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[herstoryhair]

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[a-a-a-anon]

recently watched both bad news docs and had to do a (messy) drawing of my fav painter/decorator heavy metal vocalist/guitarist

[obstinaterixatrix]

air was like ‘if someone I hated looked like a character I’d like I’d just stop liking the character’ & I was like ‘if someone I hated looked like a character I like I would shave their head. I have so little in this world. they’re not taking that from me.’ & air was like ‘well you’re always talking about how you just stop caring about things’ & I’m like. this is different. I Know What I’m About.

[motherdanger]

we're gonna play at a halloween gig and my bandmates and i decided to dress up and im going as billy the puppet so yeah if you see billy the puppet playing at some bar that's me

[lokh]

hagghhh. i give up. i gotta take another L

[lilcetis]

all i want in rwby v10 is for team sssn to get new outfits because all i hear when i look at them is "wow, fantastic baby" and i hate that song

[vanityangel]

Fun story, I screamed so goddamn hard when Solo Sikoa's name was announced that my glasses fell the fuck off my face and I lost them on the ground below (as shown in this video where the camera focus suddenly becomes drunk as I fumble uselessly for them) and could not find them for the rest of the show. Thankfully I had a backup pair, but at the end of the night I was on my damn hands and knees, in fishnets and big clunky ass platform boots and a long ass red wig, crawling on dirty concrete floor trying to avoid spilt beer as I looked under the chairs for my glasses. A guy came up to me after I made it onto a 3rd row of searching and held out a vape or a lighter, I'm not sure I was still blind and literally squinting at his hand, asking me if that was what I was looking for. When I said no he asked what was I looking for and when I replied my glasses, he looked down into the folded chair beside us and went "Oh. Here they are right here." and handed them to me. A true hero. I'm still ever so grateful.

[peniswentz]

It's crazy how a practice room at school can make you spiral into insanity so quickly

[cordeliawhohung]

the prowl - single dad! Price x teacher! stripper! Reader (fem) taglist

[3] snake skin

You wilt in John’s presence. 

Cell walls decompose within the stem holding you tall, flesh crumbling at the absence of support until you’re curled up and shriveled. It saps the air from your lungs and you’re left gasping, an unfortunate specimen underneath his tired, blue gaze. Broiling chagrin bubbles up in your chest, suffocating you until the words you were going to speak melt in your mouth — quick, like cotton candy, but not nearly as sweet. 

Thick fingers dance around the rim of a chilled glass as John sizes you up. He’s quick. Flickering glances that refuse to linger on any one place for too long except for your face. He drinks you up — your fluttering lashes, lips nervously pressing together, smoothing lipstick over the delicate skin — and he hums like it’s tastier than the bourbon in his cup. He lifts it up, hand smothering it as he tips back the dregs into his mouth where he holds it on his tongue, savoring the flavor before he swallows. His eyes never leave you. 

The clink of his cup against the side table spurs you into action. Saffron is on autopilot, sauntering up to him with the sharp clack of heels all while Miss Lolly tears herself to shreds in your mind. This is wrong, she screams. He is your student's father, and you are going to lose your job. Turn back, get someone else to dance, you shouldn’t be doing this, this is wrong. 

“Saffron?” 

John’s voice is rougher than you’re used to. Gruff with gravel, a subtle fry that rumbles in his throat — it’s hot. He’s hot, and the gravity of the situation refuses to settle in. It only gets worse as you turn, flaunting your ass for a short moment before you plop right between his legs. Purposeful hands brush against his knees before you reach up to move your synthetic blue hair to one side, eyes peeking over your shoulder at him elfinly as you do. 

“Yes sir,” you chime. False lashes flutter before you playfully look away, voice low and teasing. Saffron lacks the gentle preppiness Miss Lolly has, and you pray that change coupled with your disguise is enough to throw him off your trail. 

He chuckles, and it’s just as rough as his voice is. It pierces right through you, skin prickling, hairs standing up on end as you shift, hips swaying. “Haven’t been called that for a long time, darling.” 

“What would you like me to call you?” you ask, hands pushing at the straps of your glorified bra. They fall down your shoulders, fluttering like autumn leaves, and you feel the support in your breasts fall with them. 

“John is fine,” he replies. 

“Long day, John?” Gentle hands reach behind your back, elbows contorting with the movement as you reach for the band of your bra. You thumb over the clasp teasingly. “Why don’t you relax for me?” 

Warm fingers brush against your skin, but instead of melting you, they freeze you. Muscles tense, movements cease, your breath hitches — it’s not uncommon for men to touch you during private sessions. The Florists allow light touching as long as it’s nothing sexual, but this feels different. It’s soft and gentle, and quietly trails along your skin as the strap of your bra is slowly brought back over your shoulder. 

Bemused, you glance back at John as he does the same to the other side, eyes tracing every inch of skin he touches before settling back on you. Your hands drop anxiously as he fixes a stray strand of your wig. Is your skin peeling? Mask cracking and crumbling into dusk? Can he see past the caked on foundation, sharp contour, and false glitter of your makeup? Does he see the hint of that sweet school teacher his daughter learns from, and not the dancer he’s paid good money for? 

Just as you’re convinced he has you figured out, his hands leave your skin as his arms sprawl out along the back of the couch. He’s huge, takes up most of the space on the sofa, attempting to dwarf you. His head tilts to the side in invitation. 

“Sit with me.” 

It isn’t the strangest request you’ve gotten for a private session. Plenty of men have had you sit next to them as they pour out their heart and traumas for an hour, leaving you half dazed. While you don’t mind it, something feels odd doing it for John. As far as he’s aware, you’re a stranger. Just some stripper he’ll pay to listen to his woes. But you’re not. You know him; know his daughter. This feels like entrapment; like you’re some garden spider attempting to lure him in. 

Too late to back out now. 

Following his lead, you slip out from between his legs in favor of the cushion next to him. Knees tucked against the side of his thigh, the arm that lines the back of the couch falls against your shoulder, hand brushing against your arm as he forces you to settle against his chest. There’s a spicy aroma about him that cancels out the daintiness of your perfume — something warm and rugged, with a hint of tobacco. It’s almost enough to cleanse you of the anxiety coursing through your veins. 

“Talk to me,” he says once you’re settled. 

“What about?” you ask. 

“Anything you like.” 

You pause, mind rolling through conversation possibilities. Keep it simple. Appropriate. You remind yourself how bad this situation can get if you slip up, if John realizes who you truly are, play it cool…

“You smell nice,” you say. 

Of course Saffron has to open her goddamn mouth. 

Boisterous mirth ripples through John’s chest, and it’s warm and inviting against the side of your face. It’s enough to get a smile of your own to pull at your lips. 

“I told you to talk, not to take the piss outta me, darling,” he says, quelling his laughter. 

“I’m serious,” you say, refusing to back down. “Most men come here sweating buckets, reeking of alcohol and god knows what else. It’s a pleasant and welcomed surprise.”  

“Glad I could satisfy,” he hums. 

It’s strangely easy talking to John. It’s as natural as breathing as you talk and answer well meaning questions. Nothing ever strays out of your comfort zone. Never any questions about your personal life or who you are, no hints that would ever set him on the track of your true identity. The buzzing in the back of your skull quiets — that trembling fear antagonized by your raging obtundation. It’s still there, just barely, lurking underneath your skin, but you ignore it as you continue to play the part. 

John enjoys himself as you speak, chasing your orphean voice down with swift swigs of bourbon. Every now and then his hips shift, legs knocking against yours, arm drawing you closer as you both sink into the couch. He’s warm, soft clothes against your bare skin, and you find that you rather like falling into the gravity of him. Eventually, it’ll crush you. You know it will. For now, you don’t mind skirting the edges before the event horizon rips you to shreds. 

“I have to admit, it’s strange being the one doing the talking,” you finally concede. You’re certain John’s allotted time is about up, but you haven’t cared enough to keep track of the clock ticking away on the wall. “Usually, I’m forced to do the listening.” 

“Must hear some interesting things,” he prompts.

“Very,” you confirm with a nod. “I once had a man drone on and on about this terrible predicament he found himself in. His heart was torn between two women. It wasn’t until the end of his session that he decided to reveal one of the women he was mulling over was his wife of eight years, and mother to his two children.” 

“Fuckin’ hell,” John mutters, and it sounds wrong on his lips. Surely the same man who treats his daughter with such love and kindness as you saw earlier today would ever curse so flippantly? 

Then again, surely he would never go to his local strip club, either. 

“You’re not married, are you John?” you then ask. 

It’s a facetious question; one you already know the answer to. You’ve gone through Amelia’s file that the school keeps, the one with parental contact information, list of allergens, and things of that sort. John Price is the only name listed on there. The emergency contact should he not be reached is her grandmother. Amelia never speaks of her mother. 

“No ma’am.” His response is quiet; a little teasing, but there’s something dejected about it. It pulls at your heart, and you can feel the strings tense and struggle underneath the weight. “Never married.” 

“Never?” you repeat, trying to hide the bewilderment in your tone. “I find that hard to believe.” 

“Why’s that?” 

You shouldn’t answer. You can taste your demise on your tongue just at the very thought of it, but you do anyway. It spills from your lips freely because this isn’t Miss Lolly speaking. This is someone stupid. Someone too tired to know better.

“You’re a handsome man, and judging by your clothes, you’ve got a good job, too. Unlike the degenerates who usually frequent this place, you’re kind…”

Abrupt laughter interrupts you, but it’s different from the jovial tone that soaked it before. Something sour taints it, and you feel how it seeps into your bones with an uneasy twinge. 

“Your flattery is precious, but I’ve got dirty hands, sweetheart.” 

You’re not sure what he means by that. Dirty hands. Perhaps he has a few skeletons in his closet he’d rather not open up to you. Something that causes him to seek the comfort of a stripper and booze. Either way, no words come to mind in response to him, and he doesn’t say anything either. You sit in silence with the vague sound of music attempting to bleed through the door, and the surprisingly steady beat of his heart against the side of your cheek. 

“John?” His name hardly rolls off of your tongue, something quiet and meek, fighting through the fatigue that throbs in the heels of your feet. “Can I ask why you paid for my services tonight?” 

You don’t know why you ask. Maybe it’s some subconscious effort into truly seeing if he recognizes you or not. His last window of opportunity. A way to goad him into telling you if you’ll still have your job by Monday or not. Instead, the pad of his thumb runs along your arm, rubbing tiny circles into you, savoring the soft, petal-like delicacy of your skin as his chest expands with a breath before deflating with a sigh. 

“I wanted the company more than services,” he admits, “and out of everyone up on that stage tonight, you looked like you needed a break.” 

Silence envelops the two of you like an old friend. John’s thumb continues, gently caressing you with a softness you haven’t received in ages. A trembling smile flits across your lips, and you pray that he can’t feel the shockwaves echo through your body and into his. Soon, that smile turns into a grin accompanied by a strained chuckle. You recall his self depreciation; how he said his hands are dirty, how he doesn’t see himself worthy of love, and the irony of it all hits you just as you respond: 

“How kind of you.” 

John laughs, and it’s that same mirth that you heard from him earlier; sweet and warm. Maybe this time he believes you. The clock continues to tick by. Dusk is a faint memory, one your body so desperately clings to as you’re reminded of the exhaustion that permanently soils your soul. You remember how inappropriate your situation is. In this moment, you are a liar; a trickster, a snake who should shed her skin before it’s too late. You don’t. Instead, you close your eyes and allow John to hold you for a moment longer. 

Penance can come later.

[gojonanami]

BLOODSUCKER - SATORU GOJO

✴︎ summary: you had avoided your ex for so long, only to run into him at a halloween party, and he's the same as ever but has his teeth always been that sharp? ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, nsfw, dub/con, blood kink, gojo has fangs, biting, marking, bloodsucking, fingering (f!receiving), swearing, semi-public sex, sex against a car, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (sweetheart, pretty, baby), ✴︎ wc: 2,704

“Can I have a bite?” He whispers, lips against your ear, his breath hot against your skin, sending a warm flush down your body — and why did he smell so intoxicating? 

The night had gone on normally enough — yet another Halloween party you had been dragged to (after you had lost a bet and ended up being the designated driver for the evening) in another coordinated themed costume — this time for the Barbie movie. Yet another throng of costumed drunks and weirdos you had to wade through while your friends had their fun. And you thought the night would be boring. 

Oh, you were so wrong. 

He saw you first. You were only sure of that, after, because you remembered the prickling of your skin when his ice blue irises had found you lounging in the loft area upstairs — where most people had begun to clear out of after the keg had arrived downstairs. You had let your hair out of your wig, your head aching from the weight of the hair on your head and the cheap elastic band trying to work its way into your forehead. 

