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oneforthemunny · 2 years ago

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stop, in the name of love |cop!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: based off my birth week writing challenge lol. I was just going to leave it for other authors, but I'm feeling self indulgent for now :)

requested: #20!!! With cop!eddie he’s trying to stop teens from hooking up but reader comes to the woods just for that reason!! please make him feel like a teen again 😭❤️❤️

thank you @ali-r3n for rbing my works so i could find this lol. you are an angel on this earth i love you <3

contains: 18+ MINORS DNI. cop!eddie, p in v sex, voyeurism, hopper catches them lol. fluff and good times with cop!eddie and his lil trouble maker.

Eddie huffed, arms crossed in the uncomfortable uniform, radar gun in his clenched fist. Hopper had stuck him out here- a punishment, no doubt, for the flop that was the D.A.R.E program he conducted at the middle school- leaving Eddie in the backwoods near Lover's Lake. After an influx of complaint calls about teenagers speeding through the area, and hooking up or drinking down by the waters or in the woods, Hopper decided to stick his best guy on the situation.

Eddie was furious.

Not only was it a slap in the face to be put on patrol of that area, usually only given to rookies, it was so fucking boring. He couldn't leave the area, contained to that spot for most of his shift, unless backup called. He couldn't drive around the city, taking all the nuisance calls, or even stopping by to see his friends and chat- stop by to see you. Oh no, here, he was quarantined to this small space.

The crunch of the gravel beside him had his ears perking, lifting the gun and sitting up in his seat, ready to bust a frisky teen. Instead, he saw the familiar, powder blue car pull up beside him- your car.

"Hi, there, Officer." You grinned, shutting the door to your car.

"Evenin' there, little lady." Eddie gave you a toothy grin, tone adapting to Wayne's southern-esqu drawl that always left you a little weak in the knees. He liked playing up the stereotypical cop, like Rosco in Dukes of Hazard, teasing and fun.

"Are you out here all alone tonight?" You asked tilting your head to the side. Eddie snorted, watching you push your upper body through his open window, upper half dangling inside the car. "No backup?"

"Not tonight." Eddie shook his head, giving you an exaggerated pout. "Just me out here by myself."

"Oh?" You quipped brow raising in surprise. "So no one out here to do this," You lunged at his utility belt, reaching for his baton, while Eddie's scrambled to halt your movements. Damn, you were quick.

"Easy, easy!" Eddie snapped, prying your hand off his baton. "What did I tell you about messing with my things, baby? Hopper's gonna kill me if he has to replace something else we've broken."

You giggled, folding your arms over the window. "'M just kidding." You hummed, batting your eyes up at him. "Just worried about you. Missed you."

"Missed you too, honey." Eddie's smile had you melting, an ooey-gooey feeling of warmth that was thick in your veins, leaving your head spinning. "I get off at eight."

"Yeah, but I got off at six." You pouted. "And that's so long to wait for you."

Eddie snorted, grinning and shaking his head. The curly tendrils, slipping out from his bun, sprung free, hitting his cheeks. Eddie reached for his aviators, revealing his brown eyes to you. "What're you up to, trouble?"

"Trouble?" You feigned hurt, an exaggerated gasp leaving your lungs. "I would never, Officer, I'm a well behaved, law abiding citizen."

Eddie laughed, loudly, making you smile. "Yeah, right." He scoffed at you. "What'd you come here for? To show your appreciation for all my hard work?"

Your lips twisted in thought. "Yeah, kinda." You nodded. "Came here to fuck you."

Eddie snorted, shaking his head at your bluntness. "I'm on the clock, baby."

"That's never stopped you, baby." You mocked him with a slight glare. "Please? You've been working the second shift all week. I barely get to see you."

Eddie pressed his lips together in thought, eyes flickering from the road back to you. You pressed your bottom lip out further. "Please? Just quick, I promise."

Eddie huffed, moving to pull the keys from the patrol car, that was the last thing he needed stolen. "Fine, but just really quick, alright." He pointed a finger at you. "I don't have long. Go around back."

You practically skipped to the back of the cop car, hidden behind the tall lights and the trees, nestled away from the road.

"Place your hands on the hood of the car." Eddie boomed, loud and authoritative, a tone he only used when arresting someone. You knew he was teasing, but fuck, did it make you throb.

You laid your hands flat over the trunk of the car, pressing your upper half forward. Eddie drooled, eyes trained on the little sundress you had on, catching in your cheeks as you moved. God, how he wanted to drop to his knees and devour you. He missed your taste so much, but not now wasn't the time. No, he'd contain himself for now and indulge later tonight.

Eddie bunched the material of your dress in his hands, shimmying it up your frame. He grinned wolfishly down at you, white knuckled grip on the material. "No panties?" He asked, tone lilting in teasing surprise.

"No, sir." You hummed, craning your neck so you could look over your shoulder at him. "I knew you'd want them off anyways." Your eyes batted at him.

"Bad girl." Eddie smirked, tongue rolling across his bottom lip. "Very, bad." He rasped to himself, eyes glued on your puffy lips, slick and peeking out from between your thighs.

Eddie gripped your cheeks, lifting them so he could reveal your pussy to him, the wet click! sound that your lips made when he pulled them apart made his abs clench, knees shaking.

"Spread 'em, baby." Eddie barked, a little raspier than he would someone he was really arresting, but he settled his black boots between your feet, pushing them so they slid open wider.

You whined, shuffling your feet apart with his, pressing yourself further into the hood of the car. Your ass was out, presented to him, drooling pussy and bare skin all for his taking. Eddie swallowed hard.

"You gotta be quiet, alright?" Eddie smirked, unzipping himself. He'd have to make this work, needed to be able to respond quickly if need be. "Can't get me caught when I'm supposed to be catching teenagers hooking up out here. How bad would that be?" Eddie chuckled, freeing his cock and pulling it through his zipper.

You giggled, airy and light, eyes already glossed with lust. Your hips wiggled in anticipation. "'M ready, Mr. Officer." You purred, feeling the tip of his fat head rub through your folds.

Eddie pushed into you, tight from the lack of foreplay. Normally, he'd work you open with his fingers, get you relaxed with a couple of orgasms before trying to fit himself in.

You groaned at the stretch, burning but your velvety walls clamped down on him, nonetheless. You groaned, low in your chest, vibrations rattling through you and onto the cop car. Eddie let out a straggled breath, hips flush to your ass, grinding into the fatty flesh there the way you liked.

Eddie pulled back, thrusting into you, deep and filling, leaving your eyes rolling back. "Oh!" You cried out, a straggled gasp leaving your lips.

Eddie started to move, long and slow thrusts that had you crying out. He pulled you up, hand cupping your jaw and moving you so your back was to his chest, his big hand covering your mouth. "Shh, baby, gotta-fuck- be quiet." Eddie hissed in your ear.

Your eyes rolled back, his head jabbing a spot deep inside of you at the new angle, a spot that was making you drench with every stroke, knees shaking. You moaned and whimpered against his hand, feeling his hot breath ghosting over your jaw and cheek, tiny grunts and huffs in your ear. You loved it when he'd moan so you could hear. You'd record it and play it on a loop if you could, hearing his tiny whines when he was close, breath hitching and catching, and his pitch rising.

"Fuck, baby, I-I'm close." Eddie grunted, jaw clenched as he tried to control himself. He was a little embarrassed to admit how easily he was coming undone, but fuck, it had been a while. And your pussy was enticing, felt like heaven with every clench of your wet walls strangling his cock.

You moaned against his hands, Eddie feeling you get a little heavier against him, slipping down him. He knew you were close. Using his free hand, Eddie slid his hand down your hip, snaking down between your legs, using two fingers to rub at your clit.

You cried out, still loud even with his hand muffling the sound, knees wobbling and locking a little, before you came, hard and unforgiving over Eddie's cock. You felt yourself fall against the truck of the car, the cool metal exterior pressing to your cheek, while Eddie jackhammered into you from behind chasing out his own high.

Eddie was so close, he could taste it. Abs clenched, toes curling, eyes rolling back, his cock punching your womb deeply, cock twitching deep inside you; so close.

The wail of a siren had him stopping, eyes snapping open and blurred vision clearing. He looked around seeing the familiar lights shine red and blue, jarring and unmistakable, while Hopper's car slowly crunched over the gravel.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit." Eddie was out of you in a second, scrambling to shove his cock back in his pants, turning away so he could try and pull himself together, with fumbling shaking hands.

You had pulled down your dress, hand smoothing over the mussed back of your head, while you stood rigidly to face Hopper.

"Well," Hopper sighed heavily, slamming the door to his car. "Guess I know why there's still a problem out here." He frowned at Eddie.

Eddie swallowed hard, brown eyes wide and alert, a deer caught in headlights. "Turns out my officer I sent to patrol is the horny bastard who keeps hooking up out here."

"Hop, I-"

"Save it, Munson." Hopper held up his hand, shaking his head. "I got a call about a disturbance down by Skull Rock, dispatch tried to get you and no response. Thought something had happened, so I came to check it out, and..." Hopper's eyes flashed from you to Eddie, before frowning deeply in disapproval. "I see now that you were busy."

You cringed, looking at Hopper with a round eyed, pleading look. "It really was my fault. I-I came here and-"

"I really don't need the details of that, thank you." Hopper said sarcastically, cutting you off with an eye roll.

"Munson, finish out your shift, then tomorrow, my office. First thing." Hopper barked, glaring at him.

"Alright, Hopper." Eddie grumbled, shoulders deflating at the threat.

Hopper scoffed, pulling his door open. "And you two stop fucking outdoors, alright? That's still against the law, and you should know better." He pointed at Eddie, thick brows furrowed and mean.

You watched Hopper drive away, nervously turning to Eddie. "Well, this is fucking great." Eddie scoffed. "I'm going to get written up and have to do fuckin' cross walk duty for a week, and I have blue balls still." He growled, hands motioning down towards his crotch.

You bit back a giggle, tucking your chin to hide your smile. Eddie's eyes flashed at your dangerously, dark and playful. "You think this is funny, huh? This is your fault, you little minx." He growled, teeth barring at you.

"I'm sorry, really." You smirked at him. "I was just trying to help you out."

"Yeah? Well, just you wait baby." Eddie pointed a finger at you, stepping closer to close in the space between the two of you. His eyes were dark, still lust blown from earlier, a little meaning when they peered at you down the slop of his nose. "You're in for it when I get home."

You giggled with excitement, his arms wrapping around you, teeth nipping at your bottom lip in a playful bite that had you squealing. A car whizzed by, blaring loud music and heading towards the lake. The teenagers from the complaint, no doubt.

Eddie sighed, resting his forehead against yours for a moment. "Duty calls, Officer." You grinned cheekily.

"Yeah, can't wait." Eddie huffed, heavy boots stomping towards the car. "See you when I get home?"

You nodded. "I'll be waiting on you." You batted your eyes up at him.

Eddie grinned. "Good. Get ready for me. Wear that little lacy thing I like, alright?" He winked at you, ducking back into the patrol car. "Stay outta trouble until then, you hear?" He threw out at you playfully.

You laughed, opening your own car door. "I'll try. No promises." You jested, shrugging with a wide grin.

Eddie smirked, flicking on his lights and peeling out towards the lake. You watched him drive away, legs still a little shaky from before, pressing together at the thought of what awaited when he got home.

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whumblr · 6 months ago

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Stay down

Crossed out - Continued from ch.8 - Prologue

“You seem tired,” Nero said. Merely an observation, no concern behind his statement.

At this point Lucas was way past trying to hide his fatigue. It only cost more energy to stand up straight and muster up some spirit, so he just… didn’t. His shoulders sagged, posture reduced to something opposite the at attention demeanor Nero would demand when in his office. His eyes were blank and he stared at some point of nothing.

“I am,” he stated in return. The continued beatings, accumulated bruises, mixed with the long days of physical labour and after hour visits to Nero’s office to start all over again left him wanting to just collapse. Something Nero wouldn’t oppose either, he should think.

Nero nodded and slowly advanced on him. Which, too, didn’t elicit much of a response. Though his eyes shifted, now staring – focusing was a big word – at Nero’s cuff; at least he’d see it if the man were to raise a hand.

“Unable to stay on your feet?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Nero stopped right in front of him. Lucas glanced up – didn’t even have the energy to turn it into a glare – and simply waited. He knew it was coming; he saw the hand rest on the baton. It was going to happen anyway, no point trying to dodge.

A quick jab forward and the end of the baton indeed crashed into his stomach. Lucas doubled over in pain and collapsed to his knees immediately.

Not even having fully drawn his baton, Nero let it slide back in its holster and turned away from him. “Then you can stay like that.”

Was that meant to be a mercy? An actual small mercy from Nero to keep it at one hit? With his hands clutching his stomach, doubled over on his knees, Lucas forced his squinted eyes open, suspicious, looking for the catch. But Nero really did settle back behind his desk. Once the pain slowly ebbed away and Lucas caught his breath, he shifted back up and the catch became clear.

“I said stay like that,” Nero said, barely even looking up.

Oh come on, he can’t be serious… But as soon as he sat up and rested a hand on his knee to push himself up, Nero’s eyes shot up from his work.

Lucas froze, pinned under the heavy gaze. The challenge in those grey eyes was clear, as was the warning. And he found he didn’t have it in him to take up that challenge. Slowly, as if pacifying a man pointing a gun at him, he moved back and slid his leg back under him. Only when he neatly sat back, Nero let his gaze roam back to his computer.

“The only time you can get up is when you have decided to walk over to this desk and sign this form,” he said.

Walking over to that desk and dragging Nero over it—Yeah. No, that would never happen. But it was a nice fantasy to play over and over in his head while his muscles atrophied.

His ankles started tingling first. This wasn’t the small mercy he hoped it was. Then the muscles in his thighs started to hurt, as if they were being stretched out over his knees and pinned under them. He shifted uncomfortably, not daring to make any big movements. Pain slowly crept up on him, spreading all over his thighs.

He grit his teeth. This is better than new bruises. This is better than getting beat into the ground. Just had to bear it for a bit—fuck, he shouldn’t have looked at the clock. Ten o’ clock was still hours away and he somehow doubted Nero would let him go before 9.55.

And time passed ever so slowly when the pain didn’t even let up for a second and, in fact, only got worse and worse.

“You know, Varga…” the deep voice above him rumbled after what seemed like hours. “Most people here only need the incentive to behave. They see the consequences of breaking the rules, decide they don’t want that happening to them, and they comply. For some reason, that doesn’t work with you.”

“Hence the public beatings?”

“Two birds, one stone, really.”

“I’m amazed by your mental gymnastics. You’re nothing more than a common criminal yourself. Assault, intimidation, battering, murder, and now added arbitrary detainment. If you hadn’t already.”

