#i want to feel the shiny plastic of his glasses as i push his hair behind his ear

[1980ssunflower]

AOUHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[moralesmilesanhour]

piece of cake

summary: meeting miles g at a bakery, and other happenings. wc: 3k+ warning: blood, grief (more at the periphery, not a major theme), and lightly implied mommy issues a/n: ngl i was hungry asf when i wrote this. why can't i ever write normal fluff fics anymore. first fic of 2024!!

Brooklyn Middle is closed for winter break. The basketball court where the snow-covered hoop no longer has a net is empty, save for the blinking Christmas lights strung across the chain-link fence.

In a few years, the pizza place across the street where students would linger after school will be demolished, replaced by a shiny new Oscorp building that reflects the sun from all angles of its glass exterior. But for now, the place is just closed early for the holidays, a few blocks away from a bakery.

The tall, bear-like frame of a father dressed in a long black overcoat can be seen entering with a wiry young boy in a red hoodie and bomber jacket tailing close behind. He has an afro as opposed to his father’s closely-cropped hair. The boy keeps trying to straighten his posture - as if his spine would suddenly lengthen and his shoulders would broaden from the act alone. He wants to make himself look important today, because he is on a top-secret mission: 

Operation: Get Mom a Cake.

“I think mom’ll like that one.”

The boy points at a slice of tres leches cake sitting behind a glass display. It’s not as flashy as the other decorative cakes drizzled with chocolate and strawberries or encased in pink frosting, but those wouldn’t melt on the tongue the way tres leches did. 

His father raised an eyebrow at the plain slice, but the boy looked at him with a certainty that he’d never seen before, through eyes nearly identical to his mother’s. The man knew then that he was getting an expert opinion.

“Alright, if you say so,” he chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “We’ll take that one, Val.”

The boy smiled proudly at the older woman as she handed him the pink box containing the cake. Mission accomplished.

Now, he looks up and frowns at the Oscorp building blocking the view of where his old school used to be as he picks at a slice of cake with a plastic fork.

The ‘Employees Only’ door behind the counter swings open, and Valeria Cruz hobbles out, removing her apron.

“It’s almost your shift, Miles, hurry up and finish that cake.”

Miles takes one more bite before rising from his seat near the entrance and pushing the paper plate and half-eaten slice into a small trash can.

“You got it, Miss V.”

“Did you take out the trash?”

He pauses, and his eyes widen.

“I’mma get that done right now, Miss V!”

The woman sighs, running a hand through gray and white-streaked curls as the teen sprints out the door and back outside.

A forest green puffer jacket rushes past you on the sidewalk. It’s the same one you had seen shuffling out of the back entrance of Val’s bakery the other morning, lugging two black garbage bags with a purple hoodie obscuring the stranger’s face. 

He probably works there, then, you think. Good. She could use the help.

The place had been packed the week before Officer Morales’ funeral, and for several weeks after. But over time, business began to slow down to a trickle. Hipster cafés and towering condos sprang up and choked out the little pizza shops and restaurants that took their owners’ last names, like when an invasive species of plant grows taller than the local varieties and smothers them, blocking out the sun.

You had been seeing Val’s face since you were in diapers. Families used to go there for birthdays, for elementary school graduations, middle school graduations - or sometimes just to grab something sweet to eat after church on Sundays. You continued the tradition–even if just to buy a tiny bag of cookies–in the hopes that the place might still be standing for your high school graduation. 

The bell above the door rings to signal your entrance. The once baby pink wallpaper has begun to fade, but the late-afternoon sun makes it feel as vibrant as it did when you were twelve. Valeria is standing in front of the display of freshly-baked pastries with her apron folded neatly over her arm.

“Oh, were you about to close up shop?” You begin to take backward steps. “I can come back later–”

“No, no, sweetie, it’s fine!” The woman waves her hand, beckoning you to stay. “I was just about to go on my lunch break. I have someone about to take over for me.”

“It’s cool, I can wait. I saw somebody taking out the trash, that him?”

She sighs wearily, “That’s him, alright. He’s a good kid, but he’s always–”

“Sorry I’m late!”

In rushes Mr. Green Jacket through a chilly gust of wind, who turns to nod in greeting towards you before weaving past Val and behind the counter, where he disappears through the ‘Employees Only’ door.

“That boy, I swear. Never on time!”

He reappears sans the jacket, wearing a white apron identical to the one Val is holding. The name tag on it reads ‘Miles’. 

Miles. Where have you heard that name before…?

The hood on his sweater is no longer pulled over his head, revealing two neat cornrows that cascade all the way down his neck. The surrounding hair has been shaved and faded at the nape of his neck and hairline. He’s the sort of brown-skinned that looks golden when the sunlight hits his face as he approaches the cash register. 

“You gonna be alright for the next half hour?” asked Val with an eyebrow raised.

Miles drummed his fingers on the counter and grinned. “Yup, I got it.”

“Don’t destroy anything while I’m gone!”

“I won’t, promise.”

She pushes the door open with a skeptical look and leaves.

With this new stranger temporarily in charge, you carefully approach the counter. He looks up at you with curious brown eyes.

“Whatchu want?”

“Um…” you blink before remembering what you were here for. “Just sugar cookies, please.”

“How many?”

“Five.”

He turns to grab a paper bag, then bends to drop the desired amount of cookies into it with the pair of tongs that sit on the inside of the display.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what school you go to? I haven’t seen you around here before, feel like I’d remember you if I had.”

Miles pops his head over the counter and tilts his head with a cheeky grin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You avoid eye contact, shifting from one foot to the other. Suddenly it’s not so cold anymore.

“I-I don’t know. You just seem memorable.”

He laughs a raspy, breathy laugh and hands you the bag of cookies over the counter. His hand is much larger than yours with slender fingers at the end of it, but still manages to appear almost clumsy-looking. Big enough to be a man’s, but with only half the dexterity.

“I go to Visions.”

“Fancy. You like it over there?”

“It’s aight. Kinda uptight, but my dad always said it was a ‘good opportunity’, so I stayed.”

You hum in consideration. 

“Can't do everything for your parents, though. They'll have you living their dreams before you know it.”

The smile fades a bit, and Miles averts his gaze.

“Well my dad passed, so I just figured I’d just do this one thing for him.”

You cover your mouth with your palm.

“I'm so sorry, I–”

“It's fine,” he snorts without any humor. “You might be the only one that doesn't know who my daddy is. Kind of a relief.”

Miles encloses the money you just gave him in the slot beneath the cash register with a loud snap. 

“You need anything else?”

You chew on your bottom lip in embarrassment and clutch your bag of cookies.

“No. Thank you.”

He doesn’t look up from the register.

“Have a nice day.”

Your mother is leaning on the window sill, nibbling on a granola bar when you get back home. She’s silent, which means she is observing. You’ll need to tread carefully. 

“I brought cookies.”

She gives you a sidelong glance.

“Val’s cookies?”

“Yup, same as always.”

“That lady still working there all by herself?”

“She hired somebody to help out, actually - I saw a boy working the register.”

She notices the upward inflection in your voice at the mention of a boy, which interests her more than the cookies.

“What’s he look like?”

“He’s got, um,” you make a gesture over your head. “Twin braids–cornrows–and a green jacket? Kinda tall, too.”

Your mother nods, thoughtful. The description rings a bell, but she needs to confirm.

“You catch his name?”

“Miles, I think.”

“Lord,” she gasps, fully turning to face you. “That’s that Morales boy! I used to work with his momma, bless her heart. Barely saw his face after the funeral.”

The image of Miles’ face at the mention of his dad makes you cringe at your comment earlier. How could you not recognize him? He practically stole his face from the mural that was plastered above the precinct. You had only heard the boy’s name uttered once by your mother over the phone at 2:00 A.M., whispered like a secret.

“I can’t imagine how it must be for Miles. Didn’t he just get into that nice school down there? Of course they’ll have to let him go home. He should be with his mother.”

“He was such a sweet little boy. Then I saw him the other day?” 

She shook her head, “Look like a different person. He had them flashy studs in his ears, nose pierced and everything.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he had tattoos under that coat as well. Damn shame.”

“He seemed nice when I saw him,” you remark quietly in a weak attempt to defend his character, despite having known him for all of five minutes. “Sweet, like you said.”

Your mother’s face hardens, all of her attention now focused on you as she folds the wrapping of the granola bar.

“That’s why you’re not bringing no boys home ‘till you’re eighteen,” she sharply reminds you. “‘Seems nice’ - How you know if he’s really nice or not?”

Again, Miles’ face appears in your mind’s eye. He didn’t seem to want your pity - rejected it, even. And what of his apparent chronic lateness? 

Still…

“You don’t know that, either,” you say despite yourself. “I spoke to him while I was there.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow. 

“Girl, I know that look. I better not see you runnin’ around with that boy, understand me?”

She looks set on not changing her mind now, so you only nod in defeat.

“Yes, ma’am.”

In your head, you’re already making plans to hit up the bakery tomorrow - both to apologize and to see the sun kissing Miles’ face again. Maybe tomorrow he’d even have the piercings in.

But when you get there the next day under the guise of ‘a trip to the corner store’, Miles isn’t at the register. 

The sky has turned a pale shade of gray, and it has begun to drizzle. Pulling your navy blue coat tightly around you, you consider turning back around when–

Boom!

The sound of something hitting a trash can from behind the establishment catches your attention. It could be him taking out the trash at the last minute again.

Your assumption is proven only halfway correct.

Stepping over discarded boxes and tin cans, you find Miles doubled over, clutching his side. “Are you okay?” 

Startled, bloodshot eyes glance at you before focusing on the ground.

“Fucking fantastic,” he grunts painfully.

As you get closer, you can see a dark stain blooming from where his hand is. A sick feeling swirls in your stomach.

“Oh my God, do you need me to call somebody?”

“Nah, I’m…I’m straight,” Miles says through labored breaths. “I just gotta…patch myself up before I get home.”

You whip out your phone and frantically unlock it.

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Hell no–”

“You are bleeding!”

He tilts his head towards a duffle bag lying near his feet. 

“I got First Aid in there…that’ll do me just fine.”

When he tries to reach for the bag, his knees give out, causing him to collapse right next to it.

-

Miles shivers as you gingerly wrap white bandages around his waist, the flat expanse of skin on his stomach partially exposed to the elements. He fades in and out of consciousness, between your face and black nothingness. When he’s awake, he stares up at you in disbelief.

“I didn’t call 9-1-1, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you tell him with a grin. “This should stop the bleeding, but I can’t help you beyond that.”

“Wusyaname?” he mumbles, head lolling towards you. He’s on the brink of passing out again.

“Call me (Y/N).”

“Wasn’t gon’ call you anything else.”

“Shut up, I just saved your life.”

“Mmmm-hm,” Miles hums with a lazy smile that makes you wonder if he’s becoming delirious.

“Eeeeverybody loves sayin’ that. Everybody always…”

His eyelids get heavy before he can finish the thought, and he finally blacks out again in your lap. 

-

There’s a short line inside the bakery that weekend, and you wonder if Miles has anything to do with it. 

Word seemed to get around mysteriously fast that the former teenaged recluse had come out of hiding after that conversation (if you could even call it that) with your mother. From where you’re sitting–by the window, nibbling on a sugar cookie, observing–Miles does not seem to enjoy the attention.

Or maybe you’re just imagining the strained smile on his face as the line of customers becomes a Greek chorus of gasps and squeals.

“You got so big!”

“What did you do to your hair?”

“Oh, you look just like Jeff.”

“How’s Rio?”

“Good to see you out and about again.”

The sparkling curiosity is nearly drained from his face by the time he joins you at the end of his shift with a slice of cake. He does not have the fabled nose piercing in, but two diamond studs sparkle when the light hits them every time he moves his head.

“So?”

“So…?”

“Are you alright after I found you the other day? I saw you limping back there.”

Miles rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine. My mom’s literally a nurse. She got me straight.”

“What’d you tell her? Looked like you broke a rib.”

“Far as she’s concerned, I fell off my bike.”

“I’ve never seen you on a bike.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”

You shrug. Touche.

“What did you have to say to me that was worth stalking me after my shift?”

“Stalking?”

“You buy the same thing every time, you think I ain’t notice?” Miles smirks, like a detective who’s just gotten a confession. “Who goes to a bakery and only gets cookies?”

“Lay off me, man, these are excellent,” you take another bite for emphasis. “Anyways, I actually came to apologize.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “For what?”

“For what I said the first time I saw you. I didn’t know you were that Miles.”

The corners of Miles’ lips pull downwards into a frown. 

“That’s it?”

“Mm, well…”

You bite your lip by force of habit.

“I also wanted to talk to you again. Under better circumstances. That your favorite type of cake?”

Miles looks down at his plate when you point to it with your fork, as if he’s seeing it for the first time.

“Yeah, tres leches. What about it?”

“I dunno, I just always see you eating that and nothing else. Is there a reason?”

You expect to say something about the sweetness, or the texture, but instead he answers:

“It always tastes the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…” He puts down his fork and starts to construct an analogy in his head.

“It’s like when you see an ice cream truck. You run up to it before it drives off, and what do you ask for? First thing that pops into your head?”

“Vanilla?”

“Exactly. You could try one of the other ones, but what if it tastes like ass? Now you stuck eating something you don’t like–”

“And it’s a waste of money.”

“Exactly!” Miles laughs. “You get it. My mom makes fun of me because I’ve been eating the same thing since I was five. But it’s always good! And the same amount of good.”

“Can’t argue with that.” 

You tap your nails on the table, thinking. 

“But what if you find a new flavor that you really like?”

He shrugs, “Then lucky me, I guess. But that doesn’t tend to happen.”

“It could happen, though.”

He watches the strange way you eat. Slowly, teeth-first, as if you’re afraid to make a mess. It’s weirdly dainty, which makes him chuckle beneath his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-uh, don’t do that. What’s so funny?”

Miles gives you that same head tilt again.

“It’s cute, the way you eat.”

Your hand freezes just as it’s about to lift another cookie to your mouth, and you stare at him blankly.

“That’s…”

He pauses too. 

“...Weird, yeah. Sorry. I dunno why I said that.”

A beat of silence passes that’s so heavy with awkwardness, that the two of you can’t help but burst into poorly-stifled laughter.

You lean forward with your chin resting in your hand. “That’s fine. I kept coming here just to spy on you, so I guess I’m weird, too.”

“Ah, so you admit it!”

“Hey, if I wasn’t bein’ a total creep, you might’ve bled out next to the garbage dump. Val can’t lose a valuable employee, right?”

“If you put it that way.”

You can see the white of some of Miles’ teeth peeking out as he smiles. One of his canines is charmingly crooked, and sharper than the others. When the smile fades, he suddenly looks uncertain.

“Can I ask you a question this time?” 

“Ask away.”

“Do you wanna make this,” he gestures between you, “like, a regular thing? Y’know, ‘meeting under better circumstances’.”

It’s your turn for a smile to spread across your face. 

“We should. Whatever you did to end up bleeding out in the rain, I guess I’d be a witness now.”

“M-hm. Can’t have you yappin’ about that to my customers,” He plays along, then winks. “I’mma need your number too, just in case.”

Just before you reach for your phone in your pocket, you hear your mother’s voice in your head, casting a shadow over the whole thing and giving you pause.

All jokes aside, Miles had never explained what had landed him in that predicament behind the bakery in the first place. He’s always late. He lies to his mother. You’re about to lie to your mother. 

But the sun is hitting his face again, and with the light bouncing off of his pupils, he looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly. The shadow remains at the corner of your eye. Just the corner.

You grin and hand him your phone.

“You got it. Just in case.”

[streakyglasses]

i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings

“I love you, Chris,” he starts, spurred on by her even nod and gentle smirk. Her heart starts to beat louder in her chest, like her body knows what’s coming, but she doesn’t let her hopes run away with her yet.

part two of darling, you're the one i want

read on ao3, ffn, or under the cut

Their first official date is nothing less than a mess. 

First, both have to push it back for their jobs taking them away for days at a time, then their first choice of restaurant is impossible to get a reservation at, and, when they think they’ve nailed something down, Chris wakes up the morning of with the flu courtesy of her nephew that keeps her out of commission for another week. 

“I’m not counting this,” she mutters in a stuffy voice, barely audible over the drone of her TV. It’s not until she’s asleep with her head in his lap and his hand carding through her hair that he gets what she means. 

When they finally find themselves sitting across from one another, it’s at a diner a few blocks from Street’s house, at almost 9pm. The small TV in the corner is replaying footage of a swat op, colored lines cutting through the tape every few seconds. Their waitress, despite the discerning lack of people in the place, takes fifteen minutes to get their drinks. When she sets them down, the clunk of the plastic on linoleum breaks through their thick silence. 

They’ve known one another for years. They’ve saved each other’s lives more than once. We’ve had sex, they each think. But neither can keep the pressure of perfection from hanging over the table, the rain heavy enough to shutter the butterflies in their stomachs. 

“How was your day?” Chris asks, for what feels like the thousandth time, as her glass sweats onto her hand. Street nods and taps his straw against the table to tear its paper wrapper. 

“Good,” he smiles tightly. “Beat 40-Squad during drills, so that’s always a nice thing to have to hold over them. How was yours?” 

She shrugs. Her eyes fall to his hands, where his nimble fingers are rolling the straw wrapper into a thin band.

“Okay, still a big adjustment. I feel good about it, though.” 

She takes a sip of her water to cover the way her stomach flips, unsure of what to say next. 

“I’m happy for you. Give me your hand.” 

“Why?” She questions. His grin grows and her eyes narrow with suspicion. 

“Just do it.” He goads, needing to cut the tension before it suffocates them both. Rolling her eyes, Chris looks around the dimly lit joint one more time. No witnesses in sight, she slides her right hand over the table to him. 

Street moves her hand so her pointer finger hovers over the band of straw wrapper. Carefully, he wraps the two ends around her finger and ties it off, the small knot on top like where a diamond would sit. His own hand is warm and familiar in hers when he holds her steady so he can rip the extra off without tearing the whole thing. Satisfied with his work, he gives Chris her hand back, and meets her eyes. 

It’s like the clouds over them open up, offering blue sky and warm sunshine that it’s impossible not to relax under. She lets out a light laugh, shaking her head but it’s clear how much she adores him. She puts her hand up to admire his work. 

“I like it.”

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

Somewhere between then and now, it becomes a habit. Straw wrappers for everything from smoothies at the pier to SWAT galas and dinners at Paul’s turn into rings. 

Street experiments with how to twist and fold the paper, eventually getting so good at it he can close the knots before sliding the ring onto her finger, and it fits perfectly every time. A rush runs through her whenever he takes her hand to put it on, regardless of where he does. 

Each new addition to the collection gets carried home safely in her jacket pocket. They end up strewn about in the cup holders of her truck or in her backpack, but mostly in her nightstand drawer, little white rings like stars to make wishes on. She doesn’t know if he’s noticed that she’s kept them all, an ever-growing promise that she can’t help but look forward to.

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

The restaurant is bustling as Street holds the door open for Chris, transporting them from the sweet smell of late spring air to mouthwatering burgers and thick-cut fries. He runs his hand down her leather jacket to rest on the small of her back as their eyes adjust from the bright sun to the low-yellow lighting and exposed brick walls. Recognizing them, the host offers a smile and has menus in hand before they even reach her. 

“Hey! Glad to have you guys back with us. Corner table alright?” 

With a quick look between them, Chris nods. 

“Perfect, thank you.” 

The three weave around the other tables and servers, eyes drifting from one plate of tantalizing food to the next, until they reach theirs. Menus set down, the host promises to return with water and leaves them with another easy smile. With so many bodies, Chris slides her jacket off to reveal the toned arms that Street fell in love with. She rolls her eyes at how he stares, but he makes no move to do the same with his own jacket, needing to feel the constant weight of the box in his pocket. His heart speeds up just thinking about it. 

“Here you are,” the host says as she sets down two glasses of water and cuts through his train of thought. “Your server will be over in a minute. Enjoy!” 

Street squeezes the lemon into his water, chuckling at how Chris wrinkles her nose, and draws his eyes over the menu. 

“You’re not doing your usual?” Chris teases, though she’s also perusing. “No broccolini?” 

He looks at her like it’s a ridiculous question. She laughs, brushing her foot up his leg under the table. Silence falls between them as they look over the menu, interrupted by a server a few minutes later, obviously stressed from the rush of people. 

“Hi, sorry! What can I get you two to drink?” 

“Iced tea with lemon, please,” Chris says, and is quickly echoed by Street. The server scratches it down. 

“And are we ready to order?” 

Sharing a look, they nod. 

“I’ll do the Whiskey Bacon burger please, medium rare, with broccolini and fries. Thank you.” 

Her eyebrows raise at Street as the server’s eyes swivel over. 

“The All-American please, medium rare, also broccolini and fries.” 

They hand the server their folded menus and he sticks his guest checks back in his pocket, scurrying away. Chris watches him go and then turns back to Street, their bodies settling into the space. 

“How was work?” 