You unlocked your phone, looking at yourself in your camera, pouting at the state of your hair — unkempt and unruly from the wig, but you only could do what you could. 

“Great, now I can be a scary Barbie,” you murmur, locking your phone, as you pocket it. 

“Oh, you’re not scary,” and your head snaps up, eyes finding those pools of still blue that looked like you could drown in them — and you very well would. His lips were curled in a small smile, his skin looked pale in the harsh fluorescent lights of the kitchen, “but I wouldn’t mind seeing you be a little scary,” 

“Satoru,” your lips twist, fuck, you thought he’d never show up to this party — you had avoided him flawlessly since your breakup — if you could even call it that. You never official — you were never anything, just a situation that was more than a booty call, but less than a relationship. Every invitation was only accepted with assurance and recon that Satoru would not attend, every exit strategy was planned, and every move was carefully made. 

Except this one. 

“Oh, you recognize me?” he gasps in mock surprise, lips in that shit eating grin you had loved to kiss off of him, but now, all it did was make you want to slap him, “surprised you did after you’ve avoided me for so long, sweetheart,” 

“And apparently you’re the one with brain damage because we broke up — don’t call me that,” you sigh, eyes glancing down at his outfit — a black and white suit with a high collar, as his mouth moved as he spoke, you caught sight of fangs on his teeth, and his eyes glinted with a crimson tint dipped in an ocean of blue, “your costume is fitting — you definitely did suck the life out of our relationship,” 

“Bitter doesn’t suit you, baby,” your eye twitches, as he dares closer, eyes glinting in the low light of the kitchen, “plus y’know, you always did the best sucking,” 

Your traitorous cheeks flush, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes betray you by flickering downwards, “fuck off—“ 

“Oh, I know you want me to fuck something — don’t think it’s off though,” he looms closer, licking his lips, as he smiles — and your heart forgets to beat — did he always smell this good? He smelt of musk, wood, and everything warm and honeyed — the scent melted over you, plying your resistance with sweetness in contrast to his vulgarity, “look at you, haven’t even touched you and you’re so pliant, where’s that mouth now?” And his thumbs drag down your lips, pulling at the bottom one — “looks better wrapped around my cock, doesn’t it?” 

And his words snap you from your trance, slapping his hand away, “didn’t expect an apology from you, but I thought you’d do better than this shit,” 

“Can you blame me for missing you, pretty?” He pouts, “thought you loved me more than that,” 

“And I thought you loved me enough to commit but looks like we both are wrong,” you roll your eyes, “go find someone else to fuck with, Gojo,” 

He raises an eyebrow, “Aw, baby, don’t act so unfamiliar, you had my dick in you after all, you can still call me Satoru,” and then there’s a cheer in the living room that cuts off your retort, as he turns to look. 

And that’s your cue to leave, you slip away from him, grabbing your jacket, making an Irish exit, slipping through the throng of people partying. You manage to get down the street, the streets quiet now, the sounds of the party growing more distant by the second. A sense of dread settled over you the more you walked, forming a lump in your throat and a pit in your stomach. The streetlights flickered above you, the wind cutting through your jacket as you pulled it closer around you. Your car was close, right past this wooded backyard, trees lining what seemed to be an abandoned home. There was only a few more yards — and then you heard a twig snap — your head snapped around to look behind you. 

And that was your mistake. 

A hand clamped over your mouth, as you gasped against it, another tight around your middle, your scream was muffled against the palm. And then a familiar voice whispered in your ear, “Boo,” before he lets you go, and you whirl around, smacking Satoru against his chest, hard. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Your heart was pumping, hard, nearly banging against your ribs, body still shaking with adrenaline, “what the fuck - that’s not fucking funny,” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny — it was supposed to be spooky,” he grins, unaffected by your anger, as your fingers clench into fists, “you didn’t give me a treat so I had to play a trick. It’s the rules of Halloween, pretty,” 

“It wasn’t spooky, it was fucking scary—“ you move to hit him again, and he catches your hand by the wrist, and he’s pulling you close, “let me go, Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, his fingers caressing your cheek, and you feel your knees knocking together, the world shifting beneath your feet, “I’m sorry for frightening you, sweetheart,” and he’s helping you walk over to your car, “just wanted to make sure you get to your car safely,” 

Why were you letting him help you? Why was your body leaning against his? Why were you letting his arm slink around your waist, fingers squeezing your hip? But those same questions sunk away into the inky abyss of your mind, as thoughts blurred over each other, and all you can think about was him.  

“Satoru,” you murmur, as you stumble against him, and he catches you by your waist, steadying you, “I don’t know what’s wrong,” your head rests against his chest, but you felt so comfortable, so…content. 

“It’s okay, baby, I got you,” he purred, his words only intoxicated you further, drizzled like melted molasses down your throat, “that spook I gave you earlier really took it out of you, but,” his fingers tilt your chin up, his eyes finding yours — and they glowed, a shiny blue that unnerved you, “should I show you something really scary?” 

“Satoru, what—“ and he’s kissing you, lips sliding against yours — he tastes familiar, hint of candy corn that he was always a fiend for, but he tastes even sweeter than that, headier too — before he parts, “what are you doing?” 

“Showing you just how much I missed you,” he hums, thumb gliding over the length of your cheek, “y’know how hard it was for me without you? Wouldn’t be able to sleep. I could only think about how I had screwed thing up. Would take these long walks at night when I couldn’t sleep,” and his fingers trace down your jawline, before reaching your neck, his thumb resting against your pulse, “turns out those walks were good for one thing,” 

“And what’s that?” You murmur, still utterly distracted by his touch. 

And he brushes his lips against your neck, teeth grazing against your pulse, “Finding a way to keep you — forever,” and his lips find yours again, more insistent this time, as his arms press your body to his, your hands sliding up his chest, caged in by his form, “can I have a bite?” he whispers, lips against your ear now, sending a flush across your cheeks, “just wanna mark you again, like i used to, make you mine,” 

For a moment, the curtain snaps back, mask slipping, as your eyes flutter open without the rosy glasses he had slipped over your eyes, “I’m not yours,” and you only see him — the true him — for a moment. 

His muscles tighten, fingers digging into your sides harshly, gripping your flesh hard enough to bruise, his gaze is dark, navy instead of the usual cerulean with a ring of red that pierces through your skin, but his teeth — his teeth scare you the most — his fangs aren’t fake, his tongue sliding against them both, as he flashed an unnerving smile at you that sends your blood running cold.  

But not colder than his. 

“Satoru — what—“ and his lips find yours again, sending a headiness throughout your body, from your head to the tips of your toes, “I-“ 

“Just let me have this, just this one night,” he murmurs, words as smooth as glass and as needy as need itself, “please,” 

And you’re the one pulling him to you, back against the cool metal of your car, and your fingers cup his face, pulling him against your lips. He tastes like want, his tongue parts your lips, as his fingers slide up your dress, sending goosebumps up your thighs, “Fuck, all it takes for you, huh?” He murmurs, and his fangs nibble at your bottom lip making you gasp, pressing wet kisses down your jaw, until he reaches your neck. 

“Been thinking about this for far too long, sweetheart,” 

two fingers drag down your neck first, as he tilts your head for easy access, and you shiver at his touch — was he colder than before? “I’m going to be doing a lot more than marking you like I did before,” his lips press a delicate kiss to your neck, “need to taste it,” 

And his fangs drag over your soft flesh, before he finally bites you. Your mouth hangs open in a sharp gasp as his fangs pierce your skin, and your head lolls back, as pleasure floods your body. You feel your warm blood dripping from your neck, slipping down your skin, as he sucks from you. 

He pulls away for a moment to look at you, your scarlet blood dripping from his mouth, painting his pale pink lips burgundy, as his tongue darts out to catch the blood slipping down your chin. 

“You taste like everything to me,” he murmurs, pressing his nose against the nape of your neck, “sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, aren’t you?” 

You whimper, “Satoru, feels so good,” and he’s kissing you again, letting you taste your own blood on his lips, it only makes you want him even more. But this isn’t right, something wasn’t right—

“Just give in, sweetheart,” he’s dragging your hands down your sides, squeezing your hips, as his palms rest under your thighs, “let me make you feel good,” 

And he lifts you, guiding your legs to wrap around your waist, as his large palm slides up your thigh, hiking your dress up. He grins, looking at your soaked panties, thumb pressing against your puffy clit, making you gasp and squirm, “wonder if you taste even sweeter down here, baby?” 

You whine louder, as his fingers slide into the waistband of your underwear and snaps it against your skin, “Your blood is pumping harder than ever, bet it tastes even better like that — full of your fear, full of your pleasure,” his fingers are sliding your drenched panties down, “fuck, you’re a little freak, bet you got wet when I grabbed you, can’t all be from the last few minutes,” 

And his lithe finger sinking into you, as your lips part in a gasp as he bullies your walls, “So tight for me,” he groans, as his finger curls against you, making you moan, and his teeth graze against your neck, before sinking in. You both moan in tandem, as he drinks more of your blood, as a second finger parts into your folds, your release dripping down his palm. He’s stretching you out — fingers pistoning in and out, Pleasure courses up and down your body, toes curling, as all you can hear is the sucking of his fangs and the squelch of his fingers in your cunt. 

And then he hits that spot, and you’re cumming, slick dripping down your thighs as you moan, as your hips move against his fingers, riding out your orgasm. He pulls your fangs from your neck, letting your blood drip down your neck. 

He tilts your head back, letting him look at your fluttering eyelashes and fucked out expression, lips parted, as your blood paints your skin a beautiful maroon. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, sweetheart,” he’s pulling his fingers from you, as you gasp from the emptiness. He places them in his mouth, cleaning them of your release, “think I may get addicted baby, gotta have more of you — doesn’t matter if it’s your blood or your cum,” 

And you hear the clink of your belt buckle and sound of his zipper, as he frees his cock, rubbing against your dripping pussy, “Gonna let your ex fuck you against your car? Gotta have you baby, but if I take you now, I don’t know if I’ll ever let you go,” he’s teasing the head of his cock against your pussy lips, “do you still want me to do it?”

You whine, back arching against the hard surface of the car, “please, I need you,” your fingers wrap around his neck, his lips against yours, “Satoru—“ 

And he’s sinking his cock into you, as he’s lifting your legs to your ears, ankles by his ears as his hips flush against your ass, “Fuck, can you feel me kissing the deepest part of you?” His hips roll into you now, slowly at first, again and again, as your walls throb around him, the car groans and your ankles ache against his slow thrusts, “best cunt I’ve ever had, and all fucking mine now,” 

“Toru, please, more—“ 

And he barks a laugh, sweat slipping down your forehead, his balls slapping against your ass, “so needy f’me, you’re mine aren’t you? Say you’re mine,” he’s grunting as your walls flutter around him, and he knows you’re close—

Your orgasm washes over you, toes curling, and he leans forward, fangs sinking into you, as he fucks you through it. The blood he drinks makes your head dizzy with pleasure, until he pulls away, letting your blood drip from his lips. And he’s grunting, hips stuttering as he bottoms out — making you gasp and whine again. Until he’s cumming inside you, painting your walls white, emptying his load into you. He’s fucking his cum inside your cunt.

And he’s easing your legs down as the two of you come down, his face buried in the nape of your neck, licking at the blood dripping from his bites — your neck beginning to ache and sting now. 

“So pretty, so perfect,” he coos, his lips curling still red from your blood, as he’s curling his arms around your waist, “gotta take you home so I can taste you all over again.” 

“No, I can’t. This was a one time thing—“ 

And he’s tilting your chin up, eyes flashing dangerously, as his lips curl, “I told you, I’m not going to let you go, besides,” he turns your head towards your rear view mirror, your eyes beginning to glint red, “I have to let you have a bite of me later,” and you can feel your blood run cold, “it’s only fair, isn’t it, sweetheart?” 

✴︎ a/n: was possessed to write this by the halloween spirits -- also i have a thing for bloodsucking now unfortunately. have a spooky season :)

✴︎ tag list: @d1rtv, @crazynocturnalkiki, @ichikanu, @dazailover1900, @sinnerstardoll, @bisexualpanicwentoutforasmoke, @dumbabie, @aureatekintsugi, @mooly-artistic, @happymangospot, @hiimarandin, @bunsunee, @5-xiaoo,

[machveil]

I demand(Lovingly) Konig bringing his kid onto base with him because reader couldn't watch them

But no one was aware Konig Had a child :)

Maybe include the 141 and not just Kortacs reactions?

