets it down and clicks it open.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She insists, fully aware that it’s not going to be long before she does anyway. John just hums, non-committal and light, pulling a pair of blue plastic gloves on over his fingers with a snap, snap.

“Star.” John’s watching her, quiet and earnest. 

She does her best to crack a weak smile in his direction, but it must fall flat because he looks nothing but soft and serious in return. There’s a creeping fire spreading from her side and wrapping around her ribs, pooling in her lungs and she’s torn between reaching for him, clinging tight and crying and the way her skin itches with the ingrained need to run away.

She stays where she is, frozen and trembling on the cold tiles of a bathroom that's not her own. It’s probably lucky that tile is one of the easier things to clean blood up from.

She would know.

“Hey.” John’s crouching to match her hazy eyeline, fingers hovering close, but not touching. “Think it’d be ok for me to have a look?” He treats her as far more startled bunny in headlights than snake coiled to strike and Star wants to cry; ‘don't you know what I’m capable of! Don’t you know that I could hurt you! Put you and all of your precious brothers in danger just by being near you!’ But she doesn’t, because John’s smart. John already knows all that and he’s here for her anyway.

Her face is an uncomfortably ashy grey and John would rather deal with the horrific amount of blood smeared on her side and fingers and floor before they need to look into transfusion options.

She just nods, stiff and uncomfortable and in pain. Her teeth ache.

“Take your shirt off,” he instructs. If it was anyone else, she’d have made some kind of joke about them having to buy her a drink first, but this is John and he’s about as into that sort of thing as one of the plant’s he’s cultivating up in space would be, so she just sighs and lets him help her peel the sticky, clinging fabric from the wound and up over her head.

Her waist is a weeping wash of red and John pulls a face to show that he’s less than impressed. The long knife wound is clean across and doesn’t look too deep, but it’s raw and juicy with new blood and the skin around it already has a dark wash of purple bruising. John goes a little bit grey-pale at the sight of it - a fresh reminder that they’ve both been on the planet less than 24 hours.

“You ok?” She brings a wobbly hand up to catch on his elbow, just below where he’s rolled his sweater up to his elbows so that she doesn’t get bloody fingerprints on Grandma Tracy’s rough cableknit.

“I’m not the one with the nasty, jagged slice across my stomach.” John points out, dryly, and it’s not like she can deny that. He slides a steadying hand around her back and Star has to resist the urge to hold her breath as he inspects the injury.

She just wants to curl up in bed with a blanket over her head and not exist for a few hours. She wants to go home and that’s an odd feeling to clash with the presence of the careful ginger man who’s rapidly become the definition of the word.

“You didn’t get me strawberries then,” John comments, lightly, as he works. The spaceman’s sweet tooth is practically non-existent until it comes to fruit. She knows his weakness. “This might sting a bit.” He says, though both of them are well aware it’s an understatement.

“Next t-time.” There’s a bit of a wheeze as John swipes a sterile wipe over her stomach, busy cleaning up the wound. She’s got one hand clamped tightly onto his shoulder now, white-knuckled, not quite sure how it had ended up there when she’d been so careful about not getting his sweater bloodied. She hopes he’s not going to have bruises on that pale skin of his in the morning.

She closes her eyes and tips her head back, trying to get better control over her shaky breathing. 

“I’m going to start closing this.” He advises, carefully judging her grimace as he presses the wound closed with his fingers, squelchy and horrible, but ready for him to begin applying steri strips from the first aid kit. It’s a tricky job with her curled over like she is, and when every breath she takes pulls at the skin, so John places a firm but careful hand on her shoulder and pushes her back flat against the tile wall so that he can see what he’s doing.

To his credit, he is, at least, quick about it.

"If I suggest that you should probably get this checked by a hospital,” John adds, gently probing at his fix-up-job of the angry, swollen wound, before he puts a triage bandage over it. “are you gonna try to run for it?"

He'd rather have a second opinion on if this needs more than steri strips to hold it closed, and though he could holo-call Virgil, he'd rather not risk her wrath. She doesn’t dignify the idea with an answer though, instead, angling her cheek away from him and breathing hard through her nose to try and get a handle on the pain.

"I'll compromise," He says, with the tone of a man who knows he'll get what he wants either way, "take some morphine and a full spectrum antibiotic and… uh-ha-ha," he holds up a hand to keep her from interrupting him with protests, "There could have been anything on that, uh… knife?” It looks like a knife wound. “Take both of these and I'll not drag you to A&E by your floppy bangs."

Like he could. Star would almost be amused by the attempted bribery if not for the agony her side is in. Each breath tastes like fire now, and the round circles John presses into her palm are a couple of miniature blessings.

"And I don't have to explain myself to Scott." She's not going to anyway, but it feels like an important thing to add to the bargain before she knocks the drugs back.

"No ones gonna make you talk to Scott." John reaffirms, "but you know he's just worried. He's a big brother, it's what he does best. I imagine he'll have called Virgil to freak out about it though.”

