#is the sting like a sting operation or something

[mvrkieboo]

Old Bloodhounds

P22 | you shut up

You and Mark got off at your bus stop. Mark honestly didn't mean to but he had accidentally snooped on what you were doing on your phone and saw you tweeting agonising over being mistaken as his girlfriend. It was nobody's fault, it was just how those aunties and uncles operated, and both of you were wearing matching cardigans, but somehow he felt a little offended disheartened that you were agonising over it.

As you walked to New Axis, Mark watched as you kick off rocks with your head down, looking deep in thought.

"You know, you didn't have to give out disclaimers that we weren't dating." You spoke out suddenly, and Mark rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I wouldn't even bother giving those disclaimers if you hadn't tweeted how you were going crazy on being mistaken as my girlfriend." Mark scoffed and walked past you, even having the gall to bump your shoulder but only because he knew you wouldn't take it personally.

"HEY! I tweeted that on my private account. You—" you let out a breathless laugh, out of pure disbelief, "—just 'cause you're a good head taller than me now, Mark, it doesn't give you the right to snoop over my shoulder. Jeez, did being shorter than me back then gave you a complex or something?"

He stopped walking and whipped his head around to look at you, "We were the same height back then, you little shit."

You pulled a face and raised your arms, "Okay, Mark. If that's what you want to believe—go ahead."

He rolled his eyes again, "Oh, shut up."

"You shut up." You huffed out.

There you both walked into New Axis, and you then realised you weren't fighting before, but you were bickering. Just like the old times. Mark even referenced to a time when you both had been close before during your bickering. However, when you realised Mark wasn't ahead of you anymore, you turned your head around to see where he went.

When you finally see him, you noticed that he was frozen behind you, one hand holding his phone out, eyes wide and fixated on something that was way past you. So you followed his line and vision to see what he was looking at so intently.

You froze like he did too, when you saw it was Yuno standing near the lobby's elevator, seething at the sight of you both—you assumed he had seen Mark and you enter the lobby together. You glanced down at your cardigan and looked back at Mark, feeling the same kind of horror taking grip of your heart that also had Mark still pinned in his spot.

You were wearing matching cardigans.

Before you realised it, Yuno had already stood between you and Mark, looking back and forth between you.

"I can explain—" You uttered out, but Yuno was quick to shut you down. He snapped his head to look at you, pointing a finger at your face.

"I don't want to hear one from you, I want to hear it from him. Minhyung, are you going behind my back?"

You clamped your mouth shut, feeling an indescribable kind of sting hit your chest with the way he addressed you, but you knew this was fully him and not the stoic bullshit he's been fronting on you since he moved in. You were a little glad he's at least displaying some kind of emotion in front of you, even if it was anger out of all other emotions.

"No, Jae. We're—we're working together for the MNA Week. She's a part of the Business Fac Committee and she's my partner for the Entrepreneurship Bureau. The cardigans is purely a coincidence." Mark gulped, seeing everyone else in the lobby weirded out with the tense atmosphere.

"Doesn't change the fact you didn't tell me about this sooner." Yuno stepped closer to Mark, and the younger man nodded in admission and defeat.

"It slipped my mind, dude. Honest. When I first mentioned this bureau stuff to you, I didn't bother mentioning she had been my partner because—" Mark stammered a bit, eyes meeting yours past Yuno's shoulder for a split second before looking back at his longtime friend, "—because I never wanted to have anything to do with her after it's done. I should've told you this after I set you up to move in with her though, that's on me."

Yuno sighed and rubbed his eyes, shoulders slumping and Mark took that as a cue that he could also relax now. Yuno gripped on both of his shoulders after he stepped back a bit, not smiling, but he wasn't stoic like before so it was all good for now.

"Let's go to that bar now, dude. I feel like there's a lot we need to catch up on." Yuno cracked out a smile that was barely there as he let out a breathless laugh, finding his anger and fear from before ridiculous and unfounded.

Yuno turned Mark around so they could walk out of the lobby together while you were left standing there, still frozen, and feeling like there were two pairs of feet walking all over your heart. You had snapped out of it when your phone suddenly rang. Seeing that it was Geonwoo, you picked it up right away as you took reign of your emotions again.

"Head down to the parking lot immediately. Lim Goyoung's loansharks finally left their property, and we're relocating them straight away."

You ran to the elevator.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Hey, Gowoon!" You spoke cheerfully, squatting down to his height.

"I've missed you, big sis Y/N." He spoke with a dejected voice, moving to hug you.

You accepted the embrace straight away, and quickly turned it into carrying the 6-year-old in your arms as you stood up. You watched as his mother and your older brother figures flit across the bedroom of Lim Goyoung's house, packing her valuables and essentials into two big luggages.

"I don't want to move away, big sis. I'll miss my friends." Gowoon spoke in the crook of your neck, and you could feel his tears wetting your skin.

You pulled him away so you could wipe his tears away.

"You'll make new friends at your new home, buddy. You're so handsome and nice, so I'm sure all the kids at your new home would love to befriend you." You reassured him, moving your hand to stroke his hair after you had wiped away his tears.

Once they were done with the packing, you quickly moved and got into the truck as a unit. You had already assisted Goyoung in wiping away her digital footprint and data while she was busy packing, so the loansharks couldn't track her through the internet or social media.

As you got into the truck, sitting at the back with Goyoung and her son, one pair of eyes in the alley closely focused on you—only you.

Cha Yoonsu stepped out of the shadows, cursing your name because the truck didn't have any plate number displayed. Geonwoo and Woojin weren't dumb, they'd put it back once they're sure nobody's following them before a road camera could catch them.

But Yoonsu swore he'd track you down despite this minor setback. At least he now knew you were currently residing in Seoul.

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A/N : so basically y/n's main gig under geonwoo and woojin is to assist them helping victims of loanshark scams 😔🫶🏻 im sorry if that had been obvious before this reveal

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

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[inamindfarfaraway]

Team Chaotix in Sonic Prime

My headcanons for what Vector the Crocodile, Espio the Chameleon and Charmy Bee are like in the Shatterspaces.

New Yoke City

Vector’s variant is called Missile (a missile is a vector, having direction and magnitude). He embodies Vector’s responsibility, practicality and seriousness. He was trying to make a difference as a teenage detective when the dystopian city appeared around him four years ago and it became clear that, with the Chaos Council’s control of the new justice system and law enforcement, the person he aspired to be would never make it. Of course he wants to fight, but the Council is brutal and their absolute power seems impossible to overthrow. He soon ended up with two children in his care, one only a toddler. If he got arrested, killed or roboticized, what would happen to them? If the three of them had the Council’s protection, on the other hand, as per the contract of an exclusive, specialized detective agency who would do whatever dirty work they were ordered to… he knows that those tyrants are the reason his kids have nobody else. He knows that the vast majority of people he leads the robotic police to don’t deserve any punishment, and none of them could deserve the cruel horrors they get. He knows that he isn’t a hero - that he may even be the exact opposite. And he hates it. But any money that keeps his family alive is money worth having, he’s regretfully decided. Big concepts like good and evil are none of his concern. He’s just trying to pay the rent. It’s too late to back out now, anyway. Now that the people are rebelling en masse and the Council is busy exploring the Shatterverse, he’s desperately waiting for things to stabilize and daring to hope against hope that some positive change occurs. And that the citizens don’t recognize the collaborateurs in their midst and turn on them.

Espio’s variant is called Trace. He embodies Espio’s stoicism and pragmatism. His ninja training was cut short - and his village razed and everyone he knew killed or taken prisoner - when the Chaos Council remade the world in their image. But he’s gained plenty of experience in stealth, deception, infiltration, espionage and combat working in the Chaos Detective Agency. Dishonour means nothing to a ninja. That’s what he tells himself, at least. On the outside, he’s reserved and aloof, a cold, ruthless foe. He will only show his family the slightest show of emotion. Internally, however, his repressed grief for his old family, community, home and life; guilt, shame and self-loathing due to his service to the Council; and years of accumulated trauma are brewing into a storm that he barely keeps contained under the surface. He’s afraid of his feelings burdening his teammates and distracting them from what’s most important: survival.

Charmy’s variant is called Sting. He embodies Charmy’s eagerness to be helpful and fighting spirit. He can’t remember anything except New Yoke and doesn’t understand much of how his society works, but he knows that his family’s work is very important to them being alive and wants to be a part of it. He does notice their stress and the general unpleasantness everywhere and can infer that circumstances could be improved. But their work being dangerous is all the more reason he should help! Teamwork makes the dream work, right? Danger just adds to the fun of stopping ‘bad guys’. He’s also terrified that if they leave him behind, they might not come back. So he kept breaking out and running away when Missile and Trace went on missions until they agreed to train him and let him join them. He revels in the thrill of action and finds people getting hurt amusing the way a six-year-old boy can, not emotionally connecting to anyone he’s told they need to catch and earnestly believing that their enemies must be in the wrong. He often imitates Missile when trying to be tough and intimidating.

Boscage Maze

Vector’s variant is called Reed. He embodies Vector’s optimism, lightheartedness and musical side, and tends to have his coarser manners too. He, the other two and Cream and Vanilla’s variants are in a different small tribe to the Scavengers and haven’t yet met them, so Thorn Rose didn’t banish them to the emergent layer; they are nomadic and moving toward the Scavengers’ territory. He’s cheerful and generous, always ready to raise the tribe’s morale. He can be immature and irresponsible at times, more focused on enjoying life and entertaining his companions than applying maximum effort to practical tasks. He’s highly resourceful when it comes to instruments and has invented drums and a reed flute. He loves to play them and sing. He’s also bold enough to flirt with Vanilla and the casual first stage of a romance is budding between them.

Espio’s variant is called Berry. He embodies Espio’s caution, wisdom and love of art and culture. Yes, that’s in this dimension. The tribe took him in after they crossed paths when he was eight, him having previously had to survive on his own for as long as he can remember. He’s mature beyond his years, highly knowledgeable about the forest’s flora and fauna, wary and prepared to defend his tribe from any threat using his carved flint blades and hand-to-hand skills. He used to find it difficult to relax, but has learned to unwind through playing a shamisen-esque string instrument Reed built for him and painting with plant pigments. While acutely aware of nature’s hazards, he can still appreciate its wonder and majesty and respects it.

Charmy’s variant is called Honey. He embodies Charmy’s innocent kindness, friendliness and trusting nature. He and Cream’s variant are best friends and adoptive siblings, since his parents entrusted their friend Vanilla with him when they left on an exploratory expedition in his infancy. They didn’t return. But Honey doesn’t mind. He has everything he needs right here. The one thing he can think of that would make his life better is a friend who can fly like he can.

No Place

Vector’s variant is called Bullion (because of precious metal and a male crocodile is a bull). He embodies Vector’s sharp intelligence, charisma, greed and courage. He left his home island in a modest but sturdy vessel, dubbed the Treasure Trove, to seek his fortune and established himself as a travelling merchant. Cunning, socially savvy and theatrical, he is willing to (if you insist on using such accusatory language) ‘scam’ customers and has an endless supply of get-rich-quick schemes. He and his crew live in a fiercely competitive, unpredictable environment full of pirates! Material wealth is essential! That being said, he isn’t all talk. He will brave high seas and stormy weather, chart uncharted waters and do business with anyone to obtain the best goods and things no other merchant is selling, and the genuine quality and rarity of a lot of his stock keep people endeared to him despite his rough edges and occasional bad deal. He takes pride in his competence as a salesman and seafarer and part of him is more fulfilled by honest work. Not that he’ll admit that. He’s very attached to his swashbuckling rogue self-image.

Espio’s variant is called Fathom (a measure of water depth and a verb for contemplative thought and understanding). He embodies Espio’s firm sense of morality and diligence. He met Bullion when the crocodile docked at his home island and, struck with wanderlust and needing a job to get by, Fathom offered to manage his finances with his advanced mathematical ability and do some manual labour. Bullion agreed, but it didn’t take Fathom long to figure out that he was both running a con and a broke mess. A weirdly likeable broke mess. In the aftermath of Fathom exposing the con, the customers angrily demanding refunds and the Treasure Trove being hastily undocked, they made a deal to support and protect each other, with Fathom promising to follow his boss’s lead on the strict condition that Bullion stayed on the straight and narrow. He’s a dutiful hard worker, patient and polite. He tries to remain calm and be civil to everyone no matter how wild things get. He grounds his crewmates, restraining their more energetic, eccentric and, most frustratingly for him, selfish and amoral behaviour. He knows they can be better. And when they are, it’s extremely rewarding. But they certainly test him - though he won’t deny that the motley crew all truly care about each other and would stick together through anything.

Charmy’s variant is called Dodger. He embodies Charmy’s mischievous, irreverent side. He was born to pirates and left at an orphanage on one of the larger islands, but could never follow rules or be satisfied with a simple, mundane life in one place. He wanted excitement, and usually made his own by causing trouble and playing tricks. He totally wasn’t lonely. One day he stowed away on a ship. His plan was to steal all the stuff he could carry on him and fly off. Bullion and Fathom, the sailors who caught him, took a liking to him and were hesitant to send him back to his boring, miserable old home once he explained his life before. They were nice and cool and made him feel wanted and like he belonged more than anyone else ever had, so he hung around. Bullion makes him do chores, but respects his pranking prowess and nerve. Fathom is a great listener and playmate, albeit sometimes a killjoy.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, omegaverse, forced bonding, subjugation, some type of discrimination, elements of androgyny

♡ fem reader

Thinking about the big and burly behemoth Omega finally finding himself the cutest little Alpha to breed with…

He could never bring himself to breed with Alphas. Growing up, he developed a great disdain for them—all high and mighty rabid animals prone to violence, more often than not completely dimwitted to top it off, as if their massive ego had usurped the place of basic brain operation.

He couldn’t hate them more, yet he doesn’t correct anyone when they mistake him for one, either. In many ways, he wished he was born one instead of an Omega. It would make it easier to fulfill his desires that way. A dominant Omega isn’t all that normal, after all—and submissive Alphas are an even rarer breed to come by.

He hadn't found one yet. And other Omegas don’t really do it for him. They approach him, thinking he’s an Alpha, then feel disappointed when figuring out he’s not—which is fine, as he isn’t particularly interested in their scent either. Betas make for an okay compromise—they don’t care if he’s an Omega, it makes no difference to them—yet he could never really shake the feeling that something was missing when lying with them.

At the office, the scent of Alphas plagues him all day—how they strut around, stinking up the place with no concern for anyone else. This is a workplace, for fuck’s sake—can’t they have a little dignity and not treat it like a mating ground? He really hates them. All bigheaded assholes—

“Ow—” there’s bark and a hard thunk of something hitting the floor.

Someone just bumped into him—someone so small he hadn’t even seen them over the top of his clipboard. Looking down, he sees a fellow Omega—a pretty one. You must be as disoriented by the scent around you as he is—probably why you walked right into him—poor thing. He ought to help you up.

You hold your head in your hand, wincing at the sting of your rear—you’d fallen right on your tailbone. Looking up, you give the fellow Alpha who’d knocked you down a mean glare, “What the hell, asshole!”

His outstretched hand stiffens midway. That’s not a very Omega-like thing to say—especially not by one so small as you. No, wait… what’s that scent?

You ignore his hand and get up on your own, dusting down your pin-stripes with angry brushes—face pursed, almost pouty, but not quite, too stink-eyed as you lean in and jab a finger into his chest to punctuate your words, “Watch where you’re going next time, you…”

You soften up halfway through the sentence. It must have dawned on you as well. His scent. Not like other Alphas, but something else entirely—something that suddenly makes you blush all over, wide-eyed.

You don’t say another word, only giving a weak huff before turning tail and stomping away.

There’s something very cute about it—he’s left thinking while watching you, utterly stunned and still, replaying the events that just occurred over and over in his head—wondering how he’d never seen you before. You must work on a different floor.

Luckily, he’d made sure to read your name tag—pinned all properly on your chest like a badge of honor, neatly like the rest of you. Well put together from the top of your salon-styled hair down to the tips of your pointy black stilettos. Even with their added height, you must have been two heads shorter than him—no taller than any regular Omega.

It's no wonder he mistook you for one. You were as cute as one, too—like a doll he could put behind glass, up on a mantle, and keep forever. But oh my… that mouth on you and that awful snarl. Just like any other imposing Alpha, he supposed. Bratty and arrogant, quick to jump the gun and pick a fight instead of taking it for the simple accident it was.

He goes back and sets himself down by his desk—but he’s way too distracted to work now, too busy with the thought of you. That flushed face you showed him before teetering off was something he wouldn’t mind seeing again—also that cute scowl under certain circumstances and what type of expression you’d give him if he wiped it off.

He's lucky an office party came along so quickly. He wouldn’t usually go, but now he had a reason. He bet you’d be there—the way you were dressed when you’d bumped into him tells him you’re one to respect the memo—head to toe in such a neat suit, trying to come off as androgynous as if in desperation needing everyone to know you were an Alpha. It must be hard for you—looking like that but wanting to look… well, suppose more like him.

He's glad he never felt that way—wishing to be smaller and cuter like other Omegas. Sure, he’s been envious of them at times, but more so of their easy pickings and not their appearance. He’s happy being bigger and stronger—it keeps unwanted attention at bay. You probably struggle to do the same. He bets you get a lot of the wrong eyes following you. Yeah… you must attract the bad sort all the time—alphas swarming you only to catch your scent and lose interest. Or maybe not… Alphas are sick, after all. Come to think of it, most of them would probably get off on dominating another Alpha. In that regard, it must have been worse for you than for him. Luckily, both of your issues are now solved.

He wondered what you’d wear tonight. You’d look much better in something feminine and not that suit you’d been wearing. He hopes, but no, you’re wearing much the same thing—another tailored two-piece that all but drowns you.

He understands what you’re going for. You have to dress like that, or else what Omega would ever want you looking the way you do? Aside from him, of course.

No matter. When you move in with him, he’ll dress you in all the pretty things he knows you want to wear. After all, pretty colors, ruffles, and lace will suit you so much better.

“Hello again.” He approaches you by the hors d’oeuvres even after you’d visibly and explicitly chosen to ignore him.

You groan under your breath, responding without even bothering to look at him, “Do I know you?”

Your tough act is cute. He has to withhold a chuckle before answering, “Don’t remember? You called me an asshole a week ago.”

“You walked right into me, so it’s not like it wasn’t deserved.”

You have to love that arrogance—that air of unfounded superiority. He wonders, where do you keep it all? “Well, how could I not? You’re so small I didn’t even see you.”

You’re quick to bare your teeth—obviously, he hit a nerve—showing him that same snarl you’d done back then. Cute little canines—he bet they won’t even hurt going into his neck once you mark him.

“Watch your mouth, Omega.”

Still, with a small smile, he feigns surprise. “Wow—are you an Alpha? Funny, I didn’t know they came in such tiny packages.”

It flusters you, no doubt—your brows lowered into a full glower now. “And I didn’t know Omegas could be so rude.”

You turn to stomp again, as you’d done before—though this time, he grabs your arm before you’re gone.

You whip around with another bark, “Hands off—"

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes unexpectedly, giving you puppy-dog eyes you hadn’t thought him capable of. “I should have been more mindful of my steps. It was entirely my fault.”

You go still at the sudden show of humility and respect. Finding yourself softening by the tilt of his head, bowing at you in acknowledgment of your higher standing. Not that many bother doing that to you—between mistaking you for an Omega or otherwise neglecting your standing as an Alpha, both due to your physique. Seeing it up close and so abruptly flusters you.