Nero smiled in a small scoff, as one would when hearing a small child complain, and he lightly shook his head. “I can say the same about you. A lawyer getting criminals back on the street sooner than they should be released is equal to aiding and abetting in my eyes. If you get them a reduction, I’m merely restoring the balance.”

Again Lucas grit his teeth, but not just in pain this time. “No one made you judge.”

“Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands.”

Anger rose like bile in his throat, but he forced it down. He wasn’t going to be baited into a discussion with a madman. He had to keep breathing slowly, breathe through the pain. He switched up his position as far as Nero would allow; sat straight up – only made things worse in a different way – sat neatly on his ankles, opened his knees, pressed them back against each other, but nothing seemed to alleviate the dull throbbing pain for even a little.

And the worst thing; he wasn’t even tied down. It felt like he was inflicting the pain on himself. But sure, he could get up, it would only add a broken rib or something while he had to continue crushing his own legs.

The letter on the desk was a white blur against the dark wood. He could just sign. Sign his rights away. He’d still be locked up, but at least the beatings would stop. And he could spend the evenings catching up on sleep. For as long as he behaved. But it wasn’t that simple.

It’s just a letter of representation, his heart urged, his legs screamed. But even just that felt like he was making things so much harder on himself. Signing represented agreeing with those fake charges, agreeing that he was going to stand fake trial for them. Like it would make Ava’s quest to get him out harder, because they could prove with his signature that he was going along with this.

Or he was just making things harder on himself here.

Nero must have seen him glancing up at the letter. He folded his hands, rested his chin on them, and watched him squirm. “The way you keep fighting makes me think you’re still hoping for a rescue. Meaning that you’ve got someone outside helping you.”

Lucas covered quickly with a sharp laugh. “I wish I had.”

“No help? Not even from the lady of colour who was with you when you were arrested?”

Lucas stopped breathing, but knew he only had about two seconds before Nero would draw his conclusions from his silence. “I was alone when you abducted me.”

“Yet you were caught on camera sitting with her. Discussing something… intently. Lovely lady. With a sweet kid.” He let the silence hang in the air like a threat and Lucas realized he must’ve been waiting for the right time to bring this up. “What did you give her? Don’t play coy,” he added when Lucas opened his mouth too fast and too aggressively, “You were clearly seen handing her something.”

“Cash for movie snacks. A movie you interrupted. She has nothing to do with this.”

Nero hummed. “Which movie?”

“That new sci-fi one.” Lucas quickly recalled the huge posters.

“There were no tickets found in your belongings.”

“No, A—” He caught himself, not wanting to name Ava. “I wasn’t holding them.”

Nero smiled. “You often take your boss out on dates?”

For some reason it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he knew this much, yet it still sent Lucas reeling, every question hitting like part of a combo in the boxing ring. So Nero probably already knew her name. Not good. He decided to play his discomfort another way and looked away. “We’re not—we are not dating,” he forced a stutter in his voice and followed up with a genuine hiss, grateful for the timing of that stab of pain.

Nero merely sat back in his chair with a triumphant air. Of course, it wasn’t his intention to draw out information, not when he already had this much under his belt and merely trickled it back to Lucas to show how screwed he was.

He didn’t say any more, just left Lucas some food for thought. A full banquet, really, and now the pain in his legs was accompanied by the storm of thoughts in his head.

“It’s almost ten, Varga.” The saving words finally came after hours. “You’re dismissed.”

The groan of relief turned to one of pain when he could finally stretch his legs out. He cursed under his breath, tried to massage the pain out of his thighs but that only seemed to make things worse. Still, not wanting to spend any more time in here than necessary, he forced himself up – with a hiss and a wince – and stumbled out of the room with a “Yes sir.”

On the other side of the door, safe from prying eyes, he nearly buckled to his knees. Making his way back to his cell was a whole different kind of hell. With every step it felt like his ankles were going to snap off under his weight, and if they would, his knees would be next, him crumbling along like an eroding statue. His feet had progressed from tingling pins and needles to a completely numb sensation. Like he was stepping on sponges instead of his own feet.

He sank onto his bed, finally able to take the weight off his legs. But the weight on his mind… He turned over, trying to block his worries. The only thing he could do, both for himself and Ava, was hope.

Continued here

Tag list: @gala1981 @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @andithewhumper @tippytappytyping

@suspicious-whumping-egg @cherrychupachup @alexmundaythrufriday @withdrawingramen

@light-me-on-pyre @treasureguardingdragon

#whump #whump writing #forced to kneel #stress position #prison whump #crossed out #my writing #oh dear it's been a while sorry about the wait

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tixdixl · 5 months ago

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Rave Up! - TWST Ficlet

Word Count: 2,003

Characters: René Lamar, Ortho Shroud, Fellow Honest, and mentions of the entire Playful Land cast.

A/N: I kept thinking about how like... if you remove the theater scene from its intended perspective, it's kind of something out of a horror story. So uh... have a genre shifted reimagining of the Twisttune scene from Playful Land!

“- the students of Night Raven College!!”

They had been drawn in, all of them, sat down in the auditorium under the guise of being able to watch a grandiose show. While initially the black swan had anticipated a giant and elaborate puppet show, instead, the announcer had called forth the wily crew of mages and if they were the performers. Except… none of them had rehearsed anything. No song, nor dance. No comedy sketch, nor theatrical rendition of one of the tales of the Great Seven. Nothing.

This bafflement rippled through the gaggle of students like a wave. Exclamations of doubt, of refusal, of disgust followed in succession, like the clamour of angry sparrows raiding another bird’s nest. And yet despite their cries of protest, the announcer himself appeared before him with his henchman in toe. With a wave of his cane, the cries died down and resurfaced as applauding agreement. Almost like a stolen breath, the word of their Unique Magic escaped their lips in a quiet whisper. And for a brief moment, Fellow’s vulpine eyes locked with theirs. Like he knew. And they knew too. But not another person amongst them could clock what had begun to develop in a matter of seconds. The tension thick and yet isolated between them. Both trapped in a dance of territorial pursuit. Two predators vying and yet neither able to make a definitive move. If Fellow made a move, he’d blow his cover. If René made a move, their companions would be helpless but to turn on them. Both knew it without question.

In the harmony of cheers, René found themself wordlessly dragged up on stage. The stage lights beamed down on them, the familiar rays of light scorched any surface they hit, and any coloration dwindled from the sheer vibrance of their illumination. Within seconds, the students seemed to march into a formation, all taking a performative stance, ready to begin. The alarms continued to resound in their head, more audacious- more thunderous as the seconds ticked by. Slowly, they all drew closer to the moment they would all perform.

But no one had practiced!

As their gaze zipped around like a fly, assessing the situation in real time, the music began. And so did everyone else. The song’s intro pierced through the anticipatory silence with high energy and a fast BPM.

It hit them in the moment. As the group began to bounce, and Ace began to sing a melody that they had never heard before, they were on their own and couldn’t disrupt the show. They began to bop along to the beat, keeping their eyes on any distinguishing role, between leads and ensemble. Immediately they caught the spotlights focusing on Ace, Kalim, and Ortho, who collectively appeared none the wiser. Then again… as did everyone else.

Everyone else in the ensemble followed along in perfect sync. With split second choices and a constantly moving gaze, they did their best to stay in line. Arms swinging. Feet marching. Batons twirling. More and more, the pressure weighed down, heavier and heavier. They had to keep up. They had to sell perfection. All the while, the rest of the students sang and moved with uncanny precision, as if they were moving autonomously. Even the best principals, or the most well trained ensembles would have variability. No human would be in perfect, unmistakable synchronization with every other dancer on stage. Yes, they could come close. But humans were bound to mess up and make error. That's why professionalism was key in the dancer world. Technique and form triumphed over flexibility as selling the illusion of perfect artistry often was a tough sell.

But them… these students moved with an eerie accuracy that even stumped them. They had no faith in any of the students that weren’t Vil and maybe Kalim or Ortho to have the training and discipline to create that sort of faux perfection on stage. Even their own movements, as light on their feet as they were, barely kept up with the energy and choreography of everyone else. No… everything about this was wrong. The song. The dance. The sets and lights. Not a single aspect of this set up felt right. Nothing was executed without the utmost suspicion at this point. And yet they could barely keep their attention away long enough to attempt to parse through their thoughts.

It was wrong. It was all wrong. They were acting no better than marionettes on string, and yet they were so very much alive.

There was no way they had control over their own movements, and yet no one resisted. No one showed even a modicum of discomfort. They showed zero signs of their staminas faltering either. Granted, they couldn’t keep track of much, but the movements of their companions never slowed down or lacked strength. They found it both oddly refreshing and yet incredibly grotesque.

They needed to leave. They all did. The auditorium. The park. They needed to leave Playful Land- together in one piece. And yet no one else recognized even remotely what was happening.

The music eventually came to a stop, usurped entirely by the roaring applause of the audience. As they held their final pose, René felt their lungs screaming for air. Their chest heaved for a moment as they kept their poise. Yet as their eyes darted around, they saw no sign of withering from the others. Their breaths steady, composed. With every feasible attempt, the black swan mirrored their posture, and followed the group as they left the stage. They couldn’t shake the lurking sense of danger, as the alarms continued to ring in their head. And yet… they knew this wasn’t over.

As the auditorium cleared out, the black swan lingered. Their pace slowed in comparison to their companions. An unconscious hand dwelled at their sternum as they felt their blood surge through their veins. The firm beat of their heart no more still or passive than a rave at midnight. They felt the sweat drip down their spine with a hypersensitivity, wondering if those around them felt their own. Did they even sweat?

Underneath layers of sealed makeup, their cheeks flared with a heat representative of the sensation permeating in their body. They felt their lungs continuing to beg for air; yet despite this, they kept their breaths slow, silent, deliberate. Masking even the hold of their posture, they tried to blend in with their peers. None of them seemed winded by the intensive performance they’d collectively put on. Their collective lungs ever full. Their costumes perfectly draped and without a hint of sweat- not in smell, nor in dampness. No signs of any work done; no signs of any physical duress. It all further confirmed their observations and suspicions while they had been performing. And even if their observations presented no conclusions, they were enough to simply recognize that something suspiciously magical was afoot. Something potentially sinister. Equally dangerous.

Worse. Familiar.

A phantom throb pierced through their skull like a premonition. Like a nightmare becoming a daydream, their eyes retraced the outline of their father’s suit splayed out on the floor. The magic lining the walls and floor in a fairy tale display. Their magic. And the echoes of the people they shamefully cared about reverberated in their ears.

Without realizing it, René had begun to futz with the hem of their glove. Despite their fidgeting, they barely processed the feeling of the overlock stitch between their fingers. As their eyes shifted between the pristine dispositions of their school mates, a gentle tap on their elbow caught their attention.

“Um, Mx. Lamar?” piped up the petite voice, reminiscent of a younger child, “Are you okay?”

Their eyes met the dim glow of gold. Concern radiated from his eyes more brightly than even the LEDs in his little body.

“My sensors are detecting an increased heart rate, lowered levels of oxygen, an overall increase in body temperature and increased Norepinephrine and Cortisol levels.”

There was something uncanny about his voice. During the majority of their time together that morning, he had sounded like a normal human child. Even as he asked if they were okay, he sounded… normal. But as he listed off the undeniable data of their physiological state, his voice retained an electronic nature, like his autonomous nature had been overridden by an AI. Like… he was being puppeted.

After everything they’d bore witness to, a crawling sensation surged down their arms and legs. A sense of unease as his words entered their ears.

And yet, they couldn’t give away their position. They couldn’t let them know of their fear. Or of what they saw. As their scammy host glided around the group and through their periphery, the brutal reminder of their collective predator on the prowl kept them in line. They let go of their sleeve, placing their hand over the back of the other. And with a naturally practiced smile, one believable by almost every person that’d ever met it, formed on their lips. They softened their eyes deliberately, their gaze now no different than those full of awe and wonder.

“Of course~,” they responded with a lie smoother than melted butter, “I always get this way after a successful performance!”

They tried to keep that sense of uncanny excitement that they noticed in the rest of the crew. Truthfully this entire scenario tested their acting and manipulation skills on a level they’d never faced before. Yet with the unwavering confidence of a swan, they added, “You have to take everything in once it’s over. Otherwise, the moment will pass you and you’ll forget how much you enjoyed it.”

The robot seemed incredibly unphased, “But… then I would expect to see serotonin and dopamine releases…”

He paused, giving the black swan an opportunity to cut in and manipulate the conversation- gently. To protect them. Yeah… that was clearly the reason, even if they opted to deny it.

“Playful Land has shown itself to be a really magical place. Perhaps my body is just reacting differently to the magic?” they offered, lying through their teeth, “I promise you; I’m feeling ecstatic and I loved that performance. It was super fun and energetic. Truthfully, I’m just excited to see what else is in store by the park!”

They hated how generic and scripted that sounded. The words tasted like expired kool aid mix without water. Grainy. Over-the-top. Surely, they could have delivered that lie with more believability. But as out of sorts as they were, they had to admit to themself that their brain had a bit of a delay at present.

The little robot’s eyes widened. His hand rested carefully over his mask, where his mouth would be. He seemed to be contemplating what they suggested, likely not having considered to what extent magic had been at play. In truth, this lie was deliberate. To save their face, sure, but again, in a defensive measure, to offer Ortho a reminder. If there was one person they knew could investigate with subtly and accuracy, it was the humanoid.

“If it is magic, then there’s more to this place than Fellow has let us believe,” Ortho pondered, “That’s really fascinating!”

