#gin smoke and lies

[pseudowho]

Ditch the Party

Nanami Kento hates parties; but the drinks? They make him...bold.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Nanami Kento is a horny drunk, just regular old smut here

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Just...promise me you'll behave tonight," you beseeched Kento as you pressed your earrings into place. You saw Kento lean back into the bathroom on his way out, bristling, indignant. Your nose twitched in amusement as he caught your eye in the mirror, looking stern.

"I don't know what you mean," he replied stiffly. You scoffed.

"You absolutely do," you countered, turning, your hand on his chest. Looking him up and down, in a slim black suit and burgundy shirt, tie-less, you felt outdone.

As you leaned back on the bathroom counter, Kento's eyes had a naughty twinkle as he leaned down towards you. Your eyes narrowed with a smile of warning, and you pressed one finger to his lips. Tapping his nose as he opened his mouth to bite your finger, you reminded him.

"Come on, big guy. We'll be late. The taxi guy's probably sick of waiting for us." You slithered past Kento, feeling his fingers brush your waist for the barest of moments, as you gripped his hand and pulled him towards the door.

In the taxi, Kento gazed at the city lights, considering his life choices; "Why are we going to a party this evening? We don't even like parties." You laughed, reapplying your lipstick in a mirror.

"We don't, it's true. But it's a big birthday for my uncle, and we promised," you wheedled. Kento grunted his disapproval beside you. Your eyes narrowed at him again; "And, it's a family friendly event, so..."

Kento looked at you again, innocent but challenging. He let your statement hang; this time, it was you who was bristling, indignant.

The party had already begun by the time you arrived; held at your aunt and uncle's home, a warm orange glow and thrum of conversation spilled out from the kitchen to the garden, deep green hedges flickering with torchlights and tiny twinkling fairy lights. The music was low, the conversation easy and audible above it. A barbeque puffed out woody smoke. Drinks were flowing freely. You sighed as you approached, relieved.

"See? It's the good kind of party," you pressed, squeezing Kento's hand reassuringly. He sighed, unable to argue with you, reassuring you with a gentle smile that you didn't need to babysit him all evening for fear of him having a dreadful time in the company of others.

While Kento headed in to fetch drinks, you greeted family and friends. Kento returned soon after, with a large gin and tonic for you, and a larger whiskey for him. He slipped an arm firmly round your waist, pulling you flush to him as he planted a kiss to your forehead.

The night wore on, the conversation lubricated by alcohol, and small, tipsy groups milled around the garden fires. As food was served, an elderly aunt approached, and asked Kento how he was enjoying the meal.

"It's delicious, thank you," he replied low and smooth before leaning into your ear, whispering, "it almost tastes as good as yo--"

"I'm sorry, dear?" Kento leaned up, all smiles to your elderly aunt, as you blushed from your ears to your toes.

"I said, it tastes almost as good as your cooking, auntie," he lied and she chirped, flattered, patting him on the arm with a smile. Your auntie headed away, and you spun to Kento with a look of warning. He completely ignored you, honeyed eyes glowing in the firelight.

Eyes narrowing at him, you headed over to the table to fetch Kento a glass of water, and almost immediately felt him cage you against the table from behind, his sculpted shoulders leaning past you to rest on his knuckles on the tablecloth. You felt his warm, whiskey breath against your neck.

"We could always bend you over this table," he murmured, as you felt a throb of lust in your belly, "and see how hard we could make it shake." As you spun, still caged by Kento's arms, a family friend approached just beside you and offered you and Kento an uncertain smile. Kento plucked your hair clip off the table from behind you, holding it up with a cunning smile.

"There it is, darling," he said warmly, the family friend now less uncertain, "I told you we'd find it." The family friend left, and you hissed up at him.

"Kento. Behave." He fixed you with a look of faux-innocence as he stood, finishing his whiskey.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, smiling at your uncle, wishing him a happy birthday as he passed, and then leaned over you again, pulling you close to his chest as he rumbled, eyes hooded and glinting, "but then, you never do make much sense when I'm fucking you until you can't see straight."

You groaned against his chest, hand over your eyes, mortified. You heard your aunt gently asking Kento if you were alright.

"She's fine," he chuckled, "can't handle her drinks, I think." Your aunt cooed, sharing a joke with Kento, and you gaped up at Kento, who accepted another drink from your uncle, utterly shameless.

"Kento," you hissed again, "you are just a--"

"Menace?" He rumbled, ghosting his lips over yours, whispering, "I could be. Just give me a bit of time, and something to tie you up with, and--"

Your mother came over, greeting you both, and you were forced to play drunk, you were so flushed at this point, babysat by Kento as he rolled his eyes fondly at you and made small talk.

Kento slipped his hand lower and lower behind you as he talked with your mother, and you felt his long fingers trace your thigh, surreptitiously climbing upwards beneath your skirt to graze your arse, before creeping round again and you felt his fingers brush softly against your fol--

You squeaked, jumping, your drink sloshing over your toes. Kento flapped a hand above your head.

"Just a moth," he reassured you and your mother. Your mother gave your burning cheek a kiss. Kento waited just long enough for your mother to leave, before looping an arm round your waist, pulling you into the shadows, behind hedges further down the garden. You squeaked with alarm. Kento drained both of your drinks, and unceremoniously abandoned the glasses in a bush, before pulling you onto a sheltered bench by your uncle's koi carp pond.

You were thrumming with embarrassment at this point, and leapt off the bench, mortified by Kento's utter shamelessness and alcohol-loosened tongue, ready to chew him out...but...

Kento sat on the bench, legs spread wide in his tight black trousers, thick, toned arms stretched out across the back of the bench. He looked deeply into your eyes, chiselled face dramatised in the shadows. Slowly reaching a hand out, he pinched the top of your skirt, pulling you in between his spread legs, strong and determined.

"We don't like parties," he toned, low and sultry, as you were pulled into his lap, "but we do like it when you ride me until our clothes are ruined."

Kento grabbed your thighs, forcing your skirt up to your waist and parting your legs around his lap. He hesitated, changing his mind and lifting you off him briefly. With no argument, he stripped off your underwear, pressing it to his nose and breathing in with a groan and a shiver, eyes closed in ecstasy. You hissed to him again, terrified of being found, arse and pussy open to the world--

Kento pulled you back down to straddle his lap again, sinking his hand into the back of your hair and tipping your head back as he ran his tongue and teeth against your throat.

"Nobody else will be able to see that wet little pussy of yours...if it's as close as I want it." Slipping two fingers between your legs, Kento rubbed your clit in tight little circles, and you felt hard and fast pangs of pleasure through you as you trembled, gripping Kento's shoulders desperately.

"Someone will hear, Kento--" he bit your neck in warning, squeezing your arse hard as he moaned, shivering as he continued to press hard against your clit.

"Well then be quiet, my love." You mewled, muffling your face into his neck, quaking as his clever fingers dragged you to orgasm, stimulating you hard and fast until your thighs shook, and his hand was wet with your arousal.

Kento's eyes were dark and determined now, single-minded as he unzipped his trousers and pulled out his cock, solid and weeping pre-cum against his belly as he stroked it, lubricating himself with your cum. Locking his arms behind your back, he lifted you and slammed your sensitive pussy down onto himself, bottoming out immediately.

You shrieked, and Kento clapped a hand over your mouth, nipping your lips as he shot you a lustful, playful look. Hands then locked behind your hips again, he lifted you up and down with wet slaps, immediately seeing stars with the relentless pace, chasing your pussy with his hips as he bucked.

You gasped, breathless against his neck as his cock bullied into you, pliable and shaking as Kento groaned into you, unashamedly loud-- "harder," he insisted, increasing the pace with his hands clenching the fat of your hips, "harder."

His mouth pressed to yours, kisses hot and smoky with whiskey as he nipped at your bottom lip, his groans deep and guttural as he felt your pussy clench around him while you held onto his lapels, mewling, tipsy, completely fucked senseless, as promised.

Feeling the trembling of your plush walls around him (the nerves of his cock already electrified by the alcohol) had Kento reeling  and he came, whimpering into your mouth as he ground your hips against his, bottomed out and warm shots of cum spurting directly against your cervix.

You both shook, tangled and sweaty, spent, while Kento chuckled and you slapped him on the chest. You heard voices approach; your uncle, excited to show someone his prized koi carp.

Kento threw you onto the bench beside him as you yanked down your skirt, and Kento zipped himself up, putting an arm around your shoulders.

Your uncle arrived, "Oh, hey kids! Enjoying my carp-- whose are those?"

Kento coughed delicately, eyeing your forgotten underwear at the side of the pond; "No idea," he said, coolly, "they were here when we arrived."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Infiltration, Chapter 5: Breaking Point, IS coming this weekend as promised...but in the meantime

[icarusredwings]

What things smell like according to Logan Howlett/ The Wolverine. A series of smell based headcanons. Do with these whatever you want :)

People:

Ororo: burnt marshmellows, rain, chunky chocolate chip cookies, protien shakes, spansih rice, chillies, and cocoa butter. She always smells great.

Scott: cucumber shampoo, the remaints of a bonfire the next day, fresh dry cleaning, axe shower gel, lavender sheets

Jean: caramel latte, lavender sheets, vanilla spiced chai, books, mint ice cream, fruit smoothies, stinky hair product, lemon poppy seed muffins, sassafras

Hank: Books, sanatizer, various chemicals, a very specifc fur dander, kinda musky but in a 'im covered in fur and sweaty' kind of way.

Rouge: "Dolly Parton", brick and concrete dust, cherry blossoms body spray, freshly engraved wood, strawberries and milk conditioner, spicy gaucamole and freshly sizzled sausages.

Gambit: tv static, a fresh deck of cards at the casino, spicy jumbo, gin, lime jello, hair gel, "suprisingly good actually"

Kurt: brimstone, smoke from franckinsense, myrrh, a less smelling dander then hank, Holy chrism oil (olive oil and Balsam made by catholic priests), metal, and blue raspberry. Fur/ beard pomade sometimes for special ocassions.

Morph: even when changed he can smell is sandlewood shampoo, he smells like how "Jack Outta smell", latex, pine and cedar, clear nail polish, "that ugly quilt that your grandma kept on the back of her couch that was the warmest, softest thing you've ever slept with."

Charles: Old man fart, metal, chalk, shoe polish, nutmeg, wool, "a trusting hug", books, mahogany, expensive champagne.

Laura: "teen spirit", a shitty cheap "girl power" deodorant that doesn't do well hiding the sweat, apples and peaches, kinda woodsy.

Wade: Cancer, gun smoke, citrus dish soap, blood, oranges, taco sauce, infected skin once in awhile, red dye 40, slight over cooked and crispy apple pie, sugary cereal

Puppins: wet dog, dog dander, oatmeal senstive skin puppy shampoo, chicken, "the dirtest trash she can find to roll in on her walk"

Althea: Old lady, way too strong perfumes, butter biscuits, tea, peppermint candies, more cocaine, "baby powder", lanvender linens, cotton and daisy's Landry detergent.

Feelings/emotions:

Big/serious lies: smell like Gasoline and salty sand near the sea.

Small fibs/playful/ teasing lies: smell like Anise

Lies with decent intentions/are bent truths: smell like honey

Those two are easily mixed up.

Innocent (the person truly believes it. Ex. A child saying dinos are real) truth: smells like thick vanilla creamer.

Filling, whole truths (the person knows for a fact its a truth) smells: like fresh baked rolls/buns

Cancer smells vary like: urine, nail polish remover, some people have a pungent semi sweet smell like rotting fruit, and tar is another smell, depending on which part of the body. If already in late stages, one can smell like cadavers. Even spicy almost.

Pregnant people vary in scent but he can smell the rise of different hormones: Some hormones sweeter then other. If you asked him he would say cinnamon or dying roses. If you're later in your term the scents are more soft like lotion or custard. Lemon ussually.

Serotonin; cheese, lemon cakes, fruity, a bit light, and flakey like a pastry. Marshmellow fluff.

Dopamine; sweet fresh coffee, doritos(?), cocaine. Don't ask why he knows what cocaine smells like. He was alive during coke cocaine.

Endorphins; Sweaty Sex, mint, dark chocolate, violets, chemicals, varies by persons pheromones

Oxytocin; "playful cherries", freshly washed cotton pillows, the warmth of a bath, skin on skin hugs, strawberries

Joy/relaxation/relief: Jasmine, vanilla sugar cookies, fresh soup.

Anger/disapproval/hurt: smoke, the back end of a cigarette, spicy curry, iron, blood, "spoiled raw chicken left out too long"

Fear/excitment/anxiousness: Adrenaline smells like oil, paint, salty pretzels almost.

Tears: Oceans, lillies, fresh water lakes

[muzansfangs]

Hiii! I hope ur still accepting requests. Recently, an idea has stuck in my head. What about taking bath with Aizen and his s/o? I hope you will accept it!

Cleanse my soul.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; mention to Shinji Hirako, Kisuke Urahara, Kensei Muguruma, Rojuro Otoribashi, Lisa Yadomaru, Hiyori Sarugaki;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, vaginal fingering, cock-warming, vaginal sex, creampie, fear play, smoking, clit-edging, jealousy, nudity, Lieutenant Aizen, morally grey reader, mention to attempted murder, violence, gore, blood, talks about the future, betrayal, trust issues, turn back the pendolum arc, established relationship;

Plot: He was back, knocking on your door in the dead of the night. His Lieutenant badge had been damaged, the gleam in his chestnut eyes telling you he had succeeded in accomplishing his plan. He always seeked your company, after long days of work and unspeakable crimes committed to chase his dream of becoming a God. You were the only thing he would have never given up to on his climb to the Heaven.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Reading by the window to distract yourself, you had watched in agitation the way your Captain had left the barracks to investigate on the sudden disappearence of Kensei Muguruma and and some members of his squad. Your stomach churned, apprehension leaving space to the mournful feeling of being forced to accept a brutal reality no one else in your Division was prepared for: at the end of the night, you were either going to say goodbye to Hirako Shinji, your Captain, or to Sosuke Aizen, his Lieutenant, your boyfriend.

No one else knew what was really happening, besides you, Kaname Tosen and Gin Ichimaru, the young prodigy Sosuke seemed to be so enthusiastic about. The secrets you harbored behind your soft smile, when you conversed with your friends, as if you had not just witnessed to some poor inhabitants of the Rukongai vanishing before you wary eyes, when you lied for him, when you cradled his face in your hands and reassured him everything was going to be okay, when he silently pleaded you to cleanse his soul by fucking you up against a wall and telling you the world was soon going to acclaim you their queen, were slowly consuming you up from the inside like acid sizzling the delicate walls of your stomach.

Despite that, you had chosen him above anything and anyone else. You were the priest absolving him from the sins he kept on staining his soul with for the sake of his ideals. The real question was: who cleansed your soul?

You often queried whether his efforts to keep your hands clean were actually successful. You were not innocent. You were guilty as well. You had just betrayed the Soul Society and your friends. Your idle tongue was as sharp as Sosuke’s blade. You wondered how many of your friends had already fallen by your boyfriend’s hand. A massacre was taking place outside and there you were, safe in your dorm and hoping Kisuke Urahara was not going to disrupt your lover’s plans.

Someone knocking on your door made you flinch, back straightening as a ramrod as you settled your book down on the ebony desk, careful not to make a sound. What if Sosuke had failed? Maybe he had sold you off too, after being arrested. The mere thought of your beloved boyfriend throwing you to the wolves made chills run down your spine and your mouth turn to chalk. Would Sosuke really do such a thing to you? You wondered, once again, if he loved you as much as you did.

You mentally rebuked yourself for assuming the worst. Sosuke loved you. Why were you doubting his feelings for you? Probably, you were just projecting onto your relationship the ominous feelings, swallowing you in a whirlwind of fear and anxiety, that you experienced when you watched him work cold-heartedly, sacrificing souls, to the chilling phenomen known as Hollowfication.

Your hand reached for your zanpakuto, your bare feet sliding onto the wooden floor without making a sound, just like he had taught you throughout the years you had spent together. You took a sharp intake of breath, tightening your grip on the hilt of your katana until your knuckles turned white. The visitor was masterly suppressing their reiatsu, making it impossible to detect their presence and identify who they were. You knew what you had to do, in case Sosuke’s failed and the guards went after you. Killing comrades, however, was entirely different from massacring Hollows. You were a shinigami, not an assassin. If the person knocking on your door was not your boyfriend, your blade was going to drip viscous, crimson blood of a shinigami.

Hiding your katana behind your back, you slided the door open, ready to become a full-fledged traitress. The lean frame occupying the threshold made you discard the blade onto the floor instinctively, the sound of the weapon clattering against the parquet echoing in the silent night, as your hands clutched the fabric of Sosuke’s shihakushō and pulled him inside. He had come back safe and sound.

It only meant one thing: the Fifth Division had lost its Captain.

You relished the bittersweet taste of happiness achieved through betrayal, when you smashed your lips onto his, hand scrambling to your side to slide the door shut. Yet, you had learnt to be selfish, you had grown familiar with the sensation of enjoying moments of peace and unbridled excitement, when other people were in pain. Sosuke held you close to his chest, his hands cupping your cheeks as he kissed you back with equal fervor. His hair were disheveled, the badge indicating his status of Lieutenant was gone, the black fabric of his uniform torn in some parts, dirt dusted his clothes and visage.