“Let me get you a drink to make up for it?” he offers politely, almost in plead.

Struck with feelings of somewhat regret for your own uncouth attitude, you nearly accept on a whim. “That’s kind…” But then think it over. You don’t really want to lead him on, either. You nearly stutter, yet steal yourself. After all… “But you’re not really my type.”

He hangs his head with a dejected sigh, “That’s harsh.” But he’d already figured as much and didn’t really care. Giving you his most sorry grin, he insists, “Humor me anyway? Just one drink so I don’t feel like an asshole for the rest of my life.”

It’s clear you want to refuse—still, as suspected, your heart just can’t handle seeing a desperate Omega in need. Bless your dim Alpha instincts.

“Okay, fine. One drink, that’s all,” you end up agreeing. One drink can’t hurt, right?

You feel like a good Samaritan once the big hunk of an Omega runs off to fetch you a glass. Pitying him or even sympathizing, maybe—it can’t be easy for an Omega in the mating scene to look like that. No Alpha around would want an Omega bigger than them—it’s utterly emasculating, not to mention unnatural.

Of course, you’re aware you’re in much the same shoes as him—you’re not delusional. Only, it’s easy being an independent Alpha—you don’t mind being a lone wolf in the world—but Omegas were built to be domestic. So yeah, you pity him—the poor guy, he’ll probably never find a proper mate.

But you can’t let your pity grant him too many favors—you have no intention of taking on any charity case tonight, especially not a pity fuck. You’ll have one drink with him as a mutual apology. That’s all.

Luckily… one drink is all he needs. Add a little sprinkle of this and that in your glass, and you’re already in the palm of his hand.

He has to carry you bridal style before he’s even managed to lead you to the elevator—it’s empty all the way down to the garage. He puts you in his car, locks your seatbelt in place, then drives off. It’s honestly quite astounding how easy it had been. He’d thought trapping an Alpha would be a much more remarkable feat, an impossible one for an Omega—but this was no different from eating an unguarded piece of cake.

You’re drowsy as he carries you into his apartment. And that’s when the other drug kicks in. The overwhelming scent of being inside his nest sets off your rut like a matchstick being ripped along the red.

Your claws come out, puncturing his sheets as he lays you down on his bed.

You’re too delirious to do much but writhe—making it easy for him to unbutton your dress shirt, followed by your slacks. He has to scoff at your plain black boxers and binder bra. You poor thing, always trying to run with the big dogs when you’re no bigger than a bite-sized puppy. From now on, you’ll only wear lacey things he brings home for you. You won’t have to puff your chest—you can be as sweet and pretty as your delicate physique constitutes—his cutest, littlest, most perfect mate.

You gain newfound strength once he’s peeled your underwear down, baring your needy heat to his touch. Instantly, your arms spring into action, flinging themselves around him, pouncing like a predator at its prey with your fangs bared.

He stops you easily—placing his wrist between your teeth, using it as a muzzle. He chuckles, looking at you gnaw on it like a bone.

“I think the world has it all wrong,” he starts, though he’s not sure you’re even capable of understanding speech in your state. “Omegas are the ones better suited as leaders of society, not Alphas.”

As he talks, he continues with his ministrations, stroking your needy slit with a mean finger, swiping it cruelly before splitting between the folds.

“I mean, look at you—mindless in a rut, willing to pounce on anything that moves—like a wild animal.” Once he sticks his finger inside you, your teeth do his wrist the same justice—drawing blood, making him hiss through his smile, “I ought to keep you in a cage.” And yet he doesn’t pull either hand away. “It would suit you well—on your knees with a pretty leash and collar upon your throat.”

You’re wet in his hand—soaked and so warm he loses track of his own finger as if melting within you. His cock strains against his boxer, wanting to feel it for himself. But you’re still way too tight for that.

He feeds you another digit, and you moan—suckling on his wrist now more than biting, though still with your canines out and seeking.

“Look at these wittle teeth, tch—” he grins upon closer inspection, looking between them and your eyes—pupil-fat orbs, far gone in your instincts. “I bet they’re just itching for my neck instead, huh?”

The provocation seems to make you more desperate. Pumping you slowly, more so to stretch you out than stimulate, he can feel your breaths turn thicker with need, how you press your tongue against his wrist, wet and lousy, wanting for more.

“Well, go on then, Alpha...” He chuckles again, removing his arm from barring your mouth before wrapping your throat with the same hand, holding it like a collar, keeping you under control.

And then he bares his neck for you.

“I give my consent.”

♡ part two

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Amajiki ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira, Isagi ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[goldenstring6123]

Sylus: Seething Red

Warning: 3.9K words. Angst. Little comfort. Cursing! Lots of it. Suggestive ending, for 16+ only, Plot heavy. Emotional & Dramatic. If you can't stomach arguments and fighting, I don't suggest reading this. Reader is not the MC but works as a hunter.

Author's note: This was a bit delayed because I had to re-write this three times :> warning, I proofread this once but I was lacking sleep soooo...

You burned with rage.

Seething, searing the skin of your entire being.

You revved your motorcycle faster, traversing through the pitch-black rainy night in the N109 zone. The fog was severe compared to the city, enough to obstruct the view of the street. Nonetheless, you continued driving, gritting your teeth at the thought of your lover, Sylus.

The towering building of Sylus' base remained void of any form of life, shrouded in a hazy mist of smoke and fog. Not even crows lingered about the premises.

You slammed the door open and met the twins, Luke and Kieran, one reading a book and the other looking at his phone. There was no time to spare them each a hello; you trudged through the godforsaken hallway and threw open Sylus' door.

There, the aforementioned man sat on his couch, staring at the flickering flame of his fireplace, his phone in your hand. "I recall telling you not to leave." The distaste was on his tongue, especially at the photograph of you in the airport with your teammates.

Your nails dug into the ball of your palm, almost threatening it to bleed. Any ounce of reasonable patience in you was slowly evaporating. The urge to talk in a calm manner had long been gone. You gritted your teeth while you took another step closer. "And who are you to make that decision?!"

Jenna gave you an opportunity to showcase your leadership because she knows you wanted a promotion. She offered you three projects to lead alongside her, and you chose a clean-up operation on Almus Island, an island infested with mutant Wanderers.

There was a lot of effort put into this, and you couldn't afford any mishap. You trained hard for this, coordinating with the data team and your own to create plans and backups in case anything went haywire.

It was one of the most dangerous tasks you had to do in your entire career—One that deserved the promotion you most certainly craved. Everything was leading up to that moment you boarded the jet.

That was three hours ago. The security guards stopped you and prevented you from leaving, stating that there was something wrong with your pass. You had no clue what they were talking about, but whatever it was, it prevented you from boarding the jet.

The team was under pressure. Jenna didn't know what to do as well. No matter what you did, no matter what papers you showed, they just didn't let you through. Time-bound, Jenna had no choice but to order you to go back to the headquarters and supervise from there.

That was a complete blow to your ego. After all that preparation, training, and debriefing, you wound up stuck inside the office instead of out there doing your job, which accompanied your title.

The recent promotion you got was an opportunity to ascend the corporate ladder, but with Sylus' actions, you looked nothing more like a fool. You had no idea why Jenna advised you to just head back to the office after security denied your access to the jet, but the sight of Mephisto perched on the flight display helped you put two and two together.

The shame, embarrassment, and look of pity from your peers choked you out of your logical thinking. They whispered against one another, asking why you were holding up the mission.

For once, you thought so little of yourself. Their stares were like fire ants on your skin, stinging you to your very being.

"I talked to you about this before, sweetie. I explicitly warned you about leaving the project for your own safety," Sylus said. The tone in his voice was that of when he was calm and collected, unbothered by the fiery rage that was drowning your mind. "Almus Island is dangerous because it was previously my turf, and I'm not joking when I say that place is a hellhole—it was abandoned for a reason."

"That's not an excuse for you to meddle in my affairs! I was already at the airport, I was with my team ready to leave, and then I found out I can't leave the country because of some shit you pulled?!"

"I warned you to heed my words," he said matter-of-factly. Every word that comes out of his mouth is like a landmine to trigger your emotions. You had the urge to cry, but you fought the pinpricks in your eyes. "I told you to drop off that project and do something else." His words came out smooth, almost matter-of-factly, and you hated it.

Sylus was the type of man to not give in on his actions, and tonight was the time when you had to painfully realize that.

"Listen to me, you piece of fuck—" You hissed through your teeth and strode angrily to him. "—What I do for work doesn't concern you unless Onychinus is involved. I deliberately chose to lead this project instead of the other offered to me because I don't want to be after your neck—God forbid I don't stand a chance against your organization."

Sylus threw his phone onto the couch, visibly irked at your words. "And I did what I did because I don't want you to end up dead," Sylus retorted.

"Are you too much of an idiot to not comprehend that?!" His red eyes glowed, fury flickering behind them. "I requested for you to not leave because I know for a fact you're going to end up injured when you come back, worse, you'd end up as a corpse."

Stupid. His reasoning is pure and utter stupid. Sylus? Scared of losing you? Bullshit. That flawed and shallow reason did nothing to soothe the fire in your heart. You didn't know what was powering your anger.

Was it the shame that you were so eager to leave but couldn't?

Was it the fact that Sylus thinks you're weak?

That he has an overwhelming amount of power against you?

Was it the fact that Jenna had high expectations, but you had made a fool of yourself in front of your peers?

It was all of it.

"That's a part of the job! What I did before you and I met is the same, I fight, and I get injured—Why are you speaking like I'm some sort of newbie in the field? You've seen me in action multiple times, I even saved your ass once!"

"I did what I did because I need to, and I'll do it all over again no matter how many times you berate me. You are staying in this city—you can take whatever project you want, you can go after the organization for all I care, and I'd be more than willing to let you shoot me, but you are not going to that island."

"Fuck! Why are you so insistent?! Did you think that just because you're powerful and shit, you get to toss me around like your fucking lackey?

Do you think so little of me? When I chose you, I did not fucking sign up to be dragged around by your whims—I don't give two fucks why and how you did it, but you don't get to meddle in my affairs," you yelled at him. You didn't care who heard you. You didn't even care about anything anymore.

"You don't get to have a choice."

A loud, ear-piercing crash reverberated in his room.

Before he could say anything else, you picked up the nearest object beside you, a small statuette, and lunged it at him. The once solid form is now nothing more than debris of glass. It crashed against the wall behind his head, the shards flying to cut his cheek.

"Well fuck me, since when did I ever have one with you? The last choice I made was choosing you, and it went to shit from there. I follow every one of your fucking whims, but when I requested for you to not do shit, you turn a deaf ear." You didn't know what you were saying. The words were flowing out of your mouth uncontrollably, previous thoughts and buried resentment now at the forefront of your thoughts.

Silence befalls the room, and you can only hear the harsh thumps of your heartbeat. Beneath the silver-haired man's facade was a clear look of disbelief. Sylus laughed dryly at your words. He looked away and squeezed his eyes shut, no longer able to hide his displeasure. "So you're turning this about me?"

"Sweetie," he flicked his hand, and the black and crimson mist wrapped around you, thwarting you closer to him.

"I prevented you from leaving the country because I don't want your death on my hands. I don't wish for you to get injured, but I tolerated seeing you hospital-bound every other month. You are my partner, and I want what's best for you. I don't want you dying on some godforsaken island just because it's your job."

His EVOL released you, but his long and hard fingers grabbed ahold of your face too roughly. "I did it because I adore you. Because you're my lover," he hissed. Sylus pressed your face closer together, "I did it to protect you."

His nails dug into your cheek, and you winced, clawing it off. "I don't want your protection. I never needed it in the first place," you said through clenched teeth.

"Get this through your fucking head. No matter how powerful you are and no matter what you are to me, whether I do dangerous jobs is not up to you," you dug a finger into his chest. "My life is not in your hands. It never will be."

You pulled away from him and stepped back. "I'm following after them. You better not pull that shit again."

Sylus let out a gruff sigh, drowning in debilitation. His long and slender legs made their way to where you were, and to your dismay, he wrapped a hand around your dainty wrist before dragging you faster out of his room.

A flash of thunder momentarily illuminated the hall, and as you landed on the ground, Sylus said one thing:

"You're not going anywhere."

The door slammed shut right in front of your face.

---

You couldn't do anything. You were helpless against Sylus' orders, and he kept his word: You weren't allowed to leave the country.

As much as you wanted to wallow in self-pity and anger, you had a job to do.

The office was quiet, especially in your division, with you and another co-worker coordinating the mission through the telecommunication room. The soles of your feet were chafed from all the walking, and your throat was dry from distributing orders to all of your team members.

You could only observe the condition of the island through the lenses in their suit. It was pure chaos, and more than half of the team were injured. Thankfully, there were no deaths.

Two weeks had gone by in a blur, and you were navigating through the exhaustion and disappointment. The team, comprising the best of the best, had not made nearly half of the progress expected—they were tasked to retreat for the time being.

Nights were spent in the company's living quarters, and you thrived off canteen food to the point where it tasted bland. You even caught a fever, but you brushed it off with cold medicine.

What was ironic was despite the hectic schedule, every little time in between your duties, you glanced at your phone.

Ever since that night, there has not been a single text message from Sylus. You didn't have the strength to barge into his room, and there was no point either; there was no one left in the base.

The team got back, and there was chaos once more, distracting you for the next week. Most were in and out of the hospital, asking for leaves and days off to recuperate. The damages to your teammates were bigger than what you anticipated, so much so that the daily workforce dwindled by a lot.

Adding to the office workload was the patrol duty and killing off wanderers.

Needless to say, by the time you arrived home, there was almost no time to think. Your head hit the pillow, temples aching to the rhythm of your sore back; yet even then, you could only think of Sylus. The harshness of your words was slowly eating you alive, and what was worse was that you couldn't even remember what he had said.

Your phone lit up to notify you of your schedule tomorrow. Instead, you opened the messaging app and clicked on Sylus' profile.

He had seen the message but did not respond.

Again, he had seen the message.

You bit your lip, typing the letters carefully and weighing your own words. You closed your eyes and pressed send before closing your phone. You were too tired to think about what you said, and with a heavy heart, you drifted off to sleep.

----

The presence of the man behind you was too overwhelming. It was overwhelming to the point where it was enough to stir you in your sleep—the only temporary escape you could have.

It didn't sink in at first. The fact that you weren't in your room. It was too dark and somber for it to be your apartment bedroom; the comfort of the tiny plushies on your desk was gone. Instead, it was the sight of an unused fireplace and the velvet and gold couch.

The satins were rough to your liking and had a scent of sandalwood and citrus. Definitely different from the rose scent you were accustomed to.

Sylus's bedroom. That's where you were. Anxiety pitted at the bottom of your stomach upon this realization; he was nowhere near your line of sight, but the chill on your back was enough of a guide. You turned behind you, eyes adjusting to the blaring city lights displayed outside of his massive windows.

His figure was recognizable, but as bright as the city lights were, you couldn't see any of his facial features.

You opened your lips to speak, yet no words came out of your mouth, and not a coherent thread of thought manifested in your head. There was no point in asking why he brought you back to his base. And as much as you wanted to speak to him, you didn't. The urge subsided quickly, and a second later, the urge to leave took its place.

You took off from the bed, adjusting the sleeve of your nightwear. Your legs were light and quiet as they attempted to make their way to the other half of the room where the exit was. You had no clue how you were going to go home in your state, but it was a lesser feeling than the urge to leave Sylus again.

"The message you sent," he spoke, his hands nudging in your way. "I'm assuming you're going to take it back?" It was as if the floor had become soil: stems of his black and crimson smoke emerged like vines, entangling your feet into their current position.

You kept your mouth shut.

His figure turned into smoke, which accumulated in front of you. "Sweetie," like a month ago, he grabbed a hold of your jaw. "I asked you a question."

"I'm sorry for getting mad at you."

"Whether you're forgiven or not doesn't matter. The last message you sent—do you mean it?"

You didn't, no. That was sent out of impulse, yet with Sylus ghosting you for almost a month, it was almost like he was just waiting for you to say it. What were you supposed to think? He could've thrown you away and found someone else by then.

"I don't know," you whispered.

"You don't know?" he repeated, raising his eyebrow.

"I don't know. You didn't talk to me for a month, and you left the headquarters—I had no way to contact you. What else would I think?" You couldn't look him in the eye, but if you could've seen it, his eyes flickered to softness.

Sylus sighed and set your foot free. The harsh grasp on your face softened until he eventually had to let go.

"I was on Almus Island, and so were the twins."

"Did you—"

"Hurt your teammates? No." He walked over to his couch and ignited a matchstick. He threw it onto the fireplace, and the image of the room became brighter. Only then did you realize your lover's state.

You scurried over to him, fixated on the bandage that wrapped around his ribs and the dried patches of blood on his biceps.

"What did you do?"

"I personally helped with the clean-up." He leaned back on the couch, a scowl on his face when an ache came from his wounds. His back carefully pressed against the velvet cushion, and relief overcame him. "I destroyed the protofield which was left open."

A protofield? You thought. What protofield? There was never a portal indicated in the debriefing. Sure, there was an underground abandoned base, which most likely belonged to Onychinus. Still, they were all bunkers and storage rooms filled with lousy protocores.

"There are a lot of questions in your head right now, but what's important is I've lessened your workload. Order your team to head back to the island next month and do another clean-up. It won't take more than a week and a half to kill the remaining monsters; as compensation, I'll give you access to the armory—I'm sure the higher-ups would marvel at what's left in there."

You processed his words carefully. It doesn't answer your question about the portal, but if there is one, then when the team heads back, you should add several flux stabilizers with you to avoid risking opening another protofield.

"Now, is that sufficient enough?" Sylus asked.

His words snapped you out of your brief work mode, and you stared at his face, wondering what he meant. "Enough for what?"

"As an apology."

You were speechless. Confusion filled your mind with his words. This man was unpredictable, but you were certainly sure he'd rather say sorry and move on than go through all that trouble and get injured in the process. You weren't sure if you were supposed to act all caring about his wounds or act bravely and accept his apology and go back to bed.

"Am I allowed to leave the country?" Sylus' eyes met yours at this question, but you didn't blink.

He raised his eyebrow again. "Yes, you are. I won't do that again."

"Good, you're forgiven." You eased your shoulders and turned on your heel to his closet. You entered the door and took off some jacket and some loose sweatpants of his. "Get yourself patched up by a doctor; I'm going home."

The thudding of his footsteps reverberated behind you, and before you could open the door, his big hand blocked the way. You turned back and spotted him clutching his side with a frown on his face. "Where are you going?"

"Back home," you replied matter-of-factly.

"And you're not going to address your text?"

Ah, for a moment, you forgot about that. Your break-up text. He apologized for the flight incident but never for abandoning you for a month; maybe you can take advantage of this for a little while longer.

Your fingers tapped on his hand and pushed the door closed. Your gesture was enough for him to let go and step back in the hope that you'd do something. You twisted the doorknob and pulled it open, one last peek at him.

"Get some rest."

You shut the door and ran down the hallway—instead of your home, like you said, you took one of Sylus' motorcycles and drove to the headquarters.

---

Three days had passed since then, and you really weren't that concerned with Sylus. Luke and Kieran say he's doing fine despite constantly being on edge almost every day. You, on the other hand, were busy planning for the next clean-up—hopefully, a more successful one thanks to Sylus' help.

