#bat out of hell II: back into hell | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

b00kdiary · 7 months ago

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EVERY. TIME. I. SEE. YOUR. USER. APPEAR. IN. THE. TAGS. I KNOW FOR A FACT WE’RE GOING TO GET A BOMB ASS BATBOYS FIC 😩😩😫😫

Cautious | Bat Boys (II)

ACOTAR Bat Boys x Plus Size reader

It's just as Cassian said: the bat boys were young and dumb… and fucked females in the same room as each other. Y/N’s in for one hell of a surprise.

Warning: Mature themes (18+), swearing, fluff, and smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

PART ONE

I shrieked like Hell at the sight of those two Illyrian males standing before me.

And then I lunged back, a strangled noise escaping me as my hands flew to cover my bare breasts and I yanked my thigh off Rhysand's shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him over. I heard one of the males wince as I slammed my head back against the door, pain erupting through my skull.

I swore the other male laughed.

"Shit," Rhys cursed, a flash of anger pulsing through the haze of lust in his eyes. His hands shot forward, rings digging into my flesh as he righted me, stopping my legs from slipping out from under me. "Shit, are you alright?"

Rhys rose to his full height within a blink, mercifully shielding me with his tall, broad frame – shielding the two watchful eyes behind him. My wide gaze met his, tilting when he cupped my cheek, an anchor that calmed the racing, erratic pulse of my heart.

"Who the fuck are they?" I whisper-yelled, knowing and not caring that they heard me all the same. Rhys frowned, his hand now rubbing the sore spot at the back of my head.

"Those two bastards are my brothers," Rhys sighed, eyes closing in disdain at the sound of low laughter and shuffling feet. "The same two bastards who swore to not fucking come home – "

"I never promised to freeze my balls off in the snow, Rhys," That voice again – arrogant, smug, cock-sure in a way most young males tended to be around here. "Especially not so you could get off with some female – even if she is very pretty."

I blushed at the crude comment, watching as Rhys turned, flashing his canines at the male. I peered around him, my face ablaze as I stared across the dimly lit room to the balcony on the right – the door swung open indeed, showcasing the thick, roaring snow that fell outside.

"Don't goad him Cassian," The other male commented, rough and low, as if his voice was bred from a whisper of wind.

My gaze shifted to him, widening at the sight. Tall, lean, and broad, his scaly Illyrian armour highlighted his muscles. The magnificent, large wings tucked at his back were imposing, but not as much as the shadows coiling around him, clinging to him like a second skin.

His hazel eyes met mine and brightened.

"And stop fucking leering at her," Rhys snarled, furious enough that even I was startled. "That means you too, Azriel."

The other male, Cassian, snorted.

My eyes shifted left to his taller, larger figure. Unlike Rhysand and Azriel, he had a more rugged, rough-hewn appearance. With shoulder-length obsidian hair and red siphons contrasting Azriel's blue, he radiated arrogance in his stance and speech.

As if feeling my eyes on him, his hazel eyes met mine. And despite Rhysand's warning growl, he smirked.

"We're not leering, Rhys, we're admiring," Cassian winked, calloused hands tugging off his breastplate and sheaths and chucking them on the bed behind him. "You don't mind do you, sweetheart?"

I curled into myself at the direct question, cringing as I hastily yanked up my dress, my hands trying and failing to hide my breasts while I did so. Both males watched, darkness yielding in their eyes at the sight of me.

“I wasn’t expecting an audience,” I said after a moment, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to contain his irritation. “It’s quite... improper.”

Azriel chuckled, unsheathing a deadly knife stamped with runes and placing it on the side table. “Something tells me you’re not a stickler for propriety.”

“Well, neither are you two,” I shot back, raising my chin as a spark of fire flared within me. “I don’t recall admiring a naked female unbeknownst to her being part of a gentleman’s conduct.”

Cassian laughed, his hazel eyes twinkling with amusement as I met them. “You won’t find any gentlemen here, sweetheart.”

“Clearly,” I muttered, gnawing on the inside of my cheek as I straightened my dress. Their eyes tracked my every movement, and the thought of them witnessing that moment between Rhysand and me—hearing, smelling, watching me fall apart—sent a wave of heat through me.

“You’ll have to excuse my brothers' manners, Y/N,” Rhys said, his voice strained. “They see a pretty female, and all sense of common decency vanishes from their thick heads.”

Cassian nodded thoughtfully, crossing his muscled arms over his powerful chest. “Yes, we should definitely take lessons from Rhys here. It was incredibly decent of him to have his tongue—”

“Cassian,” Rhys warned, cutting him off with a glare. Azriel coughed loudly, trying to cover the laughter that had come rumbling out from him.

Rhys scowled at both the males like he wanted to rip them limb from limb. I stepped forward before he could lose his temper and do so.

“Is this where you all sleep then?” I cleared my throat, glancing around the decently large room.

Three single beds were neatly arranged against the walls, each with a cabinet and set of drawers. On the right, a balcony with wrought-iron railings overlooked the landscape outside.

I ignored the embarrassment clawing at my skin as I took it all in.

“Home sweet home,” Rhys muttered, and I was relieved to see the simmering anger in his eyes had dimmed. He glanced at me, a corner of his lip twitching. “It seems our luck has been rather poor today, darling. Not a moment of peace for us to be alone.”

I giggled at the faux-wounded frown he wore, my hands clenching into fists at the thought of what other things that peaceful alone time might have gifted us. Rhys’s eyes flared as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

“Please, by all means, continue,” Cassian said, smirking as he dropped onto the first bed, the wood creaking under his weight. “We would never deny our brother peace—would we, Az?”

Azriel, his beauty matched by a coy smile, gracefully made his way to the furthest bed and settled onto its edge. “Never.”

“Fucking assholes,” Rhys muttered under his breath. But then... I noticed a slight flush colouring his tan cheeks.

His eyes met mine, and I sensed a flicker of curiosity in them. My heart skipped a beat.

“Continue… with the two of you here?” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. Their expressions darkened as my words hung in the air.

I had thought they were joking but the silence, the way they watched me said otherwise.

“You wouldn’t be so cruel as to kick us out to endure the snow, would you?” Cassian leaned back on his palms, a challenging gleam in his eyes. “Besides, it’s not like we haven’t seen or done it all before.”

Rhys stepped forward, shooting Cassian a warning glare that seemed tinged with embarrassment. “Enough of this. Come on, darling, I’ll walk you back—”

“Meaning what exactly?” I cut off Rhysand’s outstretched hand, fixing an arched brow on the arrogant male. “That you’ve all... watched each other with your respective partners?”

The room fell into a tense silence, Rhysand's jaw tightening.

That was a yes then.

Heat bloomed through me, dancing with the tendrils of excitement and curiosity – and arousal at the thought.

“Just moments of drunken bad decisions and getting caught up in the allure of a female,” Rhys waved a dismissive hand, yet uncertainty flickered in his eyes. “Nothing I’d subject you to, darling. Let’s get away from these idiots—”

I took a step closer, meeting his gaze with a challenging glint. “Why not? Am I not alluring enough to get caught up with?”

A flicker of surprise crossed Rhysand’s features, his posture stiffening slightly as he processed my words. I nearly crooned at the heat that darkened his violet eyes as I smiled at him.

Cassian and Azriel went deathly still, their breaths held as I approached Rhysand.

“It seems a shame for the night to be cut short so quickly,” I purred, my voice low and suggestive. Rhysand’s breath stuttered as I stopped just inches from him, feeling the heat of his body and the firmness of his chest beneath my touch. “If I recall, you promised to be the best friend I’d ever had.”

“Darling,” his voice strained, matching the tension in his hardened posture. I could feel the strength of his arousal pressing against his breeches.

“You don’t have to do anything—” he began, but I cut him off.

“Now who’s being cautious?” I teased, my own heart racing with anticipation. Rhysand let out a nervous laugh, gazing down at me with a mixture of awe and desire. “You boys don’t mind, do you?”

I glanced over my shoulder, meeting the unnervingly still gazes of Cassian and Azriel. Fluttering my lashes, I watched Cassian’s fists clench and Azriel’s shadows coil around him in a silent, frantic dance.

For all their earlier arrogance and bravado, both males remained stunned as I bit my lip, waiting for their response. The silence spoke volumes, and I interpreted it as a yes.

My heart raced, a whirlwind of worries and insecurities threatening to overwhelm me. But I pushed them aside, forcing myself to focus as I tiptoed closer and captured Rhys’s lips with mine.

He kissed me back furiously, groaning into me as my tongue slipped through his mouth and battled his. I gasped, back bowing as his ringed fingers dug into the flesh at my back, roughly kneading the flesh before settling over my ass and gripping it hard.

I moaned and my core clenched when one of the males behind me gave an answering growl in response. Rough and lewd, as if unwittingly wrenched from him at the sight of us.

Rhys devoured me, his skilled tongue easily overpowering mine and fanning against me with such intensity I became a puddle in his hands. I began pulling him back with me, my fingers ripping at the buttons of his shirt, revealing the corded, smooth skin underneath.

“Shit,” He groaned as I raked my nails down his chest, toying with his nipples as we passed Cassian’s bed. I saw the male’s attention unrelenting on us as we moved, his chest rising and falling in harsh, broken waves. Azriel’s wings rustled on my right, and I could feel his eyes on me, as harsh as a brand on my skin.

We halted just before the middle bed, the only one left unoccupied—Rhys's bed.

I wasn't entirely sure where my newfound confidence had come from, what had emboldened me in the presence of their eyes and desire. But the attention seemed to invigorate me, enough that I pushed Rhys onto the edge of the bed with a grin.

“These beds are adorable,” I purred, smirking as my fingers traced across Rhys’s throat, gently tilting his chin up to meet my gaze. He looked dazed, his grin matching the intensity in his eyes.

“You are trouble,” He murmured, his throat bobbing. “Such fucking trouble.”

I giggled, the sound feeling oddly innocent given our current situation. But Rhys seemed to enjoy it, tilting his head to press a long, indulgent kiss to my lips, slow and caressing, leaving me dizzy.

Beside us, I heard Cassian suck in a sharp breath as my hands slid up my chest, tugging at the puffed sleeves of my dress, revealing as much as the tight material allowed. As I pulled back, I felt their feral gazes fixated on the hint of cleavage revealed by the neckline.

“Azriel,” I turned to the male on the right, noticing his back stiffen and his eyes widen as I slowly edged closer to him. I couldn’t help but smile at the slight blush spreading across his cheeks. “Would you mind—”

Turning away from his silent stare, I glanced over my shoulder, subtly indicating the laces at the back of my dress. I swore his eyes turned an intense shade of black.

A second ticked by, and then another, and just when I thought he would refuse, his gaze dropped to my back and his hands reached forward and began tugging at the laces. I saw the burns on his hands, recalling rumours I’d heard long ago.

But as he gently tugged the material loose, his callouses and scars scratching against my goose-bumped skin, I felt nothing but pure arousal. A whimper slipped from me as he dragged one long finger down my spine, as if unable to help himself.

I wondered how his fingers would feel elsewhere, just how well he would touch me.

I turned back and gave him a small, lust-filled smile. One he returned with a darkness that made me almost climb onto him instead. I heard Rhys chuckle behind me like he heard that thought.

And that darkness amplified as I stepped back, turning to see all three males watching me with bated breath. The air became almost congested with arousal as I slowly, gracefully, tugged down the dress, inch by inch revealing me underneath.

“Fuck, you are – ” Cassian snarled softly, one hand coming up to rub at his face. It seemed a first for the male to ever be so speechless.

“I’d have to agree with Cassian, though I might have worded it more eloquently,” Rhys muttered, ignoring the scowl his brother gave him. Those violet eyes traced from the tips of my toes all the way to my eyes, drinking me in. “You are a sight to behold.”

I blushed, wrangling my hands before me, my nipples peeked from the cold air and a wetness grew steadily between my clenched thighs. Rhys leaned back on his palms; his hardness was undeniable before me.

“I think my brothers are considering murdering me so that they can have you all to themselves,” Rhys teased as I inched closer to him. A hum of agreement from my right. “Azriel’s considering killing me and Cassian, he doesn’t like to share.”

Again, the male hummed, his shadows vibrating with the sound around him.

With a playful glint in my eye, I leaned in closer to Rhys, teasingly brushing my lips against his ear before whispering, “Looks like I’m spoiled for choice.”

Rhys chuckled softly, his breath warm against my skin. I shivered as his hands gripped my hips, nails carving into my flesh as I settled either thigh on the bed, straddling him. I felt his length under me, a hiss slipping from his lips as I rubbed down against him.

“Fuck, darling,” Rhys moaned, eyes fluttering as I reached down between our bodies and began undoing his breeches. I heard Azriel and Cassian shifting on their beds, their breaths sawing in and out as I pulled his cock free, stroking it.

He was thick and long, and my breath was tight in my lungs as I traced my fingers against the strong veins along his shaft, watching him twitch at the mere contact, his hips bucking off the bed. I bit my lip as I watched his body react so perfectly.

“Come on sweetheart,” Cassian said, almost whining. My gaze met his and I blushed at the feral, hungry gleam in his eyes, his own hips shifting uncomfortably back and forth – likely because of the ache of his cock straining in his pants.

“You’ve got Cassian begging,” Azriel mused, now braced forward on his thighs to watch every single action with clarity. “Rhys looks like he might be next.”

“So do you, brother,” Rhys hissed back, shooting the male a glare. But indeed, he did look as if he were on the edge of his control. I whimpered as one bead of pearly pre-cum rolled from his tip and onto my fingers.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I whispered, rising onto my knees and kissing Rhys. He choked on a breath when I dragged him through my core, the wetness so loud in the deathly silence of the room. “Oh Gods – “

I cried out as I sunk down onto him, the both of us gasping into each other’s mouths as he stretched my tight walls. It was a thin line between pleasure and pain as I took him, his size making me ache, but I was so wet, so turned on that he was seated inside within seconds.

“How’s she feel, Rhys?” Cassian asked, his voice rough and unsteady. I heard his breathing hitch as I rolled my hips, my head tilting back as I moaned at the pressure.

“So fucking tight and wet,” Rhys growled through clenched teeth. My hands braced on his shoulders as his hips rolled up into me, faster, harder. “So fucking good.”

“Rhys,” I mewled his name as his pace quickened, his hands on my waist holding my weight as he slammed up into me again and again. Cassian and Azriel watched unblinkingly – my tits bouncing with every thrust, the soft jiggle of my ass as I met Rhys’s thrusts.

There was something maddening between us as Rhys fucked me, something that made us both frantic and feral, teeth and tongues clashing as we met each brutal thrust together. I was scratching Rhys’s shoulders and neck hard enough to bleed and the pain of it made him snarl, biting my bottom lip in encouragement.

“That’s it,” Rhys praised, his forehead pressed to mine and our eyes locked as I rode up and down him, my legs shaking as I moved. “You look so pretty darling – doesn’t she look so pretty boys?”

I whimpered at his words, sweat coating my skin as pleasure coiled and coiled within me. Cassian released a long breath, and my eyes met his dilated ones, watched his chest tremble as he watched me.

“Fucking perfect,” Cassian rasped, and I knew he fought the urge to touch himself, fought the urge to touch me as I rolled my hips in sharp, desperate circles.

My back bowed dangerously as Rhys’s tip hit that sweet, devastating spot within me, spongey and sensitive and so receptive to his every thrust. I cried out loudly, my eyes screwing as Rhys took over, bucking his cock up, up, up relentlessly.

There were hands kneading and pinching my nipples, no, not hands – shadows. I glanced down and saw them toying with my aching breasts, their master grumbling with satisfaction at the sounds that came from me.

“Oh Gods – “ More tendrils joined, dancing across my waist and lower, lower, lower, and I had tears in my eyes as they snaked to toy at my clit. “Oh my fucking Gods – “

Rhysand’s hand curled around my throat, dragging my eyes to his and there was pure delight twinkling like stars in them. “You gonna come, darling? Gonna give my brothers a real show?”

His filthy words made that pit inside me tauten unbearably, his cock and those shadows and those eyes on me – it was all too much. “Rhys, I’m – I’m gonna – “

His fingers tightened at my throat, trapping the air. “You wanna come? Ask Cassian and Azriel, darling. See if they’re nice enough to let you finish.”

Taunting, cruel words. And somehow, my body obliged him, my orgasm halting at the threshold, as if unable to deny him.

I turned pleading eyes to Cassian and Azriel as Rhys ruined me, tears now rolling down my cheeks. “Please, please can I come? Please – “

“Cauldron,” Azriel cursed, hands clenching at his thighs. I saw his arousal through my tears and felt my mouth water at how big he was.

“Please – “

“Come, sweetheart,” Cassian whined, his wings spreading wide behind him. “Wanna hear you fall apart.”

Rhys angled his hips, in tandem with the shadows flicking back and forth at my sore clit – and it all ruptured within me.

“Rhys!”

I came with a desperate cry, my head thrown back and my body turning to steel as my orgasm rocked through me like a wild fire. I felt my stomach tense, my walls clenching and unclenching around Rhys as I collapsed against him.

Cassian and Azriel growled in appreciation as I fell apart, my noises endless and my body shaking and wrecked from exhaustion.

“Fuck, darling,” Rhys panted, his hips starting to falter, his damp hair half-shielding those star-burst eyes as he watched me. “Fuck – “

“Don’t stop, Rhys,” I begged him, kissing his jaw, his mouth, his neck, biting and nibbling as I felt him twitch inside me. “You’re nearly there, baby.”

He seemed to like the soft name, liked hearing it purred into his ear as he fucked me. Because that seemed to shatter his restraint, seemed to push him off that edge.

I watched as his hips faltered, his head lolling back to expose the strong column of his throat. His eyes rolled and his mouth parted, releasing the most sensual, arousing noise as he reached his peak. The sound reverberated through the room, through me, as if it possessed a power of its own.

He panted furiously, his head dropping to rest his forehead on my bare chest, and I felt the brush of his cool gasps prickling my skin. The air was heavy and silent as we caught our breaths, our sweaty, exhausted bodies slumping against each other, the touch just right.

“Are you alright?” Rhys muttered, his hands pulling back the damp strands of my hair and cupping my cheeks to look into my eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, I’m good,” I smiled, hazy. “I’m perfect Rhys.”

“Yes, you are,” Cassian voiced, a hint of something like envy in his voice. “I’m damn glad the Mother made it snow tonight.”

Rhys and I laughed, and his touch was gentle as he helped me rise, his cock slipping free as I did so. Azriel swore as he peered between my legs, where my release and Rhysand’s mixed and dripped down my thighs, making a mess.

“Az is still thinking about killing me,” Rhys smirked, turning to me to sit atop his lap, my back to his chest. I looked at his brother, cheeks tinted red and his cock painfully hard in his pants – he didn’t deny it. “I can’t say I blame him.”

I giggled, letting out a tight breath as Rhys wrapped his arms around me, his hands massaging my thighs and calves to ease the shaking. I had never experienced an orgasm like that before in my life, never experienced this moment before.

"You three are certainly something,” I teased, glancing between them. They all smiled now, adoringly. “I thought – “

I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence.

Not as we heard the front door click open. Not as footsteps barged in – not as two female voices called mine and Rhysand’s name.

“Shit – “ All three males had the good sense to look alarmed, Rhys lifting me to my feet before him.

I was still stark naked, with his seed leaking down my thighs – and those footsteps were getting closer and closer. I met Rhys’s wide, horrified eyes and I frowned.

“Should we jump off the balcony?”

___________________________________

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spacedace · 11 months ago

Text

Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.

Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.

(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.

A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.

It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.

Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.

Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.

But they were still kids.

Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.

Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.

Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.

Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.

They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.

Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.

Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.

They all knew why.

The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.

That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.

Robin II was an Alley Kid.

A true child of Gotham.

Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.

Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.

He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

Bad things happened to good kids all the time.

And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.

Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.

The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.

Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.

Or so the rumors said, at least.

That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.

Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.

And then the news came in.

There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.

Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.

Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.

Alone.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.

The Joker wasn’t most folks.

And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.

Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.

And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.

Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.

But the Bat would find him.

They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.

It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

The Clown still lived.