They let their breath out with a soft exhale, careful not to draw further suspicion. Yet, despite the lie somehow landing effectively, they couldn’t help but notice the nagging feeling that Ortho hadn’t picked up on the fact that he should be concerned, something that by all accounts he should have done given the conversation they’d had before setting foot in the park. He seemed like the kind of character to acknowledge and analyze those sorts of cues. Yet… he didn’t now. Perhaps, they had misread him. Or worse, perhaps the magic of this place naturally lowered their defenses farther than they already had. Whatever the reason, they hoped that someone else- anyone else- would pick up on the signs soon. At least, before Fellow could beat them in this game of chess…

~~~

Tag list: @ramshacklerumble @the-trinket-witch @rainesol @elenauaurs @theleechyskrunkly

@cyanide-latte @winterweary @thehollowwriter @starry-night-rose @boopshoops

@lumdays @twstinginthewind @inmateofthemind

Lmk if you want added/removed

#twst #twst ocs #my ocs #twst fanfic #my fan fics #my writing #twst playful land #René Lamar #Ortho Shroud #Fellow Honest

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kaidoreunion · 2 years ago

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yandere android foxy: “playmate”

content warnings: android (humanoid-robot) foxy, robot x human relationships, stalking, yandere, kidnapping, GN reader

Two months ago, they promised you that the job would be relatively easy and straightforward, that it was completely safe and effortless, that it would be easy money. Two months ago, you were promised a forever job, with high pay and minimum effort.

“Oh, yeah, this one’s a breeze.” He’d said. “Watch the animatronics, make sure they stay in place and don’t get stolen or something, and keep the place clean. Basically, sit in your chair and watch the cameras, yeah?”

What he failed to tell you was that the animatronics, or androids, rather, weren’t just some stationary object that followed basic lines of code. No, he conveniently forgot to bring up that they had minds of their owns, that they’d taken lives that were swept under the rug by corporate, that they were capable of violence, emotion, causing tragedy and suffering.

Your mind is in shambles as you stare at the security camera footage, eyes squinting to get a better look at what should certainly be your mind playing tricks on you. But, as you rub your eyes, it becomes clear that what you’re seeing isn’t a trick at all.

Foxy, residing in Pirate Cove, one of the main attractions in the Pizzaplex, isn’t in his typical position. Instead, he’s casually walking toward the camera that’s pointed at him, making your heart race with each slow step he takes.

He tilts his head and leans in, the camera shaking as he reaches for it, tapping the lens with a hooked hand before the reception cuts out, leaving his area on your security cameras as a static screen.

You don’t have time to reflect, because shortly after, there’s a tapping at the left side door of your office. Naturally, you flinch and get to your feet, sliding a hand over the desk in search of anything to defend yourself. You grab on to a security baton, one of the few things this crummy job had given you, and hold it at your side defensively.

It’s fruitless, because when he wants to get in, he does so effortlessly. He slams his hooked hand against the glass window of the door, reaching down to unlock the door for himself. He pushes the door open and walks in, brushing the glass off his hook.

“Mighty fine security you’ve got yerself there.” He comments slyly, raising his head and meeting your eyes. You can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine at the sight of his narrowed eyes, one covered by an eyepatch, and the scratches on his body from being out of commission for so long. “Yer’ always just strain’ at those monitors with a tired look, nice to see a new expression on ya.”

“What the hell?” You murmur, gripping the baton. Foxy’s eyes dart to the weapon in your hand, then back to your face.

“Why so panicked? I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” He raises his hands, or lack there of, in protest. “Been outta commission for a time now, y’know? Been watching ya watch those cameras the last month, looked rightly bored.”

You scan his metallic face for signs of malice or instability, but find nothing. You relax your grip and posture, but stay on your guard.

“How would you know? You stay in that… tent… thing.”

“Ah! Me Pirate’s Cove, that there is!” He exclaims, suddenly proud of himself. “Yer right, can’t see much there, but word spreads. Cute security guard don’t go unnoticed, given the old men we usually get ‘round here.”

You hesitate, unsure how to interpret the compliment. “Word spreads… with who?”

“Yer a bit slow, aren’t’cha? ‘S alright. We animatronics ain’t just props, y’know. Chica’s real keen on ya.” He chuckles, but you hear the insincerity in his tone. He takes a step towards you, and you instinctively take one backwards. “Yer shift ends at 6?”

“Yeah…” You trail off, tightening your grip on the baton once again.

He looks up at the clock on the wall. “‘S about 5.”

“I—“

He swiftly takes your wrist, pulling you toward his cold, yet shockingly soft, body. “Ya went home early?”

“What? I’m still here.”

“That’s not what this note says.” He grins a golden toothed smile, sticking a sticky note to the desk and lifting you, slinging you over his shoulder effortlessly.

“Fuck! Foxy, put me down!”

“Can’t hear ya, darlin’! What do ya say we get you some sweets to keep you calm?”

#tw yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere fnaf x reader #yandere foxy

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smallvictorianchildwhofoundwifi · 6 months ago

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The clock ticked onto the minute the next class was to start, the most important class of the day, the class that was the reason any of these students were here. The door to class 1-B suddenly opened, and the Heroics teacher of the newest generation of heroes quickly glided in and promptly jumped in the swivel chair behind the teachers’ desk- that every student could swear was not there before- and spun around to dramatically reveal his presence.

"Hello class!"

Two weeks into the school year and class 1-B was learning that Monoma-sensei was always dramatic like that, but these especially fast entrances meant someone was late, and two seats were empty.

As everyone came to that conclusion, the two students in question ran into the room and looked bewildered to see their teacher sitting before them.

Phantom Thief turned in his chair and jokingly shook his head. "Well look whose absent selves decided to show up." The two students stared at him shellshocked before the one on the left sputtered and shouted.

“WHA- Ho- How?! You were way behind us!” They pointed an accusatory finger at the teacher as if they were accusing him of being a witch. The other student stayed silent and hung their head.

Phantom Thief just gave them a smug look and shrugged. “A good hero always finds a way to enter the scene quickly. If you want to be marked present on my sheet you should be wiser with your time.”

Several of the present student cringed at his words and the guilty party panicked at the implications of Monoma-sensei's words.

“You can’t mark us absent! That’s not fair!” The first student stomped their foot on the ground and looked ready to argue, the other just nodded at the first’s words.

Phantom Thief suddenly went serious and gave the students an intense pointed stare while somehow keeping his lax posture.

"And if you are too late in saving a civilian? If you fail to catch a villain? Will you shout and pout that it was "unfair"?" The whole class went deadly silent to their teacher's suddenly serious lecture. They had never been given a talk like this before and everyone grew on edge at this new territory.

"No one will give you sympathy just because you "tried", no one cares that you gave a good effort at it but it was "out of your hands." In this field, you will either do your job well or you won't." Phantom Thief stood from his mystery chair and looked down at his absent students, but not with rage and disappointment.

"In this class I am to teach you about how unfair this field will be. As a hero, you are responsible for the lives of everyone around you and the freedom of those who wish to harm others." The two students in the doorway stopped leering away from their teacher's intense gaze and instead looked back at him wide-eyed. His gaze wasn't intense because he was upset, he wanted them to stand tall against it.

"Not only at UA, but for the rest of your life, you will put your all into everything you do. And no one will ever accept "unfair" as an excuse."

The room was silent for a moment. His words seeped into everyone there, not just the late party. Then Phantom Thief gestured for them to go to their seats.

The two mumbled a 'yes sir' and hesitated, stopping between a few steps and Phantom-sensei looked unapprovingly at this reaction. They realized what he expected and shouted a more enthusiastic "yes sir" before rushing to their seats.

More approving of that response, Phantom Thief nodded and returned his attention to the whole class, who was spellbound.

"On that note, it is time to start- Heroics!" An expandable baton suddenly appeared in his hand and timely reached its full length as he pointed to the whiteboard behind him.

@coldlandstarlight one of the teacher monoma drafts I was talking about!

#what's up guys!#i don't know much time I can work on writing stuff because I'm busy literally the entire rest of the month #wish me luck lol #ANYWAYS HERES THE GUY #teacher monoma #!!!!#bnha #mha #monoma neito #my hero acedamia #boku no hero acedamia #neito monoma

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angelicadamposting · 10 months ago

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Missy Misery₍ᐢᐢ₎| Overlord of Obsession

art credit to mr.artzy.shrimp on instagram !

Real Name: Misty Landry (not dead name) Preferred Name: Missy Misery Species: Jackalope Demon / Sinner / Overlord* (Formerly Human) Sin: Wrath / Pride (+ others that aren’t one of the main 7) Physical Age: 39 Birth Date: July 13, 1894 Zodiac: Cancer Death Year: 1933 Cause of Death: Shot in the head, alongside Alastor Height: 5'5 MBTI: ENFJ Gender & Pronouns: She/Her - Transwoman Sexuality: Gray-Asexual (Hetero-romantic) Romantic Interest(s): Alastor <3 and Vox * = Overlord of Obsession

Short Facts

Overlord of Obsession and Love

Alastor’s wife, though not legally due to the time

Killed her father

Born on a Friday the 13th (1984 July)

Was/is a cannibal

A listener of Alastor’s radio broadcasts before ever meeting him

Sang/Performed at Mimzy’s bar/speakeasy in life

Met Alastor at Mimzy’s bar, introduced by their mutual friend.

Currently an actress in film, commercials, and musicals for Vox.

After Alastor’s disappearance, Vox offers her a contract that would provide protection from other overlords and her dream job. She works beneath him the whole seven years Alastor is missing until the pilot/main series.

Growing to obsess over Vox before Alastor suddenly reappears.

Is not technically a part of the Vees, but lives in the tower with them.

Adores Nifty and gets along well with Husk, surprisingly.

Initially inspired by the song 'There's No Business Like Showbusiness.' & a lot of Ethel Merman's discography.

Likes♡

Acting

Music

Singing

Needlepoint, Sewing & Crochet

Tea

Red Wine

Romance Novels

Graphic 'Design' / Art

Painting

Dancing (Swing Dancing Particularly)

Classy Fashion / Period Pieces

Fur Boas / Shawls / Coats

Decor Made From (human) Remains

Home Design / Decor

Scrapbooking …

Dislikes‹/𝟹

Being Alone

Being Belittled or Disrespected

Clutter

The Ticking of a Clock

Black Coffee

Her Schedule Being Changed

People with Poor Time Management Skills

Open Windows

Over The Head Headphones

Being Touched Without Express Permission

Hypocrites

Unsophisticated People

Modeling

Modern Dance Styles (Hip Hop / “whatever it is JuJuVi does”)

Personality Traits

Positive – Affectionate, Analytical, Glamorous, Confident, Classy, Charming, Alluring, Elegant, Creative, Adaptable, Decisive, Efficient, Organized, Loyal, Mature, Somewhat Kind, Passionate, Perceptive, Private, Professional, Sentimental, Emotional, Responsible, Sophisticated, Talented, Wise, and Witty

Negative – Obsessive, Wrathful, Prideful, Vengeful, Apathetic, Catty, Cynical, Fanatical, Greedy, Often Grumpy, Impatient, Jealous, Possessive, Judgemental, Know-It-All, Morbid, Nagging, Stubborn, Violent, Workaholic

Backstory (before Hell)

Missy was born in 1895 in Baton Rouge, Louisiana as (Marcel) Misty Landry to an alcoholic father and mother who would die shortly after childbirth. She grew up being raised by her father to be like him and work within the agricultural realm of work-- Much to her dismay.

From a young age and when radios were popularized, beginning to pop up in houses across the states, Missy was enthralled with the music and talking people from within the box. Music inspired her from a young age to go against the grain and figure out who she was- not who her father 'needed' her to be.

In high school, she began to understand that she was a woman. The revelation was jarring, and a secret she kept close. Many things were not accepted where she grew up, and being different wasn't one.

Her father, while unaware of her newfound identity, did anything but respect his child. Noticing whenever Missy had begun practicing singing and dance instead of her household chores, only to ridicule her for being a pansy and some much worse insults. When he drank, he'd somehow be nicer- and weaker. Something Missy would take advantage of when committing patricide for her first homicide after enduring his mistreatment her entire life up to said point. It wasn't done out of anger, or heat of the moment- no. It was planned, calculated, and thought over for weeks before she took the opportunity to escape from beneath his thumb. The taste of his blood was not one she'd ever forget. As bitter and horrid as it was, the satisfaction it brought her was more than enough.

Missy had been closeted the majority of her life until her father 'passed away' when she was 21. She inherited his debt and responsibilities as the "man of the house" and the last of her family line. Rather than pick up the mantle, live in the closet for the rest of her days, and die unhappy- She moved several towns over to New Orleans and began to present more femininely whenever she could, calling herself Misty when she did so that anytime she did have to present as her legal/birth identity there'd be little to no association. Essentially living a double life. As Marcel, she would work as a men's tailor, and as Misty, she'd sing from bar to bar. That is until she found one bar that regularly asked her to return.

It was at this particular speakeasy that Missy would first meet Mimzy, another performer at the bar. The two became quick friends, and truthfully Mimzy was Missy's first 'girl friend.' (non-romantic) Mimzy was the first person in life to learn of Missy's gender identity, and surprisingly the first person to accept her for who she was. Mimzy helped inspire Missy to go on as herself, giving her confidence and helping her find her own voice.

It was around this time that Missy would first hear Alastor's radio broadcasts. By total chance, flipping through stations as she sat in her kitchen preparing a pot of tea, his voice poured through the speakers and ignited her interest. She quickly began to tune into all of his broadcasts, even adjusting her schedule to ensure she didn't miss any time he was on air. To put it frankly, she became somewhat of a near-obsessive 'fangirl' if anything even without knowing the man behind the charismatic voice and fake mid-Atlantic accent.

What Missy was unaware of though, was that soon after she began listening to him- Alastor would soon see her sing at the bar after one of Mimzy's stellar performances. And while he was nowhere near as intrigued by her as she was by him, he did soon ask Mimzy about her little friend. Mimzy, being the great friend she was, was eager to introduce the two- seeing as she knew just how much Missy was obsessed with Al's radio show. Missy easily hid how she instantly recognized his voice, greeting him politely like he was any other customer. And yet, he asked her to dance in between her stage times.

After that night, Missy continued to make her efforts to listen to each of his broadcasts. And now knowing who he was behind the radio, she may have begun to take extra steps to see him more often. At the same time, Alastor seemingly dropped by the speakeasy Missy performed at more often. Several weeks of the two getting to know one another, and watching one another from afar in their own ways passed before Alastor asked Missy if she would be interested in officially starting a courtship. It was this conversation that led to Alastor learning of her gender identity, and much to her surprise, he didn't care.

The two would begin a relationship that to half of the public, looked like just two friends, but to the circle of folk who frequented the speakeasy- everyone knew the two as the happy couple they had become. Of course, there were still men who'd come and get belligerently drunk, throwing themselves at Missy or Mimzy- and most of them ended up Missy's victims.