You hopped out of the shower, but a sense of dread greeted your neck. You stopped before taking another step. Your eyes searched for the source; it wasn't from the locked door or the laptop on the kitchen desk. Your bedroom door, on the other hand…

From behind the vase near the entrance, you pulled out a small gun, but before you could even unlock it, the tall, familiar figure popped out of the bedroom, in his grasp a bouquet of roses. You froze, and so did he.

You stared at each other before he looked at your hand in disappointment.

"You really have to fix that habit of yours." The habit pertains to you constantly pointing a gun at him.

"First, you tamper with my passport, and you kidnap me while I'm asleep, and now you're breaking and entering?" You released the lock on the gun and placed it where it was, finally placing a hand on your hip. Beads of water dripped from your hair onto your bare shoulders, rolling down to your chest and finally to the towel.

"I wouldn't need to do this if you answered my question from the very beginning."

You don't want to deal with him right now. Not when I'm half-naked.

"Wait for me in the living room."

My movements weaved around him, and he just quietly followed my figure. His footsteps were quiet, but he was following me into the room—you had to stop him before he became an audience to you in the nude, but you didn't even get the chance to turn around.

Sylus picked you up, and you yelped from the sudden movement. You held on to the tuck of your towel as he threw you onto your own bed like he would before.

"You—I told you to wait!"

"I am not a patient man, sweetie."

The ends of the towel parted from each other, exposing a bit of your lower abdomen. His eyes landed on that specific place as well. You lifted your foot slightly and stretched it so that it could reach his chest, preventing him from taking a step further.

"Sylus. Wait."

Sylus backed off at your words like a dog. You fixed yourself back up and crossed your legs.

"No. I didn't mean that text. Not anymore, at least." To that, it was a sign for him to come closer. You watched him approach your body, looking down at you with a finger stroking the side of your face. "Just… don't ghost me like that. You made me think that you replaced me."

"Replaced you?" he questioned. "Is that how you think of me?" He almost looked offended.

"I wouldn't put it past you, considering the things I said."

He hummed and tilted your head upward so he could get a good look at your face. "I may be a shady person, but I'm certainly not a womanizer, sweetie. I thought you had more faith in me."

"Sorry," you replied.

Sylus got down on his knees and kissed your own, his calloused fingers savoring the soft touch of your calves. The sweet musk of vanilla wafted under his nose, almost reeling him in. You gazed at him intently, knowing where this was about to go.

Author footnotes: Yay I finally get to post this. I had a hard time writing this because I wanted it to be dynamic but at the same time I didn't want to write a full blown fic with an over complex back story. I had to re-write the entire thing until i felt somewhat satisfied.

Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost | Dividers by me!

[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 15

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 6k

warnings: self-esteem issues, feelings

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 15/? 

<previous | next>

© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

The ride home lasts ten minutes, during which you’re holding back tears the entire time. It’s only when you’re finally inside your own apartment that you let them fall. It doesn’t help to see Fenrir’s collar and leash hanging next to your jackets, or his bowls still on the floor. In a way, it feels like you’re back at square one. 

You know you promised Jeongguk you’d call Jihyo, but you don’t, knowing she’d disapprove of you being on your own probably just as much as he does. Still, realizing that sooner or later you’ll need to either get back to work or find another job, you send her a text, asking if there’s any case for you to work on remotely until you’re ready to return fully.

The first night back is emotional, but you’re relieved to finally be home.

“I don’t think it matters how hard you throw it,” a worried Jimin watches Jeongguk hurl a dart at the dartboard. “Actually, I’m pretty sure you’d see better results if you didn’t throw it like an Olympic javelin thrower.”

Jeongguk doesn’t reply, just rolls his eyes and grabs another dart. The music around them is surprisingly quiet, drowned out by the chatter of the bustling bar.

“So, care to tell me what’s up with him?” Jin asks, nodding toward Jeongguk as he sets the three pints of beer on the table and takes a seat. 

“His little lady left him,” Jimin explains sadly, sliding one of the pints closer to Jeongguk.

“Oh. Why? You weren’t a couple, were you?” Jin asks.

“No,” is all Jeongguk mutters before he heads over to the dartboard to retrieve the darts. He has three of them, but only one actually hit the board; the other two embarrassingly stuck to the wood-paneled wall. From the marks already there, he’s at least not the first terrible dart-thrower. When he returns to the table with all the darts in hand, he pushes his designated pint back toward Jimin. “Can’t drink.”

Jimin meets his eyes, looking defeated. Jeongguk already explained that when you’re not with him, he can’t risk being drunk in case you need him. If you called, saying Hoseong had found you, Jeongguk would not hesitate to get on his bike or in his car, no matter how much he’s had to drink, and driving under the influence is something he’d rather avoid.

“She’s scared of me,” he repeats what you told him a few nights ago. Hearing the words from his own mouth stings less, but his heart still aches and his blood boils. He throws another dart but misses the board, and it sticks to the wall a few inches left of it. 

“Wait. What do you mean?” Jin asks, confusion written all over his face.

“Yeah. Although I’m pretty sure she hasn’t ruled out that I’ll just snap one day and kill her, she’s mostly scared that I’ll want to hurt her emotionally.”

“But why would you? I thought you two were doing alright? I mean, she’s been living with you for, what, the last month?”

“We were. Or at least, I thought so. She kissed me, and we were… getting closer, but I guess it freaked her out.”

“Why?”

“Remember how I told you I was horrible to her before I found out what Hoseong had done? Yeah, the things I said… they were inhumane.”

“What did you say?”

Jeongguk throws another dart, swinging his arm and using way too much force. “What haven’t I said? I’ve told her that she’s too ugly for me to look at, that she needs to stop eating, that she’s incompetent, and that she basically deserved being trafficked if only the traffickers would take her. That’s the short version.”

“Fuck, man,” Jimin breathes in disbelief. Jeongguk told him what happened ages ago but not explicitly what he’d said to you.

“Yeah. I just… I wanted her to hurt, to pay for what I thought she’d done, but she never seemed affected. I’d call her something, and she’d flip me off or glare at me or call me an idiot or whatever, but she never… I thought she didn’t care, so the next time I saw her, I said something worse. But I wouldn’t have, obviously, if I… If I… knew.”

Jin puts his glass down, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “I mean, I haven’t met her, but isn’t she, like, objectively very pretty? From what I’ve heard?”

“Yeah, she is,” Jeongguk sighs. “Which is also why I didn’t think she’d take it to heart, ‘cause what I said isn’t true in the slightest.” 

“But can’t she see how pathetically in love you are? No offense,” Jimin asks. “I mean, I take it you’ve apologized and probably told her what you really think? She doesn’t trust that?”

Jeongguk falls silent as he retrieves the darts again, shamefully avoiding eye contact with his friends on his way back.

“Wait, you haven’t apologized?”

“Of course I have,” he argues before lowering his voice. “I just kinda… fucked it up.”

He feels the confused stares of his friends. “I’ve apologized many, many times for how I treated her, and she seemed to kinda accept that? But I never explicitly apologized for the things I said. Nor have I told her how I actually feel about her.”

He sees how Jimin is about to tell him exactly what he thinks about that, but Jeongguk cuts him off before he's able to.

“After I somehow convinced her to stay with me, I thought carefully about how to act around her. I thought that it would be better to apologize for… everything. I thought ‘I’m sorry for how I treated you’ would cover it. And I didn’t want her to second-guess my intentions, so I didn’t actually tell her what I really think.”

“You mean ‘second-guess your intentions’ as in…” Jin trails off.

“As in think that I chose to help her because I was interested in her. I didn’t want her to think I had an agenda or to feel like she’d owe me in any way. She hasn’t had the best experience with men—men in law enforcement, especially—so I wanted to be as… safe, I guess, as possible for her. I didn’t realize she was still thinking about it, taking what I said as the truth.”

Jimin sighs. “So she thinks you might still consider her the ugliest creature to walk the earth is what you’re saying?”

“Apparently. I tried to convince her before she left, but of course, it didn’t seem genuine. I don’t blame her.”

A bit more optimistic, Jin tilts his head. “You don’t think she’ll believe you if you just tell her exactly what you just told us?”

But Jeongguk lets his shoulders slump. “I don’t think so. She told me I scare her because I have a desire to hurt anyone who wrongs me, and she doesn’t feel like she can read me. And I believe her. I wanted to hurt her, and during the mission, I had to pretend to love her when I really didn’t, so I kept switching up on her.”

The atmosphere shifts from frustrated and sad to just sad as Jeongguk runs his thumb over the dart in his hand.

“I lose either way. If I tell her that what I said back then was true, then I think she’s ugly, and I wanted to hurt her by saying so. But if I say that I lied and that she’s really the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, then I still wanted to hurt her. And after everything she’s been through, she doesn’t want a man with a desire to hurt.”

“But like you said, you didn’t mean to hurt her to that point, more so to be taken down a notch? And it got out of hand?”

“Is there a difference? I’ve hurt her, probably beyond what is salvageable, and she thinks I’m still capable of that; that if we disagree on something, I might turn on her.”

With a deep breath, you pull open the doors to the police station one chilly Monday morning, the sky outside gray and heavy with the threat of snow. It’s been three weeks since you came home, and though Jihyo put up a fight, she eventually agreed to let you stay.

Since months have passed, and you still haven’t caught Hoseong and his crew, you figure you might as well try to get back to normal. So you started planning your return to work, but then Christmas came, which you spent at your mother’s, two hours away.

Jihyo also agreed not to tell Jeongguk about your living arrangements, per your desperate request. You’d rather not deal with his savior complex, and you know he’d park outside your building if he thought you were in danger. You scoff to yourself, but almost immediately, guilt settles in. A savior complex isn’t why he’s worried about you; he’s just a good guy. You know that. Still, you don’t want him to know.

Walking through the station at nine a.m.—on your way to Jihyo’s office to discuss your new assignment—you almost hold your breath. Some officers glance your way, still not used to seeing you back, and maybe even less used to seeing you without Jeongguk. Or maybe they know you had a “falling out?” Would he tell anyone here? Jihyo, maybe, if she didn’t already know, but you’re not sure if he’d tell anyone else; his closest friends besides Jimin don’t work at this station anyway. And Jimin probably wouldn’t gossip about you either.

Jihyo is waiting for you when you reach the door to her office, calling out for you to come in as soon as you knock.

“Hey,” you say, closing the door behind you.

“Hey. Want a donut?” she asks from behind her desk, happily pointing to the open box, a half-eaten donut in hand and what you assume is part of the other half in her mouth.

“Nah, I’m good,” you grin, sitting down in front of her.

“Alright,” she says, swallowing and wiping some crumbs from her lap. “So, I’ve been looking over your request and proposed methods.”

You watch as she pulls her laptop in front of her, setting the donut down on the table, and starts scrolling.

“And I’d say it’s very reasonable if we’re okay with the risks.”

“I don’t think there are any risks at all, actually,” you argue softly. “We parted on good terms.”

“Yeah, I know. And they played a part in your survival. But I’m still gonna need to have a risk analysis performed. Who would you want to go with you? I could assign Sana, I think, if you want her? She’s on an assignment right now, but we’re hoping they’ll be done by Wednesday, give or take.”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

“No problem. I’m glad to see you back and wanting to work on what matters to you. I know the chief—ex-chief—did his best to be a pain in the ass for you.”

“Yeah. I can’t wait until the investigation’s finished, honestly. He deserves to rot in jail.”

“Agreed. I haven’t heard anything else from the higher-ups, so they’re probably still elbow-deep in it. Anyway, if you have any details you’d like to show me, I’m all ears.”

Your smile grows, and you reach into your bag for your laptop and notebook.

“Thanks,” you smile, standing up an hour later with your bag in hand. But before you exit her office and close the door behind you, you glance back at Jihyo. “By the way, I’m so glad you got the job. You deserve it more than anyone.”

“Thank you. It’s been… rough, these last couple of months. A lot to do and a lot of stress and pressure, but I think it’s worth it. And I’ve had help, making it easier for me to adjust.”

You know who she’s talking about; you don’t need to hear a name.

“He asks about you, you know.”

Holding onto the door, you look away. You’re well aware of what Jeongguk has done for not only you but also Jihyo, Sana, and the entire police station. 

“Let me avoid him for at least another month. Then you can tell him whatever you want, and I can try to be a better colleague. But now? I can’t… I don’t…”

Jihyo looks at you, seeing the pain well up in your eyes when you think about the reason you left his house that night. If you can just have another month to force the warm, yet invalid and hurt feelings you have for him back into the box they broke out of when you first kissed him, you can try to be more civil with him. Hell, you’ll even work with him if he can keep it professional as well.

Jihyo nods, sad but understanding. After all, she had a front-row seat when he used to tear you bloody.

For another hour, you sit at an empty desk, excitedly looking over the preliminary plan that starts on Thursday. You can’t believe it’s about to actually become reality.  

Step one:

Preliminary timeframe: Thursday. 

Possible obstacles and risks: Low risk of hostility or danger. 

Safety measures: Two detectives, civilian clothes, civilian car, concealed firearms.

Step two: Plan A or B, depending on what you find, if anything.

With your notes full of prepared questions, you rise from the chair, deeming it time to leave the station for the day. As you stand there, organizing your papers, movement catches your eye, and you look up just in time to see Jimin enter the big room. And of course, who does he have in tow if not Jeon Jeongguk, dressed, like so often, in the academy's navy crewneck and uniform pants?

Meeting both of their eyes, you’re saved by your phone’s ringtone, a sound that seems to stop even Jeongguk from taking an impulsive step toward you.

Fishing the phone out from the pocket of your black pants, you swipe your finger across the screen to answer. It’s Sana.

“Hello?”

“Hey! So I talked to Jihyo, and she said that your request got pre-approved? I’m a little busy at the moment and for the next few days, but send me anything you’d like me to look over in preparation.”

“So you’re up for it?” you ask, a wide smile forming. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Jeongguk reluctantly follow Jimin further into the room, where they start talking to two other officers with their backs turned. If you were more of a hopeless romantic instead of a realistic one, you’d describe the glances he sends your way as… yearning. To avoid his gaze, you focus on the notebook lying on the desk.

“Of course! You and me, just like old times.”

“Old times? It’s only been like a year since we worked on a case together.”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, I gotta go. See you.”

“I’ll send the info tonight. See you.”

Discreetly, you end the call and gather your things, quickly but quietly heading for the exit. But in the corridor, you hear a call of your name. You shut your eyes for a second before turning around. It hurts to see him, to walk these halls, avoiding him just like you used to. Only this time, it’s a different kind of pain.

The shame creeps in at the same rate Jeongguk approaches. It’s the same shame for how he sees you, but also for how you’ve reacted. You can barely look at him, yet you’re ashamed for not giving him a chance, even though he’s the one who made the bed he’s now tossing and turning in. He's so handsome, looking so warm and strong as he approaches, his black hair looking soft, shiny and just a little longer than last time. A part of you wishes he’d close his eyes so that you could throw your arms around his neck and breathe him in.

“Can you please leave me alone for a while?” is what you ask instead, clutching your notebook to your chest.

Now standing right before you, he looks down at you with sad, desperate eyes. “I’ll be quick, I promise. Two minutes is all I need.” 

You’re not sure why, because you’re not an immature person, but you press your lips together, trying to suppress a smile. Noticing the shift in your expression, Jeongguk thinks back to what he said, smiling as well. “I set that one up pretty well, didn’t I?”

You turn your head, trying to stifle the smile, but you find that it fades easier than expected. 

“And you think I’d wanna fuck that?” he snaps, eyeing your body with disgust. 

Your gaze locks on the lower part of the wall. You wish someone would lend you the cloak of invisibility so that you could hide yourself from him and the world.

“Look at me,” he instructs, but you don’t. The more you think about his eyes on your body, the more you want to leave. 

“Look. At me,” he repeats, firmer this time but still without sounding angry. 

So you do.

“I get it if you don’t want anything else to do with me, but I can’t have you walking around, believing what I said is true.”

Although you don’t cry, you reluctantly let him see just how hurt you are.

“You were right. I wanted to hurt you. I said those things because I was angry, and I wanted just… some kind of justice. When you instead seemed so… unfazed, I let it get the best of me, and somewhere along the way, I lost myself. But I was wrong and although I wanted payback, I didn’t mean to hurt you to this degree. I was only looking for a reaction, anything that showed me that you were paying for what I thought you’d done. If I’d known how I really made you feel, regardless of if you were innocent or not, I would’ve stopped.“

“So you’re just a man, after all?” you ask, and maybe it’s uncalled for, maybe it’s not.

Jeongguk takes half a step back, appearing lost for words, and with enough pain in his surprised eyes for you to think he looks hurt.

He blinks and lowers his voice. “Yeah. Just a man. But listen to me—the things I said were. Not. True. Okay? You hear me? I cannot let you go around thinking you’re anything like what I told you.”

“I find that hard to believe. How else would you know exactly where to hit? What to say to cause maximum damage? Talking about my cellulite and my… weight and…”

“I said what I figured any woman would be scared to hear.”

“Yeah, sure,” you dismiss. 

It doesn’t matter what he says now—he did know exactly what to say, which means he must have looked at you, inspected your body and found every single one of your flaws. It makes you nauseous, as if some of those flaws didn’t exist to the world simply because no one other than you had noticed or mentioned them. Then Jeongguk and his friends scrutinized every inch of you, uncovering them all and putting them on display.

“I think you’re gorgeous.”

“You would’ve told me.”

You really think he would have. The Jeongguk who wants you to sleep in his bed, holding you from behind, who asks to hold your hand, and who puts frosting on your lips as an excuse to kiss them—he would have told you if he liked you. If he thought you were beautiful.

“I didn’t. I thought–incredibly dumbly–that if I told you what I really think of you, you’d think I was hitting on you. If things were different, if we ran into each other somewhere without all this… baggage, I would’ve hit on you, but all I wanted at the time was for you to trust me as a friend and to trust that I just wanted you to be safe. I didn’t want you to think I was looking to get laid or that I would… that I was anything like Hoseong. I didn’t know that you took my bullshit to heart—because again, it’s just not true—and so I chose not to say anything.”

“But we’ve been past that point for a while, haven’t we?” you ask, finding his explanation a little too weak to believe. “I trusted you enough to tell you about the worst moment of my life, I kissed you, and I told you how pretty I think you are, yet you couldn’t even…”

Frustration boils in your veins, mixing with the raw disappointment and hurt which cools you back down. You feel so… small, so defeated. “I don’t need compliments. Just… something. Something that would’ve shown me you weren’t being sweet only because you felt guilty.”

Jeongguk doesn’t know what to say to that. In retrospect, yeah, he should’ve told you, and thinking back to his joke about pretty being for girls makes him cringe with both shame and regret. Especially since he’d used multiple occasions to taunt you with the fact that you’re not a pretty girl. But it had been hard, finding a balance in showing his affection without scaring you off. When you reacted the way you did that night during the power outage, he... didn’t want to risk making you more uncomfortable or afraid. He’d decided to take a step back, let you lead, and he would follow. Of course, that backfired horribly.

You look at him, hurt still brimming in your eyes.

He searches for words, trying to explain himself better. “I should’ve told you, but I… I didn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable. I wanted to follow your lead and let you decide everything. You wanted me handcuffed and blindfolded—of course I realized you were nervous. But I thought you were more worried I’d do something to you, rather than what I would think of you. I didn’t want to influence you to do anything you would’ve regretted.”

You’re clearly not convinced, and you shake your head slowly.

“You could’ve just given me a ‘you too.’ That’s all I would’ve needed.”