(Google translate warning lol) to his team’s credit, they only knew König was married because they’d seen the band around his ring finger a handful of times. they knew he was a private man when it came to his home life, what they didn’t expect was König bringing a child with him to base.

his spouse was all set up to watch the kid, their school was having a teacher’s conference and the building was closed. unfortunately, they had gotten a call from work - an emergency came up.

a last minute sitter was off the table, the usual neighbor had arrangements already out of town. that left König, looming, intimidating Colonel that he was, to bring his kid with him to work.

to his relief, today’s priorities were just paperwork. König figured he could just b-line to his office and set his kid down with some paper and a pencil

only problem? well… König isn’t exactly stealthy. it’s hard to go unnoticed when you’re as tall as him and lugging a kid around (a kid that begged dad for a piggyback ride)

general head cannons for operatives interacting with König’s kid:

Horangi, to his credit, had a suspicion that König had a kid. that didn’t stop him from doing a double take when he saw the little one. definitely calls the kid 작은 새끼 (little cub) because I said so. immediately treats König’s kid as his own - jokingly claims he’ll teach the child how to play cards (“no money, we’ll play for snacks.”)

Johnny is the fun uncle, prove me wrong. can’t believe his eyes when he sees König carrying around this itty-bitty kid compared to his behemoth size. definitely steals the kid away for some shenanigans and teaches them how to prank their dad (“put his hand in hot water when he’s asleep” type of of stuff). lots of hair ruffling and teasing

Gaz hot take, I think he’s neutral on handling kids. isn’t surprised that König has a kid. back to my hot take, it’s not that Gaz doesn’t like kids, he’s just okay with them. he’s friendly and cracks a few jokes with König’s kid, but he definitely feels old now he’s not, but still. hypes up König by telling his kid PG rated “hero stories” about how cool their dad is and how “he’s a real knight in shining armor”

Price has major dad energy, I’m sorry. is he surprised König has a kid? not really, is he surprised König brought his kid on base? yeah, a little. Price and König teaming up to tease this poor child :( (“pull my finger” war flashbacks). Price and König lecturing giving life lessons to the kid when they ask a mundane question lol

Ghost is standoffish, but warms up to König’s kid. he doesn’t want to come off as scary because… well, between the skull on his balaclava, dressed in full black, and being built like a truck, he scares adults :( he doesn’t want to wig out this tiny person. inwardly relieved that the kid isn’t scared (“my dad wear a mask sometimes too!”) and instantly becomes fun uncle number two. cracks horrible, dry jokes that has the kid complaining and laughing. if König’s kid brought markers with them he definitely lets the kid color in his tattoos (“oi, missed a spot.”). low-key heals his inner child playing with König’s kid

König never made it to his office, he spent the day watching his kid meet and have fun with his uncles - uncles that keep complaining “when are you going to bring them around again?”

Johnny, journalist and scrapbooker that he is, definitely has a polaroid camera - takes photos of König and his kid and hands them over before the pair leave base

(for any KorTac members I didn’t mention, just know they teased König for not mentioning he has a kid and they treat his child like their own as well)

[the-kr8tor]

In Deep Water

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW vomit mention, CW Inaccurate medical procedures, CW injury, TW blood, CW violence, TW death, CW guns.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 7 >>> CHAPTER 8

The laughter gets louder as the source of it shows itself aboard the black hellion, the fog makes way like a curtain opening to start a performance.

Hobie's grip is tight, fingers weaved around your arm, bruisingly strong. Your nails dig into his flesh as the uniformed man tilts his head to look at you, his toothy yellowing grin thrown in your direction. His powdered white wig flutters in the breeze, medals glinting off the single lamp on the bow, hands resting on the pommel of his pristine sword. The angelic figure head is a stark contrast to the devil sneering down.

The blackened wood of his ship groans as it continues to break a part of the revenge. The sails unfurled behind him, blue wings fluttering in the wind.

The angel of death has come.

“Look at what we have here.” He clicks his tongue, eyes boring a hole through your skulls, he narrows them into slits, and like a snake, he slithers as close as he can, tethering close to the edge. There's a flash of emotion in his eyes, snarling, the navy man chuckles, the mere sound makes you want to cower. “Hello little birdy, now how far did you fly to get where you are now?”

Hobie clenches his jaw, stepping over to hide you from his view. His hand never leaves yours, the dull ache from his hold says that this isn't just a nightmare.

You want to wake up even if it means losing his hold on you.

“Oh where are my manners? Mummy would whip me if she ever knew I didn't introduce myself to a lady.”

Hobie shifts his weight, ready to pounce if need be. You grab his shirt, making sure he doesn't do anything drastic. Subtly flicking your eyes to the side, you see the crew do the same. They look at you with fear in their eyes, the hunter’s gazes illuminating their contorted faces.

You can't help but let out a shuddering breath, the sound echoing around the open waters, hoping to get your cry for help to somebody who can do something, anything to get you and everyone out to safety.

“My name's Captain Mathias Bradshaw.” He drawls, thin lips curling into a smirk. “This here is my little merry band of sailors who has a bone to pick with—” pointing at Hobie with his thick finger, white cosmetic smeared on his palms. “Him. The red hydra. I forgot to greet you yet, long time no see you rapscallion.”

You hear Hobie's shallow breathing. Grey eyes thundering, a storm brewing, lightning flowing through his veins. The only reason why he doesn't let himself loose on Mathias is your touch.

“You see here, sweetheart,” The man addresses you and you only. “For the past three years your so-called captain and I have had a bit of a tiff.” He chuckles coldly. “A rivalry of sorts.” He pauses, looking over his shoulder. “Is it still a rivalry if you're leagues above your rival?”

“No, sir.” A gruff voice says, hidden behind the mist.

Mathias turns back around. “Well, we got our answer then.”

Hobie sneakily murmurs to you. “Hide—”

“I'm not done talking!” The sudden outburst makes you jump in your skin.

“You should've been done with your senseless dialogue a long time ago.” Hobie straightens his posture, head held high, a picture of a pirate captain. “Come down here and fight like a fuckin' man, show me your flames and I'll show mine.”

The man scoffs, amusement in his green eyes. “Flames? Yours is barely a spark.”

Hobie scoffs. “Let's be done with it then. Get the closure we both want, fight me in single combat.” Mathias knits his brows, Hobie smirks. “No? Thought you were a gentleman, where's your fuckin' honour?”

A booming laugh replaces Mathias’ scowl. “I guess it died with your little red hair—”

Hobie lets go of you, drawing his gun, pointing it directly at the monster's head. The crew takes this as their cue, doing the same, pointing their weapons towards the men surrounding them.

There's hunger in his eyes, beneath the swirling grey there's a hunger waiting to be fed.

The enemy ships don't even aim their cannons at the revenge, instead they float still in the water, unmoving, the men aboard their ships smirk in your direction like you're being served to them on a silver platter. It's then you notice the sons of the sea’s ship is no more. They took the brunt of the hellion’s collision.

No longer their sails fly, their crow's nest and pieces of wood lay floating in dark waters.

Left behind, slowly drowning in the depths.

You feel droplets sliding on your cheeks, for a second you thought it's your tears. And then more and more of it comes pouring down, splashing on the wooden floorboards.

Thunder booms from a distance, lightning flashes in the sky, lighting everyone's scornful faces.

A few of Karl's men stand with Hobie, clutching their injuries. You don't see Robbie, his lack of presence makes you glare at the sneering men.

“Say her fuckin’ name.” Hobie says through gritted teeth. “After what you did— Say her name.”

“Eh.” Mathias shrugs, “I forgot.” the laughter of his men echoes in the mist.

“You fucker—!” Hobie's hand shakes despite this, he draws the golden gun, aiming it at the navy man whose smirk gets wider.

“I recognize that little blunderbuss.” He chuckles, wiggling his pointing finger, “She pointed that at my head too, you'll be unsuccessful just like she was.”

It takes every fiber inside Hobie to not just shoot and face the consequences later. But he's surrounded, his crew is surrounded, they have no chance of escaping death if he shoots. The only option he has is through single combat and to appeal to the man's ego. He's hoping the idea works.

One look over his shoulder, one glance at your trembling face and he's back to that day, the day MJ was lost. He prays that this day doesn't end the same way three years ago.

“Little dove,” Mathias’ devilish eyes roam over your trembling body. “Look at you,” he chuckles lowly, “I'd say dear ol' Hobie here got an upgrade just because this one's got her head still glued on her neck!”

Hobie almost shoots him until someone from his crew screams, their voice full of malice, venom dripping with every utterance.

“Fuck you!” Gwen exclaims, “Don't you have any honour? She's dead and you're still spitting on her watery grave! After everything you've put her through!”

“Ah! Gwen Stacy, the ballerina turned pirate. How you doin', miss Stacy? I heard your father's still down in the stables, trying to repay his debt to the crown.” he rags her on, scoffing.

“You're still defending her? She's a traitor, a navy spy. The greatest one we've ever had in fact. Her only downfall is loving a bunch of…” he sucks in his teeth, trying to find the word. “Thieves like you. Love got her head cut off and love will be your ruin too.” Flicking his eyes to you, he observes everyone's faces after his tirade.

Hobie steps between Gwen and Mathias, his guns still raised, eyes brimming with the anger of a forsaken God. Yet he remains calm, clearing his throat, standing tall.

“Mathias Bradshaw, I challenge you to single combat, a duel. I win, you let us go. You win and you get to take us all back to the capital.” Hobie's voice booms louder than the thunder above. Lightning strikes near, the water sizzles at the contact. “I know a man of your stature can't say no.”

The man in the uniform guffaws loudly, broad shoulders shaking. “Oh that's hilarious, you think you'd win against me, little pirate? Hmm?”

“Yes.” Hobie doesn't miss a beat.

Mathias smiles, “I guess this one's less messy than what I was planning. Name your terms.”

“Guns only, five bullets. You get shot three times you lose.”

“I'll add a tiny thing to your wager.” The navy man looks over to your direction, pointing his crooked finger at you. “Same terms but I get to keep your little bird.”

Hobie turns to you, wide eyes staring back at you. “No—” He's already shaking his head before you speak up.

“Deal!” You roar above the thunder storm, deciding your own fate. The rain is getting heavier, drenching your terrified self. “The captain will take your terms as long as you honour it.” Nodding to Hobie, he holsters his weapon away from you.

Mathias cackles in the background.

Gently holding on to your arm, you already know what he'll say.

“Don't. Do you know what you just agreed to?”

“I do,” you stare at his raging eyes but they're tender when he looks at you. “I know you can take him, I trust you.” Taking his hand away from your arm, you squeeze him once before pulling him towards you. “Don't play fair, because he won't.” you whisper. “Fucking obliterate him, for MJ.”

Hobie takes you in like it's the last thing he'll ever do. He imprints your touch in his mind, wanting to remember the softness of it when the bullets get too much for him to bear.

He nods slowly, still unsure of your decision. If you trust him enough to sell your soul then he'll fight to the death so you don't have to.

With one last look at you, he turns around, facing up to the man he loathes the most, wanting to just strangle him with his bare hands. Maybe he'll do just that.

For the crew.

Mathias takes his blue coat off, grinning the entire time.

For MJ.

He grabs on to a rope, rappelling off the black hellion, landing in a thunderous impact on the deck.

For you.

Now that he's leveled with your gaze, he's a lot smaller down on the deck, stout with a round belly, face painted with white lead that's currently melting in the downpour. Hobie's taller and slimmer but he makes up for it in his agility and speed. You've seen him fight but Mathias' form could be compared to Finn's build, all muscle and strength hidden behind his uniform.

You're glad this was a duel of pistols if it was any other fight Hobie could be in trouble.

A few of his men do the same, jumping off the hellion while the ones on the smaller ships stay on board but keeping their eyes peeled.

Surrounding the bloodsail pirates, the hands of Mathias' men never leave the pommels of their rapiers. Hobie clenches his jaw, now standing before the king's flame, he can't help but gaze behind the man, back to you and his crew.

Gwen goes to your side, lacing her trembling fingers through yours, Pav sidles behind you, clutching the back of your vest. Miles stands next to Gwen, holding her other hand. You see them look at eachother with a knowing glance and glimmering eyes.

Your eyes meet Hobie's, you give him a nod, eyes full of fury, and trembling lips. You mouth a ‘Bleed him dry’.

The simple act of Hobie smiling at you, makes you tear up. It's the same one he gives you after you patch him up, it's the same one when he handed you the hot chocolate. It's the same smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

You're afraid as you part with the crowd to the side of the duelists, lest you get caught in the crossfire. As the one in front, you get a good look at the enemy on the other side, all lined up perfectly like the obedient soldier men that they are. You roam your eyes to their faces, wondering how they could obey a man like Mathias.

You assume the uniformed man walking towards the duelists is Mathias' right hand man. Left eye covered in an eye patch, his hazel eyes observe you. He's carrying a large wooden box, pristine and smooth at the edges with golden locks and embellishments. He opens it with a creak, rain water landing on the wood and soaking the velvet inside.