It wasn't until Missy and Alastor moved in with one another that they learned of each other's homicidal tendencies as it grew more difficult to hide. Instead of rocking the boat, this revelation strengthened their bond because each of them had a similar yet odd moral code regarding their victims. Soon, emotionally tied the knot despite the laws surrounding marriage. Having a small, private ceremony over a victim with a ring exchange.

After many years in a near-perfect romantic partnership, in 1933, their lives were taken. Side by side while hiding a body and shot by a hunter in the distance while discarding of extra remains of a shared victim.

After Death (In Hell) (still b4 pilot)

(missy's backstory in hell is too difficult to pinpoint years and dates like a lot of my other ocs... so no timeline this time!)

Alastor and Missy appeared in Hell together, and nearly instantaneously her beloved made a deal of which the details could never be shared with her. The contract gave Alastor his eldrich powers and allowed him to quickly rise to the power level of an overlord. Missy, on the other hand, struggled with her new form and powers. Feeling her control and strength wane depending on the amount of love she felt and received- on top of growing stronger by taking down current overlords. It didn't worry her, though. Knowing and believing as long as she was side by side with Alastor, all would be fine.

Eventually, as Alastor grew into his true role as the Radio Demon, an overlord in his own right, Missy had become the overlord of Obsession- and love, by her own claims. The two had a strained, complicated, and sad relationship with Vox during this period, which would eventually end dramatically. The main true 'friend' the couple shared in Hell that shared in their desire for power and rank was Rosie, the Cannibalism Overlord. She understood Missy better than anyone else in Hell, besides her beloved.

After decades together in Hell, Missy awoke one day with no sign of her beloved. No note, nothing to give her a sign he'd gone or would return. And her powers seemed to wane from the realization alone. An overwhelming panic set into her, rushing out into the streets of Pentagram City in a desperate search for him. Her search ended with no clues, and she returned empty-handed- all alone for the first time in decades.

She managed as well as she could on her own, although the other Overlords began to notice the shift in power and Alastor's absence. Putting a target on her back, and sending her into hiding.

After a year into Alastor's disappearance, Vox found the sinner. Grinning madly, he offered an outstretched hand, and deal to assist her. For her soul, he'd grant her greater powers, a job as an actress or star of the stage to attain fans and achieve a dream she didn't realize she had. Of course, Missy was fully aware Vox was likely doing this for two main reasons and neither were to help her. The little rabbit demon knew Vox likely only wished to hold something over Alastor's head if he ever returned and to have another soul to own. She hesitated to accept, but he ensured her she'd have a place to live- safe from other overlords and even the exterminations. She'd have been dumb to refuse, after all, if Alastor had the right to make a deal with some unknown being, why couldn't she make one with Vox?

Subsequently, Missy moved into a room at the VoxTek Tower to get to and from the filming sets more easily. Quickly falling into her new role as a star actress in film and stage, as if she was always meant for this. Nearly every motion picture or musical featuring the Overlord of Obsession was a hit, resulting in her fame and fans growing. As this occurred, Vox's behavior towards her became more familiar. Even teaching her more about technology, since she'd avoided much new tech due to her husband's distaste for it all. Surprisingly, she was quite skilled with graphic design, learned how to code, and became Vox's main assistant in case things went awry with him.

Velvette and Valentino noticed the way Vox seemed to favor her and kept her close. Resulting in some teasing, but mostly leading Velvette and Missy to become friends. Velvette enjoyed teaching the older woman about modern slang, technology, and social media she didn't understand. Thinking it hilarious how she mispronounced what was common internet lingo for the social media overlord. Valentino on the other hand, tried to push Missy into trying out a different kind of acting- one she was not comfortable with in the slightest. The rabbit demon and moth had quite a frustrating dynamic, Missy making fun of him and shooting both him and his requests down, only for Valentino to complain to Vox that his 'pet' was being mean.

All in all, despite their vast differences, Missy ended up getting along quite well with the V's. Growing particularly close to Vox and Velvette, even if she felt in the back of her mind a gnawing concern for what Alastor would say if he saw her now.

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lyranova · 2 months ago

Text

Word Count: 840

Warnings: Language

—————

“ Let me out you bastards!”

“ Why? So you can add assault charges to your destruction of property charges?”

Gauche growled as he gripped the bars of his cell tightly; he needed to get out, his little sister, Marie, needed him!

“ If a little girl dies out there because I’m stuck in here, will you take responsibility?” Gauche shouted, making the cops turn to look at him.

They stared at him before looking at each other and laughing.

“ Yeah, I’m sure that ‘little girl’ will be fine.”

“ If she even exists!”

Gauche growled and shook the bars slightly.

“ That’s my little sister you’re talking about you son of a bi-!” He began before the two police officers stood up.

“ Hey, knock it off,” One said as he walked up to the cell.

“ Or you’ll regret it, you punk.” The other said as they both pulled out their batons.

Gauche stood up and stared them down.

“ Come and make me.”

As they stepped forward, they suddenly heard a loud voice echo down the hall.

“ What’s going on?”

The three of them all turned to see a tall, muscular man standing there with a raised brow and a cigarette in his mouth.

“ Nothing Inspector, just trying to teach this criminal some manners and respect,” One of the officer’s said, and Gauche scoffed.

“ Respect is earned, and neither of you idiots have earned it.” He quipped, making both officer’s faces go red as the newcomer laughed.

“ He’s gotta point, I like him!”

The officer’s turned towards him and threw him the keys.

“ Well, good for you, he’s your problem now Inspector.”

Gauche glared at the man but stepped back as he opened the cell.

“ C’mon, let’s go.”

He walked out of the cell, and the Inspector grabbed his upper arm lightly and led him out of the room, and once he closed the door he sighed.

“ Those guys need to loosen up geez,” He muttered.

Gauche didn’t respond, instead he walked beside the Inspector and silently planned his escape.

“ Don’t even try it, it won’t end well.” The Inspector told him, immediately guessing what he was thinking of doing.

He led him to a bench and sat Gauche down before standing in front of him.

“ Name’s Yami.” He introduced himself, and he looked up at him briefly before looking down.

“ Gauche.” He muttered as his eyes continued to scan the area, looking to see where the nearest exit was.

“ What’d you get arrested for?” Yami asked as he crossed his arms.

“ …I destroyed a rich man's house and car.”

“ Why?”

“ Because he nearly ran over me and Marie when we were walking down the street.”

“ Marie’s your little sister?” He asked, and Gauche nodded in reply.

“ And the cops weren’t going to do anything about it, so I took matters into my own hands.”

Yami nodded in understanding, and a silence fell over them.

And after a few minutes, he reached down and picked up Gauche’s handcuffed wrists.

“ What’re you doing?” He asked in confusion as Yami inserted the key into the lock.

“ I’m letting you go, but on one condition; you meet me here tomorrow at 9 am.”

Gauche frowned in confusion.

“ Why would I do that?”

“ Because if you don’t you’ll go to jail for at least five years, and then who will be there to take care of your sister?” Yami asked, and Gauche blinked.

Five years…he could go to jail for five years?!

“ So, meet me here at 9 am tomorrow,” He turned the key and the handcuffs fell off his wrists and landed on the floor with a clang.

“ And don’t be late.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“ Gauche, could you help me with this please?” Grey asked softly as she pointed to her computer. “ It keeps giving me an error.”

Gauche quickly shook his head as he turned his own computer off and stood up from his chair.

“ Can’t. Marie has a school play today and I don’t want to be late.”

“ But…her play isn’t for another hour?” Grey pointed out as they both looked at the clock.

The current time was 3 pm, and Marie’s play started at 4:30 pm.

“ Yeah, but when you count traffic and trying to get the best seat there I need all the time I can get.” He replied as he grabbed his work bag and slung it over his shoulder.

“ But-!”

“ Just call IT to come and fix it, I gotta go!” Gauche snapped before turning and rushing out the door without even so much as a goodbye.

“ Geez, what a jerk,” Finral muttered with a shake of his head. “ I’ll help you Grey.”

Gauche glared over his shoulder but didn’t say anything, he didn’t care that they thought he was a jerk, these people were just his co-workers that he saw for a few hours a day, and that was all.

Marie was his little sister, the only family he had left, she was the most important person in the world.

So it was obvious he was going to prioritize her over his co-workers.

————

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you all have a good day~!

#black clover #black clover fanfiction #gauche adlai #black clover gauche #gauche black clover #detective au #the mysterious members of unit b

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justplainwhump · 1 year ago

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Bad pets

Follows seamlessly after this piece on Angel and Lourdes, narrowly escaping recapture... or did they, really??

Developed with and written for @wildfaewhump - I do hope Lourdes is captured (pun not intended) well in this, I love them so much.

Content / warnings : BBU, BBU recapture, creepy whumper, whumper pov, referenced noncon (romantic training), referenced facility whump. Just some nasty people enjoying their nasty job.

Piers Scott was the sort of man others easily considered a bully; which was probably confirmed by how little that reputation bothered him. He was tall, broad around the shoulders, and the sort of heavy that came from strength rather than from fat. Piers could throw most other people around with ease. And he liked doing just that.

To his own surprise and utmost delight, he'd found an employer who paid him well to do exactly what he loved, each day, on the clock. This year would mark his fifteenth anniversary as a WRU handler. He'd started in training Guards, done alright, aided by his ability to instill respect in the trainees; but quickly enough it turned out that he was best suited for the less... refined elements of Romantic training. Many of his colleagues excelled at building trainees up to match the high WRU standards and clients' even higher expectations. But to build them up anew, you first needed someone to tear down what was there.

Piers did that.

He worked in prep protocol, assisted with the delivery of effective punishment, fear-related conditioning, and often enough he got called out on the streets for acquisition or reacquisition jobs.

Usually, these were fun.

Today though, just as he was getting acquainted with their latest target, a tiny, sweet, beautifully fearful stray with huge wide eyes and soft brown skin, some blond bitch in a fancy blue coat had shown up and shushed him off, claiming to be their owner.

He didn't believe one word of it. Little Doe-Eyes had been perfectly designed to the taste of someone, and years of experience made him sure that this someone was not her.

"What a bitch," Fin mumbles next to him, as they step to their van, looking past the pet and their alleged owner. "There's something off about both of them, if you ask me."

The couple is kissing now, in the middle of the road, the pet on their tiptoes, the taller woman leaning in.

"I'd pay to watch them fuck," one of the junior handlers mumbles. "They're both hot."

Piers watches the woman, the way her posture shifts, the way she curves her back and tilts her head. The junior is right, he thinks. They are. And it's not a coincidence.

He scoffs. "Because they've both had Romantic training," he mumbles. "The bitch is just a better liar than the little one."

"Fuck, you're right," Fin hisses, hand flicking to the shock baton at his belt, ready to lurch forward. It's too late. A taxi door slams shut behind them, as they speed off.

"She played us."

Piers pulls his phone from his pocket and with few clicks opens a map. "We can play them right back."

There's a blue dot on the map, where the team are standing in front of the coffee bar. And a red one, moving away from them steadily.

Chuckling, Fin shakes his head and pats Piers' shoulder. "Fucking genius. You put a tracker on them?"

"Little one is bound to stray off again sooner rather than later. I'll gladly be waiting there when they do."

"Well then. Let's see where they go. And put their descriptions in the database, see what comes out. I want to know who they are. Who's looking for them."

If someone's looking for them, Piers thinks. He's known Fin for plenty of re-ac jobs. They do bring in the pets with enough bounty on their heads, or those with desperate enough clients. They don't always bring in the others. Their job is to get strays off the streets and that they do. What happens after, well. There's a long established agreement between Fin and Piers not to talk about any of their favourites going missing.

"Dips on little Doe-Eyes," Piers says, catching his boss' gaze.

Fin smirks and nods, before he looks back on the red dot moving on the map. "Deal. Blondie is mine. And you -" he waves a hand at the juniors. "Just lean back and learn."

"What do we have?" A day later, Piers is leaning forward in the van, looking over the junior's shoulder on the laptop screen in front of them. They've been letting the junior's take the night shift, keep an eye on the bourgoise brownstone town house the tracker led them to and do their research.

The runaways had been surprisingly careful, letting their cab drive circles, stopping at a busy shopping centre where they presumably changed cars. But they'd been too stupid to notice the tracker Piers had slipped into Doe-Eyes' pocket. Nobody had ever intended to chase them. They just needed to wait.

Right now, the second junior is still staking out the street, while the others are gathered in the van.

"Little one is from Lourdes program," the junior said, pulling up the file. Piers studies their face on the photo. They are delicious. Vulnerable, eager, terrified. He's always been wanting to get his hands on a Lourdes. Seems it is his lucky day after all. "Reported stolen around a year ago. Owner seems to be over them, already ordered replacement number two."

"Lovely," Piers hums. "And the blond one?"

"More secretive. But you've been right, she's a Romantic as well. High security case, custom order, facility 002. Reported on the run since her owner died, but higher-ups weren't interested in making the search public, probably not to draw attention on that pretty face."

Fin has stepped in behind them as well. "Fine with me. Our attention will suffice for both of them." He glances at the house, then back at the screen. "Whose house is this? Doesn't look like a classic pet lib hide out."

"Freckles'." The junior points at the photo of the blond pet. "Made up a fake identity, married the owner, conveniently inherited when he passed just months later. Doe-Eyes moved in after. Nobody else lives there."

"Freckles, huh?" Fin clicks his tongue, reaching out to trace the pet's lips on the screen. "What a naughty, naughty girl. And she's got so much to lose now."

"How do we get in?," Piers asks. "Freckled bitch won't just open the door, and this is the neighbourhood to just pick a lock. Back door could be -"

The side door of the van slides open, and before Piers can even jump up and grab his baton, someone is thrown on the metal floor between them.

Brown skin, barely covered by a strappy black top and a mini skirt. Beautiful black hair. And huge eyes, wide with fear at their sight.

Doe-Eyes. Curling up in respect position even unprompted. "Please," they whimper. "Please, please, please."

Piers sucks in a breath. Fuck. They're even more enticing today than they were yesterday.

"Look what I found." The junior handler jumps in behind the pet, tosses a small black purse to Fin. "Lost little puppy, wandering the street, all alone."

"Well then," Fin laughs, in utmost delight, as he reaches into the purse and pulls out a single key. "Problem solved. I guess we'll walk right in." He kicks the pet in the side, and they wince beautifully, as he flips them over on their back, staring up at the handlers. Fin firmly plants a foot on their chest, as he smiles down on them. "Hello again, Doe-Eyes. Remember us?"