“Calm, actually,” Street says on an exhale, his shoulders still knotted from their last op, which had him tackling a suspect. “Deacon’s helping Sanchez with a private security gig and Tan’s out of town with his mom, so Hicks has us holding down the fort at HQ. Still kicking ass, though.” 

She rolls her eyes but laughs softly at his comment. He’s about to ask how her day was when their server sets down their iced teas and two straws. After opening hers, she gives the wrapper to Street, twinkles in both of their eyes. His heart skips a beat as he undoes his own straw and straightens out the paper. He feels his blood start rushing and reminds himself there’s an entire dinner to get through first, one that he’s been looking forward to for two weeks, and hopes Chris doesn’t notice the slow breaths he takes. 

“I’m sure,” Chris continues. “Helena asked to do dinner at their place the next night you have free, by the way. Or breakfast, whatever works.” 

“So you’re saying I can have another breakfast burger?” Street teases, eyes moving from the paper that he’s expertly folding to Chris’s hands. She grimaces, saying, if that’s what he wants. 

“You and Tomas both with those.” 

He chuckles, and she relaxes into the deep set of his dimples and how the green in his eyes catches in the lighting. She’s content to watch him finish folding the ring, throwing around in her head which finger it’s for. When he’s done, he looks up and straight into her soft eyes, and a warm blush creeps up his neck. 

His gaze drops to her left ring finger and he wants nothing more than to take her hand, but he’s afraid he’ll give himself away so he takes her right instead. It’s exhilarating nonetheless, and the smile Chris gives him could save the world.

“I love you,” he says quietly. It gets lost in the noise to everyone but them. 

“I love you, too. Thanks for the ring.”

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

By the time they leave Paul’s, the air has chilled slightly and the periwinkle dusk has been replaced by stars. Chris wraps a hand around Street’s forearm as the door swings shut behind them. 

“You still want to go for a walk?” Street asks, butterflies in his stomach underlined with fear that she’ll say no. The ring in his pocket grows heavier by the second. Looking across the street, down the path that borders the shore, Chris takes a second to feel out her own body, and nods. 

“Lead the way.”

His hand is warm in hers as they fall in step with each other. The crosswalk changes and they find themselves on the other side of the street, the gentle crashing of the waves and their own footsteps is all they hear. It’s a silence neither ever thought they’d be used to living in, let alone with someone else, but Chris focuses on the constant brush of Street’s thumb over hers, and he keeps his on keeping his breathing steady. 

“Chris?” He asks, once they’re so far down the walk that there’s no other souls around and the restaurant is nothing more than a blip of light behind them. Nerves sit on his voice, and she stops walking but doesn’t drop his hand. 

“Yeah? You okay?” 

“Yeah,” he promises with a nod, his grip on her tightening as his other hand closes around the box in his pocket. He looks away from her and over the horizon, trying to memorize the shape of the world and how it was never this clear before her. Thinking about every moment they’ve spent together, good, bad, and otherwise brings tears rushing to his eyes. 

“Street?” Chris whispers, concern in her irises and her free hand cradling his cheek so he has to look back at her. “Talk to me. What’s going on?” 

Laughing in disbelief and gratitude, he shakes his head small to try to dry the tears, and looks down at their interconnected hands before finding her eyes. 

“Nothing, really. Well, something, but—”

Stopping himself, Street grounds himself in the rise and fall of his shoulders through a 4-count inhale and an 8-count exhale. He takes the ring out of his pocket, but keeps it tight in his fist so she doesn’t notice just yet. 

“I love you, Chris,” he starts, spurred on by her even nod and gentle smirk. Her heart starts to beat louder in her chest, like her body knows what’s coming, but she doesn’t let her hopes run away with her yet. 

“I’ve loved you since I don’t know when. Maybe it was the first day we met, maybe it was during one of the million times that you saved my ass or helped me when you had no reason to, but I know now, at this moment, I love you. I’m always going to love you. You keep me safe, you make me a better person.”

Tears start rolling down his cheeks faster, some wiped away by Chris’s thumb, and he makes no move to stop them. She feels tears start to gather in her eyes, too, her teeth finding her bottom lip to keep her from speaking too soon. The instinct to take a second of her own to look around hits her and she follows it without question. Waves churn beneath her, but the ground they’re standing on is solid in more ways than one. The metal on his jacket shines underneath the streetlamp, his cheeks red and his lips pink. Glancing down, she sees the almost-translucent ring of paper around her right pointer finger, and can’t stop the teary-laugh that escapes. He waits for her to find him again, clearing his throat.

“You—You’ve given me a life that I never thought was possible. A life that I never want to stop living. Will you please—”

He stops, dropping her hand so he can open the box with both of his, afraid he’s shaking so much that he’ll drop it. She takes a small step back to give him room as he starts to kneel. When he fumbles with the box again, she steadies him with a hand on his wrist, nodding before he’s even started talking again. 

“Will you please marry me?” 

Her heart pounds loud and high in her chest. It feels like she’s flying, and she’s not scared of crashing. Her tears blur her vision and the streaks of light make it hard to actually see the ring, but the moment goes so fast it doesn’t matter. Street’s pulling the ring from its velvet bed and sliding it onto her ring finger as she answers. 

“Yes!” She exclaims, nodding harder. The second he’s back on his feet, she pulls him to her, hands splayed over his face and jaw so their lips can meet in a salty, passionate kiss that feels as familiar to them as breathing. His arms wrap around her shoulders to hold her closer, and she nuzzles into his neck when they have to part for air. 

With Chris in his arms and his pocket notably lighter, Street feels his pulse start to return to its baseline, the anxiety and anticipation of the last few hours replaced by a golden warmth spreading through him that he wants to bottle up. 

“I love you,” Chris murmurs. It brings him out of his thoughts, and her lips are on his again not a second later. This kiss is slower, their bodies syncing up and drawing out every inch of connection between them. Her lips turn into a smile against his. A fire starts hot and wild in his core, sure the same light is blazing in Chris when he sees the look in her eyes. 

“You want to head home?” He asks. It feels more permanent saying it now, though, and he never wants to get tired of it. A blush comes over her at his tone, nothing but excitement and hunger and affection, and she nods, still catching her breath.  

“Yeah. Home,” she trails off, glancing back to take in the walkway and the moon one more time. 

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

After, Street’s pressing a trail of kisses up Chris’s shoulder and neck, eliciting a laugh that turns into a moan. Covering his hand that rests on her stomach with hers, she squeezes to make him stop, so he nuzzles into the nape of her neck instead. Her left arm is stretched out in front of her, the ring shining under the light of her bedside lamp, and Street’s lashes brush over her skin when he opens his eyes to look, too. 

“I want the box,” she whispers, feeling him shrug behind her. 

“Of course. Right now, or?” 

“No,” she stops him, tone light. “I just want to keep it in my nightstand drawer.” 

His eyes narrow and she turns her head over her shoulder to look at his face. Smiling, she drops his hand and reaches over to open the drawer, pulling him up to look at it. The collection of the straw-wrapper rings she has, the newest addition from tonight swept from the nightstand into the drawer, makes his heart swell. Some are yellowed or frayed with time, others are smushed, but it’s impossible to tell at first glance how many there even are. She feels a hot tear on her shoulder and turns over to face him completely, barely any space between their bodies. 

“I didn’t know you kept all of them,” he confesses. She shrugs, traces her eyes over his face until her nerves settle back into themselves. 

“I felt like they’d be important one day, I guess.” She says in a soft voice. “Whenever I’d look at them, I’d think of right now. Or something like it,” she adds quickly at his growing, cocky grin. 

“I’m going to wear the real one, obviously, but promise you won’t stop making me these, either?” 

Kissing her softly, he brushes a hand down her face. 

“I promise. You’ve got a lifetime of those. Maybe you can even make me one for the wedding.”

A bright laugh escapes her. Time seems to have slowed down around them, letting these beautiful moments hang on forever, and she moves even closer to him. Her breath is hot on his skin. 

“Maybe I will.” 

[chiwhorei]

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝)

𝐚𝐤𝐚: 𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐑𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬!!

pairing: t. amajiki x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: ~1.3k

tags: pervy!tamaki, mean!tamaki, dubcon, degradation, voyeurism, masturbation, tentacles in all of readers holes, dacryphilia, choking

a/n: this is my very late contribution to the whorehouse porn compilation, the rest of this questionable browser history can be found here! strap in because this might be the grossest shit i’ve written so far. no plot, porn is the point here friends.

(cross posted to Ao3!)

hymn: gooey by the glass animals

The first time was an accident, genuinely.

He meant to text you he would be home early, ever the courteous roommate, but it truly just slipped his mind. Surprise would be an understatement when he swings the front door open to the high pitched whines coming from your bedroom.

Curiosity piquing, Tamaki lines his shoes up by the door and follows the noise. He can see the outline of light seeping through your open door and hears another round of cries. 

“Hey, are you ok--” His words flop lifelessly on the floor in front of him. Oh.

Oh.

His eyes trail up from the end of your bed. The open laptop propped in between your legs, the bottle of lube sitting next to your knee, your bare thighs and--

“Do you like what you see, Suneater?”

Tamaki flushes, heat starting at the bridge of his nose and spreading across every inch of skin. He should really say something, or better yet, close your fucking door and do the rest of his processing on the other side. 

He can’t seem to do anything but stand and stare at the dripping wet toy still being pumping in and out of your cunt. It seems to have completely hypnotized him, watching the way the silicone disappears in between your slick folds, he swears he can see the quiver.

“What do you think about my toy?” Purple and oblong, you pull it all the way out. Tamaki’s stare burns right into the suction cup ridges and slim, curved tip. You drag it in a wet line up your skin, meeting your lips with a pout. 

“I picked this one out with you in mind.”

* * *

First time, shame on you.

That’s what they say, but Tamaki finds himself pressing against your doorframe and peering into your room for the 3rd time this week. His feet pull him here like a nasty habit, the crack in your door is far too welcoming. 

You left it open just for him.

Tamaki’s ears twitch, forehead tacky with sweat as he presses against the frame. Every time he finds himself in this very same position, shame trickles down his spine like poison.

Every inch of your skin is exposed to his stare. Looking upon you is invasive and slimy and wrong but fuck, with every movement of your toy, pumping in tandem with the hand around his painfully hard cock, the more each stolen glance feels intravenous. Tamaki is addicted. 

All he wants to do is touch you. Wrap you in his hold and explore every inch. He wants to know what your skin feels like. 

What does your hair smell like up close? He’s only ever been privy to the occasional carryover of strawberry as you walk by him in the kitchen. How do your moans feel vibrating just above his mouth? Would you cry out for him to stop or to keep going?

He’s never stepped closer than the line between carpet and hardwood, but that's really only a technicality. 

You feel it, foreign but unmistakable. The touch of something crawling up your leg, soft and sticky. It wraps around your leg, crawling upwards in salacious vines. Your voice rings in Tamaki’s ears. He repeats every syllable like prayer, his invitation.

“I picked this one out with you in mind.”

There’s no movement to stop him, you don’t scream or tell him to fuck off. Your body seems to welcome him, back arching as five quirked fingers wrap around your arms and hips. The popping of suction cups trail from your belly button, dragging against your breasts before you feel pressure at your neck. Your skin will be covered in round bruises in the morning. The kindling in Tamaki’s stomach feels more like a wildfire, shy demeanor melting away. The man in front of you isn’t going to waste any more time hesitating.  

“You’re such a little tease. You like fucking with me don’t you, princess?” Tamaki’s question is sneering, his tone cold and unfamiliar.

The tentacle wrapping around your neck squeezes tight enough to make you gasp, he doesn’t waste the opportunity.

He doesn’t really want you to answer him.

As soon as your lips part, your mouth is invaded. The tendril reaches all the way to the back of your throat before it lets up, your jaw already hurting at the stretch. Your vision blurs, the taste of briny-sweet flesh mixes with the salty tears running down your face.

You’re given only a moment to sputter, catching your breath before it’s taken away again, the squeals and cries bubbling in your throat are wasted energy.

“Always leaving your door open, teasing me. I’m not playing your games anymore.” Tamaki’s voice is unwavering, he’s serious.

You wail around the rubbery texture as another tentacle wraps around your breasts, suctioning on the sensitive peaks of your nipples. Tamaki moves closer with each sound he can pull from you, finally breaching the last shreds of privacy and shuffling across the carpet. All five fingers on his right hand are busy probing parts of your pliant body and restraining others. Through the haze you can’t deny how dexterous he is while making a mess of you. 

It would be impressive if you could think straight.

Each arm and leg is caught in the reddish-purple web, writhing against his hold only makes Tamaki’s grip tighter.

“I could do anything to this sweet little body, what could you do to stop me?” His words should scare you, but only one thing runs through your foggy head. 

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

If you could, the scream pressed against your makeshift gag would definitely alert your neighbors to the depravity just a wall away. You feel attention turning to the toy still plugging your weeping hole, a tentacle wrapping around the base and pulling it free with a squelch. From the corner of your eye, you catch the shiny plastic as it’s thrown to the other side of the room, hitting your wall with a hollow thud.

The tip of one tentacle prods at your clit for good measure before poking inside. Fear runs through your blood, cooling when mixed with overwhelming pleasure. Tamaki can reach places you’ve never felt before.

“So tight, so fucking warm.” Tamaki can feel you with each clench of your pussy, sliding in until he can feel tight band of your cervix. He could ruin you if he wanted, he ventures to guess you would let him.

You’re crying in long, fat streaks around the apples of your cheeks. With the help of another set of weaponized fingers, your legs are spread further and pushed to your chest. Tamaki’s cock aches, now ignored in favor of manipulating your body into a new angle so your ass is propped up. Muscles tense as he swipes the tip of his tentacle to trace around your rigid ring of muscle.

“I’ll take every one of these slutty little holes. You’ll feel me on your skin for days.” He promises you, pushing past your resistant muscles, they’re no match.

Your head is swimming now, logic is replaced with the feeling of being so full.

Stimulation assaults your senses from every direction, Tamaki fucking into your body with fatal rhythm. Going farther, deeper, harder. All you’re left with is shaking limbs and muted whines.

It hurts, it feels so good. It’s so disgusting but so hot. You’re meek, bushy roommate has made you little more than a fucktoy with what seems like minimal effort. You’re hurdled to a sloppy wet orgasm faster than ever before. 

Tamaki can tell that you’re close, studying the way your eyes screw up and brows furrow before falling over the edge for weeks from the comfort of your door jam. The consuming bliss overtakes your body, every muscle tensing, shaking from exhaustion as the cord pulls tight and snaps with fury. If you could, you would scream out the name of your captor, all you can manage a garbled sound from deep in your chest.

The next few moments find you in pieces. The feeling of emptiness knocks at your hypersensitive body as you’re flipped to balance weakly on your hands in knees. You’re not left alone for long, Tamaki’s just getting started.

He’s never been one to play with his food, but you’re just too tasty.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[hansolmates]

shiver | 08

banner done by the lovely @dnrequests​

summary; jungkook changed since he moved out of his small town church community and attended college. when he returns for a christmas mass, you suddenly crave a taste of his fun and carefree life. in exchange, jungkook craves a taste of you pairing; bad boy!jungkook x church girl!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers, brief childhood friends to enemies, fwb!au, catholic guilt, jungkook is a meanie who eventually turns into a soft tsundere, bicuriosity, sexual exploration, virgin!oc, eventual smut w/c; 874 a/n; AHH i really have no words rn. enjoy! [shiver masterpost]

“You’re going to let Jungkook penetrate you,” Sana echoes around your apartment, making you freeze up in the middle of your smoothie making. 

“I know.” 

“You told me you never wanted to speak to him ever again.” 

“I know,” you unpeel a banana, chopping it with your knife by using more force than necessary. 

“And you’re still going to let him breach you—” 

“Ohmygod—Sana!” you slam your blade down, stalking over the couch where Sana’s folding your laundry. 

Sana’s eyes widen comically, her face breaking into a smile as she watches you with excitement. It takes a lot for you to break yourself down, to wear away at the mask you’ve so carefully curated over the years. Turns out Jeon Jungkook is one of those weaknesses. 

“It’s just that y’know,” Sana resumes her previous activity, folding your laundry. She isn’t really folding it, just pushing it together it like a piece of paper and throwing it in the plastic light blue basket. She holds up a baby pink slip, the flimsy negligee glistening like ice in the light, “ah, so that’s why you messaged me about your underwear order? You’ve been planning this!” 

“No, I haven’t!” you jab your finger into the blender button, watching as the strawberries and bananas blitz. 

“As much as I love to see you grow because it makes me feel like a proud mother—” Sana pointedly ignores the childish snort you let out, “doesn’t it make you no better than Jungkook? I mean, he used you and now you’re about to use him.” 

“It’s fine, Sana,” you pour the finished concoction into two portable cups. When you realize that you made a little extra, you throw the excess smoothie into a glass mug. You hear a knock on your door, and you move towards the front with your mug in hand. “Besides, it’s just sex.” 

“Bold of you to say ‘it’s just sex’ when you’re a virgin.”  

You open the door, thinking it’s probably an old neighbor asking for sugar or something. The one in 3B always asks for some random ingredient, they’re always in late-night baking stupors. But to your chagrin it’s Jungkook, looking very disgruntled. He’s sockless, wearing a large hoodie and sweatpants. His hair is soft and tousled, looking shiny like it was washed just last night. 

“Bunny, it’s 7AM and you’re so loud,” his voice is gravely, rough around the edges. He clamps his hand on the doorhenge, leaning in to twiddle his fingers in front of your friend, “hey Sana.”  

“Hi, Kookie!” 

You arch your body so you block Sana’s, leveling Jungkook with a stare, “Sorry, we’re just about to leave.” 

“I would also appreciate if you don’t share our potential sex lives,” you feel your body shrivel up, mouth dry as you regard Jungkook’s sleepy gaze. “Any questions you have about what we’re doing together, you should be asking me.” 

“I’m sorry,” you lower your head, the gesture automatic. 

“I’m not mad,” Jungkook bends his knees, pressing the pad of his finger to your chin so you’ll tilt up, “is it making you nervous? Your yelling scared the heck out of me, are you getting cold feet?” 

“No. I don’t know. I mean, it’ll only be fifteen minutes—” 

“Whoa. We’re taking things slow,” Jungkook makes a face, and you can’t help but twist in response, “what do you think sex is? A hurdle?” 

“But, I don’t want you sleeping with other girls while we’re also doing it.” 

“I’m not going to be sleeping with other girls,” he replies, “and if it makes you feel better, I’ll get tested.” 

“It does make me feel better,” you feel impossibly small, unable to look at him in the eye. 

“You’re making it sound like I don’t care about you.” 

It’s so much easier to overlook the two decade lifespan you’ve spent with Jungkook, especially without the backdrop of Sunday mornings and Youth Group. Here, an hour away from your tiny hometown, you’re nameless and faceless. You can go wherever you want to go with no repercussions, and your friends aren’t dictated by your worship or theirs. 

Jungkook is someone you can’t bypass. You can hide all you want with Sana, because you’ve only recently met. You can tell her what you want to tell her. Jungkook knows it all, from when Jimin had to tie your waist with his cardigan when you got your first period to when you accidentally ate all of Auntie Nessa’s ginger cookies for the choir. 

Even if it’s by mere obligation, proximity of being near each other for so long, Jungkook cares about you. It would be an insult for you to assume that this transaction would be minute. 

“Let’s have dinner this Wednesday,” Jungkook looks like he wants to say more, but refrains when he remembers you still have a guest in the room. He snatches the glass from your hands instead, your extra smoothie going to him. “Thanks for breakfast,” he winks, turning away to go back into his apartment. 

As soon as you slam the door shut, you give Sana a pointed look. “Don’t say a word.” 

“Wasn’t going to say anything,” and because Sana can’t help herself, she blurts, “your dirty little secret’s safe with me, Bunny.”  

[mediocre--writing]

(still pining harringrove, they've kissed a few times but never talked about it) Steve getting attacked BAD by a demo dog his shoulder and side of his neck ripped up, bleeding out on the forest floor while billy is above him trying to stop the blood, frantically talking with hopper on the walkie, and hes crying, hes crying over barely conscious steve and hes never cried over someone before

hopper hears the crackling of the radio before he realizes that’s what’s waking him up

it’s fading in and out and it’s super garbled, but the voice coming through doesn’t sound too sure of itself either

as he wakes up completely, he notices the desperation in their voice

“oh, god... steve, stevie, ste... up! WAKE UP!... HOPPER DO YOU COPY?!”

and that’s what gets him rolling out of bed to the radio

and he knows that voice, but never with this much emotion and tears blocking the general raspiness of his voice.

on the other end, billy has his hands around steve’s neck, his right one cradling his head and his left one holding the junction between his shoulder and neck, trying to stop the bleeding.

“steve, steve, wake up, STEVE, WAKE UP!” he pushed the walkie’s ‘talk’ button again, “HOPPER, ANYONE, DO YOU COPY?”

this had to be a bad dream. it just had to be. there was no was on gods green earth that this could be happening right now.

steve’s eyes peek open every minute or so, but they don’t stay open long and billy doesn’t know if he can get him to the house without jostling him and risking the loss of more blood.

steve’s bleeding out in front of him and he feels utterly hopeless in trying to stop the nightmare from unfolding.

the walk-in crackles after a few moments of billy’s last attempt to get attention from the chief.