“Are you hurt?” you dared murmuring against his lips, ignoring the way he was already trying to disrobe you.

“Unscathed. — he shortly informed you — But I could use a bath” he added, mouth voraciously assaulting the crook of your neck, whilst you were attempting to make a small conversation to know details about his victory.

However, right now, when you were in his arms and his teeth were nipping at your tender flesh, Sosuke did not seem to give a iota about further explanations. He had won. He had promised to come back to you and there he was, pushing you towards the bathroom, heedless of the corners biting onto your sides as he forced you to stumble backwards to reach the destination he had chosen for you two to spend the rest of the night at.

You winced pathetically against his lips, the chilly, wintry air blowing through the small, wide-open window of your bathroom leaving goosebumps on your now naked shoulderblades. The rustle of your clothes landing onto the floorboard accompanied you to the edge of the bath, as he finally let go of you and began to undress himself before your glossy, dreamy eyes.

No matter how many times you had traced the outlines of his abs with your lips, or fingertips, every single time his body was bared for you to contemplate you lost any cognitive capacity of thinking straight. Sosuke had always got you in a chokehold from the day you first met at the Academy.

He was that kind of man who outfoxed everyone around him, the sweet-natured guy with glasses no one would have ever accused of committing bloodcurdling felonies. Sosuke Aizen was far from being an ordinary man, some stranger easy to forget about. He had captivated you effortlessly in the palms of his hands, like a clueless butterfly delicately landing on the fruity, multicolored petals of a carnivorous plant only to be devoured to the bone. You had become one with him.

You realized you had been fantasizing about him again only when his hand reached for you chin, forcing you to crane up your neck and meet his gaze. His glasses were gone, his beautiful chestnut brown eyes boring into yours in anticipation as he brushed his thumb over your cheek “Focus on me” he commanded, his words no longer sugar-coated, the typical honeyed tone slipping out of his mouth when he talked to you absent.

His ravenous side strived to take over, evidently. He desired you like a helpless shipwrecked person hoped to find water in a deserted island, adrift amidst the salty water of the Ocean.

Seldomly you had recognized the diabolic gleam in his eyes outside the safe walls of your dorms. His lust, his thirst for power, his greed and ambitions were never showcased in his ever so kind eyes, the same pretty eyes bewitching you right now. Sosuke was the incarnation of the infamous wolf in sheep’s clothing. He had people bamboozled, unable to see him as nothing less than a noble, proficient and polite man minding his business and even reprimanding his Captain for the sake of his Division.

A man with leardship, but uncapable of doing any harm.

Perhaps, it was because you knew him so intimately that his demons had grown familiar with yours that you often asked yourself if you were a mere pawn in his hands, a pretty diamond pin to wear in order to fool people about his real intentions. You hesitated, a small frown creasing your forehead as you watched Sosuke impassibly stare at you in confusion.

“Tell me something, Sosuke. — you started, miraculously modulating your voice in a firm but soft tone — Are you going to abandon me, once the world will be in your hands?”.

His eyes clouded over for a moment, your stomach churning in apprehension. What if you had ruined it all? You impudent mouth, your lips quivering in fright, your heart pumping fast in your chest had revealed you were scared of losing him, or to be fair, of him.

Sosuke’s jaw clenched, his other hand gripping your hip to push you back towards the cool edge of the tub, the still warm water sparkling under the moonlight dimly enlightening the room “When the world will be nothing but a possession of mine, I will give it to you” he stated, making your stomach somersault.

Regrets for having even asked him such a silly question gnawed at your stomach, guilty conscience weighing on your shoulders like a heavy read. You blinked a few times in a row, watching as your boyfriend sidestepped you to climb into the tub. The sound of the water splashing onto the floor, overflowing from the edge, filled the air. Sosuke leaned his back against the bath, arms comfortably positioned on each side of it, penetrative gaze commanding you to join him.

Resisting was impossible. Entering the water, you snuggled into his chest, your back adhering to his firm abs as your neck reclined. Your hair tickled his chin, his jawline, his eyes closing to finally relax. He would have never admitted it, but you could tell he was exhausted. Even Kings needed to slack off, to ignore their duties and enjoy the small moments of bliss their life granted them.

“I need you to believe in me” he spoke out then, velvet voice playing the chords of your heart, as you swallowed thickly.

“I believe in you”.

“Then don’t doubt my love for you. Never” he asked of you tiredly, his arms now leisurely encircling your waist to bring your body closer to his, skin to skin, his mouth gliding down the curve of your neck.

You hummed, thighs parting, when his hand slipped further down your body, disappearing underneath the translucent water “I’m sorry. But this is all so scary, Sosuke. I was afraid—”.

“Afraid of what? That you mattered less than glory and honorifics?”.

You squeezed your eyes shut, his deft fingers parting your dewy folds as if they were a syrupy fig for him to feast on, the scene reminding you of a depraved bucolic lyric about a Greek, Attic shepherd corrupting a modest nymph by a river. A blasphemy you were condoning sheepishly.

The moans you let out were not the answers he was trying to coax you to pronounce “Answer me” he pressed.

“N-No!” you stammered, hips rocking as he plunged a finger into your tight hole, causing him to pull it out and gently pinching on your clit. While the action obviously did not hurt you, it sent waves of electricity running through your body. You jolted onto your seat, toes curling as you lolled your head back onto his shoulder.

Sosuke’s teeth nibbled onto your earlobe, before he hushed you “Hush, love. Can you just recall what I have taught you? Provide me a good argumentation and I won’t prolong this torture further” he whispered, his brown eyes shifting to a small cabinet at his right, making his blood boil in his veins.

Why did you still keep such an object in your house?

Were you maybe going behind his back? Were you actually siding with that frowsy scientist he had taken care of nearly an hour ago? Kisuke Urahara would have not been a problem anymore, whatever was the reason behind your injudicious decision of discarding that water-pipe in such a place for his eyes to see. A small test of your loyalty would have sufficed to prove how deeply you cared for him, to understand whether your devotion was pure and solely on him, or not.

Hazy, you clasped your hand over your mouth to muffle out another whimper threatening to erupt from your throat. Rationality left your body, when he touched you. How were you supposed to force your brain to properly function, when Sosuke was flicking your throbbing clitoris torturously between his thumb and index? Despite that, you knew damn well the only solution to your problem was doing exactly what he had said.

Tears prickling in your expressive eyes, you pushed your knees together, only for Sosuke to chide you and run his fingers through your drenched hair. His nails scraped your scalp ever so lightly, but it was enough to stop your futile struggle.

“You have such a pretty mouth, darling. Let me hear your voice, hm?” he mumbled, one of his arms sliding around your abdomen and pulling you flush against him while the other pinched your clitoris again.

You squealed out in overstimulation, your body too sensitive to endure more of this edging. It was his usual wicked game of power and self-control. Sosuke was in command, yet he made sure you always had your chance to make his ministrations cease. All you had to do was playing your part, like a pretty ballerina moving under his instructions. A false step and you sprained your ankle.

You huffed, cheeks heating up in embarrassment and shame for your total lack of backbone, when it came done to him “A Goddess shall never be afraid” you blurted out, sinking further into the water as a satisfied hum resonated from behind you.

True to his words, he stopped playing with your pearl, fingers merely delving into your pussy instead. Scissoring them gently into your warm cavern, Sosuke pressed his lips against your nape, eyes darkening in lust and a something shady you had failed to see due to your position.

“That’s right. You’re the future wife of a God. No matter how powerful and cruel a divinity is… — he started, one of his hand reaching out to grasp that water-pipe irking him to no end — A man is nothing without his woman” he finished, inspecting the smoking device between his fingers.

His words had left you breathless, your inner walls squeezing his fingers as you writhed in his arms. Your moans echoed in your small dorm, probably the shinigamis in the backyard had heard you too, but you did not care, nor did him. They knew better than coming after the Lieutenant’s girlfriend.

The respect he had gained through the years surpassed even the one your comrades had for the late Shinji Hirako.

Your eyelids had shut, relishing into the way he fingered you so deliciously, and your mouth was hanging open to release those shamelessly high-pitched cries of pleasure he loved so much. The hard wood of the pipe resting against your bottom lip, though, made your eyes snap open again.

Dread washed over you, as Sosuke’s fingers tangled your hair, yanking them back harshly “You still keep his gifts. Smoke for me then. Smoke to celebrate his incoming downfall, darling” he crooned, your blood running cold in your veins as he gripped your wrist and directed your hand up to make you grab the object yourself.

Yout shaky hands did wrap around it, teary eyes meeting his cold ones “S-Sosuke, I am sorry! I just forgot to throw it away, I promise” you apologized profusely, watching how he softly smiled at you and prompted you to raise your hips enough for him to impale you onto his cock.

“I know you did. — he cooed, the bulbous head of his shaft stretching your aching hole, as you languidly looked at him and whimpered as he buried himself deep into your welcoming core — I suggest you to smoke in his honor one last time, darling. Cry for his departure” he whispered, mouth leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your neck.

And you mourned Kisuke’s fate. Oh, you did it so convincingly, for after cock-warming your beloved boyfriend for a while he then began to thrust into you in hard, punishing thrusts making you sob tears of pleasure. You hiccuped, blurry vision, smoke filling your lungs, as you exaled through your nostrils.

Body sore, heat overflowing with Sosuke’s hot seed, you collapsed against chest. His arms held you close to him, as he watched the device sink into the now murky water, forgotten forever like the destiny of all those Captains and Lieutenants who had been unlucky to cross his path.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Uhm, I feel too ashamed to say anything about this. If it is not toxic, it’s not Sosuke to me. Ah, my first red flag crush… Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this as much as I adored writing it!

Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Until next,

X O X O

TAGS: @onyxino @velaenaa @villainsrtasty @stygianoir @noirfan12 @bucciaratizippers @linkwho1 @0wh1te0 @bakugosgirl01 @persuasivus because I think you might enjoy it💫

[ghoulsbounty]

can you make a fic abt baby billy and like being one of his wives or like when he's on the run from tiff idrk depends on what you want to do

A Fall From Grace

Uncle Baby Billy Freeman x Fem!Reader

Summary: Baby Billy comes seeking comfort, and you are always willing to shoulder the burden.

Warnings: smut (18+), backshot, cum eating (kinda), p in v, alluding to an affair, mentions of religious beliefs relating to the show, angst, alcohol, smoking, emotional hurt/comfort, reader pining for baby billy, dejection.

Word Count: 1.7K

A/N: Anon and anon, thank you for requesting that I write for this emotionally stunted baby man. I love him, I love the show, and the world needs Baby Billy fics! This is set before he is with Tiff (because I love her.) I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

You longed to utter the words, to express disbelief at finding yourself in this familiar game of cat and mouse once more. But honesty was a luxury you couldn't afford, not when your conscience was already weighed down by a litany of sins. Each lie added to the burden, and you couldn't bear to heap more upon your soul.

There was a time, not so long ago, you walked the path of life with a sense of purpose and righteousness. Like any devout believer, you diligently carried out God's will, spreading His word among the neighbours of Pumpkintown. But then, on a scorching summer's day, destiny led you through Freeman's Gap, where you found yourself standing at his doorstep. From that moment, everything changed.

Baby Billy, with his irresistible charm and captivating façade, swiftly drew you into his intricate web of deception. His presence cast a shadow over your once-virtuous existence, blurring the boundaries between right and wrong. In his company, your convictions faltered, and the very essence of your faith began to erode. Slowly but surely, he transformed you from a devout Christian into a mere echo of your former self.

No matter how many times you had promised yourself that this would be the last time, that you wouldn't let it happen again, it all amounted to more lies to add to the growing list. When he reappeared in your life after an eighteen-month absence, you were poised to slam the door shut in his face. But he possessed a silver tongue that could persuade the sun to set twice.

So here you were, pressed face down against the mattress, your skin glistening with sweat as he drove into you from behind. This was your preferred position; it prevented him from gazing at you with adoration, as if you were the centre of his universe, while he consumed every inch of your being. It made it easier to bear his departure after he was done with you, when he didn't linger. The ache in your chest always remained, but your time with Baby Billy had made you realize that you were nothing if not resilient.

Your gaze lingered on the half-empty bottle of gin perched on the bedside table. It was his customary offering, always referred to as your favourite. Whether it truly held that distinction was a matter of uncertainty, but you always accepted it. Flowers and chocolate might have softened the edges of your encounters with him, but they could never dull the sharp pang of inevitable loss you’d feel when he returned to whichever-number wife he was on.

"I'll accept the bottle, but not the intent," you would murmur each time he presented it, extending the gesture like an olive branch. His eyes would gleam with anticipation, tinged with a hint of apprehension, as he waited to be welcomed in. How many lies had you accumulated by now?

More than you cared to count. This self-proclaimed righteous man of God would lead you to the depths of hell itself if it meant avoiding solitude, and you would willingly follow. That was the truth.

"Haven't lost you now, have I?" His voice snapped you out of your trance, his hips grinding against your backside with a fervour that seemed desperate to anchor you to him.

Clutching the sheets tightly, your knuckles turned white as you shook your head. "I'm here, Baby Billy."

He chuckled, his hands gripping the flesh of your hips as he pulled back slightly before thrusting back in with force. Your walls tightened around him, drawing out the most obscene moans from his lips as he maintained an unfaltering rhythm.

"You're always here for Baby Billy," he remarked with a hint of satisfaction. "You're a good girl."

The words ignited a surge of conflicting emotions within you, sending sparks flying through your mind. Somewhere deep within, a wire seemed to short circuit, and you found yourself instinctively grinding your hips back against him, matching his movements.

"Damn," he sighed, his voice heavy with gratification, as one hand dropped to your front. His fingers traced along your wet folds until he found the sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting a high-pitched wail from your lips. "Well, if that ain't the prettiest thing I've ever heard."

His other hand released your hip, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you against his sticky chest. The new position drove him deeper, your head leaning back against his shoulder in the crook of his neck as he slowed to a heavy grind. His fingers continued their expert ministrations on your clit, tracing familiar circles, while his other hand left your hair to grab harshly at your breast, pinching your nipple just as he knew you liked.

"Let me see you now," he panted. You hadn't realized you'd squeezed your eyes shut until he slapped your clit with an open palm, causing you to flinch against him, and when you opened them, he was looking down at you with those hazel eyes that sucked you in every time. "There she is. Tell Baby Billy what you want from him."

He always did this, despite your attempts to bury your face into the mattress to hide from what you were doing with him. He always found a way to make you look at him, to confront your demons and tell him what you desired most from him. It was as if he couldn't let you come out of this unscathed, regardless of his claims that he needed you right there with him.

He didn't truly need you, not in the sense of wanting you for anything more than warming his cock and easing the burden of the life he had created for himself. You were a distraction from the suffering he had caused, never once caring for your own.

You wished you could refuse him. In every other aspect of your life, you were strong, but when it came to Baby Billy Freeman, your resolve wavered with just one look. Perhaps it was the underlying desperation he always seemed to exude, making you feel sorry for him, as if you were providing a service by temporarily alleviating his misery. Eventually, you stopped trying to make sense of it, allowing it to happen and taking from it what you wanted, what you needed.

"I want to cum," you breathed against the skin of his neck, then remembered what he always liked to hear. "Please, Baby Billy."

The familiar tightening in your stomach signalled your impending climax, and he seemed to sense it too, his movements growing more urgent as your walls fluttered around him, drawing him deeper with each thrust. His fingers worked faster against your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. Your eyes rolled back as your orgasm ripped through you, your body convulsing against his as you cried out into the silence of the bedroom.

He grunted, continuing to thrust into you through your orgasm, your walls milking him as you pulsed around him. Your body went limp as the last surge of electricity shot through you, and he tossed you back onto the mattress to reach his own release. A few more thrusts, then you felt the tell-tale stutter of his hips before he withdrew completely, leaving your pussy feeling empty and used. The sound of your juices squelching around him filled the room as he used them to pleasure himself, pumping once, twice before finally cumming hard onto your ass with a shout of release.

You laid there, your sweaty face pressed against the sticky cotton sheet as you slowly grounded yourself back to reality. He panted above you, running a finger over the curves of your ass, scooping his release from you before bringing it to your mouth. You accepted it, your tongue swirling around his finger, lips closing around him as you sucked the salty mixture and swallowed it down. It was a habit he enjoyed, claiming that if he couldn't cum inside you, he at least wanted to ensure you received what he was giving in some way. It had become a routine you found yourself needing more than you cared to admit.

He withdrew his finger, delivering a sharp slap to your ass before rising from the bed. The mattress groaned with his movement, and you lay still as he carried out his next habitual task. Moments later, he returned, a lit cigarette between his lips and a wet cloth in his hand as he gently cleaned off the evidence of his release from your behind before tossing it onto the bedside table with a wet thwack. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leaned over you with an arm resting on the mattress. You turned onto your back underneath him, running your fingers over his forearm as he looked down at you.

"Don't look at me like that," you said, tracing patterns through the hair on his arm.

"Like what, angel?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement as he brought the cigarette to your lips. You took a drag before he reclaimed it, exhaling slowly as your eyes met his.

"Like you might love me," you whispered.