Jeongguk can only watch as you leave, obviously still very much hurt by him. Ten seconds after your footsteps have disappeared, he heads back to the desk area, his head hung low.

Jimin looks at him, JJ and Min gone. The unasked question hangs in the air, and Jeongguk can see Jimin realize that no, it didn’t go very well.

“You gotta remember that she’s had a hectic few months and maybe wasn’t really able to process everything. You being an ass was probably the least of her worries for a while—until it wasn’t anymore. And healing isn’t always linear. I’m sure she’ll come around one day.”

Jeongguk sighs. “I don’t think she will, and I can’t expect that of her. I just… hate myself for what I did to her. I never even realized she was just walking around, bleeding from my words.”

You haven’t fixed your car since the last tampering, but fortunately, Jihyo agreed to lend you one of the station’s unmarked cars. A discreet black thing that you park outside the station at ten a.m. on Thursday to pick up Sana, who needed to retrieve some things and told you to meet her there.

Getting no reply, you lock your phone and step out of the car with a sigh. The ground is powdered white, your shoes leaving tracks as you walk up to the station’s main entrance.

Warm air envelops you as you step inside, the doors falling shut behind you.

“Good morning!” Sana rushes over, a coffee in hand. “Sorry, I’ll be done in a minute, I just gotta ask Mark something.”

She gestures for you to follow, and you do, trailing behind her into the sea of desks. The place is unusually crowded with officers, so you decide to wait near the wall, leaving her to weasel her way into the middle on her own.

There usually aren’t this many people here when you’re around, but in your case, the problem isn’t necessarily people; it’s big, strong, law enforcement men. Though they’re not paying you much attention—they must be preparing for something big—you still can’t will your body to fully relax.

By instinct, you tug at your clothes, wishing you hadn’t left your jacket in the car. Since you decided to wear civilian clothes today, you thought you might as well dress somewhat according to your original mission’s dress code. Except adjusted for winter, of course. 

You’re wearing winter boots that reach your upper calves, a pair of those invisibly fleece-lined pantyhose you’ve seen all over social media the last few months, and a cream-colored knitted turtleneck dress. It’s been in your closet forever, but unfortunately, you didn’t try it on before you had to leave.

It feels too tight on your body. Not to wear into a ‘strangely religious neighborhood,’ but too tight to wear here. You pull at the hem where it ends at your mid-thigh, keeping your eyes down when people pass you and hoping no one is looking at you and taking note of how awkwardly shaped your body is.

You stand there for a while, avoiding people’s eyes while you wait for Sana.

However, when you—out of the corner of your eye—notice a uniformed man walking toward you, you look up. Jeongguk’s eyes flicker between you and the people walking past you, as if he’s seen exactly the shameful way you carry yourself around men—these men—nowadays. It’s gotten worse since you left his house; you know that, but when all of your confidence was fueled by anger and then denial, removing those leaves… not much left.

He comes to stand in front of you, looking down at you with frustrated eyes. He’s so broad, so imposing, and it’s very evident when he wears his navy uniform, the sleeves rolled up his veiny forearms.

“Listen to me—”

You look away, about to step back, but he grasps your hand—not just to stop you but to guide the two of you a few steps away from the path of officers and behind the tall panels of a cubicle.

“No. Listen to me. I’ll leave you alone after this if that’s what you want, but I need you to know that you are so incredibly beautiful.”

You sigh, looking at him and wordlessly begging him to just give up already. He’s quiet for a few long seconds, his frustration seemingly growing.

When he speaks again, his voice is calm, more earnest. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

“No,” you shake your head. You can’t recall the very first time you met him.

“I do. It was a rainy day—my fourth at the station—and I ran into you at the main entrance. The rain had wet your hair, and I held the door open for you. You thanked me, but you didn’t really smile much, just politely. I think you also bowed your head slightly. I remember thinking that you must’ve been cold from the rain, but I realize you were wary around the men here, even if you and I didn’t know each other.”

Sounds about right.

“And I thought that you were just so beautiful.”

You look down. It’s humiliating, and you feel like shit, hearing him throw compliments your way just to make you feel better. You can’t tell if he’s lying or not, but what else would he say? You can’t exactly say you expected him to approach you today to call you ugly.

Noticing your hesitation, he appears to be searching his mind for something, and you glance at him. 

Suddenly, his eyes widen slightly, and he reaches into the pocket of his navy uniform pants. It’s his phone that he pulls out, and he starts to scroll. He scrolls, and he scrolls, until he finally finds what he’s looking for.

“Look,” he says, handing you the phone.

Although you’re not too keen on entertaining whatever this is, you can’t help but be a little curious. What could he have on his phone that would convince you?

Accepting the device, you start reading the words on the screen. They’re text messages from an old group chat, dated years back, and though you can’t remember the exact date Jeongguk first showed up at the station, you assume it was right around then. The chat seems to have consisted mostly of him, Ryung, Hoseong, Seunghwan, and Junseo.

Seunghwan: Yeah, we’re excited to have you, just let us know if you need anything.

The next few texts are from the following day.

Jeongguk: So I just met the most gorgeous woman I think I’ve ever seen??

Jeongguk: Quick question, is there a work dating policy here? I can’t remember. 

Jeongguk: And if not, where do I find this woman again? Is she an officer? I’m not even kidding when I say that I’m absolutely head over heels from a three-second interaction, and she didn’t even really say anything. 

Jeongguk: I’d love to ask her out.

Ryung: If it’s who I think it is then you better stay away, man.

You read on, seeing how Ryung goes on to describe a woman’s features, which happen to align with yours. The length, color, and style of your hair, the color of your eyes, and your height. But also a very generous way of describing your face and the shape of your body.

Jeongguk: Yeah! Is she with one of you already? In that case, I apologize!

Ryung: No, but Hoseong did her briefly, and she’s absolutely mental. Pretty, but crazy

The next words are not very nice, the men urging Jeongguk to stay away from the woman who could only ever be you, promising to tell him what happened the day after.

“See,” Jeongguk says, “Even Ryung knew exactly who I meant; I didn’t even have to describe you, just say that you were the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen.”

You’re not sure. Yeah, the evidence points to that, and you can’t deny that you’re definitely feeling some form of relief, but… you can still hear his voice in your ears, see the anger and hatred in his dark eyes.

You hand the phone back, and Jeongguk looks around, sighing before turning his attention back to you. “You want me to be completely honest? Tell you exactly what I think of you?”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “No? That’s the point? I know that I’m not your type. I’m full of flaws. I don’t have a body fat percentage in the negatives like you, I don’t always have the energy to shave every inch of my body, and I’ve never gotten flowers. No matter what you say now, I’m not someone you want.”

“You think I’m someone who would care about any of that?” he asks, his voice tinged with hurt.

“You look like someone who would.”

Jeongguk looks away, taking a second to gather his thoughts.

“I… wanted to ask you out that day, after I first met you. You looked so pretty out there in the rain, and I think my heart stopped for a while. I think that you’re cute—really fucking adorable—and charming, and you’re smart and kind, and you’re absolutely breath-taking and sexy as hell.

"Which was another reason I was so angry at you; I saw this… stunning woman, who appeared to live a very privileged life, yelling ‘sexism’ whenever something didn’t go your way to… I don’t know, avoid consequences and get ahead, not realizing what sexism truly meant for other women. I didn’t think there was that much harm in what I said because I thought you knew very well how goddamn pretty you are, so I gripped at every straw, trying to get a reaction.”

You listen to every word he says, still unable to decide. You want to believe him, but the deep wounds he carved into your skin are still bleeding.

“I was so conflicted during our mission. On one hand, I had to pretend to like the person who had shot one of my best friends, who got away with it and refused to be held accountable for it. On the other hand… I liked seeing you pretend to like me too. First, out of spite, but then I realized that I liked seeing you smile, and how nice you were to the people around you, except for me, of course, but I guess I always started it. Then you fell asleep in my arms at the barbeque, and I knew I was fucked. I felt like I betrayed my friends for… feeling something other than hatred for you. 

“But this little thing, that hated me so much, let herself be so vulnerable as to sleep in my arms. And I guess I looked at you differently after that. The more I realized that you might actually be a pretty decent detective; a decent person, the harder it was for me to be mean to you. After everything, and after I’d found out what had happened, I wanted to tell you how much I liked you and how pretty I thought you were, but I was scared you wouldn’t come with me if I did. I was scared they’d look for you at your apartment, so I kept quiet.

“Even after you came to stay with me, and it seemed like you started to trust me, even just a little bit, I had to convince myself to wait. And the more I got to know you, the harder it became. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to bury you in flowers? Hold you and kiss you silly? And you know why I was always up before you—or at least I tried to be—when you slept in my bed with me?”

You shake your head because you don’t know.

There's something else in his eyes when he holds your gaze, “Because I dream about you, and I wake up hard. But I remembered how I freaked you out when we made out back at the house, when you were on my lap and I got hard. I didn’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable, so I made sure to wake up before you, just in case.

“I wanted to kiss you and hold you and really, it would’ve been my pleasure if you’d wanted to sleep with me. But more than that, I wanted you to be safe and feel safe, never doubting why I was doing what I was.”

He shuts his eyes for a short moment. “I guess that’s all I can say. I don’t need you to forgive me, I just need you to know that all I wanted was revenge; nothing of what I said was true.”

He opens his eyes again, looking into yours with his soft, brown ones and a gentle sincerity. Though it’s overshadowed by something else. “I have many regrets, but you are my biggest. What I did to you.”

Regret.

As if she’s been waiting for the right moment to make her return, you hear Sana call your name. When you turn around, you spot her approaching.

“I gotta go,” you excuse yourself.

Sana looks between you and Jeongguk, but when no one says anything, she shrugs and turns her attention to you. “So, Jihyo said you had a problem with your apartment? The door, was it? Cause I can call my brother, and he’ll fix it for free next week if you want?”

“You’re living in your apartment? On your own?” Jeongguk questions, his voice upset.

You turn back at him, “Yeah. Have been since I left your house. It’s fine.”

Despite the clear worry his eyes display, he makes no effort to follow you and talk you straight, probably realizing that there’s nothing else he can do; that was his last chance.

<previous | next> author's note: so there's that! thanks for waiting for it <3 this was the last puzzle piece of their past, i think, and i'd love to hear your thoughts on everything, but especially him lol <3<3

[zylev-blog]

Jazz is Special Agent Fenton of the FBI. She doesn’t go by Fenton when she’s out on a case though; she uses Nightingale. She does this because it keeps her identity secret.

Jazz is investigating a series of crimes. One of the other agents goes undercover to try and set them up in a sting operation. Things go south and now Jazz is going to Gotham to view the murder scene.

When she gets there, GCPD try to stop her at the crime scene barrier. She flashes her FBI jacket and her badge and is given access. She walks over to the police commissioner, a man named Gordon. Gordon obviously doesn’t recognize her, and neither does the vigilante with him—Batman.

“This is a closed crime scene, Miss…?” Gordon asks.

“Nightingale. FBI.” She shows Gordon her badge. “You and your men can clear out. This is our jurisdiction now.”

“We haven’t gotten approval to—“ Gordon stops, but was interrupted by an officer walking over to Gordon and whispering something in his ear. “Fine.” Gordon grumbled, and started telling his men to leave.

“You too, Spooky. I don’t need a vigilante’s help.” She waves off the man without another thought, but Batman doesn’t move. Instead, he completely ignores her and starts walking towards the crime scene. “Obviously, you didn’t hear me.” Jazz scowled. “If you don’t leave, I will remove you with force, Batman.”

Batman turns to look at her. “That isn’t how things work here, Agent Nightingale.”

“It is now.” She kept her expression neutral. “Clear out, or be removed. Your choice.”

Batman tried to look intimidating. Jazz refused to bow. The two stared each other down before Batman took another step towards the crime scene. She reacted instantly. Pulling out a taser, she placed it on his back before he could even react.

He reacted quickly, and sent three batarangs at her in rapid succession. His movements were a bit slower than normal after getting tased. She dodged two of the batarangs, and opted to catch the third in her hand. She flicked it away lazily and cracked her knuckles with a small smile. “I love it when they choose force.”

Batman didn’t react to her comment. He seemed to understand he wasn’t going to be able to get around her without a major fight. He let out an annoyed grunt and grappled away.

Three days later, they meet on the roof of an abandoned building. It seems like Batman was still on the case after all. Jazz was not happy about it. She felt that he was going to ruin the entire operation. She couldn’t trust someone to have her back if they didn’t show their face. She doesn’t let the annoyance show on her face as Batman joins her at the edge of the rooftop.

“I thought I told you to stay off my case, Batman.” She said quietly.

Batman gave a quiet grunt. If she had to put it to words, it would translate to a ‘I do what I want.’

She didn’t speak to him again, but she didn’t kick him out, either. The two didn’t speak a word as they sat for two hours, inspecting the warehouse across the street. It was nearly morning by the time Batman left. She did make sure he left, too—she watched him grapple down the street and heard the roar of the Batmobile pulling away before she breathed out a sigh of relief.

Watching the building was doing nothing. She was going to have to get closer. She was going to have to go undercover herself. The thought didn’t make her any happier, even with knowing what happened to the last agent that went undercover for this operation. She also knew that to keep her tracker on her at all times, she would need to shove it inside a place that nobody would look for it. And boy was that uncomfortable.

Two days after she met Batman did she meet Brucie Wayne for the first time. By now she had been undercover with the modeling agency for a day, and it was going well so far. She was playing her part perfectly, but it could take weeks for them to trust her enough to give her information that she needed to know.

She had been hired to be arm candy for a wealthy man in Gotham. It wasn’t Brucie, though she knew he had a few models on his arms as well. She had gotten through most of the night without incident before she ran into Brucie. Quite literally. Brucie’s champagne spilled down her dress, and she gave a mock scream of outrage.

Brucie tried to clean up her dress, but she swatted his hands away and went to the bathroom to clean up. She never noticed the tracker that Bruce put on the nape of her neck. When she came back out, she noticed her date looking for her. She rejoined him and the rest of the night went smoothly.

A month into the operation and she finally was getting some results. She had been moved from building to building more than once, but she finally got breadcrumbs for what she needed to take them down. It took her another three weeks after that to gather all of the evidence she needed.

At the final takedown, she was joined by none other than Batman. She had half-expected him to show up after she noticed the tracker on her neck six hours after it was placed. She didn’t know when she had even run into the Batman at a stuffy charity gala. She had debated crushing it, but she didn’t have backup and she figured his help was better than nothing. She still didn’t trust him, though. She made sure he knew that, too.

Bringing the tracker up to her lips, she whispered, “Don’t you know it’s rude to listen in on a lady, Batman?”

Together, she and Batman took down the traffickers. They had been using models and trafficking them all over the world to be used as sex slaves. She feels a certain satisfaction while watching everyone be escorted out in cuffs.

“Nice work.” Batman says, figure tall and dark.

She hums. “Thanks.” The silence stretches on for a few minutes before she adds in, “Thanks for having my back.”

“I thought you didn’t need a vigilante’s help?” Batman teased.

She didn’t look at him, but she could hear the teasing on his voice. She smirks and crosses her arms. “I don’t. But you’re harder to get rid of than a ghost in a net.”

Batman didn’t respond back to her, and it takes her a few moments to realize what she had said. She was of course, referencing her parents ghosthunting activities. But he didn’t even know her real name, so how would he even know what he was talking about?

“When do you leave?” Batman asked.

“After everything’s wrapped up. Why, you going to miss me?” She finally turned to look at him. She wished she could run facial recognition and figure out who was under that mask. The psychologist in her wanted to know just why a man would put on a bat mask and fight crime.

“I have a case that could use your input.” Batman deflected her question.

Was that a compliment from the Batman? His way of telling her that he trusted her opinion? Or was it an olive branch?

“Mine or the FBI’s?” She already knew the answer to his question, but she wanted him to say it.

Instead, he just grunted in annoyance. She rolled her eyes and pulled a card out of the pouch that she kept her FBI id at and handed it to him. “That’s my office phone number.” She tapped the card with her finger as he held it. “If you want my personal cell, you’ve got to earn it.”

He nodded and tucked the card into his utility belt. She could see the beginnings of a smile from Batman as he disappeared into the shadows and grappled away.

Surprisingly, it only took Batman a week to call her. She had gotten settled back into her office in DC, and had mostly forgotten about the encounter. She had to report Batman’s appearance in her report, but beyond that, she didn’t have to explain that he helped her take down the ring.

She made a flight back to Gotham the next day. Batman brought her into the Batcave and told her everything she needed to know about the case. She didn’t know where the Batcave was, as Batman had blindfolded her, but she was impressed with his initiative.

“Im not wearing that.” She glared at him with all of the venom she had—which was quite a lot.

“You can’t go out in your FBI jacket.” Batman deadpanned.

“Wasn’t planning on it. Do you think I’m a rookie?” She shook her head and gestured at the costume that the vigilante had made for her. “That doesn’t give you the right to—to—ugh! Im not your Batgirl, or Batwoman, or whatever! I came out as a consult. I don’t dress up in latex, and I don’t wear costumes!”

The costume itself was gorgeous, not that she’d ever tell Batman that. It was solid black, had a red bat on the front of it, and was fully equipped with a utility belt, knife holsters, and a taser. It had a full cowl like Batmans, along with the pointy ears on top.

“I don’t see the problem.” Batman’s voice had undertones of offense in it.

“Look.” She gestured at the costume. “Im honored, truly, that you want me to watch your back. But I’m not a vigilante. Nor will I ever be!”

She had watched what vigilantism had done to Danny, Sam, Tucker, and Valerie over the years. Sure, she’d gone out with them more than once. Without a mask. But there was something more complex about the costume sitting on the table in front of her.

“You said you were going to help.” Batman’s gruff voice got closer as he took a few steps towards her.

“And I did.” She gestured to the Batcomputer. “I already gave you my opinions of the case. I dedicated a weekend of PTO time to be here. But this is as far as my help goes.”

“What about the last operation? You owe me.”

“Owe you?!” She exclaimed, thumping her finger against his chest. “I told you to get lost. You still stuck around. You could’ve cost me the operation!”

“It worked.”

She groaned in frustration. She was close enough to him now that she could smell the faint smell of Kevlar and aftershave from him. She rubbed a hand down her face as she thought over what had happened last time she was in Gotham.

“What about all your other winged vigilantes? You had uh.. Nightwing, and Robin, right?”

“It’s only Nightwing.” Batman responded. “He’s unavailable.”

“I could’ve sworn you had a Robin, too.” She looked up at him and noticed the stiffness of his body.

“Robin has moved on.” Batman replied.

Hmm. Touchy subject. She wasn’t going to push. It wasn’t any of her buisness.

“You must be really desperate if you’re trying this hard to get me to go out in that.” She smirked.

“Things could go wrong.” Batman said with a quiet sigh.

“Don’t they always?” She tilted her head.

“Not always.” Batman mimicked her actions, clearly studying her. “What will it take?”

“If I put that mask on,” She gestured to the table behind her, “You take yours off.”

“No.”

“Fine. Deals off, then.” She pulled her phone out and immediately started looking for flights back to DC.

“Why?” He questioned.

“I can’t trust someone who won’t tell me who they are.” She shrugged.

Batman let out a quiet growl. As he took his cowl off, he scowled. “You would know, wouldn’t you, Miss Fenton?”

“Holy shit.” Her eyes got wide.

Bruce Wayne was the Batman.