They nod, desperate tears glinting in their lashes. "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir, I was a bad pet, I was wrong, I should have been good."

"You can still be good." Fin smiles, the fake winning smile every handler learns to master. "Your friend, though. She's a naughty one, isn't she? She's lied to us. Stolen from us. Pretended to be a person."

The pet shivers, and Fin keeps smiling. "You know what happens to bad pets, don't you? What has to happen?"

Doe-Eyes is trembling under Fin's boot, but they nod nonetheless, even manage to call up a shaking, sweet, apologetic smile in return. They're breathtaking. "Yes, Sir," they whisper and cast their eyes down. "Bad pets get punished."

Yeah, Piers thinks, drowning in their sight. Bad pets get punished.

He knows it's going to be glorious.

#bbu #Angel the romantic #Lourdes the romantic #handler piers scott #handler fin somers #recapture #bbu recapture #noncon reference cw

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fablesrose · 1 year ago

Text

Ch 15 - The Zanzibar Marketplace Job

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Ford!Reader

Description: Maggie gets arrested in Ukraine for stealing a priceless artifact. The team's got to go work with Sterling to get it back and clear her name

Words: 6560

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nate decided to let us help sort through possible clients, so the four of us, Nate, Tara, Eliot, and I were sitting around a table in McRory’s, looking through files. Hardison and Parker stood at the bar chatting, not wanting to over crowd. Nate explained his file which described a family whose pension disappeared and had their land seized by the state under eminent domain.

“So these are all your lost sheep?” Tara asked, flipping through her own folder.

“Excuse me?” Nate asked.

“Well, you know, you can’t save them all.”

Nate didn’t have a response to that and just stood, saying he was going to get a refill of coffee.

Tara looked between the two of us, “You know he’s drinking again.”

“I know,” I sighed at the same time Eliot said, “I’m not an idiot, Tara.”

“I was told this was a problem,” Tara said.

“Drinking’s not a problem,” Eliot corrected, “It’s a symptom.”

The conversation didn’t go further as Nate came back. I kept my head down, looking at the file I had randomly selected, but I wasn’t actually reading it. They were right, but I didn’t know what I could do about it. I couldn’t do anything, really. Nate made his own decisions and he was one of the most stubborn people I knew. While I could support him, and hope he stopped again. I couldn’t make him.

As I was lost in my thoughts I didn’t realize Nate had focused on someone who had walked into the pub until he said, “Eliot, I’m gonna ask you not to do anything violent.”

I looked up at Nate with a curious expression, why would he say that? I looked over to Eliot to see he had a similar look, but what caught my attention was the fact that Sterling was standing behind him.

“What?” Eliot said, “What are you talking about? I only use violence as an appropriate response.”

“Hello Nate,” Sterling said.

I watched as Eliot’s expression shifted for a split second before he stood quickly from his seat, turned and clocked him across the face. Sterling tried to fight back, even whipping out a baton, but he was nowhere close to even slowing Eliot down. A quick look at Parker and Hardison revealed that they were enjoying the show.

“And this is…?” Tara asked.

“James Sterling,” Nate answered, “we used to work together. Insurance.”

“Seems to rub Eliot the wrong way.”

“You could say that,” I answered this time.

Nate walked up to the pair as Eliot pinned Sterling to the table he had been beating him on. “Hello Sterling. What are you doing here?”

“Actually, I came to offer you a job,” he strangled out.

“There’s nothing you could say to make us work with you,” Eliot said.

“It’s Maggie.”

Nate looked at me for a moment before telling Eliot to bring him upstairs. Eliot hauled Sterling up and kept a tight grip on him until we all got to Nate’s apartment. Sterling, of course was being a bit whiny and dramatic about being beat up, particularly that first punch across the face. I grabbed an ice pack out of Nate’s freezer and, a bit pettily, tossed it at him. I was aiming at his face, but miscalculated and it hit lower at his chest and shoulder. Though, he still flinched at the pack being cold and hard when it hit, so I called it a win.

Sterling held the ice pack to his face as he explained the situation. A Faberge egg worth nine million dollars due to its rarity, was stolen from a Ukrainian museum. Maggie, who was working in that museum verifying Russian artifacts, was the only one in the building when the egg was stolen, therefore, she had been blamed.

“Who is…?” Tara asked.

“Maggie is Nate’s ex-wife,” Eliot answered quickly.

“Okay, is there any chance she took the egg?”

“No,” Parker answered this time, “Maggie is the most honest person we know, but besides that she’s okay.”

“Tara, she is probably a significant reason why I turned out, quote on quote, ‘normal,’” I added.

Nate came rushing down the stairs from his room, “Maggie is being set up.”

“You live, and work here?” Sterling asked incredulously.

“Yeah.”

“I like the old place better.”

“Do not mention the old offices,” Hardison demanded.

“Maggie is where, precisely, right now?” Nate asked before that anger could get too far.

“She is currently awaiting trial in the Kiev jail,” Sterling answered. “Of course when I heard that poor Maggie was being held without bail, I rushed-”

“Please,” Nate interrupted, “As soon as you found out that the Faberge egg that your company insures went missing, you-”

“Rushed to the Ukraine,” Sterling finished. “Of course I was unable to clear her name.”

“But I’m assuming you have another suspect.”

“Absolutely,” Sterling put a picture on the screen, “Alexander Lundy, international real estate mogul. Very rich, very powerful. My only problem is that he works at the American embassy, which makes him untouchable by normal law enforcement.”

“Guys we’ve got to book it, our flight to Kiev leaves in three hours,” Hardison insisted. Luckily we had all been multitasking getting our documents together.

“Hang on,” Eliot said before we all scattered to finish packing. “I’m not working next to this guy,” Eliot stated, pointing accusingly at Sterling.

“You don’t have to,” Nate assured, “I’ll work with him. You have a different job.”

“What?”

“Well, you’re the retrieval specialist,” Nate said, “retrieve my wife from jail, let’s go.”

Once we got to Kiev, Nate and Sterling went to meet with Alexander Lundy, and Tara, Hardison and Eliot went to get Maggie released from jail. Parker and I didn’t have anything to do at the moment, so we decided to go sightseeing for a little bit. We went to the museum, though I think Parker and I had different focuses. While I was admiring the art and artifacts, Parker couldn’t take her eyes off of the cameras and motion sensors.

We returned to the I.Y.S. offices where Nate and Sterling were holding their investigation. They had boards with paperwork pinned to it, trying to figure out just how to prove that Maggie had nothing to do with the missing Faberge egg, and that Alexander did it.

“That lying son of a-” Nate said, “I mean, look at these financials, the credit crunch wiped him out. He’s maybe three, four months from declaring bankruptcy.”

“Lundy offers up the egg to the museum exhibitions, so it falls under their insurance policy,” Sterling said, “hires a bit of local muscle to help with the heist, tidy payout.”

“Now, we just need some proof.”

Parker sighed from where she was perched on the counter, “It was an inside job. Average keypad hack time is one minute nine point three seconds, inner door access card takes at least thirty seconds for anybody but Hardison, and the vault was an old Mark two Remington.” She puffed, “In and out average, seven minutes forty seconds. With these thieves, they did it in five minutes twelve seconds. Maggie had the best access, so the real thieves only had to get her codes and badge… yeah, only way they could pull it off that fast.”

Sterling looked at Nate and I, “How long has she been sitting…”

I just nodded at him since she had been there the whole time, but Nate didn’t even bother.

“Maggie’s on his calendar,” Nate said as he looked through some files, “he had lunch with her the day of the heist to discuss his collection. So while he’s keeping her busy at lunch, his men take her ID card and access codes… She gets framed for the heist, oh boy, I’m gonna nail this son of a-”

The door opened across the room and none other than Maggie, the woman of the hour, walked into the conference room.

“I can explain,” Nate said quickly.

I walked over and gave her a hug while Parker laid out some supplies on the table to show Maggie. Maggie hugged me back a bit confusedly.

“We’re here to help,” I assured.

“Maggie, it’s not what you think,” Nate also assured.

Parker dragged Maggie over to the table, “It’s your first time being a fugitive, so I made you a bag.”

“Thank you, Parker,” Maggie said, “It’s not that I don’t appreciate getting out of jail, I just can’t live my life as a fugitive.”

“But you're not a fugitive,” Nate corrected, “You were released, not broken out.”

Parker was busy telling Maggie all the supplies she included in Maggie’s go back including a lock pick, toothpaste, and explosive gel, important not to mix up.

“But you released me to run. I’m not going anywhere until my name is cleared.”

“That’s what I’m here to do!” Nate said, “to get the egg back and to clear your name.”

Maggie looked at me, thinking I was less likely to lie to her.

“Yes,” I backed Nate up, “That is what we’re trying to do, we just didn’t want you sitting in jail while we do that though.”

She turned back to Nate, “but you’re clearing my name with thieves! No offense Parker.”

Parker gave her a puzzled look, “at what?”

“Actually,” Sterling said cooly, “Nate and Y/n here have been rehabilitated.”

I scoffed, “Please Sterling, freelancing is a more honest profession than whatever you do.” The fact that I hadn’t done freelancing for months was not a fact that either him or Maggie needed to know.

“Fine, Nate has been rehabilitated,” Sterling amended, “he’s here on official I.Y.S. business as a consultant. I brought him on.”

“You’ve gone straight?” Maggie asked.

Nate nodded but didn��t directly answer her, “the only reason they’re here is to deal with the authorities and to get you released and everything. They’re not staying.”

“Absolutely not,” Sterling said, “I don’t trust them, they don’t trust me.”

“Eliot already punched him,” Parker added, trying to help.

“Yeah, it’s all above board,” Nate concluded, “it’s perfectly legit. You know, I think, really the best thing you could do is go back to the hotel, get cleaned up and everything, and I’ll call you if anything happens.”

Parker then ushered Maggie away with the intention of further explaining the go bag without the discouragement of Nate. I followed after them to maybe help Maggie escape if need be. I was eventually able to convince Parker that we needed to go and get her ready to ‘leave.’ It was a small lie in front of Maggie, because in reality Parker did have to get ready to leave, but it was for the American Embassy, not for home. Parker and Hardison went to the embassy pretending to apply for a marriage visa in order to get information off of Lundy’s phone.

“Alexander has a travel visa to the United Arab Emirates,” Hardison said once they gleaned the info, “He’s also setting up accounts in the Caimans, Macao, and Switzerland.”

“Yes,” Nate said, “countries with no extradition treaty. Tax havens. Yeah, this does not look like someone who is going to wait around for the insurance payout.”

“And this guy showed up on his phone.”

“I know him,” Parker said. “That’s Adrian Chernov, he’s a fence.”

“Fence? So he’s selling it,” Hardison said.

“Oh yeah, sure he’s selling it,” Nate responded, “He’s going to sell that egg on the black market and run.”

“Gotta hand it to the guy, it’s a pretty good plan,” Parker remarked, “I almost feel a little bad for screwing it up.”

“Really? I don’t,” Nate stated.

I shot him a look, questioning his attitude for this job. Sure, Maggie was involved, but this pettiness wasn’t going to help in the long run.

“Uh, Hardison? Can you get Chernov’s location for Tara and Eliot, please?” Nate requested.

Hardison did as requested and sent Tara and Eliot on a mission. I was surprised at how quickly they were able to get some information, though it didn’t seem like much. The only thing that Chernov had on him was an envelope with a plain blank card inside. None of us could figure it out, so when they got back we called someone who might.

“It’s a Zanzibar marketplace,” Sophie said when we showed her the card, “The marketplace is a one time event, it crops up in a city when an important piece has been stolen. You should have seen Stockholm after the Rembrandt heist. Parking was a bloody nightmare!”

“If it’s a one time event,” I started, “how do people know to come? It’s not like you can advertise.”

“Well, the prospective buyers are invited by their black market contacts,” Sophie answered. “They show up, verify the merchandise, and they make a sealed bid. Hey, shine an ultraviolet light on that card.”

Hardison dug through his bag, pulling a small one out.

“Seriously?” Eliot asked, “you have one, just laying around?”

“And you’re surprised?” I asked in return. I had been eyeing the two braids he had in his hair the past couple of days. They originated from underneath layers of his hair, but were accentuated with beads at the end. I took the opportunity to give a playful tug to one of them, playing a bit with the bead.

Eliot lifted his eyebrow at me, but didn’t tell me off. I gave a soft smile before dropping my hand, turning part of my attention back to Sophie and the card. I felt a bit bold touching his hair like that, I hadn’t attempted to do so until now. I didn’t want to push it though, even if he didn’t have a negative reaction this time. In fact, I hadn’t touched Eliot in any capacity very often. Still, the bit of hair I did touch was soft, and I theorized I would be thinking about it in the future.

“The bidder’s ID number and the time of the auction’s encrypted on the card,” Sophie continued. “The bidders write their bid on the back of the card, one number, no zeros, and they hand it to the seller in a sealed envelope. They leave town immediately. A week later, if they win, they transfer the money, and the merchandise is couriered to them by a messenger as soon as the heat’s died down.”

As Sophie was explaining this, Hardison shone his little UV light on the card, and sure enough a time and bidding number appeared.

“So no names, no contact with the money, or the item?” Hardison clarified. “Nice.”

“Alright,” Eliot said, “so marketplace means multiple buyers at the same time. Where’s he gonna do this without drawing attention?”

“At the embassy,” Nate answered as he entered the room.

The three of us shared a look, glancing at Sophie who made a cutting motion on the screen. In response, Hardison slowly lowered the laptop screen, effectively ending the call.

Nate continued as if he hadn’t noticed, “Yeah, the American Embassy is having a party tonight. Perfect cover.”

“It’s a great place to store stolen merchandise,” Eliot pointed out. “Pretty much American territory, local cops can’t even get through the gate.”

“Well, even if we can prove that Alexander has the egg, police can’t touch him or search for it.”

“If we can’t let loose the dogs of law enforcement on him, what do we do?” Hardison asked.

“We, uh, steal the damn thing back,” Nate replied simply.

I guess it was settled. Luckily formal attire has been permanently placed on my packing list, it seems you can never predict when there’s a time to dress up. All of us attended the party, courtesy of Sterling and I.Y.S., except for Hardison due to Sterling being petty about almost being blown up. At least, so I hear.

The plan was for Tara to be the buyer and once the egg was located, Eliot and Parker would snatch it back. Hardison was in a van to run any technical support needed and I was there for additional personal support. Probably to be a distraction at some point.

This plan was quickly foiled when Sterling conveniently forgot to tell us that Alexander and Maggie were in a relationship. This was only revealed when they walked into the party together. That meant that Alexander saw Tara with Nate, blowing her cover to be the buyer. It also meant that Eliot and Parker had to be extra careful to avoid being seen. Nate had Eliot be the bidder now, which required the envelope that Tara had with the card.

“Parker,” Tara signaled, “Double reverse on three.” She took an empty glass and placed it along with the card on a waitress’s tray who was heading in her direction.

I watched from a separate corner as Parker snatched the card off the tray and handed it to Eliot as they passed each other walking in different directions. “Damn, that was smooth,” I said, mostly to myself, clearly impressed and slightly jealous.

Eliot gave me a quick wink through the crowd as he headed off to the auction which caused a blush to cross my face.