Great. Another worrywart with questions. Just what she needs.

Virgil isn’t so bad though, there’s something calming about the family’s gentle giant, and she’s watched him patch John up more than enough times to trust he knows what he’s doing. Unlike Scott, Virgil’s knows when not to stick his nose into something.

“John…” There’s something else worrying her, nagging at her, something far worse than a stab wound because it could cost her her place aboard Thunderbird Five. “You’re not going to... report this to the GDF, uh, are you?” She’s not supposed to go off on her own, for one, and scrapping with some old familiar faces isn’t going to earn her any gold stars on the behave and we’ll let you stay with John chart.

It was a weird mix of punishment and witness protection and a favor from John’s Aunt Val that put her up there in the first place, and while at first, she’d have done almost anything to be anywhere but, Thunderbird Five… well, John’s grown on her.

“I think the bigger problem will be convincing Scott that it’s none of his business.” John points out lightly, “Dare I ask what happened?” Her face is losing color by the second. It seems important to keep her talking. Can’t be unconscious if you’re talking.

“People don’t like to go down without a fight.’ Star offers him the widest grin she can manage, revealing that one of her front teeth is a little chipped. “Gangs with long-standing grudges especially.”

John shakes his head, slow and disparaging.

“Right. Of course. Think you can stand?” When she nods slowly in confirmation, John gently leavers her upright, waiting patiently the few seconds it takes for her to blink the phosphenes from her vision as the blood drains away from her head. Both her hands find his shoulders again, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“It’s lucky it wasn’t too deep.” John sighs, probably more to himself than anyone. She tilts her head back down to find him looking at the covered patch on her side. “Those bruises do look bad though, it really would be better if someone could check you for internal injury.” He glances at her face from beneath a sweep of golden-ginger lashes, waiting for an answer. When she doesn’t offer him one, he sighs. “I could call Virgil and make him run a scan and-”

“Tomorrow, John.” Her head falls, heavy, onto his shoulder with a bit of a thunk. “I just wanna go to bed.” The last bit comes out as not much more than a whisper.

“Right then, come on.” John slides a supportive arm around her back, careful not to let his fingers brush skin. “Bed it is.”

Star swivels around so she can wrap her arms around his waist and press her face into his shoulder, trying to get as close to the warmth as possible. With John here, she doesn't really want to go back to where she's sleeping. Alone everything seems so… dangerous. The hotel filters in the sounds of the streets, people she doesn’t know in the corridors, threats from every angle. It creeps her out a little, and so she clings to John a little tighter. She starts mumbling again, trying to tell him she'll happily sleep on the floor if it means she doesn't have to be alone.

“Star…? Star.” He sighs, supporting more of her slight weight, shaking his head fondly. “Fine, ok, I’ll stay with you. You’re as bad as Alan, wanting to sleep on the floor. What am I going to do with you?” He laughs, and she feels it verberate through his chest. “Come on, you’re not alone.”

He pulls at her shoulder, half spinning her in an almost dance-like move as he lets her knees crumple and Star finds herself sitting on the plush hotel bed. Very gently, John tugs up the comforter and drapes it over her shoulders, like a blanket-cape.

He vanishes, briefly, to go find her a new, clean t-shirt and a pair of sleep sweats and looks entirely unsurprised when he comes back with one of his own, faded t-shirts in hand, pilfered by her long ago.

"I did wonder where this had gone." He points out, softly amused, as he helps manoeuvre it over her head. "You could at least leave me an IOU so I know what you've… borrowed." It's a kinder word than stolen but John's well aware of the chances of him getting things back once they've made their way into Star’s wardrobe.

Just as well his Father was a billionaire, really. John hardly minds a few things going missing here and there when they're going to a girl who has so very little in the way of her own possessions and no money to her name. He's caught her liberating his bank cards more than once, and it had only prompted a conversation about asking first before he sighs and hands the plastic over.

Privately, John thinks that had she not have wanted to be caught, she wouldn't have been. 

“Sleep.” He advises softly, well away of just how heavy her lids look as he helps her onto her back and makes sure the covers are tucked securely around her. “I’ll be right here, ok?” John waves a book at her, though she has no memory of him picking it up, and the last thing she sees before sleep takes her, is him smiling softly, reaching out to move a lock of stray hair from off her cheek. 

[spooky-luvur]

Could y'all write an Arthur fic with the reader being a fan and got sucked into the game and kinda mouthed off to colm and gets himself captured :O

This was really fun lol

———

“Well,”

You turn in circles, putting your hands on your hips. “At least I don’t have to worry about taxes.”

The people in town stare, obviously, and whisper, but they don’t point and they don’t yell or do something else mean someone from modern day Detroit would do. You’re not exactly blending in with your current clothes.

But really...what the fuck? Last thing you remember is turning the gaming console off, taking a shower, then you think you hit your head when you stumbled but it definitely wasn’t hard enough to send you through time???