[killakalx]

17+ content, blank blogs dnf

gunplay, bit of a gory description, hate sex, degradation, brat taming, throat fuck, ruined orgasm, arkham knight gear stays on, reader is a vigilante. a/n at the end :p

the arkham knight’s watched you long enough to know how you operate; your favorite moves, how you approach the enemy, how you talk to the enemy. you’re reckless and actively searching for a thrill out in gotham. and in turn, he gets his fun in tearing you down. the tone you tend to take with him is testy more often than not, and he waits until he’s got one thread of patience before he disarms you of your boldness. then he continues. on from the shield to the armor, then digging into bare skin just to fuck with you. to humble and embarrass you.

“you think you’re so cute,” he mutters with an agitation about him, gothamite accent still coming out thick through the voice modulator. “you like this shit? me fucking you ‘til this pussy’s all sore?” the look on your face is helpless, tears swelling in your lashes and gasping at the bruising grip on your hips. he’s burying his cock to the hilt and pulling your little sense of decency out with it each thrust, and still, you’ve got the nerve to test just how quickly he’ll break you with a little more incentive.

“I think-“ you start, though you’re temporarily interrupted by your own moan. “I think you like this.” your hand clutches onto any part of his gear when he responds with a harsher fucking, legs trembling and still trying to shit talk him. “just a fucking brute looking for an- mm- an outlet.” the deep laugh that comes from the depths of his throat is threatening, accompanied by a grip on your hair that yanks your head forward.

“look at that,” he orders, chin forced against your chest and making your throat tighten as you mewl. “look who’s leaking all over my cock like a cheap whore instead of patrolling and say that shit again.” and because you like this little game, you do. it’s an attempt to psychoanalyze him, to get in touch with his own self loathing and provoke something deadly.

“always so angry,” you whisper, “don’t know anything other than that.” your words start slurring together, but the somehow condescending tone is still there to tick him off more. now his pace picks up and a gloved hand rudely gropes your chest, almost like a handle as he pistons into you. even through pathetic whimpers, you manage, “I bet this bloodthirsty act is-“

“all you do is bark, huh.”

in a matter of seconds, the brutish tendencies spill. your body’s slammed into the mattress and your head jerks, light stinging in the back of your head suggesting that you’ve hit the headboard. and with the cool steel he’s slipped down your throat, you’re reminded that the blood thirst is a bit more than an act. he does it as if he’s throwing you a bone, pacifying you, the rowdy little thing that just wants something to chew on. it makes you choke with wide eyes, barrel of the gun shoved into your mouth until you feel his finger on the trigger brush your chin.

“i’d shut that damned mouth,” the arkham knight warns, “y’can’t council me with a bullet in your neck, doc.” he’s stopped fucking you to let the silence after a bone chilling realization disturb you, but your body betrays you- you can’t help how you tighten around his cock at the position you’ve put yourself in. it takes everything not to move your hips as you pant over your ruined orgasm, the tingly feeling you get from fucking your boss’s first priority target behind his back. it’s teetering away and replaced with repulsive guilt, but only for a mere moment.

“you’re a fucking joke,” he chastises, “think about it- if I pull off that bloodthirsty act… all it takes is a bang, then you’ll be drownin’ in my color.” he speaks with desire, as if he looks forward to it. the drag he adds to the ‘bang’ is complemented with a rigid scratch in your throat as he pushes it further down, just to hear the sorry gasp of fear you give him. “that turning you on?”

it is. desperately, in fact. such a crude and gory picture’s been painted in your mind, yet he makes it sound so poetic and unique to himself. the imagination can be terribly vivid; so much as a flinch of his finger and the sheets are dowsed in your blood—no, like he said, his color—while you choke on the metallic taste similar to the one sheathed between your lips now. less vividly, but real, you see him, clad in chest plates and thick cargo material, nothing but a digital glitch from the helmet while he’s got you speared on his cock and gagging on his handgun.

“ngh-“ you sputter, spit dribbling around the metal as your dilated pupils are met with a blank red stare. what was intended to be a no is presented as a yes, cunt twitching when he fucks the pistol into your mouth. much to your dismay, he likes the look on your face, and the gun slides out of your mouth after he leaves your pussy aching without an orgasm. deciding against words, you whine, limp on the mattress and easily dragged to the floor on your knees.

he’s yanked on the cute little ponytail you only wear for nightly duties, making you pout. it hurts- but there’s no point in saying that. he knows. that’s the idea; letting you know that you’ve yet to deal with anything near his full potential of brute strength because this is his bare fucking minimum. “I was gonna do this first,” the agitated grin in his voice is evident, smacking the head of his cock on your tongue as your mouth hands agape. “but I thought I was being nice by fucking everything outta that pretty little head.” you’d had half a mind to start sucking at the tip, but he beats you to it by shoving your head down, groaning as you gag against his happy trail. “hell, I’m still being nice- I bet this dick feels way better than a bullet.”

your hands search for abandon before weakly hooking onto his thigh straps, bracing yourself for what anyone could piece together as pleasurable torture. your pretty lashes flutter through your cowl, stained with dark eye make-up and tears. “y’look a lot more pathetic like this, doll- who knew that was possible, huh?” the arkham knight has you utterly broken, and he feels you’re no where near humbled yet. ❧

a/n ;; woahhhh porn w/ plot who cheered??? this is kinda piggybacking off of this anon I received referring to my first fic for the arkham knight, shout out to that nonnie :). as always rbs and commentary are appreciated, i hope this was up to par, ty for reading <3

[lostbo0]

Meant to be Yours…

Summary:

In attempts to catch a crazed stalker intent on having you all to himself, the team sends you and Spencer into the field posing as a loving couple in hopes to draw out the unsub, and perhaps residual feelings as well…

Warnings:

Drinking, canon-typical violence, some minor cursing

Word Count: 2.5k

Genre: Minor angst with happy ending

~~~

“This unsub presents with OCD-like tendencies; when things don’t align with his idea of how they should be, he feels an overwhelming need to fix it.”

“And as we’ve seen…” Morgan paused to survey the room, “will even resort to violent means to do so.” You fiddled with your fingernail polish in the conference room as the rest of the team ran-down the details of the case, each clack of the clock sending your imagination further spiraling.

“This unsub has taken a particular interest in (y/n) and Spencer’s…” Rossi glanced at you both, eyes darting between you and Spencer in the mere split second that he stalled, “perceived relationship.”

“Previous letters that he has sent to the BAU state that it is ‘unnatural’ and ‘wrongs must be righted’”. You shifted in your seat, hoping that the movement didn’t reflect concern on your end. You didn’t want to send the impression that you could ever be flustered by such a social degenerate with nothing better to do than stalk and nefariously matchmake strangers in the name of order. You didn’t want anyone to know that you were even slightly nervous. But of course you were nervous. There were death threats on your door, a faulty pipe bomb in your bathtub, notes to the BAU that begged the question what psycho was so concerned about your relationship status as he would go so far as to murder other men as a way to relieve the hatred he felt for Spencer Reid supposedly “taking his place”? You had no other choice but to be nervous.

“Additionally.” JJ began, “ Our unsub has found particular interest in (y/n), whom he believes to be soulmates with and will go to extreme lengths to feel connected to.” She clicked at the remote, panning the screen through crime scene photos from earlier, men killed and dumped out in the open, supposedly so you could find them. You shuddered and turned from the images and Spencer took the time to ghost his fingertips over your knuckles, a gentle and common way he has learned to calm you down. You looked at him, yet filled with the impression of observers, you tore your gaze from his equally fixated eyes. Something about the moment felt so intimate, despite seeming so insignificant. He only touched your knuckles, rubbing his middle finger over your index joint, occasionally drifting down your tendon, yet it felt so exposing and wrong you had to pull your hand away. You shot him a quick smile, hoping to mend the disappointment.

"He has yet to appear in plain sight, however,” Morgan shifted his weight, “We are hoping that our plan will draw him out.” He turned his gaze to Hotch, as if to say ‘continue’.

“(y/n) will go out into the field accompanied by Reid.” Your heart leapt when he said it. “They will go to the club that our unsub has been said to frequent, disguised as a couple.” That really made your heart leap. It felt so silly, being more nervous about interacting with your best friend than going into the field with a crazy obsessed murderer, yet the words ‘Ried’ and ‘couple’ in the same sentence made you tense up quite a bit. “We are hoping that this will set him off just enough to make an appearance, giving us the chance to take him into custody.”

For the first time since you sat down at the table, you turned your body to look at Spencer. He was messing with his hands at the table, head down, fully engrossed in thought. You wondered what he was thinking about. You always did. You wondered if you made him feel the same way he made you feel, but you dispelled the thought as Hotch dismissed the team to began preparing for your sting operation.

~~~

The club was dark. You wondered how the unsub would even see you here, however, Rossi assured you that he would come and he would see you on a date with Spencer. Date. You sort of hoped it was real, and not a ploy to catch a killer, but you would take what you could get. You and Spencer were sat at the bar in the middle of the room, practically lit by a spotlight. It was almost too obvious. Spencer turned, knees hitting the counter due to his height.

“Are you nervous?” He internally cursed himself for the question. Of course you were nervous. A serial killer was after you. He just wanted to try and make you feel better in any way he could. You read his concern like a book.

“A little bit, I think so, I’ve never done this before.”

“Have a killer after you?”

“Be on a date.” The admission was slightly embarrassing, even in front of your best friend, but you were 22 and had never been on a date before. Maybe you should have been more adventurous in high school.

“Wait, how?!” Spencer raised his voice in genuine shock.

“What do you mean? No one wanted to date the weird kid in high school.”

“Yeah but, you’re so pretty!” He froze, praying you didn’t see the heat rise in his cheeks. You did.

“What?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-“

“No its ok! It just caught me off guard that’s all.”

“Say it again,” A muffled voice came across your ear pieces, you picked out that it was Rossi’s. You completely forgot that you were being listened to.

“What?” Spencer quietly responded.

“We have eyes on our unsub. He’s looking at you. We need him to hear you guys, so turn it up a notch.” You looked up at each other simultaneously.

“Got it thank you Rossi.” You touched your ear piece, passing it off as pushing your hair behind your ear.

“I-I mean you are really pretty, I just,” Spencer took this time to take a big sip of his drink at the bar table. You did the same. “It kind of surprised me that’s all.” He swallowed hard and you put your hand to his forearm, exposed by his rolled up sleeves.

“It’s ok, I’m gonna make it easy for you, hm?” You lowered your voice and looked up at him giving him a slight nod. He nodded in response, happy for you to relieve the pressure from him. You proceeded to unbutton your top an extra button, fluffing up your hair as you shrunk the gap between you two.

“W-what are you doing.” He whispered, his voice turning up in the end.

“Making it easy for you!” You looked up at him, doe eyes peering through your lashes as you rubbed his arm, a habit you had adopted years before, yet it never felt so intimate until now. Spencer took the hint as well, smiling gingerly, ghosting a hand atop your exposed waist, almost as if he were afraid of breaking you. He had also done this many times before, however you both felt something not so platonic rising within you.

“I wasn’t lying, when I said you were pretty,” His large hand cupped your waist, fingertips innocently prodding at your waistband. Your hand snaked up to his bicep, feeling your heart rate rise in your pulse. “I meant it.”

“Spence, I-“

“I did!” His eyes widened, his tell that said ‘I mean it’. “I see you every day at work and I think that you’ve just come from some beautiful night out with some guy way cooler than me.” Spencer grabbed a piece of your hair between his free hand, observing it with his fingertips. Following his lead, you pushed a stray piece of hair away from his dark eyes, feeling his gaze deepen.

“I can promise you Doctor, no man has ever taken me out for a ‘beautiful night’”. You could swear you saw relief in his eyes.

“It’s so weird to me. Your soft hair, your contagious laugh, the way that you are so considerate, the way that I can’t take my eyes off of you,” He surveyed your face. “How could someone not see how beautiful you are?” It was your turn to go slack-jawed, unable to pull your eyes off of the words leaving his lips.

“Spence, I,” You pulled your hand to his cheek. “I think you’re pretty too.” This was quiet. The unsub couldn’t hear your voice this low. This was for only Spencer to hear. Quickly and almost against your judgement, your bodies pulled together. It was painfully and at the same time beautifully slow; A speed that said ‘I know what I’m doing and I know what I want’. Your lips barely brushed against each other. Your eyes closed and the world was dark yet suddenly so full of light. He didn’t want to break you, or taint the beautiful innocence he felt on your skin, he thought, you were too good for it. Yet his body pulled him closer into you, lips moving in untroubled unison, a way that spoke volumes in the silence between you. You grabbed his face and pulled him closer, shutting out the world, shutting out the unsub, shutting out the observant breathing in your earpiece. You felt years of unspoken feeling poured into you, as his language began to ignore your setting.

“(y/n), Reid, He’s left the club and he’s angry, you need to pursue him.” Hotch’s voice dug into your ear as you and Spencer ripped yourselves away from each other. A look of regret was exchanged before you quickly exited the club.

~~~

It was much darker outside and your eyes tried their hardest to adjust to the sudden change in light. The dry dirt beneath you was kicked up as you and Spencer ran towards the unsub’s vehicle you were briefed on hours before. You let Spencer advance to the car as you watched the woods that sat just beyond the headlights. A good place for an unsub to hide you thought. Just as Spencer turned to give you the all clear, a swift arm wrapped around your neck and cold metal pressed against your temple.

“Drop the gun!” The unsub yelled and it stung your ears as you flinched. “I said drop the gun!”

“Ok, ok, Im putting it down ok?” You fearfully dropped your gun to the ground, feeling the reality of the situation set it. He kicked the gun away, eyes now moving to a horrified Spencer, gun poised to shoot.

“Put the gun down.” Spencer’s voice dropped into a deep, demanding tone of a person you had never seen before.

“You took her from me!” The unsub’s spit flew as he choked out more and more accusations. “I saw your little show in the club there,” his voice tensed. “I don’t take kindly to people disrespecting me like that.” Spencer cocked his gun, zeroing in on the unsub, waiting for a clear shot.

“She isn’t yours.”

“Reid, (y/n), is everything alright?” Hotch’s concern soaked through your ear piece as the unsub’s grip on your neck tightened.

“She’s mine you bastard!” The unsub shouted his foul cry.

“No she isn’t.” Spencer snapped. “What is her favorite color?”

“I’m sorry?” The unsub was clearly not keen on playing Spencer’s game, and you were equally confused and terrified.

“It’s light purple. Not plum, not eggplant. Light purple. See, you wouldn’t know that because you don’t know her like you think you do.”

“I know where she lives you dumbass! I know all I need to know!”

“Please, any low level data miner can find someone’s address, but, you don’t know that she only wears her hair up when it’s over 75 degrees outside, and, every winter, she takes out a 5 year old pink sweater from grad school, because she doesn’t like to spend money on things she doesn’t really need.” You listened to Spencer draw out information you didn’t even recognize about yourself. “She also hates black coffee, hates Splenda even more, and wears socks without lines because they feel too weird.” The unsub’s grip loosened as you felt the gun on your temple falter.

“See, you think you know about (y/n), but the truth is, she will never love you, and the only rings you're going to see are the one’s around your wrist when they put you away.” The unsub paused and, in the split second that he faltered, Spencer snapped his gaze to your own, an unspoken nod, as you kicked the unsub’s shins as hard as you could, falling to the ground as the sound of a gun went off.

Your ears were ringing. You didn’t want to open your eyes or check your body for wounds. You wanted to wait as long as you could before seeing the difference between life and death dripping from your head, and yet, you were there. You were alive.

Spencer flung his gun to the ground throwing himself at your place on the dirt parking lot, trembling hands at your ears trying steady your shaky breath. You yelped as he touched you, pulling you into his arms rocking you back and forth as if to say ‘I’m sorry’, as if to say ‘I should have been more careful’, as if to say ‘I love you’.

“I’m here, It’s over now,” he whispered into your ear, grabbing your hands in his own. “Breathe, it’s ok, breathe,” You inhaled and exhaled on his cue as the team flooded in to handle the rest.

You didn’t know how long you sat there on the ground with Spencer. All you remembered were the soft kisses he planted on your tussled hair, and the warmth his body exuded in the cold autumn air. All he could say was ‘I’m sorry’, and all you could say was ‘Thank you’.

~~~

Spencer walked you back to the ambulance. They checked you out and, seeing no signs of injury, released you to go home. Spencer never left your side. You picked at your thumbs sticking out of the huge emergency blanket the medics gave you.

“I didn’t know you noticed all of that stuff,” You cracked out a quiet sputter of words from your swollen throat. “I barely ever did.”

“I guess it’s the profiler in me,” He stopped for a second. “Or maybe the fact that I just can’t take my eyes off of you.” He looked up at your red face. You could only laugh, a small, understanding breath that broke the tension between you. “I’m serious! It’s like, when you’re in the room I can’t focus, It’s like, like-“

“Like I can’t make myself act normal when you’re around,”

“Exactly,” You didn’t need words to speak what came next. A gentle hand on your cheek pressed icy fingertips into your jaw.

Spencer, you’re freezing! Come here,” You opened up your blanked, beckoning him to sit at your side. He rested his head on your shoulder, taking your hands in his own, slowly turning to place a gentle kiss on your temple. A warm, understanding kiss that said ‘I will never let a gun touch any part of you again, no one will hurt you’. You sat for a moment before Hotch took you away to take a statement. At this time, Rossi strode over to Spencer’s seat on the back of the ambulance.

“Good job out there.” He gave Spencer a knowing glance. “Keep protecting her Reid.” Spencer nodded eagerly.

“Of course sir.”

“Im serious. She was meant to be yours.”

A/N: Thanks for reading! It’s been a fat minute since I’ve posted any writing! I hope you enjoyed it, and if not… I don’t know, that’s just not my problem.

[hotchner-edu]

Intertwined | Aaron Hotchner

Synopsis: Following the bullet you took for Aaron, he must pick up the pieces of himself to face the awful realization of what comes next. — part 2 of THIS

Pairing: Father-figure!Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader (Platonic)

Warning: angst, hurt/comfort, daddy issues, happy ending, descriptions of blood/feeding tubes, medical inaccuracies—

In spite of how dangerous being an agent in the field was, and how often Jack’s pediatric appointments occurred, Aaron never grew accustomed to the overwhelming stench of sterileness.

It coated every surface of every room, pervading his senses to remind him of the hollowing anxiety that swirled in his chest— the feeling of utter helplessness in the face of impending doom.

His eyes were rimmed red, stinging from exhaustion and unshed tears. He's slumped in his chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as his eyes stared unblinkingly into the vinyl floor.

Guilt was trapped in his heart, tugging and stabbing as he replayed the conversations he had with you the day prior. He knows he's been unfair with the team as of late because of the divorce proceedings with Haley, but unfair doesn't even begin to describe his treatment toward you.

You were young and careless. He hated how careless you were. It made you susceptible to slip ups, it made your heart too soft, and it made you take that damn bullet for him. And now you were being operated on by every competent staff member in the damn place, echoes of his desperate yells and furious shouts ringing through his head.

He'd lost all composure in front of the hospital staff— in front of his team. But he found it hard to care, every ounce of his energy circling around the memory of blood rapidly gushing from your neck.

Derek had started to chew him out at the scene, but stopped when he saw his horrified face, eyes glued to the paramedics who were urgently trying to resuscitate you.

His jaw shifts, clenching hard as the burning of tears stirs in his eyes once again.

He feels something cold press against the back of his neck, momentarily causing him to close his eyes.