I kept my distance from Nate and Tara as Maggie and Alexander approached, not wanting to get in the middle of that if I didn’t have to.

Tara and Maggie introduced themselves to each other after a pointed exchange between Nate and Maggie. Alexander then thanked Nate for helping get Maggie out of jail.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Nate said. “After all, what was I supposed to do, let her sit and rot in a Ukrainian jail, to think about the poor choices she’s made? Without setting things right, or explaining herself?”

I sighed and said to myself, “What is it with everyone being petty today?” I then said pointedly, “ Nate, what the hell? Stop-” I wasn’t sure what to say, “Just stop with the attitude please, you’re acting like a toddler.”

Tara grabbed a drink off of a waitress’s tray and raised it to the group, “Cheers.”

Eliot made it to the auction saying, “Alright Nate, he’s hired some local security on the payroll, watch yourself.”

I glanced around the ballroom, picking out the few security personnel I could see. There was enough that suggested that there was plenty between who he hired and regular security to make certain menouvers difficult if not impossible. Hopefully if everything went to plan, it wouldn’t come to that.

The two pairs made painfully awkward small talk across the room; I was glad I had decided to stay out of it. When Alexander excused himself, we knew it was go time. Eliot signaled they were about to present the egg and the rest of us prepared to get it back. What we didn’t expect was that the egg was presented as a video feed, meaning we didn’t know where it was.

Hardison worked on tracking the signal of the feed and Eliot delayed the auction by having them move the egg on the screen ensuring it was a live feed and not a recording. Luckily, Hardison was able to work his magic and identify that it was not only still in the embassy, but what room it was in. He sent the map to us and Parker went to grab it.

I was not as successful at blending into the crowd as Parker was, Maggie spotted me and wrapped me into a conversation with her and Tara. It was pleasant conversation, small talk at first, Maggie getting to know Tara. That’s to say, it was pleasant until Maggie just had to catch up with me.

“So…” she said, “anything happen between you and Eliot?” She had an innocent smile, but the intonation was more suggestive.

I gave her a pointed smile, signalling her to drop it. “No, nothing’s happened. You know, with Nate cleaning up, going straight, I’ve only seen Eliot a couple of times since LA,” I lied. “Besides, we both know it was just the job, his character,” I said, this statement much less of one, if not completely true.

Maggie gave me a hum and a, ‘if you say so’ look.

I glanced at Tara who had a lifted brow, curious. I lifted my own brow in return, almost daring her to say something, but desperately hoping she wouldn’t.

Luck was on my side in this particular instance as the conversation shifted from my imaginary dating life to specifically them dating Nate. I saw Nate was walking towards us, so I gracefully excused myself to ‘grab a drink’ despite all the waitresses walking around. I started after Parker just in case something came up and she needed help.

Unfortunately, something did come up. When the video feed ended, the guard who was in the room with the egg exited, and started guarding the door. Parker had no way in. Everyone else was out of position. I was on my way to help distract him when I ran into Sterling.

We looked at each other for a moment in the hallway. He raised his bottle half empty bottle with a tilt of his head. I nodded, inferring what he was going to do and encouraged him down the hallway, leaving me a gap to follow.

He started to coughing and staggering down the hallway just before he turned the corner where the guard would be. I left a roughly ten second gap before I started calling down the hallway after him. I jogged a little bit at the end, not very fast in the shoes I was wearing, but enough to show I was chasing.

“Dad!” I said as I finally spotted him drunkenly leaning against the wall. The guard was already starting to approach him cautiously. I grabbed Sterling’s shoulder as if trying to stand him up again. “God dammit, I turn away for one second…” I feigned struggling to help him and turned to the guard who had closed the gap.

“Do you need help, miss,” the guard asked. Well, for a goon of the bad guy, he was sweet.

“Would you please?” I asked, stepping away from Sterling to give the guard some room. “He’s a drunk, I can barely keep track of him sometimes.”

“I’m not a drunk,” Sterling slurred, “you are very strong.”

“Thank you,” the guard said as he supported him down the hallway we came from.

I glanced to the other side of the hallway to see Parker sneaking around the corner towards the room. I nodded at her before turning back to Sterling and the guard, keeping him occupied. Parker communicated no issues when grabbing the egg and getting out. It didn’t take too long for the guard to get Sterling to a more respectable part of the embassy and for us to let him go back to his now empty post.

“Your welcome,” Sterling said after the guard had gone. “I don’t know how you people ever manage-”

He cut off and stuck his finger in his ear. Hardison apologized for comm feedback, but everytime Sterling tried to talk, the feedback came back. I saw that Parker was cracking a smile similar to mine each time it happened.

We were prepared to clear out with the egg, but Nate was suddenly nowhere to be found. We decided to regroup back at our temporary base of operations, aka the I.Y.S. conference room, before doing anything too drastic. When we got back, Hardison tried everything he could think of to contact Nate, but to no avail. He couldn’t find him anywhere.

“The case is closed, people,” Sterling whined, “the egg is back, I’m sure Nate is breaking it to Maggie about her continued bad choice in men.”

Before I, or anyone else, could snap back a retort, Hardison’s laptop rang with a call from Nate’s cell. When he answered, it was not Nate on the other end of the line.

“We have your people,” the deeply disguised voice said. “No police. Await further instructions.” It then hung up.

I immediately looked to Eliot, but my gaze shifted to Sterling who had begun to dial his phone.

“What are you doing?” Tara asked, reading my mind.

“Calling the police,” he said simply, “they don’t get to-”

Eliot snatched the phone before he could finish, “We’re not calling the cops. Two hostages means they can kill one to make a point.”

I nervously started chewing on the tip of my thumb, purposefully avoiding the nail. The focus and pressure on both my thumb and teeth was a distraction and outlet from the rising panic and anxiety rising through me. I couldn’t remember the stakes being this high, and for some reason, it felt that all the previous jobs and even my life before this was on easy mode, or even a dream, and that we had just entered the real world. Or maybe this was a dream, not really happening. Before I could spiral further, Eliot took charge, bringing my attention back to him.

“Alright listen, there's three types of calls we can get next,” Eliot began, “One: amateur. Cash and a dump site. Number two: professional. That’s wire transfers and multiple location drop offs.” Eliot then hesitated for half of a second, “And three: targeted.”

“Targeted towards us?” Hardison asked hesitantly.

“No,” Eliot answered, “towards a specific ransom demand.” He looked at the egg that was sitting in a case on the table, “not cash.”

Sterling was not having it, “You know, risking a nine million dollar artifact-”

“It might be the only chance!”

“On a hunch!”

Eliot was clearly irate as he rolled his eyes and rounded the table to stand behind the rest of us, facing Sterling.

“Let me run this,” Sterling continued, “we track the calls, find out whoever it is, let the police-”

“Sterling,” Eliot finally cut him off, “I’m the retrieval specialist. That’s my job.”

Sterling took a hard look at us, “Your friends’ lives hang in the balance, and you’re gonna take your cues from a punch up artist, instead of me?”

None of us verbally answered, it was clear where we stood. Sterling shifted his gaze across every one of us individually, testing the waters until he came to me.

“Even you, y/n? You trust him to save your dear Uncle Nate and Auntie Maggie and not me?”

I swallowed with a set jaw before answering because it was clear this time that he wanted an answer, “Yeah, Sterling. I trust him. I’d trust him with this any day of the week over you. And to top it off, I like him better too. So let. him. do it. Or there’s gonna be problems.” I could feel myself trembling softly, mostly through my hands which I was hiding behind the table. I couldn’t decide if it was fear, anger, or something else, but I started to chew on my lip once I finished talking to release some energy and keep myself from saying something stupid.

Sterling made an expression of acceptance and closed the case with the egg in it and grabbed it off the table. “Call me when you need me. Cuz you will need me.” He then walked out of the room with the egg in hand.

The rest of us looked at each other once he was gone. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I guess this was it. We had to get Nate and Maggie back.

Eliot directed Tara and Parker to try to see where Alexander was, Tara to check his house, Parker to check around the embassy. Hardison continued to work on his laptop, trying to prepare or find anything that would help.

I paced around the room a couple of times before turning to Eliot. I was about to ask what I could do when he shook his head.

“There’s nothing you can do right now, we just have to wait,” he placed his hand on my shoulder which comforted me more than he would know and directed me to sit at the table. “We’re gonna get them back, I promise. I’m gonna get them back.” He held eye contact long enough for me to know that he meant it.

I nodded, letting him know that I believed him. He then removed his hand and sat at his own seat, thinking. I was so tired, this night had been long and now the stress was draining my energy even faster. I folded my arms on the table and rested my head. Just for a second, to rest my eyes. As hard as I tried to not fall asleep, Hardison’s quiet clacking on his keyboard slowly lulled away from consciousness.

I awoke with a start when Tara and Parker walked in the room sporting no news of where Alexander was except not at his house and that his embassy car was checked out.

“He’s angry,” Eliot said, “We took his payday.”

Just then, the phone rang. Eliot spread his hands with an ‘alright’ and pulled the conference speakerphone towards him.

“Go,” he said simply when he answered it.

“If you follow our instructions, your friends will be returned unharmed,” the distorted voice on the other end said.

“We agree. Tell us what you want.”

Hardison worked on reversing the distortion and succeeded which revealed Alexander’s voice.

“You owe me nine million dollars,” Alexander said. “I still have a buyer for the egg, return it, and I return your friends.”

“I want proof of life, now,” Eliot demanded.

Alexander hesitated, “Agreed.”

It wasn’t long before a webcam video was provided showing a storage room where Alexander’s assistant was handcuffed. The accountant was talking about Alexander’s finances when Nate walked into frame, saying that we had found all of the fishy stuff in his accounts. Maggie then walked into frame and started arguing about us being here.

“There’s our proof of life,” Eliot said.

“I was in that room earlier,” Parker said.

“That’s the room the egg was in.”

“They’re at the embassy.”

“That doesn’t do us any good,” Tara pointed out. “We can’t storm it and the police can’t touch it.”

The feed cut out.

“I sent you the address,” Alexander said, “Come alone, at dawn. Bring the egg, or your friends die.”

Eliot hung up, shoving the speaker away.

Hardison pulled up the address Alexander sent, “Okay, the address is one of Alexander’s construction sites. Local project. Abandoned once his business got in trouble.”

“So now we have to go convince Sterling,” Tara said. “Who hates you-”

“Us,” Parker corrected, “He hates us.”

“To loan you a nine million dollar antique,” she continued, “so you can bring it to a ransom drop.”

“Listen,” Eliot said, “We know who’s behind this. We know what they want. We have the upper hand here. We do.”

We started to prepare for the drop. Eliot was coming up with the plan, predicting an elevator drop since we were directed to go to one of the higher floors of the building. There was a moment where he stopped mapping it out and stared at the screen again where the webcam feed used to be.

“What is it?” I asked him when I noticed the furrowed brow.

“There wasn’t sound on the video during the auction, but there was sound for our proof of life,” he said thoughtfully.

I sat and thought on it for a minute, trying to find an explanation. The video played over in my head a couple of times before I thought I noticed something.

“The assistant…” I thought out loud, “He didn’t seem… right. For someone who had been taken hostage. It sounded almost…”

“Rehearsed,” Eliot finished for me. He finally broke his gaze at the screen and looked at me, “I think it’s him doing this, not Alexander.”

I rested my head on my hands, “So what does this mean?”

He tilted his head, “He kept this pretty well covered up, blaming Alexander, he might try to pull something.”

I hesitated, “Like… leave no witnesses, pull something?”

Eliot nodded, “Yeah.”

I took a deep breath, “So what now?”

He turned back to his notepad, scribbling a bit more before setting his pen down. “Well, I have a plan. Now to see if Sterling will give up the egg long enough for us to get Nate back.”

“Do you want me to handle that?” I asked, trying to be helpful, knowing full well the tension that would be there.

“No,” he responded simply, “I’ll talk to him.”

I sighed a little annoyed, “Eliot, don’t baby me, let me do something. I’ve felt useless the last few jobs, I want to help. I want to help get Nate back.”

“Hey,” Eliot stopped me, “I’m not babyin’ ya. I know you’re capable. I didn’t like the way he spoke to you earlier, to be honest. Just… don’t worry about anything, okay?”

I nodded meekly before saying a bit more light heartedly, “yeah, you’re right, you should do it. The underlying threat of him being punched in the face might help our case, huh?”

He gave me a crooked smile and a wink before going to make the call.

I looked up after him as he walked away when my eyes caught Tara’s from across the room. It looked like she had been watching the exchange with a tilt of her head. I tilted my head back at her and she walked over to sit across the table from me.

“How’re you holding up?” She asked.

I rubbed my eyes, “You’re the grifter, I’m sure you can tell.”

“It’s still polite to ask,” she said pointedly.

I gave a murmured agreement before answering, “I’m… okay. I trust the team. It’s just…” I trailed off, trying to find the words. “It’s just another one of those moments where it hits me how useless I am. I can’t contribute anything, I’m just dead weight that they have to worry about in case something goes wrong. You all have done this for years, you know the risks, how to navigate them. I’m trying, and I want to be here, but…” I didn’t know how to finish, but I figured I didn’t need to. I didn’t need to dump on Tara, she was here for the paycheck.

“Well, maybe they need a little bit of normal in their lives. Keeps them grounded,” she answered unexpectedly, to me at least.

I looked up at her for a moment, “That’s kind of you to say, Tara.” It was clear I didn’t quite believe her.

She stood up again, “Fine, if you won’t listen to me, at least listen to Eliot. Stop worrying about it. You said you trust the team. So trust them.” She walked out of the room, most likely going to the hotel to sleep.

That wasn’t a bad idea.

The next morning I was still stressed, but resting helped me feel a lot better. I wanted to wait with Eliot on the higher floor to be there when Nate and Maggie arrived, but he told me to go help Tara with her task. I was going to protest, but the stern, yet reassuring look he gave me encouraged me to go.

Tara and I waited around the corner, waiting for the embassy car that the assistant would come in. Once they pulled up, he and his guards entered the building with Nate, Maggie, Alexander, and a suspicious looking bag in tow. I handed Tara a screwdriver and she handed back a license plate that Hardison had linked to a stolen vehicle.

We each took a side and began to switch the embassy plates, making it officially a civilian car. When I had just finished up, Sterling came out of the building, the Faberge Egg in hand. I was going to ignore him, but he walked right up to me and the car.

“Can you get me into the trunk?” He asked seriously.

I furrowed my brow in confusion, “The trunk? You want me to stuff you in the trunk?”

His face twisted in a way that told me that he didn’t like the way it was phrased, but finally replied, “Yes.”

“Okay,” he didn’t have to tell me twice.

They had been stupid, or confident, enough to leave it unlocked so I simply pulled the trunk handle that was beside me and opened it up.

“In ya go,” I grabbed his arm and shoved him towards the opening.