You reach the edge of the dusty town and pause, looking over the vast land. Nice fields. No factories in sight. You try to remember every little detail...sat on the left side of the couch...used the controller to turn the console on...picked the game-

...

Oh shit.

Of course.

You were playing the second Red Dead Redemption.

Balls, how in the-!

It’s fine, it’s fine. This is cool, actually.

You don’t bother to hide your grin and unbelieving laugh, raking your hands through your hair. This is cool as shit! You were so interested in the 19-20th century anyway and to be *living* in it?! Damn. But we’re you just in the century, or was I in the game too?

You turn back to the small town and take a good look around, eyes falling onto a large white parlor house. It’s Rhodes! Incredible. Excited like a little kid on Christmas, you hurriedly make your way back into town, taking everything in and spinning in circles like some lunatic.

The general store, the gun shop with that guy locked in the basement- wait a minute.

When in the game was it? If you were magically set in Rhodes wouldn’t that mean the gang was at the camp by the lake? What’s it called, Clemens Point? Clement? But you didn’t really know how to get there from here, and even if you did somehow manage to find it, you’d likely be shot on sight. But you’re inside your favorite game. It only makes sense you’d want to meet and bond with the main characters.

With a stomach full of butterflies, you set off onto the road leading out of town, hoping to stumble upon something- or someone.

———

God, it was hot. Why was it so hot? Damn sun, making me all sweaty and gross. Don’t you have better things to do?

Pulling at your collar, you stop to rest for a few minutes, surrounded by the tall trees. Okay, there’s the water, the stones, old dilapidated church or whatever that is, the sound of a gun cocking, the nice breeze- wait.

“Put your hands up, boy.”

Great. Great. Great. You put your hands up by your head, mentally cursing yourself and everyone who’s ever existed. You didn’t know that voice and that voice didn’t know you.

“You got any cash? Jewelry? Guns?”

“No, I don’t. I got nothing.”

“Bullshit, turn around!”

Slowly turning, you’re met with the barrel of a gun and a very rowdy-looking man. Two other men with guns also pointed at you are a few feet behind him.

“I know you got somethin, your clothes are reeeeeal fancy mister.”

“You can check, but I ain’t got nothin, mister.” Yeah. That’s right. You tried to make yourself sound more cowboy-y, and by the looks of it, he bought it. He did look kinda dumb. No offense, cowboy. Or whatever you were.

The dirty man scoffs. “You ain’t-“

“Come on now boy, it wouldn’t be smart to hide things from us now would it?”

Another guy? Damn, was he hot at least- ohhhhhh. Ohhhhh shit. Oh shit oh shit.

Colm O’Driscoll stares you right in the face, a small, evil smirk on his own. Ugly fucker.

“We’ll ask you again, friend. Do you got anything?”

“I said no damnit! God do your looks match your brain?? Horrible?? Well that wasn’t a very good insult but damn you fugly!!”

The men glance at each other white you babble on.

“My grandpa looks finer than you and he’s dust! Ha! Musty motherfucker- you look like my foot!”

“Enough outta you!”

Colm O’Dick grabs you by the front of your collar and yanks you forward, pushing you onto the dirt.

“Tie him up and bring him back. Maybe we’ll cut out that dirty little tongue of his.”

Damn.

———

Ugh, shit.

The throbbing in your head blurs your vision for several moments. When you finally blink it away, you whine and hang your head from the numerous spots of pain blooming all over your body. Hanging from your bloodied worth’s in just your underwear, feet barley brushing the dirt-covered floor. You remember what happened last night. They beat you, burned you, poked and prodded, nearly poisoned you if Colm hadn’t stopped them, saying something like “it would kill him too quick.”

Damn, if this was how it was always gonna be, you wanted to go back home.

You didn’t know what time it was. Or if it was any more than just a day. You were in some kind of cracked stone walled, rat shit covered basement. A single candle is lit on the blood stained table with a variety of things that make you go ‘ouch.’

Using nearly all your strength to lift your head, you try to find a door or something else you could crawl through. There’s a moldy door in front of you. Seemingly unlocked.

“God, I can’t get down,” you mumble, nearly out of hope. This was supposed to be your story! Your special adventure! Filled with love and drama and literally anything but you getting tortured by men who stink like piss!

The door suddenly starts clicking, and you squeeze your eyes shut the best you can. Was it the dirty men? Or your hero? Heroine? A crazy hermit? The door swings aside, making you cautiously crack your heavy eyes open. Oh please be hot please be hot please be-

“Hey! They got someone!”

Hot.

Your jaw nearly embarrassingly falls open as a man in a pretty blue shirt puts his gun down and pulls out a knife. Hot murder man? Yes please-

“You a prisoner?”

“Sure,” is all you manage.

The man comes closer to cut the ropes suspending you and yes, like in the movies, you can’t really hold yourself up therefore fall forward again the chest of the wow you’re buff.

“You alright, boy?”

Call me that again please.

“Fine, fine.”