"Pull yourself together." Dave's voice comes out calmly, trying to comfort Aaron to the best of his ability.

"She looked dead." He whispers out, voice quiet but etched with regret.

Dave shakes his head— he can see it in his peripheral, and the older man moves in front of him, squatting down to catch Aaron's eyes. "But she's not."

"How can she not be?" He mutters, shoulders sagging as his mind instantly shoots toward the worst case scenario, imagining himself having to fill out the case reports— having to fill out the papers explaining how you were killed on the field.

Dave's eyebrows raise slowly, speaking softly. "Do you want me to get Reid over here to read off some statistics?" He attempts to joke, glancing over at the rest of the team as they all sat in silence down the hallway.

Aaron doesn't react to the joke. "Why did she push me out of the way, Dave?" He asks, searching futilely for an explanation as he stares at his friend.

"The same reason you would have done the same for her if you were in her shoes." Dave states with a sad smile, patting his shoulder before handing him the cold water bottle.

By three in the morning, six hours since you've been in surgery, Aaron can see that most of the team has fallen asleep in their chairs. He's still sat in the same spot, back protesting the odd position he's put himself into as he busied himself with catastrophizing.

He only musters up the energy to sit up when the OR doors open, a visibly disheveled and exhausted surgeon walking toward them. He shoots up from his chair, joints cracking as he hurries toward the woman.

"For Y/N L/N?" She asks gently, gazing at him with an inscrutable expression.

Aaron nods quickly, mouth dry. "Yes. Is she okay?" He asks urgently.

"She pulled through. A few centimeters to the right and her carotid artery would have been severed. She likely won't wake up for a while, and we'll need to put her on a nasogastric tube for a few weeks since swallowing will be difficult." The woman explains.

Aaron's ears ring in relief when he realizes you're alive, but the more he hears, the more his stomach sinks. You were going to be enduring hell for the next few weeks.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." He whispers breathlessly and rubs a hand across his forehead.

"She'll be situated in the ICU. However, you'll have to wait until tomorrow morning to see her." She explains, flashing a glance over his shoulder to look at the rest of the team.

Aaron has to be dragged from the hospital that night, the team urging him to go back to the hotel to clean up and sleep so that he could visit early.

A part of him felt a bit of shame for falling apart, needing his team to reorient him as he seemed to be stuck in a perpetual daze.

He's unable to sleep for more than two hours, waking up in cold sweat with the unmistakable sound of a gunshot ringing in his ears as he sits up. He's sure his mind is tricking him, but he's almost certain he can hear the sound of the bullet piercing through your flesh in the back of his head.

Aaron is driving off to the hospital again before most of the team is even up, rehearsing what to say to you in his head as he is reminded of the cruel words he spat at you in the precinct.

Everything is moving in a blur for him, and by the time he's by your bedside, he isn't even able to remember when he even parked and walked into the hospital.

He pulls up a chair to sit by your side, eyes studying the bruising around your neck that’s peeking out from the bandages wrapped around your stitched-up wound.

The only thing assuring him of your breathing was the rhythmic beeping from the vital monitor that echoed like a backtrack for his jumbled thoughts.

He could swear you weren't breathing.

Maybe the machine was deceiving him? Did the nurses hook everything up right?

Maybe the job was finally getting to him and he was losing his mind.

"Can you hear me?" He croaks out, hand moving to cover your limp one. "Y/N?"

You can see colors warping, dancing and spinning before melting into a soothing darkness. It felt like you were floating, then wading through water, then being lifted into suspension again.

You felt nothing, but you also knew there was something you needed to remember.

Like a sponge soaking up water, bit by bit, you could feel your senses returning. For a split second you could feel every muscle in your body, every sound around you, and then nothing again.

"Y/N?"

The sound was deeper and worn down. Yes, that was your name.

Willing yourself to move, you felt a tingle run down your body.

Your eyes peel open and you're blinded by brightness, stabbing into your nerves and triggering blossoms of dull pain to erupt around your body.

When you're fully awake and cognizant, the memories come pouring in like an irrepressible tsunami. Your neck was pulsing in pain, and it takes you a moment to understand why.

"Y/N? Hey, hey. You're up..."

Your eyes shift over to your side and you're met with the sight of a disheveled Aaron Hotchner who looked like he just survived a combination of natural disasters.

A part of you feels pity for his uncharacteristically unkempt appearance, realizing he was probably at his wits end from worry. Then, you're slapped over the head with the memory of his acerbic words.

You're still deeply wounded from what he said to you, the image and esteem you held him in faltering with every replay of the memory.

"How are you feeling? Are you in a lot of pain? Wait, let me get a nurse." He rushes out breathlessly, turning around to leave the room.

You could tell he cared for you just by how he was conducting himself at that moment, but a nagging voice in your head was convincing you that he was just doing this to alleviate the guilt and pity he felt for himself.

You didn't need him attending to you just to clear his own conscience. It was a bit juvenile, but you wanted him to suffer a bit more.

True to your initial resolve, over the next following days, you stay cold toward Aaron. When the team first got word that you had woken up, you were nearly blinded by the sheer volume of colorful balloons Penelope brought.

And tears. So many tears were shed for you that you were sure they thought you were going to drop dead at any given second.

Everyone was taking turns acting like a mother hen toward you, and Derek even toned down his jibing in exchange for playing his various playlists for you. Spencer took to reading to you everyday, citing that he didn't want you to strain your eyes.

Emily and JJ talked about everything under the sun with you, making promises and plans for the next few months— shopping trips, movie dates, and anything else they could think of.

Well, you weren't able to really talk yet so they mainly chatted with each other while looking to you for nods or headshakes.

Penelope entertained you by pulling up private information on anybody you could name from your past (which was maybe a little illegal, but the things she did for you.)

Rossi indulged you by recounting some anecdotes from his time serving in the Marine Corps.

Aaron was probably your most constant visitor, dropping by everyday and staying for hours. You barely looked at him on most days, but when the team is called back to Quantico after a week, he becomes your only companion after he decides to take a few weeks off to take care of you.

You could see how disheartened he was getting everyday you ignored him, and you cursed yourself for feeling awful about it.

Two weeks have since passed since the rest of your team returned to DC, and Aaron was lucky to get a few words out of you everyday. You're currently watching a rerun of an old sitcom, trying to distract yourself from the awkward tension between you and Aaron.

"The doctor said you're not allowed to fly for a while, but you can be discharged by tomorrow since you're able to eat soft foods now." Aaron speaks softly, leaning forward in his seat before reclining again, a nervous habit of his.

Staying quiet, you gently prod the tube in your nose that was being removed in a few hours.

"Do you feel ready to leave?" He asks kindly, voice patient and soft.

You nod once and you can see him smiling a bit from your peripheral.

"That's great, sweetheart. I'll ask the doctor for all the medication you'll need." He says before hesitating. "I'll drive us back to DC. It'll take three days or so."

Your head snaps to look at him in shock, wincing a bit as the sudden movement causes a sharp pain to cut through your neck and shoulder.

Aaron can see your shock and indignance at the news. "I'm sorry." He whispers. You're not sure if he's apologizing for making you endure his constant presence for three days on the road, or if he's apologizing for everything that happened prior, but you just exhale through your nose and look away.

Being bedridden for most of your stay caused your muscles to be significantly weaker. Your legs were like jelly when you attempted to shuffle off your hospital bed, meaning Aaron had to help you around.

You were sinking further into confliction. A part of you wanted to wholeheartedly accept his help, the appreciation for his fatherly tendencies growing stronger. In the weeks that you've stonewalled him, he stayed by you and was always jumping to attend to your every need.

It was hard to forget the one night you woke up in blinding pain, huffing and hissing silently. Aaron had woken up in a matter of minutes, holding your hand and trying to soothe you back to sleep.

Maybe he did care.

On the first day of your drive back to DC, you're sitting comfortably in the passenger seat, the pain medication you're on making you relaxed and drowsy.

Aaron doesn't try to talk to you until you're two hours into the drive. "I know you probably don't want to talk about it right now, but I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You stay silent, having expected him to bring up the topic sooner or later.

"I was being completely unfair to you. I won't make excuses for what I said and did because I should have been able to keep myself in check, but I failed." He continues, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"I want you to know, above all else, that I don't think you're incompetent or unskilled— you're a crucial part of the team, and I'm sorry if I made you doubt that." His voice wavers slightly, growing heavy with emotion as he seems to be unleashing everything he's been holding in since you woke up.

Your chest rumbles softly as you speak quietly, voice weak from the lack of speech in the past few weeks. "I always saw you as like a father to me."

The moment those words left your mouth, you almost wanted to take them back as the heartbreak in Aaron's face was clear as day. He swallows hard, clearly becoming even more emotional from your declaration.

It clearly meant a lot to Aaron since he knew how poor your relationship with your father was growing up. So to have your trust, something that's been battered by others and locked away inside of you, it reminded him of the hurt he carried because of his own father. It reminded him that he once was like you, vying for that affection and care when everyone's backs were turned.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, clenching his jaw as his eyes well up.

"Do you really care about me?" You ask, looking ahead at the road.

"Yes. I always have." He answers back, voice almost inaudible as he sounds a it choked up. "Because the same way you view me as a father, I always saw you as my kid. My reckless and soft-hearted kid that I needed to protect."

Tears fall from your eyes at his words. "I don't know if I can forgive you." You whisper candidly.

"I know." He nods and blinks away his tears. "But I just... I hope that the light inside of you never dies. This job... it takes everything from us. It almost took you from us. So we need you to keep that fire inside of you alive."

You feel very small at that moment, wanting nothing more than to shrink away and abandon everything. But despite that pervasive feeling, you can't help but continue clinging onto the hope and safety Aaron provides you with.

"Promise that you care about me?" You ask almost childishly, not wanting to be strong and alone any longer. The medications you were on certainly made you feel less inhibited, your honest feelings pouring out of you.

Aaron's words are almost hushed as he's quick to reassure you. "Yes. I promise, you can cry on me and depend on me. I promise that it's okay to be tired."

"I... I'm so tired." You whisper softly.

"You've endured so much all this time. I'm sorry I couldn't see it before." He says quietly.

Neither of you say anything after that, letting the conversation slip away as some semblance of closure blankets you both.

When the sun begins to set, the sky a canvas filled with an array of oranges and purples, you let yourself relax.

You can't pinpoint when you fell asleep, but when you're conscious again, Aaron is by your side, gently patting your shoulder. "There she is." He says softly when he sees you blinking awake. "It's almost midnight, I thought it'd be better for us to rest up for a few hours. I also need to check on your wound dressings."

Grumbling a bit, you slowly sit up and look through the windshield to see a roadside inn in front of you both. Nodding, you let him help you out of the car and toward the check-in desk.

"Does your neck hurt?" He asks quietly.

"No. Just sore right now." You whisper back tiredly, limbs feeling heavy.

When you're both checked into a room for the night, you waste no time dragging yourself toward one of the beds.

"Don't lay down just yet." Aaron is quick to say, placing your bags down and going to wash his hands.

You reckoned that if he weren't such a great agent, he'd fare well as a nurse from the way he was deftly redressing the bandages on your neck, disinfecting and cleaning like it was second nature to him.

He can sense your questioning gaze and he huffs a bit sheepishly. "I, uh, asked Reid for some pointers on the phone. And searched the internet."

"Let me guess, WebMD?" You smile weakly.

Aaron's face breaks out into a small grin and he chuckles. "Yeah, and ReidMD."

You snort a bit at his joke. "That was awful."

"Jack says I'm getting really good at making dad jokes." Aaron quips back playfully.

"I'll have to teach him that it's not good to lie like that." You muse, hiding a small smile as he narrows his eyes at you in fake offense.

It felt like you were gaining a bit of normalcy back, and you would be lying if you said you didn't miss being able to talk freely like this with Aaron.

"Alright, done." He sighs and hesitantly rests his hand on your uninjured shoulder. "Anything else you'd like me to do?"

You caught onto his true meaning, knowing he was trying to make further amends with you. Considering it for a moment, you shake your head gently and smile tiredly. "No, you're all good."

Aaron lets out a shaky exhale before leaning down to hug you, being mindful to not press on your injuries. "I love you, kiddo."

"I love you, too." You whisper back and pat his back reassuringly.

You would be out of commission for a while and that reality weighed down on you, but Aaron's reassurance and presence provided you with some relief.

You were tired, but for now you could rest.

[lazycats-stuff]

What about Bruce"sneaking out" to go on date with the reader. His son's obviously follow him to see what their father is up to. When they realize that he's going on a date, they tease him the next day because 'the playboy is settling down'

Oh yeah. That would happen. Also, Robert Pattinson is hot. Like, sir, who gave you the right to be this beautiful?! Ah...

Summary: Bruce is ready to settle down.

Warnings: talks about Bruce's sexuality, boys following Bruce, teasing, Bruce has no will to deal with them.

Bruce Wayne is a very known playboy. That was a fact that no one could dispute. But the playboy was slowly getting ready to settle down, but he didn't want anyone to know just yet. He knew that his playboy history would bite him in the ass, but hey, he could try something at least.

With someone called (Y/N) (L/N). Bruce met the man by accident at work and has really liked him so he decided to shoot his shot with the man. (Y/N) knew of the playboy persona and history with many men and women and that threw him off.

Bruce knew that (Y/N) would be suspicious because of his playboy persona. That was going to happen, but Bruce wasn't going to let this chance go to waste. Bruce promised (Y/N) that he wasn't like the media made him out to be.

(Y/N) didn't quite believe it, but Bruce was patient. He was going to win (Y/N) over one way or another. Slowly but surely he would make him say yes. He would show (Y/N) that he wasn't what the media portrayed him to be.

So he started with some flowers first. A few bouquets to start off with. Then something that he heard (Y/N) talk about while they talked. He wanted to make sure that (Y/N) knew that he was an attentive and observant partner.

(Y/N) said yes eventually and Bruce was over the moon. He told (Y/N) they would be going to go to a really fancy restaurant, all expenses paid by Bruce. His own words.

Bruce finished tying his tie as he looked at himself in the mirror. He opted for a classic black suit. Classics are often great and there was no need to try to overdo things. It's important that he remains true to yourself.

The only issue in this entire thing?

His boys. Don't get him wrong, he loves his boys to no end and Bruce would never change anything about them. But... There is a slight problem about them teasing him about all of this. They are chaotic boys who love him in their own way, but they would tease the hell out of him for this date.

Sneaking out was the only option.

After that, Bruce slowly made his way to the garage, getting into his car where flowers and a watch were waiting as presents. He made sure no one followed him before leaving.

Oh he was so wrong for that train of thought.

Jason frowned in thought as he watched Bruce drive away. He knew that Bruce has been secretive about something for a little while now, but he didn't know what. The boys agreed with that sentiment and decided to check where and what Bruce was going.

So they put the tracker on his car and have decided to follow him to the place where he was. They have an entire sting operation when it comes to that. They were raised by the best detective in the world. Not to mention, they were trained by Bruce in all the ways to be sneaky.

So, after 20 minutes, Dick took one of the cars with tinted windows and they all squeezed in there, just ready to stalk their father. They were concerned, sue them. Jason and Dick where at the front, while Jason was navigating Dick through the city until they parked across the street from the restaurant.

Tim hacked into the cameras inside the restaurant and the four watched the footage of Bruce and (Y/N). Both when they came into the restaurant and now.

" Father bought flowers and a watch? Since when playboys do that? It looks like it has meaning. " Damian questioned out loud and everyone shrugged.

Then came the kiss on the cheek from Bruce to (Y/N) and everyone was even more shocked.

" What the fuck? " Jason voiced out and Dick smacked the back of his head for the cursing. " Hey! "

Tim shushed them all as he turned the footage to the live one. " They seem very cozy with one another... " Tim noted and everyone seemed to agree.

" The playboy is finally settling down. " Jason joked, laughing quietly.

It was a weird thought, to think that Bruce has decided to settle down like a normal person and not like a playboy... Is Bruce really serious about this relationship?

" Do we think that B is finally settling? " Dick asked and none of them were sure of the answer.

" I mean, he is always nice to his lovers and what not. Always trying to seduce... But he seems... Gentle? " Tim said as he zoomed in and everyone was now a bit more confused.

" So... He is settling down... The old man is settling down... Holy shit. Pigs can fly it seems. " Jason mumbled and everyone had agreed about it. For the first time in years, they have all agreed on something.

" The playboy of Gotham is settling down. What a time to be alive. " Dick joked and Tim huffed as he kept watching the live footage.

" It seems that the guy is into Bruce too... " Tim noted and Damian looked out the window for a moment.

" I didn't know that father is bisexual. " Damian noted, but there was no malice in his voice, just pure curiosity about his father as he leaned closer

" I mean, people of all genders hit on him so... Him being bisexual isn't an issue... I think it flatters him to a certain degree. "

" Oh, the lovebirds are holding hands. Oh my. " Jason noted as he craned his head to get a better look at the footage on the tablet.

" Is it just me or is B smiling more honestly? Like he isn't being pressured? " Dick asked and that was a new thing.

" I think that this confirms it. Bruce Thomas Wayne is settling down. The playboy is settling down. " Tim said, clearly shocked. " We need a background check on this guy. " Tim added and everyone agreed.

What if he was a gold digger? They couldn't have that. Bruce may have an eye out for such people and could see them from a mile away, so they may have trusted Bruce, but you never know. It's better to be safe then sorry.

" So we are doing a check on the man? " Jason asked to confirm it and everyone nodded.

" Oh yeah. The face is all that we need for a check. " Tim confirmed. Again, better safe then sorry.

" I think we can go back home before Bruce sees us here. " Dick said as he started the car again and started driving back to the manor.

" I'm not sure about you all, but I'm teasing the hell out of B tomorrow. " Jason said and they all laughed. Besides Damian, who simply smirked in his own Al Ghul way.

They'll have so much fun tomorrow.

All of the boys ventured down to the kitchen where Bruce was. The boys were all smirks as the entered, Bruce not noticing the expressions as his back was turned back to them.

There were a few good morning exchanged and they all took their coffees and sat down.

" Where were you yesterday B? " Dick started and Jason smirked behind his coffee cup. This was going to be a complete and utter shit show.

" I had some League matters to see through. " Bruce lied and Jason took the lead now.

" In one of the fanciest restaurants in Gotham? " Jason said and Bruce froze.

" What? "

" You were on a date and we know it. " Tim said, sipping his coffee peacefully as Bruce exploded inside.

" The playboy is settling down. " Damian added and Bruce let out a long sigh.

" Not now. "

" Look old man, it's all good. It's nice that the biggest playboy in the tri state area is retiring and finally settling down. " Jason chimed in.

" Don't tell me you are doing a background check? " Bruce asked, fearing the answer already.

" Nooo... " Jason drawled out.

" I'm going to work. Bye. " Bruce said as he left with his cup of coffee.

" Oh how nice B! It's nice to see you leave the playboy persona behind! " Jason yelled after Bruce and all the boys were all smirks as Bruce left.

" We won't let this go. " Damian said and they all nodded.

They won't let go for shit.

[eldritch-spouse]

after some sort of “accident” in the shop, there comes to be a fleshlight that is bound to admin. everything that happens to it, admin can feel! <3 admin attempts to hide it but has to go deal with some important business and leaves it in the break room. what’s going down?

[Oooh nice!! I changed the source of the fleshlight a bit though. Fem reader.]

TW: Sex toy sharing (unsanitary); Dubcon; Double penetration in one hole.

You have absolutely no idea what this is.