He chuckled, briefly glancing away before returning his gaze to you. "Maybe I do."

Once, you believed you loved him, back when you were still innocent to the manipulative games he played and your part in it all. But that belief didn't last long; you soon learned to shut it out, along with the company of men who weren't him.

"Right girl, wrong time," he had once told you, but you quickly learned that the right time would never come.

For Baby Billy, love wasn't in the equation. It soon became clear that he merely enjoyed the possession of you. You were like an old toy to him, tossed aside until he desired to play with you again. Your emotions, your needs, they were secondary to his whims, serving only to satisfy his fleeting desires.

Baby Billy Freeman didn't love you, he loved having you.

He would depart soon, leaving you with uncertainty about when you would see him again. Yet, deep down, you knew he would return. He always did, seeking refuge in your presence to distract himself from the harsh realities of his life. And you would be there for him, as you always were.

Because unfortunately, somewhere along the way of Baby Billy using you like a drug, you had become addicted yourself.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Drabble-A-Thon Prompt #15

Pairing: ShigaDabi

Rating: Explicit

Prompt: Freestyle!

Contents: Makeouts, Cumming in Pants, Premature Ejaculation, Domestic Terrorism is a great date plan for your arsonist boyfriend, Dirty Talk

Tomura isn’t sure that he ever expected to be in this position. He didn’t expect his teacher to get captured and have them sent away. He didn’t expect to end up remembering who he was before he was Tomura Shigaraki. He certainly didn’t expect to find six people in the world that he not only doesn’t hate, but that he wants to see have good lives after they’ve helped him win their war. He absolutely did not expect to find himself falling for one of them. But after his prosthetic fingers are on, and his foot is healed and out of his cast, he decides that he wants to see where else that can go. 

He doesn’t think that Dabi expected it either when he pauses them once they’ve finished their work for the day and asks, “Will you go on a date with me?” Because the arsonist stares at him, his thumb lit and halfway to the cigarette in his mouth, but definitely not actually doing anything with the flame. And he doesn’t move for a solid minute. He doesn’t move until Tomura closes the space between them and wraps three fingers around his wrist and pulls his hand to the end of the cig to help him light it.

He thinks that the other is going to say ‘no’ and maybe tell him to fuck off, but after another second, and a drag of smoke into his lungs, Dabi finds his composure again far too late to not have endeared Tomura even more to him, and says, “Fuck it, why not?” He shrugs and turns to leave. “You better think of something good, Duster. I don’t have time to waste.” 

Dabi is always running towards something no matter how lazy and laid back he pretends to be, but Tomura is pleased with this development and feels like he’s vibrating a bit as he watches him go. He’ll think of something good. He’ll make the other man slow down and be worth it for him.

///

They can’t go just anywhere, but Tomura does plan a good date for them. He grills Twice and Toga, the two who have been consistently closest to Dabi, and finds out that he’s particularly annoyed about his continuing mission with Hawks and that he’s been wanting to piss off the bird badly enough he forgets his mission and avoids him for a while. So he has them teleported all around Fukuoka, letting Dabi torch places, before they end up in Esuha where they get some street food, make it into a bar for long enough for Dabi to swipe two bottles of alcohol, before that place is burning too and they’re stumbling as they cough out the last of the teleportation gunk as they end up back on the roof of the villa. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Dabi smiling and laughing like this before, and he’s not sure if his chest has ever felt so warm either. 

They make it back downstairs, into his office instead of a bedroom because he doesn’t want to be presumptuous, sharing the awful bottle of gin and whisky that Dabi managed to snatch as they go. 

They’re about halfway through the bottles, and Tomura is definitely feeling it, knowing that his slowed metabolism will have him absolutely wasted when he passes out tonight and that he’ll be hung over well into the morning if not to the afternoon, before Dabi sets his aside so that he can move. Tomura doesn’t expect him to climb right into his lap, but he’s certainly not complaining, especially not when Dabi doesn’t even flinch as he wraps his hands around his hips, careful not to hurt him, and tilts his head up. Their kiss taste like alcohol and smoke, and he finds out how his scars and staples feel against his tongue as he completely forgets that a first kiss probably shouldn’t so blatantly tell Dabi how badly he’s wanted to fuck him for the past few months, but he can’t help it. Besides, Dabi doesn’t seem to be complaining as he tangles his hands in his hair and moans into his mouth. The other man hasn’t even used his quirk, but that might as well light him on fire. 

Tomura gives him kiss after kiss, trying to map out every section of his mouth, his hands moving up along Dabi’s sides, stroking his skin through his thin shirt, finding the places that make Dabi gasp. He thrills to feel the other man grinding into his lap after just a few, another little moan coming out of him. When Dabi starts to push his hands up under his shirt and spread his legs wider so he can rock himself into his lap, when he feels that he’s starting to get hard, Tomura puts aside any thoughts of being particularly gentlemanly. They are both a little too inebriated for him to feel comfortable fucking him tonight without having talked about that, but he’s more than happy to let their makeout get hotter and heavier. 

“Fuck, Dabi,” he groans against his lips, his hands going down to cup Dabi’s ass, squeezing him tight and pulling him so he can make him grind down harder against his body. “Never thought you would be so sensitive– or so eager. Were you just waiting for this, baby boy? Just wanted me to give you my attention?” It is a hell of an ego boost when Dabi lets out a sweet little moan as his face flushes and he tries to kiss him again to shut him up and hide how cute his expression is. 

Tomura allows the kiss, but he keeps their hips moving together. Dabi’s cock feels good against his, even through their clothes, though there’s a strange texture to his that makes him wonder if he’s stapled there too. It doesn’t matter. He’ll happily learn how to stroke and suck at him if it means he can keep feeling how his body gets hotter as he’s touched. He moves along his neck, licking and nibbling at his scars and earning a more frantic twitch of Dabi’s hips against him. 

“Fuck, you’re so cute. All that attitude and it just takes one date for you to be humping my leg like a needy little whore?” It’s not a line that he would use on anyone but Dabi, because he knows that Dabi has the biggest attitude on the planet, and he has a very, very strong suspicion that he’ll like that being prodded at like this. 

He’s proven right when he gets a weak growl out of him, “Shut up,” but he can’t even stop the movements, instead pulling at his hair to get him to keep kissing his skin. 

Tomura laughs against it instead. “You’re so easy, baby boy. Let you cut loose a little, and you can’t contain yourself. I bet you could cum in your pants just like this. I don’t even need to touch your pretty cock. I bet you’re going to have to be trained to take my cock, because otherwise you’re just going to cum all over yourself as soon as I start to push in–” 

He’s not sure if he expected the words to have Dabi moaning loudly, an embarrassed, whiny tone in it as his rhythm falters and his body shudders as he cums. Tomura’s mind turns to white noise for a moment as Dabi gasps and trembles, his face burning. 

He only gets his brain to stop buffering when he sees that Dabi is starting to tense with his embarrassment, and he doesn’t want him to pull away, not when–

“Oh, precious,” he coos at him, catching him in another kiss, just as hot as all the ones before it, but slower and deeper, teasing him as much with the feeling as with his next words, “You needed it that much? Baby, you should have told me sooner. I would have taken care of you, sweetheart.” 

“Shut up, Duster,” he’s still blushing hot, but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to pull out of his lap. “...It’s been a while.” 

“That’s okay, firefly. I’ll give you as many as your body can take. At least one every day until you can hold out while I’m touching you. Going to see how many times I can get you to ruin your pants before you can take my cock without falling apart immediately.” He teases. But he wants that. He’s perfectly happy to have Dabi be so needy and oversensitive, and even when he’s not able to cum so quickly, he’s going to work him over the edge over and over again until he’s crying from it. He’ll look so cute completely at his mercy. 

“You’re a fucking pervert, and I should have never said ‘yes’.” He doesn’t mean it though, because he immediately leans in and kisses him hard again, nipping at his lips as punishment for his teasing that does nothing to cool the heat in his veins. “You better be able to live up to those words,” he tries to growl, “And you can start by fucking me over your desk.” 

“Nothing would make me happier, baby boy, but I don’t have any lube down here, and I don’t want to hurt you–” 

Any other protest dies on his tongue quickly when Dabi reaches into his back pocket and smacks two packs of lube into his hand. “Got a condom too, but I’m really hoping you’re clean.” 

He doesn’t think he really has to worry about how much they’ve had to drink if Dabi was ready for the night to go this way since before they left. All he needs to worry about is making his firefly feel good. 

It’s definitely not a position he expected to be in, but he can’t say he doesn’t feel extremely privileged as he finds himself in it. 

Thanks so much for your participation! If you want to join in, there are two hours left to get in a prompt! Check out my Ko-Fi here! 

[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Chapter 2 - After Hours

Summary: Valerie meets Elvis again, again by chance. And this time, it's in a far more intimate setting.

Author's notes: Edit alert. I am constantly tooling and retooling my fics. To me, they never seem finished when I reread them. I've been taking the time to hone my craft and take online writing classes (yes, I am that loser who wants to become a better writer so I can regale you all with smutty Elvis fic), so I hope you will indulge. I am actively working on it and I believe I have it right this time. Enjoy!

You know that moment when everything's gone so spectacularly wrong that all you can do is laugh? Well, I wasn't laughing. I was slumped over the International Hotel's bar like a marionette with cut strings, wondering if it was possible to actually die of embarrassment. The doctors would probably call it something fancy, but the death certificate would tell the real story: Here lies Valerie, who bombed her Sinatra audition so bad they stopped her halfway through.

The bartender looked like he'd stepped straight out of a movie about Vegas in its golden age - crisp white jacket, perfectly groomed silver hair, the kind of face that had seen it all and wasn't impressed by any of it anymore. He glided over like smoke.

"What'll it be, miss?"

I'd never ordered a real drink in my life. Back home, the wildest I got was box wine and even that made me giggle. But tonight? Tonight felt like a good time to start.

"Gin and tonic. Make it a double."

The words felt foreign in my mouth, like trying on someone else's clothes. But isn't that what you're supposed to do after you crash and burn? Drown your sorrows in bottom-shelf liquor while the bartender pretends to care about your troubles?

My mind kept rewinding to that awful audition, like a broken record stuck on the worst song ever made. My voice had shook worse than Elvis's hips (and there was a comparison I didn't need in my head right then). The piano player had actually winced. And those other girls, the ones with their perfect hair and professional headshots, they'd smirked like they knew all along I didn't belong there.

The drink appeared in front of me like magic. I took a sip and immediately regretted it. Tasted like Christmas trees. But I kept drinking anyway, because that's what people do in situations like this, right? They sit in dark bars and drink gin and pretend they're in a film noir about beautiful losers.

That's when I saw him.

You ever have one of those moments that feels like fate just reached down and flicked you right between the eyes? There in the mirror behind the bar, I caught a flash of red hair that made my stomach drop like an express elevator. Red, Elvis's mountain of a bodyguard, was heading straight for me with the kind of determined look that meant trouble.

"Well I'll be damned," he boomed, voice carrying across the bar like thunder. "If it ain't that pretty little songbird from the elevator."

My drink tried to go down the wrong pipe. He remembered that? More importantly, he remembered that ridiculous nickname Elvis had given me? 

"Uh, hi there," I managed to squeak out. Real smooth, Valerie. Real smooth.

Red's grin could have lit up the Strip. "You clean up real nice. Mr. Burrows know you're here drowning those sorrows all by your lonesome?"

Mr. Burrows. That's what they called Elvis when they were trying to be discreet, though why they bothered was beyond me. As if anyone could mistake him for just another guy named Jon. The memory of our elevator encounter hit me like a shot of whiskey - all heat and dizzy promise. The way his voice had wrapped around my name like silk, how his presence had made the air feel electric...

"Oh, I'm sure he has more important things to worry about than little old me," I said, aiming for breezy and probably landing somewhere around desperate. "I was just about to call it a night."

"That so?" Red's grin turned sly as a cat in a creamery. "Well, it just so happens the boss is having a little private soirée up in his suite right about now. What do you say we head up there and turn that frown upside down?"

My mama always said I had more curiosity than common sense. Standing there in that bar with Red's invitation hanging in the air like cigarette smoke, I knew she was right. The smart play was to finish my drink, go up to my room, and catch the first flight back to Chicago tomorrow morning.

But when did I ever make the smart play?

"Lead the way, Red."

The trip up to Elvis's suite was like ascending to Mount Olympus, if Olympus had shag carpeting and gold-flecked wallpaper. Red kept up a steady stream of chatter, but I barely heard him over the thundering of my own heart. What was I doing? Walking straight into the lion's den like some lamb dressed for dinner.

When we reached the mahogany door - the kind of door that whispered "money" in twelve different languages - a man I'd later learn was Jerry Schilling answered our knock. The wall of sound that hit us was like walking into a beehive: dozens of conversations buzzing, ice cubes clinking against crystal, and somewhere, someone was playing "Great Balls of Fire" on what had to be the most expensive piano I'd ever seen.

The suite itself was pure Elvis - all crushed velvet and religious iconography, like a bordello had a baby with the Vatican. A small crowd milled about: men in sharp suits, women who looked like they'd stepped off magazine covers, all of them moving in invisible orbits around...

And then I saw him.

You know how sometimes a room just seems to shift, like reality hiccups and everything reorganizes itself around a single point? That's what happened when my eyes found Elvis. He was holding court in the center of the room, sprawled in what could only be described as a throne, his long legs stretched out in front of him like he owned not just the chair but the very concept of sitting. A tumbler of amber liquid dangled from those ring-laden fingers, and sweet Jesus, that shirt... black silk unbuttoned just enough to make a good girl think bad thoughts.

Two women flanked him like matching bookends - a blonde who looked like she'd been poured into her dress, and a brunette whose legs went on for days. The brunette was trailing her fingers down his chest, purring something about taking a ride in his Cadillac. The kind of thing that should have been ridiculous but somehow wasn't, not with the way Elvis's lips curled up at the corners, lazy and amused like a cat with a bowlful of cream.

I should have felt invisible. Should have felt like a sparrow in a room full of peacocks. Instead, somehow, impossibly, his gaze found mine across the crowd. Those eyes, blue as a Memphis summer sky, locked onto me like heat-seeking missiles.

And just like that, the air changed.

A man who introduced himself as Sonny West materialized at my elbow, drink in hand. His face was all dimples and good humor, the kind of guy who probably never met a stranger. "You look like you could use this more than me," he said, offering me something that smelled strong enough to strip paint.

I took it because, hell, what else was I going to do? Standing there watching Elvis with those two glamazons draped over him like living accessories was enough to drive anyone to drink. The brunette - who I'd mentally dubbed Colette because she looked like a Colette - was doing her best to crawl into his lap without actually moving.

But here's the thing about Elvis Presley that nobody tells you: even when he's looking at someone else, you can feel when he's watching you. It's like standing in the sun with your eyes closed - you just know. And brother, was he watching me.

The Memphis Mafia - that's what they called Elvis's entourage - adopted me like a stray kitten. Before I knew what was happening, I was deep in a heated debate with Lamar about breakfast foods, of all things. These guys were like a bunch of overgrown boys playing in a very expensive sandbox, and somehow they'd decided I belonged there.

"Biscuits," I insisted, probably louder than necessary. The drink Sonny had given me was doing its job. "Fluffy, buttery perfection. Pancakes are just... flat disappointment circles."

Lamar clutched his considerable belly like I'd personally insulted his mama. "Blasphemy! Pancakes are God's own breakfast food!"

"Y'all are both wrong," Jerry chimed in, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "Waffles. Those little squares? Perfect syrup holders. That's just science."

I was laughing, actually laughing, when I heard it. That voice, smooth as aged whiskey, cutting through the noise like a hot knife through butter.

"Valerie."

Just my name. That's all it was. But the way Elvis said it made it sound like a song he'd been practicing his whole life. I turned, and there he was, standing close enough that I could smell his cologne - something expensive and spicy that probably cost more than my rent.

"Come here, pretty girl," he said, soft enough that only I could hear. "Let's you and me get better acquainted."

Colette the Brunette huffed like someone had punctured her, shooting me a look that could have curdled milk. But Elvis didn't even notice. His eyes were fixed on me like I was the only person in the room, and Lord help me, but I was moving before I realized my feet had gotten the message.

You ever touch an electric fence? That little shock that starts in your fingers and races up your arm? That's what it felt like when Elvis's hand brushed mine, guiding me toward the piano. Every nerve ending suddenly woke up and started singing hallelujah.

"You play?" he asked, those blue eyes twinkling with something that wasn't quite innocence.

I ran my fingers over the keys, smooth as silk under my touch. "A little. My daddy taught me before he passed."

Something shifted in Elvis's expression then - understanding, maybe, or recognition. "Music's in your blood," he said softly. "Like me."

He slid onto the piano bench like liquid grace, patting the space beside him. Now, there's a moment in every girl's life when she knows she's about to make either the best or worst decision of her existence. Sitting down next to Elvis Presley, close enough that our thighs touched through silk and cotton, that was mine.

"You know 'Heart and Soul'?"

I had to laugh. It was like asking if I knew how to breathe. "Who doesn't?"

His fingers found the keys first, and mine followed like they'd been doing it all their lives. The melody rose soft and sweet, barely audible under the party chatter. Then Elvis started to sing, and I swear to God, the air in the room changed. Became thicker, heavier, like honey dripping from a spoon.