Hands gripping the sleeves of the pretty blue shirt, your lift your head to see your hunk of a hero, only to come face-to-face the Arthur fucking Morgan.

Of course, that’s when you pass out.

———

“Is he dead?”

“What? No Jack, he ain’t dead.”

“But he’s all bloody.”

“Damn O’Driscoll’s. He’s just a boy. Lenny’s age.”

You’re like, 23 thank you very much.

“What’re we supposed to do with him?”

“He’s nearly dead, we gotta keep him here for now. Now shoo! All you got chores! Get!”

Something warm and wet yet scratchy is dabbed onto your forehead and a few spots around your face, making you sigh lightly.

Your eyes felt like heavy weights, but you eventually got them open. You wanted to see what was going on really badly.

A Susan Grimshaw. In your face.

Your eyes widen only barely and a very unattractive noise sounding like a confused cat escaped your mouth. The old woman’s brow furrows.

“Hush, boy. I ain’t hurting you.”

Blinking, you look around without moving your head. You were in a tent, on a cot, in your underwear, a random shirt that went past your butt, I’m keeping this forever, and your body hurt very much.

“I’m alright, ma’am,” you look into Grimshaw’s pretty eyes.

She huffs. “Like hell. But fine, you can get up. Nothings broken.”

She leaves the tent, making you slowly swing your bare legs over the side and hoist yourself up, staggering out as well.

“Ugh,” shielding your eyes from the harsh sun, you take a deep breath that makes your chest ache. Welcome to the 19th century, (M/n).

“You’re awake, my boy. How are you feeling?”

It’s too early for this shi-

Never mind it’s never too early for Dutch Van der Linde.

You nod, blinking up at the raven-haired man.

“Just fine, sir. Thank you for saving me. I thought I was a goner.”

“No thanks needed, my boy. I got a sayin’: we shoot fellers as need shooting, save fellers as need saving, and feed ‘em as need feeding. I’m sure we all know, just what you need.”

You really just heard that.

“Oh, I have an idea.”

Dutch laughs, patting your shoulder. “Mr. Pearson! Get this fine boy some food! What’s your name, son?”

“(M/n). (M/n) (L/n).”

“Well Mr. (L/n), do you mind telling us what you were doing all bloody and bruised in Colm O’Driscoll’s basement?” He uses the hand on your shoulder to guide you further to the center of camp.

“I got captured once they realized I didn’t have any money. They beat me good.”

“Yes, well, let’s hope nothing of the sort ever happens again.”

Pearson comes over and places a hot bowl of stew in your shaky hands, nodding at you before heading off.

“Ladies! Would you please help (M/n) get some food in his belly, he’s not too good right now,”

Mary-Beth hurries over, cupping your hands around the bowl to keep it from falling. “Course, Dutch. Come along now...”

———

“Okay, you can do this, come on. You know everything about him! Everything...about...them...”

You shake your head to get rid of the negative thoughts, straightening your back. “Okay, let’s go.”

You keep your eyes locked on Arthur, your target, as you march over to where he’s sitting on his bed, nose buried in his journal. Wow this is really happening-

“Excuse me?”

Way to sound like a 14 year old girl (M/n). Your heart nearly stops once the burly man looks up, blue-green eyes meeting your own. He doesn’t say anything, only stares at you expectingly. You wrong to hands nervously.

“Um...I just wanted to say thank you. For helping me, you know.”

He nods. “You’re welcome.”

You panic, not wanting to lose his attention.

“Dutch said I could stay! With you...er, with the gang! Dutch said I could stay with the gang, they don’t really see me as a threat, so...” your voice trails off.

“Well, that’s great. They’re good people, don’t mess it up.”

“Of course! I’m very grateful, I just...was hoping I could see more of you...?”

No, you definitely weren’t asking him out. Yet.

Arthur looks at you weirdly, before quietly chuckling and turning back to his journal.

“Sure, kid.”

I’m in love.

———

That night, the gang is celebrating a new edition. You weren’t like Kieran. You weren’t nothing bad, neither. Most of them actually trust you already. Thankfully. Those who don’t, weren’t celebrating. Or it was all just an excuse to get blackout drunk

You believed it to be the latter when you left the log by the fire and no one noticed. Everyone kept singing and ‘celebrating.’ Pausing by one of the tents, you slightly duck back behind it. The radio in Dutch’s tent was quietly singing an opera song, and Dutch and Miss Molly O’Shea we’re gently dancing along, gazing into each other’s eyes with the look of the lovers. Good for them. They deserve it. It makes you smile sadly.

You retreat and continue looking around all the tents and everything. Where’s Arthur? He wasn’t at the fire. He’s not in his tent either. Or, wagon. Lean-to? Whatever, but you can’t find him. You circle around the edge of camp for a bit until you find him behind the big tree near the horses.

“Arthur?”

He looks away from the sky and at you.

“Hey, (M/n).”

“Hey Arthur,” you take a few steps closer. “Not a party person?”

He shrugs. “Not tonight, I guess.”