It felt like a joke in poor taste, at first.

This... Fleshlight -Because it can only be that- Appeared in the break floor. A deep violet case with golden swirls around the rim, featuring an uncannily realistic mold of none other than your pussy.

So many things went through your mind as you picked it up. Who could have done this? Certainly, to be here on display, only one of your staff team could have concocted such an insult.

Perhaps Santi. He did always have the strangest and lewdest gifts for everyone. He'd offered sex toys molded after notable figures before, this wouldn't be entirely uncharacteristic out of him. Did he simply forget it here or is he planning to give it to someone?

If not Santi, then maybe Nebul. He does operate the shop, and toys of all kinky kinds hold no secrets for him. He could easily make a custom one, right? But he's not the type of monster man to have such a careless lapse and forget his fleshlight on the kitchenette counter like this. This would have to be intentional of him.

It could also be Fank-e. Lord knows that robot will get his metallic little hands on any kind of genital attachment and weird toy he can find. Maybe the creep wants to use a model of your vulva as his own genitals. You wouldn't put such past him. It's a lot more likely the mechanical menace could have gotten distracted by something and left the toy out in the open.

Humming, morbid curiosity makes you gently touch the depraved imitation, fingertips dipping to scissor the thing open when you notice that it's clean.

Instant regret washes over you.

The moment you do such, it's as if phantom digits pierced into your covered cunt and physically spread you out. The thing is dropped back onto the counter and you bend to clutch your panty-covered privates as a sting of pain punishes you.

For a blank moment, you almost believe that Lord Krulu had been the one to finger you. Even if he usually likes to announce their presence before using your form. But it can't be! Your higher has been busy all day, you can feel how diminished his connection to you is right now. This is not his doing.

Paranoid, you glance behind you just to be sure that there really is no one somehow screwing with you. Predictably, you're alone.

Eyes narrowed, you pick the toy up again and reshape your approach, this time making a slow stroke up the left labia, feeling it in your right with a scary level of intensity. The quality of the material itself is strikingly life-like, not just cheap silicone. It's even... Warm? Dear Lord, it's probably the same temperature as you, as your insides. The thought has a gross kind of shiver racing up your spine. Daringly, you thumb over the imitation of your clitoris, met with direct feedback in your own body which perfectly corresponds to the tentative circular motions of your index over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You stop the moment your knees reflexively press forward.

This... Is magic. Which puts a new candidate on the table. The thought alone makes you scoff, could Patches truly be audacious enough to do this? No. Not at all. You don't doubt he'd take a toy molded in your vague resemblance to pathetically rut into- But actually connect said thing to your body? That's already a level of courage that can't be expected of the dullahan in question.

Unless... Ah, this can be the work of his trickster counterpart. That you find more believable.

A pulse in your pocket has you setting the plaything aside to check your phone, reading the text detailing your esteemed guest's arrival.

Maintaining ties to the Rings is imperative in this stage of Krulu's vision for the future. Hell and its denizens are apparently sources of great potential in your Lord-Master's eyes, and he's been very keen in keeping close ties to the fiendish rulership of said location. You're only too happy to help forge bonds with these demonlords, which means scraping around and trying to get to know them. Ironically, it falls upon you the responsibility to tempt them into seeking contact.

Your latest endeavor of this sort involves establishing an explorative partnership with one of the demonlords' sons. He's quite the character, and now that you know he has arrived at the front of The Clergy, you can't just leave royalty waiting.

Both hands busy with texting back a hasty reply, you panic as you try to guess where you could stuff this gross little thing away. Taking it with you is not an option, there's no pocket large enough to conceal the thing and its depraved outline.

Time is not on your side.

The meeting can't take that long, can it? What if you just... Left it in one of the cupboards above the kitchenette?

Yes, and then you'll come to retrieve it, interrogate the team to find which of these losers thought it was a bright idea to play with fire.

That'll do. Hopefully.

Opening a cupboard loaded with small plates and cups, you quickly stuff the fleshlight inside and make your way over to the elevator, fixing your hair and clothes to go greet someone of great importance.

Vinnel almost barges into the floor.

More of his coworkers had caught the ride up, talking amongst themselves idly, but the jester wasn't preoccupied with their small talk, he was ravenous.

The first item on his shift was a show he had been particularly looking forward to, an opportunity to test some bizarre new weaponry and a game whose rules he deliberated on for more than a week prior to the event itself. Needless to say, it was a display that took a lot of work, tears sweat and love poured into it- And fucking Hell did it pay off! He's ecstatic! And hungry. Starving.

Doing a good show always gets his stomach riled up.

Some flecks of blood still covering his suit, Vinnel is quick to dart to the kitchenette, ignoring anything and everything as he rummaged around for snacks that aren't there.

His temper spikes when the fridge is devoid of meals.

" Chef! " He barks, turning to the blue shroom monster in question, who is only now just setting his apron aside. Morell rises a brow. " You're slacking! "

The large monster scoffs into his scarf. " None o' you assholes got a fuckin' hint of shame, do ya?! " His locker door slams shut. " Ah ain't gonna cook for ya every single day! "

" But- What are we supposed to do then? Starve? " The waiter whines, making big twinkling magenta eyes at the other.

" Not fallin' for it. " Is Morell's flat response.

" Have you tried making your own food? " A bartender chimes in. " I know doing anything for yourself is challenging for you, but give it a try. "

" Rich coming from someone that can't cook for the life of him. "

The jester has entirely disconnected from the banter going on, a shred of hope driving him to keep searching fruitlessly. It's not as if he believes anything to be in the top shelves where cutlery is stored, but maybe one of them could be hiding some type of candy?

Slamming cabinets and cupboards open, the last thing he expects is for something to fall off them. So he nearly jumps in the air when a sizable object tumbles from the cupboard shelf right onto the carpeted ground.

The floor becomes silent, everyone stares blankly at the item in question for a pregnant pause.

Gloved orange digits pick the thing up, Vinnel bringing it closer to his mask. " Huh. "

He knows what it is exactly.

It looks very high-quality, and clean thankfully. Vinnel swears something about the model itself looks... Almost familiar. Hm. Nevertheless, laugher starts bubbling out his chest and he sways his head, juggling the thing.

" Ohohohoho!! " The next time the toy falls, Vinnel grips it viciously and points the thing right at-

" Morell! Such interesting kitchen utensils you have here... "

" Wha- That ain't mine! " The shroom retorts a little too fast.

" Suure. Then why was it in the cupboard, buddy? "

There's a glare, people around the chef are beginning to murmur amongst themselves.

" Like Hell ah know! For all I fuckin' know, ya could'a been tha one to put it there and fake tha whole thing- 'S yours! "

Vinnel titters, clapping as best as he can with his occupied hand. " Oh no, you think that lowly of little old me? " A feigned gesture of offense is met with no sympathy from the rest of the staff team, who do, in fact, think that lowly of the jester. " Unfortunately no, I don't usually perform tricks with fucktoys... Not the silicone ones anyway. "

" Well it ain't mine. " Morell insists. " Which one o' ya little sickos put a fuckin' pocket pussy in the kitchen? "

The suited performer, still vaguely examining the thing, finding it to be a little heavier than most of these toys tend to be given the materials involved in their manufacturing, swivels his head towards the next suspect.

" Sex pest! "

Santi, already very interested in the turn of events this day is taking, smiles as if just having been complimented. " Yes? "

" Why did you put your fucktoy here? " The performer looms over his demonic coworker, accusatory and demeaning. " So we could find it? So you could be gross about it, hm? "

The incubus hums, eyes on the toy rather than his frilled coworker. " Mm no, that's not my toy sweetheart. Though do let me have a closer look, maybe I can find a trace of our dirty little culprit... "

" Liar! " Vinnel spits.

Santi chuckles, making a move to grab the object yet thwarted when Vinnel angles it away.

" And why would I lie, love? If it was mine I'd tell you readily. I've brought toys to work before, haven't I? Never lied about it. "

And he's right, much to the jester's chagrin. The incubus could bring a cum-soaked dildo into this floor shamelessly, he wouldn't lie about a fleshlight.

Vinnel growls and floats back to point it directly at Nebul, but the shopkeeper beats him to the punch.

" I do not bring items from the shop into the break floor. Furthermore, I don't recognize that model. Does it have a brand? "

The jester checks, flipping the thing in all angles only to find neither words nor numbers printed anywhere. He glances to the crowd around him again, gears turning, machinating, until his attention falls on the dullahan, making Vinnel dart to him.

" You've been far too quiet this whole time, gourd brains... " He accuses, painted eyes narrowing.

Patches flusters, arms raised and leaning back. " What- What do you want me to say? I don't- "

That vegetable expression shifts suddenly, going from uncomfortable and anxious to complete focus. It's enough to make the jester tilt his head. " What? "

" That thing is brimming with magic. " He points out, leaning closer as if the gesture could reveal more by itself.

" ... Is it now? " Vinnel won't lie. It's a possibility. The fleshlight looks and feels anything but normal.

" You- You do know what that means, right? " Patches fumbles, squirming in mild discomfort. Those green cheeks acquire a tint that makes the jester's eyes roll in irritation behind his mask.

" Oh do fucking enlighten me, you masochistic kabocha. "

" Boys, boys- " Santi starts, tail wagging as he wedges himself between the two men. " We're missing the point. I've seen this before. That little thing is connected to some poor sap. And, if I'm not suddenly visually impaired, it looks extremely human to me. "

Another moment of silence stretches across the room

The jester's inked grin widens, and armed with a brand new realization, he starts feathering his digits along the edges of the pocket pussy's entrance, paying close attention to it. His mask nearly falls off when the thing physically seems to twitch. Uhuhu!

" No. " Belo begins, pointing a trembling finger at the demon. " You wouldn't dare suggest- "

" That our lovely Administrator has sent us a gift? " Santi challenges, tone sultry. " But of course, Belo! This is a reward for our hard work, and ohh, I just can't wait to make the most of it. "

Vinnel has now managed to slip one finger inside, completely tuned off to the conversation happening right next to him. Shock of all shocks, the thing hugs his digit as if it were real. And, as he experimentally removes the intrusion, a sheen of what can only be arousal wets his gloves. It really is you. He just fingered you. Hah!

" Filthy beast! You shall not touch that, this can't be right. " The angel's wings flex and twitch in growing agitation. As always, he seems very eager to try to choke the life out of Santi- And he would, if he didn't already know that the demon would immediately salaciously get off on it.

" But what if it is? What if she wants us all to take turns, experience her supple little cunt? " He taunts, surfing the room, gouging the reactions of his coworkers as most of them flush with sudden want at the idea. Yes, they like it as much as he does, Santi's just honest about it. " Would you reject her gift, Belo? "

The power in question is puffed like an angered parakeet, a myriad of emotions warring in those expressive, large eyes. " Control that foul tongue of yours lest I rip it off your worthless mouth and make your depraved clients very disappointed. "

" One day you'll revel in your own perversions. " He says it calmly, as if it were fact, grinning when the angel prepares another outburst.

" Guys. "

Vinnel is now two fingers deep into the magical fleshlight, a stupefied look on his face as he finds the toy -You- Welcoming him without resistance. You clench around him. Gods, he can't wait to stuff his cock in there, to fuck you, to rail you knowing that you can't do anything to stop him. At least not until you find him. Oh, he could make a game out of it!

" She's practically dripping. " The jester pulls both fingers out, spreading them to showcase a film of arousal between both digits.

" She's... Enjoying this. " Patches murmurs, breathy, fixated on the dirty gleam.

" Alright, if you're done being manchildren, I want to go first. " The slime suddenly pipes up, moving in on the stage performer.

" My ass you will! " Grimbly gets in the way, scoffing.

Vinnel finds a crowd of monsters suddenly gather around him, hands twitching for the item in his hands, eyes glinting like wolves corralling a chicken in its coop.

" Give me that, jester, it needs to be secured somewhere safely- "

" No no, give it to me, I'll make her feel so good! "

" Maybe if I have it, I- I can tell whose magic this is. "

" It was in mah cupboard, maybe she wants me ta be first! "

" Nuh uh!! " The jester suddenly shouts, floating higher in the air. " Finders keepers! Piss off! "

An ashy hand clamps around his ankle, jostling the bells there. " Were you not accusing us of being perverse? Let us take that dirty thing off your hands. " Nebul beckons.

As he's tugged down, Vinnel deforms his limbs inside his suit to twist away from the hands pawing at him. Growling, he pulls away, towards the window, towards the outside. If he can make it through the window, a significant portion of the staff team will be halted in their pursuit. He might get to hide with the toy and keep it all for himself.

Gallon, anticipating this, moves fast. Yellow tendrils coil over both the jester's legs and waist, trying to pull the extended arm back into the room even as Vinnel tries his damndest to keep it at out, his arm bending weirdly inside its red sleeve.

" Fuck off! All of you sad sacks of shit- This is MINE! " The slime gargles and screams, other hand clinging to the tall window's edge as tightly as possible. " I found it! "

" Stop strugglin' boy. We gonna talk this out. " The chef chuckles, successfully using brute strength to start pulling him inside.

The others help. He's fighting a losing battle and he knows it.

As soon as the performer feels a disturbance in the fabric of his suit's composition, he freezes. Primal, soul-shaking terror, grabs a hold of his body and he gasps, shrieking as he drops both hands to instantly claw, kick and try to mangle whoever's about to possibly rip his suit.

There's a chorus of pained cries and he's thrown to the ground, clinging to his form for dear life. Literally. Because if anything opened, he would potentially leak to the carpet and meet his end very quickly.

" Gah-! You useless clown! He dropped it! " The bat squeals, a high-pitched noise that grates on everyone's ears.

Vinnel startles. His possible panic attack and frantic body checking is halted by the sudden realization that yes, he did drop the fleshlight in his panic. That means...

The orange and purple menace stumbles to a stand shoving the group bent over the window aside to poke his head out and see for himself where the sex toy landed. After a few grunts and curses, the view is revealed.

On the grass of the garden outside the building, the toy landed sideways, rolling aimlessly over mutated flowers that lean away from the unidentified object. There's a beat of stillness.

Everyone knows it's only a matter of time until the thing is retrieved, possibly by a client, which means they'd have to waste time hunting for a random loser before getting to their prize. They exchange stares, aware that as soon as someone moves, the hunt is on, the game starts.

And yet, before even a step towards the elevator is taken, the scene below them changes.

A bench sat some distance away uncurls, black iron body turning into a grayed gangly mass with a wooden chest for a head, teeth poking out of it. Said monster seems to stretch himself before moving on all fours to inspect the thing.

Sybastian squats, picks up the fleshlight. Although his eyes are hidden in the great darkness of his objectum head, everyone can practically see the gears turning in his head.

The mimic glances up, perplexed yellow eyes staring dubiously at his coworkers.

" Syb. " Patches calls, reaching a hand out. " That is very special, leave it there. Do not touch it- "

Too late.

" No! No!! "

He found a toy, he's going to play with it. Sybastian starts hurriedly moving out of view.

" Motherfucker! I'll gut you! " Vinnel screeches, banging uselessly on the building's exterior.

" Blasted mimic... " Belo is the first to peel off the window. " What do we do now?! "

" Well... " Morell sighs, pulling his apron back on while everyone sulks and simmers.

" We go huntin'. "

Huh.

Isn't that one way to wake up...

Sybastian's nap had been disturbed when he sensed an impact nearby. It couldn't have been something very large, but part of his hunting routine involves being in that fine line between resting and alert enough to sense the faintest vibrations, categorize them as noteworthy or not on a subconscious level. His curiosity had him rising anyway, shedding his disguise and following the direction of the sound until he found...

A sex toy.

In the middle of the grass.

His eyes don't deceive him, he knows what kind of toy this is, has seen them in the undead's shop. They're the kind you can fuck into, small and convenient.

He was unsure as to why such a thing had been tossed out, so he looked around and found most of his coworkers already fixed on him. It didn't take a genius to piece together the fact that they had been likely squabbling over the thing.

Yet, oddly, it didn't smell used. In fact, it featured an odor Sybastian could swear he's had his face buried in before.

The mischief of his nature acted up, and the mimic crawled away with the toy held in his maw.

He knows the rest of them will come looking for him immediately, so the mimic scurries deep into the less stable parts of the garden- Where Hellion tends to dwell. The parts that can shift, remold and relocate themselves in the blink of an eye as the establishment periodically "refreshes" itself. It's a gamble, he admits, but it's the only place staff will hesitate to enter due to its volatile nature. Sybastian is more well-equipped to deal with these areas, given he spends most of the time in the garden, has learned many of its tricks.

Let them bump around like blind moles.

Eventually, Sybastian finds an area dense in plantlife, a good distance away from the main building already, and sensing no approaching threats, the mimic seats himself next to a wide trunk, spitting his conquest into his hands and taking the time to examine it.

It's a fancy fuck-pocket alright.

Curious about the scent, he drags the thin end of his tongue across the length of the artificial pussy, eyes widening when taste hits him. Not just any taste, arousal and wetness and- Human. A human he's put that same roving muscle upon before.

You.

Sybastian is certain these things aren't meant to have such specific tastes. He's not sure how such a thing came into being, a carbon sort of copy of your cunt, but he understands why the others were fighting over it. Syb would too.

A little thrill crawls along the length of his spine.

No time to waste, he better make use of this before he's accosted by a swarm of angry monsters.

The mimic drools and smiles as he pushes a good portion of his deep blue tongue past sweet folds and into the surprisingly warm, hugging insides of the toy. He removes his loincloth hastily and palms his already chubbing cock to the thought of you flipping your work outfit up and spreading yourself out so he can have full access to that puffy pussy. The mental image of your provocative, inviting smile while you grab onto the fat of your ass has him moaning, dick pulsing.

Fucking the pathetic little escapists is one thing, but nothing beats your delicious, perfect holes. You have everyone here by the balls and Sybastian is no different.

Releasing a filthy murr of anticipation, the mimic's shackles rattle as he brings the now thoroughly slobbered pocket pussy down, teasing it along the head of his cock.

Oh, if all of them feel this real then he really has to bother Nebul for one.

Sybastian swears he feels it quiver against his length, panting as soon as he starts sinking it onto his thick length. The moment his tip pops in, he rumbles, feeling its walls immediately clinging to him, spasming in such a life-like manner he can't help bucking into it, greedily and impatiently stuffing more of himself into the exceptionally pleasurable fucktoy.

He couldn't take it slow even if he wanted to, claws curling viciously around the purple tube as he starts jerking himself off with it in earnest, loud groans echoing amidst his panting. It feels exactly like you! Hot and tight and spongy and so so good, he loves to fuck you- This is going to be his favorite toy ever.

Syb's hips snap into a grossly desperate rhythm, a lurid plap of skin on wet artificial skin as his balls hit it with every senseless rut upwards. His maw closes slightly, the mimic's eyes glaze and he pictures you there. On his lap, back turned to him, juicy ass on full display while you put both palms on his gangly knees and ride the monster for all he's worth, milking his cock and drooling like you've never had better.

Gods, if Sybastian focuses enough, he can almost feel the softness of your rump on him with each thrust. He wishes he could grab onto your waist, onto the cushion there, and use you the same way he's using this copy to breed into.

You're the hottest, prettiest little human he'll ever have the opportunity to stuff himself into.

There isn't a single intelligent thought in Sybastian's head when he starts grinding the pocket-pussy down, the tensing of his legs and abdomen bringing him ever closer to that sweet release, and he's looking forward to flooding the fucktoy full of his cum, feeling it clench heavenly around him the same it has been for a while now.