"Heart and soul, I fell in love with you..."

He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised in challenge, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth that would have made a saint think sinful thoughts. Well, mama didn't raise no coward. I opened my mouth and let my voice join his.

"Heart and soul, the way a fool would do..."

You know how sometimes two voices just... fit? Like pieces of a puzzle you didn't even know was incomplete? That's what happened when Elvis and I sang together. Our voices twined around each other like lovers' hands, his deep velvet wrapping around my higher notes until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

The room had gone quiet - that special kind of quiet that feels like holding your breath. But I barely noticed. I was lost in the music, in the warmth of Elvis's thigh pressed against mine, in the way his eyes kept finding mine as we sang.

"Madly... Because you held me tight..."

His voice dropped lower, intimate, like he was telling me a secret.

"And stole a kiss in the night..."

Our fingers stilled on the keys. The last note hung in the air between us like a question nobody dared to ask. Elvis turned to face me, and sweet Jesus, the look in his eyes... It was like being caught in a spotlight and wrapped in velvet all at once.

"Valerie," he murmured, my name a prayer on those lips that had made him famous. His hand came up to brush my cheek, and I swear I felt that touch all the way down to my toes.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The world had narrowed down to just this: Elvis's eyes, dark with something that made my stomach flip, and the whisper of his fingers against my skin.

That's when Colette materialized like a bad penny, slamming her drink down on the piano hard enough to make the strings vibrate. "Elvis, baby," she purred, but there was steel under that sugar. "I'm simply parched. Won't you fix me a drink?"

Now, I expected Elvis to jump at the chance. After all, what was I compared to this goddess in a dress that probably cost more than my car? But Elvis just smiled - not the megawatt grin he was famous for, but something smaller, more polite, more dismissive.

"Not right now, darlin'," he said, never taking his eyes off me. "I'm a bit busy at the moment."

If looks could kill, Colette's glare would have reduced me to a small pile of ash on that piano bench. But Elvis's attention had already shifted back to me, like she was just another piece of furniture in his very expensive suite.

"I gotta say," he murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear, "you sure know how to captivate a man's attention. Ain't too many gals out there who can tear me away from a pretty face batting her lashes my way."

The thing about Elvis - and this is something all those magazines and fan clubs don't tell you - is that when he really looks at you, it's like being the only star in the sky. Like every light in Vegas has suddenly focused on you alone.

We fell back into playing, our hands dancing over the keys like they'd been doing this dance for years instead of minutes. Every now and then, our fingers would brush, and I swear it felt like touching a live wire. The kind of electricity that should come with a warning label.

That's when I spotted them - Red and Sonny, going at it in the corner like two roosters in a barnyard. I nudged Elvis with my elbow, nodding toward the brewing storm. "Looks like trouble in paradise. What's eating them?"

Elvis followed my gaze, and his grin was pure mischief. The kind of grin that probably got him in trouble in grade school. "Those two? Hell, could be anything. Whose turn it is to make the midnight burger run, who's got the better car, whether Kong could take Godzilla in a fair fight..."

"Godzilla," I said without hesitation. "Fire breath beats opposable thumbs any day."

"Now see, that's where you're wrong, darlin'," Elvis countered, eyes sparkling like sunlight on water. "Kong's got the reach advantage."

We watched the argument escalate, Elvis leaning close enough that I could feel his breath on my ear. "Five bucks says Sonny throws his drink in the next minute."

Maybe it was the gin, maybe it was the way his proximity made my skin hum like a tuning fork, but I heard myself say, "You're on. My money's on Red putting him in a headlock first."

The next few seconds played out like a scene from a Three Stooges routine. Sonny's wild gesticulation sent his drink flying straight into Red's face. There was a moment of perfect stillness, like the whole room was holding its breath. Then Red lunged, catching Sonny in a headlock that would have made a wrestling coach proud.

Elvis and I lost it. Complete, total hysteria. The kind of laughter that comes from your toes and takes your whole body with it. I ended up half-collapsed against him, his arm around my shoulders, both of us wheezing like we'd run a marathon.

"Guess... we both... win that bet," Elvis managed between gasps, and I could feel his laughter rumbling through his chest where I was pressed against him.

That's when someone cleared their throat behind us - the kind of throat-clearing that sounds like a period at the end of a sentence. We sprang apart like teenagers caught necking at a drive-in.

Lamar stood there looking like the cat who'd caught both the canary and the cream, fixing us with a knowing smirk that made my cheeks burn. "Hate to interrupt you two, but the natives are getting restless." He jerked his head toward the crowd. "Big Man's here, E."

Even I knew who "Big Man" meant - Kirk Kerkorian, owner of the International Hotel and the man who'd shelled out big money to bring Elvis back to live performing. The kind of man who could make or break careers with a nod.

Elvis dragged a hand down his face, and for just a second, I saw something flicker there - frustration, maybe, or resignation. The mask of the entertainer sliding back into place. But when his fingers found mine under the piano's cover, giving them a quick squeeze, that felt real. That felt like just us.

"Duty calls, I suppose." His eyes met mine, dark with promise. "Don't go anywhere, alright? I'm not done with you yet."

The way he said it made heat pool in my belly, like I'd swallowed a shot of pure sunshine. I could only nod, my voice lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth, as he stood and moved into the crowd.

I watched him work the room like he was born to it - which, let's face it, he was. Elvis Presley in his element was something to see. He had that rare gift of making everyone feel like the most important person in the world, if only for a moment. A group of older women were let in, clutching programs and photos, and he signed every single one with the same megawatt smile.

But every so often, his eyes would find mine across the room, hot enough to melt steel. A reminder that I was still on his mind, even as he played the gracious host.

That's when it hit me - what I was doing, where I was, who I was playing with. This wasn't some local boy at a church social. This was Elvis Presley, and he was married, and I was so far out of my depth I couldn't even see the shore anymore.

I slipped away like smoke, keeping to the edges of the room. Sometimes the smart choice and the right choice are the same thing, even if it feels like ripping off your own skin to do it.

I'd barely made it to my door when I heard footsteps behind me. Fast ones.

"Valerie, wait!"

It was Joe Esposito, Elvis's right-hand man, slightly out of breath like he'd been chasing me down the hallway. He pressed something into my palm - a ticket, but not just any ticket. Front row, VIP access to tomorrow night's show.

"Boss wants you in his private booth," Joe said, grinning like he knew exactly what kind of bomb he was dropping. "Wear something pretty. Elvis likes his girls dolled up nice."

He was gone before I could process what had happened, leaving me standing there with a piece of cardstock that felt heavy as gold in my hand.

I looked down at the ticket, running my thumb over the embossed lettering. Tomorrow night. Elvis wanted me there tomorrow night, in his private booth no less. The kind of invitation that would make those women in the lobby sell their souls.

Standing there in that quiet hallway, I knew I was in trouble. The kind of trouble that starts with a capital T and rhymes with double. But as I got ready for bed, I couldn't stop grinning like a fool.

Only one problem: I didn't have a damn thing pretty enough to wear to an Elvis Presley show.

Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit  @ellie-24  @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain  @be-my-ally  @vintageshanny  @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957 @jhoneybees @atleastpleasetelephone @eapep @elvispresleywife @that-hotdog @landlockedmermaid77 @sissylittlefeather @kawaiiwitchy

[vexic929]

ad astra per aspera

Warnings: drunk Hartley, homeless Hartley, mentioned starvation, it's implied his parents kicked him out due to homophobia but not explicitly stated, EoWells is vaguely manipulative because he's EoWells

Hartley was absolutely, completely, and utterly wasted. It wasn't entirely his fault; the man he'd been chatting up at the university bar had bought him drink after drink but nothing in the way of food and Hartley supposed he should probably consider himself lucky that he'd been kicked out before he'd managed to drag Hartley back to the bathroom. He certainly wasn't in the right mind to consent. Still, he was frustrated nonetheless. He hadn't eaten much more than a handful of stale pretzels in the past few days and he was in desperate need of a shower and a good sleep - it would have been nice to be taken home by somebody.

The bar was dimly lit, a haze of cigarette smoke lingering in the air despite the campus ban. Hartley slouched over his glass, the world a blurry mess of noise and light that was rapidly inducing a headache. His hearing aids were on the brink of dying, the incessant beeping begging him to recharge them for more than an hour or two, a reminder of yet another responsibility he couldn't afford to take care of. Hartley sighed and knocked back the last of his drink, hoping it hadn't been spiked, and called the bartender over for a glass of water instead. He should probably hydrate lest he vomit up the few calories he'd consumed.

An attractive older man took the seat next to him, the scent of expensive cologne cutting through the fog of Hartley's inebriation. The man ordered a gin and tonic, his voice smooth and authoritative. Hartley's stomach growled audibly and he grimaced, gripping his glass tighter. Maybe if he stepped outside for a minute he could find some cash or an abandoned half-eaten bag of chips or something.

"W---d y--li--me t--all y---cab?" The man said and Hartley blinked up at him slowly, trying to make sense of the syllables he hadn't heard.

"What?" He asked dumbly.

"Would you like me to call you a cab?" The man repeated, his tone patient but firm. "You look like you're not feeling very well." He added when Hartley still looked confused.

"Oh. No, thanks." Hartley said, turning back to his water and fighting back a blush. He didn't want to have to explain to this handsome stranger his unfortunate living situation. He looked vaguely familiar but through the haze of alcohol, Hartley was fairly certain he wouldn't have recognized his own reflection let alone anyone else.

Hartley let his attention drift elsewhere for several minutes, ignoring the man until a plate of wings was placed in front of him along with another water. Hartley gave the bartender a confused look.

"I didn't order-"

"I did." The handsome stranger said and Hartley blinked in surprise. "You should eat, Mr. Rathaway, you'll feel better after."

Hartley's hackles raised the moment his name was said and he bristled. "You recognize me from the tabloids I suppose?"

The man tilted his head, an amused expression sparkling in his brilliantly blue eyes behind his glasses. "From your work, actually. Your thesis on particle-wave duality in acoustic systems was impressively researched and well-written. I enjoyed it."

Hartley squinted, trying to bring the man into better focus, and immediately paled the moment he did. "Harrison Wells-"

Dr. Wells confirmed with a slight nod, a smile playing on his lips. Hartley's face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and irritation.

"Well, thank you, but I'm not interested in being a charity case, Dr. Wells." Hartley snapped more harshly than he'd initially intended.

"Of course not," Harrison said smoothly. "And I don't see you as one. You're a talented young man, Hartley. Eat, unless you'd rather go elsewhere for a more substantial meal. I have something I'd like to discuss with you."

Hartley's pride wavered in the face of hunger and he reluctantly reached for a wing. The moment the savory, spicy flavor hit his tongue, his body started running on autopilot and he couldn't help himself any longer, pride be damned. He devoured another, then another, barely noticing the amused glint in Harrison's eyes.

Dr. Wells waited until Hartley had finished eating to speak again.

"I'm sure you've heard about the particle accelerator I'm building," Dr. Wells started and Hartley nodded, wiping his mouth and hands and sipping his water, trying to look less like he'd nearly inhaled the plate. "I'm currently searching for scientists to assist; young minds eager to explore new horizons in the field of physics. Like you."

Hartley's heart skipped a beat, a mixture of excitement and suspicion flooding his mind. "Why would you want me? I'm a bit of a walking scandal at the moment."

Dr. Wells studied him for a moment with a small smile. "Ad astra per aspera."

"Through adversity to the stars." Hartley echoed.

"We could use someone with your resilience, Mr. Rathaway."

Hartley stared at him, unable or perhaps unwilling to trust that it could be so easy, that he wasn't dreaming. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," Dr. Wells replied smoothly. "Just an opportunity. A chance to prove yourself in a field you're passionate about, working on one of the most important projects of this lifetime and perhaps even changing the way we understand our universe."

It was absolutely too good to be true, Hartley was sure of that, but Dr. Wells was...captivating, charming, and Hartley couldn't help but be drawn in despite himself.

"You didn't exactly answer; why me? Surely you have no shortage of applicants, people who are in more...stable situations with decades of experience," Hartley said. "And I doubt you'd have to meet them in a college bar."

Dr. Wells hummed softly, mulling over his words carefully, and Hartley was fairly certain he'd just destroyed the opportunity the moment it had been presented.

"If I may be completely honest, you remind me a bit of myself at your age. I see a brilliance in you, a spark ready to be ignited. I think you just need the right opportunity to flourish."

Hartley was silent for a moment, his mind racing. The offer was everything he'd ever wanted, a chance to work alongside his idol, to escape the living hell his life had become. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was a price to pay, that nothing this good could come without strings attached. Dr. Wells continued before he could respond.

"You don't need to make a decision tonight. Come by S.T.A.R. Labs tomorrow. See the facility, meet the team. Then you can decide."

Hartley hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. Tomorrow."

Dr. Wells smiled again and Hartley felt butterflies erupt in his stomach. He desperately wanted Dr. Wells to smile at him like that forever. "Excellent. Come with me, I'll rent you a hotel room and have someone pick you up at 10am sharp." He said, standing and pulling out his wallet to pay for his drink and Hartley's food.

Hartley watched Dr. Wells stand, the realization of what was happening slowly settling in. He wasn't sure if he could trust this seemingly perfect opportunity but the desperate need for stability pushed him towards accepting the offer. He followed Dr. Wells out of the bar, the cool night air hitting his face, making him shiver and sobering him up just slightly.

As they walked towards Dr. Wells' car, Hartley couldn't help but steal glances at the older man. Harrison Wells was everything he had ever admired - brilliant, successful, composed. Handsome, also. Hartley felt a mix of intimidation and adoration, his emotions a chaotic whirlwind inside him.

"You don't have to worry about anything tonight," Dr. Wells said, unlocking his sleek black Audi. "I'll make sure you're comfortable."

Hartley slid into the passenger seat, the plush leather a stark contrast to the harsh reality of his recent days. He watched as Dr. Wells navigated the city streets with ease, the silence between them oddly comforting, though his attention was far more on the man than the road.

Arriving at a high-end hotel, Hartley felt a pang of anxiety. This was far beyond anything he could afford and the opulence only served to remind him of just how far he'd fallen. Dr. Wells seemed to sense his discomfort and placed a reassuring hand on his back as he guided him into the building.

The hotel lobby was a display of modern elegance, all polished marble and shimmering chandeliers. Hartley felt out of place among the well-dressed guests and immaculate decor and he tugged his old jacket tighter around himself, trying to look vaguely presentable and not like someone housekeeping would shoo out instantly.

Dr. Wells approached the front desk, his presence commanding immediate attention from the receptionist, and Hartley trailed behind like a lost puppy.

"Good evening, I'd like to book a room for my colleague," Dr. Wells said smoothly. "Mr. Rathaway will be staying for the night. I'll handle all expenses."

The receptionist looked Hartley over disapprovingly but, wisely, didn't say anything as she accepted Dr. Wells' credit card and handed them each a room key. "Room 1203, Dr. Wells. Enjoy your stay."

Hartley followed Dr. Wells to the elevator, the plush carpet underfoot and the ambient music doing little to soothe his nerves. He felt like an imposter, a homeless university student suddenly thrust into a world of luxury he no longer had any right to. He still wasn't entirely sure he was awake. Maybe his drink had been spiked.

The elevator ride was silent, the only sound the soft hum of machinery. When they reached the twelfth floor, Dr. Wells led Hartley down a corridor lined with elegant artwork and discreet lighting, stopping in front of a door marked 1203. He swiped the keycard and opened the door, ushering Hartley inside.

The room was spacious and tastefully decorated, a king-sized bed dominating the center with crisp white linens that looked impossibly inviting. A large window offered a stunning view of Central City's skyline. Hartley stood awkwardly in the doorway, feeling more out of place than ever. Dr. Wells placed a gentle hand on his back, guiding him further into the room.

"Make yourself at home, Hartley. Take a shower, get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning," Dr. Wells said softly, his voice soothing.

Hartley nodded, unable to find his voice. He watched as Dr. Wells moved to the desk and began writing something on the hotel stationery. After a moment, he turned back to Hartley and handed him the note.

"Here's my number. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call. I'll see you tomorrow at S.T.A.R. Labs."

Hartley took the note, his fingers trembling slightly. "Thank you, Dr. Wells. I don't know what to say."

"Just rest, Hartley. We’ll talk more tomorrow," Dr. Wells replied with a warm smile. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Hartley echoed, watching as Dr. Wells turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Alone in the hotel room, Hartley tugged off his jacket and kicked off his shoes, tossing them in the corner, suddenly very aware of how filthy he was. God, when was the last time he'd had a hot shower? Or washed his clothes? He internally winced, realizing he'd ridden in Dr. Wells' car in such a state and immediately beelined for the shower, tugging off the rest of his clothes and fighting back nausea from the alcohol.

As the hot water cascaded over him, Hartley felt the tension of the past weeks begin to wash away. The grime and sweat of sleeping rough melted down the drain and he scrubbed his skin until it was raw and he couldn't stand the strong scent of the hotel soap any longer.

When he finally stepped out of the shower, his skin was red and his limbs shaky from exhaustion, but he felt marginally more human. He wrapped himself in a robe provided by the hotel, its softness almost enough to lull him to sleep immediately.