“That’s a shame. I was...hoping you’d might care to dance? With me?”

It takes him a few moments to realize just what you said but once he does, he open his mouth in surprise.

“What?”

You hold out a hand, giving him a mischievous grin.

He shakes his head, looking away for a moment before back at you, pushing himself off the tree.

“What the hell.”

When he takes your hand, it feels like it was meant to be. Where you were meant to be. When you were meant to be! Call you crazy, but with this? Dancing to nearly inaudible music with a fictional cowboy on the outskirts of the camp containing the people that saved you from other fictional outlaws? You never wanted anything more.

[ibelongtowrath]

Come Find Me - Mammon x Reader

reuploading cause of tags lol let’s hope they work this time, also sorry i forgot to put the “read more” oop

Tags/Warnings: angst, lots of angst & mild cursing Word Count: 3.9k Notes: I tried switching perspectives, which are indicated by the dashed lines. I hope it doesn't make it too confusing! I was listening to “Give You Up” by Asking Alexandria, like really listening to the lyrics when I was smacked in the face struck by inspiration for some angsty Mammon. So, as I do, I dreamed up a scenario. This took me so long to write, and holy crap. Hope you love it!

Lyrics taken from 'Give You Up' by Asking Alexandria. 

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

11 months later.

“I wasted so much time on wasting time Made a million excuses, told myself I'm above it Now there's symphony where there used to be Nothing but silence, and I'm never gonna give you up”

Pulling open the closet door to find that one shirt you remember buying, but can’t for the life of you remember where it is, you wince. Clothes and shoes are strewn everywhere, organization severely neglected as of late. You hadn’t really been inspired to straighten out your mess, not since--

No. You shake your head, suppressing the memories. Not now, not for a long time...until it stops feeling like a hot knife is carving your heart in half whenever his name flashes across your mind.

Your eyes scan and assess the mess, landing on a black duffel bag shoved into the corner, emblazoned with an all-too-familiar gold badge. Your eyes close briefly, letting the familiar icy pain wash over you, as if you’ve been walking into the winter ocean until your entire body is submerged. You stare at the bag until your vision blurs, surprised to find yourself blinking away tears as you come back to reality.

You told yourself you wouldn’t leave the Devildom with any regrets, but you did.

“Okay. Well. We’re just going to deal with this now, and bury it,” you tell yourself, needing to hear yourself say it out loud as your own affirmation.

It was finally time to face the anguish head on, instead of compartmentalizing it, telling yourself you would process it eventually. Picking up the bag, you slowly back out of the closet, a torrent of emotions beginning to well up inside you, threatening to wreak havoc. You close your eyes. Breathe, Y/N, breathe. Step back, and lean against the wall, subdue the onslaught.

Tossing the bag onto your bed, you sit beside it, hand reaching slowly to grasp the zipper. Once undone, you reach inside and pull out your R.A.D uniform, skimming the small buttons embedded in the stitching. You smile softly as you remember Asmo pouting every time you complained about how ill-fitting it was. Your hand moves to the golden R.A.D. medallion, your fingers dancing over the hard, intricately grooved surface.

Folding the uniform and setting it aside, you reach into the bag once more, fingers brushing something hard and flat. Confused, you lift your hand, finding yourself grasping your D.D.D.. Your eyes study the yellow smart phone, remembering how he insisted...Fuck. The memories begin to crash into the forefront of your mind.

“Wait, Lucifer, ya gotta give her a yellow one! She’s gotta match with me! N-not that it’s all that important or anything...” Mammon blushed, looking down towards the floor.

“I-I just think...yellow’s a good color to have. That’s all. Symbolizes a lot ‘a different good things. Luck, lotsa Grimm...thank me later.”

You didn’t know it at the time, but that was the start of your undoing.

You came to the Devildom harboring resentment. Why the hell did you have to get uprooted from your life to serve someone else’s agenda? And not only that, but you had to live with seven fallen demon brothers, many of whom barely hesitated as they considered killing you. But...then there was Mammon.

It was always him, even when you refused to acknowledge it. The first demon you made a pact with. You slide your shirt down your arm, glancing at your now-bare shoulder, remembering the slight jolt of electricity as the sigil was emblazoned into your skin. You smile softly as you remember his persistent boasting, nearly on a daily basis:

“I’m Y/N’s first man! So get your paws off her!”

Mammon. Always so stand-offish about his feelings, but so were you. That resentment you bore dug deep into your core. Your heart was indifferent. You challenged Lucifer and the other demons without inhibition, consistently getting yourself nearly killed. You disobeyed the rules and expectations designated to you as one of the representatives of the human world. You did it all with no qualms about the potential consequences, even if it could have resulted in your death. You had given up. You didn’t give a fuck anymore, so bring it on.