The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.

No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.

That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.

They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.

And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.

Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.

Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.

Not Robin II either.

Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.

No.

It was a new Robin.

A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.

Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.

The Clown had killed Robin II.

Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.

Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.

The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.

But he never did.

Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.

Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.

And then the Bat stepped in.

Revived the fucking Clown.

A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.

He was a good kid.

He deserved better.

Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.

Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.

It was their turn.

#batman #batman au #batman rogues #batman rouges gallery #dc penguin #dick grayson #jason todd #jason todd robin #dick grayson robin #bruce wayne #the joker #tim drake #dc robin #gotham city #open season au #i don't go in for Jason being the 'angry' robin or the 'violent' robin #he was the lil chainsmoking ball of sunshin robin that made sure to do his homework first before going out to fight crime #dick was the scariest robin because he was BOTH incredibly violent & full of rage AND a ball of sunshine & unrelenting hope #Jason was a Gotham kid (an Alley Kid) and I think a lot of the rogues would have respected that #dick got his respect by teaching them how many of their bones a tiny 9 year old could break in a single kick #feel like there's a scene in the extended au in which Tim gets kidnapped but instead of being held for ransom or threatened #it's just the Rogues aggressively mother-henning him and trying to make sure he's alright #Dick gets a call from Harley later that the newest Robin is fine he and Riddler are coming up with deadly traps together #No she doesn't see anything wrong with that - it's just some enrichment activities for them - why do you ask?

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fanbasetwo · 1 month ago

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Ꮺ . , BEING ENEMIES WITH WONBIN !!

NOTE FROM SENA , (this is a fic in a headcanon manner) first wonbin work lesss gaurr , MASTERLIST!!

i. THE BEGINNING OF A SILLY FEUD

Your rivalry with Wonbin started over the most ridiculous thing ever: his best friend stealing a strawberry from your best friend’s lunchbox in 3rd grade.

Your best friend cried for hours about the betrayal, and you decided it was your duty to avenge her. Naturally, this meant you had to hate Wonbin by association.

“You’re friends with a thief!” you’d declared with the confidence only an indignant child could muster.

“It’s just a strawberry! You’re crazy,” Wonbin had retorted, rolling his eyes.

And from then on, you two were sworn enemies. Even as the years passed, the petty grudge somehow persisted, growing into something you didn’t even know how to stop.

ii. HIGH SCHOOL : THE RIVALRY EVOLVES

By high school, the rivalry had become an unspoken rule. If there was a chance to one-up or annoy each other, you both took it without hesitation.

During group projects, you’d fight over ideas until the teacher had to separate you.

If he scored higher than you on a test, he’d make sure you knew about it: “Better luck next time,” he’d say with a smug grin.

If you beat him in a game during gym class, you’d make a point to celebrate a little too enthusiastically, just to watch his annoyed reaction.

Your classmates were so used to the bickering that they didn’t even bat an eye anymore. “Oh, it’s just Y/n and Wonbin being Y/n and Wonbin.”

iii. THE MILK INCIDENT

The rivalry reached its peak when you heard a rumor that Wonbin had bullied one of your friends. Furious, you decided to confront him in the most dramatic way possible—by dumping a carton of milk over his head during lunch.

The cafeteria went silent as everyone turned to stare. Wonbin froze, milk dripping from his hair as he looked at you with wide eyes.

“What the hell was that for?!” he finally asked, his voice sharp and low.

“For my friend, you jerk!” you shouted back, feeling righteous in your actions.

Later, your friend admitted she’d lied, and you were mortified. But by then, the damage was done—Wonbin refused to talk to you, and you could feel his cold gaze whenever you crossed paths in the hallways.

iv. FAILED ATTEMPTS TO APOLOGIZE

Guilt gnawed at you, so you decided to apologize. Writing a note felt like the easiest option since facing him seemed impossible.

“I’m sorry for the milk thing. I overreacted. Can we talk?” you wrote, slipping the note into his locker before rushing away.

The next day, you saw him take the note out, glance at it, and toss it in the trash without even opening it. You felt your blood boil. How dare he ignore me like that?!

v. CORNERING HIM AFTER CLASS

The silent treatment pushed you to the edge. After one particularly tense class, you followed Wonbin out and grabbed him by the collar, shoving him against a wall.

“Why are you acting like this? I said I was sorry!” you snapped, glaring up at him.

He looked down at you, completely unfazed. “You think one sorry note fixes everything?” he shot back, his tone sharp.

“What else do you want me to do? Get on my knees and beg?”

“You could try thinking before you act for once,” he said, his words hitting harder than you expected.

vi. THE UNEXPECTED KISS

The argument grew more heated, voices rising as you both vented years of pent-up frustration.

“You’re so infuriating!” you shouted, your grip tightening on his collar.

“You’re not exactly a walk in the park either!” he retorted, leaning closer as if challenging you.

In a moment of pure impulsive anger, you yanked him down by his uniform collar and kissed him hard.

For a split second, he froze, but then his hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you back with equal intensity. It was messy, fiery, and charged with all the unresolved tension between you two.

vii. THE AFTERMATH

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, foreheads pressed together.

Wonbin smirked, his lips still inches from yours. “Still hate you,” he murmured, but the teasing edge in his voice felt softer, almost playful.

“Good,” you muttered back, even though your heart was racing.

viii. A SHIFT IN THE DYNAMIC

After that kiss, things between you and Wonbin were… different. The bickering continued, but now there was an underlying tension that neither of you could ignore.

He started teasing you more often, but his comments were laced with a new kind of warmth.

“Don’t trip over your own feet,” he’d say during gym class, but his smirk would linger a little longer than usual.

You found yourself glancing at him in class, wondering if he was thinking about the kiss as much as you were.

ix. NEW “RIVALRY” RULES

The “hate” between you two started feeling more like a game. When he scored higher than you on a test, you’d roll your eyes but secretly smile at his smug expression.

When you outperformed him in a group activity, he’d groan dramatically but give you a subtle nod of approval.

Your friends noticed the shift immediately. “Are you two… flirting?” one of them asked during lunch.

“Flirting? With him? Never,” you scoffed, but the blush on your cheeks gave you away.

x. THE UNSPOKEN TRUTH

Neither of you openly acknowledged what had happened in that hallway, but it was clear that something had changed.

You still pretended to hate each other, but the lingering glances and subtle smiles told a different story.

And though you’d never admit it out loud, you didn’t really hate Wonbin anymore. If anything, you might actually like him. But for now, you were content to keep playing the game—because that’s just how things were with you and Wonbin.

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ataraxiaspainting · 3 months ago

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Remina.

Yan Blade x GN (Mara-Struck) (Stellaron Hunter) Reader.

Synopsis: You know Yingxing, but you know Blade more and more with each passing day.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, descriptions of violence (not against the reader), mentions of Blade/the reader's want to die, and descriptions of the reader’s want for violence.

Word Count: 1k.

@knockout2483 here you go!! <33333

*~*~*~*

SELF-DESTRUCT FUNCTION UNAUTHORIZED.

TO CANCEL, PLEASE CLICK THE ESCAPE KEY.

PROCEEDING WILL CAUSE 24.25 MILLION UHLUHTC SPIDER SPAWN TO SPREAD FROM SECTOR SEVEN TO SECTORS ONE THROUGH ELEVEN, BUT NOT SECTORS ZERO, TWELVE, AND THIRTEEN.

TO PROCEED, PLEASE CLICK THESE KEYS IN THE FOLLOWING ORDER: FIVE, TWO, SIX-

*~*~*~*

Blade knows you went too far with this.

You know too – at least he thinks so; your mara-struck state has always been harder for Kafka to subdue.

“What a nuisance.” You spit out as you drag your sword back and forth across the thing blocking you from destroying the tower’s controller beyond repair. Blade’s hand. His palm is bright red and makes gut-wrenching noises yet he does not move or make a sound. “You never let me do things my way.”

“Please don’t speak to me like that.” He responds as his uninjured hand pulls layer after layer of the bandages that prevent his blood from pouring all across the concrete floor. “You don’t want to do this. At least to them. To us, even.”

You have now lost a majority of your once silver weapon – Blade’s hand regenerated just enough for you to be rendered powerless. Or at the very least powerless compared to him and the other Stellaron Hunters.

*~*~*~*

TO CANCEL, PLEASE CLICK THE ESCAPE KEY.

*~*~*~*

“The hell are you talking about, Yingxing?”

“Do you really want to watch this world burn again?” You let go of your handle, wincing like you just touched something straight out of a forge. Hell maybe – that would be more entertaining right now rather than being sat down and lectured again by someone who more or less shares the same ailments as you. A craving for bloodshed. A need for chaos to be unleashed upon an undeservedly orderly land. A body that will never die no matter how much the soul has eroded.

A desperate want to die.

All of them are uncontrollable though you are undecided about the last – self-inflicted death can be perceived as a sin, not a sacrifice for the greater good, in most of the planets you have been an unwelcome guest to.

Kraftluv II. A planet the perfect distance away from both Jarilo-VI and the Xianzhou Luofu – wedged in between them in exactly equal amounts according to countless mathematical studies.

You’re forbidden to enter the latter of the two per Kafka’s orders. Firefly told you that if you do all your assignments before the next meeting – the ‘assignments’ in question being gathering gifts for Silver Wolf because you accidentally broke one of her game consoles – you could be allowed to go fishing with her.

Firefly doesn’t know how to fish. Even if she did, you would much rather use your teeth instead of some lousy string attached to a carved tree branch.

*~*~*~*

TO CANCEL, PLEASE CLICK THE ESCAPE KEY.

*~*~*~*

“What I’m saying is,” Blade puts his arm to his side. Blood still rolls down from the edge of your sword and this time makes a small puddle just in front of his dirty shoes. “You’re supposed to be on good behavior. Even if you and I don’t get scolded, you’ll come to regret it after you return from lunacy. Me too.”

You don’t look at him, instead opting to stand up on your toes to get a better look at the machine you want to tear to pieces so badly.

Blade in turn moves his head to a diagonal so he can at least try to get you to focus on him. You murmur more curses under your breath than usual. He sighs but doesn’t attempt to correct your language this time. In the past, Kafka would giggle and pat your head as she dodged you using your nails to scratch her numerous times. Silver Wolf wouldn’t bat an eye because her connection to her games is more important than anything going on around her or beyond the stars she could see. Firefly would have her mouth wide open in shock at the sheer complexity of the Xianzhou Luofu’s lexicon when it comes to swearing.

“Do you want to hurt all these people again? It hasn’t even been a year since you unleashed Silver Wolf’s virus onto Sector Eight. Without her permission, may I add.” In a smooth motion, Blade pulls your weapon out from his body – in a mere blink of an eye, a scar replaces the rather large crevice. The bandages are applied once again. He didn’t have to peel them off to begin with but he wanted you to see another example of what he is supposed to do to keep you in line.

*~*~*~*

TO PROCEED, PLEASE CLICK THESE KEYS IN THE FOLLOWING ORDER: FIVE, TWO, SIX, FOUR, SIX, ONE, THREE, FIVE, EIGHT, NINE, ZERO, ZERO, SIX.

TO CANCEL, PLEASE CLICK THE ESCAPE KEY.

*~*~*~*

“Alright.” You answer after a while. He still keeps your blade above his head to prevent you from doing anything brash. “I’ll cancel it.”

The light in your eyes starts to fade back into normalcy. The moon rises above the tower – a merciful gift to reward your teammate for putting up with your uncontrollable behavior. Blade makes a note to bring multiple blindfolds next time for when you two are in similarly sunny worlds.

“Can we go get dessert though?”

For once, Blade chuckles at the awkward timing. You always have a way to cheer him up somehow, not that you ever notice it.

“Sure,” He answers. “On me this time?”

“No… I’ll pay.”

“As you wish.”

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sanjisleggy · 22 days ago

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the siren and the sun (portgas d. ace x reader) [pt3]

a/n: part 3 yippee!! i actually planned out the idea like a week ago but haven’t had the time to write it properly until now ;;0;; btw if anyone has any ideas/themes they might wanna see explored in the series, feel free to comment! also bruh i realise i’ve never writing mutual pining before so i hope this works :D ajsdjahdihdiuwdh

contents: silly children antics, mutual pining, jealous!Ace and jealous!reader, angst :��

wc. 2.6k

wanna be on my taglist?

part 2 || part 4

“hey, (Y/N),” Luffy asked through a mouthful of roasted boar.

“don’t talk with your mouth full, Luffy,” Makino reminded him from across the mat laid across the grass. It was her day off and the weather was perfect so she decided to treat you and the brothers to a picnic by a lake near Dadan’s cabin.

“okay, sorry,” the young boy replied, once again through a mouthful of roasted boar. completely forgetting what she’d just said, he turned back to you and continued his initial train of thought. “hey, (Y/N), when we grow up, i wanna marry you!”

it takes another week–and nearly a hundred more failed assassination attempts–for Ace to realise he wants to join the crew.

“hey, i think he’s gonna talk to Pops about joining us now,” you whisper under your breath, just loud enough for Marco to hear as he stands perched on your shoulders in his half-Zoan form. he’d just returned from checking in on a nearby village and decided you were his perfect landing spot.

“you sure he’s not just going in to try to kill him again?” the older man replies in an equally hushed manner as he shoots a glance over his shoulder just in time to see Ace enter Whitebeard’s room.

“he looks nervous,” you point out, “all the other times he just looked angry or something.”

Marco hums in what you assume to be agreement, still not showing any signs of getting off your shoulders. the first time he pulled something like this it spooked the hell out of you but now it’s a regular occurance. he’s surprisingly light and you enjoy the warmth that emanates from his phoenix wings.

sure enough, the door doesn’t go flying off into the ocean like it’s done the last two hundred times. instead, it swings open quietly before Ace walks back out with his hat tilted far down enough to cover most of his face. you manage to catch a glimpse of his lips when he turns to walk over, and you see a hint of a smile.

“you dumbass! do you even know what that means?!” Ace yelled after recovering from choking on his food. he laid a swift chop to Luffy’s head, his frown only deepening when his brother tried to gum-gum pistol him and missed.

“Magra told me it’s what you do when you’re a grown-up and you really love someone who’s not part of your family! and then after that they become part of your family!” the younger boy whined, rubbing at his sore head. “i want (Y/N) to be part of my family once i become the Pirate King!” beside you, Makino laughed into her palm while you kinda just sat there gobsmacked.

speechless, Ace let out a stubborn huff before bonking Luffy’s head once again. he takes a huge bite out of his share of meat whilst the younger boy grumbled in displeasure.

“you’re just mad (Y/N) wants to marry me instead of you, stinky!” Luffy yells before sticking out his tongue at his older brother.

“shut up, you idiot!” Ace barked, a hint of red flushing his freckled cheeks. “how do you know who (Y/N) wants to marry anyway!” he then turned to look at you almost expectedly, face growing redder by the second.

unsure of what he wanted you to say, you simply stared back at him blankly. after a couple of seconds, he huffed and grumbled something under his breath before taking off entirely, leaving the picnic behind.

ii.

the Moby Dick manages to dock at Cupid Island right before sunset. its citizens, already used to the presence of Whitebeard pirates due to being under their protection, barely bat an eye at the massive crowd making their way to the dockside bar. your crew had visited the island fairly recently but since Whitebeard announced Ace’s decision to join a couple of hours ago, it was unanimously decided that a special celebration was in order.

you enter the bar a little later than the others, with Ace trailing behind you. he’d fallen asleep after lunch and refused to get out of your bed even though the whole crew was waiting to celebrate with him. after a little bribery though (you told him he could sleep in your room tonight) he decided he suddenly really wanted to get a drink with you.

you spot Marco the quickest due to his distinct hair and the fact that he’s one of the few sitting directly at the bar. he waves the two of you over when your eyes meet.

“hey, (Y/N), Akira’s looking for you! don’t wanna keep your boyfriend waiting, do ya?” he teases, eliciting a chorus of ooooohs from your fellow crewmates. rolling your eyes, you run up to him to deliver a hard slap to his back, inadvertently leaving Ace behind in the process.

“how many times do i have to tell you, old man!” you hit his back one more time even though it’s clear from how he laughs that it doesn’t hurt at all. you continue to berate him, much to the amusement of the onlookers, but Ace finds it’s getting harder to pay attention to what you’re saying as he stands rooted to the spot where you left him.

he watches as you join in the festivities so seamlessly. he can’t help but feel a tinge of envy when Marco and the others tease you with inside jokes he doesn’t get… and what’s this about a boyfriend? you never told him you were dating someone!

eyes still glued to you standing just a few metres away, Ace feels his fingers begin to tingle with heat as his mind starts to race in a way it's never done before.

boyfriend.

your boyfriend?

what about me?

he’s taken aback by his own thoughts. what about him? it’s never occurred to Ace–until right now–that you’re not his. you’re his best friend, sure, but aside from that you don’t owe him any exclusivity, do you? he’s gotten so used to spending time alone with you and Luffy that he’s forgotten other people exist outside of the space the three of you carved in your hearts for each other–as well as the fact that you might have more space in your heart to carve out for other new people.

Ace has to remind himself that you’ve only been reunited pretty recently. weaving your lives back together was so seamless and effortless he’d nearly forgotten the fact that you’d spent two whole years away from him; and that he’d spent those two years thinking you were dead.

i mourned for you, didn’t i?

did you mourn for me, too?

“hey, get over here already!” you call out to him, breaking his train of thought. wordlessly, he listens and makes his way over to see you’ve kept a seat beside you just for him. “tonight’s all about you, y’know? have some fun!”

seeing you smile lifts a bit of the weight pressing down on his chest and he even gives you a small smile of his own. right as he takes a seat, the bartender returns and Ace catches the way the man’s eyes practically shine once they land on you. the heaviness in his heart returns tenfold as a bitter taste stains the back of his throat.

“fancy seeing you again so soon, (Y/N)!” the bartender greets with a smile that screams lovesick–to Ace, at least.

“hey Akira, yeah it’s a special day today,” you hum, shooting a quick glance at Ace. “give me two of my usuals, will you? one for me and one for Ace here.”

“ahh you must be the one Marco was telling me about!” Akira finally turns his attention away from you to look at Ace. “nice to meet you, i’m Akira and i’m the owner of the bar.” he offers his hand and Ace shakes it as amicably as he can–considering he wants nothing more than to set Akira on fire right now.

and also (Y/N)’s boyfriend, i presume?

he nearly says aloud but he bites his tongue and just smiles.

“Luffy ate all your food, y’know?” you said in a hushed tone, careful not to wake Dadan and the others.

“i don’t care.” Ace crossed his arms, frowning face illuminated by the single lit lamp sat in between the two of you. an arms length away, Luffy snored in his sleep.

“why were you so mad anyway?”

“... i wasn’t mad.”

“you sure looked mad.”

“i just thought Luffy was being stupid.”

“he’s always stupid.” Ace laughed at that one. you were right, his little brother was pretty dumb but his definition of marriage, though not totally accurate, wasn’t really wrong either. “you don’t want me to marry Luffy?” you teased.

“do you even wanna marry him?” he huffed as he flicked his finger at your forehead.

“no, not really,” you admitted. Luffy certainly wasn’t the worst person you could imagine yourself marrying but he felt too much like a baby brother to you. Ace averted his eyes away from yours as his face flushed a familiar red.

“you should marry me instead… when we’re all grown up, i mean.”

for a few seconds you were speechless and Ace nearly considered throwing himself off a mountain; but then you reached out to hold his hand, your fingers cold to the touch.

“shouldn’t we date first?” your eyes refused to meet his as well. “don’t adults date before they get married?”

“i don’t know.” he shrugged even though neither of you were even looking at the other.

“that’s what my parents did, i think.”

“well, your parents suck,” Ace declared, he hated your parents even though he never met them. you hummed in agreement. “but, if you want,” he continued as he adjusted his hand so that your fingers interlocked, his heart beating like crazy, “we can date first. then i’ll ask you to marry me. deal?”

“deal.”

iii.