He barely was able to catch himself and landed ungracefully. He twisted around to face me and said sarcastically, “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” I closed the trunk lid on his head, bumping it a little. I heard a muffled swear. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m sure a bruise wouldn’t hurt the act,” I answered loudly at him. I didn’t wait for another muffled answer and went to the other entrance to head up to the floor where everyone else was. Tara and I waited around the corner to watch them speed off first though.

When Tara and I arrived, Hardison was explaining how he sped up the elevators and then stopped them to give Parker time to switch out the bomb from the elevator and then put the elevators on track to arrive on time.

“Looks like we missed the party,” Tara said.

“Did they do what we thought?” Eliot asked.

“Yup,” I popped the ‘p.’ “Hopped into their ‘embassy’ car and sped off towards the airport.”

Tara and I raised the license plates, showing the switch. She dropped hers on the ground while I inspected mine for a moment.

“Might keep a souvenir,” I commented.

“How did you…” Nate asked.

Eliot explained the sound on the webcam and how he figured out who was really behind the theft and kidnapping.

“After that, you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure it out,” he finished.

“You know, people underestimate you Eliot,” Maggie said.

“That’s kinda the point,” Nate replied.

Eliot turned towards the rest of us with a content smile for a moment before Alexander asked where the egg was.

“Yeah, in order for us to get the egg from Sterling, he made some additions,” Eliot said.

“Wouldn’t let the egg out of his sight, or too far from his grasp,” I added. I thought back to him coming out of the building with it and pushing him in the trunk, “He’s got it safe and sound.”

That settled it, so we left to go pack up and head home. Once we got there, we gathered in the pub for our celebratory drink. Except, the news was on. It showed Sterling crawling out of the embassy car trunk and telling the news how he discovered who had the egg and got it back.

“Based on his work recovering the priceless artifact,” the news anchor said, “He’s been invited to join Interpol. He’s a real life Sherlock Holmes.”

“That son of a gun,” I said. “I should have hit him harder with the trunk, knocked him out.”

“Yeah,” Parker said to me, “Interpol? Seriously?”

“Sterling’s career gets another bump because of our hard work,” Hardison said.

“We didn’t even get paid,” Tara added.

“Nope,” Hardison answered.

“I hate this guy,” she concluded.

Eliot knocked his beer against hers, “Now, you’re part of the team.”

I raised my glass, “Cheers.”

A/n: Reblogs and comments are welcome and encouraged! Thank you for reading!

Tags: @instantdinosaurtidalwave @kniselle @technikerin23 @kiwikitty13 @plasticbottleholder

#eliot spencer x reader #eliot spencer #leverage #rewrite #slow burn #multichapter #nate ford #sophie devereaux #alec hardison #parker #ford!reader

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lgcjino · 7 months ago

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RE: P. AKA _ AUDITION

( enter proposed character synopsis: moon jino as ghost — double-o-nothing — and the inner workings of a spy who only has one last chance )

there are three approaches jino takes to heart:

one.

if it should have been easy, it will be easy.

two.

concept: get in, get the briefcase, get out.

three.

easy, right?

he’s watched enough spy movies to know that this is usually how it goes. and while those were all well and good, jino wants more — yearns to feel the intensity running through him like a jolt.

so, it begs to question — just what will jino have to offer once he steps through those doors?

it’s nothing easy that’s for sure.

where jino excels at : comedic ease, casual timing and a punchline. these are things he’s realized are becoming his comfort zone. and while still as green as can be behind the ears, jino wants for nothing but for that very reason, he isn’t afraid to explore where the grass is greener, a vast side of him he isn’t even sure he knows.

it’s why when he brings up the scenario to the stunt coordinator and just how jino wants the scene to go — he’s met with a reluctant stare and jino doesn’t blame him.

the are you sure is only met with a whimsical dead ass.

he envisions a down-on-his luck guy ; cold cut, rugged and tempered. the years have worn on him — was he a child sold to the scum of the earth? patrolled and skinned only to be hidden behind walls upon walls of political tape? or was he once a blinding star of national intelligence who fell from grace?

bingo!

the murmurs of this is your last chance have become a sore reminder to his character — the man who had it all only to realize all that he had was truly nothing.

this final task could be his ticket to freedom and with that breeds desperation; so pungent, he practically reeked of it as he stalks into the room. a rigid tension hammered into his frame, the briefcase in hand; knuckles bitten white from how hard he was grasping the handle.

strides long and fast, jino’s made it about two-thirds of the way through the room when he hears the tell-tale squeaks of the pseudo-security guard’s entrance. the stunt coordinator posed as a security guard stands directly behind him, stun baton clocked in his direction.

“drop it!”

“ah,” a scoff drips from his lips, “i knew this was going too easily for my liking —” the murmur is caught on his tongue as he turns swiftly to meet the eyes of the coordinator, the switch from his blank facade to his mask of a happy-go-lucky do-nothing-wrong associate is fast as he dons a smile and waves the other man away.

“nothing to see here, officer, you can go on your merry way.”

in reply, the stun baton expands from the force of the coordinator’s swing, “i said drop it.” the crackle of the prop is met with a laugh — jino’s derisive chuckle turns his expression cold as he steps forward, as if unafraid of the sparks that illuminated from the weapon aimed at him. walking ever so close that he’s nearly a breaths away, a heavy, albeit haughty exhale blown straight into the other’s face.

“i think you’re mistaken, officer, nothing is getting between me and this briefcase. so, you have two options —” a pause, a thrill jumps through his veins, “you either kindly get out of my way or,” and here his expression hardens, “i’ll make you.”

the coordinator stills where he stands, grip tightening on the baton, and in that exact moment, jino has his answer.

“alright — i warned ‘ya.”

his head rams backwards only to be thrust forward; and before the other could react, aligning directly with the coordinator’s face with a smack! if he couldn’t get out of this cleanly, brute force could work, too.

reeling backwards, the baton slackens in the coordinator’s grasp but it’s not lost as it also comes towards jino; hurling towards his core, an inch closer and jino could practically taste the electricity on the tip of his tongue.

but his fist goes swinging, the heavy ( actually light and probably empty ) briefcase goes flying into the coordinator’s body this time. the force pulling jino, as well, losing his grip on the briefcase as it clatters to the floor alongside the coordinator and his baton.

fuck, jino thinks, so much for nothing getting in between him and the briefcase. as it skids several feet from them, there’s a distinct pause in the air as the tension is caught in their throats, two pairs of eyes singling out the lone briefcase now centered between them from widths away.

and in that moment, jino comes running — tackling the other man with a swipe of his leg beneath an ankle until they're both colliding on the floor. fists caught between skin and muscle; the crunch of bone and cartilage a crackle and pop beneath his hands. but he is not without his own anguish — with each hit he throws, another is crashing into his jaw, his eye and into the side of his ribs. it’s no dance — no tango, his steps are messy, tripped over as he tries to maintain momentum and advantage. but then his breath is quickly stolen from him as he’s suddenly found beneath the coordinator, trying to dodge hits to the face.

in a desperate attempt, a hand reaches out, for something — anything — until the baton is in his grasp and in that moment, the realization dawns upon both of them as jino’s words are lost amongst the struggle. the — i’m sorry — pulling a puzzling — what — from the coordinator as jino jabs the electrodes of the baton into the neck of their coordinator; watching as the jolt runs through the coordinator — rather exaggeratedly, if you asked jino but who was he to call the stunt coordinator out — before he topples onto jino, his last breathe quite literally stolen as the weight of the man is now pinning him to the floor.

with a groan, jino pushes the coordinator off, regaining his footing; but not without a stumble here, eyeing the body of his opponent lain on the floor.

“i told you to get out of my way.”

he tosses the baton, the exhaustion setting in then, grunting as he steps over the unconscious body. thumb swiped along his bottom lip, wiping away the blood that peppered along a broken lip ; he reaches for the briefcase, hauling it over his shoulder, deafening strides disappearing into the night.

#지노★ ₊ solo #lgc:castingcall017

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noneedtoamputate · 2 years ago

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Pumpkin Patch

Day Five of War is Helloween prompts by @almost-a-class-act !

Prompt: Character A meets Character B in a pumpkin patch and they both want the same one.

Characters: Eugene Roe/Renee LaMaire

Renee woke up, looked up at her alarm clock, and panicked before remembering that it was her day off. She smiled, and pulled her comforter tight around herself, enjoying the luxury of not having to wake up at 4:30 am to make it to the ER by six.

Eventually, she went downstairs to her kitchen, where a pot of coffee was already ready for her. She’d bought the house two months ago, after years of working overtime shifts to afford it. No more nasty apartments, no more roommates. Yes, the bungalow needed some work, but she’d already painted some of the rooms and found odds and ends at flea markets and estate sales. Slowly but steadily, she planned on making it her own.

Halloween was a few weeks away, and it was the first holiday she would celebrate in the house. She spent her lunch hours looking at Pinterest on how to decorate her porch. She couldn’t wait to hand out candy to the neighborhood kids and pretend to be scared by their costumes.

She showered, put on jeans and a flannel shirt, and tied a bandana around her head. She grabbed her purse and got into her car. She entered Boostogne Pumpkin Patch into Google Maps and was on her way.

The place was as cute as it looked on their website. She started filling a wagon with mums, cornstalks, and hay bales before heading over to the pumpkins. Pumpkins of every type were available. Some were good for jack o’lanterns or pies. They had ugly pumpkins with bumps. There were even white and yellow and red pumpkins. She started loading some into the wagon.

She reached for the pumpkin she wanted next and let out a small gasp when she felt a hand instead of the stem. She looked up and saw a familiar face. Gene Roe, a paramedic she knew from work.

No one called him Gene, though. Everyone called him Doc, ever since he had prevented a new resident from giving a patient an incorrect dosage.

“Sorry,” the doctor said. “I forgot.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to forget. You’re the only one in this room who went to school for seven years.”

From then on, all the nurses called him Doc, and the nickname stuck.

She enjoyed working with him. He gave excellent information to the ER staff, clear and concise. He kept the patients calm with his soothing manner. Not long after she started working at the hospital, they lost a patient, a young man in a car accident.

After he coded, she took a break outside, trying to find a private space where no one would see her cry.

He must have been trying to do the same thing when he found he found her sitting against the wall. He sat down next to her.

“Hey,” he said gently. “We did the best we could.”

She nodded.

“Can I ...?” He extended his arm. She nodded as she leaned into his shoulder.

After a few minutes, she remembered the mini Hershey bars in her scrub pockets.

“Chocolate?” she offered him, and he took one. From then on, she always shared a piece with him when he dropped off a patient.

“Nurse LaMaire.”

She smiled. “We’re not at work. You can call me Renee.”

He smiled back. “Renee,” he said, in his soft drawl.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He looked at her, shyly. “My grandma always took me here when I was a kid. I thought I’d pick her up a few pumpkins.”

“Well, I’m not going to take your grandma’s pumpkin,” she said as she let go of it.

“No, it’s okay,” he said.

She shook her head and grabbed the pumpkin next to the one he still held in his hand. “This one is just as good.”

“Only if you’re sure,” he said.

“I am.”

“My grandma was a nurse, at the VA hospital in Baton Rouge. I think what you all do is amazing.” He looked her in the eye. “I think what you do is amazing. You have a gift.”

They were both quiet for a moment.

“Well, if you’re going to give up your pumpkin, the least I can do is I buy you something at the cafe.”

He jerked his head over to a building. “They make the best pumpkin donuts here. You have to try one.” She didn’t want to tell him that she didn’t really like pumpkin, that she was more of a chocolate girl. Because at that moment, she wanted to share a pumpkin donut with Gene Roe more than anything.

“I’d like that,” she said.

He put his pumpkin in her wagon and took the handle in one hand.

He reached out his other hand toward hers.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

She nodded, and they walked hand in hand to get some donuts.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fic #war is helloween #eugene roe #doc roe #renee lamaire

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whumblr · 8 months ago

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Lights out

Crossed out - Continued from ch.7 - Prologue

Amazing how the word ‘no’ could cause so much pain.

Lucas writhed on the floor of Nero’s office, lying flat on his stomach. A dull pain radiated over his entire body, easily spreading along over the bruises. It was like he was buried in a ton of bricks; pinning his body to the floor, bruises left by every brick that fell down on him, a hue of red seeping into his vision—ah. No, that had a different cause.

He blinked the blood away. It tickled down his brow, against his upper lip. He rested his forehead against the floor, slowly shook it as if it could loosen the web of pain pulsing through. Tried to get his palms under him and push up, but as soon as his weight shifted onto his arms, he collapsed back into a heap.

His back had had to endure most hits, with him trying to protect his ribs, and he was sure he had a wealth of baton-shaped bruises crossing his skin.

Still, he suspected that Nero did hold back. With his strength, it would be nothing to punch his ribs through his lungs. Three at a time even, especially with that baton. Yet he seemed to avoid vulnerable spots, not meaning to disable. Well, not too much anyway. Merely to hurt. And hurt it did.

He did start to understand why the baton was a favourite; if you have to smash one inmate into the floor by ten, and beat another inmate into the infirmary at secret midnight meetings… well, guess you’ll go for the option that doesn’t leave your knuckles wrecked.

The sound of those combat boots getting closer was a full on trigger by now and it made him want to draw up in a foetal position. His body, however, didn’t even have the strength to curl up anymore.

“Now, Varga, pay attention, because this next rule is important. Are you listening?”

Lucas groaned. All his attention was currently redirected to making sure his limbs could still move, or taken up by the paralyzing pain. He peeked up at the man standing over him, a certain amount of relief washing over him as he noticed the baton was dangling against his hip, snapped back to his belt. Not fully reassuring, but at least it was a good sign that the worst was over. He scraped himself off the floor, pushing up to a sitting position. “Ye—Yes sir.”

“One of the main rules here is to be in your cell before lights out at ten o’clock. If you are not present during the night call, we will assume you are attempting to break out. And all consequences to that apply.”

Lucas glanced at the clock. It was fifteen to ten. “Then I’d better get going,” he tried.

Unexpectedly, Nero nodded. “You should.”

Glad to be dismissed, Lucas didn’t think twice. Mentally he was already checked out, back in his own cell, licking his wounds and taking the bits of rest he could. Fifteen minutes should, in his current state, be enough to teeter back to his cell. He struggled to his feet, helping his body along, hand on his knee using all his strength to push himself to straighten up and he made for the door.

“Not so fast.”

Fast was seriously overreaching here, with him barely getting one foot in front of the other and having to force himself forward every step. With his hand on the door handle, he slowly turned.