He connected his hearing aids to their charger, ensuring they'd be fully powered by morning and then, with a sigh, he collapsed onto the bed. The mattress was so comfortable it was almost a shock to his system and he felt tears prick at his eyes from the sheer relief of it. Despite his exhaustion, sleep didn't come immediately. His mind was a whirl of thoughts and emotions, most centered around Dr. Wells.

Harrison Wells. The man he'd admired for years, who had shaped his academic dreams and inspired nearly every one of his projects. Hartley still couldn't quite believe that the renowned physicist had sought him out, recognized his work, and offered him such an incredible opportunity. It felt too surreal, like a dream he was certain he'd wake from at any moment.

But the note with Dr. Wells' number was real, as was the hotel room and the offer. Hartley clung to that reality as he finally drifted into a dreamless sleep.

[zablife]

A Wrench in Our Plans

Requested by @chaosinkest1996 for my 2K celebration An Evening at Arrow House. Warning: This is a dark fic 💀

Author's Note: Scarlett Shelby Nelson is my OC and she is married to Jack Nelson. This fic is a bit lighter, a mix of horror and crack fic!

“Mr. Nelson,” Mrs. Shelby exclaimed in shock as she heard the door of the study close with a firm thud. 

“Call me Jack. We’re family now,” Jack said a bit too congenially. 

Striding toward the door, she attempted to excuse herself with a few polite words, hoping the imposing man would follow. “We should be getting back to the other guests. I’m sure Scarlett will be wondering…” But before she could finish, Jack stepped in front of her, his broad frame blocking her path.

“My wife doesn’t concern herself with every breath I take,” he assured her. Mrs. Shelby regarded her brother-in-law with a watchful gaze as he crossed to the bar and made himself a drink. Wholly unperturbed by her nervous glances, he took a swig of his whisky.

“Well my husband does,” she declared, a note of warning in her voice.

“Is my reputation really that bad around here?” he teased, lips curling into a smirk around the glass. He offered her one of her own, but she shook her head, casting her eyes to the floor. Jack chuckled at her sudden look of modesty, knowing full well she wasn’t the blushing flower she pretended to be. 

“You won’t join me in a toast?” he asked, feigning a look of hurt.

“I don’t drink,” she said tersely, pulling at her long satin gloves until she could feel them cutting off the circulation in her fingers.

“I must have you confused with some other gin soaked broad from Fleet Street,” he mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass thoughtfully. “Then again, your ex-husband owned San Marcos didn’t he? Helluva coincidence, dontcha think?” he smirked, pleased he’d uncovered a mafia darling in their ranks.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, finding a triumphant look of smug satisfaction upon his brow. It ignited a rage inside her she didn’t know she possessed. “You fucking bastard! You sat across from me all night pretending you’d no idea who I was and now this?” 

“Easy, doll,” Jack hummed. “I won’t say a word. It’s only Tommy who doesn’t know what you are.”

“What do you want?” she spat, crossing her arms over her chest indignantly, the shy, quiet act disappearing with each huff of breath.

“Nothin. I wanna help you,” he said, voice soft and patronizing as he offered a cigarette to calm her nerves. 

“Like hell you do. When did the Irish mob ever do anything out of the goodness of their heart?” she asked suspiciously, as she accepted the offering between outstretched fingers. She studied her adversary and seemed to make a decision, what that was, Jack could only guess as he leaned forward to light her cigarette.

Patiently waiting for the flame to catch, he watched her perfect bow shaped mouth purse together. His eyes were transfixed on her low cut gown, the swell of her ample chest rising up toward him with the intake of breath. Suddenly he understood why Tommy had chosen to believe her ridiculous lies.

In such close proximity Jack was quickly forgetting his objective of blackmail. When Mrs. Shelby placed a manicured hand to his shoulder, he didn’t resist. Before he could register what was happening, her hand was cupping his face, urging him toward her waiting lips. He didn’t hesitate to close the distance between them, giving into her practiced moan which only enticed him further. Jack massaged her tongue with his, thoroughly besotted.

Taking that as a cue to go further, she slowly ran a hand down the front of his trousers listening as Jack’s breath hitched. He found himself momentarily off balance under her skillful touch, silently cursing his weakness.

A sudden knock came at the door and they broke apart. Scarlett entered without waiting for a reply, eyebrow raised in an impossibly high arch.

“Everything alright in here?” she asked.

Mrs. Shelby exhaled a plume of smoke as she plastered on a smile. “Just fine. In fact, we were coming to find you,” she lied smoothly.

“Were you? Well that is a happy accident," Scarlett smiled at her sister-in-law insincerely. "I came to say goodbye. You see, I can’t stay this evening. I need to get back to Boston,” she said with a quick nod, finishing her announcement. With a flourish of her skirt, she turned to leave, but not before shooting a dangerous look back at her husband.

Without asking for details, Mrs. Shelby accepted her excuse. It was a relief to be rid of one Shelby. The family had been so inhospitable and now, thanks to Jack, perhaps she knew why. Did they all know she was related to the Sabinis? The thought made her paranoid and she couldn’t wait to escort her sister-in-law from the house. She only hoped her brother-in-law would join his wife so she didn’t have to put on an act any longer to distract him.

Just as Mrs. Shelby called for Frances, Scarlett intervened. “That won’t be necessary,” Scarlett said, motioning toward her single piece of luggage. “Jack and I can manage.”

“I’m sure you can, but let me see you to your car,” Mrs. Shelby replied, feeling the eyes of her staff upon her. She waved them away and followed the Nelsons to the front drive, the sound of her heels crunching on gravel reminding her that it would soon be their tires.

When they’d arrived at the car, Mrs. Shelby discarded her cigarette and crushed it beneath her heel with finality. Surveying the empty courtyard, she asked the only question left burning on the tip of her tongue. “I assume this means no more questions,” she said pointedly to Jack.

“I think you’re safe for now,” he assured her, looking at something just beyond her shoulder. She had little time to react as she soon felt a crushing blow to the head. She fell forward into Jack’s arms, feeling lightheaded as she heard Scarlett’s voice echo, “Was it enough?”

“Enough?” Mrs. Shelby mumbled, attempting to raise her throbbing head from Jack’s shoulder. When she did, she noticed the deep crimson stain she’d left on his suit jacket. However, the scream caught in her throat as another blow sent her to the ground, vision fading to black.

“Put her in the boot,” Scarlett demanded, tossing the bloodied wrench beside her luggage. “Quickly, Jack, before someone sees you!”

“Jesus Christ, honey, you couldn’t have waited a month like we fucking planned? Now there’s no chance of making a deal,” Jack hissed into the darkness as he leaned down to check for a pulse.

“And no chance for you to fuck her,” Scarlett bit back as she leaned out to glare at her husband.

Jack exhaled loudly as he grasped Mrs. Shelby’s upper body, dragging her to the back of the car.  Grunting as he dumped her body, he huffed, “You know, it’s possible your jealousy is clouding your judgement.”

“I could say the same about your dick,” Scarlett retorted. "Get in the car!"

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

Tag List:

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@notyour-valentine

@areyenotfondofmelobster

@polishcrazyone

@elenavampire21

@little-diable

@lyarr24

@jomarch-wannabe

@helen06dreamer

@raincoffeeandfandoms

@dearshelby

@cillmequick

@call-sign-shark

@peakyltd

@brummiereader

@runnning-outof-time

@emotionalcadaver

@thegreatdragonfruta

@noforkingclue

@thomashelbyswife

@babayaga67

@kmhappybunny240

@l1-l4

@justlulu

@kmc1989

@allie131313

@watercolorskyy

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Nanami Kento, angst/comfort, “we will burn those bridges when we get there”

Thank you!

I had to fist fight my demons to keep this an angst/comfort and not an angst/comfort/angst, just fyi. I do it all for you, Dear Reader.

Now Presenting...

Starring: a sick of it all Nanami Kento

The gin burned in your chest as it flowed from the bottle to your stomach. You wanted to gag, but managed to force it down with a grimace. You looked up at the stars, glittering bright in the sky above you from where you sat in the garden. You had read somewhere that all the stars you saw in the night sky had died like, a million years ago or something, and that the light you saw was because of how far away they were or-something. You weren’t an astronomer, but, you did know you felt pretty jealous of all those dead lights at that moment.

“Hey,” Nanami startled you out of your head long enough to look at him, “I thought I’d find you here.” He said, going and sitting next to you. You let out a humorless huff trying to masquerade as a laugh.

“Am I really that predictable?” You asked. He thought for a moment, then shrugged.

“The gin was a surprise, I kinda expected vodka to be honest.”

“This was just the first thing I found in the liquor cabinet.” You confessed.

“Ah.” Kento nodded in understanding, before pulling out a pack of cigarettes  and lighting a smoke. You watched the way the smoke danced from his lungs into the sky, swirling around itself and the dead stars. There was a metaphor there somewhere. 

“I heard what happened,” Nanami cut through the silence again, “I’m sorry for your loss.” You looked away from the smoke and down to the ground. The grief of losing your best friend hadn’t settled in yet, instead denial and shock taking it’s place. You dreaded the moment the reality set in.

“It’s fine, I guess,” You lied, “They were a sorcerer. We kinda know the deal when we sign up for this job.”

“Do we though?” Kento questioned, turning his head to look at you. You let out another huff.

“Yea, not really. They tell us they do everything in their power to limit as many fatalities as possible-”

“Then send a second grade sorcerer after a special grade curse.” Kento spoke from experience. You nodded, finally finding it in you to look at him.

“Yea. I just…Did you ever feel like you had a choice?” You asked, tears welling in your eyes again.

“No, not really.” He admitted with a shrug, “I felt like the moment my technique manifested everyone decided this was what I was going to do, regardless of what I wanted.” You knew that feeling all to well. You thought most sorcerers did. You knew your friend did. 

“It’s not fair,” You stated the obvious, “They treat us as disposable, as if were all fucking Satoru, invincible.” You spat, feeling the anger building up inside your chest again, looking for someone to light the fuse.

“And then they bitch about not having enough sorcerers after sending them all to die.” Nanami struck the match. You jumped to your feet with a groan, unable to sit still for any longer. 

“Yea, exactly! And like, look I’m not saying I agree with Suguru, but he’s right about how society treats sorcerers! Like we only exist for them like were not our own people with our own hopes and dreams-!”

“Please tell me you’re not planning a eugenics fueled mass murder.” Nanami demanded rather than asked, looking at you with sharp, concerned eyes.

“No, not at all,” You assured him, watching the tension visibly leave his shoulders as you said so, “I just…I don’t know. I want to run away.” You confessed.

“So then why not do it?” Kento asked, taking a drag off his cigarette, “I want to leave too,” He revealed, “And we could do it. There’s nothing stopping us from doing it.” Honestly, you didn’t expect that from Nanami. If anything. You expected him to try and convince you to stay, to fulfill your duties as a sorcerer. You liked that he still managed to surprise you. 

“Because we can’t just leave,” You sighed, shaking your head.

“Why not?”

“We have responsibilities here. What about the elders? They’d never forgive us.” Nanami shrugged at your concerns.

“We’ll burn those bridges when we get there. Honestly, I’m not too keen on letting a bunch of people that referred to World War One as “The Great War” dictating my every move for the rest of my life.” a very sudden and very heavy realization hit you at that moment.

“wait…You’re serious, aren’t you?” You asked. He looked up at you from where he sat and nodded.

“Yea. I wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t,” He chuckled a bit, “ There’s nothing tangible keeping us here.”

“Where would we even go?”

“I got two tickets to Malaysia.” He offered. 

“Wait, like, right now?! Ready to go?!” You scoffed, your brain struggling to keep up in the pool of gin.

“I bought them on impulse about a week ago. They were cheap and I thought it was a two way flight. It wasn’t, but, I kinda assumed that was fate. I’ve been meaning to ask you, I just…I couldn’t fine the right time I guess.” Not that now was the right time, but, it was a time.

“When does the flight leave?’ You asked.

“Two days. Think that’s enough time to get your affairs in order?” You thought for a long time about what Kento was offering, the real gravity of what it would entail. You would never be able to return to Jujutsu Sorcery again.

“Yea. Two days is more than enough.”

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 13 (Mastermind)—MOTA Fic

A/N: Admittedly, this one was a lot of fun! I had a great lake day yesterday but that also means I'm behind on writing and answering requests haha! They're still open though, so feel free to keep sending me stuff! I'm going to try and catch up today, if I can! As always, let me know what you think and enjoy!

Ruth’s hands didn’t stop shaking after they left her office.  They didn’t stop shaking when she dug through her bag looking for a cigarette and a lighter.  They didn’t stop as she lit the thing—though her hands were rattling as though she was part of some jazz quartet or something.  They didn’t stop shaking as she inhaled the smoke in a rapid breath, unable to get ahold of herself. 

For a moment, it was all she could do to just sit there in her office and stare at the paperwork she was supposed to be doing.  All thoughts of work had melted away into worries that were building and compounding about Abe.  

Any appetite that she had worked up was long gone and she would take the promise of an empty stomach and a cigarette over having to socialize in the mess hall.  What the actual hell had Abe been thinking?  He was just a little boy.  A little Jewish boy who, if caught, would surely be found out that he had lied on his forms and he would be killed or worse.  Ruth couldn’t even take the thought. 

There was a pull in her stomach that seemed to knot itself up tightly.  She wanted to throw up, wanted to scream and punch the wall, wanted to make all of this just go away.  But she did not have the power for that.  

And so for the first time in a long time, Ruth Sharpe let a small whimper slip from her lips and she couldn’t help the fact that the tears came spilling out of her eyes.  Like a dam overflowing, Ruth was simply overwhelmed. She wasn’t one to cry easily, wasn’t one to get emotional.  But she had failed in her most simple of all jobs—being a sister.  

Maybe if she had stayed in the United States, she would have been able to stop Abe from running away and trying to join the military.  Maybe she could have protected him a lot better than any efforts she could give at the current moment.  Ruth Sharpe, shark lawyer, JAG-Corp member, felt totally helpless.  And it wasn’t a feeling she liked. 

So Ruth let herself blubber for a solid five minutes.  She let the tears spill from her eyes, she let the emotions run rampant and all of the ‘what ifs’ swirl around in her mind.  And when she glanced over at the clock, almost exactly at five minutes from when she began her emotional breakdown, Ruth straightened up her back. 

She dabbed at her makeup and at the tear-tracks.  And then she got back to work.  Because what else was she supposed to do?

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

Although Glenn Dye’s party was in full swing, Ruth had little patience for the entire thing.  It was great for that particular captain that he got to go home and that 25 missions could, in fact, be done.  But for everyone else, Ruth didn’t really see a point in celebrating.  After all, there was another mission to be run in the morning. 

Staying out late and celebrating the new arrivals and Glenn Dye didn’t seem like the best use of time, in her opinion.  And her sour mood wasn’t helped by the fact that Helen and Tatty absolutely insisted that she let loose and came to the party. 

Ruth had never particularly cared for parties, even her own.  Her mother had always thrown the best birthday parties and holiday parties—but Ruth would rather be in a corner with a book or in a good conversation than in a room full of people.  And that was thus evidenced by Ruth’s lack of enthusiasm at the current party. 

In the midst of her grumbling and occasionally sipping at a gin, someone came running up to her, tugging on her arm.  Ruth wasn’t even surprised to find Abe, grinning as he encouraged her to come and meet his friends.  

“Aren’t you—embarrassed or something?” Ruth demanded in slight annoyance. 

“Embarrassed? Why would I be embarrassed?” Abe asked, giving her a strange look.  “You’re JAG-Corp AND you outrank them.  I get to brag!” 

As Abe brought her to a stop in front of the new recruits—a few of whom she vaguely recognized from the inspections done earlier that day—there was a slight look of fear that gave rise to pride in her chest.  “Uh, Abe—” One of them started nervously. 

“This is my sister!  Ruth!” Abe exclaimed proudly, a wide grin on his face. 

Ruth didn’t even blink as her gaze turned onto the men curiously.  “The uh—the scary—” One of them started, earning an elbow to the ribs and a wince.  “The lawyer lady is your sister?” 

“I can see you’re just as charmed to meet me as I am to meet you,” Ruth retorted in a steel tone.  “Your names, soldiers?” 

“Ruthie—” Abe started in a slight warning tone. 

“Nash,” The one in the middle piped up. 

“Speitz.” 

“Pappy.” 

“Is it true that you grew up down the hall from Rosenthal?” Nash questioned, gaze flickering between the two siblings. 

A tight smile found its way onto Ruth’s features.  “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.  Why?  Are you looking for blackmail?” 

“Be nice, please,” Abe mumbled. 

“Oh look, here’s Twinkle-Toes now.  Just like Senior Prom,” Ruth said, letting out a sigh at the sight of Robert Rosenthal dancing his way over to the group.  He continued his moves right up until he nearly bumped into Ruth, a panicked expression crossing his features quickly. 

“Uh, I didn’t see—” 

“You?  Not paying attention?  I’m shocked,” Ruth said dryly.  

“I’m sorry, you said prom?” Pappy questioned, leaning forward. 