“hargrove? what’s happening?”

“the...dog...the dogs, in the woods, dog—woods, the woods in the, in the woods”

“kid, slow down. what is happening? where are you and who are you with?”

and billy doesn’t know if he can form a coherent thought let alone explain the whole situation out loud

but he tries

“me and steve, in his backyard, then... noises in the woods... got his bat, went to find tha dogs... got, got steve.”

hopper took a deep breath and debated on waking el or not

“he’s bleeding out so bad, it’s all over his face,”

billy was still sobbing into the walkie and hopper decided to wake el up.

“go call joyce,” he whispered once he woke her up, “tell her that somethings wrong with billy and steve and we might have to go find them”

el goes to call joyce and hopper goes back to the radio, which has been silent for the past minute or two

“kid? you still there?”

billy, meanwhile, would be hyperventilating if steve wasn’t as injured as he was. there wasn’t a single thought in his head other than steve

steve. steve. steve.

“here.” a weary voice comes through.

el’s talking with joyce and hopper is trying to organize his thoughts enough to figure out what to do.

well he said something about woods behind steve’s house, so they outta start there

“tell joyce to meet me at the harrington’s house,” he directed el, who relayed it to joyce

he was still trying to ask billy more questions, because the vague shit wasn’t doing anything to help him understand anything, but hopper was also loading both him and el into the car to get to the harrington’s

billy was trying to figure out a way to pick steve up while keeping pressure on his wounds and carry the radio and possibly the bat, though that wasn’t as important.

he had a hunch about which way they came from, but judging on the small lights to his left, he was gonna walk that way.

if he could get steve up.

he shoved the chunky radio into his leather jackets inside pocket, which it didn’t really fit into but it was good enough

he kept his hand on steve’s neck while maneuvering the hand that was on his shoulder to his back and awkwardly tried to pick steve up

“come on steve, help me here, i, i don’t— what am i supposed to be doing?”

billy was pleading desperately for some sort of guidance as he shifted steve in his arms and moved to stand up straight, almost losing balance but staying upright

the walk to the house was difficult and long, as billy couldn’t go very fast for how large steve was and didn’t want to jostle him too much, and hoppers voice coming in every once and a while, causing billy to maneuver his elbow to press the button through his jacket and speak to him

joyce had arrived at the house first and was waiting for hopper outside the car when he came rolling in.

they immediately started walking around the house to the pool, then stepping towards the woods before hearing a few branches snapping not too far away

hopper, always prepared, grabbed one of his handguns and pointed it out at the woods when billy and steve emerged, both splattered head to toe in blood and disheveled

joyce and hopper walked to them quickly and opened the sliding glass door to the living room and set steve down

billy was still, not moving his eyes away from steve, eyes still dripping with tears but he wasn’t making any other movements

hopper was trying to assess the damages and joyce was calling 911, because this wasn’t a ‘stitch it up and sleep it off’ type of injury they were used to, this was a wound that was still bleeding and seemed to be deep enough that they might be seeing some of steve’s shoulder bone

hours later, after steve and joyce were carted off in an ambulance and hopper was driving billy and el behind it to the hospital that, there was finally calm

a doctor had come in and said that steve would be fine, despite scarring and damage done to his shoulder muscle, he should be fine.

billy choked out a sob after hearing that. he started sobbing so hard he felt like he might throw up, his stomach twisting and turning like nothing he’d ever felt

joyce pulled his shivering body towards her, letting his upper body fall onto her lap, petting his hair and trying to calm down his shaky breathing

it took about half an hour before a doctor said they could see steve, that they’d set him up in a room all on his own and would be staying for a few nights, which got billy to stop crying for the most part.

the four had all sat down in steve’s room. el was half asleep next to hopper and billy was sitting by steve’s head in an insanely uncomfortable plastic chair, joyce beside him

“har—billy, what happened?” hopper finally asked

billy hesitated for a minute before even looking in hoppers direction

“we were outside, with our feet in the pool and there was this noise— like chittering— and steve went to grab his bat and walkie and we were being cautious, ya know?”

hopper nodded

“but then we saw something shiny in the woods and we followed it and it... was in a tree? and jumped right onto steve and i hit it with the bat. it got away but it clawed at him bad and he passed out and i was calling you and— and it just felt like everything stopped but was going too fast?”

billy scrunched his face, as if in agony, as he looked from hopper to steve’s bruised neck and face

“i thought he was dead or something. he wouldn’t wake up and nobody answered and i thought he was gonna die.”

joyce put a gentle hand on billy’s back and rubbed at it softly, a motherly touch, and billy softly grabbed at steve’s hand sitting on top of the sheets, as if just the feeling of steve under his hand would keep him safe

and billy realized that he didn’t want to let go. he didn’t want steve far away from him, where he would get hurt and he wouldn’t be able to protect him

he needed steve and steve needed him, more than either of them knew

[mqgriett]

Echo- Dinner

Requested by the lovely @alexisinorbit ! I hope you enjoy <3

Prompt: “Are you alright?” “I will be.”

Pairings: Echo X reader

Warnings: none

Summary: staying inside of a coruscant penthouse is weird when you’ve only ever stayed on a ship, and dinner proves to be another challenge. 

Notes: this was my fav so far to write 

It was odd to be staying in an actual apartment, and even more odd that you had an actual kitchen now. The elite Clone Force 99 were guests inside of the Senate building until General Kenobi gave the “okay” for them to join the 212th on their mission to Felucia, but it proved to be a little… difficult when it came to using all of the fancy appliances. The Bad Batch was used to the cramped space of the Havoc Marauder, not a huge penthouse inside of the upper levels of Coruscant. 

Crosshair had given up trying to use the phone to call for room service, and Wrecker was about to smash the device to pieces after only his second try. Hunter was using the downtime to sleep on the king-sized bed and catch up on rest, which you ultimately had to yell at him to do. Tech was toying with the large television in the massive living room, but even a person with his skills couldn’t get it to turn on. Which left you and Echo to try and cook something edible for the rest of the boys. 

“Okay, good news and bad news. Which do ya want first?” Echo asked once he returned to the kitchen. He had changed into just a pair of black sleeping pants since his ribs were no longer visible and he felt comfortable enough around you to be shirtless. 

You leaned an elbow on the shiny granite counter, “Good news please.” You blew a stream of air up towards your forehead, pushing aside a few stray hairs. 

“Hunter’s asleep.” he replied, crossing his arms while smiling proudly. 

Raising an eyebrow, you tipped your chin down, “Hunter’s been asleep.” 

Your boyfriend nodded, “I know. But there wasn't actually any good news so I had to think fast.” 

You tried your best to contain your laughter, but after five seconds of silence you let out a loud giggle while shaking your head, “so what’s the bad news?”

“Wrecker broke another vase.” he sighed, voice dropping to a whisper almost as if to not let the universe hear it. “That makes three.” 

From the living room, a harsh crash echoed into the kitchen. You squinted and turned your head slightly to the side, flinching from the noise- Echo did the same. A few seconds later came Wrecker’s apologetic voice, “sorry! I didn’t see that one.” 

Echo let out a frustrated groan, “Scratch that, four.” He changed the subject, trying his best to ignore the sound of Crosshair telling Wrecker off for breaking another piece of expensive glass, “what’s the food status?” 

“I could make a few Mygeeto burritos. They seem to have all the ingredients.” you responded, leading him to the massive walk-in refrigerator. 

He gently wedged his arm in between your waist and elbow, holding you close just because he wanted to. You smiled, leaning towards him for a kiss- but the tender moment was rudely interrupted by Wrecker shouting, “I don’t want no Mygeeto Burritos!” 

You rolled your eyes and let your head hang down for a few moments. A raspberry escaped your lips as you searched for something else to make the large clone. He would eat anything, besides Mygeeto Burritos that is. Tech had fed him a chunk of grass during a mission one time, and he ate it like it was actual food. 

“There’s some frozen gorg, he’ll have to eat that.” Echo said, unraveling his arm from your side and reaching onto the top shelf. He pulled down a plastic-sealed package of gorg, examining the nutritional facts of the meat to see if it was still good. 

“I’ll make the burritos and you make the gorg.” Just the sight of the dead animal made you nauseous and you held your palm to your mouth, gagging at the thought of eating it. 

Echo shook the package in front of your face, “are you alright?” he shoved it closer to you as you backed up, “afraid it might jump out at ya?”

You stuck your arms in front of you, pushing his face to the side, “I will be,” your eyes tried their best to avert contact with the frozen creature, “once you get that osik’la thing out of my face.” 

He snickered, the two of you walking out of the fridge and back to the kitchen with all of your produce. 

The next hour was filled with you two cooking side by side and you frequently asking Echo to taste the food you made. 

You cupped your left hand underneath the wooden spoon in your right, humming for your boyfriend to pay attention to you, “try this and tell me what it needs.” 

He placed his lips to the utensil, taking a small sip of the broth you made. “Add some salt.” he stated.

Nodding, you replied, “I thought so but wasn’t sure.” You sprinkled in a little more salt, then asking him to taste again. 

“Delicious.” he smiled, kissing his finger tips. 

You bumped his hip with your own and he returned the gesture. For a moment everything felt perfect, like there was no war at all. In that second it was just you and the love of your life, cooking dinner for your found-family. 

Echo walked behind you, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek before reaching up to grab some plates and bowls. He carefully balanced the bowls on his forearms while carrying the plates in his left hand. 

Over the past few months that Echo had joined the Bad Batch, he had developed quite the knack for cooking. Maybe it’s because it reminded him of life before the Citadel, when he used to make dinner for Domino Squad if the night watch got boring. You knew him before that awful mission, because just like most of Clone Force 99, you didn’t know your place in all of this until you met them. Most of your time was spent helping General Skywalker and General Kenobi, which is how you had first come into contact with the small clone squad. They were a tight-knit family, something you had always longed for. It tore your heart to pieces when you found out about Fives and Echo, but in war you had to learn to let go of certain things. 

But now there was no way you could let go of Echo again, he was too important then and he still is. Your relationship formed quickly, but it came naturally. 

You set your utensils down and just hugged him, your thoughts were starting to consume you- but he made it all feel better. That’s what you had always adored about Echo, his ability to make anyone feel safe. 

He didn’t question your hug and happily returned the embrace. Once you retracted you placed a gentle kiss on his lips, still tasting some of the broth you made on his mouth. It made you laugh, “let’s bring this out before Crosshair throws more things at Tech.” 

Echo nodded, picking up Wrecker’s large plate of deep-fried gorg that he had stuffed with a few vegetables. You carried five other platters, two in each hand, two on your forearms, and one on your head. 

Wrecker had reluctantly set the table and then gone to wake up Hunter. For the first time since you had known him, sarg looked well-rested. He scratched the top of his head, yawning loudly before sniffing the air. “Did you make Mygeeto Burritos?” he asked, taking his spot at the table. 

You proudly nodded after removing the plate from your head and setting it in front of you. 

Everyone immediately devoured their food, practically licking the dishes clean. 

And Wrecker didn’t even notice the vegetables in his food. 

[after-avenging-hours]

Out of Time [1]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary:  After Steve gets injected with a mysterious substance during a mission gone wrong, you come to find out that the only thing that can save his life is a pure sample of Dr. Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum. Unwilling to let the love of your life die without a fighting chance, you travel through the quantum realm back to 1943. Equipped with little more than your knowledge of past events, you have to figure out just how exactly you’re going to get your hands on that serum. Not only that, but with the infinity stones no longer protecting the reality you’ve come from, there is now a chance that your presence in the past can change the future you’ll return to. Can you succeed without messing things up? And if things go wrong, can you fix it before it’s too late? Or will you run out of time…

Word Count: 5565

Warnings: Canon typical violence, time travel, injury of major characters

You don’t know how it went so wrong. You’d been on a mission with the team. A few former SHIELD scientists that were suspected to have been working under the influence of Hydra had been spotted in the same vicinity, raising several red flags. After a few days of recon, you’d managed to track down the location of their lab. When the team had busted the door in, ready to take them down, they’d already been expecting you.

The place was full of hired mercenaries and ex-members of the SHIELD Strike team. They’d put up quite a fight. Sam, Clint, and Wanda held down the ground floor while you and Steve had made your way to the upper level. Two agents held you off in close combat while six others took on Steve at the same time. Even six to one, they were having a hard time restraining the Super Soldier, but they managed to keep him pinned just long enough to allow one of the scientists to inject him in the neck with some type of black substance.

“No!” you scream, turning absolutely feral. Throwing caution to the wind, you mercilessly take on the two agents fighting you and they soon end up on the floor.

As Steve falls to his knees, the six other agents grab the scientists and leave out the back door. You rush forward and drop down, skidding across the floor to catch Steve by the shoulders before he can faceplant into the floor.

“Steve!” you call desperately. “Steve, look at me!” Your hands grip his face, trying to guide his eyes to yours, but they’ve turned hazy and unfocused. Perspiration has begun to collect on his brow and the veins at the injection site on his neck have started to turn black.

You lift a hand to activate the commlink in your ear. “Requesting immediate evac. The Captain is down. I repeat, Captain America is down.”

The rest of the team rendezvous to your location and it takes all of you to get Steve out of there and onto the Quinjet. You grab a tablet and bring up the life sign readings programmed into his suit. You watch with dread as his heartbeat wildly fluctuates between too high and too low, while his body temperature continually climbs.

As soon as the jet has landed back at the Avengers base, he’s carted off to the infirmary, where Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho are already waiting for him. You pace up and down the hallway, unable to rest or step away for even a moment to change out of your uniform. Your stomach is tied up in knots and you can’t get the image out of your head on how his face just went completely blank as soon as they had injected him.

You halt your movements and look up when the door opens and Bruce steps out. Seeing Bruce’s face on the Hulk’s massive body was still a little unsettling, but you have started to grow used to it.

“How is he? Is he okay?” you rush out.

Bruce’s poker face is terrible as he pulls off his glasses and fails to meet your gaze. “He’s stable for now… but no, he’s not okay.”

You cup a hand to your mouth and release a pained whimper. “What-” your voice breaks and you have to clear your throat before you can try again. “Do you know what they injected him with?”

“From what we can tell, it seems to be some sort of anti-serum venom. It was made to specifically target the Super Soldier serum enhancement in Steve’s cells.”

You feel the dread sink like a weight in your stomach. “What can we do to stop it?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Wanda grabbed the syringe from the Hydra lab, so we have a small sample of the anti-serum for analysis. But without a pure sample of Steve’s Super Soldier serum, it could take months to synthesize a cure. And he doesn’t have that long.”

The lump in your throat grows and it becomes difficult to swallow. “How long does he have?” you almost don’t want to ask.

You see the answer in his eyes. “This anti-serum… it’s aggressive-”

“Bruce,” you cut him off, urgency in your gaze. “How long?”

“A few days… maybe a week.”

Your whole body blanches and you stumble a few steps until your back hits the wall. The thought alone was inconceivable. Steve… Your Steve… Gone in less than a week? Haven’t you both been through enough? You shake your head fervently, straightening your spine and pushing off the wall. “No,” you deny, allowing your anger and frustration to bolster your strength.

“Hey…” Bruce attempts to reach out to you.

“No!” you coil back. “No, I won’t let that happen.”

“We will do everything we can, but without the original serum-”

“Then I’ll get it for you,” you state with finality to your tone, a plan already forming in your mind.

Bruce looks at you, perplexed. “How?”

Instead of responding, you turn on your heel and march down the hallway. Pulling out your phone, you bring up your contacts and dial the number you need. You’re talking as soon as the line picks up. “Hey Scott, remember that favor you owe me?”

--

It takes a full day of preparation before things are ready. You grow even more anxious with every minute that passes. Every single tick of the clock is one less second Steve has to live.

Seeing him in the infirmary had nearly broken you. Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho were keeping him sedated to help slow the spread of the anti-serum, but the damage was already beginning to take its toll. It was working its way through his body like a poison, starting in the bloodstream, but if left untreated, his organs would begin to fail systematically. Normally, Steve’s Super Soldier serum would help defend his body from something like this, allowing him to metabolize it out before it could do any harm. But, somehow those Hydra scientists found a way to target the original serum first, to weaken his body’s defenses and let the venom take over. It must have taken them years of research to develop something like this and you only had days to reverse it.

You had never seen the Super Soldier look so weak and sickly. He had lost all color, his skin pale and beginning to verge into an ashen grey. He looked thinner like he had been bedridden for weeks, not just a day. His cheeks were gaunt and dark bags had appeared beneath his eyes. When you reached out to touch his hand, it was deathly cold and your heart had skipped a beat. You didn’t understand how this could be happening so fast to the strongest man you had ever known.

You’d pushed the hair off his forehead; no longer a shiny blonde, but more of a dull straw color; and pressed your lips to his skin. “You’ve come to my rescue so many times, Steve. It’s time for me to return the favor. Please, hold on, just a little longer, until I get back.” You then place a gentle kiss to his lips, a single tear dropping from your eye and landing on his cheek. You wipe at the wet trail with your thumb before you step back and release a shaking breath. “I will make it back,” you promise both to him and to yourself.

--

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” Bucky asks, helping you in to your quantum suit.

It’s good that most of his memories were back. He was your best source of information for getting the correct dates, times, and places so you could successfully accomplish your task. Not only that, but you had needed a quick and dirty rundown on etiquette, behavior, and style for the time period. It felt like you had enough bobby pins and hair spray to keep your hair as still as a plastic doll. Not to mention the signature red painting your lips.

“You can’t,” Bruce speaks up from where he stands behind the console for the platform. “The infinity stones were the only thing holding our reality together when we time traveled the last time. Those stones no longer exist in this reality. Since she isn’t coming back with them either, there may be repercussions from this. She should go alone because she doesn’t already exist in that timeline.”

“I’ll be okay, Bucky,” you give him a tentative smile, unsure if you’re telling the truth.

Based on the look in his eyes, you know he’s reading you easily. He gives your arm a squeeze in reassurance. “Stay out of trouble. The punk will kill me if anything happens to you.”

You nod and begin to step away, heading for the platform. You shift on your feet, mentally psyching yourself up for the journey. You release a long breath before signaling to Bruce that you’re ready. You meet Bucky’s gaze one last time. “Be right back,” you tell him before your helmet pops into place and you’re flying through the quantum realm.

--

You land in 1943 without much fuss, quickly dissolving out of your quantum suit before anyone catches you in the empty alleyway. You fix any flyaway hairs and straighten your outfit and then walk out onto the main street. It’s a bit of a trip, seeing all the old-fashioned cars driving past and the dated outfits and hairstyles that everyone wears. The movies and pictures that you’ve grown up seeing don’t quite do it justice. However, it does remind you of the sketches Steve sometimes shared with you whenever he was feeling nostalgic.

You give yourself a second to marvel at everything, but the thought of Steve helps to sharpen your focus and bring yourself back on track. You step onto the sidewalk, behind a group of young school children with their mothers in tow. Walking passed a newspaper stand; you take a quick glance at the paper to make sure you’ve landed at the correct time. Monday, June 7th, 1943.

Breathing a breath of relief, you move to the edge of the sidewalk and hail a taxi. Soft, jazzy notes fill the air of the car from the radio, helping to ease the tension in your shoulders. The song is also familiar to you, because of Steve. You give the driver the address to your destination and soon find yourself pulling up in front of Brooklyn Antiques. You pay for the taxi with a set of vintage coins you’d been able to acquire before leaving your time. You shuffle out of the taxi and head into the shop.

The bell above the door dings and you enter the space. An older woman in a soft pink sweater steps out from the backroom to greet you. “Did you hear the ball game last night?”

Your mind races as you try to recall the answer to the code that Bucky had told you about. They would change them daily and randomly rotate through a long list of them. “Yes, but I only wish I had some Cracker Jacks,” you respond.

She nods once before moving behind the cashier desk and presses the secret button beneath. You try to steady your pounding heart as you walk to the back room and stand in front of the bookshelves. After a moment, the shelves begin to move to reveal a set of hidden doors. You roll your shoulders back and walk with confidence into the hidden laboratory.

The energy in this place buzzes like a beehive. The tan military uniform you wear allows you to blend with everyone else. People give you a casual side glance before turning back to what they had previously been doing. As you walk down the hallway toward the main room, the sound of raised voices grabs your attention.

“You’ve had more than enough test runs! Stark’s machine works. Your formula is ready for development. All that’s left is the man.”

Looking to your left, you see that it’s Colonel Phillips and Dr. Erskine that are arguing inside the observation room. Dr. Erskine shakes his head, with an exasperated look on his face. “But it can’t be just any man, it has to be the right man!”

“We’ve been at this for months! Week after week, we run training exercises on a new group at Camp Lehigh, and you’ve denied every single one! Do you realize how much money this has cost us? We have to pay the scouts that send men our way. Gotta pay the buses that bring ‘em to the camp. Lodging, food, uniforms, supplies. Enough is enough. You have one week to find your man for the next round of recruitments. If you can’t find him. Then you’ll have to pick from the rest of the selection. We cannot afford to wait any longer.”