“wait, you’re not dating?” Thatch gasps, face slightly reddened from the few drinks he’s already had. “we all thought he was your long lost boyfriend or something.” a few other crew members voice their agreement.

rubbing your face in your hands, you sigh. though, you can’t really blame them. to outsiders, the way you and Ace behave around each other doesn’t exactly scream platonic.

“no, we’re just childhood friends,” you say, taking a sip of your third drink of the night. you’d long since migrated from the bar to the table where Thatch and a few others are sitting. the topic of your relationship status was only brought up once the fourth division commander noticed a crowd of young women forming around Ace, who’d stayed by the bar with Marco.

“i was so ready to kick his ass,” Thatch says, “i legitimately thought he was your boyfriend! he acts like a lovesick puppy and follows you around all the time.” he takes another swig of beer before shooting another glance at the group of women fawning over Ace.

“maybe he was just out of options,” a random crewmate you’re not very familiar with chimes in. as rude as it sounds, you can tell from his tone he hadn’t meant it in a mean way but he still apologises when Thatch and the others call him out.

“i mean, you might be right,” you admit, unable to keep your eyes away from the activity going on by the bar counter. Ace’s freckled face is tinted red even though he’s barely halfway through his first and only drink as the handful of local women fawn and flirt with him in a manner that’s only normal on Cupid Island–a place renown for its openness to romantic love.

although, even if you weren’t on Cupid Island, you still wouldn’t be surprised if women flocked to Ace on the daily. with his cute face, attractive physique and friendly demeanour, you can’t exactly blame them.

is this what your life was like when we were apart for two years?

did you fall in love with anyone? are you in love with anyone?

you raise your glass to your lips but find it difficult to even take a sip. there’s a bitter taste lingering in the back of your throat that you know for sure didn’t come from any of your drinks. one of the ladies flirting with Ace laughs particularly loudly and you realise you can’t stay here anymore.

your chest hurts too much in a way it's never done before. you’re old enough to know why you’re feeling this way but you avoid thinking about it as much as you can, worried that if you face the truth head-on, you might end up feeling worse.

you stand up abruptly, the scrapping of your chair against the worn wooden floor inadvertently attracting the attention of everyone in the bar. most lost interest right away but some curious stares linger. you feel a hint of embarrassment at being caught but your slight intoxication and frazzled mind makes it hard for you to care about shame right now.

without saying anything to anyone, you make your way to the exit.

you reentered my life so abruptly and we fell back into place like puzzle pieces so seamlessly. i can’t remember my life before you came into it.

as you walk past the bar, you fail to notice Ace calling out your name.

i’ve taken for granted how happily you accept me back in your arms, just like when we were kids. how will i cope once you leave me for something better?

tears sting your eyes as the cold night air whips at your face. as quickly as you can, you walk back to the Moby Dick.

“(Y/N)! where’re you going?” Ace shouts as he catches up after ditching the group of women at the bar without a second thought. the moment he sensed you were upset, all his mind could focus on was making you feel better somehow. “are you okay?” he reaches out to grab your arm the moment you’re within range. although you don’t outright shake off his hand, you don’t stop walking either.

“go back to the celebration, Ace,” you say without even looking at him, “it’s for you. you should have as much fun as you can.” you know you’re being unfair to him but the sudden revelation you’ve had to deal with tonight is taking its toll on you mentally and emotionally.

“it won’t be fun without you,” he whines, tightening his grip on your elbow. why’re you so cold all of a sudden? “come back in with me. we can hang out, just the two of us.”

you want to so badly but you’re not sure if you’ll be able to handle seeing the same group of ladies waiting for Ace when you return. the aching in your chest grows tenfold and before you realise, you’re no longer able to avoid thinking about why you feel this way.

i’m so jealous.

i’m so selfish.

“no,” you finally stop walking and turn around to look up at Ace. he furrows his eyebrows when he notices the tears pooling in your eyes. “i can’t– i mean i’m not feeling well. i just wanna rest. you should go back,” you say as you force a smile that fails to fool him, “you looked like you were having fun… with all the girls, i mean. don’t stop because of me.”

for a moment Ace doesn’t know what to say and you take full advantage of it, tearing your arm out of his grip before continuing your walk back to the ship. he watches for a while as you leave, a million thoughts running through his mind as the pounding of his heart grows stronger by the second.

don’t leave me. i just want to be with you.

he decides to run after you.

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss (my bad bruh i added the extra s by accident ;;0;;) @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27

series taglist: @captainportgasdace @mitskisaveme @graveyardsweethearts @vaniiiavengeance @stuckinmymind22

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x yn #one piece x you #op #op x reader #portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace #portgas d ace x reader #angst #fluff #imagine #fanfic

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the-great-empress · 8 months ago

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Better with them than with you (partII)

Replaced au about obey me x what the "hell" is bad?

Here Mc is woman

warning: grammatical errors, English is not my native language

Tags: @huuvu

Part I | Part II | Part III

A long time ago Mc left with the “other” Satan, or as the six lords nicknamed him “Doppelgänger Satan”, the physiques and personalities of both Satans were opposite, however, their aromas and auras were identical like two drops of water, that “red thing” came from time to time to look for something that only Solomon, Simeon and Satan could give to Mc so that he can stay in the other hell

It's been a while since Michael and Raphael went to the house of lamentations to help Mc leave with the other Satan and to scold the brothers, except for the "real Satan", for abandoning Mc and the avatar of wrath when They needed them... when they almost died...

Michael in front of Mc seemed serene, although his eyes reflected sadness as he said goodbye to her, when Mc left... he was the one who was most upset, without warning the high-ranking angel slapped Lucifer with such force that it embedded him in the wall, Michael's face was of anger, pain and sadness, as if he had said goodbye to a great secret love, Raphael could swear that Michael would slap the rest of the brothers, Diavolo and the rest arrived in time before Michael "reconditioned" to his former companions, but only Luke was able to reason with Michael.

Even so, Michael points out Diavolo's negligence for letting Lilith's actions slide and allowing the other lords to behave that way towards Satan and Mc.

—If you really care about your plan to unite the three kingdoms, you better put on that crown that you use for your whims and not be soft on Lilith and the six Lords because BECAUSE OF THEIR FAULTS, the person who helped you the most in uniting left. to the three kingdoms and probably won't come back again

Diavolo did not punish them... or at least he did not give an exemplary punishment, he simply put them under house arrest, except for Satan, once again Diavolo was soft because of his affection for Lucifer. Michael and even Raphael and Solomon preferred that there be physical punishment, because the person who managed to connect the three kingdoms left due to the prince's negligence and favoritism, but again Luke defused the situation...

—Lord Satan~!! Ayeeee!

An adorable red mass appeared in front of the Lord of Wrath, the mass in question had a set of horns, bat wings and a tail, it was the adorable little demon that responded to the name of Ppyong, the little demon smiled radiantly at The demon held three black bags, one of them made a sound similar to full glass bottles hitting each other lightly, in fact, it had the silhouette of two bottles.

—Oh! Ppyong! I was wondering when you were coming. Are you coming for "that"?

—Yes, aye! Simeon and Solomon already contributed their parts, only Lord is missing, aye!

The smiling little demon handed him two of the bags, keeping only the one that had two bottles. The fourth brother gladly and smiling accepted them. As soon as he perceived the aroma of Mc coming from one of them, his face turned bright red and he ran to your room where you could have privacy

—Ppyong! How are you?! How is Mc?!

Another voice was present, it was Prince Diavolo accompanied by his loyal butler, both gave the image that "everything is fine" but not only were they there, there were also the rest of the lords, after all they were in the house of the laments, they had a haggard and neglected appearance, they even had circles under their eyes... they were... depressed and resentful as they stared at where Satan went...

What was “that” that only the former angel, magician and demon had to help Mc?

Why not them?

Will Mc be okay?

Why haven't you invoked them?

I miss you Mc…

Those were the thoughts of the six brothers

As for the cheerful Ppyong, he politely greeted the prince, butler and lords, the little demon was extremely oblivious to the thoughts and true situation of the brothers, he was only aware of the few things that Mc told him, positive things that were true later. After all, Ppyong earned a space in the heart of the human who did not have the courage to break the illusion that the demons of his reality were different from hers...

—I'm fine, aye! Mc… —his face expressed concern although he was also moved so much that he shed tears when he named her—, she continues to worry a lot about everyone, aye! Heals the wounded, she rebuilds destroyed houses and fights angels with her rare, out-of-this-world magic, Aye! She is a great demon, aye! Not to mention that she has the support and help of her ancestor Solomon, Miss Mc likes to talk and hear from him, aye~! —Ppyong exclaimed happily

Every time Mc heard about Lilith she seemed oblivious to the conversation.

She has never spoken about Lilith... the onlys exceptions was... before it was revealed that Lilith was her ancestor and... when Belphegor was going to kill her again

The demons of the Devildom were more than aware that the “others” of that “Hell” would not tell lies because of what said truth.

—Who would say that because our Solomon's descendants escape this reality centuries ago, we have been given the pleasure of knowing her, aye? She made some of Archangel Gabriel's feathers come off and she gave them to me. Do you want to see them, aye?

—A-ha... no thanks, I still haven't gotten used to the fact that in the other reality the angels are cruel —Diavolo spoke with his head down because the other reality was at war.

—Oh! I think we both have the same feeling Prince Diavolo, my body still doesn't get used to the little angel around even though he has proven to be a good demon and Miss Mc claims that he is good, Aye! …

—Sit with us Ppyong while you wait... whatever Satan is doing —Asmodeus spoke sweetly while making sure the little demon saw his eyes so that his charm could take effect— Come on~ sit next to me~ that bag looks heavy~ let me hold it for you while you get settled~

Since he first saw Ppyong, Asmodeus always used his charm on the little demon, at first the naive Ppyong obeyed Asmodeus, approaching him like moths to the light, however, shortly after placing his beautiful hands in those bags to know what “it” was once and for all, the stubborn Ppyong grabbed the bag and prevented him from doing so. “No, thank you, aye.” Ppyong rejected his proposals. “It must be something vital. Solomon gave the hint that it was “milky.” Could it be a potion?” Those present in the room thought, even Diavolo and Barbatos wanted to know, but Ppyong only limited himself to telling them that he promised Mc not to tell them, not even bribing him with all the things Ferrere could offer him would say that it was “that.”

—Mc is currently in Lost Paradise due to a sexual injury, aye! Although the same can be said for His Majesty Satan and His Majesty Mammon, aye —Ppyong reported smiling.

—I hope they get better —Diavolo said until his brain clicked like the rest— Wait... What?

The six brothers stood with stunned eyes and open mouths, they felt a horrible sensation in their stomachs, perhaps among the six the worst who felt at that moment was Mammon for listening to his counterpart, Mc and the word with “s” in the same sentence

Did she replace them?...

They had to go, she wouldn't replace them. Right?

Mc managed to have a threesome with whb Mammon and whb Satan

When they find out what "that" is and how she has a connection with the three kingdoms, she take from each one 🤣

Even though Simeon is still a ex angel here, he was the candidate that Ppyong wouldn't try to kill him on first sight.

#obey me #om #whb #what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#om x whb #om mc #whb mc #om satan #om solomon #om simeon #whb satan #whb ppyong #whb lucifer #om brothers #whb kings #whb mammon #obey me replaced au

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wing-ed-thing · 9 months ago

Text

... And the Beast (Yonji Vinsmoke x Reader) Part I

Synopsis: You thought your little crush on Prince Yonji was a well-kept secret. Yonji is mean enough to exploit your eagerness to please in the face of his unrelenting cruelty; the thought of actually developing a soft spot for you never even crossed his mind.

Word Count: 6.1k

Tags/Warnings: Naive!Servant!Reader, No Reader Pronouns, Canonically Mean Vinsmokes, But Reader is Kinda Into It, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Name-Calling, Hitting, Reader Fell First, Yonji Falls Harder

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Notes: Welcome to my current hyperfixation. I guarantee you one hell of a roller coaster. Brace yourselves.

Ichiji had never seen anything like it.

He had gone into Yonji’s room to talk about something, and from the sight of his brother’s moving lips, it was evident that his question was definitely being answered— by a long monologue, no less. But Ichiji couldn’t hear a word, not when you were zipping around the room, thoughtfully, pathetically doting on his brother as if he were a god.

None of this would have been out of the ordinary for Ichiji if your position had been that of royal attendant. A butler, a valet, or even one of the maids would have been more appropriate when it came to fussing over his brother so early in the morning, and even if it had been an entire swarm of regular servants, Ichiji wouldn’t have batted an eye. But now that he considered it, Ichiji hadn’t seen a single valet in Yonji’s entire wing.

In fact, it appeared as though Yonji dismissed all his personal aids in exchange for the company of the royal library attendant.

The library attendant.

Despite being so far from your typical work environment, you seemed less than bothered by the fact that you had assumed an entirely different job than what you were originally hired for. Rather, Ichiji thought you appeared fairly eager to place yourself at Yonji’s disposal. He could practically see glitter in your eyes, and while he wasn’t exactly surprised— in fact, he was a bit disgusted by the fact that a lowly book roach had the nerve to even think about looking at a member of the royal family in such a way— Ichiji couldn’t help but feel that he’d missed something.

The library had to have been halfway across the castle, not to mention that Ichiji wasn’t even sure if the library snail was currently docked to either Yonji’s or his own fleet in the first place.

Yonji’s curly eyebrows creased as he gestured toward himself, continuing to talk— Ichiji still didn’t know what about. Yonji flexed the bare muscles on his bulky arms proudly.

You held up two nearly identical shirts on two hangers to Yonji’s left, one a bit higher than the other.

The only real difference between the two was the buttons. The one in your right hand sported large, clear buttons, while the one you held slightly higher had smaller, opaque buttons. Yonji barely spared you a moment of his attention, his eyes flickering to the white shirt with the opaque buttons. His glance communicated enough, and you swiftly placed the rejected shirt back into his ornate, hand-carved wardrobe.

The two of you had done this routine before.

Yonji made the shallowest efforts as you swooped in behind him, carefully pulling the fabric over his arms until it draped lightly over his shoulders and chest. He placed his hands in the pockets of his slacks, completely ignoring you as you maneuvered in front of him to begin buttoning his shirt. Yonji spoke over your head as you tucked it into his waistband.

“Hey!” Yonji’s aggravated growl snapped Ichiji from his trance. Yonji had you by the sleeve, just about tearing your uniform off your shoulder as his nose contorted in a deep snarl. “Where the hell did you put my raid suit?”

“It’s right here, Prince Yonji!” You held up the canister like a precious treasure, eyes glinting at the number marked prominently on the side. Ichiji couldn’t recall ever seeing someone so enthralled by servants' work.

Yonji scoffed, heaving you forward by the corner of your uniform before pushing you back with double the force. He roughly snatched the canister from your hands before he turned to make his way toward the doors.

“C’mon,” Yonji knocked a hand against Ichiji’s shoulder. “Let’s take a look at that new tech you were tellin’ me about.”

“Right.” Ichiji nodded, the slightest bit heated that he had been made to forget why he’d visited his brother in the first place. He stood from the plush couch in the middle of the room to follow Yonji.

“Goodbye, Your Majesties! It has been an honor to serve you today.” Neither brother turned back as you bowed at the waist. The heavy doors closed behind the two, leaving you alone to tend to your chores.

Ichiji considered the closed entrance for a beat before joining Yonji, who strutted down the plush carpet of the hall with an elevated cockiness. Ichiji gave him a once over, studying him with acute curiosity before averting his attention to the view of the sea outside the passing windows.

“Does the library attendant dress you every morning?” he asked. Yonji let out an obnoxious, bellowing laugh.

“Yeah! And the best part is I didn’t even have to ask!” Yonji cackled in his usual boyish rasp. He shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning forward slightly to narrow his eyes mischievously at Ichiji. “What? You like my new personal attendant?”

Yonji laughed again as the two stepped into a winding stairwell. The sound resounded upward, bouncing off the stone walls. He squared his shoulders back, a wide, self-satisfied smirk plastered to his lips. Ichiji hummed, trying to decide how invested he was.

“Retaining a valet or two like Niji and me would be more logical. Perhaps a few chambermaids instead of some creepy roach,” Ichiji frowned. “Your taste in toys has always been… unique.”

“What can I say? I can never get sick of that stupid, wide-eyed face!” Yonji snickered behind closed teeth, tugging absentmindedly on the loose collar of his shirt. Neither he nor Ichiji spared a second glance at the soldiers who greeted them as they made their way across the courtyard. “I could kick it and still get an offer to shine my boots. A proper servant should consider it a privilege to serve.”

Yonji continued to hiss, and Ichiji hummed again. He had grown tired of the subject, but Ichiji couldn’t help but consider that there was something about your dynamic that he couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

“All this excitement over a little attention from a servant,” Ichiji muttered.

Yonji’s self-assured smirk wavered as his pace slowed. He fell just short of Ichiji, who continued ahead. Yonji’s brows wrinkled in disgust, and his lips quickly contorted into a disdainful scowl. He huffed, turning his nose to the side, before widening his strikes to catch up with his older brother.

“I’m being treated the way royalty outta,” Yonji spat. He hardly noticed how the doors to their destination opened in their presence. “What does it matter if I get a laugh out of breaking this one, too?”

Ichiji didn’t humor him with a response. The two brothers disappeared into the building, both finally tired from talking about you.

***

“Oh my god!” a cleaning woman gasped, quickly slapping a hand over her mouth as she gaped in horror at the sight just outside the window. A crowd of other house servants gathered around her, all careening to look down at the training grounds below. They muttered to themselves in panicked horror, causing more staff to drift from the hall and into the storage room to catch a glimpse of what was happening on the ground below.

On one side of the yard stood all three Vinsmoke brothers, each donning their respective raid suits as they talked amongst each other. However, the Vinsmoke princes were the last thing the hoard of staff pressed up against the four medium-sized windows appeared concerned with.

You stood directly in the middle of the opposite end of the training ground. Three large books were stacked on top of your head, and a basket of crisp, green apples was in your hands. You wabbled, teetering slightly as you tried to balance the books. Perhaps you could have if there were fewer of them or maybe if the princes hadn’t chosen an encyclopedia each.

All the upstairs staff could do was watch as Yonji sauntered over to you and plucked an apple from your basket. He placed it on top of the stack of books, tongue poking out from his lips as he rotated the fruit on top of the book cover until the orientation was to his liking.

“Don’t you dare move a muscle,” Yonji sniggered. As if he were studying a piece of art, he peered at you tauntingly with one eye closed through a box shape he made with his fingers. He chuckled again, pivoting to retreat to the other side of the training ground. Ichiji and Niji were already waiting for him, sinister smirks contorting their faces to reveal sharp incisors.

“Oh my god, I can’t look! I can’t watch someone’s head get blown off!” one of the upstairs maids turned from the window to push through the hoard of gathered servants. Her spot was quickly filled in.

“I wonder what brought on such a brutal punishment,” a laundryman remarked to a pantrygirl. The gathering of servants shifted around to accommodate the new bodies that gathered. “Does anyone know what happened?”

Cosette had just appeared at the end of the hall as the group's muttering grew louder. Unlike many other servants who gathered around the windows, Cosette had actual work to do in the kitchen storage closet. Still, it hardly took a moment of her standing in the doorway to realize something was terribly wrong.

“What’s going on?” she asked a scullion, a wave of dread washing over her like a bucket of cold water.

“The princes have someone down there that they’re using for target practice,” he answered, gesturing to the top of his head. The scullion ushered her forward, allowing Cosette to slide in at the edge of the very last window. She squinted at the sight below before gasping in horror at the sight of it all.

The books, the apple on top, and the giant basket of more shiny green apples that you gripped in your hands.

And on the other side of the yard, Yonji was winding up.

“Who is that?” Cosette gasped in mortification. Your form looked more than familiar, but Cosette couldn't see your face from the angle she was looking. In a moment of realization, her eyes widened. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Someone said it was the library attendant,” another servant answered, and Cosette ran into the same question that every other servant in the room considered upon hearing that information.

What business did the princes have with the library attendant?