“You're the challenger, you get the first pick.” Mathias gestures towards Hobie, all smiles like he's not about to meet the end of a bullet.

You stand on your tippy toes to take a peek inside. There are two dueling pistols, flintlocks. One white as fresh snow, one is black like the hellion.

Hobie takes his pick, pocketing what you assume is the five bullets. The black gun in his hand shines when a lightning strikes the mast of the hellion. You hear splintering wood in the distance.

He steps back in place, measuring the metal’s weight in his hand.

“Good choice.” Mathias eyes down the gun. “Death has touched that one.”

Hobie glares, baring his teeth. If only that was enough to kill the man before him.

Mathias takes the remaining gun, wiggling it in his hand. “You ready, little pirate?”

Hobie doesn't show an ounce of fear. “You're going to die today.”

“How confident, confidence alone won't help you aim straight.”

Your entire body shakes whilst they stand back to back, guns raised on their sides. They walk slowly, counting their steps.

The pouring rain doesn't help, raindrops obscuring your vision, the cold mixing in with the ice in your veins.

With every step Hobie takes,

Five

with every hit of his boots on the floorboards,

Four

your heart tries to escape,

Three

pulse hammering,

Two

threatening to give out. Afraid of what's to come. No one else dares to make a sound.

One

Standing end to end on the dock, they turn around swiftly.

After a beat, the man with the box yells. “Fire!”

Bang!

The sound echoes out in the dark, above all the rain and thunder.

Hobie hits his mark, Mathias groans, clutching his dominant shoulder. Smoke bellows out of their guns, dissolving into the rain.

Your words are repeating in Hobie's head ‘Don't play fair’ you say, then he won't play fair.

He notices his bleeding arm, looking down he sees the bullet nicked his skin, leaving an angry gash in its wake. The wood behind him gets the brunt of the bullet, the metal embedding inside, splintering a gaping hole.

You jump when Mathias laughs along the thunder. More and more lightning pierces the sky. You can taste iron in your mouth, not realizing the pain from biting the inside of your cheeks.

They reload, Mathias’ man observing with his watchful eye, making sure they both adhere to the rules; but you highly doubt he's doing it for fairness sake.

Metallic clanking, gunpowder clinking against steel, Mathias' voice enters the fray to your dismay.

“You know, you were too easy to fool.” He starts, finishing up his reload. “You never asked why I left my lieutenant in your hands and why was it so damn easy for you to get my travel documents.” Smiling, the lead on his face melts further, dripping on the floorboards, the white paint mixing in with his blood. “Just like I said, love will be your downfall.”

Hobie doesn't have enough time to squabble, instead he would let his aim talk for him.

“Twenty paces!” The eye patch man yells again.

Hobie and Mathias move forwards, getting closer and closer to each other. You want to put a stop to the duel, but you have to trust Hobie that he'll make it, that he'll win. He has to.

You dare not blink.

“Fire!”

Bang!

Hobie almost keels over, his shoulder heavily bleeds, trembling hand holding his flesh together. You see him smile underneath the pain, following his gaze, Mathias clutches his shooting hand, groaning and hissing. It looks like Hobie shot a hole right in the man's hand. The white gun lays on the bloodied floor, discarded.

Gwen's hold on you tightens, you can hear Pavitr sob quietly.

You catch Hobie's eyes. There's hope in the swirling grey, nodding, you encourage him, mouthing an ‘end it’. He seems to understand, straightening his stance, he reloads the gun as best as he can with an injured shoulder.

Mathias wheezes out a strained laugh. “I gotta hand it to you, your aim is pretty good.” He stands, grabbing his gun on the way up with his uninjured hand. “No matter how amazing your aim is, you're still bloody blind!” He screams, spit flying out of his mouth.

“My two bullets that's in you say otherwise.” Hobie tilts his head mockingly.

“No, no, no.” Mathias clicks his tongue, waving the gun wildly. “You still don't get it do you? You're not asking questions, letting everything fall into your lap, thinking God's on your side on your little revenge quest. But he's not,” he chuckles. “Sacrificing my lieutenant was the best decision I've ever made, especially knowing the fucker can absolutely sing. Loose lips sink ships, little pirate. Do remember that. Especially since you didn't seem to learn from it last time.”

Hobie's face falls, dread filling his chest.

“Bribing the governor to plant my travel documents and telling him to go unwind in a brothel for a couple of days was well worth my coin.” Mathias stretches his shoulder, reloading his pistol with bloodied hands.

He continues. “The two idiots at the gates were…well idiots, I barely had to do anything to them. The lock was a false security to make you sweat a little bit.” The king's flame proves himself. “You're blind. You've focused so much on taking me down that you didn't notice the little details. It's either that or you're also deaf, preferring not to hear your crew's concerns.”

“Not a very good attribute for a supposed captain.” he shrugs, he says his words mockingly.

“Fuck you!” Hobie aims directly at his rival's head.

It's all his fault, everything that led up to this point is his fault.

The gun trembles in his hold. Mathias looks pleased, smiling at Hobie.

“You know the rules.” Mathias sucks in his teeth. “Don't fire until lieutenant Dubois says so or I win and I get your little bird.” he looks over at you. “Oh we're gonna have so much fun together, every night, every day.” His laughter makes you want to grab the nearest knife and shove it down his throat.

You don't back down from his disgusting gaze. “If he doesn't kill you, I will.” Pavitr tries to hold you back. “And it won't be quick.” your voice shakes from sheer anger.

“I look forward to it, duchess.” Mathias spares you one last glance.

You don't notice how Hobie looks angrier than he did, he's clearly holding back. His glare alone could burn a hole through Mathias' skull. Yet he stands tall, getting a second wind; he's gonna shoot a hole in his skull instead.

His head goes a hundred knots per hour, thinking of all the what ifs. What if he just listened, what if he didn't let her stay, what if, what if, what if, the words are tattooed in his mind, clawing and biting at his psyche.

“Ten paces!”

They walk in sync, closer to each other more than ever. Pausing in place, they stare each other down, Mathias' smile never leaving his lips. Hobie's scowl gets deeper with every second that passes.

“Fire—!”

“Fuck this.” Mathias lunges in surprise, grappling Hobie.

Hobie doesn't get a chance to dodge, his gun clattering on the floor as the heavier man tackles him to the ground. The wet floors make it hard for Hobie to find leverage against Mathias who's currently choking him with his large arm.

Chaos ensues, everyone breaks the line, unsheathing their weapons, fighting, steel and skin clashing. Pistols going off left and right, but your main focus is on the two men writhing on the floor.

You hear Hobie choke so you run faster, taking a fallen dagger from a corpse, you quickly dodge people, determined to save Hobie.

“This is what happens when you let your feelings decide for you!” Mathias yells above the mayhem.

Finally making it close to them, in one swift movement, you stab Mathias on his back, crimson ebbs on his white shirt like spiderwebs. He screams, letting go of Hobie.

You don't spare him a glance as you take Hobie by his arm, dragging him below deck. Shutting the doors closed, Mathias bids you farewell with one last cackling.

Guiding him through the corridors, you hope the winding hallways help make it harder for the enemies to find you.

“Y/N.” He wheezes out.

“Don't fucking talk.” Your feet brings you to the galley. Sitting him down, he plops like a fish on the chair, head lolling to the side.

Slapping his cheek, he wakes back up with a groan. “Actually, keep talking. Stay awake, please.”

Hobie nods, “I need to go back up, I can't leave them there.” He tries to stand but your hands stop him, making him sit back down.

“You can't help in this state. Let me treat you then you can go and help.” You look in his pained eyes. “Please, at least let me help with your shoulder.” your other hand fumbles to his back, searching for an exit wound. You already know the answer when you feel the hot crimson weeping out from the puncture left behind.

You plead with your eyes.

“Alright, do what you have to do. Make it quick.” he nods, you leave his side to light a fire in the hearth, laying a metal poker on top of the hot coals. “Can I tell you a story?”

“Whatever keeps you awake.” Taking out the first aid kit from your bag, you notice your hands tremble. They never shake when you're treating someone, with your back turned away from him, you swallow down a sob.

“There was this girl, she had red hair like one of those…” he sighs, injuries aching, throat throbbing. “Apples.”

You reach his side once again, trembling fingers dipping into the wound ointment. “You have a way with words.”

He grabs your shaking hands in his, “Are you alright?”

You pause in your frantic movements, blinking rapidly. “Y-you’re the one who's bleeding right now.”

“You're shaking.”

You twist your wrists away from his touch. “I'm alright, worry about yourself and your crew.”

“You're a part of my crew”

“Shut– just…” you exhale. “Continue your story.”

Hobie nods, eyes drooping. “She just one day showed up on the docks, asking for a place.” He inhales sharply. “I needed to fill the second ship so I agreed, I let her in. I shouldn't have done it.” His eyes well up but no tears fall. “I should've turned her away but she was determined, she had the skills to stay— can you give me somethin’ for the pain? A fuckin' rum or wine, anythin’”

“No alcohol, if you want to bleed out be my guest.” You hold a cloth above his wound, pressing down to stop the bleeding as much as you can.

“Fucker!” He stomps his foot, “you can be such a little shit sometimes you know?”

You can hear the struggle upstairs. Weirdly enough, there's no sound of cannons firing.

“I know—” the ship tilts suddenly, flinging you and Hobie brutally to the side. You do your best to shield his injured self, taking the brunt of the impact, back stinging from the wall.

He lands on top of you, arms on your side, face hidden on the crook of your neck. You can feel his staggered breathing on your skin.

Bottles and pans fly towards you two. Pushing him away, you guide each other to the corner of the room, huddled together, protected by the hearth.

“Shit!” Hobie protects your head with his hand when a pot flies towards you. The ship keeps turning and tossing the both of you until it finally straightens out, you can feel how fast its going by how wild the utensils are swinging.

“Someone got hold of the helm.” He whispers, his cool hand on your tender shoulder. “We're running.” Hobie doesn't say it with pride or dejection, he utters it with embarrassment.

“That's good,” you stand up, giving him a helping hand. “We can get out—”

The unmistakable sound of a cannonball whizzes past and the ship lunges harshly on the side again. You can hear frantic yells from above.

Hobie takes your hand, “I need to get up there.”

Helping him up, you nod. “And you will, let me close that wound off and give you something for the pain and we'll go back up there.”

“Y/N, you can't—”

“We will go up there.” the fire in your eyes makes him obey. “Sit down, I'll make this quick but not painless.”

He flops down, masking the pain with a grimace. Inhaling, he continues. “I let MJ in.”

You pause for a second before taking the metal poker. “Even after seeing all the bloody signs.” He sighs. “Maybe I am blind.”

You hold his face tenderly. “You were, but you still have a chance to change that. You can still help your crew. Make it right for their sake.”

He holds the back of your neck, kneading the skin with his bloodied fingers. “I don't regret letting you stay.”

You look at him apologetically. “You will after this.” Shoving the leather pot holder in his mouth, moving aside his clothes. “Inhale” you place the hot poker directly on his bullet wound, cauterizing the gaping hole.

It sizzles, Hobie holds on to your sides tightly, bunching up the fabric in his hands. Muffled screams eaten up by the leather in his mouth.

You move the rod away once it's done. Hobie's eyes roll in the back of his head. Slapping him lightly, he wakes back up.

“Stay awake, hey. Look at me.” He stares at you through half-lidded eyes. “There you are, captain.” You smile to reassure him. He gives you a tired nod. “Now for the exit wound.”

Hobie inhales, more than ready this time around. His skin is clammy, eyes red from the brimming tears. He clenches his entire body, determined to get it over with. Twisting around in his seat, he hopes the ship doesn't rock as you push the searing metal poker on the back of his shoulder.

With a muffled yell from him, you take the tool away, letting it cool down. Moving his head with your hand, you look at him apologetically.

“I'm sorry, if I warned you first you would've flinched.”

Hobie spits the leather out of his mouth, patting your cheek with his sweaty hand, he leaves it there, stroking your skin.

“I wouldn't have flinched.” He chuckles through the searing pain.

“Of course you wouldn't.” You hold his hand that's on top of your cheek. “You did good.”

He laughs, hand leaving your skin to hold your hand instead. “Not the first time I've felt fire.”

You smile, without thinking, you lay your forehead on his as more cannonballs fly around the revenge.

“You did good too.” He whispers. Eyes closed, he leans away. “Now get me something for the pain and let's get the bastard.”

You smile, nodding to him. Taking a bottle from your bag, you rub mint oil on his upper lip, igniting his nerves, keeping him awake.

“That's the only thing I have that could help. I can't give you alcohol.”