With the final word, Colonel Phillips turns and walks out of the observation room. You make sure to step back and out of his way, ducking your head slightly, so as not to draw attention to yourself. You look back up when you hear Dr. Erskine give a long drawn out sigh. He has removed his glasses and rubs at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

You find yourself moving forward and into the room. “Is everything all right, Doctor?” you question with a gentle voice.

He moves his glasses back into place and meets your gaze. “Not quite.” He admits, his accent a little thicker with stress in his voice. “Unless you have an idea on where we might be able to find someone actually worthy of this project.”

Your lips part as you try to come up with a response to that. “Well… Um. I’m sure the World Expo will bring all sorts of new faces in.” You cringe inwardly a little, thinking that may have been too obvious. Bruce’s words of warning echo in your ears. Get in, get out, don’t change the timeline.

Erskine’s eyes light up at that prospect. “The World Exposition? Of course. That is a wonderful idea. Stark mentioned that there was a recruitment center there. Come, let’s go take a look.”

He begins to head for the doorway and gestures for you to step through first. You hesitate. “You want me to come with you?”

He smiles kindly. “Well, it was your idea, was it not?”

So much for 'get in and get out'. Although, this could be a good thing. After all, Erskine was your ticket to the serum. Another second passes, and then you begin to move out of the observation room. You look down at the machine in the main room, knowing that one day soon, it will be used to create a Super Soldier. Erskine follows you out before taking the lead and moving toward the exit. He pulls off his lab coat and stops at a coat rack off to the side. He swaps the lab coat for a beige trench coat and his fedora.

The MP sitting at the desk right next to the secret entrance hits the button to allow you both to exit. Erskine leads you out of the antique shop and over to one of the vehicles parked nearby. The driver is already sitting in the front seat. Erskine opens the back door and gestures once more for you to enter first. You give him your thanks as you sink into the leather seat, then push over to the other side to make room for him to follow you.

Dr. Erskine gives his instructions to the driver to take you to the Expo.

You relax your posture into the cushioned seat and watch 1943 New York pass by the window.

“So, you are new,” Dr. Erskine states casually, also looking out through the window on his side of the car.

Your shoulders stiffen and your heart stops. “I…” you begin to protest before changing tactics. You laugh nervously and glance over at him. “Is it that obvious?”

He continues to look out his window as he responds. “In all the months we have been working on this project, no one has ever asked me how I am doing.” He turns away from the window then and meets your gaze.

Your own gaze softens with sincerity. “That sounds lonely.”

He tilts his head and lifts his shoulders in a slight shrug. “This is the bed that I have made. Great things can happen if my serum is used properly, but many terrible things have already come to pass.”

You know that he is talking about Red Skull. “We will find the man you need, Doctor,” you assure him.

He looks at you curiously. “How is it you sound so sure of that?”

You swallow and try not to look like a deer caught in a headlight. “I have faith,” you manage to get out.

He cracks a small smile. “Faith,” he repeats, before he releases a low chuckle. “I’m afraid as a scientist, I may need a little more than that.”

You find yourself smiling back. “Then perhaps I can try to muster enough faith for the both of us.”

“That would be appreciated,” he responds right as the car pulls to a stop. He steps out of the vehicle first before turning and reaching to take your hand to help you to your feet.

“Oh wow…” you marvel as you take in the sights of the Expo before you.

The giant metal sculpture of the globe looms over everything, casting its shadow over the crowds as people hurry passed in excited groups, eager to see the exhibits. A monorail train curls around the globe and zooms past in a rush of metallic sound.

“You have not yet seen the Exposition?” Dr. Erskine asks curiously.

You find it difficult to pull your eyes away from the sights. “I haven’t had the time,” you speak honestly.

“I heard that several of the soldiers were planning to take the other women to Stark’s show this weekend. I’m sure you could join them.” He speaks casually as he begins to head for the recruitment station.

“Those men don’t interest me.” You follow behind, looking around as you do.

Dr. Erskine grins to himself. “Fair enough.”

The two of you continue on your way. Before you can make it inside the building, though, a voice calls out “Dr. Erskine!”

A man in an expensive-looking suit walks up to you both. He has dark hair, a thin mustache, and a dashing smile. A smile with confidence that you recognize.

“Mr. Stark,” the Doctor greets, shaking his hand.

“What brings you all the way out here? I thought you never left your lab, save for heading out to Camp Lehigh. And who is this?” Howard’s eyes trace down the length of your body, an appreciation settling into his features.

You raise a brow, barely able to contain your amusement between this Stark and the one you’ve known. “She’s not interested,” you reply bluntly.

Erskine laughs while Stark’s lips part in momentary shock. With a shake of his head, he shrugs off the rejection and his lips return to a charming grin. “Where are you and Phillips finding these girls? First Agent Carter, now this one?”

“You were commissioned for the head on your shoulders, Mr. Stark. The females working on this project should be of no concern to you.” The somewhat harsh blow of Erskine’s words is softened by the smile of amusement on his face.

Howard doesn’t take it to heart, laughing as well. “I understand. Well, can I at least show you both around?”

“We are actually here to observe the recruitment station. The Colonel has given us a week to find our man. We were hoping the selection here might provide something new.”

“Ah,” Howard remarks. “Well then, I won’t keep you. Feel free to stop by the Modern Marvel’s Pavilion. Perhaps we can all grab lunch.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Erskine neither confirms nor denies the invitation and ushers you into the recruitment center.

“He’s certainly a handful,” you comment, no longer able to hold your amusement.

Erskine releases a long sigh. “Sometimes it is a wonder that he can get anything accomplished. His mind is brilliant, but he can be easily distracted. Though, I am starting to wonder… if not even the great Howard Stark can hold your interest, I am fascinated to find out the man that will.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Maybe you will meet him one day.”

Dr. Erskine speaks with the head physician of the recruitment office, establishing a protocol for directing prospective enlisters his way for additional questioning. He then gives you instructions on the qualities he is looking for, so you can also help to keep an eye out with him.

You spend the day interviewing enlisters. You pretend to be invested, but know that none of them are going to be the correct one. Steve isn’t supposed to show up to this recruitment center until this weekend after Stark’s big show. You had planned to drop into the timeline several days before his recruitment, in case you needed the extra time to get your hands on a sample of serum. Your first day wasn’t quite going as expected, but it could be worse.

Erskine comes to collect you at the end of the day to see how your interviews have been going. When he offers for you to join him for dinner, you readily agree, only then realizing how hungry you are. The two of you walk away from the crowds of the Expo and back into the city.

You find a small family-owned diner to grab a quick bite to eat. Getting seated at a booth near the windows, you watch the people pass by while you wait for your food to come.

“My apologies for taking so long to ask, but I have come to realize that I do not know your name,” Dr. Erskine pulls your attention back to him.

“Oh,” you start. Realizing that you also had never introduced yourself. “Well, my friends call me Vic.”

“Friends?” he repeats with a raised brow.

You realize your mistake a little too late. As the head scientist of the SSR, he was technically considered your superior. It’s been so long since you’ve worked with a superior that wasn’t your friend. Also, with one that you weren’t sleeping with…

You clear your throat and try again. “What I mean is that I haven’t really gone by my given name in a long time. It almost feels foreign whenever I do hear it.”

Erskine looks at you curiously. “And this Vic name was given to you by your friends?”

“Yes,” you confirm, before growing a little shy. “It’s actually short for Lady Victory,” you explain, your face heating in embarrassment. You’ve never actually had to be the one explaining it to anyone.

“Lady Victory?” he repeats, both brows now raised in intrigue. “And how did you manage to earn that name?”

“Well,” you laugh lightly. “It started after a few successful rounds of poker.” That makes Erskine laugh as well. “But, once I started working in the field, the name stuck. I became a lucky charm of sorts. Everyone would say that there was no way we could fail as long as Lady Victory was on our side. And that held true, at least until…” Your voice falls away and your eyes grow hollow. At least until the last mission.

“You have been to the war front?”

You pull yourself out of your dark thoughts and focus back on the doctor. “No. Not this war, at least. But I have seen war. Up close. It’s never easy.”

Erskine nods in agreement. He sits quietly for a moment, considering your words. “Have you considered submitting yourself as a candidate for Project Rebirth?”

You had reached for your glass of water and taken a sip when he asked his question. You choke upon swallowing the drink. So much for not screwing up the timeline. You’re pretty sure this conversation was never supposed to happen. You set your glass back down and attempt to cough the water out from where it’s trying to reach your lungs.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you. But I must admit, you do have several of the qualities I am looking for in a candidate.”

After you’ve managed to catch your breath, you try to figure out the best way out of this. “The offer is generous, but that’s not my destiny.”

“What happened to faith?” Dr. Erskine smiles cryptically.

“I have faith that we will find the right person. But I know that isn’t me.” You release a breath of relief when the waitress arrives with the food. “Besides, can you imagine the Colonel’s reaction if you were to tell him you had picked a woman for the project?”

Erskine shrugs his shoulder. “He has been making his threats for months, but he knows that I will not make the serum until we have a candidate that I approve of.”

You can actually hear the record scratch sound effect going off in your mind. “Wait, I thought the Colonel said your formula was ready.”

“The formula, yes. I have all the ingredients ready. But the serum itself must be used within hours of preparation or the components will begin to degrade. It is a side effect from some of the ingredients used, but also works as a failsafe, should anyone think that they could steal it.”

You try to keep your face neutral, but internally your heart is sinking. This means that you coming early was a wasted effort and your only shot at getting a sample of the serum would be the day they turn Steve into a Super Soldier. And not only that but if you did manage to get your hands on a sample, it could degrade before being of any use to Dr. Banner.

In an effort to keep the despair off your face, you steer the conversation away and start to dig into the food that you no longer feel hungry for. Dr. Erskine turns out to be fairly good company and enjoys regaling you with tales of his home in Germany. It helps to keep him talking, so you can mentally plan just how you’re going to make it through these next few weeks, stuck in 1943.

Erskine offers to cover the cost of dinner, which you agree to, but only if he will let you pay for the next meal. He seems caught off guard by your proposal but then agrees with a quiet chuckle. As you prepare to leave, he places his fedora back onto his head and folds his coat over his arm. He then holds the door open as you exit the diner.

You both walk down the sidewalk in the direction toward the expo, occasionally needing to move behind one another to make room for people heading in the other direction. A flash of movement catches your attention from across the street. You narrow your gaze at the two men walking in the same direction as you and Erskine. They are both wearing fairly nondescript outfits in dark, neutral tones. Also wearing fedoras that they use to shadow their eyes. You notice one has a camera in his hands.

You quicken your steps to match up with the doctor, then wrap your arm through his. He looks down at you slightly startled, but you don’t pay him any mind. “Darling, that dress is lovely. Why don’t we take a look inside?” You point toward the display of a boutique and quickly usher him into the shop.

“Miss Vic, we really should be heading back to the recruitment center,” Dr. Erskine begins to protest.

You hush him and pull him deeper into the shop. “We were being followed. I noticed those two men loitering outside the bar across the street when we were at the diner. They stayed the whole time and didn’t begin to move until we did.”

“Are you certain?” he questions, looking back, but you’ve already pulled him too far into the shop.

“I am. One of them pulled out a camera and was trying to take pictures of you.”

“Hello, how can I help you?” the shop attendant takes that moment to make herself known.

You put a sweet smile into your face. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have a back door? It seems we’ve gotten a little turned around and we’re actually supposed to be on the next street over.”

The woman looks at you curiously, “Oh, we do, but it leads to a back alley, not the main street.”

“That’s all right. I’m sure we’ll find our way. Thank you!” Before she can come up with a response, you’re pulling Erskine after you and out the back. You check to make sure the coast is clear, before dragging him out. You run as fast as you can in your heels down the back alley toward the next street. You stop just short of the alley opening and press your back into the brick wall. Peaking around the corner, you find that the men aren’t anywhere to be seen.

You step out with Erskine and quickly hail a taxi. Not conforming to societal rules, you yank open the back door and shove him into the seat. “Don’t head directly for the expo. Drive aimlessly first, check for any tails. If you don’t see any, stop and switch to a new taxi before heading back.”

“What are you going to do?” he questions, still thrown off by what’s happening.

“I’m going to make sure they won’t follow you.”

You quickly shut the door to the cab and bang on the top to send it off. You then duck back into the alley. You’re almost to the back entrance of the boutique when the two men come stumbling out.

“You boys lost?” you question with an innocent tone to your voice. The two take one look at you before looking around for your charge. “I’m afraid it’s just the three of us.”

“We ain’t got no beef with you, Toots,” one of the men states in a heavy Brooklyn accent.

Your innocent façade drops instantly. Darting forward, you grab the man by the lapel of his coat. You use his surprise against him to swing his whole body around and slam his back into the brick wall. Your movement knocks the wind out of him and you quickly pin your forearm to the base of his neck to keep him from being able to regain his breath. “Who you callin’ Toots?” you question with a deadly tone in your voice.

“Geez, lady!” The man chokes out, raising his hands in surrender.

“Back up, if you don’t want to get hurt!”

You look over your shoulder to find the other one has a pistol aimed at you. Rolling your eyes, you release the first one and step back, your own hands now up in surrender. In a flash, you whip your arm out, grasping the gun and kick your foot out, straight into his knee. His leg buckles from beneath him and he loosens his hold on the gun as he falls.

You take the weapon into your own hands, holding it over him, while he kneels at your feet. “I think you’ll find that it’s actually you who should be worried about getting hurt, Toots,” you tell him, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

You catch the movement of the man’s eyes and turn back toward his partner, just a moment too late. The sound of a gun firing echoes down the alley moments before pain explodes in your side.

You cry out, barely managing to keep your grip on your own gun as you stumble into the brick wall.

“You shot her?!” the one kneeling bellows.

“She had a gun to your head!” The other argues.

“Red Skull’s gonna kill us if he finds out we were caught!”

“Not if we finish her off,” the one that shot you once begins to turn.

Your hand shakes as you try to raise your gun back up to defend yourself.

“Hey! Get away from her!” A new voice enters the fray.

The two men look to see someone else running into the alley. They are coming from your back and you fear if you attempt to look at who it is, you might pass out from the pain.

“Let’s get out of here,” the one that shot you tucks his gun away and helps pull the other to their feet. They take off before the newcomer can reach them.

“Miss, are you alright?”

This gunshot wound must be affecting you more than you thought because you could swear their voice sounds like-

Gentle hands grasp your shoulders as you stumble. You lift your head to meet a worried gaze. Soft blue eyes, framed by thick lashes, and two furrowed brows. It’s a look you’re all too familiar with and it always makes your heart clench.

Seeing it this time also makes your head swoon and your stomach flip. “Steve?” you barely manage to get out before your legs collapse.

Part 2

[salenakingston]

Mystery March Day 12 - Friend

Friends came in all sizes, something he had come to learn.

He didn’t have friends growing up, though such a term was lost to any of them. Animals didn’t really consider one another friends, certainly not when one is trying to clamor for attention behind a glass barrier. Their lives were short, far shorter compared to most others. Not many came over to them. Even when they did, who would be interested in someone like him?

He wasn’t as enthusiastic as the others.

He couldn’t move like the others.

He was doomed from the start.

It was only a matter of time before he would be put out of his misery, or he would pass behind these walls.

But then a miracle happened.

A young man came up to the glass, looking at all the others, just as always. But then, he saw those eyes turn on him. They looked at him far longer than anyone ever had before. One look was all it took for them to move on. He had accepted it. The man disappeared, sure he picked out which one he wanted.

It was a strange feeling, a hand moving around his tiny body as he was lifted out of the bedding. He looked upon that same human from before, his fingers running over his fur. It surprised him to see such happiness in the man’s face, over someone as broken as him.

“Are you sure you want this one?”

“Yes.”

No one seemed to mind him being carried around by this human, a basket hanging from his arm. He was gathering all sorts of items, many he recognized from the inside of his home. He just couldn’t believe it. He was actually leaving. Him? Had he died and woken up in heaven? Was he maybe just dreaming? If that was the case, he never wanted to wake up.

It wasn’t long after that he felt the fresh air hitting his face, the man going over to another, shorter one. Now there were two faces looking down at him. He could see the smile never faded from the younger one. Everything was loaded up, then they were on their way.

At one point, the human looked up to the older one as he drove, “So kid, ya got a name for ‘im?”

“Galahad.”

He had a name, and as they pulled up, a new home.

He had been given so much. Why though?

Even with a new home, he still couldn’t do anything. He still couldn’t move. What was the point?

The human, Arthur, had bent over backwards taking care of him. He required it because of his condition. That never seemed to bother his owner, and he could see from his cage that the man was staying up late some nights, working on something at his desk. There were times when he would be taken out of his cage, resting along that same desk, on the man’s lap, or sometimes in other parts of his living space.

It was nice to be outside in the open, but what good was it to enjoy when he could only sit in one spot?

But that was before something changed. He had never seen the human so happy before, nor taken him out of his cage as fast as he had. Once again he was brought to the desk, carefully placed before the human sat down in his chair. There was something shiny and black in front of him. They looked kind of like the plastic wheel of his old home, but smaller and more solid.

“They’re finally done. Are you ready Galaham?”

Ready? Ready for what?

“Let’s try these on.”

What?

He let out a squeak as Arthur took him back into his hand, carefully slipping his back legs into each piece of silver. He suddenly felt heavier on his back half, then was lowered back down against the desk. His front half fell forward, but used his front paws to push himself up. He didn’t understand, looking up to the human for guidance.

He was always gentle, using his hand to push at his rear, the contraption pushing him forward.

He moved.

He pulled himself forward with his paws, and sure enough, the rest of his body followed him. Arthur had gathered some sunflower seeds, holding them out at a distance. Sure enough, the hamster followed the path to it, moving all on his own. The human felt like he could jump for joy, “They work!”

If he could, he would have cried. This human had given him a life he was sure he would never have, and found a way no one else could to fix his condition. Finally he could explore the world around him, but there was nowhere he would rather be than with Arthur.

----

The man, who had given everything he had to make sure he had a fulfilled life had come home after having lost everything. He had been there when the man’s friends came over, been there when they went out on their ghost hunts, and was here when he returned home after an emergency visit to the hospital. The man barely moved, not that he could blame the human for wanting to do so. He could see the missing limb, even from the distance between the bed and cage. So much of what would be considered normal was lost when something so vital was taken away from them, be it at birth or later in life.

Arthur still found the energy to take care of him, but it wasn’t the same as it was before. The man he came to know as never getting rid of his smile no longer carried it on his face. His gaze looked dull, and even the comfort of those close to him didn’t do much to lift his spirits.

How he knew what such a feeling was like.

He’d make noises at the man, and even when his eyes looked down at him, it was so empty. The roles of their lives had been reversed, but what could someone as small as him do? He couldn’t build anything like the man had for him. He couldn’t get the man any kinds of gifts like he had for him. It was so frustrating.

But he had to be able to do something.

Then an idea came to his head.

He pushed himself against the bars of the cage, making noise with his wheels and teeth. Anything to get Arthur’s attention. At one point, he tried to reach his paws through to open the door on his own, for all the good it did him. There were still many things he couldn’t do.

When he finally could see the man’s head turn towards him, he used his paws to go after his wheels. That seemed to catch his attention, pushing himself up from his seat. There was a pang of worry in his voice as he began to open the cage door, “Stop that Galaham.”

The animal turned his head, teeth meeting flesh.

His hand was pulled back, shaking in the air.

The hamster went back to pushing and pulling. He’d been with his wheels for so long, he’d almost forgotten what it was like to be without them. His body fell against the plastic platform, but his tiny eyes never left Arthur’s face. The human watched him with growing confusion as he reached for one of the removed wheels, “What are you doing?”

And he felt the tiny piece of metal smack him in the face as the hamster managed to throw it.

Arthur looked dumbfounded.

The man stared at his pet, unable to find any words. He did manage to pull his chair over, sitting in front of the cage. For a long stretch, there was nothing but silence… then the sound of sobbing, “I don’t know what to do… my arm is gone… Lewis is missing… Vivi can’t remember him… and Mystery terrifies me… What am I supposed to do when I feel so useless?”

Another wheel managed to strike him in the face. That was both of them now.

His eyes fell down on his creation, something he made that helped give this hamster his life back. Now they were being thrown back in his face. He scooped them up into his hands, looking back to Galahad. Arthur saved him, and never once thought himself a burden. Arthur chose him to take home.

How could the hamster not give everything he had, just as this same man had once done for him?

A small spark flashed in the man’s eyes, the tiniest smile breaking across his lips. He had an idea. He slipped the wheels back into the change, but surprisingly, they were shoved to the side. He refused to put them back on until he could see that smile again. He knew it was there, just waiting below the surface. Before the cage was shut again, he found his head butting against the man’s hand. Fingers traced along his fur, “Thanks bud…”

They had each other, looked out for each other.

They were more than owner and pet, a quality the blue-haired girl shared with her own.

They were friends.