Tormenting the staff, especially over the slightest perceived infractions, wasn’t out of the realm of possibility when it came to the Vinsmokes. However, given that your post was strictly the library, and nowhere else, none of the gathered staff could fathom a scenario in which the custodian of the library would even have to make contact with any of the princes—let alone all three. None of them ever held any interest in books, after all.

Other than Judge, the other Vinsmokes assumed interests that they deemed more valuable than Germa’s extensive archive. Not to mention that all scientific notes and heavily referenced texts on technical information were kept in their own room near the central laboratory. On rare occasions when a member of the royal family wanted to seek knowledge that would enhance their combat abilities, they would have a servant deliver a text, no matter where it was stored.

The books you maintained comprised a vast collection of lesser-used texts. From general encyclopedias to old records and files to more niche topics, most of your domain was compiled during the days that Judge was strictly a man of science and included the extensive accumulation of the late queen. It was primarily due to record-keeping reasons— and perhaps sentimentality— that the Germa Kingdom kept a library attendant at all.

If your head were about to roll with those chances, the rest of the staff would have no hope.

“You better hold still!” Yonji warned. The motor in his gauntlet whirred to life.

You stared straight ahead with your back erect and your muscles as halted as your untrained body could muster. Your teetering from before had subsided, and while you continued to shake slightly from effort, Yonji couldn’t help but consider that you didn’t look nearly terrified enough. And as you stared directly into his dark irises with your stupidly eager gaze, Yonji decided that he’d give you something to be afraid of for once.

His winch whipped out of his forearm, the metal wire extending many times the length of his own body as he swung his weapon clockwise in a swiping motion. It barreled towards your head at lightning speed. The horrified screams from the gathered servants above were drowned out by the thundering boom that exploded as Yonji’s winch crashed into the castle wall to your far left.

And for just a moment, before the windows in front of the servants broke and the castle violently trembled, Yonji's winch swiped away the second book on your head. The green apple and the book it sat on fell neatly onto the text directly on your hair before you were blasted into the dirt.

You tumbled across the training ground as the castle wall dented, the accouterments on your head leaving a trail to mark where you stood. The basket of apples had tumbled to the ground, causing the fruits to roll across the field. The three princes bellowed with laughter as Yonji recalled his weapon.

“I told ya that you better hold still!” he sneered.

The dust cleared, revealing your overpowered body in the dirt. You lay motionless.

“I think your new toy’s broken!” Niji howled.

Yonji’s brow creased in disapproval, taking in the sight of pages and apples strewn across the yard. He glanced around wildly, an undetectable hesitancy stalling him where he stood.

“Hey!” He stormed forward, jaw clenched as he kicked a few fruits across the lawn. “Hey! What the hell did I tell you? You better get your ass up!”

You propped yourself up weakly, barely mustering the strength. Yonji’s eyes bored into the back of your head as you tried to pick yourself up. His impatience trumped your efforts as he wasted no time in grabbing you and hauling you to your feet roughly. He shook you with barely restrained rage.

“You got the nerve to disobey me, huh?” Yonji jerked you violently, his grip around your bicep punishing.

Your head snapped back, and only then did Yonji notice the water pooling in your eyes. The glossiness clouding your pretty irises was enough to redirect his rage into a wide, toothy grin. Self-satisfied, he let you drop to your knees.

“Prince Yonji!—” you cried out just as he turned to walk away.

His earlier annoyance had just about melted instantly, and in its place came a righteous sense of power and control. Yonji had allowed you to fawn all over him for long enough now, and now that he had broken you, your novelty had worn off. He sighed to himself, letting his eyes close as you slowly stood somewhere behind him. It was time to find something new to play with.

—“That was awesome!”

Yonji’s eyes snapped open, and without thinking, he pivoted on his heel to face you. The tears that he saw in your eyes were present, but the look on your face was nowhere near the expression of terror that he anticipated. Instead, you looked up at him with pure admiration and a dumb smile on your lips. The complete subversion of his expectations left him at nothing less than a loss as he couldn’t help but stare while you blabbered on about how amazing you thought he was.

—“considering the width of the cable, the damage amounted to a force of equal magnitude to your highness’s strike—!”

Yonji shook his head as if the physical motion would reset his thoughts. His hand came up to his forehead as he cringed into his glove. And with a motion of dismissal, Yonji turned away from you once again.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever! Just pick all this stuff up…” You didn’t need to be told twice. You grabbed your basket, ready to chase all the apples around the training ground.

Just as you were about to reach for your first one, Niji kicked it into a nearby shrub.

“On your hands and knees. You can collect these with your mouth,” Niji taunted. He toyed with another one under his shoe, and lining it up with the side of his boot, he kicked it up into the air and right into the side of your head. “Fetch, doggie.”

“You better pick ‘em up quickly and get those books back on your head, library roach,” Ichiji gruffed. His red light energy glinted, sparking threateningly around his form. “We’re not done with you yet.”

***

Yonji eventually sent you to the medical ward. Although he immensely enjoyed looking at the nasty scapes and bruises that marred your skin, he considered the dirt and blood unsightly. So, when the Vinsmoke family was to be having dinner, you were given strict instructions to make yourself presentable and bring an extra helping of dessert back to Yonji’s quarters.

By the time you arrived, the kitchen was just beginning to wind down, having already presented the royal family with their courses. Cosette nearly jumped when she spotted you just inside the kitchen’s entrance, sputtering out a few more directions to her staff before making a beeline to you. Despite your refreshed uniform, Cosette’s eyes were immediately drawn to the tech bandages that littered your body.

“Oh my god, you’re alive! Are you okay?” She ran up to you, placing her hands on your cheeks to inspect your head. (Your face was miraculously devoid of damage.) Having seen most of what you had gone through today, her question was clearly rhetorical: “Are you hurt? What are you doing here?”

You took Cosette’s hands in your own. With the library always being so far away from the main parts of the castle and Cosette’s promotion to head chef, the two of you hardly saw each other anymore. And after what she had witnessed just a few hours prior, she worried about what had happened during the time and distance you had been apart.

“Prince Yonji sent me to bring back dessert,” you answered, returning your attention to Cosette’s widened eyes. “Do you happen to have any cake?”

Cosette couldn’t help but recoil, hands hovering hesitantly between you. A cleaning boy passed through the tight space where you and Cosette stood. She pulled you out of the way as dirty water from a dish splashed the floor.

She opened her mouth to address the servant, but your question blocked out any focus she had on kitchen affairs. Cosette blinked a few times as if your words would make sense. Your name crawled from her lips in confusion and concern.

“What happened to the library?” she opted to ask. The crease in her forehead deepened with distress. She ran a hand down her face to center herself, but a bulky chef carrying the compost bag began to shimmy past the two of you. You pulled her out of the way, and both of you pressed yourselves flat against the wall as the chef passed. Cosette grumbled to herself, rolling her eyes. “Save that thought!”

She determinedly nodded, pulling you through the kitchen and into the pantry. Cosette tugged the light on before closing the door behind the two of you. Your name left her mouth again in a frantic hiss.

“What is going on? Everyone was saying you were being punished for something. Everyone was watching because Madame Thénardier spied you from the third-story storage closet, and everyone thought you were about to die—!” She waved her hands frantically, pacing herself in a circle. —“And I told everyone to leave once I learned it was you—” Cosette curtly gestured in the air. —“But then Master Yonji hit the castle, and the glass was everywhere—!” You moved in front of her before she could hit her head on a bundle of carrots.

“Cosette,” you stressed, and she stopped for a moment. But only for a moment. You grasped her gently by the shoulders. “I am more than alright. I still work at the library.” You offered her a single, soft nod, but her shoulders remained tense under your grasp. “But Prince Yonji needs me sometimes, that’s all.”

You glanced off sheepishly at a bag of potatoes.

“He needs you…” Cosette glanced you up and down. You nodded adamantly.

Cosette heaved a heavy sigh, drifting away from what you intended as a reassuring touch. She sat herself on a barrel of flour, both arms wrapped around the knees she pulled up to her chest. She puffed out her cheeks, not entirely eager to listen as her back slouched.

“I don’t doubt that, but…” She nodded a few times in punctuation.

The door to the pantry opened. A cook with a pile of boxes quickly turned back around at the frantic wave of Cosette’s hand, letting the door shut again. She met your gaze, tilting her head to the side.

“I don’t doubt that, but you almost got your head blown off today… I worry about you… I don’t know if you realize how scary today was.” Cosette trailed off, letting her feet fall back to the floor. She thought, zoning out on a random tile past your knees. “Getting so close to a person who doesn’t have a heart… it’s dangerous.”

The pantry went quiet.

Noise continued outside. Pots clanged together. Water ran from faucets. The kitchen staff called out to each other; their voices muffled through the door.

You took a deep breath before you spoke.

“Thank you,” you started. “For being so concerned about me. You’ve always been a great friend.”

Cosette didn’t answer you, and silence overtook the pantry once again, and the kitchen noise continued.

She wasn’t convinced about your safety in the slightest.

And with this talk about the Vinsmoke prince needing you, Cosette wasn’t even convinced that your own words convinced you.

She remained quiet, at a loss for what to say or even think about the whole bizarre situation.

“I think he really likes me.” You smiled at your shoes.

Cosette most definitely didn’t know what to say to that.

Her shoulders deflated. She toyed with the end of her apron as she quietly considered you. You leaned against one of the shelves, admiring a basket of green peas with a quiet giddiness.

“I think…” she pursed her lips, following your line of sight to the basket. “I think that perhaps his Highness likes the idea of you liking the idea of him liking you.” Cosette squinted her eyes, facing a random direction, as she lowered her hand in a slicing motion on her opposite palm.

“You think he knows?” Your eyes widened at the prospect. You bolted up from where you were leaning, slamming the top of your head against the shelf above. “Ow!” You covered the sore spot with your hand. And as you were rubbing away the acute pain, you missed the softness that spread over Cosette’s gentle features.

She quietly rose from her barrel and took your arm in hers.

“Come now,” she sighed, opening the pantry door. “Let’s get that cake the prince was asking for. I wouldn’t want to make you late.”

***

You beat Yonji to his quarters, although it was probably for the best that you didn’t arrive after him.

You shut the doors quietly behind you with your shoe, taking in the eerie stillness of his room. It always felt odd being there without Yonji, and anticipating his presence left you with a nervous, looming feeling—like you weren’t supposed to be there. And, at least according to your job description, you weren’t.

Most of the room was just how you left it. Yonji’s king bed sat opposite the door, with the headboard positioned in the middle of the wall. The microfiber sheets were neatly made just as you left them, and the pillows remained perfectly fluffed.

All surfaces were clear and freshly dusted except for the circular table in the corner of the room near the door. Two large sake cups sat empty; condensation from earlier had already stained the wooden finish. You spotted the sake bottle on the floor.

You stepped down into the lowered lounge area to collect it and the cups. The two curved, leather couches were usually riddled with personal items, tools, and technical parts—which you were never to touch—but a space next to the table had been conveniently cleared off.

You could only assume that the princes had been in Yonji’s room while you were in the medical ward. You wondered if you would be punished for your absence later.

The holo-screen glowed in the corner, and a large, detailed map of Germa’s next assignment was displayed and annotated with green and blue markers.

You stared at the depiction of the sparsely populated city, placing the bottle with the cups on the table. In your other hand, you held the covered plate with Yonji’s cake. The green marker, a more neon color than the matte blue marker, depicted a series of vectors of the same size in various sections of the city, each ending with an “X” symbol. Meanwhile, the blue markings were dotted lines and small, boxed-in buildings. The trail ended at the coast.

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?”

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest, and with it, the cake almost toppled over as you turned to face Yonji. You had expected him to tease you, but he stood silently with his hands in his pockets. His expression was not one you usually saw. Yonji gazed at the holo-map, face grave.

“I can’t say I’m a fan,” Yonji grumbled. His eyes flickered to yours, locking you into an intense stare with a frown. “But you know, now that you’ve seen this—” He pointed a finger at the map, tilting his head to the side. —“I’m gonna have to kill you.” His face contorted into a wolfish grin.

“Oh, I see.” You glanced back at the annotations, unfazed by how Yonji’s nose scrunched up in amusement. He prowled around the upper level, approaching the two steps down into the lowered corner lounge.

“Mission information is confidential.” Yonji placed his hands in his pockets. He stood directly behind you, the minor elevation allowing him to more than dwarf your form as he quietly blocked your only exit. “For the eyes of Germa 66 only.”

“The arrows,” the words slipped out of your mouth. “They’re the radius of your winch.” You had most definitely meant it as a question, but the observation came out with more certainly than you anticipated.

You turned your head for confirmation. Yonji’s chin jutted slightly back in acute surprise, his curly brows knitting together as he sneered. You stared at him silently, waiting for an answer, but Yonji only continued to look at you disapprovingly.

“The arrows are the radius of Your Highness’s weapon,” you corrected (as if that was the issue).

Yonji’s scowl deepened as he snatched the bottle of sake from the wooden table. Unexpectedly, there was still some left. He flicked off the cap, shook his head a few times, and took a swig.

“Yeah? So?” Yonji circled the upper level, eyeing you closely as you stepped closer to the map.

There were several levels to the city upon closer inspection. The entire diagram rotated upon your approach, revealing a multi-layered, three-dimensional diagram. The markings followed, remaining proportional despite the new angles.

“Is this Speleothem?” you wondered aloud. Yonji took another swig of his bottle somewhere behind you.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding distant. You hadn’t noticed. “You been?”

“I’ve only read about it in books.” You reached out to touch the hologram.

The motion sent it into a tizzy, the diagram spinning erratically, causing you to step back. But once the image settled, it revealed an entire blueprint of the island with the green and blue markings still trapped inside.

Speleothem was a nation comprised of a single, large mountain. Uninhabitable on the outside, the people who lived on the island dedicated generations to carving out the dense rock, leaving a vast network of tunnels on the inside and an extremely rocky coast in the surrounding waters. But most critically, at least to Germa, were its five small entrances.

Two canals passed through the island's base, intercrossing in the middle to split the system into quarters. Just above the water’s intersection, a vertical tunnel had been dug straight through the peak of the mountain to let in natural sunlight.

You could see the problem. None accommodated the circumference of Yonji’s winch, and the tunnel system was far too narrow to support his typical brute-force attacks without collapsing a massive sector of the island. You wondered why he was concerned with being careful in the first place, too lost in your thoughts to remember where you were.

Yonji swiped the cake platter from your hands. You stiffened as you were rudely snapped from your daze. Yonji laughed at you that time. He turned on his heel, flicking the top off of the container. It clattered to the floor where the sake bottle— now empty— sat once again.

“The hell are you still doing here?” he chewed. Yonji pushed past you, shoulder-checking you on his way back up the two stairs into the center of the bedroom. The fork that Cosette included already had a second bite of cake on it.

“I thought you needed to kill me.”

“Not worth my effort,” he announced, mouth still full as he waved a now clean fork behind his head at you. “And I don’t want your corpse making a mess of my room when I have shit to do in the morning.”

Yonji plopped down on a different pair of couches in the middle of the room. The two ornate fixtures boasted intricate designs and velvet seating, both flanking an equally intricate coffee table in the middle, on which Yonji kicked his feet up. The set appeared to be a part of the same collection as his wardrobe, and the craftsmanship was a stark difference from the technologically sleek appearance of the furniture in the lower corner lounge.

The back of his head faced you as he took an oversized bite of his extra dessert.

You were sure his ignorance of you was your cue to leave.

You picked the serving lid up off the floor and held it upside down. As quietly as possible, you placed the empty sake bottle and the two cups into it. Yonji didn’t spare you even a glance as you quietly made for the door, unamused by you at the current moment.

With the apparent raid on Speleothem the next day, he was either very tired or in an extremely good mood. Whatever the case, you knew better than to mess with it. You pressed down the push button at the top of the knob, holding it there as you hesitated.

You should really leave.

You should really leave and take the dishes straight to the kitchen before turning in for the night.

Ruining Yonji’s fortunate mood and continuing to talk out of term? What a surefire way to get yourself—

“Speleothem uses a water system. That’s how they’re able to keep the tunnels together and carve out more.” Your voice cut through the air. The scraping of Yonji’s fork against his plate died in an instant. You cringed, letting your eyes squeeze closed as you braced yourself. No strike ever came.

You slowly turned around, hugging your makeshift basket close to your chest. Yonji had an elbow over the back of the couch. His face was nothing less than unreadable as he studied you.

“They have ventilation tunnels that the water gets pumped through, and if those were to be disrupted, I’m sure you—someone—could cause massive structural damage without collapsing the system on something important below.” The words tumbled out of your lips faster than you could stop them, if not for the sheer purpose of filling the uncomfortable silence in the room.

You could feel his stare boring into you, but you didn’t dare meet his gaze. Out of all the Vinsmoke princes, Yonji wasn’t the strictest when it came to meeting his eye, but it didn’t feel like the appropriate moment to test his generosity.

He spoke your name, and it sent a shiver through your core. All your better instincts were as on edge as the hairs on your arms, afraid of the powerful man sitting before you. But in a match-up of pure will and power, the fluttering in your chest swiftly outweighed your senses.

“Yes, Prince Yonji?” You bowed your head. He liked being reminded of his royal status.

There was another beat of silence.

“Get out.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

***

Speleothem was an eyesore. Just a large rock in the ocean surrounded by smaller rocks, Yonji couldn’t say he was particularly pleased about his assignment on an island so dull and fragile. Reiju had, after all, been the one initially assigned to the assassination, but since she had been called for another assignment, Yonji was the one to take her place.

The entire mission had been too covert for his liking. Unlike his sister, Yonji didn’t have much in his arsenal to cover a large area without compromising the structural integrity of the entire Goddam island. Unfortunately for him, Speleothem needed to be (mostly) intact.

Yonji couldn’t help but grumble to himself as he fought off another security grunt with a strong uppercut. The sturdy exoskeleton clattered to the side, his compilation of fallen enemies beginning to make a pile around him. A series of high-pitched scraping noises and clicking sounded from just down the tunnel. Yonji ran the back of his gloved hand over his forehead. He despised that he was already working up a sweat, but they just kept coming.

He ventured down into the main sector to meet the battalion coming his way. Due to the narrow passageways, the footsoldiers practically charged at him in a single file line. Yonji made short work of each one, critically denting their outer armor with each swing of his enhanced fists, but no matter how many times he swung or how many guards fell, more seemed to replace their fallen comrades at a rapid pace.

The number of troops in front of him didn’t appear to dwindle. By the third round of reinforcements, the dark smirk Yonji typically had during battle had disappeared. He huffed to himself quietly, occasional grunts of effort being the only noise to break the steady rhythm of communication clicks and insect-like scraping.

When another battalion of guards began to make their way down the tunnel from the opposite end, Yonji was officially annoyed. Even using a fraction of his skills, Yonji could have made short work of the entire section of the island, and he knew it. And if the mission took place at any other location, he could have. Instead, he’d have to play glorified punching bag until Niji gave the signal.

In the midst of the chaos, Yonji’s eyes flickered up to the tunnel’s ceiling. He had been able to hear the sound of rushing water since the moment he entered.

One of the footsoldiers tackled Yonji from behind, digging his sharp mandibles into Yonji’s shoulder. Yonji moved on instinct, punching up into the ceiling and letting the flood of water wash out the tunnel.

But despite a real lack of excitement, the assignment went off without a hitch. By the end of the morning, Niji and Yonji had safely retreated and were ready to report back to Germa’s central sector, leaving Speleothem flooded and leaderless.

“Smart thinking with the ventilation system! I couldn’t’ve strategized a better distraction!” Niji let out a deep chuckle and smacked Yonji hard in the center of his back. “How the hell did you think that one up?”

Yonji trudged forward, ringing some water out of his orange scarf. While he could fly over the flooding in every other tunnel, Yonji’s raid suit was still wet from the first ventilation duct he broke.

“Read about it in a book,” Yonji grumbled as he trudged forward. The bite he endured earlier had caused minor damage, breaking the skin just enough for the wound to be irritated by his damp clothes.

Niji stood behind him, fists on his hips as he let out another hearty laugh.

“You know how to read?”