Hobie tentatively stands up, “Maybe after this then.” He groans, slightly limping. “‘m gonna need an entire crate of ‘em.” he thinks adrenaline is enough to keep him on his feet.

He faces you, a ghost of a smile on his pained face. Hobie bends at the waist, you scramble to help him but he refuses with his hand raising to stop you. Taking something from inside his boot, he grabs a shiny and slender thing.

“Here.” Hobie hands a silver dagger to you, intricate carvings of a turtle and a sea snake looping around the glimmering handle. “Somethin’ to defend yourself.”

“Are you sure? It looks—”

“I don't mind givin’ it to you.” He closes your hand around the hilt. “Make sure this one hits his neck this time.”

“I will.” Your eyes fill with determination, adrenaline still coursing through you.

He wobbles towards the door, sparing you a smile on the way.

“Hobie,” you call after him. “Continue your story after this?”

“Only if you tell me yours.” He looks over his shoulder, giving you the same smile he always has.

You scoff with a small smile, “Maybe I will.”

“Let's fuckin’ go and be pirates then.”

—

Getting up the deck was tedious work with all the rocking and shifting from the ship and the wild waves, add that with all the cannon balls whizzing past, it was like riding an angry bull. Meeting halfway with Karl on the way there made it easier, filling your chest with hope.

“Where's Robbie?!” He frantically yells, forehead bleeding, hands gripping Hobie's vest.

“I-I don't know.” Karl's face falls. “But we'll find him, I know he got out.”

“Got out from what?” His voice trembles, “what happened, Hobie?”

Hobie holds his friend’s wrist, “I'm sorry.” Karl weeps. “Go find Robbie and your crew.” He shakes his head. “And get the hell out of here, he's after me not you.”

Karl's eyes fill with tears, flicking towards you who look on with sad eyes. “What about you and the others?”

“We'll find a way out. We always do, remember?” Hobie reassures him with a smile. “Take one of my dinghies, and row the hell out of here.” he takes Karl's hands away from his vest. “We'll see you back at the old place, yeah?”

“You fucking better, Hobart or I'll drown you myself.” Karl takes your hand briefly, nodding. “I hope I see you again, doc.”

“Me too, captain. Find Robbie.”

You part ways with Karl, praying that he finds Robbie and what remains of his men.

“Ready, trouble?” Hobie gets your attention by brushing his pinky against the back of your hand.

“I'm right behind you.”

—

It's war.

The moment Hobie opened the door to the deck you smell petrichor and blood in the air.

You get a glimpse of the battle before he could shut the doors. Bodies, both pirates and navy alike lay motionless on the floor. The sound of thunder mixes in with the pained yells, flashes of lightning illuminates the night sky and you see the faces of the dead clearly.

Two-fingers lay face first on the deck, arms bent at an angle, blood pooling from his head. Through the smoke and splintered wood, Foul screams when a sword plunges through his heart, silencing him immediately. Danny takes a bullet for Finn who promptly avenges him with his cutlass, swiftly separating the man's head from his body.

One face you were hoping was among the dead was missing. Mathias isn't on board.

Something flashes in his eyes when he looks at you. Grabbing your arm, he leans in, your heart stops.

Hobie moves past your head to press his forehead on your shoulder. Bathing in your presence, hand squeezing your skin

“Hobie?”

He smiles, moving his hand up to cup your jaw. Chuckling, he cleans his dried blood off your cheek with his thumb. “Do me a favour, Scuttlebutt?”

“What is it? We need to get up there!”

Hobie ignores you, leaning away. “Survive for me would you? Live, find your family. Promise me.” He sniffs, eyes glinting.

“What?”

“Just promise me, trouble.” He shakes you.

“Alright I promise. Can we—”

“I'm sorry.”

“What—?” Hobie pushes you hard, you fall off the steps, landing on your behind, he exits without looking back, shutting the doors closed. “What the fuck?!”

You rattle the doorknob but it's no use, he locked it on the outside. Frustrated, you try to kick in the door, hurting yourself from the hard wood.

“Fuck! Hobie!” You bang the door, peeking through the keyhole you see carnage as Hobie makes quick work of the remaining men. “Let me help!”

The sound of cannon balls going off almost deafens your eardrums. If only you had your lockpick you could open it.

Your lockpick.

It's a stretch but you still run towards your cabin, feet thudding loudly, echoing around the hallways that you've memorized.

You feel relieved after seeing your door. Shouldering it open, you frantically search for the metal on the shelves. The tip of it scratches your hand but you don't care, already bolting off towards the exit. Running off with your bag tied around you, hoping the medical kit inside is enough to treat the wounded, you hold the lockpick in your hand while you run.

Your hope dwindles with every cannon hitting the ship.

Doors whizz past, ankle stinging, the sounds of screams and gunfire makes you sprint faster.

You don't notice the blood soaked hulking man leaving Hobie's cabin.

Running into him, you stagger, tumbling down, heart falling into your stomach as he looks down at you through his nose.

“Hello there.”

Scrambling to get to your feet, you slide under his legs, stabbing his achilles heel with your lockpick. The man screams in agony, you take the opportunity to sprint like you've never ran before. You'd take running away from O’hara any day.

Your lungs scream for you to stop, but you go on as you hear thundering stomping behind you.

There's no exit and you can't run forever.

The metallic click rings behind you, rounding the corner, you barely dodge the bullet aimed at you, nicking your hip.

“Shit!” You almost fall yet you continue on, entering the library, you shut the doors behind you, locking it swiftly.

Lifting your hand away, the sight of your own blood turns your fear into fury. With your trembling hands, you unsheathe the dagger from your belt.

You have a promise to keep, and you never break a promise.

Hiding behind the armchair you always sat on, you crouch down, gripping the dagger, ready to strike like a viper in the sand.

You look back on what she taught you, “Strike fast and hit hard. Don't give them a chance to get back up.” her voice whispers it to you and you intend to follow it.

The door bursts open, splintering the wood to a thousand pieces.

“The captain wants you alive, little birdy. This doesn't have to hurt if you just come with me, eh?” You hear him chuckle lowly, blatantly lying to you.

His heavy footsteps thud closer.

You use the shadows as your guide, the oil lamp left open on the corner table does the work. For once you thank Gwen for forgetting to close the light.

“I can help with your wound. Glue your wings back together again” he whistles. “The red hydra can't help you with that but I can. I'm a surgeon you see.” Getting closer and closer, you time your strike right.

You come out of your hiding place with a battle cry. Still crouches down, “I highly doubt that!” Slicing his tendons in one quick movement. The second he falls to his knees, you stab him in the neck.

Stepping back, he chokes in his own blood. With wide eyes you flinch when he stands, seemingly unaffected but his shaking pupils say otherwise. With a garbled noise from your assailant, he reaches for you.

“What the fuck?!”

With a split second decision, you dodge his hands, moving backwards, throwing books from the shelves which bounce almost harmlessly on his head and body.

There's a loud thrumming sound outside, its warbling is almost mechanical but definitely something an animal could've made.

He heard it too, pausing in his movement for a second before he lunged towards you. With a scream, your back against the corner, he jumps you.

Your head hits the wall in an ugly crunch, seeing stars, sliding down the wall, landing on the floor, he chokes you with his bare hands. Indistinct noises escape from his mouth, your dagger nowhere to be found in his throat. His entire body hides anything in front of you, drowning your vision, filling it with your murderer. His blood drips down on your face, almost drowning you in it.

You know he's running on fumes but based on your vision fading, lungs gasping for air, you think you'd go out first before him.

Hands grazing something metallic on the floor next to you, you inch your fingers towards it. Finally finding your grip, you smack it on his head.

You've got a promise to keep after all.

He yells, the oil from the lamp spreading on his skin and clothes, engulfing him in flames.

You frantically roll away, killing the fire clinging to your clothes until there's nothing left but burned cloth.

The flames light up the entire room in orange and reds, the paper around him helps feed the fire as he tries to desperately put it out.

There's that thrumming again.

You watch on, holding your tender neck. Your face is flat, eyes reflecting the fire that's quickly eating at the man. Fabric burns on his flesh, flesh turns into charred muscle, the fire eats at that too until he falls, silence hanging in the room except for the fire cackling, ashes and flames surrounding his corpse.

You stand up, ratty shoes stepping over fire to grab the fallen dagger with a thick cloth from your bag.

For a second you stand amidst the fire.

The thrumming outside and the warmth wakes you up, flames licking at your clothes, it's heat scorching your skin, nose filling with smoke. Even with all the pain you still escape with your life, determined to keep your promise.

Running outside the former library, the cracking of splintering wood fills your ears, you instinctively dodge, backing away before the mast of the revenge falls on your head.

Shielding your face, you cower. The mast stills, sharp wood lay next to your feet. Tentatively opening your eyes, the sounds from above are clearer in your ears, all the screams and guns going off, you hear it loud and clear that you can decipher whose screams belong to whom.

The fog enters below deck through the gaping hole left by the broken mast. All the while, the smoke from the library rises up, replacing the mist.

Your exit.

You don't hesitate to climb up. Jagged edges of sharp wood rip amd snag your clothes, stabbing your skin. Finding leverage, you manage to prop yourself up on the deck, meeting face to face with a lifeless Ned.

The light in his eyes is gone, unsung music escaping from his open lips. Skin dirtied by flowing ichor.

You don't hear anything else other than skin meeting skin in a brutal dance.

“No.” You quickly jump up, leaving the fire behind you to consume, to devour what's left of the revenge. “Ned?”

Desperately feeling for a pulse, your heart wretches in your throat, saliva filling your mouth, bile rising up from your gut.

There's no pulse.

With a choked sob, you close his eyes for him. The sound of wet punching makes you turn to your side. Hobie's eyes are wild, vicious and desperate, bloodied knuckles pummeling the man under him. Skin broken, nose cracked, skull open for the world to see. Yet, Hobie doesn't stop even with the obvious signs of death. Fueled by rage, he paints the wooden floorboards with the man's brain.

It all feels sickenly real, your heart is still beating in sync with his punches but there's so much death around you that you feel like you're a part of the dead. Blood and smoke filling your senses, adrenaline slowly washed away like the tides.

You're sitting in a graveyard and nobody else has noticed.

“Hobie.”

His fists pound harshly through the man's head, splintered wood now embedded in his skin.

You apprehensively crawl towards him, your various injuries aching, blood seeping out from your hip. The chaos around you still continues on while he still doesn't stop.

“Hobie—” your fingers brush his arm, he flinches back, fist raised to knock you out. But he halts, knuckles kissing the tip of your nose, painting it with crimson.

With wide eyes, he heaves, muscles tensed, grief all over his expression. You shove your fear down, holding his raised knuckles, moving it away gently. You hold his face in your other hand, smearing the fresh ichor on his cheeks, staining your own skin.

“It's done, he's dead.” You nod, caressing his face, turning it away from the carnage below him. “Hobie,” you unclench his fist carefully, shattered bone and hair sticking to him. With a shallow breath, you let the tears flow on your cheeks. “He's dead.”

His face flashes with fury only to be triumphed over by misery. With a heavy heart, he nods.

Behind Hobie, a uniformed man raises his pistol, without a second thought, you take the golden blunderbuss from his waist, hastily aiming it directly at the man's head.

Your ears ring, the smoke from the gun blinds you for a second before you see your target fall dead with a bullet right between his eyes, blood splattering like fireworks from his head.

Hobie looks at you in surprise, taking his gun away from you carefully. Hands soft on your raised skin. He pats your cheek and you could only shake your head.

“We need to—” the ship collides with something, Hobie holds you close, covering you away from debris. With his embrace, he protects you. Scarred hand on the back of your head, face hiding in the crook of your neck. Leather, sea salt and blood invades your senses.

The hellion is once again looming over the revenge, its golden façade cracking under the damage made by Hobie's ship.

Mathias shows himself, looking worse for wear, he wobbles on two feet, clutching his injuries.

You hear footsteps around you, raising your head, eyes widening at what's left of the crew, they stand behind you and Hobie. Wiping blood off their faces, reloading their guns, sharpening their swords. The red sails of the people's revenge still fly above, more than ready to take what they're owed, no matter what it takes.

Gwen's blond hair is dipped in ruby red, hands tight around her blunderbuss. Miles wipes his face clean, stepping next to Gwen with clenched jaw. Pavitr stands directly behind you, face covered in what you hoped to be someone else's blood. He nods, reassuring you.

Yuri and James take one look at Ned, their expression alone could make you weep again. Finn, crouches down next to you, nodding wordlessly, blue eyes glossy.

Hobie exhales, with shaky legs he stands up, helping you back to your feet. Gripping your knife, you scowl at the man above.

“How cute. The power of friendship isn't enough to save you.” Mathias says through gritted teeth.