[star-lemonade]

The Festival (3/3)

A.C.E Junhee x Reader CW: smut, cross dressing, pegging Rating: R Word count: 2.4 k

Monday morning came too fast. Your alarm yanked you into the world of the conscious with no regard for the time at which you had fallen asleep. You dragged yourself through your morning routine and almost fell asleep on the way to work. Thankfully this part of your day needed very little thinking, you just let the muscle memory carry you through it.

The first thing that needed some attention were your emails. You scanned the ​​subject lines for anything important. Your eyes were dry and stung, making it hard to concentrate. After reading the same email again for the three time you rubbed your eyes.

“Are you tired?”

You jerked at the sudden question. Had someone even come into your office? You did not remember hearing anything. Your eyes needed a moment to focus. Junhee smiled sweetly when he saw you looking. Today he wore glasses with a dark frame, a dark grey button up shirt and black pants. Please don’t let him dump me in that outfit!

“Ehm..yes. I didn’t sleep well.”

Junhee nodded and placed a mug on your desk, sliding it over.

“Good thing that I have this then.”

You giggled at his silly attempt at being smooth. He leaned down and kissed your cheek.

“When you have trouble sleeping again, call me, okay?”

“Wow, the knee high socks,” you gasped at the sight. The grey skirt ended just above the socks only when Junhee moved you could see some skin above the socks. A nervous smile appeared on his face. You wondered why he had wanted to go out like this. Usually he prefered wearing his jeans and sweaters for your dates, so it was a bit of a shock to see him in his long haired wig and feminie clothes.

“Are they not good?”

Junhee looked at his legs. The skirt looked really nice with his legs and you were a bit envious.

“No, they look very good. Just -” You leaned closer and whispered “-very sexy.”

A blush crept up his face but he smiled with confidence.

As you walked along the river you could not shake the feeling that Junhee was up to something. He had a suspiciously big handbag with him today and you wondered what was inside. On the river bank was a cafe that you liked but rarely visited because it was unreasonably far away from your apartment just to get a coffee. For having a date however it was perfect.

After a busy week it felt nice to vent with Junhee and laugh away your sorrows.

As the sun began to set, Junhee seemed to be getting more nervous. He fidgeted with the zipper of his bag and combed through his hair. You walked in the direction of the subway not having talked about how the rest of the evening would be like. The date today had been pretty spontaneous. After the light snack you ate at the cafe, you did not feel like eating a big dinner. You reached the entrance to the subway and stopped.

“So, where off to next?”

“Hm?”

Junhee took a few more steps and only stopped when he heard your voice. What was on his mind and was it related to the bag?

“Can we go to your place?”

He said it as if it was a different question. You swallowed hard. Your face burnt and you felt hot all over.

“Sure.”

You had the feeling you knew where this was going. Probably to the bedroom.

Even though it was not Junhee’s first time in your apartment, he looked nervous. When you came back from the bathroom he still stood in your living room, fidgeting with the bag.

“What’s in the bag? You have been acting odd this evening.”

Junhee pressed his lips into a thin line. You had clearly just pointed out what he didn’t want you to see. He took a deep breath.

“I bought you something.”

He held out the bag but when you reached for it, he pulled it back.

“We don’t have to use it now, or ever if you don’t want to.”

“Junhee, what’s in the bag?”

Your tone was a bit sharper now and, reluctantly, he handed you the bag. Inside was a brown cardboard box. You guessed this was whatever Junhee feared to show you. The non descript box was not light but also not very heavy. You opened it and knew why Junhee was blushing and looking away. Inside the box was a dildo, still in a plastic wrapper, and a bunch of bands that you assumed were a harness.

“Wow.”

Before Junhee could say anything you took the dildo out and continued half joking: ”You really think you can take this?”

The toy had quite the girth and you actually wondered if it was not a bit oversized. There was no need for Junhee to show off how much he could take.

“I’ll be fine.”

He giggled at your raised eyebrow, before his smile made way for a more serious expression.

“We really don’t have to do this if you are uncomfortable.”

His hands rested on your arms. The concern in his eyes mixed with the hope that you would give a green light was heartwarming and adorable. How could you not fulfill your boyfriend’s fantasy of getting nailed while wearing typically feminine clothes.

“I really want to see you take this.”

The mood had been a bit too serious and you just had to crack a joke. Junhee smiled and pecked your lips. You let the box sink to the floor and wrapped your arms around his waist. The position was unfamiliar but felt like the right thing at the moment. You kissed him and his arms wrapped around your neck. The thin layer of lipstick added some unusual lubrication to the kiss but it would disappear if you just kissed long enough. Kissing Junhee for as long as possible was exactly what you wanted to do. It had started slow with you feeling your way into this evening, but it grew more intense. Junhee was such a caring person, so attractive that you wanted to devour him. Yes, that was how the kiss felt. An attempt to become even closer, to absorb something from the other. A moan was muffled by the kiss but you could not tell whose it was. Your head was spinning when you finally pulled back.

“You wanna take this to the bedroom?”

You sat down on your bed and looked expectantly at Junhee who was still standing. The lipstick he had worn had disappeared, but his lips were swollen and looked perfect for kissing. You patted your lap and waited for Junhee to get the hint.

He rested one knee on each side of your legs and lowered himself into your lap. You ran hands from knees up to the seam of his skirt, not yet sliding under it. His thighs were hard under your fingers, he was holding his weight off you. He kissed you and rested his arms on your shoulders. When you ran your fingers over the exposed skin between the skirt and the end of his high socks the kiss became more needy. You even heard Junhee whimper as you slid your fingertips just under the seam of the skirt. The sound went straight between your legs. You doubted that Junhee would be able to help you out after being pegged, but the images would sustain you in the nights he was not here. Ignoring the throbbing between your legs, you slid your hands up Junhee’s thighs and under his skirt. He gasped into your mouth and pulled back. His eyes were heavy lidded, pupils blown wide and lips shiny. You watched his face as your hands crept higher. His mouth hung open and his eyes fixed on you. The skin on the inside of his thighs was softer than the rest and your hands stayed there a bit longer. You avoided the noticeable bulge under the skirt and let your hands slide around cupping his firm backside. A shiver ran through Junhee’s body and you swallowed hard. The power you had in that moment tasted very sweet. You kneaded his ass and a breathy moan escaped his lips. It was hard to bear how hot Junhee was. You wanted to climb into his lap and ride him until you came. Instead stirred him to the bed into a lying position. The view of him in your bed with the skirt slightly pushed up his thighs and in the high socks was maddening. Like a dream you did not know you had.

“Can I use a glove when I finger you?”

There was not a good time to ask and you were a bit worried it would ruin the mood. Junhee’s eyes widened at “finger” and it took a moment before he registered the rest of your question.

“Yes, that’s okay.”

“Just get going already,” said his tone.

Junhee had come to your apartment prepared. The big bag also contained some lube and condoms. Red with Strawberry flavour, you noted. You took a surgical glove from your bathroom and returned to the bedroom.

Junhee helped you out of your pants and into the harness.

“Do you want to take something off?”

“No, just my underwear.”

He took his underwear off. You speculated that taking off clothes may break his fantasy in some way. However it may be, you did not need to know. He kneeled on the bed, face down and ass up. The skirt shielded him from being completely exposed. You pushed it up and ran a finger up and down between his cheeks. Junhee whimpered and shivered.

“Please.”

You did not let him wait for long. Pushing in one lubed finger was surprisingly easy and Junhee was getting really worked up now. His hands grabbed onto the sheets for dear life and his moans were only muffled by the sheets. Adding a second finger was also not a problem. You could almost taste how desperate he was trying not to thrust into your hand and fuck himself on your fingers.

The dildo looked huge but you trusted Junhee. You lubed it generously while he watched over his shoulder. Indeed the toy was not met with too much resistance. You pushed in very slowly, worried about your partner. He had his eyes closed and mouth hung open. It was not easy to tell if it was good or if it was hurting.

“Is everything okay?”

You ran a hand over his face.

“Yes, keep going.”

The first time pushing in all the way took the longest, but after that you could see how Junhee relaxed more with each in and out. He began pushing back, meeting your slow thrusts halfway.

“Faster, please!”

He sounded whiny and desparte. How could you say no? The movement was a bit unfamiliar and you could not do it very fast, but you did your best. Junhee’s breathy high pitched moans filled the room and you were sure that you had soaked through your underwear. He pleaded for you to not stop.

“Please.”

His voice was breathy and the word got stuck in his throat. He took your hand that was holding onto his hips and slid it over to his ass. You slowed because it looked like he wanted to say something.

“Can you slap here? Just a little. Please.”

You swallowed hard but nodded. You gave him a tentative slap. He gasped, clearly in pleasure.

“A bit harder,” he pressed out. His eyes were shut and his hand had a deathgrip on your sheets. A beautiful moan followed the next slap. You did not feel very confident doing it but Junhee seemed to enjoy it so much, it was hard not to do as he asked.

Over the next few thrusts you listen carefully to his noises and place a slightly harder slap at the right time. Junhee arched his back and buried his face in the sheets. His hips shuttered and you slowed. He raised his hand and you stopped moving. His breathing was fast and his face flushed. Strands of hair stuck to his shiny face.

You let Junhee settle for a few moments as you cleaned the dildo in the bathroom. You hoped the image of him coming in your bed had engraved itself into your memory. It was too good not to be remembered. When you returned he looked like he was coherent again. He lay on his side, still glowing from his orgasm. You touched his cheek and kissed his forehead.

“How do you feel?”

A weak smile broke on his face. He looked like he was about to fall asleep.

“Very good and tired.”

You kissed his swollen lips and patted his damp hair.

“You want to take a shower? I can help if you need it.”

Junhee left for the shower after a short cuddle. You lay down on the bed. Maybe I should get my vibrator. Your underwear was soaked and you felt uncomfortably horny. But what will Junhee think when he comes back and I’m here fucking myself with a vibrator? Ah well. Just as you took out the toy, Junhee came back. No matter how often you had seen him change in and out of feminine clothing, it always gave you whiplash. For some reason he had thought a sleeveless shirt was a good idea and you wanted to cry. He joined you on the bed and settled between your legs, kissing the inside of your thighs.

“You don’t have to… You’re tired.”

Your protest fell on deaf ears and Junhee pulled down your underwear.

“Give me that.”

He took the vibrator from your hand and you watched as he started to lick your cilt. He gave it a few kitten licks before sucking it into his mouth. Your hand tangled in his wet hair and you closed your eyes. You had been aroused for so long, your clit was oversensitive. Still you wanted nothing less than for Junhee to stop flicking his tongue. He used the vibrator as a dildo and slowly moved it in and out. You gasped and your back lifted off the bed. All the muscles in your body tensed and you forgot to breathe. Junhee hummed against your skin and the tension broke. You sank back into the sheets breathing heavy, heart hammering in your chest.

“I love you.”

[isitstraightvodka]

Strip

in which gwil doesn't like you and it's your mission to find out why.

pairing: gwilym lee x fem!reader

word count: 4.5k+

warnings: enemies to lovers, smut (the rough kind), oral (both m and f receiving), angst, swearing, alcohol use

a/n: hello my loves! i present to u what i have been working on for a while, it's filthy so read ahead w caution 😂😳 i really hope u enjoy it and please let me know if u do. any feedback, asks / rbs, would be much appreciated xx also gif credit is @mazzelloplots​ 💕

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ.·:*¨༺

You had no idea what you'd done for Gwil to hate your guts but it must be dead serious because he just about didn't give you any attention whenever you were in the same room. It was infuriating, as each day passed, you racked your brain to remember if you'd done or said anything for him to act like this around you but as always, nothing came to mind. All you got was a cold stare, or no eye contact at all, and at the very least, a few sentences but that was it. It made it even worse that both of you were friends with Ben, after all that's how you were introduced to each other, you figured he'd be a good guy as was evident the first time you met, a regular mutual friend greeting; first handshake, small smiles and twinkling new eyes but ever since then, everything had changed.

Every time you went out and saw Gwil, he either said nothing to you but "Hi." or he'd rush off somewhere else the moment you approached him. The cold shoulder did not do anything for your confidence, you were a friendly person and loved meeting new people but this was something else entirely, the confusion soon turned to tension and anger, ripping at your hair during lonely nights in your apartment, thinking why doesn't he like me? Then you went to Ben who just shrugged and said he'd warm up to you eventually, which you found incredibly difficult to believe, you weren't having it, it had been almost half a year and no progress, you'd had enough, you had to confront him.

Your opportunity arose only a week later, during a party at Joe's house.  it made your muscles tense up knowing you were going to see Gwil, and it wasn't fair of him to give you this sort of treatment without a shred of explanation. Everything was in full-swing when you arrived by your lonesome, but you didn't waste no longer than ten minutes making your move, so there you were, drink in hand, when you cornered him talking to Lucy. Walking head held high, you approached them, and Lucy smiled when she noticed you, you shared a kiss on the cheek before exchanging respective compliments on each other's looks, then your attention went to him.

"Hey, can I talk to you?"

Both he and Lucy looked at you before the blonde nudged him with her arm, giving him a cool stare, as if to say, "Go sort this out", which was true since you and her had talked about the situation too, and her response was "It's between you and him, so get in there girl and stand up for yourself", and right now, tonight, you were going to heed her advice.

Gwil took a deep breath and walked next to you as you made your way to the nearest room, where it was quiet enough to talk, but the walk there seemed to stretch on for hours instead of a matter of seconds. You could feel the anxiety flooding through your body when his arm brushed your shoulder, you could tell he wasn't looking at you, his fingers gripping his wine glass a little too tight. Some sort of emotion hung between the two of you, you couldn't put your finger on it but it was something strong, something deep, Great another thing for you to be confused about. What you didn't know is that Gwil felt it too. 

After what felt like an age, you entered the guest bedroom, all neat and empty, leaving the impression nobody had stayed in there for a long time. Gwil had his free hand tucked into the pocket of his dark jeans, standing by the door once he closed it, silencing the bustle of the party, but still didn't give you his attention. You took a deep breath and tapped your nail on the rim of your drink, allowing your heartbeat to decrease, opening the conversation very kindly.

"I believe there is something we have to discuss."

All he did was part his lips and take a swig of red wine, leaning back against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other. Not one word left his mouth, he didn't move an inch and it took a lot in you not to start raising your voice. Why does he not want to talk to you? What is up his ass? Fucking say something, you bastard! The tension in the room was too stifling for you to cope with so you spoke again, but harsher.

"Fuck, you should man up and talk to me like a decent bloke, I thought you would be."

And that's when he finally looked at you. Without even realising it, the suddenness of eye contact made shivers run down your spine, deep blue eyes staring into yours, brows furrowed in faint disgust.

"Hate to burst your bubble then, love."

More shivers, rippling throughout your bones so fast you were almost afraid he'd be able to notice you slightly trembling. His voice wasn't supposed to do that....but it did, from the way he said it, from the way you finally saw his eyes in clear view, how fucking hot he looked just standing there, how had you not noticed that before? Because his blind hatred of you clouded that fact. You shook the thoughts out of your head and stood your ground.

"I seriously have no clue why you been acting like this around me. I have been nothing but kind to you, I haven't said one bad word to you, I truly wanted us to be friends but you find an excuse to escape me every chance you get!"

Your cheeks flushed red once the words left your lips, your free hand scrunching up into a fist, nails digging into your palm. Gwil all but sighed and...was that a smirk you saw? No, just a trick of the lights. The point of his shoe tapped the carpet as he looked down at his half-empty glass, collecting his thoughts.

"Not a bad word? I heard you talking to Joe the other week, you called me a dickhead."

"I have every reason to, you barely talk to me. This is the most you've talked to me in weeks."

"If you have reasons, then I have them too."

"Fucking tell me then instead of practically ignoring me! It's childish."

"So I'm the child but you're the one yelling." He cocked an eyebrow, was that another smirk? He's got me so confused? Is that what he wants?

"How do you expect me to react? I haven't appreciated the cold shoulder, Gwilym."

"I don't appreciate you running your mouth."

"Could just tell me whatever reasons you have instead of this."

You and him went back forth, trying to fight each other but it didn't seem to do anything good, it only heightened the tension between you two but a specific kind of tension. One you knew now and one he managed to figured out seeing you in front of him, raising your voice. In this moment, he saw how attractive you were, more so than he already thought, your face heating up and your hair glowing from the muted lights, the dress hugging your body almost provocatively, silver diamonds hanging from your ears and cherry-coloured lips parted slightly between words. You were so sexy and the alcohol buzzing through him wasn't helping, but this was the reason for it all. He fancied you.

"Look, it's complicated." He sighed, resting his head back against the wall. You had to bite back a laugh, is he serious?

"No, it's not. Open your mouth and just tell me."

But it turns out he didn't need to open his mouth, at least not the way you expected him to. It happened swiftly, too fast for you to comprehend, all you really saw was his glass fall to the floor, wine staining the carpet, then he crossed the room over you within three strides, took your face in his hands and crushed his lips against yours.

Your eyes flew open in surprise at the sudden pressure of his kiss...his kiss? You could barely understand what was happening, he held onto you like he needed air to breathe, you could taste the wine on his tongue, it was intoxicating, it felt...nice but was the wine nice or the aggression of his mouth? Questions swirled your mind, it didn't help your emotions during this moment, you didn't realise your mouth had opened on its own which allowed him to slip his tongue in a little and close the gap between you again, the second kiss even harder and more passionate, the softest groan of relief and delight from him ringing in your ears. You almost let yourself fall under his spell before you caught yourself and made a muffled squeak, your hand finding his jacket and pushing him away from you, gasping for a breath.

"What the fuck, Gwil?"

Thoughts circled your head, words bouncing off the walls, your hand brushing over your bottom lip, the gloss transferring to your skin as it had done on his lips, stained and shiny, you were surprised you were still holding your wine glass. He cocked an eyebrow at you as heat rose to his cheeks, he raised his hand almost as if he was apologising but you stopped him, holding up your own hand and shaking your head.

"What was that?"

"I...I kissed you."

"No shit Sherlock! Why? How is that supposed to explain anything?"

"I'm- I..." He couldn't seem to find the right words, he hesitated reaching his hand out further before deciding against it and pushing it back through his hair. You gulped, why is it so hot when he does that? You were so glad he couldn't read your mind right now, if he had heard what you just said, you sure would wish for the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

"You think a kiss is going to solve everything? I'm not some plastic doll for you to play around with however you please."

"I..I know, I just..."

"Just what? I thought you'd tell me with words, I though-"

"Oh for fuck's sake, I like you, okay?"

His pupils were blown wide as much as yours when he half-yelled the words and this time you were sure the glass was going to slip through your fingers but it still didn't, in fact you had a right mind to just down the whole thing after what he told you. You thought he didn't like you...he liked you? If you were confused before, then you were even more now, your hand fell to your side as you stared at him, eyes like glass, you couldn't even blink. Gwil's gaze had turned to the floor, pretending to be interested in the pale white carpet, his fingers moving to the back of his neck where sweat began to form. He waited for you to speak, the seconds ticked by painfully, it felt so long before you said anything.

"You...like me?" You gulped, trying to process his revelation. He chewed on his bottom lip and tucked both hands back into his pocket, nodding as his eyes flicked over to you.

"Yeah, I do, I like you. A lot."

His voice seemed fearful, anxious but with an underlying desperation, like that of a teenager admitting a big brush, it was rather cute in your eyes; first hot now cute? How can he be both? Stop it, stop questioning everything. You cursed yourself, fingers wrapped around your glass harder you thought it might crack. Instead of replying, you drained the wine, it was the only thing you could think of doing. Gwil watched as your throat moved, as you swallowed, he shuddered and prayed he wasn't showing through his pants, now wasn't the best time, especially with how you reacted. You sighed as the last drop fell into your mouth and rushed through your veins, you finally let the glass fall from your grasp and land with a small thud on the carpet. Your fingers came together in front of you, interlacing as you twiddled your thumbs, eyelids fluttering as you collected your thoughts, one deep breath and you looked at him.

"I don't understand. You like me, but you have been acting like you hate me, why do that?"

Gwil didn't answer right away, he fidgeted, hands still in his pockets, his vision now turning to eye the golden lamp on the bedside table. In this light, you could see the sparkle in his eyes, the deepest blue, like a calm ocean, like a pair of warm sapphires, you found yourself not looking away. 

"I didn't mean to be that way, I was just afraid." He said, still not looking at you.

"Why afraid?"

"Of rejection. Of you already being taken. I didn't want to admit anything if I had no chance with you." He confessed, raising one hand out of his pocket to massage his neck, your eyes locked to his fingers, wondering what they'd feel like around your ne- Cut it out! You banished your dirty thought and continued the talk.

"The worst I could say is no, and I'd mean it without any offense. And I'm not taken, I think you'd know if I was."

"That's the thing, I thought you were!"

"How did you come to that conclusion?" You peered at him. He sighed and scratched his beard, stubble littering his cheeks and chin, and right then, another X-rated thought entered your brain, You wonder what that would feel like between your legs...will it tickle? Itch? Arouse you? You think you wanted to know.

"Because you and Ben, and I...didn't want to get in the way"

You and Ben? You gave him a perplexed look as you tried to work out what your friend had got to do with any of this. Ben was really a great guy, you enjoyed his company, years of friendship had blossomed between him and you, and you loved being able to see him when he wasn't busy with his star-studded career, but there wasn't anything there to insinuate something more was happening between you two. 