Yonji hardly heard him, trudging in the direction of his quarters to change into more comfortable clothes.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: He will get better. The soft spot I have for the Germa 66 boys has been absolutely crippling. Alternate names for this fic included "Easy," "Glutton for Punishment," and, of course, "Beauty and the Beast."

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

#yonji vinsmoke x reader #yonji x reader #germa 66 x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #yonji vinsmoke #reader insert #x reader #one piece reader insert #x you #winch green #winch green x reader #yonji #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #op fanfic #op fanfiction

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mypearlsareclutched · 5 months ago

Text

We're Sinking Into The Sand

High By The Beach | Chapter Eleven

Modern!Aegon II x Original Female Character, Modern!Aemond x Original Female Character

After the chaos that was Viserys' funeral, Mila heads back to Old Town to help the Targaryen she loves. But it was Aemond who brought her and Aegon together, will it be him who tears them apart?

BTDubs this was where I was originally planning on ending the series but I had SO MUCH MORE TO SAY about Mila and the Targs and ole Creggie and the homies. So (as you can tell from the masterlist) there are a further six chapter coming after this mwah. Also I updated hella quick, huh? Who's proud of me <3

Song inspiration | High By The Beach, Lana Del Rey

CW//TW: Sexual Content (MDNI, 18+), smut, angst, joking at an inappropriate time Aegon style, Old Town and the beach house, drugs, mentions of addictions, HELLA angst at the end, British lingo, morning sex, passionate missionary yuh, consent is sexy, Aegon is OOC in that respect, enjoy the good vibes while they last because I'm here to hurt your feelings <\3

Word count | 5.2k

previous chapter // next chapter

It took almost a whole day to drive back to Old Town. Which was good time. She drove like a bat out of hell, never stopping. Except for traffic lights, because having the police on her ass was not in the cards. By the time she arrived to her destination, the sun was falling down in the sky once again.

Parking Laena's car in the driveway of the Old Town beach house, Mila breathes out a sigh she didn't realize she had been holding in her lungs since leaving the Targaryen home.

Just the sight of the house relieved tension inside her very bones, the smell of the sea air drifting through the open windows and the sound of seagulls flying high above all made her feel like a weight was lifted off of her shoulders.

Another car was parked beside the house, expensive looking and clearly the car Aegon had stolen from Viserys' garage. Mila walked past it to the house, holding the front door's handle with shaky hands.

The house is unlocked, the keys discarded on the table near the door, next to Aegon's alien sunglasses. He must be here.

"Aegon?" Mila calls out, stepping into the entryway.

The house is silent, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock against the far wall. No lights have been turned on, the room is shadowy and painted with strips of sunlight from the surrounding windows. A small sliver of darkness catches Mila's eye, and she crouches down to pick up a black tie.

A pair of sandy, black dress shoes lie a few feet away, the discarded garments leading a bread crumb trail right to the bedroom. Mila stands, walking to the door in search of the MIA Targaryen. A relieved sigh leaves her when she sees him.

He's lying on the bed, legs splayed out over the edge and eyes closed. His black suit from the funeral is still in tact, save for the tie and his shoes.

"Hey-"

"Seven hells!" Aegon exclaims, sitting up. His wide eyes blink at her, before he exhales out a laugh, "Jesus, Em, you scared the shit out of me."

Mila laughs as she shakes her head, her own spirits lifting as she looks at his smiling face, a much prefered alternative to the grimace he wore during his father's funeral.

"So, you took a page out of my book and fled the Targaryen prison?" He asks, standing up.

"Yeah, and Otto is going to drag you by your short and curlies right back there." Mila shakes her head, smoothing her hands over the crinkled black dress she still wore.

"Let him try." Aegon chuckles, "I can disappear if I want to."

He wraps his arm around her waist, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate yet gentle kiss. Mila sinks into it, letting out a please hum as he licks along her lower lip.

The kiss grows heated, and Aegon's hands are quick to wrap around her and pick her up, spinning her around to deposit her on the bed. Mila's legs open automatically to welcome him in, his weight a comforting presence against her sore body. Soft hands run through her hair, over her thighs. Chapped lips run along her neck.

Aemond's hands... Aemond's mouth...

"Baby, stop." Mila says softly, guilt wracking her body as she pushes him away gently. Aegon's face falls, but not from disappointment. Concern is evident on his cherubic features, his hands leaving her as he sits up and looks at her worriedly.

"What's wrong? We don't have to if you don't want to-"

"I fucked Aemond." Mila bites out, closing her eyes.

Aegon is silent, and her stomach drops. He blinks at her, and she can see his mind processing what she just said.

"Oh." He says, voice soft and robotic.

"Aegon-"

"Okay."

"What?"

"I said okay." He shrugs, lying back down on the bed, "That's fine, it's your body, babe."

"Aeg-"

"I don't want to talk about it." Aegon sighs, one hand coming to cover his eyes, as his other hand takes hers. Mila looks down at their clasped fingers, squeezing his hand.

"I'm so sorry."

"Hey, shh." He sits up, eyes once again soft and face warm again, taking her hands in his, "I'm not mad at you, baby. I would never be. This shit is complicated. I just... don't want to hear the details. It'll make me want to cut open my stomach and pull out all my internal organs.

"I wouldn't tell you." She smiles weakly, reaching a hand up to move a stray strand of his hair out of his eyes, "It meant nothing, really. It was just... a moment of weakness. I got too caught up in who I wanted him to be, instead of who he really is. I want you, for who you really are."

Aegon smiles sadly, "If you saw me for who I really am, you would run for the hills."

"Maybe I'll surprise you."

"All you do is surprise me." Aegon laughs, nosing at her hand as it fiddles with his shoulder-length hair, "Wherever you were yesterday doesn't matter to me. I'm just glad you're here now, with me. I really do love you, Em. So much."

"I love you, too." Mila reaches a hand up and cups his cheek, his face leaning in to hers, "Otto is still going to come for you."

Aegon is silent, his head lifting so he can look over at the ocean through the window panes. The sun has begun to set, casting the bedroom in a hue of blush pink and burnt orange. A far away look forms in Aegon's blue eyes, a small crinkle appearing between his pale brows as he thinks.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Mila asks, prodding his temple playfully.

Aegon sighs, looking at her, "Suicide pact?"

"Aegon."

"So that's a firm 'no' on the suicide pact?"

"I need you to take this seriously." Mila says, taking his chin in between her thumb and forefinger.

"I am." Aegon says as smiles, taking her hands in his, "I'm taking this seriously."

"This?" Mila laughs, confused.

"This. You and me. This. Us." Aegon smiles, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.

"Us?"

"Us."

The next morning, as the sun rose over Old Town, Mila woke up encased in the warm arms of Aegon Targaryen.

She slept like the dead, immediately falling into the land of dreams after Aegon had helped her get out of her dress. He grimaced at it, throwing it in the bin, waving away Mila's complaints.

"You look better in the crappy clothes we got from big Tesco anyway." He grins, tossing her an oversized shirt with the words 'Straight Outta Old Town' written on the back. She rolled her eyes with a smile of her own as she put it on, laughing at Aegon's ogling as he removed his own clothes and threw on some joggers.

The second her head hit the pillow, and Aegon wrapped around her from behind, Mila was out like a light.

When the sun rose, she never wanted to leave this room again.

Aegon murmurs sleepily behind her, offering a quiet 'good morning' when he realises she is awake. Mila hums back, turning around in his arms. He gives her a dopey grin, eyes barely open. She returns his smile, reaching her hand up to trace along his face from his eyebrow, down his nose, and across his jaw. When Mila's fingers dance across the skin of his lips, Aegon purses his lips to kiss her finger tips.

She leans in for a kiss first, and he meets her halfway. Their lips meet in a loving dance, noses brushing and hands grasping onto whatever was in reach.

In an instant, Aegon rolls on top of her, kissing her feverishly as he covers Mila's body with his own. Her thighs open for him to lie in between them, flushes skin pressing against one another.

"Is this okay?" Aegon asks softly, desperate to feel more of her but unwilling to go beyond her boundaries.

"More than okay." Mila affirms, leaning up to kiss him again. He groans against her lips, his hands continuing their exploration as his hips buck against her one.

The hot tip of him presses against her wetness, and they gasp into each other's mouths. Aegon shifts forward, slowly fucking into her as she mewls against him, throwing her head back at his familiar, euphoric size.

"That's it, baby." Aegon murmurs, pressing his face into her neck as he begins thrusting into her sensually, dragging his hips back and forward in slow, loving strokes, "Fuck... feels so good."

"Aegon..." Mila moans out, running her hands over his hair and kissing his temple, "I love you."

"I love you too... so much..." His words trail off as his speed increases, fucking her in earnest. The sound of Mila's breathy whines and Aegon's grunts fill the room, mixed with the sounds of skin meeting skin.

Mila's orgasm creeps up on her, making her body jolt as a loud moan leaves her parted lips. Feeling her tighten around him, Aegon speeds up, breathing out curses and praises.

"You feel so good, baby, fuck!" He grits out around clenched teeth, grabbing the back of her knees to press her thighs to her chest, opening her wider. Mila gasps as he fucks her harder, hips pistoning into her with passion yet great care. Her peak subsides, and her body trembles with overstimulation.

"Aegon, fuck... 's too much..." Her eyes roll back, her hands weakly gripping onto the sheets below her and the pale, soft skin of Aegon's thigh.

"Doing so well for me, doll. Making me feel so fucking good. I can feel you getting tighter, wanna feel you cum again. You can give me another, right baby?"

"M-hm!" Mila bites her lip, words leaving her as Aegon angles his

"Right there? That feel good? Fuck, look at you." He praises, his eyes trained on her writhing body below him, "Come on, baby, need to feel you cum again. Please, baby."

"Aegon, fuck!" Mila shrieks, shaking uncontrollably as her legs tighten, her cunt gushing around him as he pushes her over the edge again.

The feeling sends Aegon over the edge, his pace faltering until he shudders and thrusts into her as far as he can go, painting her walls with his spend. Eyes rolled back, Aegon mumbles praises and promises and recites Mila's name like a prayer as his cock throbs, releasing all he has into her soft heat.

The Stark below him feels boneless and content, her knees still pressed to her chest and her cunt still full of Aegon's softening cock, her walls trying to push him out as she moans softly in overstimulation.

When he finally pulls out, both of their releases leak out of her, making Aegon groan at the sight, "Fucking beautiful."

Mila smiles sleepily, eyes blurry. She winces when she stretches her legs out, her hips and thighs burning.

"I'll be right back, Em." Aegon says softly, kissing her knee before rising off of the bed.

As hus weight disappears, Mila whines as she waves her hand to try to stop him. His tired chuckle makes her heart flutter, and after a minute he returns. A cold rag presses against her inner thighs, cleaning the mess they had made. Aegon's hands are gentle as he soothes her aching muscles, pressing kisses against her flushed skin.

"Sit up, baby." Aegon softly orders, and Mila rises slowly onto her elbows. The cold feeling glass presses against her lips, and she swallows down the offered water.

Satisfied that she's clean and hydrated, Aegon kisses her forehead before getting up again, putting the empty glass and soiled rag in the adjoining bathroom.

"I'm going to have one hell of a time trying to walk later." Mila smiles, dazed. Her eyes follow Aegon as he enters the room again.

"Oh, so you think you're leaving this room?" Aegon asks with a mischievous grin, diving back into the bed atop a laughing Mila.

The next day, Aegon drags her along an unfamiliar street. It's old, all ancient cobblestone walkways and winding alleys covered in ivy.

"Woah, Aeg, chill." Mila finds herself laughing, gripping onto Aegon's hand as he pulls her along like an overexcited puppy.

"Come on, we're almost there!" Aegon says, a beaming smile across his face.

Mila had never been to Honeyholt before. She had woken up this morning to Aegon laying on top of her, his chin against her sternum as he watched her sleep.

"Creep." Mila murmurs, a smile on her lips. Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes with his own cheeky grin as he presses a kiss to her collarbone and stands up.

"Come on, lazy, we've got things to do."

"Lazy? You're the one who twisted me up like a pretzel from dawn to dusk yesterday, no wonder I'm tired." Mila laughs, exasperated as she fluffs up her pillow and gets cozy again, "Also, what things? I don't know if I have the energy to do that last thing we did again."

"As much fun as that was, no. We have more fun things to do." He says as he pulls on his jeans, searching the room for a clean shirt.

"What's more fun than a sixty-nine bridge?"

"If you want the answer to that age old question, you should get your perky ass out of bed." Aegon wiggles his eyebrows as he tosses her a shirt.

Honeyholt was beautiful. Cultural, historic, full of tiny shops and homes. They pass smiling faces around every corner, including a flock of old ladies who chuckle as Aegon drags Mila down the street towards the unknown location.

Out of breath from running and laughing, Mila is grateful for when Aegon halts with an enthusiastic, 'Ah!'

She tosses her windswept curls over her shoulder as she watches Aegon walk into an old shop, dusty and seemingly disused. When he realises she is not following him, he pops his head out the doorway.

"Come on, then!" He calls, beckoning her forwards.

Mila laughs as she follows him in, her jaw dropping when she gets a good look at the place.

It had long been abandoned, cobwebs and dust covering most surfaces and furniture. But underneath the years of misuse, was a work of art. Antique chairs and tables dotted around, dark wooden floors covered in floral rugs. The wallpaper was peeling, and some mould had begun to grow, but the dark coloured spirals of the painted paper remained vivid. Along the back wall were ancient bookcases, and dirty chandeliers were hung from the ceiling.

Aegon bounces around the room, picking up fallen chairs in his wake before he leans against a fireplace across the room, looking at her for her reaction.

"What is this place?" Mila asks in awe, eyes wide with wonder as she walks around the small yet beautiful shop.

"It's just some old litt place. It was like a cafe or something until the lady who runs it, you know, bit the dust."

Mila rolls her eyes at his candidness, running her fingers along the dusty bookshelves that lined the far wall, "It's beautiful here."

"And cheap, too." Aegon comments, walking over to her to wrap his arms around her waist from behind, "The old owners son wants to get rid of it so the price is beyond reasonable."

"You're thinking of running a cafe? Aw, will you wear a frilly little apron while you're at it? You'll look so cute." Mila jokes, turning around in his embrace to kiss along his jaw.

Aegon rolls his eyes, but his smile never falters, "It doesn't have to be a cafe, dumbass. It could be anything we want once we buy it."

Mila stops, looking up at him with wide eyes, "Once we what?"

"Buy it." He says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm thinking bookshop in the front, tattoo parlour in the back. Our own little haven."

"That's absolutely crazy." Mila laughs, wrapping her arms around his neck, "You're crazy."

"You love it." Aegon smiles as he leans in to kiss her.

"I love you, you crazy Targaryen."

They stayed like that for a while, standing in the cramped and dirtied room of a shop that promised a future for them both.

They had stopped off to get petrol on the way back from Honeyholt, when Aegon's phone began to ring.

Mila was paying inside the station, chatting idly to the woman behind the counter. Leaning against the car, Aegon watches her with a small smile, studying the movement of her lips as she spoke, and they way her eyes lit up when she laughed.

His phone ringing caught him off guard. Looking around, he noticed it lying in the back seat where he had flung it over his shoulder on the way here the night of Viserys' funeral. Helaena had given it back to him, chastising him ever so gently for leaving Weirwood without any of his belongings.

Grabbing it, he looks down at the caller ID, a groan escaping him as he rolls his eyes at the name.

"Piss off." He sighs into the phone.

"Hello to you to." Aemond scoffs, voice already sounding annoyed, "Is she there?"

"Who?"

"Hilarious. My fucking girlfriend."

"Which girlfriend? The hot one, or the dinosaur? Oh, wait, the hot one abandoned you after pity fucking you and came back to me."

"...So she is there."

"...No."

"Aegon." Aemond sighs, his rings knocking together as he seemingly runs a hand over his face, "Stop being childish for five minutes, and listen to me."

The older brother laughs, "Listen to you? What could you possibly say to me right now that won't make me hurl this phone into the sea?"

"What did you buy?"

"Should have bought condoms the way this is going." Aegon chuckles, eyes flicking to Mila once again.

"No, Aegon." Aemond's voice takes a dangerous tone, "What did you buy? On your way back to Old Town."

Aegon's blood runs cold, ice water in his veins. He swallows, turning around, as if looking in Mila's direction suddenly hurt to do, "How the fuck did you know?"

"You forget that I've known you all my life, and how you operate as a scumbag junkie for almost two decades." Aemond laughs cruelly, the sound prickling Aegon's eardrums like needles.

"I haven't done anything." He emphasises, "I wasn't going to-"

"Yes you were. If Mila hadn't turned up when she did you would already be stoned beyond human capabilities, possibly even dead. Now, wouldn't that be a shame."

"What the fuck do you want, Aemond?!"

"For you to end things with her."

"Then you are out of your goddamn mind." Aegon bites, knuckles going white around the phone as he grips onto it, "I won't. You can't make me."

"I'm not going to make you, Aegon." His brother chuckles humorlessly, "You've proved time and time again that you won't listen to a single thing we ask of you, even when we try to help you. But it's not you I want to help, not now."

"What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"I mean, Mila should not be around a bad influence like you, Aegon. She's a recovering addict. She's unstable, and delicate right now. And she's going to relapse if she's around you."

"She won't-"

"But she will. Because you will." Aemond explains, simply as if he were educating a child, "You've been down this road far too many times, brother. You will go back to your vices the second things get too hard. Mila stopped you from getting high this time, but at some point, the thrill of being with her will wear off for you. As it always does."

"She's different."

"Oh they were all different to you!" Yells Aemond, startling Aegon into docile silence, "It's all different until it's mundane. Until you get used to those feelings she inspires within you. Then you'll go back to drinking, or to snorting, or injecting, until it's fucking. It'll be all of those and she won't be able to handle it, Aegon. She will relapse."

Aegon flinches, his hands twitching as he takes a shuddered breath, feeling his heart crack at the thought, "I wouldn't do that to her."

"You wouldn't try to, Aegon." Aemond says, his voice softer now, "But you can't protect her from yourself."

It's silent. Aegon swallows this information like a bitter pill. It leaves an aftertaste like bile in his dry mouth, his heart beating like the hooves of a racehorse and his stomach twisting into knots.

Because he's right, a voice whispers inside his head. You are beyond saving. No matter how many times you try, you always go back to your wicked ways. Can you live with yourself? When you poison her, like a spec of black dye in a basin full of crystal clear water? You will ruin her, because that is what you always do.

It is almost like Aegon can hear Aemond reeling back for the final punch, his brother's voice like a siren's when he states...

"Mila deserves better than you."

A blow to the gut, because it is true. Aegon knew it from the second he met her, from the second he saw her smile and heard her laugh. She was good and she was kind and Aegon will kill her.

"Rot in all of the seven hells, brother." Aegon bites out, ending the call. He takes a shaky breath, blinking away tears he hadn't realised had formed. He throws his phone as far as he can, watching it flicker with light reflected by the sun before it disappears into the long grass.

Turning in place, he watches as Mila waves goodbye to the shop clerk, smiling to herself as she walks out the station and heads his way.

If only he felt the contentment she feels. But all he feels is sick.

Mila knew something was wrong the second they got in the car. Aegon wouldn't respond to anything she said, except a few hums and one-worded answers. His smile had vanished, the light in his eyes dimmed.

It broke her heart, because she had no idea what could have caused it.

When they finally got to the beach house, Aegon disappeared inside, walking on autopilot like a ghost. Mila watched him with wary eyes, biting the skin around her gnarled thumb nail.

Inside, he was nowhere to be seen. The taunting ticking of the grandfather clock was the only noise that greeted her, and she glared at it as she walked past, heading towards the bedroom.

Aegon was standing beside the bed, looking down at the rumpled sheets with a frown.

"Aeg?" Mila says softly, standing in the doorway. The room felt cold, the beginnings of winter making the overall temperature drop, but an icy chill surrounded Aegon.

"You need to go." He says, voice quiet.

Mila freezes, staring at him with furrowed brows, "Huh?"

He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face, groaning against his palms.

"I need you to go. You can't be here anymore." With a shrug, he finally looks at her, face emotionless and eyes stony.