They all gave a fuck about you, though, even if it was mostly because Lord Diavolo forbade the killing of the human students. But Mammon…

It was more than that for him. He grabbed your hand in the face of danger, thinking he could protect you. Despite his constant denial of how he felt for you, you could see it. Not only that, your feelings mirrored his; but you were so stubborn, you were headstrong. You were not going to let yourself fall, especially not for the Avatar of Greed. You had convinced yourself that he would be a selfish lover, always putting himself first. All he would do is take from you. After all, the demon was in love with his goddamn credit card.

You were so wrong.

Turning the phone over and over in your hands aimlessly, you remember it all. How easy it was for you to keep falling back into the darkness within you, the anger and resentment you bore deep in your heart. It was easy, it was familiar. Until...

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

Mammon remembers that night. He’s replayed so many times in his head, there isn’t a single detail he can’t remember.

As usual, his brothers teased him relentlessly; this time, they had gone too far.

“Oh! Y/N, I dropped my fork by your foot, would you mind being a dear and grabbing it for me?” Asmo asked, innocently enough.

Mammon had looked up upon hearing your name. He watched as you bent down and struggled to pick up the dropped fork, too far away to grab from your seat. His gaze remained on you as you stood, bending behind you to pick it up; then, Asmo lifting his hand to give you a playful slap on the ass. Then back to you, your beautiful lips upturned in a playful, flirty smile as you laughed and handed Asmo the fork.

Mammon’s anger blazed, his vision tinged red. It was like a knee-jerk reaction, the movements required no thought. He stood from his chair, nearly kicking it in, half-eaten plate of food abandoned. Wordlessly, he took his leave, the torrent of emotions welled up inside threatening to erupt. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to react, that it was only going to add more fuel to the fire for their teasing.

But he didn’t care. They took it too far, touching his human like that. He had laid his claim for you thousands of times, spelled it out, and everyone knew. Yet, it didn’t stop them. Mammon was forever the brother ridiculed and mocked most, despite being the second-oldest; his brothers’ contempt for him was never-ending. The constant jeers and derision about himself and his sin, he had put up with for millennia; but their taunting and blatant disregard of his feelings for you?

He couldn’t stand it any longer.

Mammon was on autopilot, barely feeling the movements as he walked swiftly throughout the halls of the House of Lamentation. He doesn’t even recall if he took a single breath on his journey back to his bedroom. He gripped the doorknob of his room, knuckles turning white as he nearly ripped it out while turning it. He stepped inside, slamming the door with a residual bang!, so loud that surely even Lord Diavolo could hear it in his castle.

His feet moved him to his bed, where he sat on the edge, head in his hands. He clenched his jaw, hard, in an attempt to subdue the anger pulsing within him. It wasn’t only anger, however, that was welled up inside. There was humiliation, resentment, and feelings of hopelessness; all directed at himself. Mammon clenched harder, hands beginning to shake as the emotions swelled furiously.

No matter what he did, he felt like he failed. He felt an overwhelming desire to protect what was his, and he had even failed at that. Mammon isn’t sure how long he stayed that way, caught in the middle of the emotional thunderstorm, staring at his hands but not actually seeing.

In his trance, he barely heard the knock on his door; three light taps, then one loud one. Your signature knock. It didn’t even register in his mind. He wishes he looked up to see you when you walked across his room to his bed. He only noticed when you grabbed his arm, gently, in that way your touch always was. He lifted his head slowly, the feelings of hopelessness finally starting to ebb when his melancholy gaze met your serene one.

There you stood, in all your beautiful glory. Your hair hung in glossy rivulets down your back, a stray piece hanging in front of your face; Mammon wanted nothing more than to reach up and tuck it behind your ear. Your face, your beautiful face, wore an expression that simultaneously made his heart race and feel peaceful.

“Mammon.”

You spoke his name, and in those two syllables, and he knew. He knew your soul shined so brightly in the darkness of the Devildom. He knew you were the light to all of his darkness within.

He knew he was irrevocably in love with you.

Mammon felt your grip tighten on his arm, ever so slightly. He stood before you, realizing your close proximity, and immediately felt the heat rush to his cheeks, tinting them with a rosy blush.

“Y-yeah? What do ya want, Y/N?” he asked, looking off to the side. He reached his arm up, rubbing the back of his head. “Sheesh, you didn’t even tell me you were comin’. A little advanced notice would be nice, ya know.”

You didn’t even answer. Before he could react, you had pulled Mammon into a hug, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

“Wha-?!” Mammon yelped. “Just what do you think you’re doin’, human?!”

He recoiled at first, arms hanging down at his sides, unfamiliar with the feeling of such affection...such love. Rarely was he ever shown such things, especially from his brothers. He hesitantly reached his arms up, wrapping them around your body, the soft texture of your hair under his fingers.

He leaned his head down, his cheek resting on the top of your head while he stroked your hair.

And then, you said it. You spoke the words that made him come undone completely.

“I love you, Mammon.”

Mammon’s body stilled for a moment. It felt as though his heart had stopped completely. The words caught in his throat, unable to speak, fingers threaded into your hair. He felt you squeeze him harder, turning your head to look up at him. His eyes met yours.