Then it hit you.

"You thought that Ben...and me...that we...? Oh god no we're just friends!"

You bit back a giggle. Ben was easy on the eyes, anyone could see that, even Joe said it, multiple times, many conversation he'd told you, "That fucker's stupidly gorgeous isn't he?" but he was not your type. He was more like a brother to you than anything else. Sure there was the occasional kiss on the cheek, hugs a little longer than usual, his arm around your waist or ruffling your hair when you told a stupid joke, but friends did that, they could do that without having feelings for each other. Gwil almost lost his balance after what you said, Just friends...Just friends...

"Are you sure? I mean he's the pretty boy."

"Okay he's pretty but he is like family to me, I wouldn't hit that even if I was piss drunk." 

Your mouth curled at the corners, as did his and both of you shared  a small laugh. Your eyes fell upon the empty wine glass on the floor, teeth tugging at your lower lip; you could see Gwil's body shift a little closer, one foot in front of the other, until he was standing before you, chests almost touching. His fingers stroked your jaw, moving underneath your chin to bring your gaze up to his face. He looked...intense but still had a softness behind his eyes, something sweet and hesitant but at the same time, you could feel he wanted to continue the kiss he gave only minutes ago.

"So...no Ben?"

You rested your hand on his wrist, giving him a smile as your eyes went from his to his lips, mouth watering at the memory of them on yours.

"No Ben."

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ.·:*¨༺

"Gwil..."

His name was like chocolate on your tongue, as his tongue worked over and against your slick folds. One hand in his hair and the other curled behind your head, back arching with every hum he made against you, his mouth was insane, you hadn't felt such pleasure in god knows how long; he really knew what he was doing.  And he seemed to enjoy it as much as you did, smiling as he pressed kisses to your swollen clit, groaning with each flick and lick, with each tug you made on his hair, and that mixed with the feeling of his stubble rubbing your inner thighs and right above your mound as he angled his lips in the most delightful of ways. 

You were getting closer, you could almost taste it, feel it....but he stopped and raised his face from between your legs, his arms still wrapped around your flushed thighs. His mouth was wet, his hair in disarray and his eyes dilated; he looked fucking hot, but right now, you wanted to scream at him for stopping it right when you were about to finish. He could see you were almost angry at how suddenly he pulled away from your heat, he stroked the curve of your left breast as he began to lay down next to you, his free hand resting over his mouth.

"Come sit here."

It took you a few seconds to realise what he meant, your breath got caught in your throat, slowly blinking at him in surprise.

"Are you...are you sure?"

"Yes, you're so beautiful, I'd love nothing more than for you to ride my tongue."

You certainly did not expect something so foul to come out of his mouth but fuck you loved it. A smile grew on your face as you sat up, as he brought his hands to your hips just as you were about to face the headboard, he pushed you in the other direction a tad.

"Sit the other way, baby."

Your cheeks became hot and you were almost embarrassed at how flustered a simple petname made you. You gasped as you got into position, his nose right there against you and in your line of eyesight was his sweaty body, his happy trail disappearing into his jeans, and through those, a bulge was unmistakable.

You'd made him hard and you hadn't done anything but kiss him, you giggled at the reality of it, the embarrassment fading into smugness. Gwil moved his hands over your thighs, giving one of them a slap and you yelped in shock.

"What are you laughing about, huh?"

You bit your lip as you answered.

"You're hard."

"O'course I fucking am. Eating you out did that to me, hell you make me hard just by looking at me." He murmured on you, and before you could say anything, his tongue was back on you, licking back and forth, covering the length of your heat, he didn't leave one spot untouched by his tongue. Moans flew out of your mouth, sweat beading on your skin as he switched between his lips and his tongue, going so far as to telling you to bounce, and doing that was one hell of an experience. You leaned forward and raised your hips so you could move more, his tongue stuck out flat so you could feel it inside you, warming you up, stretching you out, he really cared about making you feel good and giving you the best feeling before you reached your high.

Your hands latched onto the belt around his jeans, curled over his body, grinding over his mouth, his facial hair once again giving you that cherry on top, his growls of hunger and delight pushing you over the edge. One palm slapped your ass cheeks, his name flowing from your lips again.

"Cum for me, cum on my face, sweet girl."

And you did just that, body shaking as you rode out your orgasm on his face, his lips never detaching from your clit, intending to make you have the most explosive high, and it sure felt like that. Your toes and fingers were on fire, your heart shot through the roof and you had trouble catching your breath as he lapped you up, "Mm you taste so good", another slap to your ass, chuckling against your heat, nose bumping on your clit, making you whimper a little given how sensitive you were. You slowly sat up and ran a hand through your damp hair, laughing through deep breathes.

"Fuck, you're amazing at that."

"Thought I wouldn't be?" You could feel his smirk beneath you.

"No no, just...wow."

Gwil smirked wider and gave your clit one last kiss, your eyes back on the even-harder bulge in his jeans. He'd just made you feel incredible. You wanted to do the same to him. So instead of moving from your position, you simply leaned down over his toned chest and started unbuckling his belt.

"Oh I see someone's hungry too." He laughed, hands resting on your red ass. Something came over you, the sexual side of you suddenly arose and within seconds, his belt was off and you were pulling his jeans down. He gave you some help by lifting his hips, you pushed them down to his knees and now you could see how hard he actually was, almost bursting to be released from the prison of his boxers. You didn't want to keep him waiting, you giggled and tucked your fingers into them, and pushed them down to join his jeans, more giggles spilling out when you got the first proper look at his cock.

The tip was pink, precum already forming, he was thick, very girthy, bigger than you thought but still you weren't that surprised. You slipped your fingers around him and gripped him and he hissed, his breath hot on your cunt. You smiled to yourself and pumped him a few times, relishing how warm and hard he was in your hand, the pads of your fingers rubbing over the veins, satisfied with your work, you puckered your lips and wrapped them around the head of his cock, and the noise he made was so fucking sexy, the sweetest groan and the hottest whine.

"Holy shit..."

You concentrated on where you sucked and moved your mouth, your hand tight around the base of his shaft. From previous experiences, you knew lubricant of any kind worked a treat, so you took a moment to pull your lips off and spit over the head, gently rubbing wetness all over his length; that got him considering the deep moans he was making right against your clit. Feeling his mouth so close to you while you sucked him off made you powerful, like you had him in your corner, it was your turn to give him pleasure and in his hand, he hadn't felt this good in a long time. 

When his eyes were open, they were on your cunt, fucking you with his vision, his hands moving from your ass to your hips to your upper thighs, gripping your skin as his own hips started to move with your mouth and before long, Gwil was fucking your mouth. You choked and whimpered around his cock, delicious sounds from his perspective, leaving marks on your ass from how hard he was holding you.

"Your mouth's so warm and tight fuck baby I-"

His words encouraged you to do more, fingers away from his cock and moving to his balls, you grabbed one and he let out a cry of delight, jerking his hips up faster until your eyes started to water; it burned but it was a good burn, making Gwil feel this way made you feel good, pleasing him made you feel good. As you squeezed his balls, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, neck craned all the way back over the pillow, his toes curling over the end of the bed. Your own thighs started to shake and your throat tightened around him, and he lost his hand.

"Just like that, yeah."

And with your mouth around him and your fingers gripping his balls, he finished, quicker than you thought; it wasn't even three minutes and you tasted hot thickness, his cum, him. You gagged a little as you removed your lips softly like sucking a lollipop, strings of your saliva dripping from his cock. You gasped and swallowed; you never spat out, it was a rule you gave yourself, what a waste it would be to spit, especially after sucking Gwil off, and speaking of him, his breath was heavy and fast, chest puffing in and out as he came down from his high, eyes glittering and a cheesy grin on his face.

"You're amazing at that."

All you could do was giggle and say, "I know."

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ.·:*¨༺

He was buried deep inside your walls, stretching out every inch and corner of you, the strokes of his cock were heavenly, easily hitting your g-spot over and over again. Your legs were wrapped high around his waist, ankles crossed over, nails digging into his back and dragging down his spine, one of his hands gripping the headboard and the other on your thigh, keeping you in place as he fucked you raw.

"Gwil, Gwil...please.." 

"Please what? What do you want?" He grunted between thrusts. Tears burned your lids as your hips smashed with his, lips inches away from his, his warm breath setting your face alight.

"Please...I want to cum, I want us to cum together..."

"Oh fuck.."

The way he moved got harder, faster, more aggressive to the point where your legs were turning into jelly and all you could feel was his stiff cock, you could not even get a proper sentence out anymore, if you did, it was laced with high whines. As his body meshed with your own, your eyes glanced at his arm, where his hand held onto the headboard with so much force you wondered why it hadn't broken. You felt yourself melt into the bed at the sight of his bicep, skin wrapped thin around the muscles, a sheen of sweat coating over his arm, more sweat on his forehead and at the back of his neck, face dipping close to your jaw, the air humid between the two of you.

"I'm gonna cum, shit- but I'm not wear-"

"I'm..on the p-p-pill, cum in me, Gwil." You gripped at him, pulling his chest closer, clenching your cunt around him, desperate for him to finish. The "fucking hell" told you he was only seconds away and sure enough, you felt it, you felt his orgasm, how his cock pulsated inside you, even better inside you than in your mouth and you followed barely a minute after when he was still riding out his high, your back off the bed and your legs trembling around him, harsh scratches left deep in his back because of you. 

Gwil collapsed on top of you, your fingers finding their way into his sweaty hair, as he slowly pulled out of you, the remnants of what you'd just did together dripping down your thigh, something he found extremely attractive. He attached his lips to yours in a passionate sweet kiss, as if you two hadn't just fucked each other's brains out, smiling as he broke the kiss and pressed another to your nose.

"Didn't think this would happen coming here tonight." He guffawed, rolling off you to get comfortable beside you. Like second nature, you curled up into him, your arm draped over his chest and his over your shoulders, sheets askew down to his waist as well as yours; to the both of you, cuddling after sex was as special as the act of sex itself.

"Neither did I...but I like that it happened." You smiled up at him. His fingers stroked your hair, his lips against the top of your head.

"Yeah? Me too."

You and Gwil stayed there, having cuddle time and striking up a conversation about what this meant for your relationship; you liked him and he liked you but for right now, it was agreed upon that the sex was great and that's what it would be, unless deeper feelings crept in. Time was lost, you felt safe with him, his hand in your hair as you traced patterns on his skin, but as much as you loved having this, you knew you couldn't stay here all night.

"We should get back. Everyone will be wondering where we are." You sat up and gathered the sheets up to your chest, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Gwil joined you and rubbed the back of his neck.

"You're right about that, let's go, love." He said, and just as he was about to get out of the bed, there was a knock at the door followed by a very familiar American accent.

"I don't know what's happening in there but if you two are done defiling MY guest bedroom, you'd better come out and watch Ben do Jell-O shots off me." 

You burst out laughing and your head fell into Gwil's neck at Joe's statement, he chuckled along with you and sighed deeply, eyebrows raised; he didn't want to leave this room either, not with having you in the bed, gloriously naked and beautiful. But still, the two of you had to rejoin the party. He kissed your temple and rubbed your shoulder as giggles slipped through your lips, he couldn't help but smile even wider at the sound of your laughter.

"Well well we can't miss that, can we?"

taglist: @rhapsodyrecs​ / @bens-jawline​ / @itsametaphorgwil​ / @queen-paladin​ / @joeneslee​ / @almightygwil​ / @deacyblues​ / @zyanmaik​ / @hermajestyborhap​ / @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ / @coincidence-ithinknots-blog​ / @grigorlee​ / @captvinswaan​ / @taliaphobia​ / @gwil-lee​ / @hannafuckingsucks​ / @benders-diamond-earring​ / @supersonicfreddie​

[rat-father]

Cub going to a pet sitter

This one ended abruptly, I got too tired to continue it

tagging; @skunkandgrenade @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

-- tw;; pet whump, it as pronoun, multiple whumpees, intimate whumper, comparing whumpees/favoritism, implied abuse, burning (?) --

“Okay Cubby, we’re here. Ya gotta be on your best behaviour around Tom, alright? He’ll tell me if ya do anything out of line.” Master said in a stern tone, turning to Cub standing next to him.

“I’ll be good, master.”

Master nodded and knocked on the front door. Almost immediately a tall guy with round glasses opened, greeting both of them. Cub stared at book he carried in one hand, not paying attention to the conversation they were having. The cover was shiny and had a dragon on it, it thought it looked really cool!

“Well. You excited Cub?” The man asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“You can call me Tom. Makes me feel old when I get called sir.” He joked.

Master chuckled. “I’ll pick them up at 2. Off ya go.” He gently pushed Cub inside.

“Bye bye!”

Tom closed the door behind them, grasping the book in both hands. “So, you want something to drink? Oh and I should introduce you to my pet.”

He hurried into the kitchen, Cub following after. He looked around as if searching for something, tapping his nails on the book. Decidedly he put the book down on the counter, quickly reaching into a cabinet, taking out a plastic cup.

”Wait, do you want something to drink? I’m not sure if you answered already.”

“It would like a drink, please.” It smiled.

“Ah, okay. Lemonade?”

”Yes, please.”

Tom made some lemonade for it while whistling to himself. He handed the cup to Cub, a kind smile on his face. He clapped his hands two times and another pet came peeking around the corner.

”There you are, dear. Come here, don’t be shy.” He cooed.

The pet slowly approached the two of them, nervously shooting glances at its master and Cub. Tom put his hand on their shoulder, making them tense up.

”This is my pet, Lori. They’re a bit nervous around others, but don’t worry about it. I’m sure you two will get along.” He chuckled.

It perked up. It hadn’t had a new friend in a while! Lori didn’t seem as excited, only quickly forcing a smile when their owner tightened his grip on their shoulder. He snatched his book from the counter and lead both the pets to his living room. There was a big fluffy carpet Lori immediately sat down on. Cub scanned the room, seeing a big couch, tv and armchair. It looked at Tom expectantly, not sure where to go.

“You can sit on the couch Cub,” He politely chuckled. “You too Lori, couch, now.” His voiced turned stern.

It climbed on the couch, plopping against the soft pillows, warm from the sunlight shining through the window. The other pet tensed up, not moving from their place. It warily watched them, nervously playing with its sleeves. Surely they would get punished for disobeying an order. He sighed and grabbed Lori by the hair, throwing them on the couch. He sat down in the middle, glaring angrily at his pet.

“Sorry about that. They’re not trained as well as you are, Cub. Honestly, they could learn a lot from you.”

Cub smiled brightly at the compliment, feeling confident in itself. It was a good pet!

”Thank you, Tom.”

He smiled back, then turned to his pet, who was softly caressing the spot where he grabbed them. “Go make me some coffee and I might forget about this. Go on.”

Lori hastily got up and ran to the kitchen, disappearing out of sight. Cub silently moved closer to him on the couch.

“Hm? Do you want something?”

“It doesn’t matter what pet want, Tom.”

“You’re a smart one,” He reached out and petted it on its head. “Xanzi is real lucky to have you.”

It leaned into the touch, closing its eyes and relaxing. He wrapped his arms around it, pulling into his lap. Cub settled in, resting its head against his shoulder. It missed the affection from master, but it enjoyed the attention nonetheless. Cub heard the soft footsteps of the other pet coming back. It opened its eyes to see Lori handing a black mug to Tom. He took a couple sips from it, frowning.

“How much sugar did you put in this?” He hissed.

“T-two cubes, master.”

“I told you to put in one you dumb animal!”

Tom threw the mug at them, covering their white clothing in dark stains. They weakly covered their face with their hands, whimpering softly. They slowly looked up with wide eyes, tears rolling down their face.

“Go clean this up, and change your clothes! Unbelievable.”

Cub watched silently, too afraid to say anything. Coffee was all over the carpet and floor. Lori turned around and hastily left the room. He sighed deeply, shaking his head. It leaned its head against his shoulder, whimpering softly. It missed home already.

[tendertenebrosity]

Newest instalment of TJ and Danny’s story, my OCs from @wildfaewhump’s Pathverse! 

Part three in a series: One, two. Masterpost for all their stories here. Enjoy! 

When the noise and the violent motion stopped, TJ stayed where he was for a long, breathless second, his breathing loud in his ears.

The tiny enclosed space of the car was hot, smelled harsh and strong, like burning. TJ was on his side, hanging awkwardly with the straps of the seatbelt cutting into his side. He slowly, carefully uncurled his arms from around his head and listened.

He didn’t hear anything.

“Danny?” he asked.  

There was silence for a long, horrible moment. Then TJ heard the sound of someone shifting amongst bits of debris and fabric. A swearword, drawn out and slurred.

TJ shifted in place, trying to find a position that wasn’t as uncomfortable, plucked awkwardly at the seatbelt strap. It hurt. He wanted it off. He wanted to get out of the car.

What had happened? Danny had been driving, and arguing with his friend from the other Agency, and then – and then – had the car crashed? Was that what had happened, that brief couple of seconds of being thrown about violently?

The phone voice was silent now. The car creaked, plinked, tiny noises in the quiet. Danny’s breathing was loud and harsh panting, from somewhere in front, that TJ could hear even over his own breaths.

“Danny?” TJ asked again.

Danny grunted, moved, and made an odd noise. High-pitched, wordless. Was he hurt?

“Kid,” Danny’s voice said, hoarse and faint. “Oh, fuck. Ah, shit – damn it – damn it – I can’t…” He puffed for breath, the movement subsiding. “TJ, are you – are you – hurt?”

“No,” TJ said, frightened. He wasn’t, was he? He patted his arms, shifted his legs to make sure he was telling the truth. He ached, the seatbelt hurt, but he had had worse.  Nothing was injured. “No, I’m not – are – are you?”

“Fuck. Yeah. Yeah, I – TJ, I can’t come and – come and let you out, s’rry, fucking… fucking legs’re… you should, y’should….”

Danny’s words trailed away, became unintelligible. TJ felt cold fear starting to creep around his chest and stomach. Danny was not supposed to sound like that. Danny was supposed to tell TJ what to do.

“Danny?”

No answer, only breathing.

TJ gripped tight to the seatbelt, the fabric smooth and shiny-feeling under the pads of his fingers, tiny threads catching under his nails. He gulped for breath, panic rising.

“Danny, I should what?” he wailed. “What am I supposed to do? Danny? Danny, you need to tell me what to do next!”

TJ’s voice bounced back at him from the small enclosed space, too loud, too much, and Danny still didn’t answer. Something clinked; TJ’s faded secondhand memories filled in possibilities. Broken glass, stone, metal? The broken glass in his mind’s eye was painted with blood.

No, he thought, shoving that back forcefully. No. There isn’t. You’d smell it, wouldn’t you?

The car was so hot. TJ thought he could still feel sunlight on his upper arm and his face.

What had Danny been about to say? He’d said that he couldn’t get TJ out of the car. Then that TJ should do something. Maybe he’d meant… TJ should get himself out?

TJ’s fingers found the fastening of the seatbelt. How did you… He fumbled, found the right place to push, click.

He found himself sliding across the tilted carseat, grabbing at the door to hold himself still, as the belt slithered back to wherever it went with a whirring noise. Okay. Okay, now open the door. He tried, twice, fumbling at the handle. People did this all the time, right, they were supposed to open from the inside, it shouldn’t be – that – difficult -

He got it open a crack, but it closed again immediately, the weight of metal pushing it shut. TJ chewed his lip, took a deep breath… then reached up, and pushed his blindfold up over his forehead before he could change his mind.

The sun was bright, pouring in through the car window, little motes of dust twirling and catching golden in the air in front of his face. TJ squinted, blinking down at his clenched fist in his lap until he could see well enough through half-closed eyes to work the door handle.

Eventually he clambered out of the car, thin-soled shoes slipping over the rubber and plastic, and stood beside it.

It was… too much, out here. Too bright. TJ shaded his eyes, holding his hands up like a child pretending to use binoculars, blinking aside tears.

The sky was… the sky was… too big. He whimpered involuntarily, stumbling away from the car. A vast bowl of blueness that might suck him up and into it if he wasn’t careful, if he looked at too much at once. He carefully directed his gaze downwards, focusing on one thing at a time.

The ground was yellow-green grass, knee-high in places and mixed with weeds. It was torn up in great gouges leading up to the car, ridges of mud with grass blades pressed into them.

The ground sloped away from the car, upwards to – TJ chanced a quick glance up, to see a metal barrier hidden behind more weeds, and then more hill and trees further along. The road was that way. He was dimly surprised at how far away it was.

The car was a dull blue, boxy and shiny like a beetle, lying all askew with its right wheels half-buried in dirty water and weeds and the left wheels not even touching the ground.

The car crashed, he found himself thinking, numbly. It hit the barrier and went over it. Now it’s lying on its side, on the slope. There’s broken glass and plastic on the ground. His arm hurt, and his head. He couldn’t see Danny at all…

TJ realised that his lips had been moving, half muttering. He shook his head, frustrated with himself. He pulled the blindfold off his forehead, scrunching it up in hands that shook. Stop it! This isn’t a memory. Nobody needs you to say it out loud. This is real. This is happening now.