Standing before her, was the Aegon she never met. Something in him had changed, switched gears inside his head. His entire aura became somber, uninspired... broken.

Looking into his dulled eyes, Mila took a step forwards. But he took a step back, working his jaw as he flexed and unflexed his hands beside him.

"Aegon... I don't understand what you're saying." Mila pleads, hoping to the old gods and the new that he's not saying what he .

"We can't be together." He shrugs, "Aemond was right. I'm going to fall back into old patterns, and when that happens, it's going to fuck you up. Worse than Aemond did. I'm not good for you."

"It was Aemond on the phone wasn't it?" Mila chokes on a bitter laugh, looking up to the ceiling as she runs her hands through her hair, "I saw you talking on the phone. Aegon, baby, please, let's just talk this through."

"You're wasted on me." He mutters to himself, "You should get out while you still can, before I make you worse."

"All you've done is make me better, Aeg." Mila insists as she takes another step closer to him.

Hearing her insistence, Aegon stares off into the distance, his face hardening while his eyes remain shining with unshed tears.

"Quick question." Aegon says, his voice turning cruelly playful, "Did Aemond tell you to come here when he was balls deep inside you or was it kind of like a pillow talk conversation afterwards?"

Shocked by his impersonal voice and crude statement, Mila is take aback, a shiver running down her spine, "Aegon-"

"No, no, don't answer that." Aegon waves his hands, "I'm sure it doesn't matter."

"It's different with you. All of it is different. What I have with you is so much realer than what I ever had with him."

Aegon scoffs.

"Aegon, I want this. I want us. We can do this."

"We can't." Aegon chuckles, "Because Aemond was right. At the end of the day, you're going to go back to him and I'm going to go back to all of the other shit."

"No, you're not, Aegon. You're not-"

"Will you stick by me?" Aegon asks, his voice taking a taunting tone, "When I come home drunk or high or smelling like some other pussy would you just sit back and forgive me?"

"You're not going to do that, you're doing so much better, you wouldn't-"

"No? I wouldn't? What's this then?" Aegon stomps over to the bedside table, opening the drawer hard enough to send it clattering to the floor. Various items scatter against the faded carpet, but one item in particular makes Mila's heart stop.

A ziplock bag full of various coloured pills and powder filled baggies, "You didn't...."

"Oh yes I did, baby. Stopped round an old buddies house the night after the funeral. Got all the best flavours here; LSD, ket, some molly too, I know you love that... ooh, and some crystal, didn't even realise that was in there-!"

"Stop it." Mila says, trying to keep her voice level though it shakes.

"Ah, come on, baby. Let's have a little fun, eh?" He taunts, shaking the bag in her face, "We both know I will, so are you just going to sit pretty and watch me?"

"Why are you being like this?" Mila yells, frustration building as she watches the man she's loved turn into the nightmarish, fictitious man Aemond warned her about.

"So boring." Aegon groans dramatically, flinging the bag away across the room, "I'll go back to one of my addictions, doll, so pick one. Maybe you would prefer it if I did what my brother did, hm? What if I found myself my own Alys Rivers? Some hot, older lady that I can stick my dick into every time I get sick of you. Maybe I was too quick to judge my dear brother. If I had you on my ass every second of every day I'm sure I would also be dying for some other cunt-"

Aegon is silenced as his head whips to the side, Mila's palm stings as it lingers in the air.

She slapped him. She can't believe it for a second, too shocked

Mila stumbles back, cradling her hand to her chest as sobs wrack her body.

He watches her, cheek slightly red from where her hand struck him, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"You're right, Aegon." Mila sobs, "We can't be together."

Though she fully intended to drive away, Mila sat in Laena's car, suddenly struck with an uncertainty of where she would go.

Her apartment in Kings Landing was stained with memories of Aemond, every item of furniture lines with scars where he once sat, stood, lay. Mila used to think fondly about how his cologne could be smelt in the air, on her blankets and on her couch cushions, but now the thought of smelling his scent turned her stomach.

It no longer felt like the comforting aroma of the man she loved, but the scent of a man who claimed her, used her, broke her.

She could go to Cregan's. Or Baela's, or back to Dragonstone where Rhaenyra would always wait with open arms.

But the beauty of Old Town boiled down to its distance. The distance from King's Landing and all the sordid experiences Mila had there that haunted her past. The parties, the clubs, the bars. The drinks, the drugs, the men, the women, the people whose genders mattered not to her in the moments where their lips touched. All the nights spent drifting from reality with magic in her veins, the mornings crashing back down to the real world in fits of sweating and throwing up the contents of her stomach.

The year where she made new memories no longer wrapped in a drunken haze, were ones she made by Aemond Targaryen's side.

Mila could not go back to King's Landing, because the ghosts will be waiting for her.

But she could go to another haunted place.

Pulling out the pay-as-you-go phone, she dialed Baela's number. The sound of her best friend's soft voice greeting her made her feverish skin cool a bit, "Hi, gorgeous. Are you okay? Mom told me you borrowed her car and left the city."

"Yeah, I needed to get away, needed to talk to Aegon." Mila says, her voice thick with her tears.

She can hear Baela sit up straight in her chair, her voice taking a concerned lilt, "Mila? What's wrong? Talk to me."

"It doesn't matter." Sighs the Stark girl, "I'm going home."

"Okay, babe. Do you want me to set up my sofa so you can sleep on it?"

"No, Bae. I'm going home."

It's silent on the other end for a moment, seagulls caw in the near distance, and another tea tracks a warm trail down Mila's face.

"Holy shit... really?" Baela asks in a soft voice.

"Yeah." Mila sniffs, wiping her nose on her sleeve. The sun looms behind the beach house, casting the patio and driveway in shadows. Within the darkened windows, the shadow of Aegon watches from behind the sheer curtains.

"I'm going back to Winterfell."

AN// nOW LISTEN PUT THE GUN DOWN I CAN EXPLAIN. Don't hurt me for making Emiliaegon fight :( we are all children of divorce. TRUST things will get better. The sadder the angst, the sweeter the subsequent fluff <3

Lula x

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giuseppe-yuki · 3 months ago

Text

👻 anais' halloween blurbos 👻

summary: it's well known that formula 1 is a cutthroat and and merciless sport. that's why, when murder and other shenanigans are legalized by the fia during race weekends to add a little drama in the paddock, all hell breaks loose. fans are going missing, reporters are being found dead, team employees start writhing in pain for no apparent reason. it seems like everyone would do most anything to win the sparkling championship trophy. luckily for a few select drivers, they have a little advantage with supernatural powers on their side.

or: supernatural!reader x driver mini oneshots (kind of purge!au (?))

warnings: mentions of death, gore, murder, hurting people, and curse words

total w.c.: 5k

picture credits from pinterest :)

I - fallen angel - yt22

II - vampire - op81

III - ghost - zg24

IV - bat!shapeshifter - pg10

V - witch - gr63

VI - hellhound!shapeshifter - cs55

a/n: a quick little project i meant to put out before halloween but i got a little sidetracked with my other fics... i'm going to pretend that it's still spooky season and totally NOT november :P

ALSO i feel obligated to say i don't condone doing anything in these blurbs irl- hurting people for any reason is NOT okay.

I - fallen angel - yt22

yuki always called you an angel. with your entrancing looks and ability to light up any room that you were in, it was hard not to compare you to an ethereal being. when you walk outside holding yuki's hand, you don't miss the stares of envious women and salicious men when the way the sun seemed to create a halo around your head, and air seemed to shimmer around you. little did he know, you were an angel. well, you used to be, until some petty arguments and pointed fingers resulted in you losing your wings and falling into the mortal world. now, you spent your life dedicated to tempt others to sin.

this worked perfectly, because while yuki focused on dominating on track and getting maximum points, you could use your full power and focus on other aspects- like making sure your boyfriend didn't get fucked over by unfair officials of the sport.

"do good out there, okay?" you say to your boyfriend, giving him a hug and a kiss on his recognizable japanese maple leaf helmet.

he smiles back at you, only visible through his flipped-up visor.

soon enough, it was lights out, and the drivers were sent on their way, throttling around the night track.

you settle in a padded chair that a starstruck engineer pulled up for you while monitoring the multiple tvs that lined the garage. most of them showed the live feeds of the drivers aggressively battling on track, using dirty racing to cut their way to the lead. you took pleasure in seeing yuki gain several positions as he overtook the battling fernando and liam. his engineers burst in rambunctious applause, but it quiets down rather quickly, notifying you that something was amiss.

you turn around to see the engineers crowded around a singular data computer. storming out of your chair, you snatch a nearby engineer's arm, roughly turning him around.

"can you tell me what just happened?" you ask with mock-sweetness, pointing your chin the whispering group of engineers that hid the computer screen from your eyes.

he gulps, knowing that you had the power to hurt him, especially with the fia's rules, and stammers out an answer, even if he knew you wouldn't like it.

"w-w-well," he stutters, "apparently, the stewards gave yuki a penalty for false start and forcing a driver off track. he'll have to- um- serve it when he comes in for a pitstop."

there's no way, you think, angrily. a false start and forcing a driver off track? what a load of bullshit. were they actually even watching the race? someone had to pay for this.

your heels clacked as you strutted through the linoleum floors of the fia building. the walls shook from the sheer forces of the cars on track barreling by, probably halfway through the race. stalking through the stale white hallways and up a flight of stairs, you finally find the room you were looking for- a dark wooden one that proudly held a silver sign that had the words 'stewards' carved into it neatly. you take a deep breath and turn on your full dazzling skills before knocking gently on the door.

an older gentleman, shirt marked with the telltale fia symbol and orange lanyard, opens the door. the perfect victim. he falters a bit when sees you, practically glowing, even in the hallway's dim lighting.

"c-c-can i help you miss?" he asks, face turning a bit red and hand instinctively reaching up to to loosen his collar. you tended to have that affect on people when you wanted to.

"yes," you drawl, purposely batting your long lashes at him. "i have a something to show you."

he shakes his head nervously, eyes glued to something that was definitely not your face. "no, no, no, i have a job to do-"

"oh, come on," you say, pouting, "it's just down the hall!"

you turn and strut down the hall, purposefully showing off your long legs, knowing that there was no doubt he would follow you out of the room. when you turn back around at the end of the hall, the steward, like you predicted, had naively followed you like a dog to a bone.

you don't even make sure that no one was close by before plunging a dagger straight into his heart. he slumps down on the ground, blood flowing out of the fatal wound. you blow him a kiss, before flouncing away back towards yuki's garage. that will teach the stewards a lesson before giving your boyfriend unfair penalties.

II - vampire - op81

when oscar met you, you seemed like a shy little thing with your timid personality and reserved smiles. he swore that you could do nothing wrong. i mean, how could you, when you were scared of such small things like sunburns or funnily enough, garlic bread? the first time he introduced you to the paddock as his girlfriend, he kept a good watch on you. if he didn't, he was so sure that they were going to eat you alive just to gain an advantage on him.

and that's also why, when he heard the news of yet another important paddock member going missing, he was so sure that it was you.

"fuck!" oscar shouts, raking a hand through his sweaty hair. "i leave to do one five minute interview and she disappears!"

ignoring the stares of the reporters and cameramen who turn in surprise to his outburst, he yanks the clip-on mic off of his fireproofs and chucks it at his interviewer's head. if he found his girlfriend dead on the floor, bleeding out, it would be this stupid interviewer's fault.

he stalks off without a word, listing potential places that his girlfriend could possibly be taken in his head.

behind him, lando skips in the shadow of oscar's steps, grinning around the rubber straw of his water bottle that was clenched between his teeth.

"you better hurry, osc!" he trills, "you know what happened to ocon's little girlfriend when she went missing- she was found-"

oscar snaps back, interrupting lando. "yes i know, she was found at the bottom of a goddamn dumpster. you don't have to remind me."

it was a fresh memory in his head. ever since the fia allowed murder, during race weekends, all hell had broke loose. vip guests dropping dead, officials found with broken necks. whoever had murdered poor ocon's girlfriend had did a great deal of damage mentally on esteban, resulting in multiple poor finishes for him during race weekends. oscar never thought it would happen to himself.

frustrated, he roughly shoves lando away from him, pointing in the direction of the red bull garage.

"why don't you go blow up max's tyre like you did in australia or something!" he shouts, clearly annoyed by lando's constant pestering.

oscar doesn't wait for a response from lando before sprinting down to the mclaren motorhome. he checks each individual door to the bathroom, kitchen, and computer rooms when he finally stumbles upon a door with a blood red liquid seeping out the bottom. a muffled thud sounds from within, and he winces automatically.

he closes his eyes, praying that you died a peaceful death, before slowly turning the silver knob of the storage closet.

to his surprise, the the grey, pale, body of otmar szafnauer thumps out into the hallway, head rolling. the side of his neck is a bloody mess, probably the source of the pool of blood now seeping into the carpet and staining the edge of his racing shoes. there, stood primly behind otmar's repulsive body, is you, without a drop of blood on your pretty pink dress. you send oscar a bashful smile, revealing your fangs covered in the cherry-red liquid.

picking up your skirts, you step over the ex-alpine team manager and carefully close the door to the rather stuffy closet you were just in. he'll probably be found by the janitor in the next 24 hours or so.

you peck a quick kiss on oscar's cheek, unknowingly getting a bit of blood on his skin.

"i got rid of otmar for you, baby," you say quietly, fiddling with your fingers. "i hope you don't mind- i heard he gave you a hard time last year."

III - ghost - zg24

you were dead. no, literally. you passed away 5 years ago- beheaded after you fell off of a high building you suppose, going off of how you could pull your head off your neck if you wanted to, and the fact that you always had phantom back pains. it worked out quite beautifully that you were dead already when the fia announced its new rule.

as opposed to the girlfriends of several other select drivers that tended to play a rather active part in gaining the best advantage for their boyfriends on track, you tended to be a little more laid back. however, one thing you could never excuse was when people talked shit about your boyfriend, zhou.

zhou grips your hand tightly in his as you both walked down through the paddock. you loved how his fashionable clothes glittered brightly under the lit lamp posts that lined the walkway. the sun had set, which meant the night race was starting soon. the crowds of fans in the paddock had somehow gotten thicker, and the hired security that zhou had gotten struggled just the tiniest bit holding the horde back.

like you always do when you get nervous, you flicker in-between your solid and ghost form. your boyfriend clocks this right away, especially since that this meant his hand, which was holding firmly holding yours, passed right through you. he stops, looking at you concerningly.

"hey, you alright?" he asks, brows furrowed. "i can-" before he can finish his sentence, an apple flies out of the crowd of fans and bounces off his shoulder, landing at the place where your translucent foot is supposed to be.

the fan that threw it begins to shout obscene remarks directed at both you and zhou, before being dragged away by security.

an anger flares through you. who did she think she was? throwing an apple at your boyfriend's head? that had to count as a murder attempt.

you flicker more rapidly between your states, to which zhou takes your hand.

"hey, it's fine," your boyfriend says, squeezing your hand comfortingly. "forget it- my security will deal with them. let's go to the garage, okay?"

you nod slowly, letting your boyfriend lead the way, but oh, you don't forget.

you wait, in your ghost form, in the metal supports of the grandstand. drifting aimlessly, you pop up here and there to scare the crap out of some random fan, when you finally spot your target. the fan from earlier tirelessly climbs the lengthy walk to the grandstands. she's decked out in alpine merch, which makes you scoff. why criticize zhou's team when the very team she was rooting for wasn't doing so well either?

you watch as she settles herself at the very top seat of the grandstand, waving her little alpine flag. what a pity. if only she wasn't so rude. when the cars roar around the corner and she stands up to cheer, it isn't hard for you to reach out your hands and push. a look of recognition registers in her face before she falls backwards off of the high-up stands. she screams, but who hears her over the loud engines as they make their way around the turn? except you, of course. she lands on the ground with a sick splat, likely breaking her back and neck the way you did when you died. you float for a moment over the carnage before floating away to your rightful spot in zhou's garage. serves her right, you suppose.

IV - bat!shapeshifter - pg10

the second pierre found out about your special "ability," he didn't hesitate to take advantage of it. sending you to spy on the other team's cars? check. going to pester the invasive reporters who only cared about spreading yet another rumor? check. monitoring around him to make sure there wasn't any people trying to attack him in the paddock? check.

you didn't mind of course- anything to help your boyfriend one step closer to his end goal. you hated seeing him coming home, again and again, dejected over the progress he's made, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he raced.

today, a night race, gave you an opportunity to give your boyfriend another chance at points. with the sky being pitch black, it made it easier to navigate around without being seen.

in the garage, under the harsh incandescent lights, engineers and alpine employees mill around, checking data and making any final adjustments to the car. before long, pierre gets the green lights to drive up to the starting spots on the track. just prior to pulling on his helmet and climbing into his shitbox of a car, he pulls you close.

"remember what we talked about, okay?" he whispers into your ear, playing it off as a tight hug.

you nod, pressing a kiss to his freshly-shaven jaw.

"of course, baby," you respond earnestly.

when the car rumbles awake and your boyfriend steers the car towards the starting grid postions, you take off running as well. taking a flying leap behind the car, you shift into your bat form and fly up, up, up, into the rapidly darkening sky.

you sit patiently on a tree branch near the track, watching carefully with your sensitive night vision. like you planned, when you spot the telltale black carbon-fiber and vibrant red bull car pull in towards the pitlanes, you dive bomb down back towards the garages. it takes a second, maybe even quicker, to find the engineers poised with the fresh tyres ready for max verstappen's pretty little rb20. you don't hesitate to sink your pointy teeth into their unprotected necks, one by one. the venom in your saliva works quick, and by the time max pulls into his pitstop spot, his pit crew all lay on the ground, incapacitated.

huh, that worked suprisingly well, you think, soaring away from the crime scene. maybe you should try that again in the next prix.

V - witch - gr63

with the fia implementing the barbarous rules at every prix at every calendar, you would think people would be more scared to come. however, it seemed like the audience doubled, if not tripled ever since the rule was announced. something about 'the thrill of it,' lewis had said when you asked him. so, like the crowds of fans lingering in the fanzones, the vips and sponsors visiting the paddock club increased significantly, eager to get a look at the track action and drama between drivers like it was some drama movie.

so, the only thing that made sense to do was to profit off of it, of course. with your magic and brewing pot at hand, you could do most anything to the pompous rich pricks who wanted nothing more than an in to the thrilling secrets of the bloodthirsty sport of formula 1.

"what are you wearing tonight, darling?" the vip asks, flaunting her massive diamond ring in your peripheral vision, obviously fishing for complements. it shined tauntingly in the colored overhead lights at the exclusive paddock club event. jazzy music and the clinking of glasses drown out the pretentious conversations of yet another pair of billionaires talking about their newest private jet acquisition or supercar purchase.

you fake a half-hearted smile at her, smoothing down your own outfit.

"i'm not really sure. i just pulled it out of my closet, i suppose."

failing to get a proper response from you, she smooths down her own glittering dress haughtily and brushes her carefully styled hair behind her ears.

"well, i'm wearing all ysl. the heels themselves cost at least 1.3k!" she exclaims, pointing to the rather painful-looking heels holding up her feet.

just then, your boyfriend appears next to you, lips wide in a smile.

"hello, darling," he says, handing you a drink from the bar. it's a small glass of margarita, coincidentally matching the one in the pompous vip's hand.

"it's not poisoned, i promise," he says to you, making you roll your eyes. the vip, hearing this, laughs.

"so exciting, isn't it? with all the fia's rules, i can't wait to finally see some more drama on track tomorrow," she says giddily, as if george wasn't in grave danger every day, on track and in the paddock because of people like her. dropping her voice down to a scandalous whisper, she continues, "i heard, some fan fell- or was pushed off the grandstands last night!" she giggles, waving her hand. "honestly though, i would probably jump too, if i had to sit in those grimy seats."

you and george both exchange looks of disgust, but she doesn't catch it as a well-dressed gentleman walks up with a grin, giving her a polite hug.