You had come here to the Devildom, and at first, Mammon was indifferent. He would have gladly sold your possessions for some extra cash with no hesitation. He insulted you, he acted like an arrogant fool. You did risky things, you talked back. And yet, you somehow were able to make your way into his ice-cold, tsundere heart.

He sunk back down to the edge of the bed, pulling you towards him. You sat upon his lap, legs on either side of his waist. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing you flush to him, fingers splayed across your back. He pushed your hair to the side, burying his head into your neck, lips against your soft skin. All he wanted in that moment was to breathe you in. He swallowed, pressing a kiss into your neck, hoping, praying that you wouldn’t react negatively.

It’s hard to remember the exact sequence that followed. The only thing Mammon knows is your lips pressed against his in a deep kiss, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. He pulled away, grinning, then kissed you again, and again, and again, his hands roaming under your shirt, across your back.

“Shit, Y/N. I guess you have me feeling some type-a way, too,” he whispered, kissing and biting the delicate skin of your neck, an overwhelming desire to leave his mark on you.

It hadn’t gone any further that night, and Mammon had been okay with it. He had walked you back to your room, grabbing you and kissing you deeply before you went in. He was sure the grin hadn’t left his face the entire rest of the night.

It was essentially the way you and Mammon had spent your final weeks in the Devildom. Stolen kisses here and there. Grabbing your hand in the hallways of R.A.D., lacing his fingers through yours. Spending the entire night together, not sleeping, watching movies on his projector or him teaching you how to play poker. Buying you little gifts using Goldie, much to Lucifer’s chagrin. He wanted to give you all that he could, to provide for you.

He held you close whenever he got the opportunity, stroking your hair, ingraining every feeling of your touch into his memory so he would never forget. He knew he was running out of time to be yours, to give you all of him. Mammon had never been so happy.

Then, that fateful day arrived. The day you were going back to the human world.

Mammon could hardly look at you when the time came, too afraid his emotions would well to the surface and tip over. He finally lifted his gaze to yours, thousands of unspoken words etched into the space between you, visible only to you and he. You had never spoken of a plan for the future, too painful to think about. He regretted all the time wasted, kicking himself for not telling you his feelings sooner.

Maybe then, you wouldn’t have left at all.

Mammon didn’t embrace you before the ceremony to transport you back began, knowing that once he did, he would never be able to let you go. He watched the light flash, as bright as your beautiful soul, taking you away with it, leaving nothing in its wake. The pain of losing you was like a knife plunged deep into his heart, twisting back and forth.

And then, you were gone.

Gone.

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

Gone.

And then, Mammon was gone.

“Mammon.”

You speak his name out loud, for the first time since you had arrived back. You still for a second, the unfamiliar syllables passing over your lips. You hope he’ll appear suddenly, as if summoned. But of course, he doesn’t.

And he never will, not again.

The tears fall freely now, a gut-wrenching sob wracking your body. The anguish crashes over you as all the emotions and pent-up grief finally break through the dam you had built deep inside. You fall to the side of your bed, gripping the D.D.D. tightly, knuckles turning white from the effort, as if the phone holds the power to bring Mammon back to you.

You’re unsure of how much time passes before the tears finally begin to subside, opening your eyes once more, adjusting to the sudden brightness; the feeling of it unwelcome, as you had learned to cherish the dark in the Devildom. The false sense of comforting dark you felt when you closed your eyes was erased each morning with the unrelenting rise of the sun.

You lift your hand, the yellow phone still gripped tightly within. And in a moment of hopefulness, or desperation (perhaps both), you press a button, gasping as the phone lights up. Though you shouldn’t be surprised; you remember Mammon telling you he put a spell on it so that it would hold a charge long after you took it off the charger, essentially always staying on.

So you could talk to him whenever you needed it.

Fingers moving faster than your brain can compute, you open your messages with Mammon, feeling the knife twist in your gut once more as you scroll through them. You shake your head furiously, willing yourself to stop, and focus. Your fingers dance across the digital keyboard as you compose a new message.

I love you, Mammon. Come find me.

Send. You hear the all-too-familiar whoosh sound of the message sending, watching it pop up onto the screen.You stare at the phone for God knows how long, willing a notification to sound off, unsure of why you’re feeling so hopeful.

The reply never comes.

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

Mammon stares at his phone in disbelief. He reads the message, then stands, beginning to pace around the room. He has to be seeing things. He has to be. He’s convinced.

There is no way he just received a message from you, in the human world. Especially not one telling him that you love him and to come find you.

His fingers fly across the screen, furiously typing a reply to you, pressing send.

Error! Retry?

“What?!” Mammon exclaims, pressing “retry” over and over and over again.

Error! Retry?

Error! Retry?

Error! Retry?

“This piece ‘a junk!” he yells, furious. The feeling of anguish washes over him as he realizes you won’t get a reply from him, picturing you sad yet hopeful, staring at your screen. He finds himself leaving his room, legs moving automatically as they bring him to the large double doors of the last place he ever wants to be.