Both Ruth and Rosie gave each other a withering gaze.  “Oh yeah!” Abe exclaimed, cutting them off before either could speak.  “They went to prom together since their dates both had the flu!” 

“Anyways,” Rosie expressed in a louder tone.  “What have I missed?” 

“Well I’m eying broads and Pappy here’s trying to dour the mood,” Nash said, gesturing at his friend. “So in other words, nothing.” 

“Sour,” Rosie and Ruth said at the same time—immediately giving each other an incredulous look of annoyance.  

“What?” 

“The word, it’s sour,” Rosie corrected. “Sour the mood is what you mean.” 

“No, no,” Pappy insisted.  “All I said is that it’s not a good sign for us.  One crew making it merits a blowout bash?” 

“I’m gonna grab a drink—” Abe started. 

“You are not 21,” Ruth hissed, gaze withering onto her brother. 

Rosie gave a grin as Abe frowned.  “For you, Ruthie!” Abe exclaimed, hurrying off. 

“That kid is such a menace,” Ruth murmured, shaking her head as Abe dipped off to the bar.  “Drink for me—yeah, he’ll take a sip out of it.” 

Nash didn’t respond and everyone followed his line of vision.  “Oh don’t bother them—” 

Ruth glanced over—following the line of sight onto Helen and Tatty.  She nearly snorted, amusement spilling onto her features.  “Good luck with that.” 

Before Nash could so much as ask what she meant by that particular comment, Abe returned.  This time, he was accompanied by Major Egan and Major Cleven and Ruth felt as though everything in the universe were aligning to try and take her out today. 

“Ruthie!” Bucky exclaimed in a peppy tone.  “Baby Shark here was just telling me that you’re his sister!” 

“Oh good God,” Ruth pinched the bridge of her nose as Abe looked smug, snugly standing between the two Majors as if he had picked out two sixth graders to protect him from bullies on the playground.  

“Baby Shark?” Abe questioned, glancing over in their direction. 

Bucky just flashed an award-winning smile.  “You know,” he said, gesturing at Ruth with his head.  “Because she’s a shark.” 

“Gentlemen,” Major Cleven cut in, shooting Bucky a warning glance.  The last thing that they needed when they were trying to meet the new pilots was to anger Lieutenant Sharpe and start a ruthless verbal battle. 

Ruth plucked the drink out of Abe’s hand and made her getaway before anyone could stop her.  Her head felt like it was pounding and honestly?  The last thing she needed was to put up with Abe, Robby Rosenthal, and Bucky Egan in one sitting.  That was too much for her sensibilities and she didn’t have the patience for that at the moment.  

Returning to the bar, Ruth found Jack Kidd sipping on a drink and she let out a deep sigh.  “Push me down the stairs of the tower next time we’re up there?” Ruth questioned, gaze locking onto him. 

Kidd, to his credit, choked on the drink, eyes going wide.  “That’s uh—that’s an extreme reaction.” 

“See the shrimpy kid over there in between Cleven and Egan?” 

“Well yeah.  What about him?” 

“That’s my brother.  And the new guy with the worm on his face and far too much hair gel is his favorite neighbor and my rival from school.” 

Kidd blinked at the scene up ahead, shaking his head.  “That’s awful luck, Ruth.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Ruth exhaled, taking a sip of her gin.  “If I have to put up with those two and Egan, I think I might just….court martial everyone on this damn base.” 

“Duly noted,” Kidd retorted.  “You didn’t know your brother was coming?” He added, curiosity brimming in his features. 

“Not really, no.  And I wouldn’t expect him to end up on the same base as me either.  God must have a really good sense of humor when it comes to me,” Ruth said lightly.  “Who knows?  Maybe I’ll rub off on you and you’ll start having this sorta luck too.” 

“Don’t you dare!” Kidd exclaimed.  “I’m tired enough of Egan’s bullshit and the rest of what we’ve got going on to have that sorta luck.” 

“Relax, I won’t start prayin’ for that,” Ruth insisted, a small grin on her features.  “Any way we can get my brother in Rosenthal’s plane?” 

“Why?” 

“Kid brother, I tend to worry.  At least with Rosenthal, he’ll be with someone I’ve known most of my life.” 

Kidd gave a nod.  “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem.  I’ll get him transferred there before tomorrow’s mission.” 

“Thanks, Kidd.” 

Before he could reply to that or ask any further questions, a slightly tipsy Harding had made his appearance, calling out for his boys.  And unfortunately for Tatty and Ruth, they knew that they were included in that same line-up—after all, Harding communicated with the Red Cross as much as he did with the Majors.  

“My boys!  Listen up! I just had a mood-killing conversation with Doc Stover, and he thinks you sissies could be getting flak-happy.” There were groans of disagreement from the men and Harding gave a firm nod.  “I told him war is war, and the longer you go at it, the more it screws a man up.  And it’s been that way since the first caveman son of a bitch picked up a club and went after the other.” 

“Cain and Abel, you mean,” Ruth mumbled, earning herself an elbow from Kidd—though she wasn’t necessarily wrong. 

“Did cavemen go for head-shrinking?” Harding questioned.  “Damn sure not.  What counts is that you soldiers show up ready and able to fight.  What you do between battles…” Harding trailed off and Ruth couldn’t help the fact that her jaw dropped at the insinuation of fraternization being alright. 

“I like your style, sir!” Bucky exclaimed. 

“Oh you’ve gotta be shitting me,” Ruth hissed out. 

“Aerial combat like this hasn’t been around since the cavemen, sir,” Red piped up. 

“Well of course not, Red.  Every war has its novelties,” Harding turned, eyes catching onto the decorations.  He soured, a frown painting onto his features.  “Who the hell decorated for this fiesta?” 

“Well I put together a committee, sir,” Crosby mumbled. 

“The damn plane looks like it’s in a nosedive!” Harding exclaimed.  He mumbled some more before ushering the group closer together.  “You know how we could end this whole thing tonight? We fill up one of our first with as many 500 pounders as she can hold and we bomb the hell out of Hitler’s hidey hole.  I’m sure that Red and Bubbles could locate that mustached little fu—” 

“That’s against the rules of conduct,” Ruth’s voice cut cleanly through the crowd, effectively silencing Harding and sending chills down the spines of several of the men.  “And quite frankly stupid.  After all, we’re aiming to kill the soldiers, not the innocent kids and families of Germany.”

Harding blinked as Ruth approached him, almost having to take a step back to process the fact that she was in front of him.  “War is war, sweetheart.” 

“Oh shit,” Kidd breathed out. 

Before Ruth could so much as verbally end this entire thing with Harding, Bucky had taken it upon himself to speak up.  “Well now who’s flak-happy?” Bucky piped up. 

Both Ruth and Harding’s glares set on Bucky at the same time.  “Who?” Harding questioned. 

“I believe you’ve had enough to drink for the night, sir.  There’s a mission early in the morning and I doubt you want the men flying into combat without your instructions,” Ruth said in a steel tone. 

“But—” 

“Red, please escort him back to his cabin.  Egan—” Ruth turned, gaze falling on him.  “A word?” 

Bucky let out a slight grumble, following Ruth a short distance away from the crowd of men who were now talking.  “What?” He questioned. 

“Cleven talked to me earlier.  And now I’m seeing what he means.  I’ll ensure you get a weekend pass for tomorrow.  I can handle Harding for the weekend.  You need a break.” 

The foul stench of alcohol stung the air in front of her as Bucky let out a snarled breath of annoyance.  “I don’t need jack-shit from you.  What do you know—” 

Ruth’s hand sharply cut through the air, slapping against his face.  Everyone had heard it and wisely chose to avoid eye contact with the fuming Major at the moment.  “That was me holding back and being polite—your men need you at your best.  This?  This is not your best.  Take a break, re-center, relax….whatever the hell you need to do to get your head back in the game.  Then you come back and you lead your men through it.  Understood?” Ruth demanded, crossing her arms.  

“I don’t suppose it’s up for negotiation?” 

“Not a chance, flyboy.  Now get going.” 

“Okay…..Mama Shark.” 

She made a slight movement and he dashed away.  Ruth just pinched the bridge of her nose.  She had a sinking feeling that tomorrow was going to be an utter shitshow. 

But there was nothing to be done about that now. 

[aniron48]

It's WIP Wednesday!

This Wednesday, I have an excerpt from the next chapter of smoke gets in your eyes, the FTH fic I'm writing for the wonderful @anyawen. In this chapter, everything is definitely totally fine and nothing is going off the rails whatsoever.* Final chapter to include Phillip desperately trying to change the subject, Benoit struggling with some Big Reveals, and the exact nature of the trouble Benjamin is in becoming clear. Stay tuned!

“This could have been avoided if you’d simply sent me a wedding announcement, Blanc,” Benjamin said, taking a sip of gin fizz. Somehow they’d managed to find a table and place their drink order without any further earth-shattering revelations, an achievement Blanc could only attribute to a kind of mutual fugue state. “That would have been difficult, seeing as your phone number was disconnected within a month of our break up,” Blanc pointed out. His knee appeared to be jiggling of its own accord under the table, and he placed a hand on top of it in an ineffectual attempt to persuade it to cease and desist. “I shouldn’t have thought that would have stopped you, if you’d really wanted to get in touch. You’re a detective, after all. You could just…detect.” “Oh, for the love of—” “Would anyone like something to eat?” Phillip interjected, looking around for their waiter. “What about a nice cheese platter?”

*lies

cc: @mi6-cafe

[godkilller]

SHE LIED WELL FOR WHAT SHE WAS; A FLOWER CAUGHT IN A STORM, and Gin contemplated her with an eerie tip of his head to one side, as though deciding whether or not to humor her redirect. He saw through it well enough, knew even without the taste of their reiatsu in the air who had done this to her. He could smell the jealousy and spite a mile away, the bitterness and bickering of lowlifes wishing to become the center of Aizen Sousuke's world -- when no one could draw his eye, especially when so pathetic and hasty. As Gin languidly stepped forward, he brushed past Orihime in favor of absently surveying the disarray -- dismissive, seemingly, of her state and as though he falsely needed a closer look to discern what happened.

He saw in her the dislike for conflict, so her lie was predictable enough, the protectiveness of her assailants not necessarily a full bloom of compassion, but a weak dive for control. In another instance perhaps Gin could've taunted her for trying to play him off like a fool, but he wasn't in the combative and cruel mood most perceived him to constantly linger within. Pale fingers picked a stray petal up, flicking it away after the idle gesture served its cause. He watched it flutter to the pale tile flooring at his feet.

Perhaps he was feeling cruel, but not the senseless kind that sought to bite simply to see how the recipient thrashed. There were many veils within Las Noches; deceptive corridors that changed once one turned their backs on them, smoke and mirror tricks -- and then the entirety of Kyoka Suigetsu. But there was another veil lesser known, and he sought to shred it. They played friends -- well, she had, at least, and Gin had played along, dumbing himself down to seem less threatening, slouching to seem smaller, smiling in a less sinister way, playful even, teasing, saying funny things... it was high time she caught a glimpse of validation for her wariness of him, even if she had made a point to bury it as of late.

❝ -- ah, course you tripped. You've always been awfully clumsy, haven't ya? ❞ The air did not lessen its chilling bite. The thrum of his presence remained a slithering shadow, white cloak flowing in his next few swaying steps in a lazy circle around the perimeter of her room. Her cell. Her prison. They were both imprisoned here, though she hardly knew that and Gin held no intention of allowing that sentiment to become known. The ache of homesickness ran deep, a thick sickness that threatened to choke him.

Gin grinned sharply. Disgusting.

❝ A pity Ulquiorra seems so inept at his duty, though, hm? Havin' no sense of security. And lettin' ya have glass like this -- well, maybe you ain't the type to slit throats with a broken shard, or turn it onto yourself to get th' last laugh. Either way, y'could've really gone 'n fucked things up with that whole resolute attitude y'got goin' for ya, steelin' yourself like you're gonna make some big move. Don't tense up so much or pause so long before sayin' whatcha say ---- makes your bullshit stand out more. ❞ A sharp hidden gaze cut whilst still remaining out of sight, a squint half-shaded by a mess of silver strands cast across his brow.

Her ploy tasted familiar, if only because he himself had lied about stray blood in his hair once, laughing it off as though he had struck his head yet healed the wound, forgetting to wash out the blood that most certainly hadn't been his own. She was planning something by the look in those eyes; she reminded him of -- ... all steel-eyed, pouty even, so utterly determined. Part of him felt sick from the comparison, a foul scent of bitter nostalgia, and the other felt an immense pity ---- neither of them could control a damn thing in either of their scenarios.

All of her resolve and power meant nothing when Aizen Sousuke wanted something. In the end, nothing mattered at all when that man decided he wanted to use her, use anyone and everyone, to achieve something. And if Aizen said the command for it now, Gin would have killed her where she stood regardless of any sentimental attachments made thus far. She was, ultimately, not worth ruining his century's worth of plotting. He'd make it quick, relatively painless. His words will sting more.

❝ If you're gonna plan to do somethin'... you oughtta act like you have somethin' else planned instead. Better yet; don't. There ain't nothin' you can do that cap'n Aizen ain't already aware of as a possibility, 'n nothin' you can do to trick him into thinkin' you ain't gonna try. So don't. Or I'll stop ya myself. ❞

Stepping toward her rather than around her, Gin imparted a smooth and lighter tone, as though remembering something pleasing. ❝ Ah... and I'll haveta stop by 'n ask Loly 'n Menoly if they know anythin' bout this lil mishap. I'm sure they must've at least heard ya trip 'n cause this mess given how recently I sense they must've stopped by. ❞

Gin brushed past her again, ghostly and fluid in his swift steps toward the door. He raised a sleeve-draped hand off to his side whilst departing, sparing a peek of slender fingers and thin wrist in a languid wave.

❝ -- see ya 'round, kid. Try not to trip again~! ❞

@rejekshun continued from this.

[spent-brass]

Gin and smoke and lies.

[beanieman]

what are your predictions for Shin YTTS Fondness events, if you have any?

I think of Shin's possible fondness events all the time! They're very dear to me and they aren't even released yet.

Sara Chidouin - I think this will be Shin getting suspicious of Sara for increasingly stupid reasons. He'll at first be wary of her for something reasonable like carrying around a knife that Kai gave her for protection, and then he'll end the events thinking she's terrible because she sneezed in a weird way.

Joe Tazuna - Joe forcibly adopts Shin and they're somehow friends by the end of it all. I say somehow because Shin has no idea what happened other then Joe decided they were friends.

More Undercut

Gin Ibushi - I could see Shin helping Gin with Mew-chan. Maybe he'd agree to babysit him if Gin's busy, or help clean the sand out of his fur so Gin can comfortably hold him again. I hope their event has something to do with cats since they both canonly like them!

Keiji Shinogi - I have no idea what this will be like. Maybe it'll be Keiji trying to figure out why Shin lies so often, while Shin thinks he has something to do with their situation. Basically a circle of suspicion.

Alice Yabusame - Maybe Alice is suspicious of him and trying to figure out why he uses the name "Sou Hiyori." This leads to wacky hijinks where they eventually come to find they have an understanding as loners.

Reko Yabusame - This will either be the start of an unlikely but sweet friendship or WLW on MLM violence. On a serious note, I could see Reko giving Shin a motivating speech about trust that gets to him. From their a friendship could form, but she could also end up punching him in the face.

Nao Egokoro - I could actually see them having a really sweet bonding event like she does with Kai. Maybe he'd try to lie to her and she'd catch it and start screaming at him to repent until his walls are broken down and they have a nice chat. I could also see them trying to do something like building a raft to reference their escape attempt in YTTD.

Kazumi Mishima - Maybe Shin will start to see through Mishima's perfect teacher persona. Perhaps he'll uncover that Mishima smokes and start spiraling about what else he could be hiding.

Q-taro Burgerberg - Maybe they'll struggle with finding something in common since Shin is brains while Q-Taro is brawn. This leads them to bonding over an unlikely shared interest, or maybe just bond over the fact that they're both lacking a trait the other has.

Kai Satou - I would love for Kai to try and teach Shin how defend himself. It would be so incredibly funny.

Kanna Kizuchi - I could see this one being Shin trying to be a good brother to Kanna. Just doing little things like trying to find food for her or keep her cool on the island. All of which she appreciates. I also hope they'll end up trading hats.

[moonlight0934]

I'm haunted by the lies I have loved

Dazai puts a hand on Akutagawa’s shoulder, and tells him that he’s gotten stronger. Akutagawa completely freezes, knowing it’s a lie, but loving the feeling anyway. Dazai doesn’t mean it. He’s never been proud of Akutagawa before, and this one stupid incident isn’t going to change anything. He’s stupid to think otherwise, but his heart still soars. Then he ends up passing out. When he wakes up, he can’t help but wonder if it happened at all, or if the incident was just a figment of his imagination.

Akutagawa pulls himself out of bed, and moves through the motions of getting ready for work early that morning. The Black Lizard is having a meeting early, so he heads straight to their office. He can hear voices talking when he enters the building.

“Why do you think Akutagawa does some of the crazy stuff he does? It’s like he has no self preservation,” Tachihara says.

“You have to be more specific,” Hirotsu replies, sounding tired.

“I mean all of the reckless shit he does. Like when he-”

Akutagawa doesn’t let him finish. He walks into the room, and it immediately goes dead silent.