And there’s no ‘he’. There’s just you.

All there is here is you. Danny can’t tell you what to do now.

He walked, dreamlike, around the car, the mud soaking through his thin shoes and getting his feet wet. The front of it was crumpled – cars weren’t supposed to do that – shards of orange plastic mixed garishly with the grass.

And Danny was in the front seat. At the first glimpse of him, a brief flash of dark fuzzy hair and a bulky shoulder in a uniform visible through the broken window, TJ gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. That was wrong! TJ wasn’t supposed to see Danny!

He was still in the car, he couldn’t get out. Did he look hurt? It was wrong that TJ had seen him!

TJ stood there, eyelids scrunched closed, in the hot dark dizziness of the sunshine. The world was spinning slowly around him.

I can’t look at Danny. What if I take his soul?

TJ didn’t have the faintest idea… how exactly a Path would take a soul. People, both handlers and his caretakers back when he was a child, had always acted like it was something he would just sort of instinctively be able to do. But he didn’t know how, so that meant he also didn’t know how to not do it, right?

But Danny was hurt. TJ didn’t know how badly. What if he needed TJ to do something?  

“Danny?” TJ quavered. “Danny, I’m out of the car.”

There was no answer, again. Was Danny unconscious? Or awake and not able to talk for some reason? TJ caught his breath in a panicked sob.

Think, okay, think. He needed someone to tell him what to do, but there was no-one.

So… if someone told him to do something… what would that be? Could he guess? Figure out what the right thing to do was even if there was nobody to tell him?

Simplest, safest answer was almost always to sit still and wait. If you hadn’t been ordered to do anything, that was the same as being ordered to do nothing. Right? So TJ should just sit down here, in this ditch, and wait for somebody from the Agency to come and get him.

He did so, wobbling a little bit, sinking down onto his rump on the uneven slope. He folded his hands in his lap, trying to calm his racing heart. It was going to be okay. Even if TJ and Danny were alone now, it wouldn’t be for long. The Agency would send people to get them. It might take time, but they would.

Only.

Only Danny was hurt.

What if by the time the Agency got here he was…. Worse? What if he died? What if, while TJ was just sitting here in the dirt, Danny was bleeding or suffocating or dying? What if the Agency never came – TJ remembered with sudden painful clarity that Danny had never told Julie where he was.

He whimpered, his hands twisting in his shirt. He didn’t know what to do!

What do I think Danny would say if he could?  

Well if I knew what he’d tell me to do I would just do that, wouldn’t I!

This was so hard. What did Danny say when things were hard? He would swear and be annoyed but he’d tell TJ to push through the pain and do the job in front of him. He’d tell TJ he was tough and he could do this.

Come on, TJ, he thought at himself, firmly, trying to infuse his inner voice with Danny-ness. Think it through, step by step. Easy does it. TJ was okay at following other people’s trains of thought, but this was so much harder.

If sitting still and waiting wasn’t the best answer, what else could TJ do? He could… find somebody else, another handler. Could he use the phone Danny had been using to call Julie again? Or the Agency?

TJ carefully, slowly cracked his eyelids open, and peered at the car. Sunlight dazzled off glass and metal. Somewhere in there was Danny’s phone… right? Could TJ use it? Oh, that felt wrong, that felt like a bad Path thing to do, but it was the only way TJ could imagine of finding another handler.

Of course, it might be broken. And TJ didn’t know how if he could even find it, let alone use it to call someone specific...  

He could get up and go walk for help.  

TJ slid his eyes closed, to better contemplate this thought. It also felt… kind of bad. Danny’s voice echoed in his head. I’m not going to go off and leave a Path unsupervised. An unsupervised TJ was a bad thing that needed to be kept away from people, right?

But the Agency didn’t know where TJ and Danny were, and they wouldn’t know unless they happened to find them. Right? So TJ needed to go somewhere he’d be more likely to get found. Then the Agency would know where Danny was and they could save him!

TJ took a deep breath, set his shoulders firmly. All right.

He got to his feet.

“Hey Danny,” he said, voice wobbling only slightly. He looked deliberately away from the car, as if he was talking to the stand of weeds a few feet away, and pitched his voice loud enough to carry. “I’m going to walk up to the road, and find some people. Okay? Everything – everything is going to be all right. Don’t worry, I’ll put my blindfold back on as soon as anybody’s around, and I won’t touch anyone, and, and, and I’ll be careful.”

He waited for long enough to know Danny wasn’t going to say anything.

Then he shaded his watering eyes, set them on the metal barrier, and started to trudge up the slope alone.

[jungkookiebus]

The Gourmet | kth

Genre: Tokyo Ghoul!au x angst x smut Pairing: Gourmet!Taehyung x reader Word Count: 3k Rating: 18+ Warnings: VIOLENCE, if you know anything about Tokyo Ghoul it is dark as HECK, major character death, mentions of drugs and alcohol, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, like I said MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, a ghoul’s gotta eat Author’s Note: I know the Gourmet is a character, but I’m using it as a group of ghouls because Tae is a classy fellow who is picky about what he eats. Also, the story starts from the reader’s POV, but quickly changes to Tae’s. 

Losing your life was not how you expected your night to end. Yet, here you were, amidst the satin sheets, blood seeping into the fabric as your body grew weaker. He hovered over you, scleras solid black, and his pupils blood red. His smile was menacing, so different from how the night started. But that was neither here nor there now; your life was over as it was.

“There’s a Gourmet in the 20th ward.”

The investigator was looking over his research as he informed his partner who stood at his side, watching him sift through his papers.

“How do you know?”

“Unlike a Binge Eater, Gourmets tend to be more…selective. Sometimes, their prey has something in common, sometimes it’s a little harder to tell.”

“So, what does this one like?”

“We haven’t figured that part out yet. None of the victims have anything in common. None were abducted from the same place. Looks, blood type, nothing was the same.”

“Then how do we know it’s a Gourmet?”

“Because we’ve tried to set up bait at the various locations the victims went missing from, assuming they go to the same places twice.”

“So…how do we catch them?”

The investigator’s lips pursed together as he laid his palms on the table, eyes moving quickly over his notes and maps. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

The bass of the music pumped through the club, vibrating up through your feet and making your chest feel tight as you stood too close to the speakers. You moved closer towards the middle of the dance floor as you downed your drink. Sweaty bodies moved against you, but it didn’t matter because you mixed drugs and alcohol tonight. The ecstasy you took earlier was kicking in and you were feeling a rush of euphoria as the music moved through you. Much like you, everyone around you was drunk, high, or both.

The 20th ward was known for being “docile” so when you went out, you didn’t feel the need to worry. An investigator hadn’t been killed in the ward for ten years. Tonight would be no different from all the others, but little did you know, a certain ghoul had his eye on you.

He stood across the room, leaned against the bar with an undrunk drink in his hand. His dark hair fell over his eyes, curtaining them as he watched you dance. You moved so lithely amongst the crowd, all alone, and totally in your element.

He could smell you from here. Sweet yet savory, your blood called to him despite the drugs and alcohol running through your veins. You glowed, highlighted amongst the other bodies and his eyes followed you deftly as you moved. You stumbled slightly, catching yourself on the back of someone else before righting yourself and dancing some more. He sat the glass down on the bar, not a drop missing, and moved through the throng. The crowd parted for him subconsciously, his mere presence seemed to move them to the side. He was a good head taller than everyone else, but you didn’t see him as he approached. Your scent became stronger in his nose the closer he got, and he inhaled deeply as he reached you.

Strawberries and cream, if he liked those kind of things, freshly sown soil, and the heat of a summer day is the scent that had assaulted his senses for weeks. He had watched you, walking to and from work, to school, and this club. Silly girl had a routine, not that he couldn’t find you by smell alone. His skin tingled, he was on edge, and turned on; turned on by your smell as his mouth salivated. He had starved himself for you and he wasn’t going to let any of it go to waste.

You moved like you were in water, the drugs kicking in, and you seemed to be on a positive high. A smile graced your lips and your eyes remained closed as he reached out and plucked the cup from your hand. Your dopey smile grew a little wider as you looked at him. Perfect. He had you right where he wanted you. Casually, he dropped the plastic cup to the floor to fall amongst the other litter as he wrapped an arm around your waist, drawing you in closer. Your scent was so strong in his nose now that he had to close his eyes. He breathed deeply through his nose, trying to settle the vibration running through him, willing them not to change color. He was so hungry, but he wanted to bide his time, play with his food if you will.

“I’ve been watching you.” He tried to keep his voice as low as possible, but loud enough to hear over the music as he brought his lips to your ear.

You giggled. How cute.

“Is that so?” You lazily brought your arms up to drape them around his neck and he pulled you in even closer, almost chest to chest.

He began to move with you, swaying to the rhythm since you didn’t dance with much direction anyway. He was watching your face intently now, watching the way the flashing lights highlighted your cheekbones, and the way your hooded eyes inspected him with little to no fear. Your confidence would be your undoing. You were beautiful, but beauty wouldn’t save you. He was here for something else and he was set on getting it. He had waited for long enough.

“What’s your name?” you slurred. You linked your hands behind his neck, and he felt the warmth of your skin at his nape and goosebumps rose up his arms.

He smiled with no teeth. He was the master of charm and he intended to use it for all it was worth.

“Taehyung,” he said smoothly.

You repeated his name slowly, letting it roll around in your mouth. The way you said it sounded sweeter than he expected, and it lit a fire within him. He pulled you even closer and your eyes grew wide in surprise at the unspoken understanding. Your lips formed an O as you stared directly into his eyes, knowing what he wanted. He moved his hands to your lower back, feeling the dampness of your shirt as sweat rolled down your back. Oh, how he was going to love tearing you apart, in more ways than one.

“Would you like to come back to my place?” It was a question, but it was laced with a tone that said he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He never had to ask twice.

You seemed to ponder the question as your eyes fluttered upwards towards the ceiling, making him wait for a few seconds before answering.

“What’s in it for me?”

“My company.”

It didn’t take much to convince you to leave with him. Humans were always so gullible, and his allure drew them in, ensnared them, and he let it drip like honey to keep them there. You moved along the city streets beside him, moving in tandem despite your clear intoxication. The shit humans poured into their bodies didn’t mar the taste as much as one would think. What was at the core of a human was what he was after, the life inside of them, and the way he could easily snuff it out. He always took them home. It wasn’t like they would live to tell anyone where he lived.

His lodgings were lavish, a way to get them to trust him. How could a well dressed man in the 20th ward ever be dangerous? Little did they know, his home was but an illusion of safety. He smiled at you sweetly as he led you by the hand down his shiny white hallway. Clean, his home was always so clean and stark white. If he were threatening there would be signs right? Of course, but none that you would see until it was too late.

“Come on, baby, don’t dawdle. I want to taste you.” They never needed to know the truth behind his words. He could say whatever he wanted, and they would be putty in his hands.

You giggled as you staggered behind him, clutching to his hand like a lifeline. He led you into his room, it was just as white as the rest of his house. He prided himself on how well he cleaned up. He spun around, cupping your jaw, and immediately kissed you. You sighed and moaned as your lips parted, allowing his tongue past your lips. His head swam with the taste. His eyes rolled back as the strong liquor danced on his taste buds and your unique taste mixed with his. He was in for a treat tonight. You let him under the hem of your shirt easily as he dropped his hands to your waist, lips never leaving yours. His fingers skated your warm skin and he felt you tense with excitement under his touch.

“Please,” you whispered against his lips.

He smiled. He always loved when his meal begged.

“Please what?” he whispered back. His fingers barely touched you as he moved upwards, his fingertips now at the skin under your bra.

“Touch me more.”

“As you wish.”

He moved away, pulled his hands back out of your shirt to grab the bottom and pulled it upwards. You complied easily, letting him unclothe you fully. You were his and his alone for tonight and for the rest of his life. Each time he ate, he kept a little piece of them in his heart. He only had feelings for those he wanted to devour, remembering his victims, their taste, their touch, their screams…But for now, he wanted to have his way with you before doing what he brought you here for. He moved you to the bed, letting you fall on your back, supple skin framed by the white fabric. You were on display for him and he was going to enjoy every minute of it. He grabbed your waist and pushed you further upwards until your whole body was on the bed. You giggled sweetly as his fingers skated up your calves, over the tops of your supple thighs before grasping the soft flesh of the insides in his hands. He drew his lip between his teeth, biting down to stop himself from taking a bite right now. He wasn’t ready yet. There were other things he needed to taste before he got what he wanted. He pushed your thighs apart. You were already wet for him, laid out like a feast. You moaned and his eyes flitted to your face. Yours were closed as you pushed your head back into the mattress, hands moving along your own skin until they found your breasts, squeezing tightly as he situated himself between your legs on his stomach. He spread you with his hands, watched the way you dripped so delectably for him. This was always an appetizer of sorts before getting to his main meal. Man or woman, it didn’t matter; if the smell or taste drew him in, his body was theirs for the taking moments before their lives ended. He boldly licked up your center and the taste were just as good, just as delicate as he imagined. This was the closest he got to real food, tasting the skin and essence of another. You were sweet on his tongue, gushing lightly as he dipped it inside. You moaned again, hips shifting slightly on the bed as he delved a little deeper. He kept his hands firm on your thighs, feeling you tense and move beneath him. He got harder the more you moaned, the more he tasted you, and the more he thought of what was to come. He rutted into the sheets, wanting to feel the littlest bit of friction against his cock. He twisted his tongue inside of you, eliciting a longer moan this time and he felt your touch in his hair. Moaning, he flicked his tongue upwards through your folds until he was sloppily moving it over your clit. Your fingers dug a little deeper into his hair and he relished the slight burn at his scalp. Breaking you apart was going to be enjoyable. He pushed his hands under your thighs, wrapped his arms around them so he could bury his face even deeper in your cunt. You cried out as he fully focused on your clit now. He wanted to feel you cum around his tongue before he moved any further. His cock was so hard it hurt, but the friction of his pants was giving him some relief. With his fingernails digging harshly into your thighs, he ate you out with fervor as he grew more impatient. His hunger rose inside of him the more he tasted you and he was eager for more. You came hard on his tongue, back arched off the bed. He moaned loudly as the taste of you flooded him. This was the closest to being high he would ever be able to get, and he lived for these moments, sometimes going weeks to months between feedings so the taste and feeling would be intensified. You sobbed out his name as your thighs clenched hard around his head, but he was too busy tasting as much of you as he could to notice. Sloppily, he pulled away, letting your juices coat his lips and chin as he dragged his bottom lip against your full pubic hair, now coated with your cum. He loosened his grip as he sat up, kissing your stomach slowly. He spread the cum on his face across your skin as his heated lips moved upwards. His cock strained hard against his pants as he tried to remain focused on his task at hand. He wanted to be buried so deep inside of you that he forgot his own name, and soon, he was going to be so high from the hunt that that would likely happen. He bit the underside of your breast lightly, drawing just the smallest amount of blood, but enough to have him almost feral. You tasted better than he had ever imagined you to; the smell of you hadn’t prepared him for this. He momentarily thought of keeping you around as a pet but thought against it. They never worked out anyway. His bloodlust and hunger always won out in the end. You barely noticed as you were lost in your own pleasure as he licked the blood away from your skin. He wrapped his lips around your nipple, letting some of the blood coat it before licking it off like a child enjoying a popsicle on a summer day. This was a meal he wasn’t going to forget for a long time. He almost felt sad knowing what was going to happen; not for you of course, only for himself, always for himself. He was as selfish as they came. Gourmets only ever thought of themselves, the rush of finding something so precious, and the act of snuffing out a life. Humans hated and hunted ghouls anyway, so why should he spare them any sympathy?

Your eyes remained closed as the drugs and alcohol still ran through your system. He knew you were focused on the situation, not him. That was all fine and good because as he felt the hunger rise, his outward appearance changed. The chocolate brown of his irises was now red, he saw that much in the mirror behind his bed. He felt a sadistic rush watching himself change as he fucked one of his victims.

He sat up, kneeling between your legs as he undid the button and zipper of his pants. You were still too lost post orgasm to focus on him at all as he removed his clothing. Crawling back over you, he hovered just above you, looking at your unmarred skin, just waiting for him to sink his teeth into it. He dipped down, kissing your neck hotly, hand at your throat while the other gripped the base of his cock. He moved his hand a little, pumping himself as his lips found yours again. He kissed you deeply as he pleasured himself. Precum leaked from the tip and he gathered what he could and spread it on himself. The combined taste of your cum and blood had his head swimming. He moved to bury his face into your neck, inhaling deeply as he buried his cock inside of you. You cried out, hands scaling his back, fingernails digging deliciously into his skin. He always liked a little pain with his pleasure when he fed. Your cunt swallowed him perfectly as you took him balls deep. Your legs were around his waist as he began to move. The wetness of you seeped around him as he thrust, and the sound was lewd; he was concupiscent. He almost couldn’t stand it as your silky warmth brought him closer and closer to the edge.

The closer he got, the more he was giving in to his desires. His grip on your throat tightened as his kagune burst forth from his shoulder blade, twirling around his arm. Before the red, hard biological weapon’s tip could reach you, he released his grip on your throat and raised his arm as the kagune sharpened to a point. He looked up and into the mirror, hips never stilling, and he watched himself for a second, red eyes staring back at him. His kagune was heavy and menacing but you had yet to open your eyes, so for a moment, he had all of this to himself. He closed his eyes, head falling back as he came dangerously close to coming. Your moans grew in volume as his cock drove into you, but your pleasure was far from his mind now; a different end was coming for you. His balls tightened as he became sloppy, focusing now on what he was about to do. This is what he had waited for, for weeks, this moment, and soon he was going to have his fill in more ways than one. He opened his eyes as he came, cum spilling inside of you and for a brief second, he looked at himself before plunging the point of the kagune into your chest.

Your eyes flew open in shock, not quite registering what had happened yet. He looked down to see pain and confusion written across your features. The release of death would come for you soon, but for now he would relish this moment. He leaned down closer, breathing in the scent of your blood as it seeped across your chest and onto his white sheets. Running his tongue along your skin he moaned as he swallowed.

“You taste just as sweet as you smell.”

His eyes glowed in the darkness as your blood hit his system. He knew you were worth the wait. Leaning down again he bit into your shoulder, but you didn’t move. You were already gone, already his.

[cotncandyboifics]

The Bidding of the Prince Twins: Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 2 ~

Pairings: (vague/qpr) Loceit, eventual Analoceit

Word count: 2,977

Story summary: Virgil finds himself being held hostage in an unknown location. His two suspected captors seem to care for him more than any strangers should, especially strangers who kidnapped him. But were they really the ones who kidnapped him? That aside, Virgil also can't shake the feeling that there's something familiar about them. He just can't pin-point what it is. As time passes, the layers of lies the three of them are caught in are gradually peeled away, one by one.

General CW: U!Roman, U!Remus, food, kidnapping, implied Stockholm Syndrome, moderate to severe amnesia, swearing, sexual innuendos, graphic descriptions of gore/violence/scarring, minor character d-aths, anxiety attacks, panic attacks, non-graphic descriptions of needles (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: food mentioned, minor amnesia, kidnapping hostage, swearing, non-graphic description of anxiety attack, non-graphic description of a needle (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author Notes: <none>

...

Virgil winced, squinting sharply as a blinding white light was trained on his face. A giant light getting forced into someone's face would be jarring under any circumstances, but it was especially so considering he had previously been engulfed in an almost equally jarring darkness. He'd also just awoken from an unexpected stint of disorienting unconsciousness.

He felt a presence behind the light, and the edges of hair tufts caught bits of light from behind the cone of death that was focused on him. The figure was clearly tall, and though Virgil was seated, he could easily tell that if he weren't, this person would probably be a head taller than him at the very least. He tried to twist his wrists in the several zip-ties that had them bound together behind his back, as well as to a rod running up the center of the back of his chair. He clenched his jaw, looking down as the light sent a shock-wave of pain through his eyes.

"Virgil Black." A stern monotone voice came from where he'd seen the shiny bits of hair before. It's familiarity wasn't striking, but it had a relatively calming effect on Virgil's nerves, so his mind didn't feel the need to follow that train of thought.

"That's me, man," He tried, voice coming out slightly hoarse. "Mind explaining why the fuck you've got me tied up in this interrogation basement? Last I checked I'm not involved in any CIA bullshit," He sneered. Suddenly, he heard the sound of someone pushing a chair out and standing sounded somewhere to his right, behind the first figure. Someone else was there too. A step or two sounded as the second entity vaguely came toward Virgil. Great, two assholes to shake off.

"Very funny." A deeper voice came, much snarkier than the first. Virgil felt his spine tingle. This voice was oddly familiar as well, but he was still too out of sorts to try and figure out why.

"I apologize for the unsavory conditions, but it is imperative that our identities be kept classified for the time being. All we need is a minute amount of information, and we will be on our way." The first voice again. A very small clacking sound of plastic came from near the figure's face.