“Oi! Lucifer! Open up right now! It’s an emergency!” Mammon yells, pounding on the door.

Hearing an exasperated sigh on the other side of the doors, Mammon continues to pound relentlessly.

“Lucifer! Open up-” Mammon’s words are cut off as Lucifer opens the door, a pained expression on his face.

“How can I help you, Mammon?” Lucifer asks, oozing contempt.

Mammon storms past him into the office, beginning to open up drawers, sorting through files of papers.

“Lucifer! Where the heck’s Y/N’s info? I need it. Where is it?!”

“Mammon,” Lucifer replies cooly, “what is this all about?”

“It’s Y/N! She texted me! She texted me from the human world. Can ya believe it?! She told me to come find her. I have to go to her, Lucifer, I have to!”

“Mammon, calm down. Explain everything to me.”

Mammon shoves the phone in Lucifer’s face, panic etched into his voice as he recounts the story, impatience creeping in to his demeanor. He has to get to you, and he has to get to you now.

Lucifer nods, holding his gloved hand under his chin as he thinks aloud.

“Mammon, you will have to be patient. I will speak to Diavolo, and see if he will grant you permission to leave the Devildom for a few days. Unfortunately, we do not have an exact location for Y/N. I can only give you the general area of where she lives. You will have to hope that she has remained living there, or close to the area.”

“What?! What are ya tryin’ to say, that I won’t be able to find her?!” Mammon yells in disbelief. “Of course I’ll find her. She told me to! And I can’t wait, I gotta get to her now! I can’t text her back, can’t let her know I got it…”

“I know how important she is to you, Mammon,” Lucifer says, nodding his head.

“Like hell ya do! Have you ever loved anyone that much? Or anything?”

“Mammon. I will speak to Diavolo immediately, and he will set everything in motion. It is still likely you will have to wait until at least tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning…,” Mammon repeats, trailing off. “Y/N, I’m comin’ to ya. Just hang on one more day. Please, babe…”

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

You find yourself at your favorite mall the next day, hardly remembering the drive there, as if you were on autopilot.

As you enter, you stand still for a moment, closing your eyes and inhaling briefly, taking in the sounds: the tinny music filtering through the speakers, other shoppers exclaiming to one another over a new collection in a store, somebody sipping their iced coffee noisily.

You had told Mammon about coming here quite often during those last few weeks. One night in particular, the two of you had lain on his bed, holding one another close, telling each other everything. You hadn’t cared if it was trivial, you wanted to know everything there was to know. Often, you had imagined coming with him here; holding hands, dragging him into all your favorite stores, trying on clothes.

Now, that will never happen.

You shake the negative thought from your mind, fighting as you feel the corners of your lips begin to tug downwards. Turning yourself to the right, you decide to head to your favorite bubble tea stand, smiling softly to yourself. Another memory you had shared with Mammon. Rounding the corner, a figure hunched over on the soft bench near the bubble tea stand stops you dead in your tracks.

Tousled white hair, orange-tinted lenses in his glasses. A brown leather jacket, striped with white across and at the collar, a fitted black t-shirt underneath.

No. No way. Your mind is playing tricks on you, Y/N, you think to yourself.

You walk hesitantly up to him, stopping a few feet away, watching as he notices your shoes, then moves his head up to meet your gaze, that adorable lopsided grin tugging at his lips as he stands.

“Knew I’d find ya here, Y/N. Lucifer didn’t believe me, that jerk,” he drawls.

“M-...Mammon?!” you exclaim, not caring who hears. You barely feel the movements as you throw yourself into his embrace. “H-how?!”

“Ya told me to come find ya. So I found ya.”

Gripping the collar of his jacket tightly, you lay your head on his chest, tears streaming furiously down your face. Mammon lifts your head, cupping your cheeks, wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, hey. No tears ruinin’ that pretty face. Unless they’re happy tears. In which case, cry away, I guess. But your makeups’ runnin’ down your face,” Mammon tells you, and you grin through them.

“How did you know to find me here?” you ask him as you pull away, brushing more tears away as you swallow.

“I remembered you tellin’ me about it. How you liked to come here when you weren’t feelin’ all that great,” he answers, draping an arm over your shoulder. “I tried to answer ya back, but my stupid D.D.D. wouldn’t let me. I thought ya might be sad, so I figured I’d try ya here.”

You laugh, grin growing wider.

“I love you, Mammon.”

He pulls you into another tight embrace, pressing you flush to him, lips crashing against yours in a deep kiss. You close your eyes, savoring every second of it before pulling away, eyes wide. You laugh once more as he pulls you close to him again, gasping a bit in surprise as his tongue darts out to dance with yours.

“Mammon, we’re in public!” you hiss, though you’re smiling against his lips.

“Don’t care,” Mammon retorts, kissing you again. “I have ya here with me now. And I ain’t ever gonna give you up. Never again.”

“In my darkest of days I've got a light now to show me the way It's like I've found my place And the world doesn't feel the same”