"ah! ricca, how nice to see you again! i haven't seen you since- what, our little outing to bali a month ago? wanted a little bit of racing action now huh?" he asks, swishing his whiskey on the rocks. he turns after finishing his sentence, as if just realizing you and your boyfriend's presence. his gives the both of you a demeaning look, as if you were the ones butting into the conversation instead of him. however, after a beat, his eyes grow wide, and it is obvious when it clicks in his brain where he has seen george.

"oh my!" he proclaims, clutching his chest. "you're that- that racing driver! what's your name again? lando norrin? ferdinand alonso?"

that really said a lot about the reason these socialites were here. who the fuck was ferdinand?

your boyfriend, like the kind-hearted person he was, pastes on a smile and gently corrects the man.

"er- no, sir. i'm george russell- driver for mercedes."

"as i thought," he states with no shame. he then loudly clinks his drink with the young lady, ricca's, glass, and they both down their respective liquids.

you literally could not take it anymore.

"let me take those onto the bar for you," you offer helpfully to the affluent pair. "another whiskey and margarita?"

they have the decency to thank you tipsily before shoving the empty glasses in your hand. you turn back to george, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"i'll be right back," you whisper.

squeezing through the crush of the crowd, you station yourself in an mostly empty table in the corner of the room placed next to a floor-to-ceiling window. the empty glasses in your hand clink when you set it on the table, the last dregs of the drinks swirling at the bottom of the glasses. a quick wave of your hand summons fresh ice cubes in each glass, and a practiced flick of your middle finger and thumb sends a stream of margarita and whiskey out of thin air into its respective glasses. from your pocket, you retrieve a vial of silver liquid that you brewed just about every grand prix. with a hint of nightshade, wings of a spanish fly, and ground up pearls, it made the drinker do whatever you wanted, really. after carefully pouring half into each drink, you throw the empty vial into the air, where it is promptly teleported to your vial cabinet back in george's driver room.

perfect.

before heading back, you take one last look through the glass that presented the night sky and darkened track below. the track still had streaks of black from the burnt rubber from the race only a few hours ago.

it was a wonderful sport really. it was a shame that implemented these barbaric rules that forced your hand. but if that's what you had to do for george, then you would do it.

it didn't take very long for the potion to take effect. you could tell from their slurred speech and slow movements that one could pass off as being drunk.

deciding to waste no time, you pull out your quill pen and paper out of a hidden pocket in your dress. it levitates in the air, visible to only you.

with a nod to george, you both go through the usual spiel- bank account numbers? passwords? credit card numbers?

the vips list off the information as if it is public knowledge, unknowingly allowing your quill to copy the numbers and sensitive information into your notebook.

when you are satisfied, you slip the notebook back into your pocket.

"alright, i think we're done here, georgie," you say to your boyfriend, ignoring the two figures that sway, silent, next to the two of you.

george pouts.

"aww, i was really having fun with that!" he whines.

"well," you shoot back, raising an eyebrow. "do you want to stay at this god-forsaken place where you might be stabbed by "ferdinand" alonso for no reason or do you want to go home to our comfy flat?"

he shrugs.

"i guess you have a point," he says unhappily.

taking his hand, you lead him out of the still-packed event, but not before slipping another vial of blood-red liquid into their drinks- mind-wiping serum that worked perfectly every single time, except the fact that it also had a tiny side effect of excruciating pain that lasted a few hours.

eh, they deserved it for not even knowing your boyfriend's name.

tomorrow- if they even survived- they would wake up to see their bank accounts drained. you suppose you should send them a thank-you letter next time for single-handedly sponsoring the next merc upgrades, even if they didn't know it.

VI - hellhound!shapeshifter - cs55

at this point in time, you didn't care anymore. you dared one person- a fan, an official, or opposing team member to try again to break into carlos' driver room. they never seemed to learn their lesson of how loyal and protective you were of your boyfriend. one bite with your teeth are sure to dismember an arm and one swipe of your paw could brake even the most sturdy tire drills, as demonstrated with the last haas mechanic that tried in vain to murder carlos.

it might not seem like it, the way you were curled in carlos' arms on his couch. you practically had your face buried in his red branded hoodie, half-asleep, while he scrolled mindlessly on his phone. it's so soft and comfy, you can't help let out a soft snore as you drift off.

carlos laughs, chest rumbling, patting your head with his free hand. "i thought you were supposed to be on guard, protecting me, mi amor!"

opening your eyes a tiny bit, you pull yourself even closer to carlos, reveling in the warmth of his body.

"i am on alert," you defend, but it doesn't help your case the way your voice comes out muffled from being pressed against his hoodie. "i am always list-"

footsteps.

you hear a pair of scuffled footsteps from the hallway outside of carlos' door, thanks to your exceptional hearing. it slowly drags closer and closer to the only door out of the room, a slow patter of sneaker on pavement that is only audible to you.

without wasting a second, you leap up off the couch and shift into your hellhound form, baring your sharp teeth towards the door, poised, ready to attack whatever poor soul that had decided had your boyfriend was an easy target.

behind you, carlos slides off the couch slowly, recognizing something was wrong.

a knock sounds on the door, making him flinch and eliciting a warning growl from you. however, when both you and carlos don't move an inch toward the entryway, the door slowly slides open.

you muster up all the power you have to leap straight at the attacker, making sure to aim for the neck. but before you can pounce and go for the kill, carlos roughly yanks you back by the scruff of your neck.

"woahwoahwoah," he says to you, pushing your foaming mouth away from the cowering man in the doorway. "it's fine- it's okay!"

you snap at the man once, making sure to purposely show off your canines, but back off a little into the room. if carlos said the man was safe, you wouldn't go against his words.

carlos scratches his head, briefly apologizing to what you realize was his head race engineer, riccardo adami, explaining the precautions he had to take in light of the fia's new rules.

riccardo laughs nervously, but proceeds to let carlos know that he is wanted in the media pen.

carlos holds your hand in his when you stroll down the lighted walkways of the paddock. you flounce your way past the plush couches next to the walkway and the little cafe/bar that served absolutely bomb coffee and cocktails. honestly, you missed the times before the fia's stupid fucking rule where you could drink cocktails with alex's girlfriend or gossip with yuki's girlfriend without fearing that they would poison your drinks or strangle you behind the mclaren hospitality just to help their boyfriends. you guess you still could if you really wanted to, though. maybe you'll do the poisoning and strangling if really needed.

lost in thought, you miss the fake smile the interviewer gives you before dragging your boyfriend off into the media pen.

throwing yourself onto the said couches from before, you convince yourself that he'd probably be fine, but you make sure to keep an eye out and train yourself to listen to any concerning sounds within all the chatter and crowds.

to your surprise, the interview ends quite early, and you have hardly taken a sip of your iced coffee (even though it was, like, 8pm a the track) before carlos storms out of the media pen.

"you okay?" you ask your boyfriend concerningly as you take another swig of the still-full iced coffee in your hand.

carlos huffs angrily, running a hand through his hair, before grasping your free hand to lead you back to his driver's room.

"it's fine, let's just go," he says dismissively, straight-up dragging you behind him.

you pull him to stop with your strength, and glare at him with your arms crossed.

"no! carlos sainz, you tell me what happened in there," you demand.

he rolls his eyes. "well, that stupid interviewer just kept on asking me questions about my thoughts on the missing otmar, dead steward, the fan "falling" from the stands, and all that bullshit that i said didn't want to talk about. i told her i wanted to talk about the race, but then she just responded with a question about my reaction to max's pit crew being injected with some type of venom. i was so done at that point, i just walked out."

you frown. that woman sure sounded like a bitch. honing in your hearing to find the woman through the noise in the media pen, you hear what you assume to be the interviewer mention carlos' name.

"...no, and like i felt like he was so hard to work with," she laughs.

perhaps she was talking to a friend in the media pen?

"...yeah, and he wouldn't answer any of my questions- like what am i going to put in my article? nothing?" she says incredulously. "honestly," she continues, "i hope he dies next on the grid, so it'll make it easier for the next poor reporter who has do an article on him, because then, she won't have to go through the misery of interviewing him!"

a symphony of giggles from a group follow her sentence, a few muttering their agreement.

you turn back to carlos, purposely blocking off the noise of the media pen in your ear, and give him a genuine smile. pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek, you comfort him, "i'm sorry that happened to you, baby. i'm sure it won't happen again- ever."

true to your word, you wait until carlos is proccupied with arguing with charles in the hospitality about one of the controversial on-track battles that took place earlier in the day when you make your move.

the sky is dark, throughly littered with sparkling diamonds, when you pad through the mostly-empty paddock towards the media pen. several fans and officials, seeing your demonic form, scamper out of the way in an effort to avoid your wrath.

you spot your target with your sharp eyesight immediately, walking wobbly in her high heels with a clipboard in one hand. several of her reporter friends huddle next to her, their laughs echoing through the darkened paddock.

time to enact your plan.

stopping a meter behind them, you use your sharp claws to draw a circle on the ground. with three taps of your paw and a breath of fire into the middle, the pavement slides away to reveal a portal into a fiery pit. you're not too sure where it leads, but you don't really plan on finding out either.

silently scampering over to the group, you clamp your jaws down the legs of one of the people that you heard agreeing with the interviewer. you ignore the group's screams before roughly dragging the woman towards the pit. she falls, and it's not long before her yells are covered up in the rumble of the flames.

even when the group scatters in different ways, it doesn't take long with your supernatural speed to catch up to them and drag each person into the pit. you purposely save the main interviewer for last.

when she lies at the edge of the pit, arm bleeding profusely from the wounds from your teeth, you shift back into your human form.

"don't fucking talk shit about my boyfriend ever again," you snarl.

with a shove from your arm, she falls backwards into the deep fire pit with the rest of her "friends."

if carlos was hard to work with, you bet whatever demons down there were so much more harder to work with. oh well, that was her problem.

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lululandd · 1 year ago

Text

antics;

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

wordcount: 1.4k+

warnings: fluff, reader owns a cat, the cat has a name

note: happy holidays :3 (also on AO3)

summary: reader unknowingly pranks simon.

part i. | part ii. | part iii.

Your pet cat had been restless the whole day; pacing around the front door with his tail swishing about, meowing your way and then stared at the door to let you know he wanted to go outside, batting things away from your hands, before camping in front of the door to nap in front of it.

He’s back.

And by ‘he’ you mean the really tall burly man that lives at the other end of the hall that your cat loves. He is an indoor cat that gets to sniff the hallway and the lift on extremely rare occasions, so how he figures out the man is back home when he’s inside your flat you will never know.

He met him one time. One time. If it wasn’t for his obsession with the man you’d have forgotten about the whole thing. Your naughty pet had escaped and ran towards the open lift that day, and unluckily the doors were open, but luckily there was a man with quick reflexes right by the door that caught him in between his legs. He pinched the little bastard by the neck with his ankles and just stood there while you two looked at each other in surprise.

He recovered far quicker than you did. “You gonna get ‘em or what?” His tone is clipped, hands holding onto the elevator door so it doesn’t close on him.

It snapped you out of your stupor. “Sorry!” You walked towards him and kneeled as you tried to grab your chubby pet.

This incident stayed on his little kitty brain over and over or something because he never got over the man til this day. There would be weeks, even months of ‘normal’ behaviour until he behaves, well… like this.

Only this time you decided to indulge him to see what he would do. You cautiously watched his excited little pitter patter and raised tail a couple of steps behind, ready to haul him back home if it gets too overwhelming or if the man reacts negatively. He stood up on both his hind legs at his door and started meowing, ears perked up intently towards it. His eyes practically shining black orbs when he turned his head to look at you. He puts his paws back down on the ground and meows one last time towards the oncoming footsteps from the other side of the door.

He bolted around the man’s legs as soon as it opened, running straight into his flat. He had learnt from his previous mistake of going in between them.

“What the fuck.” He muttered under his breath as he turned his head back inside, before closing the door. You had worried he would do something drastic but he came back out a few seconds later, with your cat held by the chest as the rest of his body sits on his forearm. He seems to be content being slung around by a stranger. “Li’l cheeky bastard tried to get my salmon.”

“Oh no…” You placed both hands on your mouth, “I hope he didn't get any?”

“He allergic?” He asks, eyebrows knitting close together in what you hope to be concern. It was a little hard to discern his expression when he had his lower half of his face covered with a mask.

You shook your head as you stepped forwards, offering to take your cat back. “No, he’s not. Just didn’t want him to ruin your meal, that’s all.”

“He didn’t get any.” He bounced your fat cat on his arm like he weighs nothing. “What’s his name?”

“Meese.” You answered as seriously as you could, “Like the plural form of moose.” adding the explanation when he looks confused.

He nodded solemnly before swishing the arm with your cat on it around, “So where does Meese live?”

It took all your will power and strength to not giggle at his question, trying your best to look neutral as you pointed at the other end of the hallway.

He raised his arm so he could stare into Meese’s face, “How in bloody hell didja smell my salmon from way over there, boy?”

“I’m so sorry for the trouble.”

“Not at all.” He waved it off as if nothing that just happened was out of the ordinary, like a stranger’s cat purring up a storm on his forearm is a common occurrence, and his Salmon dinner wasn’t almost ruined by said cat.

“I should probably get back.” You took another step forwards, again offering to take him off his hands. “I can come back later after you finish dinner if you want to play with him?”

—

Harsh winds whipped at his fur collar, making it flap annoyingly against his helmet as he kept his sights on the building through his binoculars. The mission brought him and Laswell to Norway, with him lying prone out here on the twenty centimeter snow while Laswell is sitting on a chair in a heated fucking tent, probably has hot chocolate with her. With marshmallows.

His radio garbled to life, the sound half drowned by the blizzard. “Sitrep, Brav—.”

He cuts her off immediately. “Nothin’ yet. Cold as fuck, over.”

“Snippy are we?” He can hear the smile and playfulness in her tone.“Are you out of heat packs, Ghost?”

“Savin’ a couple.” He regrets not creating a snow wall and now the weather’s getting to him. Soap would’ve laughed at his stupidity if he was here with them.

The thought punched him in the gut, a shiver washed over him as the thought of his best friend loomed heavy over his psyche.

“See anything interesting, Ghost?”

What the actual fuck is Laswell on about.

He’s never been close with Laswell, as she’s usually paired up with Price and Gaz. On the past few missions she’s in his ear, he’s never been on the direct receiving end of her casual jabber and Ghost felt a little awkward joking around with someone as high rank as Laswell. He wishes he has Gaz’s easy personality and openness right now, that man even cut through his defences like a lightsaber on butter.

He adjusted his binoculars and zoomed out a little bit to get a better look around the compound to find something to humour his superior. There’s a wooded area on the right, and a frozen over body of water on the left, a derelict civilian jeep sitting all by its lonesome in the middle of said lake. It made him smile the first time he saw it, because it’s the kind of thing he would’ve started or participated in if he worked in this god-forsaken place.

A harmless betting pool. Guess what date—and maybe time—would the jeep sink into the water, and win a couple rations, or chocolate bars maybe. Perhaps cash if they trust each other enough. Whatever prick tied up inside the jeep would just be an added bonus. The perfect pastime that could initiate an investigation.

Just as he thought about people he would love to stuff in a sinking car, a movement at the far edge of the clearing caught his eye. There were two of them, a slow-moving large animal with a smaller version of it by its side.

“Didn’t know meese exist out here.” He spoke up.

“Can you repeat that, bravo?”

“Meese. Thought they were native to Canada or North America.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

The cold plummeted his patience for Laswell. He’s trying his damnedest to sound neutral. “Moose, the animal. Like elks but ugly. Saw two of ‘em.”

Laswell had seemingly ignored his observation, the two animals he spotted had long walked away when Laswell’s voice came through his ear piece again, “Ghost?”

“Copy.”

“The plural of moose is still moose. It’s not like one goose and a couple of geese. For them it’s one moose and two or more of them would still be moose.”

“What?”

“Don’t know how else to tell you, Bravo.” He heard the start of a garbled laughter before Laswell cuts herself off out of respect. She started a moment later, “Who told you it was meese?”

The cat. The girl with the cat messed with him.

“Nobody. Thought they work the same way.”

This time Laswell laughed in his ear, purposefully turning on the radio so he could hear it.

Oh, you’re definitely getting pranked back for making him look stupid in front of his handler.

#call of duty #call of duty imagines #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #scuffed writing #when in christ fuck will ghost leave my mind so i can write about someone else #meese universe

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rollingsins · 2 years ago

Text

all hers, part xix

summary: Vindicated, Tara comes back home.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of murder. Smut: strap-sex, pussy-eating, light choking, possessiveness.

word count: 4.7k

a/n: i'm alive! and pookie is free! thanks for all the love and patience with this chapter, hope you all enjoy :))))

You ride with Sam to the police station.

What you thought would feel like a euphoric victory suddenly feels hollow.

There’s two.

Of course. Why wouldn’t there be? It was always two. And you’d just murdered someone’s partner in crime, no doubt there would be retribution.

It feels different this time.

Wes had sent you spiraling, but Richie’s death leaves you almost unperturbed.

He’d tried to kill Tara. Take her away from you.

And you’d given him exactly what he deserved. The justice he thought he was delivering to you.

It’d be scary, your nonchalance towards murder, if you didn’t have much more pressing matters. Namely, your girlfriend sitting in a five by seven jail cell.

She’s still in there when you arrive.

You can see her looking over at you through the bars.

She looks terrible. Dark circles under her eyes, messy, tufted hair. She’s very the same clothes as she’d been brought in with and she’s staring right back at you, something in her face akin to fury and relief all at once.

When they finally draw her through the doors she all but knocks you over in her flurry to get to you.

You gasp. She’s tiny, but she lifts you off the ground with no qaulms. Presses you down and kisses you, a little rough.

Then she drops you and rounds on Sam.

“What the hell were you thinking?” She snarls.

“I was thinking my baby sister is in jail and I needed to get her out.” Sam answers, smoothly. She presses a hand to Tara’s cheek, rubs at one of the circles under her eyes, “Are you okay?”

“No I’m not okay,” Tara snaps, batting her hand away, “I gave you one job and you-”

“-Killed him,” You interject. You draw her in closer, try and soothe her with a kiss, “It’s okay, baby. We got him.”

One of them, is what you should say, but Tara’s so anxious you think it might send her right off the edge.

She looks over at you, look in her eyes frosty.

“Don’t even get me started on you,” She says, voice curt, “You’re in so much trouble. If you think I’m letting you out of my sight ever again-”

“I was worried about you too, baby.” You press a kiss to her hand, “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Sam drives.

Tara pulls you into the back seat with her, tugs you into her lap and pulls the belt around both of your bodies.

You would think she’d been gone six months and not six hours by the way she kisses you. Desperately. Needy. Her hands roam wildly, like her sister isn’t in the front seat.

Sam clears her throat.

“Can you two not fuck in the back seat of my car?” She asks, “I just had the leather reupholstered.”

It’s a perfectly reasonable request, but Tara glares at her like she’s just killed her puppy.

“How could you not know you were fucking Ghostface this entire time?” Tara asks, gripping your hips, “You brought him into our lives, Sam, jesus.”

You press your hands to Tara’s face, smooth her dark hair back.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Sam says, voice quiet.

“Tara,” You whisper into her ear, “Your sister has just been betrayed by someone she thought she loved. A little empathy wouldn’t hurt.”

Tara’s quiet a long moment.

Then she kisses your cheek.

“Sorry,” She says to Sam, somewhat awkwardly, “I know it must be a shock. It’s not your fault, Sam. Are you okay?”

Sam peers into the backseat, face awash with surprise at Tara’s newfound empathy.

“Don’t worry about me,” She says, “What we should be worried about is his partner. Mindy’s right, Richie wasn’t Ghostface the night he attacked you. It was someone else.”

You fiddle with Tara’s fingers, nervously. The very thought of there being someone else who wanted to hurt Tara out and about and walking around in the world made you want to cry.

Tara rubs your back, reassuringly.

“So we’ll catch whoever it is and dig them a grave next to Richie,” She says, more to you than Sam. She presses a kiss to your cheek and lowers her voice, “Are you good, baby?”

She’s referring to the murder you’d just committed, no doubt.

She has fears you’ll freak out again and jet off to a cabin with your family like last time, you can tell by the look in her eyes.