"Imperative to what?" Virgil hissed between clenched teeth, looking back up at the mysterious person. This time, he was able to pick out another feature; the light also caught what appeared to be the rim and lens of a pair of square prescription glasses. That explained the plastic clacking, he guessed. Virgil doubted they could be any other sort of glasses; it's possible that this person was a constantly-wearing-sunglasses type, but based on his brief time interacting with them, Virgil didn't really buy that. As well, some part of his intuition told him they were most certainly prescription, the same part that had noted the familiarity of both voices.

"That will also have to remain classified for now. But enough." The voice grew firm. Virgil tried to keep himself from swallowing audibly. "What are the most recent events that you remember, Virgil?"

He tried to think. "Well it's awful hard to recall anything with that giant light in my face, so can I have a minute to think? On top of that my memory is shit anyway because of my anxiety. Is that cool with you, thing 1 and thing 2?" A scoff came from Thing 2, seemingly off in the corner. Virgil hoped the half-hearted remark would keep them entertained as he tried twisting his ankles. They were tightly and securely duct taped to the legs of his chair, which was slowly cutting off his circulation. He felt his toes starting to grow cold and tingly. That meant he'd only been secured like this for a short amount of time, a couple minutes at most.

"By all means. Take your time." Still the first figure's voice, dripping with sincerity. Virgil detected what seemed to be a hint of remorse in their voice, as if they genuinely felt sorry, or at least uncomfortable with what they were doing. Virgil wondered why the second person was so evasive. He figured he'd try to provoke them into speaking again soon.

But for now, he had to think. What was the last thing he remembered? Before a throbbing headache, before the pitch black, before the sound of heavy rusty doors whining open and closed, and two sets of footsteps approaching him. He hadn't really registered them at the time; he'd been too disoriented, he guessed from some sort of anesthetic.

He tried to think back further. He pulled basic facts from his mind, hoping to jog his memory. He lived in New York, in a one-bedroom apartment with his roommate and best friend Patton. They'd fit two twin beds in their little bedroom. They were both Seniors at NYU. That started things off, at least. He spent a lingering moment recalling the cat they both took care of together. Her name was Natalie, and she was pitch black, each and every hair on her body a rich raven shade.

He knew Patton had planned to have a little get-together with some Psych major friends he had, and encouraged Virgil to bring some of his Techie buddies. They'd gone shopping for snacks last night.

He figured he'd start with that.

"Well, I remember Tuesday night for sure. Me and my roommate went grocery shopping. Getting snacks for a little get-together we were having. Not my idea, of course. I'm not a huge fan of parties, or-"

"We asked for your most recent memories, not your life story," drawled the second voice. Virgil smirked behind his bangs. "Will you get on with it already? Unless Tuesday night is really your most recent memory."

"As much as your- contributions - are appreciated, J, I am conducting this interrogation, and I'd prefer if you'd keep your snide comments to yourself for at least the first session," The first voice came again, hushed and sounding strained. Virgil clung to what little information he got from the comment. The second voice belonged to someone who could be identified as "J" apparently, and this was the first... session? Virgil had to set his mental notes aside for the time being though, since he had evidently not yet produced an adequate response. "My apologies, Virgil. My colleague is... rather, anxious, to... move things along. You may continue."

"No sweat. Sounds like J just needs a bit of a chill pill." Virgil smirked in the general direction he'd heard J's voice coming from. He was met with an almost disturbing silence. As expected. "Anyway. I remember shopping, and heading home, and... eventually sleeping. Ah, I guess I woke up a little late Wednesday morning, because I was rushing around and shit. My roommate looked kinda worried about it, but that's just how he is." Virgil paused for a moment. He wondered if these two mysterious figures knew about Patton and NYU and where he lived and everything, and considering he knew nothing about them or what they wanted from him, he wouldn't have been surprised. Regardless, he figured it would be best to keep things as anonymous as possible for the time being. "...Hmm. Then I think I rushed onto the bus. I think I caught it just before it was leaving. I got to, where I was going, and did what I was meaning to do, and then... I guess I headed home? I remember the thing I had to do, and finishing it, but... after that things get kinda foggy. I dunno." He paused again. A beat of silence. "Then again, I'll probably remember more in a few minutes. Especially if I'm not being literally slowly blinded." He finished, looking up at the figure behind the light with as large eyes as he could manage. The figure cleared their throat.

"Thank you Virgil. As well, there is no need for anonymity. We are fully aware of your roommate Patton, and the Economics lecture you nearly missed on Wednesday. However, your attempt at omission was... if nothing else, entertaining." Virgil scoffed under his breath. Even if his anxiety had predicted this just moments before, he was getting really freaked out now. It's never the same at all, imagining worst case scenarios and actually living them. The initial shock of this whole situation was wearing off, giving way to panic.

"At this time, in return all I can offer you is this. You are aware of the second man in your presence, I'm sure. For now you will know him as J, as you clearly caught on to rather quickly."

"He loves the witty ones," J's voice came this time directly from Virgil's left, and much closer than before. It took all of Virgil's self control not to flinch away. "So you'll entertain him well. He's L, by the way."

L cleared his throat. "Yes, thank you J. I shall be addressed as L. You will likely only see both of us at once. Perhaps on rare occasions we will each come in alone, but J and I are partnered, so that would likely do little more than impair our... performance."

"Partnered? Performance? What am I, a high school science project?" Virgil snickered bitterly. "My wrists are starting to hurt pretty fucking bad. This is pretty sketchy, L. I didn't fucking do anything wrong. Why am I here?" Virgil tried not to let the shrill breathiness overtake his voice too much, but the anxiety rising in his chest was far from merciful. He tried to calm himself internally, but that wasn't exactly working out.

"I can understand your frustrations," L replied, and the glint of his glasses shifted, the small plastic clacking sound coming again with it. Virgil realized it was just L adjusting his glasses, likely out of habit. "But, for your safety, I cannot give you a direct answer to any of those questions yet. Ah, except; no, you are not a high school science project." Virgil could practically taste the smirk on L's face. He wanted to spit at him. He wanted to tear himself out of the fucking zip ties and duct tape. He felt his heart pounding in his chest.

"Listen, I get that you two are having a jolly good time fucking me up, but I'm," Virgil struggled, each word becoming harder to force out of his trembling mouth, "I'm kinda freaking out here." He hated the way his voice cracked then.

Virgil could see the glint of L's glasses shifting again, the tall man turning to look at his sarcastic counterpart. A short nod, and with a small clicking sound, the light was shut off.

Somehow, the room seemed darker than it had before. The change was so disorienting that Virgil couldn't pinpoint just where the sounds of shuffling of feet around him were coming from or going. No screeching metal door sounds came though, so he knew J and L had to be in the room with him still. His breathing was becoming very labored, and it overwhelmed him as the only sound he could hear. God, how he hated anxiety attacks.

"Virgil." J's voice came from directly in front of him - J was likely crouched to be on Virgil's level - and it was uncharacteristically silky smooth. He flinched that time, but was able to keep himself from hissing. He was only sure it was J's because of its specific inflections; there was no way this could be L, and there was certainly no fourth person in the room (he hoped). "I understand you are very disoriented right now, but the last thing we want to do is cause you an anxiety attack. My sincerest apologies for triggering the beginning of one. That aside, I need you to focus on your breathing. Nothing but your breaths and the sound of my voice."

His voice felt like butter melting, gliding across a hot pan and leaving a silky trail. Or maybe like warm honey running down flushed skin. Virgil was captivated, and thank fuck, because if it weren't for Fuck Face #2 over here, he doubted he would have been able to get out of this one so easily. So he focused, focused hard on the labored breaths he was huffing.

"Now, I need you to try to slow down. Just a little bit. Slow down for me. Feel the air filling and retreating in your lungs. Let it stay a little longer. Then, let it leave in a gentle skip instead of a frantic sprint." God, if Virgil wasn't Fucking Freaking Out right now, he'd probably be trying to flirt with Mr. Butter-tongue, considering the shivers going up his spine weren't only thanks to his panic disorder.

Gradually, he managed to slow down. It wasn't a straight path, but eventually he got there. J continued cooing sweet nothings to him as he came down before any sort of climax. He thanked the darkness for hiding his horridly hot face from his captors. He heard a slight creasing of fabric.

"All better?" J's smile was practically visible with the way he almost sweetly sneered those words. His voice came from higher up, so Virgil knew he must've stood once again. He just scoffed in a half-assed cover up.

"Sure, Fuck Face Number two." He tried rocking himself side to side in his chair, but it seemed to be attached to the floor. He groaned.

J tsked a few times. "Is that any way to talk to someone who just kept you from what would surely have been a horridly exhausting anxiety attack? Honestly. You ought to be more grateful, Virgil." Virgil was beginning to passionately hate the way J talked; so sassy and drawly, as if he thought he was some serious hot stuff. Virgil wanted to smack him something awful.

He heard soft receding footsteps, feeling J's presence recoil.

"So how does this work? Is someone gonna have to whip out my dick for me when I have to pee?" Virgil prodded at the void around him.

"Very funny, Virgil. No, you will soon be... enlightened, regarding your temporary living situation, so to speak." L's voice came again, finally, from slightly to the right. It was a lot less variant in tone than J's, and Virgil greatly appreciated the constancy.

He couldn't respond soon enough; he felt something pierce his skin on his left outer thigh. Warm breath teasing at skin behind his left ear was the last thing he remembered. "Go to sleep, V. We'll see you again very soon."

"Night night, J," He whispered, before the lights really went out.

...

Logan sighed, shrugging off his navy pinstriped suit jacket as he shut the door behind him. He held it by the collar in one hand, turning to survey the disheveled mess that the observation room had become over such a short period of time.

Piles and piles of paper were stacked high on the wall-to-wall desk, and stacked higher on the floor. The interrogation light - just an industrial Flashlight with a cone of metal wrapped around it's end to amplify it - had been discarded lazily in one corner. Janus was seated at said desk, slouched over himself on a fold-out metal chair, resting his chin on his palm as he looked out through the false mirror at a peacefully sleeping Virgil.

His hat was resting on a corner of the back of his chair, along with his gold-encrusted swallowtail coat. He looked a bit of a mess. His hair was fraying and splaying everywhere. His eyes looked tired, even if Logan could only see his one blind eye from this angle. The jagged scars that crept up his neck and covered the side of his face seemed paler than usual.

"Are you okay, Janus?" Logan inquired as neutrally as he could manage, sitting beside his friend.

Janus merely side-eyed Logan, in his all-knowing way. "I think you and I both know the answer to that question."

"Look, I know this method is-- well, disconcerting," Logan's words rushed out of his mouth as if they were being chased, "but we do not have another choice right now. We will get this over with soon... we will find a way to get through this." Logan cleared his throat and fidgeted with his tie. Janus considered rolling his eyes and responding snidely, but he knew Logan wasn't taking kindly to these new... circumstances either.

"We will." He settled on an attempt to be reassuring. Janus had always been good at that, or at least he'd been told so. He only wished it worked on himself too, especially now. Logan offered a small smile.

A long silence overtook them. They both simply sat side by side and observed their unconscious hostage. He was sprawled rather inelegantly across a deep grey satin bed, one arm wrapped in a death grip around a plush pillow. His leg stuck out haphazardly over the edge of the bed, and his hair was in worse shape than Janus' - which was saying something, since Janus' hair was notoriously wavy and curly and constantly out of sorts, while Virgil's was just straight. His mouth was slacked open, but he didn't snore. His eyebags were somehow visible under his black eyeshadow.

Logan broke the silence first. This normally would have dismayed Janus, but again, these were... unusual circumstances. "Well, he seems figuratively out cold for the time being. Shall we seek out some sustenance?" Logan shrugged his suit jacket back on. Janus didn't move a muscle.

"I'm not hungry right now. You go ahead, I'll make sure he doesn't wake up and start tearing out his hair or something." Janus' somber tone stole his voice's usual sarcasm. Logan rested a hand on his shoulder with a great softness.

"I'll grab you a little something. Try not to stress yourself out too much." With that, Logan set a water bottle on the desk beside Janus' elbow and left in near silence.

Janus heard a faint receding clicking as Logan walked away down the hall.

[bosspigeon]

Adam versus that most evil of foes...the office printer?

two glass houses, twenty stones

Pairing: M!Detective/Adam du Mortain Word Count: 1711 Summary: Having recently learned that he is the target of a power-hungry vampire who wants to experiment on him because of his “special blood” (oh, yeah, and vampires are real, apparently), Detective Arlo Priestley deals with the aftermath. The aftermath, of course, including one Adam du Mortain and his sparkling personality.

So... I don’t even know what to say anymore. I get completely innocuous prompts and they become something COMPLETELY different than what i had in mind. so, uh, hope you enjoy an Arlo Character Study with a side of Printer Shenanigans! This takes place in Book 1, shortly after the detective finds out about, uh, everything. I had fun playing the unreliable narrator with Arlo! And I have a fun idea for a sequel that’s Adam’s POV! Title is from Type O Negative’s “I Don’t Wanna Be Me.”

“You can, uh, sit down if you’d like,” Arlo offers, picking at the chipped polish on his thumb.

Adam hardly glances at him, keeping his attention on the window that overlooks the rest of the police department. “I am fine standing,” he says shortly. It almost seems like he’s determined to not look directly at the detective at all.

Arlo winces a bit, blowing a loose strand of hair out of his face. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine too,” he mumbles, looking down at his pile of reports. He brushes the accumulated black paint chips he’s shed in his anxious fidgeting aside. He’ll have to paint his nails again soon, they’re looking rather ragged, almost to the point he can bite them again. He’s been trying to stop, he knows it’s sort of gross, but still…

He furrows his brow and starts thumbing through reports, absently flicking through his color-coded tabs that help keep him marginally organized even when his “system” doesn’t really work for anyone but him. He calls it improvisational. Verda calls it “slapdash.”

 He frowns, chewing on his lower lip and clicking his tongue when he notes his color system is out of order, and that one of the red tabs is missing. His eyes flicker up when he hears Adam shift slightly, but the vampire still isn’t looking at him, so he focuses back in, counting through reports again. He sighs and rolls his eyes, turning to his computer and pulling up his group chat with Tina and Verda.

big-depeche-mood: Tina, did you take my copy of Mrs. Holt’s police report?

big-depeche-mood:  And why did you change my display name again?

BubblegumB!tch: how do u know i did it? why do u always blame me? 😥

big-depeche-mood: Because Verda has no reason to care about Mrs. Holt claiming her ex kidnapped the dog when they separated.

big-depeche-mood: And if you mean the display name, you’re the only one with admin privilege, because you made this chat.

BubblegumB!tch: i am being unfairly targeted 😭😭😭

BubblegumB!tch: im taking this to HR

DoctorDILF: HR has found no evidence to support this claim.

DoctorDILF: Really, Tina?

big-depeche-mood: Just tell me if I need to print another copy, please.

BubblegumB!tch: 👉👈

Arlo rolls his eyes and minimizes the window so he can start the task of going through his backlog to find the digital copy of the original report. Once he’s found it and sent it to the printer, he pushes himself upright, groaning as his spine pops in several places

Adam finally, finally turns to look at him. “Where are you going?” he snaps.

Arlo flinches, clenching his jaw to bite back the nasty retort burning on his tongue like acid. “To the printer,” he grits out, jerking his hand towards the window. “Literally twenty feet away. So unless you plan to go get that report for me, let’s just hope the megalomaniacal vampire that wants to use me as a lab rat doesn’t decide to snatch me from a police station in broad daylight.”

Seems he didn’t bite it back hard enough after all.

Adam recoils, like he always seems to when he realizes he's stepped directly on Arlo's nerves. He feels a little guilty for snapping, but he’s had more than enough of being treated like an unruly toddler. He wants to snidely suggest Adam see about requisitioning a bloody leash for him, but he snatches up a pen and starts furiously clicking it until he can calm himself down instead. Adam’s lip twitches, and Arlo clicks faster.

Adam turns sharply on heel and stalks out the door, slamming it behind him so hard the window rattles. Arlo is just grateful it hasn’t broken.

He sinks back into his chair and rolls his eyes skyward, dragging his hands down his face and wondering what the hell he’s done to deserve this whole situation. It’s bad enough he knows there’s some mad scientist vampire wanting to experiment with his freakish blood, but being shut in the same room as Adam for multiple hours a day when the man won’t even look at him, much less talk to him, makes nerves squirm under his skin and sets his whole body on edge. Unfortunately for the both of them, when Arlo gets nervy, it gets much harder for him to temper what comes out of his mouth.

He melts into his chair a little more, ignoring the pings from his computer that are probably Verda trying to convince Tina to change his display name back, and Tina reacting by changing it to increasingly ridiculous things. He just closes his eyes and focuses on breathing for a bit, trying to remember a single thing from his anger management classes from years ago when his brain is still buzzing with a squirming twist of irritation and guilt, a desperate need to apologize warring with the urge to snap and unload every frustration this whole thing has got knotted up inside him.

It's some sort of cosmic joke that Adam occupies so much of his attention, when Adam seems like he can't wait until he can get as far away from Arlo as possible.

He's just pretty, Arlo tells himself. Remember the last time you let someone pretty get you all stupid? Maybe remember what you learned from that.

He almost falls out of his chair when he opens his eyes to see Adam in the doorway, his shoulders so taut they're making Arlo's hurt just looking at them.

Maybe stop looking at them, idiot.

He forces his eyes up and is confronted with perhaps one of the most bewildering things he's ever seen.

Adam du Mortain, stoic, no-nonsense, terminally brooding Adam du Mortain, is standing just outside Arlo’s office, looking almost... sheepish. Arlo has to blink a few times to make sure he’s not seeing things. He’d almost say he’s imagining things, but at this point he’s so familiar with Adam’s general stone-faced demeanor that any sort of change to it is almost glaringly obvious. The scrunch of his eyebrows, the twist of his mouth, the almost painful stiffness of his posture, as if he’s pointedly trying to look as unaffected as possible and failing spectacularly. Arlo’s a detective, and while he doesn’t consider himself an expert at reading people, he’s still fairly decent at it. Adam, from time to time, can be pretty easy to read, but especially when he’s trying not to be.

Maybe Arlo’s been watching him a bit too closely.

“Uh,” he starts, already cringing internally at himself, “what’s up?”

Adam is silent for a moment, and then he exhales sharply through his nose, as if he is trying to calm himself down. Arlo’s nerves immediately ratchet up a few notches. “There is an issue with your printer,” he says.

Arlo blinks. “Oh. Um, I didn’t think you’d actually—” He bites his tongue when Adam’s brows furrow harder. “Let’s go have a look, shall we?” he offers instead, standing up. He hesitates to approach the door until Adam takes a step back to allow him through unimpeded. He lets Arlo lead the way and Arlo tugs his braid over his shoulder so he can twist it between his hands, because there is something a bit unnerving about Adam behind him, silent but radiating a tension Arlo can almost feel. It’s likely his imagination, considering his annoying awareness of the man, but still.

Arlo sees the problem almost immediately upon arriving at the little alcove that houses the station’s printer. The top cover for the document feeder seems to have been pulled off entirely. He turns to give Adam a bewildered look.

“The paper jammed,” Adam says stiffly.

“Yeah,” Arlo replies, “it does that sometimes.” He lifts the cover and turns it over in his hands, to see that, yes, the little plastic hinges that attach the feeder to the tray are entirely broken off. He frowns a little. Adam is so tense next to him, so still, Arlo wonders if he’s even breathing. “I can just ask Verda if I can send it to his, then see about calling someone for repairs.” He snags a sharpie from Tina’s desk and pops open one of the other trays to pull out a blank sheet of paper so he can write a quick “Out of Order” sign and slap it on top.

Adam still hasn’t moved, staring at the printer as if it has somehow personally offended him.

“It’s fine, Adam,” Arlo insists quietly, stepping a bit closer with his hands raised, though he doesn’t dare to touch. “Really. It’s a shitty old printer. I bet the second I let Tina know, she’ll go pester Doug until he calls his dad about it. We’ll have a shiny new one in no time.” He offers a wry little smile. “Say what you like about nepotism, but it has its perks.”

That doesn’t seem to help in the way Arlo hoped it would, because Adam raises an eyebrow and gives him a sharp look that has him shrinking back. “I am surprised you have that attitude, Detective.” He doesn’t have to say he’s disappointed, Arlo can hear it loud and clear and hates that it bothers him so much.

He steps back and turns away so Adam doesn’t see the look on his face before he can smooth it over. “Well, it’s the reason I’m here, isn’t it?” he can’t help but snark. “And it’s the only reason you’re here too. Explains a lot about your attitude, I suppose.” No wonder Adam’s been so bloody sour about all this. Must be a pain to have to babysit your boss’s kid because she said so. His silence on the subject speaks more than he could hope to.

More than anything Arlo wishes Rebecca could just go back to ignoring him. Things were a lot less complicated then.

Shoulders tight enough to rival Adam’s, Arlo heads towards the stairs to the basement. “I’m going to get that report,” he tosses over his shoulder, trying and failing to sound casual as Adam’s eerily quiet footsteps begin to follow him. “I’ll try not to get kidnapped on the way,” he adds under his breath.

The way Adam’s footsteps falter tell him he wasn’t quiet enough.