Nero held his gaze, then slowly glanced down, to the red drops showing where Lucas had just occupied part of the floor. Some were smeared out, matching the streaks on his arm from when he’d tried to scramble up.

“Clean that up.”

Lucas stared at him, back at the blood on the floor. He was suddenly very much aware of the drop sliding towards his upper lip and he quickly wiped it away. “You’re not—”

“I am dead serious. You made a mess, spilled blood all over my floor. Now clean it up.”

“There’s barely fifteen minu—”

“Then you’d better hurry.”

His head was pounding, his body wanting nothing more than to collapse onto the hard slab they called a bed here. Fuck’s sake he could barely stand, let alone—! He groaned out a sigh, resigned. “Fine. Where can I find the cleaning supplies?”

Nero turned away from him, rounded his desk, and sat back down in his chair before he answered, because he did have all the time in the world. “I’m sure one of the guards can help you with that.”

Fuck you very much.

Before he could earn another smack for being disagreeable, Lucas quickly exited the office. He let the door fall shut behind him and glanced around. Of course, there was no one in sight. He hobbled through the hallway, fast as he could biting through the pain, trying some of the doors. Everything was locked and an urging anxiety swirled around in his stomach. He already pictured himself outside his locked cell at one past ten, clawing at the bars, begging to be let in with Nero pulling him away by the collar of his shirt to administer… consequences.

He shook his head fiercely – nearly tilted himself off his axis – come on, focus!

Let’s see. Five minutes to find this stuff – 2 minutes left. Five minutes to swipe blood of the floor, and himself afterwards, which would probably take most of the time. And five minutes to crawl back to his cell. Not unreasonable. Except, totally unreasonable, when every step was a gamble with his body ready to collapse.

He stumbled around, very much aware how much time was ticking away until he finally found a guard who pointed him to an unlocked storage room.

A sigh of relief escaped him and he leaned in the doorway giving his body a small break, scanning what there was to use.

He really wanted to get a mop to use as a crutch, use it to scramble back and save a few seconds – and pain – pulling himself back up when he was done, but given his luck, there were only some cloths.

Knowing Nero, he wouldn’t like it if he left a wet stain on his floor and would send him right back to fetch something to dry it. He already was so short on time, so he took two cloths. With a quick detour to the bathroom, making sure to leave only some water drops in a trail behind him and not more blood – he swiped again at his nose – he knocked on Nero’s door. Had to be polite there, and not lose more time getting chewed out for barging in.

Aiming a sour glare at Nero – unanswered and luckily unnoticed as Nero didn’t even look up – he let the one cloth fall with a wet spletch. Followed along and fell to his knees, catching himself with a hiss, leaning on all fours for a moment to let the pain in his ribs fade, and cleaned up the drops of blood, his blood.

His nerves gave a jolt as he heard Nero get up, but the man merely stood and watched from a distance, leaning against his desk, arms crossed. When Lucas glanced up looking for approvement – with a quick glance at the clock first – Nero pointed without a word at a missed red smear under his knee.

“Permission to leave, sir?” Lucas almost panted, as if he’d completed heavy labor, sitting up high on his knees.

Nero nodded, not responding to the layer of sarcasm. “Dismissed. Don’t forget to bring that back.”

Suppressing a groan and a flinch, Lucas pushed himself back up. Every-thing hurt. Getting a baton across the ribs was one thing, but having to actively hurt yourself merely by having to keep moving was quite something else. He tossed both cloths back into the broom closet, blood and all, limped back to the cell area, and dragged himself up the stairs almost on all fours. He got some strange looks from the men already in their cells, but he ignored them, stumbling past as fast as he could.

He let out an exhale as he let himself fall against the bars of his cell door. The buzzer sounded before he could even catch his breath, and the bars shifted against his shoulder blades as the door closed.

Made it.

Continued here

Tag list: @gala1981 @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @andithewhumper @tippytappytyping

@suspicious-whumping-egg @cherrychupachup @alexmundaythrufriday @defire

#whump #prison whump #beating #sadistic whumper #stoic whumper #my writing #crossed out

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freudianslumber · 2 years ago

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Today, Tomorrow and Forever

Summary: Angel Elvis went through Hell when being falsely accused of betraying God. Eventually found true love with LAPD narcotics officer B.B. King.

Chapter 7 Sweet Valentine

Pairing: B.B. King x Elvis Presley (m/m)

Word count: 2.3k

Warning: 18+. nightmare, abduction, sexual assault, violence, blood and injury, kisses and cuddles, smut

As B.B. came home from work, he had a strange feeling something was amiss. The house was too quiet. “Elvis?” He hollered. There was no reply. Suddenly all the lights went off and he was engulfed in darkness. Startled, B.B. took out his handgun and fumbled in the dark until he hit a wall. As his senses adjusted to the surroundings, he slowly began to make out faint sounds of growling and whimpering, and a sliver of light under a door. He figured the noise came from the direction of the master bedroom, so he cautiously moved closer, opened the door and stepped into the hallway which was illuminated by eerie dim red lights. The strange noises were getting louder, emanating from behind the bedroom door.

B.B.’s heart was racing and his head was throbbing, he had a hard time thinking clearly but he had the sixth sense that Elvis might be in trouble behind that door. So he held the pistol with both hands in ready position and kicked down the door in one quick motion. Suddenly he found himself inside a much bigger unfamiliar space, there was no bed or any other furnishing. Elvis was surrounded by three demons in the middle of the room. He was tied behind his back, gagged in the mouth and one demon was standing behind him, roughly pulling his head back by the hair and holding a knife to his throat. The creature from Hell had a sinister smile painted across his face, he turned and looked at B.B., as if to challenge him to do something. He licked the incapacitated angel on the neck and jaw, while another demon ripped his shirt open and started licking across his chest and biting his nipples, causing the victim to whimper and struggle. When the third demon made a move to rip his pants off, B.B. aimed straight at the fiend’s head and fired.

A few seconds were all it took for B.B. to realize in dismay that he was shooting blanks only. The demons were mocking him now, one retaliated by punching and kneeing Elvis hard in the stomach, causing him to pass out. Another demon ripped apart the angel’s pants and began to grope his exposed buttocks. A fit of rage overtook B.B. at the sight, with a furious roar he threw his gun forcefully at the perpetrator, cracking his head open and knocking him out in an instant. At the same time he jumped the one holding the knife and tasered him, smashing his head with the baton into a bloody pulp. The third demon was no match for the lightning-quick officer either, he was easily disposed of when B.B. slashed his neck with his army knife. B.B then rushed to take Elvis’ limp and naked body into his arms and removed his gag. Elvis slowly opened his eyes with difficulty, gave B.B. a hint of a smile: “Gunnie…” He choked as blood gushed out of his mouth, and B.B. was horrified to find a large knife which had impaled him through the back, with bloody tip protruding from the center of his chest.

“NOOOO!!!” B.B. cried out in despair, sat up with a start, heart pounding. For a minute he did not remember where he was, the horrific scenes from his nightmare still vivid on his mind. He got out of bed immediately, with only one thought on his mind that he had to check on Elvis. He glanced at the clock, it was past 3 AM. Walking down the hallways, he heard piano playing and that unmistakable baritone spilled out from the living room.

Oh well, I'm tired and so weary But I must go alone 'Til the Lord comes and calls Calls me away, oh yes Well, the morning's so bright And the lamp is alight And the night Night is as black as the sea, oh yes There will be peace in the valley for me, some day There will be peace in the valley for me, oh Lord I pray There'll be no sadness, no sorrow No trouble, trouble I see There will be peace in the valley for me

Elvis stopped singing and turned around on the piano bench when he sensed footsteps approaching behind him. “I-I’m sorry to wake you up, Gunnie. I tried to keep it down.” B.B. patted Elvis on the shoulder and sat down next to him: “Don’t walk around too much in your pajamas at night, Elvis. You’re liable to catch cold.” Elvis nodded, eyes staring down at the bench like a primary school student who had been caught cheating. B.B. put a hand under his chin and gently tilted it up, looking into those honest and trusting eyes. A blush started to bloom on Elvis’ cheeks, giving them a pretty pink color: “I couldn’t sleep, kept having nightmares…” “Shh…let me take a good look at you.” B.B. hushed him, smoothing away some tiny frown lines between his eyebrows with his thumb, then started to trace those supple lips lovingly. B.B. thought about all the pain and sorrow the young angel had already gone through, he was overcome with a strong urge to kiss away all the loneliness and anxiety from that sweet face. Those expressive angel eyes were now filled with longing and anticipation as B.B. started to close in on the short distance between them. Elvis parted his lips slightly and closed his eyes as the older man leaned in to press his lips against his own. B.B. sighed satisfyingly and deepened the kiss when he felt Elvis place a hand on the back of his neck, stroking him there softly. He held Elvis closer, caressing his back as his tongue explored the angel’s mouth. Elvis was out of breath when they finally broke apart, but he felt his heart was bursting with love for his Gunnie. “I’m so lucky I met you.” He said dreamily as he nuzzled B.B.’s neck and placed a few baby kisses there. “Same honey, same…” B.B. murmured as he ran a hand through the soft raven hair.

The next week went by fast. B.B. went back to work. Elvis was worried sick over B.B.’s dangerous line of work, but the latter reassured him he had been at this for ten years and promised to be extra careful for Elvis’ sake. When B.B. finished his workday, he came home and found his Jeep Cherokee sparkly clean. B.B. scolded Elvis a little for exerting himself over something noncritical like this, further specifying “do not mow the lawn”. After that Elvis started putting energy into dusting around the house and cooking meals for both of them, following some soul food recipes he found online. Again B.B. pointed out Elvis was not his maid and did not have to do this, but the younger man insisted he needed to keep himself busy and contribute something since he made no money.

The best news for B.B. was that Elvis’ health was improving. Many of the flesh wounds were visibly fading away, the arrow wounds had formed scars and the skin infection cleared up nicely with antibiotics. Repeat X-rays done at Tina’s clinic showed mild reduction in the size of his hemothorax, as a result his right lung was able to expand more and get better aeration, translating into easier breathing. His ankle bone was healing and even his anemia was starting to improve marginally.

The two of them celebrated by going to Disneyland, well this was mostly for Elvis since he was still a big kid. He told B.B. his favorite ride was Space Mountain. When they went home they shared the same bed, but all they did was kisses and cuddles due to medical restriction as well as B.B.’s desire to go slow and gentle on Elvis. Elvis liked to be spooned in bed, B.B. would cover his back with kisses and also caress the delicate feathers on the angel’s wing stumps. The moans that came out of his mouth were music to B.B.’s ears.

Valentine’s Day came right after the weekend. B.B. surprised Elvis with a pencil drawing of him when he was asleep, entitled “My Sleeping Angel”. Since Elvis loved it, B.B. planned to frame it and hang it in the master bedroom. On the other hand, Elvis baked a decadent heart-shaped chocolate cake topped with several strawberries. They fed each other some cake under the candlelight after dinner.

As bedtime approached, Elvis wanted to sing a special song for B.B., so the older man obliged him by sitting down on the couch across the living room while Elvis played the standup piano and sang his heart out:

I’ll be as strong as a mountain Or weak as a willow tree Any way you want me That’s how I will be I’ll be as tame as a baby Or wild as the raging sea Any way you want me That’s how I will be In your hand my heart is clay To take and hold as you may I’m what you make me, you’ve only to take me And in your arms I will stay I’ll be a fool or a wise man My darling you hold the key Yes, anyway you want me That’s how I will be

When Elvis turned around after the song, B.B. was surprised to see he had tears streaming down his face. He walked over to join B.B. on the couch, taking the older man’s hands into his: “Gunnie, I want you to know you’ve saved me in more ways than one. The time I’ve spent with you has been the happiest days of my life. I know I have no experience in pleasuring anyone other than being violated, but please let me try my best to make you feel good!” B.B. was almost tearing up too after hearing this heartfelt confession, he held on tight to the young man’s hands: “Elvis, you really don’t have to…” “But I want to.” Elvis said with determination. He leaned over and gave B.B. a soft kiss on the mouth, then stood up and stripped down to only his underwear. He kneeled down between B.B.’s legs in front of where he sat on the couch and proceeded to open the zipper on his pants. B.B. grabbed his hands again, “Are you sure, honey?” Those sapphire eyes looked back at him, unwavering: “Yes Gunnie, I know I love you. Please let me show ya just how much tonight.” B.B. yielded then, standing up briefly to remove his pants and briefs. Elvis put some cushions behind B.B.’s back so he could lay back more comfortably on the couch after sitting back down. Next Elvis spit in his hand to serve as a lube, then took B.B.’s thick member and pumped it vigorously, until it grew to its considerable full size. Then he licked along its length and wrapped his plump lips around the head, sucking on it like a lollipop, tasting the slightly salty precum while fondling with B.B.’s testicles. The sensation of arousal was so strong B.B. almost spilled his seeds right then. He yelled: “Slow down, honey! I ain’t gonna last long!” Elvis smiled, he started to swallow down on B.B.'s cock as far as he could go, then back out in a to and fro motion. He also made sure to work his tongue up and down and avoid scraping the member with his teeth. By now B.B. was moaning loudly, his hands had found their way into Elvis’ luscious hair, and then started to tug on it almost by instinct. Soon his pelvis also began to buck up as if it had a life of its own, while Elvis kept still and let him hit the back of his throat again and again. A gigantic wave of pleasure crashed over him as B.B. went over the edge, thanking the lord in a loud cry as he shot his load into the angel’s mouth. Elvis drank it all in and licked B.B. clean as the man came down slowly from his powerful orgasm.

As B.B.’s mind started to come back into focus, he looked down at Elvis who was panting and looking a little lightheaded. “I hope that wasn’t too clumsy…” A shy and uncertain smile came across his face. “You did great, babe. Come here.” B.B. extended a hand to his partner who was still kneeling next to the couch. B.B. adjusted position so that he was now lying length-wise along the couch, he pulled Elvis to sit on his lap. The angel looked exhausted, hair in a mess, eyes a little spacy, lips pink and swollen. B.B. pulled Elvis down and kissed him passionately. He rolled them over and now B.B. had Elvis lying beneath him. He felt Elvis’ erection behind the cotton underwear, so he removed it, freeing the neglected cock. He put two fingers in the younger man’s mouth to collect some saliva, then used it to lube up as he took Elvis’ cock in his hand and pumped it hard and fast. At the same time B.B. kissed Elvis from the neck down to the chest and then homed in on his cute little nipples. The angel gasped and moaned with increasing abandon, until he finally reached his own climax, spurting ropes of warm seeds on B.B.’s hand and across his stomach. B.B. looked down at his valentine who was lost in a blissful haze, surely the most beautiful picture he had ever seen. B.B. wanted to commit it to memory for eternity. He lay down beside Elvis, never felt more content in his life, holding him tight as they drifted off to sleep.

#elvis presley #angel au #m/m

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