But Richie isn’t Wes.

Richie was guilty, and somehow it makes all the difference.

“I’m fine, Tara.” You assure. You press a lingering kiss to her lips for good measure, “I’m just happy you’re coming home.”

“It should have been me who did it,” She says, eyes mournful, “I’m sorry, baby.”

You can feel a pair of eyes on you. You clear your throat, tilt your head into Tara’s neck. Sam’s watching, eyes squinted from the front seat. Like she has questions she needs answered.

“Richie said you deserved to pay,” Sam says after a long moment. She’s looking at the two of you through the rearview mirror, a little confused, “He said if I knew what you did in your spare time, I wouldn’t be trying to protect you. What did he mean?”

You swallow. Tara tilts back in her seat.

“Who knows what he meant?” Says Tara, “The guy was a nutjob. Maybe I told him to fuck off out of my house one too many times.”

Sam hums.

“You were a little harsh on him.” She says, absent-mindedly.

Tara balks.

“A little harsh on him? He was Ghostface, Sam.” She all but hisses.

Sam waves her hand.

“We didn’t know that at the time.” She says,.

“You didn’t know that at the time,” Tara says, crossing her arms, “I knew it from the minute YN was attacked.”

She did, you remember all at once. So much could have been avoided if you had just believed her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t take you more seriously, babe.” You say, pressing your hands to her cheek. She leans up and kisses you.

You press your nose to hers.

“Was it horrible?” You ask, brushing the hair out of her face, “Jail?”

Tara brushes it off.

“It was fine,” She says, “It was fine until I heard over the radio there had been an attack at the school.”

You kiss her, soft.

“I’m sorry, babe,” You say, “It was the only way to get you free. And it worked.”

“You broke your promise to me, Sam,” Tara says, an edge to her voice, “You promised me you wouldn't lead her into danger.”

“I’m sorry, Tara,” Sam says, “I knew it was the only way you’d go without a fight.”

“You lied to me.” Tara says, and you squeeze her hand.

“I’m sorry.” Is all Sam says.

She parks the car, looks over at her sister.

Tara clicks her seatbelt off.

“Whatever,” Tara says, “But if you think I’ll trust you with her ever again-”

“I’m not a dog, Tara,” You say, frowning, “Going there was my choice too.”

“And you need to promise me you’ll never do something like that again.” Tara says, voice serious. She holds out her hand, “Please baby. Do you have any idea what I’d do if I lost you?”

“I thought I’d lost you.” You say. You press into her side, kiss her once more, “I thought the Sheriff had taken you away from me for good.”

“She’ll never keep me away from you.” Tara says, voice stern. She presses a long kiss to your forehead.

“As sweet as this is,” Sam says, tilting her head to the porch, “We’ve got a welcome party.”

Chad, Liv and Mindy are waiting by the porch when you enter.

You let them all in, watch as Sam triple locks the doors, and head to the den where Mindy sets up camp once again.

She has a fresh powerpoint with a list of suspects. It’s a little impressive - and Sam rushes off to the kitchen to fix Tara a meal as you all settle down.

“What was prison like, Tara?” Liv asks, wide-eyed, “Did you have to join a gang?”

“I was there for less than six hours, Liv.” Tara says sounding exasperated, “And they didn’t take me to prison. Not a real prison. Just the holding cell in the Sheriff’s office.”

Liv nods, seriously.

“I’ve heard in prison you have to exchange what you have for what you want,” She says, “We can bring you cigarettes, if you go back. My cousin Tammy said she exchanged sexual favors with some of the guards so she could get extra time on the phones.”

Tara looks aghast.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks Liv.” She says, nose wrinkled.

You climb into her lap, kiss her softly.

“She’s not going back there, Liv.” You say, “They have Richie now. He’s to blame for the killings.”

“But he’s not the only one,” Mindy says, voice serious, “And that brings me to my presentation.”

She clicks play.

Tara rolls her eyes.

It’s a series of floating images; faces. Yours, Tara’s, Richie’s, Sam’s.

It has everything. The exact times of the attacks. The weapons. The final slide is a picture of Richie, side by side with a giant gray question mark.

“Richie has a partner,” Mindy says, “But the question is - who?”

“Who was Richie close with?” Chad asks, sitting up.

“No-one.” Tara says, “He stayed at home all day playing video-games in his boxers. He didn’t have any friends.”

“He had at least one friend.” Mindy says, lowering her voice. She jerks her head towards the kitchen, where Sam is preparing food.

Tara groans.

“Mindy, not this again-”

“It works.” Mindy says, voice hushed, “My baby-sitter theory. She comes back into town, the attacks start happening. We catch her boyfriend red-handed-”

“You’re forgetting one thing,” You say. Mindy tilts her head, “Sam was in on the plan. To catch Ghostface. If she was in it with Richie, why would she let him get caught?”

Mindy pauses.

“Maybe she was sick of him?” She suggests, “Maybe she wanted to break up with him but didn’t know how to do it?”

“So she had him murdered?” Tara asks, eyebrow raised.

“If she is Ghostface, she’s a psycho, Tara.” Mindy insists, “If she’s Ghostface she’s trying to kill her own sister. Why not her boyfriend?”

“This is stupid,” Tara says, sounding tired, “Sam’s not Ghostface. She’s my sister. I think I know my own sister.”

“I thought I knew Richie,” Sam says. Your head jerks over to her. She’s leaning against the doorframe, frown on her face.

“Sam.” Mindy says, blinking, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Sam gives her a look.

She settles down against the couch, beside Liv.

“It’s fine,” She says, “I get it. I’d suspect me too.”

“No one suspects you, Sam,” You offer, “Mindy just gets over-excited. Right, Mindy?”

“I’m just considering all the options,” Mindy says, voice a little high.

“And you should,” Sam says, “Right now, we should suspect everyone. Everyone except Tara and YN.”

Silence fills the room.

Chad looks up.

“What if it’s Wes?” He suggests, a little hesitant. Mindy stares. Your heart flips at his name. Suddenly, your hands are clammy. Tara squeezes your hip, subtle as can be.

“Wes?”

Chad shrugs.

“They never found a body. They never even found evidence of a crime. What if he skipped town, faked his own disappearance to get off the radar?”

“I really doubt that, Chad.” Tara says.

“Why would Wes want to hurt Tara and YN?” Sam asks with a frown, “You guys were friends, right?”

“Right.” You say, voice a little tight.

“Wes had a crush on YN, everyone knew that,” Chad says, shrugging, “Maybe that’s why this Ghostface hates Tara so much.

At this, Tara’s head snaps around.

“What?”

Chad blinks.

“Yeah. I thought you knew?” He says, head tilted. He looks over to Mindy, “Right?”

Mindy nods, stern.

“Everyone knew.”

You wince as Tara’s hand tightens around your waist.

“Well, no-one told me.” Tara says, eyes ablaze. She looks over to you, face enraged, “Babe, did you know?”

“Of course not.” You say. You squeeze her hand, try to calm her down, “It’s Wes, babe. He never would have done anything.”

And he’s dead. You leave that bit unsaid.

It doesn’t seem to help. You recognize it immediately. It’s the Rage taking over. Tara’s chest heaves. Her eyes spark like fire.

“Asshole.” She gasps, “Fucking asshole. He was supposed to be my friend-”

“Tara, it’s not his fault,” Liv says. She reaches out to touch Tara’s arm but Tara retracts like Liv’s burned her, “Really. You can’t help who you fall for.”

“You can not have a crush on my girlfriend.” Tara says, sounding outraged. She looks around the room, to the sea of taken aback faces, “Anyone else have a crush on YN? Mindy? Chad?”

“No.” They both say flatly, in unison.

“Baby-” You touch her again, but she’s too far gone to reason with.

“Sam? You’ve all but moved in. Made best friends with her parents. Do I have to worry about you as well?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tara.” Sam says, rolling her eyes, “Can we focus? What do the police have on Wes?”

“Nothing,” Mindy says, sounding a little gloomy, “No body, no evidence. I mean, they arrested Tara for his death so I guess he’s assumed dead?”

“Put him on the slideshow.” Chad says, sitting up, “If we’re considering everyone, that is.”

The rest of the afternoon is almost unbearable.

Mindy and Chad bicker over who their top candidates are. Sam joins in, here and there.

And Tara sits, arms crossed, pouting like a storm cloud ready to spark lightning over everyone.

Chad and Mindy are halfway through an argument about what the next plan should entail when Tara stands suddenly, bringing you up with her.

“It’s been a long day, can you all please leave, now?” She says, abruptly.

Mindy looks over to her, apprehension on her face.

“Tara, is that a good idea? I mean, with Ghostface still out there and all? He could be back again tonight.”

“We’ve got enough locks to house a small prison and Sam walking about with an arsenal like she’s Lara Croft. I think we’ll be fine.” Tara says, sounding tired.

Chad looks over to Liv, touches her head.

“You want us to stay?” He suggests, “We could all camp out in the living room, like a sleepover.”

“We’re good, thanks Chad.” Tara says, voice firm. She’s still annoyed, you can tell by the tone in her voice. What had been an offhand remark about Wes for Chad she’d been toiling with for the last two hours - you can tell by the look in her eye.

“Are you sure?” Chad presses, “If Ghostface attacked you again and we could have done something about it-”

Tara cuts him off, voice curt, “I said, we’re fine, Chad. Besides, I’m about to nail my girlfriend and would rather you weren’t all down here listening.”

“Tara.” You hiss, mouth open. Sam wrinkles her nose and sees herself back off to the kitchen.

But it works.

Chad blinks back at her, and without a word, leads Liv and Mindy to the door.

And then Tara takes you by the hand and all but drags you upstairs.

There’s a dangerous look in her eye. Foreboding, almost. Her shoulders are drawn, her eyebrows knit tight in a frown.

It’s The Rage.

And you need to get rid of it, fast, before she does something she’ll regret.

“He’s dead, babe.” You say as she closes the door. You reach for her, but she withdraws from you, instead moving over to the window, watching her friends leave.

You’re exhausted. The day has been brutal - the morning worrying about Tara and the afternoon putting a bullet through Richie’s brain. You want to collapse onto the bed, take Tara into your arms and not think about the days to come.

The days to come with another Ghostface to contend with.

But Tara has other plans.

She’s pacing. Like she’s about to put on her Ghostface outfit and pry Wes’ body out of the river she threw him in.

“How did I not know?” She says, eyebrows pinched, “Babe, if I didn’t know about him, who else do I not know about?”

She chews her lip.

“Mindy, I bet it’s Mindy. Mindy has a crush on you. Chad too, why not? He’s all brawn and thinks he can get any girl in this town. Hell, I bet Liv’s thought about you too.”

“Liv’s straight.” You say, voice stern, “And you sound crazy right now.”

She looks over at you, eyes wild.

“Do you like Mindy?” She asks, moving a little closer, “Do you think she’s cute? Would you fuck her, if I wasn’t around? Would you leave me for her?”

She’s tiny, 5’1, but at the moment she looks seven feet tall. Shoulders drawn, she almost towers over you.

Menacing.

“Tara, you’re scaring me.” You say, taking a step back.

She blinks. And then drops her shoulders.

“Sorry,” She says, after a moment, “I’m sorry, babe.”

She brings her hands to her own face, and then sinks down into her mattress.

“It’s taking over me, I can feel it.” She says, sounding mournful, “I’m trying to fight it, baby, I am.”

You swallow. Move over to her and wrap your arms around her shoulders.

“It’s okay, Tara,” You say, “Look at me.”

She looks up, brown eyes wide. It’s still there, The Rage, you can see it swimming in her eyes. You lean down and press a kiss to her lips.

“I don’t want anyone else, it doesn’t matter who it is,” You say, voice firm, “So tell The Rage to fuck off. It isn’t needed. No one is going to take me from you.”

You kiss her again. Her hands grip around your waist, holding you tight.

“Promise?” She asks. She looks so vulnerable. Like a child asking for her favorite toy. Her brown eyes are wide, mournful.

“Promise.” You whisper and kiss her once more.

She sighs against your lips.

You curl your hands around her neck.

She feels so good against you. Warm and solid and there. Not in a jail cell, facing life in prison. With you, under you, where she belongs.

You push her back onto the bed and climb on top of her.

You missed her. Less than six hours and you missed her. Like someone had cut off your arm or something much worse.

Your kisses climb. You slip your knee between her thighs and press down onto her.

She squeezes your hips. You slip your tongue between her lips. You move your body against hers.

Her smell, her taste encompasses you.

You move your hands down to her waistband. Fumble with the buttons on her jeans as you hurry to slide them off her.

You manage to half pry them down her legs before she’s rising up and flipping you over onto your back.

If getting you naked was an olympic sport - she’d win gold every time.

You don’t even know how she does it so quickly.

A single tilt of her wrist and your bra is unclipped, your shirt being pulled off in one quick swipe. Then, your skirt. Down your legs with your underwear faster than you can moan her name.

She has the precision of a sniper.

She spreads your bare legs and clambors between them, helping out your fruitless attempts to get her out of her shirt in seconds.

Then she’s back on top of you, warm, naked, kissing you like she’s still in prison and you’re her last meal.

She juts her hips out, hits you in just the right spot.

You curl your hand around her neck, fingers gripping at her dark hair. Her lips don’t give you a moment to breathe. She’s kissing you desperately, hands on your hips, gently thrusting into you in that way that makes you soak.

You moan her name, once, twice, before she’s pressing a final kiss to your lips and moving down your body to curl her hands around your thighs.

It’s embarrassing the way she never needs to tease you.

You lean back into the mattress, close your eyes as you feel her lips press to your inner thighs.

“Mmm.” She murmurs as she grazes her lips over the inside of your thighs, “Looks like someone’s ready for me.”

“Shut up.” You say, touching the back of her head, trying to press her into where you need her the most.

“That’s not a very nice way to talk to your girlfriend,” She teases. She darts her tongue out, smoothes over the milky skin of your inner thigh. You let out a harsh sigh, thighs closing around her shoulders.

“Baby, please.” You beg.

She smiles. Presses one last kiss to your thigh.

“That’s better,” She says, “Missed you too, babe.”

Her tongue works against your folds, darting and licking up traces of your arousal like a hungry cat lapping at its milk.

You lean back onto the mattress and sigh, taking your own breasts in your hands.

It isn’t long before she’s trailed her way up to your clit, licking gently in the kind of way that makes you ache with desire.

You curl your hands in her hair and moan, softly.

She presses a final loving kiss to your thigh before she’s moving up and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. You make a noise of protest, but she leans down and quiets you with her lips.

Then she’s retracting, eyebrows raised.

“Fingers or strap?” She’s asking, eyes dark like she already knows the answer.

“Strap.” You all but beg, and she gives you a wicked smile before rolling over and fumbling through your top drawer.

Sam’s still downstairs, you think vaguely as you watch Tara slip into the harness. Sam’s downstairs and Tara’s looking at you like she’s about to make you scream so loudly the neighbors might complain.

Tara climbs between your legs, a dirty grin on her face.

She’s reaching over your body for the lube bottle but you touch her hand.

“We don’t need it,” You say, voice graveled. She ducks down and kisses you.

“We need it,” She promises. She bites at your bottom lip, a little playful, “I’m about to fuck you so hard and I want you nice and wet and ready to take it. I love you baby. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You groan.

She coats the tip of the dildo, then reaches her hands between your legs to massage it into you. You let out a sharp gasp at the cool of the liquid, but she makes it better instantly. Thumb on your clit, rubbing slightly and she sinks her fingers inside you.

“Good?” She teases as you flush red.

You’re in no mood for joking. You grab at the head of the dildo and tug her forward, pulling her on top of you and taking her lips in a desperate kiss. She slips her tongue into your mouth, distracted, only slightly, before she’s spreading your legs with her knees and reaching between her own legs to guide herself inside.

Her mouth presses against your neck.

You gasp as you feel it: the tip of her cock against your entrance, her hands around your hips keeping you from running from her. She sinks in slowly, biting her own lip as she looks down to admire her work.

The stretch feels incredible. You dig your nails into the skin of her biceps, tilting your head back onto the pillows as she fills you up to the hilt.

She’s still a moment, letting you adjust, before she’s leaning down once again to kiss you.

“Does that feel good?” She murmurs, pressing her nose to yours.

You nod. Curl your hands around her shoulders, burying your face in her neck.

“Tell me.” She insists, tilting your face back up to her.

“It feels really good, baby.” You say, voice high. She kisses you once, and then jerks her hips back.

“Fuck.” You gasp.

Her hands grip tight suddenly around your neck and your stomach flips. She thrusts her hips towards you, pulling back slightly to build a steady, hard rhythm.

You’d gasp but her fingertips are tight around your neck, eyes ablaze with lust, and want and the kind of possessiveness that makes you spread your legs a little wider.

“Nobody else will fuck you this good,” She says, jerking her hips forward once more, “Nobody. Not Mindy and her micro-strap, not Chad and his carrot dick and certainly not my sister and her-”

“Can we not talk about your sister when we’re fucking?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed.

Tara slams into you a little harder, making you cry out.

If Sam didn’t know what the two of you were doing up here, she certainly does now.

But Tara doesn’t care. She pounds into you, her slow rhythm out the window.

“Tell me you’re mine.” She growls. Her hands are back around your neck, “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Tara, only you.” You gasp.

“Good girl,” She purrs. She drops her hands from your neck and leans down to kiss you, slow, “That’s my good girl.”

She pulls back slightly, and you groan as part of her length slips out of you. She hushes you with a gentle squeeze to your thigh, before she’s taking your legs in hand and placing them over her shoulders.

She slides back into you, pressing a feverish kiss to your lips. The position means she’s so deep it almost hurts. Her belly presses flush against your own, her hips moving only slightly as she settles into place.

You reach out to touch her face, curl your hand around her cheek as you tug her down to kiss her. She shifts her hips slightly and it makes you gasp.

You moan her name again.

She kisses you fiercely, and you know that kind of kiss. It’s the kind she gives you before she’s about to let loose on you. It’s like a warning, and it makes you flood with arousal and grip the back of her neck tighter.

She pulls back from your lips, eyebrows furrowed, determined look in her eyes, and then she’s holding onto your thighs and fucking you as hard and fast as her hips will move.

The bed frame squeaks. She’s gasping, you’re moaning, the only kind of choir that could ever make you believe in God.

It builds in you quickly - her furious fucking, the sight of her red lips and messy, hair sticking to the sweat on her forehead.

You cry out, gasp her name and then stars are exploding behind your eyes as you cum. She grips your thighs, tight, not far behind. With a final messy thrust, her eyes are clamping shut as she gasps out and collapses against your body.

Your ears ring. You wrap your arms around her body, press a kiss to her sweaty forehead, rubbing her back as she comes down.

“I love you.” You murmur, “And I missed you so much.”

She kisses you.

“It was only six hours, babe.” She says, voice playful.

“Worst six hours of my life.” You say.

Her eyes sparkle. She nudges her nose against yours.

Then, sparking you out of your love-filled bliss, there’s a knock at the door.

“Tara. YN’s parents will be home any minute,” It’s Sam, sounding aggrieved, “You’re making the ceiling shake and the two of you sound like something out of a bad 80s porno. You might want to tone it down a bit.”

Tara rolls her eyes.

Embarrassment flushes through you. It stains the tips of your ears and your cheeks bright red.

“Thanks Sam, fuck off now please.” Tara asks.

You groan, and push her off you.

She sits up on her side, pout on her lips.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s just mad she’s not getting any.” Tara says. She leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your lips.

You pull her into your side, press your lips to the top of her head as she settles against your chest.

The events from the day weigh over you like a wet blanket. But you can’t bring yourself to worry about them, not tonight. Tonight, all you want to do is be with her. Love her.

Make your parents probably hate her even more.

Judging by the way her hands run up your thigh, she’s on the same page.

Ghostface is tomorrow’s problem. But tonight? Tara’s naked, and beautiful and yours and in your bed.

Ghostface can wait.

#tara carpenter #all hers #scream v #scream vi #jenna ortega #mine #fanfic #tara carpenter x yn #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #ghostface!tara #jenna ortega x yn #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader

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