“What, you don’t have something to say to my face?” Akutagawa asks, sitting down in one of the open seats.

Tachihara doesn’t say anything, choosing to keep his eyes on his shoes instead. Akutagawa decides to drop it there. Hirotsu puts out his cigar, and leans back.

“Do you have any idea what this meeting is about?” he asks Akutagawa.

“Yes, I have all of your assignments for the next couple of weeks. You’re all being put on month long assignments instead of your normal shorter ones. You’ll get the first two weeks worth of work today, and the second half in two weeks.”

“That’s… new,” Hirotsu offers, and Akutagawa smirks.

“Yeah, Mori has a lot of stuff he’s doing right now. You should see how packed the Executives’ schedules have been.”

Gin walks in with Higuchi trailing behind her. Gin sits down beside Akutagawa while Higuchi sits in the next chair. Akutagawa stands up, and opens his backpack. He starts handing folders out, and explaining each of their tasks.

Once he’s done, Higuchi asks, “What are you going to be doing?”

“Why?”

“I just don’t know if it’s safe for you to work completely by yourself.”

Akutagawa rolls his eyes.

“I don’t have an assignment yet. Mori said he wanted to talk to me personally after the Executives meeting today.”

Gin looks up at him with a quizzical look.

“Speaking of which, I need to go. You guys should review your packets, and get started as soon as possible.”

He walks out, heading back towards his car. The building is packed when he gets there, but someone escorts him to Mori’s office. Chuuya is there too, sitting in a chair across from Mori’s desk. He’s flipping through paperwork, but he perks up when Akutagawa walks in.

“Hello, Akutagawa,” Mori says, motioning for him to sit down next to Chuuya.

Akutagawa complies immediately, his eyes flickering between Mori and Chuuya.

“I called you both here, because you are going to be working on a joint mission with the Agency.”

Chuuya’s face drops immediately, and Akutagawa hides his snicker behind a cough.

“I don’t want to.”

“Chuuya.”

Chuuya drops back against the chair, folding his arms, the papers still in his hands.

“Thank you. Anyway, there’s a gang that’s been causing too many problems for everyone. I wanted to deal with it myself, but Fukuzawa got his charity cases involved. He said that either we could be caught in the crossfire, or we could be cooperative. I wasn’t in the mood, so I just said I would send you two their way. That would be more than enough firepower to handle the situation, and then you could do cleanup afterward.”

“Where are we meeting them?” Aktuagawa asks once he’s sure that Mori isn’t planning to continue.

“At their office building.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not.”

Chuuya stands up.

“Ok, fine. I’m going to go smoke a cigarette while you fill Akutagawa in on the rest of the details. I already know what gang you’re talking about.”

He walks out with his paperwork, leaving Akutagawa and Mori alone in the office.

“You don’t need any more details. The Agency will tell you everything you need to know, and then you just follow orders.”

Akutagawa nods, also standing. He waits inside the building for a few minutes to give Chuuya time to cool off. Chuuya puts his cigarette out when Akutagawa walks up. They head to the Agency in silence. Kunikida is outside when they get there.

“Come inside. We have a lot to discuss.”

Chuuya continues angry sulking as they follow Kunikida through the coffee shop on the bottom floor. He stops outside of the first door they come across.

“You’re going to stop here. Dazai and Atsushi are in there, and you’ll be on their strike team. Nakahara, you can keep following me to the other strike team.”

Chuuya glances at Akutagawa, then follows Kunikida past the door. Akutagawa, on the other hand, walks inside. Atsushi and Dazai are standing in one corner of the room, talking about something.

“Akutagawa, you made it,” Atsushi says, trying to sound polite.

“You can drop that. What do you need from me?” he asks, turning to Dazai.

“Well, someone’s in a rush. We’re going to be taking over their main base. Then we’re going to send out a distress message, and wait for the others to show up. Our job is to take the base without alerting the other parts of the organization that it’s a trap. That’s why you two are doing it, because you have the power to do it, but your abilities aren’t that loud.”

“Ok, and when are we leaving?”

“In ten minutes.”

Akutagawa nods, and then leans against the wall to wait. Dazai keeps giving him odd looks, but he tries his best to ignore him.

I do not have the bandwidth for this right now.

Finally they get going. Dazai drops them off a block away from the actual building.

“Ok, be careful. We think they have ability users of some sort.”

Atsushi nods, and Dazai keeps driving.

“How do you want to work this?” Atsushi asks.

“I don’t know. Let’s just go in and kill everyone.”

“No, we’re not killing anyone.”

“Fine, we go in and knock everyone out. Then we can restrain them so we can find the distress message system without interference.”

“Ok, that doesn’t seem very detailed, but whatever.”

They’re able to clear the building quickly, knocking out everyone within fifteen minutes. They work their way in, finishing at the control center.

“These systems are fairly simple. I’m going to send out the distress signal as soon as I can hack the computer. Just watch the door,” Akutagawa says, eyes scanning the computer.

Atsushi hums, turning back towards the door. Akutagawa gets the computer open right as the door bursts open. They both turn, and Akutagawa makes eye contact with the man standing in the doorway. His vision immediately fades.

Akutagawa walks into the warehouse that Dazai said to come to yesterday when they were training. It’s dark in the warehouse. No light comes through the open doorway either, because it’s still dark outside. Dazai is standing in the dark room, his arms folded.

“You’re early.”

Akutagawa stays quiet, because he doesn’t really know what to say.

“I didn’t have time to finish setting up. Do you know what this place used to be used for?”

“No, sir.”

“It was used for crime scene cover up. There was a team that worked out of this building. Go into that room,” Dazai says, pointing to a door.

Akutagawa walks over there, cautiously opening the door. He walks in, and can immediately tell that it’s a walk-in freezer. Dazai shuts the door, and Akutagawa sighs.

“Here we go.”

Akutagawa ends up settling on the floor, his feet tucked against his legs. He’s not sure how long he ends up spending there, but the door eventually opens. Dazai comes in, and immediately kicks Akutagawa in the face.

“What, you can’t work when you get a little cold?”

Akutagawa coughs, and Dazai kicks him in the chest. Akutagawa can hear something crack. Then Dazai steps on his knee.

“Well, are you going to get up?” he asks, leaning more weight on his foot.

Akutagawa flinches, then knocks Dazai’s leg away. Dazai looks mildly surprised. Akutagawa knocks his feet out from underneath him, then scrambles backwards. Dazai gets up slowly, his eyes bright with rage.

Akutagawa wakes up to Atsushi shaking him.

“Akutagawa,” Atsushi says as soon as they lock eyes. He sounds so relieved. “I thought you were going to die. What happened?”

Akutagawa sits up, pushing Atsushi away. The man is tied up to the side. Akutagawa recognizes him once he gets a good look at him

“The mafia has a file on him. He makes people relive their nightmares,” Akutagawa explains, then looks away.

“What did you see?” Atsushi asks, and Akutagawa can feel his ears turn red.

“None of your business.”

“The second strike team is taking out the rest of the organization already. Do you want to join them outside?”

Akutagawa nods, and climbs to his feet. Dazai and Chuuya are arguing outside.

“Atsushi, Akutagawa, you’re back. What took you so long?” Dazai asks, scrunching up his nose a little bit.

“Can you shut up?” Akutagawa asks.

All of them go completely silent, and everyone is staring at him now.

“What was that?” Dazai asks, his eyes flashing.

“I said, can you shut up? I have let you belittle me, and make fun of me for years. Then you up and leave, and when you come back, you think everything is the same? I’m tired of this. I regret everything I’ve ever done with or for you. I regret the person that I’ve become, and I hate how much you had to do with it. You’re only weighing me down, and I’m done with you. I don’t want to hear from you, or see you again. I’m leaving.”

“Akutagawa,” Atsushi says, his eyes blown wide.

“Goodbye, Atsushi.”

Akutagawa walks away before anyone can say anything. Chuuya jogs to catch up with him, but thankfully stays quiet.

“Can you just drop me off at home? I want to get some rest,” Akutagawa says, and Chuuya nods. So, he heads home to wonder if he did the right thing.

[ginsherrywasathing]

Senseless Acts of Love.

read on ao3 word count: 5.5k teen and up// mention of murder&suicide

"It had been three days. Three days since Gin had put a bullet through Miyano’s heart. Three days of bliss. But he couldn’t tell Sherry that. Instead, he extended his hand towards her face. Before his fingertips could even brush against her skin, though, she turned away, stepping out of his reach," or: Gin has to face the consequences of his own actions.

Gin’s eyes strayed from the road ahead towards his mobile phone the moment its display lit up with her name. She didn’t usually call him around this time of day, so he immediately knew her call for what it was. Gin took one last drag on his half-smoked cigarette. Admittedly, this particular call came in much earlier than he’d expected—but then again, Sherry had always been a smart one, quick to figure things out. It was a quality of hers he did not always appreciate. 

Flicking his cigarette out the car window, Gin slowly picked up the ringing phone from the passenger seat; although he was prepared for what was to come, his thumb ​​hovered over the answer button. It had only been three days since the death of Miyano Akemi. Three days since he’d removed the tumour that had viciously spread all the way through his life with deathly efficiency. Three days since he could finally breathe freely again. It had been a splendid time so far, a beautiful prelude to many good days yet to come. Never again would he have to worry about the treacherous ideas Miyano might plant into her sister’s pretty head. At last, he could rest assured that Sherry wouldn’t be gone by morning, swallowed up in her sister’s foolish suicide missions; spirited away to places even he couldn’t retrieve her from. What were a couple of hours of emotional labour when, from now on, he—they—could finally be at peace? With that in mind, and his usual greeting ready on his tongue, Gin eventually accepted the call. 

“Why is she dead?”

Sherry’s collected, almost cold inquiry made him pause. Gin had expected tears, weeping and wailing; he’d been prepared to comfort a pain he didn’t know nor would ever experience himself. And yet… Had he been wrong about Sherry’s affection for her sister? Had he miscalculated the grief Miyano’s death would cause? For a moment, Gin entertained the idea that all the hard work he’d invested in getting rid of the cursed woman had been unnecessary in the long run—but no, it couldn't be. Too easily could he recall how Sherry’s face tended to soften whenever she spoke of her sister with honeyed warmth in her voice. Those rare little moments when she would let him in on memories he wasn’t part of.

Gin’s hand tightened around the steering wheel. No, being rid of Miyano was many things, but not a mistake. It was just that Sherry’s apparent lack of devastation threw him off, if only just. In the end, tears could always be dried with some pretty lies. This calmness of hers, however, was sharp, demanding truths he couldn’t possibly give. Ever. And yet it was no use playing dumb now, either. Forcing down the urge to light another cigarette, Gin wet his lips. He had to mind the road.

“I’m on my way to you. Talk to you then,” he said, cautiously matching the tone of her voice. 

There was a moment of silence before Sherry ended the call without uttering another word. Gin figured he would have to adjust his plans. 

He found her waiting inside her office at the lab about an hour later. Sherry sat at her desk, straight back turned towards him, hair messy from running her hand through it one too many times. Underneath her lab coat, she wore the same clothes from last night, picked up from his bedroom floor in a hurry earlier this morning. It was a familiar sight to him—Sherry being immersed in her work, getting the Organisation one step closer to their goal with every calculation and experiment she conducted. 

Today, though, her computer screen remained noticeably dark; her paperwork neatly stacked an arm's-length away, obviously untouched. Except for the soft rise and fall of her shoulders, Sherry was eerily still. It didn’t seem like she’d even noticed his presence.

Silently, Gin took in the sight of her a while longer, unknowingly committing it to memory. Only much later, when the world had already been shaken to its core, would he come to realise that this very moment had been the silence before the storm.

Gin gave the door frame a soft knock upon finally entering the room. The young scientist stood at once, facing him. Although she was a little paler than usual, Sherry’s face didn’t betray any hint of emotion. Only her unexpectedly dry eyes were looking straight at him in a way that always made Gin’s skin crawl. It was a look Sherry usually reserved for particularly stubborn mathematical problems she was set out to solve, mercilessly dismantling them bit by bit until she found the solution. And no matter how complex the task was, she would get there one day, inevitably. Still hoping that day was somewhere in the far-off future, Gin evaded her gaze. He would have to tread very carefully. 

First, he needed to know what information Sherry had so far. How had she found out about Miyano’s death in the first place? Had someone told her? What could she possibly already know? He’d actively kept her off the news for the past couple of days and he doubted that someone inside the lab had made the connection between the bank robber Hirota Masami and head scientist Miyano Shiho, let alone approached her about it. Knowing Sherry, she certainly already suspected the Organisation to be involved in Miyano’s death—but to what extent? Having too little information to assess the situation properly, Gin waited for her to break the silence first.

“How long have you known?” Sherry asked at last, again in that oddly detached manner of hers.

Gin stepped closer to her. That was an easy enough question. It had been three days. Three days since he’d put a bullet through Miyano’s heart. Three days of bliss. But he couldn’t tell her that. Instead, he extended his hand towards Sherry’s face. Before his fingertips could even brush against her skin, though, she turned away, stepping out of his reach. 

“How long?” she repeated, louder this time, but not less composed.

Miyano was dead. What did it matter how long he had or hadn’t known? It didn’t change a thing, did it? Compared to Sherry’s original Why is she dead? it was an uncharacteristically stupid question to begin with. Why had she changed her approach? Gin considered her blank face for a moment, then let his gaze slowly wander over her body. It was then that he finally saw it—the first sign of emotion. Sherry’s right hand, stiffly resting against her upper thigh, was trembling ever so slightly. Was it from held-back sadness? Anger? Both? What could possibly be going through her head?

“I found out yesterday,” Gin lied, deciding it was best to humour her for now.

Sherry gave a curt nod before putting another step between them. He watched as she leaned against the desk behind her, the way her fingers curled around the edges of the sterile tabletop on each side of her hips. Under different circumstances, it might’ve looked like an invitation, but Gin knew better than that today. 

“You’ve had plenty of opportunities to tell me since then,” Sherry stated flatly, fixing him with that persistent stare of hers. The accusation in her words wasn’t lost on him.

They both knew she wasn’t wrong, of course. Between dinner and bed there had been some time to break the news to her, but telling her then would have ruined the mood for the evening quite a bit. Not that Gin had planned on telling her at all—at least not for a while. If things had gone according to his plans, Sherry would’ve first gotten worried about Miyano in a month or so, when one too many calls between the sisters had fallen through; when Miyano’s answering machine had been so full of unheard voice messages that it couldn’t have recorded any more. When Miyano would’ve failed to contact Sherry for Christmas, New Year’s and eventually her birthday... Only when Sherry’s worry would have turned into outright distress would he have offered to inquire about Miyano’s whereabouts—and ultimately find out about her tragic, unforeseeable death. By then, Sherry would’ve come to terms with reality, grieve for a little while and eventually go on with life. Her untimely confrontation with her sister’s death was indeed an unfortunate turn of events… 

Since Sherry couldn’t back off further, Gin dared another step towards her, then another. She lifted her chin, still watching him like a hawk, reminding him that he was under close observation. Now that Sherry was back within reach, Gin let his knuckles run gently down her cheek, if only to have her ever-alert eyes stray from his for but one second. Sherry didn’t turn away from the gesture, nor did she lower her gaze. He could tell that his touch against her heated skin wasn’t as welcome as usual, but it would have to make do for now. 

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Gin admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind Sherry’s ear. The best lies were closest to the truth.  

She nodded again, lips pressed into a thin line. They remained like this for a moment, until her body eventually shifted away from his touch, leaving his hand hanging awkwardly in the empty air between them. 

“So you just let me find out like this?”  

A loud rustle went through the room as Sherry shoved a bunch of paper against Gin’s chest. It only took him one look to recognise yesterday’s newspaper, crumpled and stained as if someone had pulled it from the trash. He groaned inwardly; Miyano’s face had made the front page that day. 

“Why?” Sherry demanded, arms crossing over her chest.

Why, indeed. Why did Miyano have to let a rat sneak on board only to then try and jump ship with it? Why had Miyano, unimportant as she’d been, done anything to endanger her sister; ruin the Organisation’s uttermost goal? Why had this traitor—his thief, this witch!—had to exist in the first place and make Gin’s life this damn hard? 

Gin grabbed the newspaper, pretending to read the front page as if he hadn’t seen it before. Sherry was studying him like a tome, looking for something—anything—that might give him away. She would find nothing; he wouldn’t give her anything to doubt him. When Gin looked up at her again, he finally met her gaze. 

“There was some talk that she wanted to desert…” he mused.

Now it was his turn to observe Sherry closely. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but he knew from experience that blood tended to be thicker than water. Who knew… maybe Sherry hadn’t been as ignorant of her sister’s plans as he’d gambled on. Maybe she’d long been onto them—Miyano and him—playing dumb, now that her way out of the Organisation had gone up in flames. It would even explain this peculiar behaviour of hers, this false calmness; maybe Sherry had— 

The genuine surprise on Sherry’s face lifted a long-accumulated weight off Gin’s shoulders. She really hadn’t suspected a thing. And how could he have doubted her? Sherry was a woman of the Organisation—his woman, no less. He shouldn’t ever have questioned her loyalties!