The rest of his crew arrives, there's less ships than before, proving how the bloodsail pirates is a force to be reckoned with. They have what Mathias doesn't have, giving them something worth fighting for.

Mathias nods, signaling his ship to turn their cannons towards you and your family.

You step in front of Hobie. “I have a proposition!” Yelling above the rain and metallic clanking, you push away Hobie's hand from your shoulder.

“What is it?” The man rolls his eyes, looking incredibly bored. “We can't be here all night.”

“Me,” the crew voices their concerns, Hobie takes your hand, face terrified.

You smile, “it's alright.” Whispering to him and the crew only. With tearful eyes, you turn back to the devil above. “You seem like you really want me, so fucking take me instead. Let them go.”

You feel the heat beneath your feet. The fire devours everything just a few feet below you.

They all yell your name behind you. Protests fill your ears but you choose to ignore them. You feel his calloused fingers squeeze your hand.

The man guffaws, “Holy shit! You like them that much?” He observes Hobie's contorted face.

“You like her that much?” He chuckles. “You know what? I don't even want you that much, sure, get on up here, birdy!”

There's that thrumming and warbling again. It's much clearer now that you're above, it seems like it's coming from beneath the ship.

“Come here and take me then!” The rain mixes in with your salty tears. Raising your arms, shoving everyone away, you taunt him. “But let them go or I'll plunge this dagger through your eye!”

“Christ, you're as insane as him. Perfect for eachother eh?” he sighs, gesturing for his cannons to cease. “I'm already satisfied even though a few of your men escaped from a dinghy but eh, I'm sure I'll get them soon enough. Just like how I'll get you one day, little pirate. I'm a very patient man, I'll wait three more years if I have to.”

Hobie's face is full of anguish when he swivels you around to look at him. “Don't fuckin' do this. He won't keep his word,” he flicks his eyes to Mathias, then back to you, grey eyes darker than before. “the moment you step foot on that ship he'll kill you.” his mind comes back to that fateful day.

He can't let that happen again, not to you.

You look at him softly. “I know, but I'll make it hard for him, that'll give you enough time to escape. Hobie, I have nothing else, just this.” swallowing the lump in your throat, there's heat under your eyes. Taking his hand, you squeeze it once. “Let me do this, for you and for them. You still have to get your revenge so let me do this. Don't let him win.”

“You promised.” His voice cracks.

“I don't think I can keep it now.” You flick your eyes behind him, the crew looks on with grief marring their eyes. “They're too young for this, Gwen, Pav and Miles, they deserve to live too.”

You hear the rope fall from the hellion's deck. “I'm glad I got stuck in that net even though you made me walk the plank.” chuckling through the tears, you give them your best smile to remember you by.

“Don't leave.” he pleads.

Sliding your hand away, you take one last look at them, making a sketch of their faces in your mind to remember when the inevitable happens.

“I have to go now or this won't work.”

The captain has no plan on how to fix it, how to fix everything, and he beats himself bloody for it.

Turning around, with every step you take feels heavier than the last. You make amends to her in your mind, praying that it reaches back home. You also thank her, but you don't regret running away that day.

You'll never know what lies for you up north or if there's someone there waiting for you. If there is someone, you apologize to them too.

You leave traces of yourself to the people behind you with the hope you live on through those pieces. That at least they won't forget your name.

The howling wind and rain whips at your drenched form, committing the feel of it to memory.

Grabbing the rope, you fight the urge to look behind.

“Hurry up, birdy!” Mathias cackles. “Come on then—!”

The thrumming is deafening, everything seems to freeze mid motion.

Giant mounds of flesh rise up from the water. Snake-like features curl above, rising to the heavens, cutting through the grey clouds.

You can't help but be mesmerized by the beauty of it. Iridescent scales glimmer against the lightning, cracked scales teeming in gold. the lightning bolts ricochet off their scaly skin, unharmed.

More serpents appear from the depths, towers of scaled flesh. They rain sea water from above, dripping from their massive bodies.

One curls just above the hellion, opening its eyes, revealing an entire ocean in its orbs.

You can't stop looking at it, petrified.

“Dragons.” You say in awe.

“Y/N!” Hobie races towards you. His hand brushes against your shirt, so close yet so far.

You get yanked up with the hellion, grip still frozen on the ropes. Holding on for life, the beast has curled around the ship, in your peripheral you see men jumping off, splashing down into the depths, taking their chances in the cold.

Facing the creature, they trill and thrum, crushing the hellion and the navy ships in their massive jaws and swirling flesh.

You wake up from the trance they had you in, almost losing your grip off the rope.

“No!” You screech, saving yourself, arm socket straining against your weight. Twirling the rope around your hand, you tie it just like how they taught you.

Palms burning on the hemp, looking down, you're hanging high above the revenge. You watch as the crew frantically unties a dinghy while Hobie and Finn stay behind, they're too far for you to make out what they're doing.

Your only chance is to jump in the water but you know that'll be the end of you.

Water parts for something swimming fast under the water, it moves towards the Revenge. You scream their names in an attempt to warn them.

“Gwen!” Your throat struggles from the screaming. “Brace yourselves!”

The serpent crashes on the starboard side, away from where the small boat hangs. Hobie clings to the remaining mast, knife in his hand. Heart pounding, you watch as Gwen runs towards Hobie, he yells, she shakes her head but in the end she bolts for the dinghy. You nod, hoping she saw that you forgave her.

The beast constricts around the helion, crashing the oak and its gilded carvings in its wrapped body.

You sway in the wind with the serpent’s movements, praying that the rope hangs on to the figure head. The figure head of an angel looks down at you, lifeless eyes observing your slow demise.

This is the end for you, you've never thought you'd be killed by a mythical being turned into reality but here you are, hanging on by a thread, waiting for death to come.

With one last glimpse at the revenge, you see the fire finally reaching above deck. Gwen and the others lower down on the dinghy while Hobie grabs onto a rope, cutting the knot off the steel rings, remembering James' teachings, if he keeps doing that he’ll get yanked up, and with the wild wind, it will surely be a disaster.

You yell his name in a futile attempt to stop his effort at saving you.

Finn raises something in his hands, heaving it over his shoulder.

You sharply turn your head when a snapping sound fills your ears. The hemp untangles, with the rope breaking in the middle, you close your eyes.

The sea serpent lets out a guttural scream, the sound alone sends shivers down your spine. It uncurls around the hellion and you get a glimpse of a sharp harpoon sticking out from its eye.

Falling with the hellion, the serpent's eyes turn from blue to a bloody red, bathing everything in its gaze in crimson. it's the last thing you see before you shut your eyes.

You feel a familiar arm around your middle, looking over your shoulder, you think you've already died.

“I've got you!” Hobie yells, with him carrying you and his hand grasping on the rising rope, he struggles to hold on.

So you help him, wrapping your arm behind him, you hold the rope in the other, face close to his as you two fly above the revenge, swinging and whipping uncontrollably in the storm.

The beast trills, jaw unhinging, its rows of shark like teeth in full display.

“Shit!” Hobie manipulates the rope to swing you two away from its sharp teeth.

It fails to catch you, instead it turns its attention to Finn on the deck.

“Finn! Run!” Your blood curdling scream gets his attention, yet he pays no heed.

But everyone already knows it's too late, with one last fight in him, he raises his harpoon, yelling, meeting the serpent's opened mouth halfway.

It swallows him whole.

You just stare at where Finn once stood, he leaves patches of his ichor on the floor.

The revenge sinks, fire and water engulfing Hobie's home, your home.

“Love!” The name rots in his mouth, it gets you out of your frozen state. “I—”

The last standing mast cracks and breaks apart. You lose your grip on Hobie.

And you fall once again. For a second you fly, eyes peering towards the clearing sky, with white clouds in your vision, you brace for impact.

“MJ!”

That's the last thing you hear as you fall in the depths in a harsh splash.

A/N: so sorry for the late update!! Hope you like it 🫶 (if i forgot to put any warnings on the tags please tell me)

[xuchiya]

s.mingi {the other apron moments}

cafe love m.list || k.hongjoong || p.seonghwa || j.yunho || k.yeosang || c.san || s.mingi || j.wooyoung || c.jongho

Swaggering into the cafe, the familiar chime of the bell announcing your arrival, the cafe love has always made you feel comforted— the smell of the brewed coffee or the newly opened bag of coffee beans or the cinnamon. You inhaled the warmth of the atmosphere of the shop until you spotted Mingi behind the counter. His black uniform clung to his toned physique, a sight that never failed to elicit a playful glint in your eyes and the fluttering of your heart whenever you are near him.

"Hey there, handsome," You purred, leaning against the counter, your chin resting on your curled fist– your smile already blinding Mingi. Mingi wasn’t surprised to see you early in the morning; he had always looked forward to seeing you and your flirty personality. It may come off different to other people but if it were the staff inside that recognize you then they don’t question it.

Mingi's cheeks flushed a charming pink, a hint of fluster beneath his usual calm demeanour. "Good morning to you too. The usual?" he mumbled, expertly crafting your favourite latte.

"Absolutely," You playfully winked, which made his eyes disappear from the big smile you made him, "with a sprinkle of your dazzling smile, of course."

He chuckled, a soft rumble that sent shivers down your spine. The first time you both met isn’t too much of a big story (well to you as you call ‘love at first bean). He represents a bean that smells so fresh and looks so small in his uniform, his ‘emo’ phase, with the silver rings and silver necklaces along with his ‘fix-on’ black nail art really got you in a choke hold. You both revealed your usual teasing routine, the air crackled with unspoken yet undeniable chemistry.

As if you were the only one who experienced the moment of a rainy cloud on their head, or worse thunder clouds visible on their head whenever you miss a day of not visiting the cafe or not hearing your usual flirty remarks. Love really makes you feel the rollercoaster of emotions.

Just then, the cafe door swung open, shattering the atmosphere. A woman, overdressed and heavily perfumed, sauntered in, her eyes landing on Mingi with a predatory glint.

Your eyebrows are already frowning at her aura. Your jealousy tiger already growling at her, "Well, hello there, gorgeous," she drawled, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Making the day a little brighter, are we?"

Mingi's smile faltered, replaced by a strained politeness. "Just serving coffee, ma'am. Can I take your order?"

The woman sashayed closer, her decorated long nails playing with the lace of his apron, her voice dropping to a suggestive whisper. "Perhaps you can serve me something a little stronger later. Alone, of course."

Disgust bubbled in your gut. The woman's tone was unmistakable - inappropriate and unwelcome. And you were losing your patience each time Mingi’s eyes shifted somewhere else and your eyes twitch with annoyance, taking a deep breath, you marched towards the counter, your smile gone, replaced by a steely glint in your eyes.

"Excuse me, ma'am," you cut in, voice laced with ice and jealousy along with venom lacing your tone. "It seems you've overstayed your welcome. We don't tolerate harassment of our staff here."

The woman scoffed. "Honey, this doesn't concern you besides you’re not his girlfriend? Is she, pretty boy?" You scoff, "Oh, I’m not his girlfirend… " you countered, voice rising a notch. You raised your right hand where a silver diamond band rested elegantly, “I’m his fiancée so if you don’t want to step outside then I’m ready to pull your ugly wig out of this shop.”

The whole cafe was silent the whole time, the staff including your soon to be husband were close to bursting into laughter anytime soon (if it wasn’t for Wooyoung’s red face hiding behind their manager). Mingi shot you a grateful look, his tense posture relaxing slightly.

The woman, flustered by your sudden intervention, sputtered incoherently before storming out of the cafe, “Fuck you, you bitch!”

You raised an eyebrow at her, nonchalantly saying “Oh he already did.” Silence descended for a moment, before Wooyoung's laugh crackled inside the cafe soon followed by the other staffs, but Seonghwa and his girlfriend shush them and told them to get back to work even though they were also laughing. Relief washed over Mingi, a tired smile gracing his lips, "Wow," he breathed. "Thanks for revealing such a big secret."

"Anytime, honey" you said, a triumphant smirk playing on your lips. "Besides, a knight in shining armour shouldn't have to stand by and watch a damsel fight his own battles, should they?"

Mingi's smile widened, the familiar playful glint returning to his eyes. "So is this knight and shining armour available tonight for our movie night?"

"Maybe," you winked, your hands gripping the lace of his apron and pulling him down to peck his lipss before letting him go, patting his shirt and straightening his collar before moving away, walking towards the door, "My princess needs his princess treatment tonight after working a lot."

Mingi stood there, face red and all shy.

You blew him a kiss, "Love you honey, see ya' later!" He waves as he watches you exit the shop to continue your work, "Love you too!"

[muwapsturniolo]

✯Sturniolos as Half-bloods✯

God version

warnings: mentions of drugs, and sexual escapades

goddess version

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Matt would be the son of Dionysus

Dionysus used to be the god of fertility, now being known as the god of wine, theatre, and ecstasy. Matt would eat this shit up let me tell you!! His style would deff consist of lots of red, leather, leopard print, and rings. Some of his fashion inspirations would be Freddy Mercury, Elton John, and the band Motley Crue. His father is the god of theatre, he's bound to be dramatic with his actions and style.

His cabin, number 12, would most definitely be known as the party cabin. He would throw big grand parties, each one having a theme ranging from the 70's to medieval. He would also host plays, all of them being dramatic, with dark plots. With the parties and plays, come drugs and alcohol. He has drugs of all types, weed, acid, shrooms, etc. His personal favorite is molly, the drug making him and anyone exceptionally horny. He finds that sex feels way better when he and his partner for the night are on it.

Speaking of sexual endeavors, this man is a freaky frog. The way he acts in the bedroom should be a crime! I'm talking rope, vibrators, blindfolds, ball gags, handcuffs, etc. Let's not forget, his dad is the god of fertility, BREEDING KINKKKKKK!!!!! He hates condoms due to his breeding kink, but god forbid he gets one of the girls at the camp pregnant. The only time he would let his breeding kink roam free is when he finally has sex with the girl he's had his eyes on since she arrived at the camp, the daughter of Aphrodite. He has a thing for ruining innocence.

He is known as the manwhore of the camp, most of the males hating him, but still hoping they get an invitation to his parties. The girls try to stay clear of him, knowing how he is but somehow still ending up in his bedroom. Let's get into the bedroom. It's giving Bruno Mars along with Shake & Go wig Anderson Paak. It's straight out of the 70's. It's clean and often smells like weed, wine, and cherries.

His bestfriend is Chris, the son of Hades. The two go hand in hand, partners in crime. When they first met, Matt asked Chris if he had any of his father's pomegranates so he could make wine. Chris couldn't help but laugh at the question, but Matt was being deadass. If Matt is throwing a party, Chris is right there cigarette in hand.

Dionysus's animal was a leopard and or a tiger. Matt would honor that by wearing leopard print and having tiger rugs.

I don't think Dionysus actually had children, but if he did I would imagine they had the ability to cause/cure both sexual and non-sexual madness with their words. like, imagine Matt just saying what he would do to you, and the more descriptive he got, you could basically feel him fucking you? yeah, sign me up!!

Dionysus's weapon of choice was a staff with a pinecone at the top, called a Thyrsus. I think Matt would have the same thing, but more like a cane an old-school pimp would have (thinking of Kat Williams) and it would have the head of a tiger.

His songs:

''I had a cane and a party hat, I was the king of this hologram where there's no such thing as getting out of hand" Don't threaten me with a good time- p!atd

"Hard candy dripping on me 'till my feet are wet" kiwi- harry styles

"And i crave your taste under my tongue everyday, keep the forbidden fruit coming my way." dopamine- borns

Chris would be the son of hades

Hades is the god of the underworld, defending the rights of the dead and protecting the world as well as his wife Persephone. His style would be somewhat similar to Matt's as far as color goes. Lots of black, a few white pieces, and red as well. You will always see him in a leather jacket, his feet adorned by a pair of white air forces. With his father being the god of the underworld, Chris unfortunately got his reputation. A lot of the other half-bloods steering clear of him, whispering when he walks past, not even daring to say his name. it hurt Chris at first, having his peers view him as evil, but he grew accustomed to it. Eventually saying 'fuck it' and playing into the role they made for him.

His cabin being number 13 is perfect because I would like to think he would be born on October 13th, a Friday specifically. It would be deep in the woods, the path scary-looking and eerie. The only source of light being the skull torches against the front door. The only people coming to the house were himself and his best friend Matt, the son of Dionysus. Because no one came to his cabin, Matt would use it as the storage for the copious amounts of wine and paraphernalia he keeps handy. His room is dark (duh). Silk black bedding, books strewn randomly in the room. His skateboard was always propped against the door as well as his multiple pairs of beat-up shoes. He loves music, multiple vinyls, and CDs stacked up in crates around the cabin. He had his signature black guitar right next to his bed, always ready to grab and play. He's a man of few words in this universe. He often found himself writing love songs for the girl in cabin 20, the daughter of Hecate.

Being the son of Hades, anger is unfortunately something he can't avoid. Even though he is usually quiet, all it takes is one person to set him off. One of the Zeus boys was pushing him around and he snapped, damn near killing the boy before Matt pulled him away.

As stated before, his best friend is Matt. He was the only one in the camp to speak to him. Granted he was asking for pomegranates to make wine, but he stuck with him. Matt brought him out of his shell, making sure he was the first to get an invitation to his parties and plays, encouraging his love for music, and also being there for him when his anger got out of control.

Most of Hades, children do have powers. Those powers are necromancy, shadow manipulation, the ability to manipulate the earth, and shadow fusion. Chris would have all of these, especially necromancy and shadow manipulation/fusion. He would use necromancy to fuck with the others in the camp, loving the way his peers screamed in fright. He would only use shadow fusion to spy on his crush, but he gets caught and shyly reveals himself (help I wanna write a fic on the way they meet).

Hades animal representation is a black ram, a screeching owl, and a serpent. let's not forget the three-headed dog Cerberus. Chris would have a big-ass Doberman named Orcus. That dog would hate everyone but Chris, Matt, and the daughter of Hecate.

His songs:

"It's no big surprise you turned out this way" twin-sized mattress- the front bottoms

"There's a light in the crack, that's separating your thighs, and if you wanna go to heaven you should fuck me tonight" Young god- halsey

"My church offers no absolute, she tells me worship in the bedroom" take me to church- hoizer

Nick would be the son of Hermes

Hermes was the god of trade, wealth, luck, sleep, language, thieves, and travel. His style would always consist of light blue jeans and some form of a white shirt/tank top. If he was delivering mail and or messages, he would also wear a blue jean jacket. Him being the son of Hermes is giving blonde Nick IDC idc idc!!!! He would always wear a pair of off-white Converse with wings on the side. Delivering mail can be boring, so he often wears headphones hooked up to a cassette player his best friend Chris gave him as a form of payment.

His cabin is number 11, a lucky number to most. I would imagine it to be a bit more elevated than the others. Perched on some type of high ground where the sun shines in the morning. His cabin would definitely be organized, with all the mail in a specific room in alphabetical order. All of the payments that weren't in cash were placed perfectly in the home, not a thing out of place. His bedding would be white with gold silk pillows. He loved to sleep so his bed was always unmade, blankets thrown all over the bed, even dipping onto the floor.

He often liked to cause a bit of chaos in the camp, it was his homage to his father. He would steal from the other campers, shrugging and rolling his eyes when they asked him about it. He would break into the counselor's office, picking the lock with ease to receive something of Matt's. He would do this often for the campers, but not without payment. If they weren't giving him cash, they had to pay by giving him something of theirs. The amount of jewelry he has is insane.

His best friends, despite not liking their attitudes, would be Matt and Chris. Matt had asked him to deliver invitations for a party, and Nick initially told him no after seeing the amount of invitations. He quickly changed his mind seeing the stack of cash and a gold chalice Matt offered. He and Chris became friends the day he guided Chris into the camp, much like his father guides souls to the underworld.

Most of Hermes' children have powers, those being enhanced speed, audiokensis, and Clauditiskinesis. Nick has all of these, his favorite being clauditiskinesis and audiokensis. He would use audio to listen in on everyone's conversations, it helped that he could be above them in the clouds, never being seen. That's how he figured out that one of the sons of Zeus has a crush on him.

He wouldn't have an animal in my opinion. I would imagine him to have a messenger bag that's like, never-ending lmao.

His songs:

"And i know it's no fun, when your first son gets up to no good" freaking out the neighborhood- mac demarco

"Like Peter Pan up in the sky" tongue-tied - group love

"If you could fly then you'd feel south. Up north getting cold soon." pink + white- frank ocean

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

I don't think y'all get it. I'm actually foaming at the mouth writing this. plz send in requests or anything you want to read for half-blood stuniolos!!!

TAGLIST🍑

@bernardsgf @bernardsleftbootycheek @blahbel668 @mattfrfr @gdsvhtwa @sturniolo-aali @lily-loves-struniolos @kynda-avery @causeidontlikeagoldrush

@st7rnioioss @carolinalikesthings @mattslolita @suyqa @xxloveralways14 @pepsiimaxx @judespoision

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[designation-zi]

Murder Drones Timeline of Events

Disclaimer: Most of this is speculation based off of background details and conjecture. Subject to change. If you notice anything I missed feel free to comment and I’ll make adjustments :)

Proceeding Events:

Sometime in the Future, around the 31st Century

- Humanity becomes advanced enough to venture into space and establish colonies and civilizations on exoplanets in other solar systems. Some of these include the “Proxima System”, “Plat-Binary System”, and the “Copper System.”

- JCJenson, an interstellar megacorporation creates a brand of autonomous robots known as “Worker Drones” to serve humanity and mine resources on the exoplanets. One of these planets is Copper-9 from the Copper System.

- Worker Drones are heavily abused and mistreated by humans, often being improperly disposed of and thrown into landfills.

- JCJenson is aware of the fact their drones have a chance of self rebooting if disposed of incorrectly, dubbing these “Zombie Drones.” This can happen if the drone and their core wasn’t properly disconnected and destroyed, or the software cleanup program “wdOS_606” wasn’t installed or was interrupted or rejected (even up to five years later.) The company is also aware that among these instances, there’s also a chance of the drone developing “Hazardous Mutations.”

- Camp 98.7 is established in the year 3002 on Copper-9.

Humanity’s Downfall:

Year still unknown, but still in the 31st Century

-Underneath a landfill of discarded drones on Earth, presumably in Australia, a drone with a P/N starting with “CYN” self reboots. A so called program named the “Absolute Solver” seemingly contacts her through her broken visor and appears to make a deal with her, promising not to “discard her.” This is how the Solver gets its first host. It’s not known if the Solver took complete control there or if Cyn’s possession was a process.

- The landfill is close by to the mansion of a wealthy human family known as the Elliotts. Their daughter “Tessa James Elliott” enjoys retrieving discarded drones from the landfill so she can repair them. These drones become part of the manor’s wait staff, but Tessa treats them like people and as her friends, even giving them wigs so they can have identifying traits — much to the annoyance of her parents.

- Among the drones Tessa has brought home three are known as N, V, and J due to their serial designation numbers visible on their yellow armbands. It can be noted that it seems Tessa scratched out the “Marked For Disassembly” on the bands with sharpie after she repaired them.

- One day Tessa finds Cyn in the dump and brings her home. She introduces her to N, V, and J shortly after.

- N treats Cyn kindly, and she refers to him as her big brother.

- An unknown amount of time passes and eventually Tessa seems to become unnerved around Cyn due to the drone’s odd behaviour and mannerisms. J often locks Cyn in the library basement because of this.

- Many of Tessa’s drones seem to mysteriously contract some sort of error which leaves them in a catatonic state with their visors flashing a large yellow X alongside the words “error 606” (note that 606 matches the software cleanup program’s name of wdOS_606.) Because of this they are placed into the library. One of these drones is V, who N regularly visits so he can try and talk to her and read to her.

- The Elliotts’s decide to throw a gala at their manor alongside another family called the Frumptlebuckets (lol.) An interesting observation is that these wealthy humans (or at least those in the Elliott’s social circle) apparently like to dress up and act similar to those from around the Victorian era.

- Cyn escapes from the basement and convinces N to attend the gala, so they head to the ballroom to ask Tessa. This ends up leading to an altercation with Tessa’s mother Louisa where she orders Tessa to dump Cyn and all of her other “broken” drones in the library back into the landfill.

- Cyn talks back to Louisa, but N takes the fall for her and ends up being chained outside next to a dead drone that had been picked apart by a flock of crows. Meanwhile, Tessa has been chained up in her bedroom alongside J and Cyn as punishment. This, alongside an earlier scene where she seemingly rubs her wrist in pain implies this happens fairly often to her and highlights that her parents are abusive.

- Tessa berates Cyn for N taking the blame for her, angered that N may end up dead. However, Cyn seems indifferent and calmly claims she has “backups” of N.

- Cyn transforms into her horrific eldritch Solver form and claims Tessa won’t have to “discard her pets” and that she won’t discard her either. She leaves out the window after warning Tessa to stay away from the gala due to her seeming squeamish, revealing her intent to massacre the humans.

- Wanting to save everyone from being killed, Tessa gets J to break their chains and the two of them sneak out and arm themselves with a revolver and sword respectively. Despite this, after they arrive everyone is massacred anyways thanks to Cyn/the Solver corrupting the other Worker Drones, including J, who shuts the door so Tessa can’t escape.