Gin watched as Sherry opened her mouth only to close it again, struggling for words. It didn’t make sense to her. It was apparent that no matter how she twisted and turned his words inside her head, she couldn’t put the puzzle together. Sherry’s eyes darted away from his, looking around as if the answers to her questions were written somewhere on the walls of this small office. Gin could almost hear the gears turning high-speed inside her head. 

“She…” Sherry reached for the dirty newspaper in his hands, but eventually dropped her arm before her fingers could brush against his sleeve. “She wouldn’t have left.”

Gin’s heart skipped a beat hearing her voice begin to shake. How he wanted to embrace her then; dearest Sherry, naïve little pet. If only she knew! All this time he’d kept her safe from Miyano’s lies and intrigues, her vicious attempts to get them both killed. A part of him wanted Sherry to know, to appreciate what he’d done. The other part of him—the one guided by professional instinct—thankfully kept his mouth sealed shut. As long as he lived, Sherry would never know what had truly happened to Miyano Akemi. 

Gin took one last look at the utter confusion written all over Sherry’s face before laying his arm around her shoulders, gently pulling her against his side. Instantly, she nestled her cheek against him; Gin could tell her breathing only remained somewhat even by years' worth of hardened discipline—but discipline only reached so far. Ever so slowly, Sherry began to tremble. Sweet, precious little thing—she would break any moment now. In the end, Gin hadn’t been wrong about Sherry’s affection for her sister, the devastation Miyano’s death caused. Satisfied, he let his chin rest on Sherry’s head, slowly breathing in the familiar silken scent of her hair.

“She wouldn’t have left without telling me, wouldn’t she?” Sherry asked almost timidly, her question muffled by the fabric of his coat. 

Had it been anyone else but her, Gin would’ve thought this beg for reassurance pathetic. Today he would indulge her, though, because Sherry had lost the only person in the world bound to her by blood—for some time, at least. But Gin would make it all better, he promised, silently. He could make it better—fuck, he already had made it better! Hadn’t it been for his foresight, Sherry would be lying next to her sister, abandoned in some dark morgue, her body forever unclaimed. He’d saved Sherry from that very fate. Now that she was all his, she would never be alone, never have to worry. Gin pulled Sherry even closer, basked in her warmth. He’d done everything right—he had been in the right. Gin pressed a kiss against the crown of Sherry’s head. He had saved her.

“You mean that woman wouldn’t have left without you.” 

Later—in those too long, half-sober nights—Gin would try and fail to reconstruct his catastrophic blunder time and time again. Why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? What had gotten into him? Why hadn’t he been more careful? The words had escaped him by accident, they’d never been meant for Sherry’s keen ears. He’d made a mistake, he’d—

Gin could feel Sherry’s body go rigid against him the moment the words had left his mouth. He, too, stilled. There were a few seconds of heavy silence between them before Sherry withdrew from his embrace, taking her warmth with her. He’d fucked up.

“What are you implying?” 

Watching Sherry’s eyes narrow, Gin weighed his options, fast. 

“Well, we can be glad nobody thinks you’re involved in this,” he said, frowning as if she were foolish for not seeing the issue herself.

Gin hoped it would be enough to put some appropriate concern into her; a reminder to be extra careful for a while. Yet, the only thing Sherry did was tilt her head. That was how Gin knew that the only thing he’d given her was a new problem to deconstruct. 

“Why would they think that? What do I have to do with—” 

Sherry’s face turned ashen as some sort of realisation struck her. Maybe she’d finally understood that nobody had given a shit about Miyano as long as the woman had kept her mouth shut. Nobody would’ve even cared had she just run off. Miyano had known next to nothing about the Organisation, she had been nothing. Now that she was gone, her absence couldn’t even be felt. Had she only been willing to leave Sherry behind, she could’ve lived a normal life. But Miyano had chosen differently.

“Tell me what really happened.” 

Whatever form of composure Sherry had mustered so far crumbled before Gin’s eyes, and if she’d been suspicious before, she was now positively alarmed. Watching the hurried rise and fall of Sherry’s chest, Gin could feel a massive headache incoming. He’d been a fool for thinking he was anywhere near prepared for this conversation. 

“I don’t know. I’m going to ask around—”

“Liar,” she hissed, suddenly, deep blue eyes round with a temper he hadn’t seen all too often before. He only knew it was no use speaking to her like this. 

Exasperated, Gin turned away from Sherry, crumpling the old newspaper in his hand. He pointedly ignored Miyano’s coffee-stained face that somehow still managed to stare back at him. Even from the grave did this pest of a woman make his blood boil, but he couldn’t let his anger get the best of him now. He needed to clear his head, regroup. At the moment, the most important thing was to appease Sherry. It would be best to get her home, sit her down in peace like he should’ve done from the beginning. Gin could just put the blame on that rat Akai—it probably wasn’t even too far off from the truth, he was the root of this misery after all. It was as good a plan as any; if he put his mind on it Sherry would believe—

The noise of breaking glass ripped Gin from his thoughts. He’d only let Sherry out of his sight for one second, but one damn second was all it took for hell to break loose. Later, Gin would identify this amateurish mindlessness of his as his biggest mistake, the point where it had all gone wrong. He should’ve never let go of her.

Gin turned just in time to see Sherry swipe her paperwork off the desk. Folders and loose pages went flying about the room, slowly floating down, down, down, coming to a halt on the floor where the heavy computer monitor already lay broken. Gin was on Sherry in an instant, grabbing her by the upper arm.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?!” 

She struggled against his grip, which earned her little more than an irritated look. Sherry stood no chance against him, but that didn’t keep her from thrashing about.

“Tell me what happened or I swear I’m tearing this damn lab down,” she spat, reaching for any object she could get hold of with her free arm. 

Even without the Petri dishes shattering somewhere on the floor behind Gin, it was evident that Sherry meant what she’d said, which did nothing to ease the building pressure behind his temples. Neither did the burst samples around them, for that matter—he figured their fumes weren’t all too healthy to breathe in. With more force than strictly necessary, Gin dragged Sherry out of the office into the too-brightly lit hallway. 

“Have you lost your damn mind?” he glared, caging her between the wall and himself. 

“Tell me,” Sherry repeated, either unimpressed by or simply ignorant of his rising anger, “Just tell me what happened!” 

It was as if the woman didn’t even hear him! Gin had half the mind telling her right then if she so insisted. He would tell Sherry how it had been her fault Miyano was dead, that all this trouble could’ve been avoided hadn’t she been so attached to her sister—they would see how fast that shut her up… Instead of saying even more things he might come to regret, though, Gin took a deep breath. At least one of them needed to keep a cool head.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see a small group of scientists gather down the hallway. Like rats they’d crawled out of their little holes, curiously looking over at their head scientist and the darkly clad man they generally knew to avoid. The last thing Gin needed was some no-name lab rats to go tattle about Sherry making a scene, but what could he do? Gin considered her for a second, her clammy forehead, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. The woman had gone mad! Like a wild animal, she pressed her back against the wall, unsuccessfully trying to push him away. Gin needed her calm. Now.

Sherry’s hands were ice-cold to the touch when his fingers curled around both her delicate wrists, holding her arms still. She wheezed, glassy eyes linked with his. It was as if she didn’t see anything but him. 

“Why did nee-chan have to die?” she demanded again, her voice growing hoarse, never stopping her struggle against his grip. 

Even now Miyano was the only thing on her mind. Gin was stunned at how one single death could arouse such a hefty reaction from someone. Clearly, Sherry was overreacting. She was making this so much harder than it needed to be. She was… in shock. The moment this occurred to Gin, he could clearly see the signs. He’d been a fool for not connecting the dots earlier. But now that he had identified the issue, he could work with it. Everything was going to be fine.

Bit by bit, Gin eased his grip on her wrists. It was a sign of goodwill on his part, and to his satisfaction, Sherry calmed down enough for him to lean closer without catching her elbow with his face. Sherry looked at him, expectantly. 

“Listen to me,” Gin said gently, enclosing her hands with his to bring some warmth back into her fingers. Any hint of his irritation was hidden behind a mask of understanding, sympathy, even. “You need to get yourself together until we get home….”

It was no use. The second Sherry realised he wouldn’t tell her anything on the spot, she shoved against him again, viciously enough to force him a step back.

“Tell me!” she cried out.

Gin’d had enough of her temper tantrum, then. Grabbing her by the wrist, he pulled Sherry aimlessly down the hallway, away from prying eyes. 

“If you don’t stop this nonsense at once, I won’t be able to help you,” he tried again after they’d rounded a corner. This time Gin wasn’t able to hide his frustration any longer. Why couldn’t Sherry see that he only wanted to protect her, if need be from herself?

“I don’t need your help, I need the truth!”

Sherry couldn’t handle the truth. This crazy behaviour of hers was confirmation enough, and it was about high time she came to the same realisation. Gin stopped abruptly, never releasing Sherry’s wrist. Like the sensible person he knew Sherry to be, she finally stopped struggling against his grip. They stared at each other for a moment, both somewhat out of breath. 

“It’s confidential,” Gin urged in a tone that marked the discussion as over.

Sherry scoffed, clearly waiting for Gin to say more. When he didn’t, her tensed face relaxed a little, although her lower lip started to quiver. Coyly, she looked up at him through her eyelashes. 

“Tell me what happened,” Sherry breathed, reaching with her free hand for his. “Please.” 

Wasn’t she a crafty little vixen? Gin might be fond of her little games, that was no secret, but that didn’t mean he would fall for some girl’s tepid manipulation. 

“They don’t want you to know,” he snapped, pulling his hand away.

Sherry’s eyes darkened at once. Whatever suspicion she’d had, he’d just confirmed it.

“Then they can go to hell.” 

Gin let go of her then, taking a step back. His eyes only left Sherry’s glassy stare when he took an inconspicuous look around, listening into the silence. They were still alone, unheard. But even now they couldn’t afford to say shit like that; Gin didn’t—shouldn’t—need to remind her of that. Sherry had behaved like a proper maniac the moment he’d stepped foot into her lab, but now she was about to overstep a line. Once she’d crossed it, there was little he could do for her. 

“Watch out, my dear,” Gin said, his voice much calmer than he actually felt. “They might start to question your loyalties after all.”

Sherry had the cheek to not even look sorry for what she’d said, and that’s how Gin knew she’d really lost her mind. Holding his breath, he waited for her to take her words back. She did quite the opposite, though.

“They might be right to do so,” was all she spat. 

It was enough.

Sherry gasped in surprise when Gin’s fingers locked around her jaw the moment the words had left her mouth, yanking her so close towards him that his nose almost brushed against hers. His voice dropped dangerously low.

“This is treason.” 

To her credit, Sherry didn’t back off once, didn’t even fight against the firm hold he had on her.

Unfazed, she stared straight into his eyes. “So be it.”

Gin counted his heartbeats. One, two, three, he waited for Sherry to finally back down, apologise for what she’d said and done. It was one last chance for her to come to her senses. Saying she didn’t mean it was all she had to do. Everything else could easily be fixed. But Sherry didn’t say anything at all. 

Gin nodded his head, understanding that she’d made her decision.

“As you wish.” 

Exhaustion had long caught up on Gin when he descended the stairs to the lab’s boiler room with heavy steps. While he had expected this day to be somewhat challenging, he hadn’t reckoned it to turn into a straight-up disaster. It had taken professional backup from Vodka to encourage the other scientists to keep their mouths shut about Sherry’s little faux pas, while the woman in question, for her part, had reinforced her unfortunate decisions with persistent silence—which had actually been for the best, Gin supposed. There was only so much he could choose to not hear, and Sherry had said rather enough as it was. In fact, silent or not, he hadn’t been able to even look at her without fuming. Even now, hours later, the unnerving air of indifference that had surrounded her still infuriated him—mostly because Gin had no clue how to keep the woman in check should she still prove unreasonable. It was a perfect predicament. Same as earlier, the idea of threatening Sherry into compliance seemed rather contra-productive in her already unstable condition and Gin didn’t want to burn any bridges. He could only hope that his short-term solution had been enough to make her come back to her senses. And he’d had to put his foot down somehow, hadn’t he? Now that Sherry had revealed her potential to act up, he simply had to make her understand the severity of her actions, lest she didn’t take him nor the Organisation any seriously.

Gin’s migraine flared up when he thought about how Sherry had walked down the same set of stairs mere hours ago, prim and proper like a little doll, and just as mute. She’d acted as if the entire situation was none of her concern, either not caring about any consequences or trusting that Gin would clean up after her mess. He didn’t know which option bothered him more and he was, quite frankly, too tired to ponder on it. 

However, after everything was said and done, it was as true as ever that Gin still wanted to protect Sherry. He’d come so far, had already eliminated the biggest threat to their lives—their future. He couldn’t give up on Sherry now, not over something that could still be fixed. Punishment, unsavoury as it might have been, was just a necessity to keep her safe. 

Leaving Sherry in the boiler room to reflect on her actions had been the right call, that Gin was certain of. In places like that, one could easily come to figure out what really mattered in life, especially when chained to a wall… which Gin had only done for her own safety, of course. Sherry’s calmness was not to be underestimated, as he had come to learn. And if she needed to be restrained to not hurt herself, so be it. That the click of the handcuff closing around Sherry’s slim wrist still echoed in Gin’s ears didn’t matter at all. It had been inevitable. It would be okay. It had to be.

Gin reached the bottom of the stairs not knowing what to expect to find within the dark boiler room. The best case scenario was a reasonable and collected Sherry, ready to be guided back home. That was why Gin wasn’t worried when nothing but silence greeted him from behind the door to Sherry’s temporary dwellings. In fact, he welcomed the silence as he unlocked the heavy metal door. And even if Sherry had spent the last hours wreaking havoc in the protective isolation of her prison, she surely would have been exhausted by now. In either case, silence was good. Silence was safe.

So why was ice-cold dread winding its way up Gin’s spine? 

It took him a moment to realise it wasn’t just silence that made him hesitate to enter the room. Rather, it was the lack of human sound whatsoever, the quiet of the dead that Gin knew all too well. It was the palpable absence of Sherry’s presence.

Stiffly, Gin stared into the sparsely lit space. Sherry’s name weighed heavily on his tongue although it remained unuttered. What if he didn’t receive an answer to his calling? What would he find around the corner? Scolding himself a fool, Gin didn’t allow the images inside his head to take on proper shape and stepped forward. There was no way Sherry could have escaped the room. There was no way she could have done the unspeakable. There was no way she wasn’t within these walls. A couple more steps and Gin would find Sherry sitting on the floor, overcome by exhaustion; it had been a long day. 

And Gin’s day would be even longer still. 

The small water bottle he’d brought fell to the floor, disturbing the silence. Against all odds, there was no Sherry waiting for Gin where he’d left her. Not at all. In fact, the only sign that she’d ever even been there were the handcuffs hanging empty around the same pipe Vodka had locked them around hours ago—that and the faintest scent of Sherry’s perfume that still lingered in the air, taunting Gin further. 

Dumbfounded, Gin looked around, but no matter how hard he looked, the room remained empty. Gin wet his lips, listening.

“Shiho?” 

As he’d feared, silence was his only answer.

Gin’s fingers curled around the steering wheel as he accelerated the car, racing through rain-drenched streets. There had been nothing in that boiler room. Nothing. Not even a hint of where Sherry might’ve gone. It was as if the woman had simply vanished, dissolved into thin air! Taking an intense drag from his cigarette, Gin went over his facts again, coming to the same conclusion over and over again. Sherry’s absence was impossible.

Gin could swear the handcuffs that had shackled her hadn’t been tampered with, and even if Sherry had somehow managed to get them off, there had been nowhere for her to go. There were only two exits from the boiler room—Gin had made it a point to check the building’s blueprints himself. There was no way Sherry could’ve left via either of them, not when one was a trash chute no grown woman would ever fit through and the other a locked metal door to which only Gin had keys. And yet, as impossible as it was, Sherry was indeed gone. 

Gin dared a look at his watch. He’d given himself another hour to find Sherry by himself, but he had a feeling that hour would likely turn into the entire night. There were still a few more places he could go to look for her, he reassured himself. As of now, nothing was lost. But still, he had to admit that Tokyo was a very big city and Sherry a rather small woman…and if Gin hadn’t found her by morning, she wasn’t the only one who was well and truly fucked. With a trembling hand, Gin lit another cigarette, cursing foully. He was fooling himself. This was bad; the worst possible outcome. He’d lost the Organisation’s head scientist and didn’t even know how it had happened because Sherry couldn’t have left that damn room in one piece!

Gin tapped his fingers against the gear lever. Of course, he’d considered other options since he’d left the lab. No matter how he twisted and turned the facts inside his head, Sherry couldn’t have escaped the boiler room, not on her own—which only left one more possibility open. Someone had helped her. But who? Who could’ve possibly stolen her from right under Gin’s nose? And how would he get her back if that was the case?

…And how could he protect a traitor from the Organisation’s wrath? Did he even want to protect Sherry if she’d abandoned—

Gin slowed down. There was no use catastrophizing. One way or another, he would find Sherry before word about her absence got out. Everything else could be sorted out after that. He only had to focus, keep his eyes open. It would be fine.

Gin cursed again. The heavy rain made it almost impossible to see the road ahead.