- It’s assumed N escapes being killed by the crows and walks in on Cyn slaughtering the humans at the gala due to a brief flashback of him seeing Cyn eating a human hand (when he touches the Zombie Drones VHS tape.)

- Tessa is killed, and in a twisted way of sticking to her word of not discarding her, Cyn skins her corpse to graft it onto her drone body. (Due to an image of humans in hazmat suits finding Tessa surrounded by the remains of the people from the gala, it’s not fully known if Cyn also killed her at the gala and then posed as her, or if she was killed shortly afterwards.)

- Cyn converts the drones from the manor, including N, V, and J into deadly “Disassembly Drones.” They are given a “nerfed” version of the Solver that Cyn has admin access over to better remain control over them. Their memories are erased before setting them loose to slaughter the rest of the humans on Earth. Sometime after, the Solver causes the planet to implode into a black hole.

- The other colonies on the human exoplanets catch wind of what’s happened back on Earth, so JCJenson establishes “Cabin Fever Labs” to research the Solver and how to stop it.

- One of these labs is established on Copper-9 at Camp 98.7 and its surrounding mineshafts (and a cathedral that was there for some reason.) Multiple drones are purposely given the Solver, notably Nori (002) and Yeva (048.)

- The other exoplanets of the Proxima and Plat-Binary systems are corrupted and wiped out due to the Solver spreading and the Disassembly Drones presumably being sicced there.

- Nori ends up becoming possessed by the Solver. Eventually the JCJenson scientists on Copper-9 are able to create a Crucifix USB patch that can get rid of the Solver’s hold on its hosts. This patch is seemingly only successfully used on Yeva. Unfortunately, before it can be used on Nori, the Solver uses her to kill all the scientists except for an intern named Mitchell who had mistakenly put on the wrong uniform of a doctor and had been sent to fetch Yeva.

- Before the Solver can kill Mitchell after he returns, Yeva saves him and throws the USB into Nori’s face which frees her from its control, but also leaves her mind scrambled. However, the Solver is still able to create a small black hole with Nori’s hand that Yeva is forced to cut off. It’s sent falling into a pit to the planet’s core that the Solver had opened up prior.

- Copper-9’s planetary core partly implodes which wipes all organic life off the planet and turns it into a frozen wasteland. (Don’t worry. The dogs had been evacuated beforehand.) It seems a group of humans tried to survive by cryogenically freezing themselves in a bunker called “Outpost 3” in one of Copper-9’s cities. This didn’t work due to the computer having an error. This leaves the Worker Drones to inherit the planet and embrace their freedom.

Aftermath:

Year still unknown

- Nori and Yeva escape Cabin Fever Labs, while other test subjects such as Alice (017) are left behind to try and survive the lab’s Anti Drone sentinels. Nori meets a drone named Khan Doorman and ends up marrying him while Yeva also finds herself a husband.

- Uzi Doorman and Doll are created by their parents uploading parts of their code into Untrained Neural Networks and they both inherit their mothers’ connections to the Solver.

- The Doorman family experiences moments of happy family memories until Nori begins to have “kooky insane” ramblings and visions about the Solver and Disassembly Drones which she refers to as “Sky Demons” as a result of her brain being scrambled from the USB patch.

- Nori tries to warn the other drones and tells Khan to build doors to shelter themselves from the upcoming dangers.

Return of the Solver:

Sometime before the year 3071

- Cyn/The Solver sends squads of Disassembly Drones to Copper-9. Their memories are wiped and they are made to believe they were created and sent by the humans of JCJenson to eliminate the rogue Worker Drone population. Their directive also involves piling their kills into a “Corpse Spire” and locating Cabin Fever Labs. Cyn also wants to kill all other Solver hosts for an unknown reason.

- The squad consisting of N, V, and J lands close to the bunker of Outpost 3 and begin killing any Worker Drones they come across.

- V is seemingly the only Disassembly Drone that has retained some memory of Cyn and the Solver. She keeps this to herself and follows her directive so Cyn will leave her alone. Additionally, she also pretends to forget about N, believing this will protect him.

- A colony of Worker Drones takes shelter in Outpost 3 where Khan starts to build protective doors like his wife had requested. Around this time Nori is stung with a Disassembly Drone’s nanite acid. Khan uses a wrench to put her out of her misery. However, unbeknownst to anyone else, Nori manages to survive in her Solver core/heart form and goes back to Cabin Fever Labs so she can look for the Crucifix USB Patch.

- V kills Doll’s parents. Doll witnesses this while hiding and the trauma seemingly causes her Solver abilities to begin manifesting.

- The “Worker Drone Defence Force” is established in Outpost 3 with Khan as the leader. Unfortunately, they don’t really try to defend anything and just play cards behind the doors.

- The other Disassembly Drone squads that make it to Cabin Fever Labs are killed by either the Sentinels or Alice and (presumably) her son Beau. Alice scavenges parts from Disassembly Drones and Worker Drones to add to herself and Beau since he is stuck in an Untrained Neural Network body. She also learns to put the Solver cores in heat as it “makes them sluggish.”

Year 3071

- The events of episodes 1 - 7 occur

• Recent Revelation: At the end of episode 3 Cyn arrives on Copper-9 impersonating an older Tessa. She is accompanied by a backed up copy of J who was previously killed by Uzi in episode 1. It’s currently unknown if J is aware that Tessa is actually dead.

[ravenna-reid]

Whiskey, Sultry Tunes & Vigilantes

JASON TODD x JAZZ CLUB SINGER READER

Jason just needs to go to the most famous Jazz club in Gotham to gather intel then quickly leave, but a certain singer makes him stay longer than he anticipated... No warnings <3

I actually rlly like this one so pls lmk if you do too!

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

A magnetic violet blanketed the room from the lights that constantly streamed inside of the club, setting a soft, sensual mood. Guests sat before the stage, a few residing along the quiet bar. Subtle discussions and the clinks of scotch and wine glasses simmered in the air, along with the melancholic yet powerful tune that came from the band and their instruments. The sombre cello, the soulful piano, the triumphant trumpet.

And the famous Jazz singer of the club.

The Blue Room’s jewel. 

Sparkling diamonds hung from your ears and adorned your neck. Glistening eyeshadow, slick eyeliner and plump lips. A black silk dress hugged at your body and draped down to the floor, gloves the same colour running up above your elbows complimenting your dress. The wig you wore looked unbelievably real, the cherry red catching glints of the deep purple from the stage lights above as you sung the sultry tune. Men from across the city always came to watch you sing. Voice sweet like honey, smooth like whiskey, strong like thunder. All eyes were trained on you, and people either wanted to be you, or be with you. There was no inbetween.

Jason had merely heard the gossip about the Blue Room. About its perfect blues music and its reputation for the best served scotch and wine.

He’d also heard about the alluring singer that sang there almost every night.

But not being a fan of crowds or anywhere where parties were often thrown, he never went. Until tonight.

“And you’re sure Black Mask and Penguin are conspiring together in the private booths at this club?”

Dick had asked Jason earlier that week as they both went over their limited evidence on the case in the Batcave. 

“No, that’s why I’m going to go investigate.” Jason answered without looking up from the papers sprawled out in front of him. 

“It’d be a shame if it were true,” Dick sighed, “I love that place.”

“Of course you do.” Jason shook his head.

“Can I come?”

“No.”

Leaving the bustling alleyway behind as he entered the club, the atmosphere around him immediately shifted. The rhythm and blues that so often enveloped the club filled his senses instantly. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes, the LED lights that set the mood for the performance, the sound of the band…

And her. 

One gloved hand holding her microphone, the other gently stretching out to the crowd as she lulled them with her song. Her voice, her words, her eyes…

A softness painted her expression, mixed with subtle confidence and a magnifying aura. Elegance. Strength. Heartbreak.

So much emotion in just one song. So much emotion lacing her angelic voice. 

Jason was irrevocably drawn to you. 

The sudden sound of bellowing laughter from a table in front of him drew Jason back into reality. And he was soon reminded that he was there for work, not for entertainment. 

Blood rushing and heart racing – which was actually ridiculous – Jason ignored you and turned down the side of the bar to the more secluded part of the club. Round, mahogany tables that were much larger than the ones before the stage were occupied by couples. The music became more drowned out at that end of the club, more suitable for those who were wanting a romantic date night. Further down though, along the wall and past the bar sat the four private booths. Two were open; a lit bulb in the centre and purple velvet couches on display. But the other two had their curtains drawn.

As Jason crept towards one of the closed booths, his ears fought to listen to your voice. His legs fought to drag him back to the stage. His eyes fought to steal glances of you. Coming to a halt at the first booth, he ripped the curtain back. Two lovers, one on the other's lap, immediately look up at Jason, mortification frozen on their faces. 

“Sorry, wrong booth.” He quickly said before hastily drawing the curtain closed. His cheeks became a rose red as he moved to the next booth. 

Green eyes, so horrifically mesmerised, found their way back to you again as he searched for your figure through the crowd, his eyes following your voice. It was coming to the end of the song, and just as you were hitting the high note, a silence fell over the room as people listened. Giving a subtle shake of his head, he pulled himself back together.

“Come on, Jason.”

Jason was just about to draw the curtain to the second booth open when –

Ears straining to re-hear what he thought he heard, Jason let go of the curtain and looked to his side. Muffled yells could be heard. Past the bar and bathrooms down a dimly lit corridor. A man in an ivory tuxedo, obviously custom made, gripped at the collar of a man in black before him. The man he was grabbing looked fearful as he desperately tried to talk his way out of the situation. But the man in the tuxedo was past practical discussions. He wanted something. And he didn’t want to have to wait any longer. Cheeks a violent red and the hair he had left a dishevelled mess, he finally let go of the man. 

Thunderous applause caught Jason completely off guard as his focus shifted back to you. 

You gave a small, polite bow to the audience, and when you looked back up out into the crowd, your smile instantly gleamed brighter than the lights and jewels that surrounded you. You took the air from Jason’s lungs. 

The band members behind you nodded their heads in appreciation to the crowd. Whistles filled the air alongside the applause. Someone threw a daisy onto the stage. Jason scoffed.

Daisies aren’t nearly pretty enough for her.

Looking back down the corridor to see what the men were doing now, his heart sank when he found they were gone. 

“Shit.”

Ignoring his desire to look back at you one last time, worried you were finished for the night, Jason began down the corridor. Once he reached the end, there were two doors. One that he was sure led to the back of the building where the dumpsters and connecting alleyways sat. Another, however, looked like a small office. Thankfully, the door was slightly open. Jason peered through it to find the one who was just abused by the man in the tuxedo sitting at the desk, head in his hands. Stacks of paper were his only company, alongside framed pictures, certificates and awards for his business, posters of famous singers, and a shimmering gold plaque.

A plaque that read his name.

Jason took a mental note, but his eyes wandered as he wondered where the man in the ivory tuxedo went.

The man in black was sudden in his movement, sending a spike of anxiety through Jason’s chest. He quickly stood from his desk and went through another door in his office; a door that led to the dressing rooms. As Jason listened, he assumed the man was talking to and preparing the other singers that would soon take your place for the remainder of the night. Taking his chance, Jason quickly crept into his office and grabbed a few notes, envelopes, and folders from his desk. Slipping them into his jacket, he was gone in a blink of an eye as the man made his way back into the room. 

But performers were beginning to fill the back area, and Jason had to quickly leave. Walking back down where he came, he opened the back door and stepped outside.

The warm breeze instantly brushed through his raven black hair and against his skin. The dark, Gotham night sky stared down at him from above. Distant sounds of traffic filled the air. It was in no way better than the atmosphere inside of that club, but it was familiar. Comforting. 

Securing the documents he had obtained in the inner pockets of his jacket, Jason was ready to leave until something caught his eye. 

Silky gloved hands ran up and down your arms. Soft cherry red curls swayed against the skin of your back in the wind. 

Jason couldn’t believe it. It was you. It was actually you.

Your eyes were trained on the night sky above, searching for the stars that hid behind the clouds, and although Jason couldn't see your face, he could imagine the serene expression that was painted across it. 

What were you doing out here?

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he got to see you one last time before he left. And suddenly all thoughts and questions centering around the man in black and the man in the ivory tuxedo vanished like mist.

He soon realised you hadn’t heard him come outside. He continued standing nimbly behind you. Fiddling with his fingers and feet rooted in the ground like trees. Heart beating faster than a hiccup. 

Say something. Say something. Say something. Say something.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone you know.”

Voice so soft, so gentle. You looked over your shoulder up at Jason, your eyes catching the light from the street lamp beside him.

Jason’s breath hitched.

Shit.

Part Two Soon