With one last, obscenely loud slap of his meat into the fleshlight, Sybastian howls and throbs hard, coming undone with great intensity and melting onto the grassy ground, the feeling of his own hot jizz spurting out the toy and leaking past his balls to coat this thighs a depraved sign of his victory.

He lies there, boneless from his own orgasm, hand still clumsily dragging your toy up and down his now spent cock, and all is well for a blissful moment.

...

Until-

" Bravo. Mm, good show... "

Sybastian peers up, not as sharp as he would be now that he's disoriented from cumming. A pair of glowing green eyes poise on him, and none other than the incubus makes it past the foliage of this part of the garden.

He's vaguely surprised the other was brave enough to come here.

" What? " Santi places a hand to his hip. " Thought I wouldn't find you? I could smell you getting off like a rabid animal, you need more than greenery to hide from me. "

Fair. Syb was being loud too. He doesn't let go of the toy however, suspiciously allowing the demon to lewdly scheme the dirty mess between his legs.

" Hand me the fleshlight, love. "

There's a growl. Santi frowns.

" Oh come now, you greedy slut, I'll make sure you get something out of it too. " He lulls, drawing closer slowly, to the point where he stands in front of the mimic, before crouching.

Sybastian keeps growling faintly, pulling out of the fleshlight to hold it away from the high-ranker, a gross pool of cum still oozing off the recently used thing. He doesn't miss the way the incubus' nostrils flare.

" Why, I'll even tell you a little secret, hm? "

Santi crawls between the mimic's legs, collecting a bead of the monster's cum and putting it to his mouth, luridly sucking the fluid off his finger before spitting onto his palm and using it to stroke Sybastian.

What begins as overstimulated shocks that force his legs to twitch and squirm away is forcibly turned into a brand new wave of arousal and need. He doesn't fight it, letting himself get stimulated anew and only offering a little bit of resistance when Santi pulls the fucktoy out of his grasp.

If he's here... Where are the others?

" What if I told you this little thing here- " Santi starts, selfishly and deliberately fingering globs of cum out of the toy for his own amusement. Syb notes the rigid length bobbing between his coworker's dark thighs. " Is loaded with magic? "

A toothy head tilts in confusion. Sybastian kind of assumed there was something unknown at play here, he just can't tell the implications.

" You can smell it, right? You know who this reminds you of. "

Syb's eyes widen.

" Did you also know that this fleshlight is connected to our Admin? She felt everything you just did to her, Sybastian. " The incubus chuckles, letting his drool seep onto the rim of your pussy, then spreading the aphrodisiac fluid over your lips, circling you clit with it languidly.

Sybastian doesn't need to be a scientist to know you're probably losing your mind by now.

" Oh you fucked her open like a rabid bull. I wish I could see her state right now- I bet she's sweating a storm in her clothes, her own cum and wetness dripping down her legs, too cock-drunk to speak! What a good job you did... "

Sybastian spaces off slightly, picturing what the results of his careless and selfish fucking must have reduced you to. He almost feels bad, if the image the Lust demon painted in his head wasn't so awfully erotic. He literally used you.

" Mmm, now, let's give her something to really scream about, big boy. "

In a blur of movement, Santi presses against the gray monster, both lengths squeezed together, pumped hastily a couple times but with practiced precision that makes Syb groan. And then, much to his growing amusement and shock, the incubus hovers your toy above them both, strings of falling seed used to further lubricate both of them.

The demon looks to be burning with anticipation, shuddering as he presses the thing down.

" ... Won't. Fit. " The mimic eventually mumbles, wondering if Santi's intent is to actually rip you open.

" Don't be silly- " There's a rasped snicker. " I've seen her bounce on Lord Krulu's lap. Just lie back and let me make this memorable for the three of us. "

It's a stretch. A fat stretch, but it seems the magical properties of the toy are indeed aligned with your own physical limitations, because the fleshlight gradually accepts both monsters, clenching with mind-melting pressure against both leaking cocks.

Santi is the first to moan low and needy, claws sinking into the bark of the tree his coworker leans against so he can steady himself in the face of such sudden ecstasy. Sybastian follows with his own trill, their members twitching and pulsing, trapped against each other, within you.

When Syb makes a disoriented motion to try and grasp the thing, make it move over them both, the incubus snaps his teeth at him in a language the other understands, determined to control the pace. And control he does, viciously pumping them both off, twisting, grinding the thing frequently.

A pace that would otherwise certainly chafe both males is now sloppy and soaked, lubricated by Syb's seed, your wetness and Santi's precum. They fuck themselves silly, trading groans and frantically bumping their hips, one moment thrusting in perfect sync, the next selfishly seeking their own pleasure.

The incubus' tongue hangs and he tosses his head back when a certain familiar pace of contractions around him is felt.

" Oh- Ohhh fuck- " He calls to the other. " Feel that? Yeah? " Sybastian nods and makes a strangled ambiguous noise. " She's cumming. Hard. "

Both of them grow fevered, preening at the knowledge.

" I hope she's fucking screaming. I hope she's trying to guess who we are. "

The fiend had always been too good with his obscene little comments, Sybastian's second, overstimulated orgasm is flayed out of him with no ounce of mercy. Santi gets almost hysterical with the conquest, getting high off the power he's exerting over both you and the mimic, climbing to his peak and letting his eyes roll back when the first pulses of an approaching end seize him.

The only reason he doesn't scream when he's suddenly grabbed by the horns is because there was already little breath in his lungs to begin with.

A pair of metallic, sticker-adorned arms loom from above, rigged hands wrenching his head back to face a slightly cracked visor displaying a deceitfully friendly face.

" 1'll B3 t4k1Ng 7H4t N0w. :] "

Fuck.

His robotic coworker uses superior reflexes to grab the toy, wrench it off both monsters, and bolt out of sight with surprising speed for a being of such immense density.

Instincts claw at the hellish monster. He only stands there for a stunned second, clutching nothing but air, before he's snarling like a feral creature and racing after the party bot, pushing many of his other coworkers away.

Grimbly gains on all of them, but when the incubus drops onto all fours the two collide and roll away in a mess of shouting limbs.

Gallon passes by them and laughs, then gets lashed aside by a whip lit on dullahan fire.

Vinnel is thrown across the garden, apparently launched away by Fank-e cackling in the distance.

This isn't ending any time soon...

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

““The girls are unable to say anything because they are always being policed. You can’t ask questions, you won’t get the evidence on a silver platter. But when you are going around, you hear things and see things,” Singh explains, sitting in a nondescript office, piles of cardboard files all over the floor, documenting the thousands of girls they have rescued over the years, approximately 4,000 at last count. 

“Most of the time the girls are locked up and they are only allowed out when a customer comes in. To ensure they are not interacting with the customers, the brothel keepers are always banging on the door and take away the mobiles of the customers.”

As a result of an 11-month long operation, conducted before the pandemic, Guria India were able to rescue 136 underage victims of traffickers, resulting in 61 brothels being shut down.”

In the narrow alleyways of Meerganj, the notorious red light district in the city of Allahbad, a man dressed in a brown kurta with a rucksack walks past the dilapidated brothels shouting ‘lipsticks for sale, good prices.’ 

He barely warrants a glance, one of dozens of street sellers who stroll down the alley daily, hawking their wares, a common sight in the hustle and bustle of cities in India.

Word has got around that he’s selling good quality products like Max Factor and other brands the brothel girls recognise from billboards featuring their favourite Bollywood actresses. He’s cheaper than the other sellers and lets them pay in instalments. 

A group of young girls flock to him, picking up bright lipsticks and face powders, to make them look older than they are, or perhaps not, depending on the client’s preferences.

But this is no ordinary seller. He is from Guria India, an organisation which rescues and rehabilitates women and underage girls trapped in the sex trade. 

He has been working undercover, disguised as a cosmetics seller, gathering evidence of victims of traffickers who have been forced into sex work, many of whom are underage and often thousands of miles away from home.

“You are working on a razor’s edge. There are no second chances. One wrong move and you could be killed. It’s not like a movie where you get a retake,” says Ajeet Singh, Director of Guria India.  

The nature of trafficking is changing and so activists are having to find new and innovative  means to take them on. 

Singh said he came up with the idea of posing as a make-up seller after he found that the brothel owners were always one step ahead of him. 

“It was always very difficult to rescue the girls because someone would leak the information and the brothel keepers would move the girls. The girls were not a priority for the system, so the police were not helpful. We had to be proactive in getting the evidence.”

Using rudimentary equipment he bought from Delhi, including spy cams concealed in a pen and button, he began scouring the streets of the red light district for almost a year. 

“Make-up is something very enticing for girls. If you go to India, you’ll see street sellers in every city so I knew I would blend in,” he said.

“The girls are unable to say anything because they are always being policed. You can’t ask questions, you won’t get the evidence on a silver platter. But when you are going around, you hear things and see things,” Singh explains, sitting in a nondescript office, piles of cardboard files all over the floor, documenting the thousands of girls they have rescued over the years, approximately 4,000 at last count. 

“Most of the time the girls are locked up and they are only allowed out when a customer comes in. To ensure they are not interacting with the customers, the brothel keepers are always banging on the door and take away the mobiles of the customers.”

As a result of an 11-month long operation, conducted before the pandemic, Guria India were able to rescue 136 underage victims of traffickers, resulting in 61 brothels being shut down. 

Social media ‘weapon of choice’ for traffickers

The sting, which was signed off by local people, used undercover filming to collect evidence against offenders. When enough had been gathered, ten members of the Guria India team joined police as they carried out dawn raids, using iron cutters to access properties where the victims were being held.

There are an estimated 1.2 million children under 18 working in brothels in India, many of whom have been victims of sex traffickers. Approximately 75 per cent of the cases Guria India dealt with involved under age victims ranging from just six months to 17.

The majority of these trafficked children are from lower castes and more than half of them are from families living below the poverty line.  

While many of the girls sold to brothels are trafficked by relatives or family friends, in recent years, social media, with its low-risk and high rewards, has become the weapon of choice of traffickers, luring victims in with lucrative job offers or promises of marriage. 

“The internet and exploitative romantic relationships are key factors for trafficking in recent times,” said children’s rights activist Bharti Ali.

“Often, the police don’t start their search in cases of adolescent girls immediately as they believe it to be a case of elopement. Many cases end up in girls being sold further by the boy/person they trusted or who promised them false marriage.

“When girls go missing, parents often try to search within their own community, her friends and relatives. This is when they lose critical time. When they suspect that she may have eloped, they may tend to not report at all to protect family honour … The girls too are unable to report as the traffickers keep a close watch on them.”

For victims of traffickers, their introduction into the world of prostitution is a brutal and violent one, in which they face beatings, gang rape and starvation. Some victims also reported having chilli powder placed on their genitalia and being subjected to electric shocks. 

Among the girls they have rescued is Sarita, who was just 12-years-old when she was sold to a sex trafficker by her older brother and was transported 700 km away to work in a brothel. 

“My mum was working in Mumbai and I lived with my sister. My brother was a drug addict. He told me he was taking me to see my mum but instead he sold me to a trafficker. I was locked in a room and beaten and raped by several men. I managed to find a phone and called my mum,” she said.

Sarita’s mother, along with the police and Guria India activists, were able to rescue her and relocate the family. However, the majority of victims are not so lucky. India remains a socially conservative society and victims of trafficking will often be ostracised by their families and community. 

Rescuing victims of trafficking is only half the battle, while keeping them out of the hands of traffickers presents another challenge. 

Rehabilitating victims back into a society which was already hostile to them in the first place is difficult and often the girls will end up falling back into the hands of traffickers. 

In one case, 57 girls who were rescued by Guria were sent to a shelter home in Agra for rehabilitation, but were re-trafficked by the superintendent of the centre. Just this week, the superintendent was acquitted by the Supreme Court and Guria India is currently fighting the decision. 

Despite the setbacks, Singh remains hopeful. “Although I don’t think we can eradicate child prostitution in my lifetime, I’m hopeful we can set the foundations to make the change,” he said.

And sometimes all it takes is a rucksack and a Max Factor lipstick. 

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

It started back when he was 16.

His parents found out about him and Vlad thanks to the fruitloop being an idiot and practically outing them both. Danny was so lucky that he had planned for a situation like this. He had go-bags ready with a few changes of clothes, a thermos, some weapons, a star projector, lots of money from Sam and enough medical supplies to make a hospital jealous.

It was a good thing too, after crippling the GIW and destroying all the gear they and the Fentons had they destroyed their research and everything ghost related. Vlad at this point was already dead so he wasn't much of a concern.

Dannys had landed in an alley in a new dimension, only problem now was the parting shot his mother gave him on his back. Due to the placement of it Danny couldn't reach to treat it properly and he didn't know anyone in this dimension who could help him.

Thats when his ghost sense went off. He groaned, hoping he wouldn't have to fight a new ghost in this state when a man in a red helmet (Mask?) walked up to him and motioned for peace.

"I'm not going to hurt you." The man said gently, "I just wanna look at that injury, maybe help."

Danny stared at him. He didn't feel anything off about the guy and Danny prided himself on being a good judge of character. "Okay." He scooted himself around so his back was exposed to the stranger.

"Wow, you're really not from around here." Danny stiffened, had he been tricked? The man made no moves to hurt him, just got to work tending to his wound. The man was swift, and aside from the slight sting of an ointment he didn't recognize there was no pain at all.

Once Danny was all patched up the guy made to leave, "Wait!" Danny called out and the man halted, "Who are you?" The man turned his head to look back at him, still facing away from him, "Red Hood."

As it turned out, Red Hood was the new up and coming crime lord who everyone was talking about. He came seemingly out of nowhere and was making a lot of waves in Gothams underbelly. Gotham...so this was Dannys new haunt.

Danny wanted to protect it but...he wanted to protect Red Hood even more. So when he heard about Red Hood forming a gang he made a decision. He gathered up materials to make his own supervillian outfit- basically an all black outfit with a long hooded coat and combat boots- and to add the finishing touch he put on a all white gas mask that he had made himself, complete with a voice modulator, night vision, heat vision, etc. If Hood ever wanted him to prove it was him he could make his mask glow using his ghost powers. Not that it was needed. Hood seemed to be able to sense him in a similar way that Danny could but in a much much smaller range.

With that being said, hoods men didn't trust him at first, which was fair considering he just started randomly appearing at their operations and helping them out...by force usually. They weren't sure what to make of him but Danny didn't want to go through the usual goon enlistment process as Hood would want to know his name and face and everything else and Phantom was...well a phantom.

Danny liked to hide, even in plain sight. He couldn't deny the little game of cat and mouse they had was fun. Hood would try to follow him home or track him or get him to take off the mask and Phantom would dodge his attempts every time.

It took a while, but Red Hood did eventually come to trust him, going so far as to make Danny his right hand man after 3 years of working together, though that may also be because he had rarely failed any of the tasks Hood had given him.

Maybe thats why he never told any of the bats about him. He had picked up that there was something between Hood and the bats but he never could figure out what it was without prying into his bosses personal life. Still, it was rather shocking when Red Hood showed up one day with a large red bat symbol splayed across his chest.

It also made him look at how freaking chiseled his boss was. He couldn't count how many times he had to drag his eyes away from his abs and chastise himself for thinking that way.

Danny was in love with a man whos face he would never see. But that was fine. He was happier standing by this man's side and yearning than he ever was back in Amity and it wasn't like Hood knew his face or name either.

-----------

He felt like a halfa though an incomplete one. He had a core but it felt hollow, like the soul was forcibly removed somehow and only emotions remained. Hood gained a bad reputation for flying into a monstrous rage but was always calm when Danny was near, a fact that even Red Hood himself seemed to pick up on.

Hood began to fall for his second in command pretty quickly, always trying to feed him and take care of him (as is his love language) while Danny was openly obsessed with assuring Hoods safety and well being even going so far as to use his powers (that no one knows about) to overshadow a computer and hack into the bats systems to make sure Hood was okay after a prolonged period of him being MIA.

The bats are freaked but Danny being Danny gets lucky and they always seem to miss his trail by a hair. Lucky ghost.

Things start going sideways when Fenton tech starts showing up in this new dimension only for Danny to find out his parents have remade the portal and are looking for him. The bats are being hunted by his parents and and the now rogue government agency the GIW. Danny tries to explain things to Hood without compromising his own secrets but once the newest Robin gets captured and Hood freaks Danny puts everything on the line to go rescue the stabby bird.

[sethvzekiel]

141 + könig x cold! squadmate

gn! reader. lowkey inspired by widowmaker from overwatch, mostly platonic unless you squint. reader is very close to laswell in a platonic way + set backstory.

reader x price, gaz, ghost, soap, and 141! konig bc bias. messed with the timeline a little in post-mwii but they’re still 141 and recruited konig. 3k words.

part 2 here.

warnings: canon-typical violence mention. strong language.

callsign is azrael but only mentioned once or twice.

  price

Azrael. Angel of death. What the hell did you do to get a callsign like that? Price was almost afraid to ask — if it’s anything like Ghost’s callsign, it can’t be a happy story.

Your file was almost entirely blacked out, but the scant few that he could read was impressive, if not bloody. Laswell always called on you for her most delicate tasks, plenty of it related to human trafficking and stealth operations. You’re not tied to a single company, more a solo merc than a soldier among many, but you’ve served alongside enough armies that your lack of a badge doesn’t matter.

And there’s that feeling again in Price. The dulled rush of anticipation, of knowing that he’s got a good one in his hands, bursting with potential. Laswell recognized it the moment she saw him reading your file for the first time.

“Don’t poach all my good men, Price,” she sighed, but gave him your contact details, regardless.

He wasn’t surprised that you turned him down. Your file was rather explicit in telling him that you’re more a lone wolf than a mainstay. But by the fifth rejected call, he had to play the ‘Laswell’s Christmas drinking buddy’ card and get her to convince you.

It was then that he'd seen you in person for the first time, in the cold light of one of Laswell's safehouses, and it'd be a cold day in hell before Price lets himself get intimidated by anyone, but hell was feeling a little chilly that night.

Still, he'd recruited Ghost. He'd recruited König. Surely, he knew how to handle you.

…right.

Your problem, which Laswell already warned him about, was that while you followed his orders in a professional sense, there was a difference between obedience and genuine respect, the second of which you’d only reserved for Laswell.

Price wasn’t particular about demanding respect from anyone and everyone, but he also had the urge to help you open up, to untangle that knot of bitterness and cold that kept you silent. Yet the distance between your ranks was too wide, with a wall of ice damn near impenetrable for Price. Not that he was the type to give up when faced with such challenges.

If you smoked, he’d easily offer a cigar, but if you didn’t, he’d do most of the talking as you silently stood by him during his smoke breaks just by his office window.

You reminded him a little of Ghost that way, ever the silent shadow with haunted eyes and an icy composure. You also insisted on calling him Captain, which wouldn’t have been an issue if not for how robotic you sounded, even in small talk.

When it got around that Gaz managed to get you to warm up, Price felt half relieved, and half like he'd just been upstaged. That was his job as captain, damn it. He watched you grow from the sidelines, slowly defrosting as you spent more time with the others. 

The day after your first leave together out to the pub, he wanted to shut Soap up because of how much he bragged about you taking care of him. Something about you giving him hangover cures and making him food. But he couldn’t have been prouder when he told Laswell the same story.

During your smoke break chats by the window, Price always gave you advice through his stories and musings.

It was only on the last day of your contract that you said anything yourself.

“Kate trusts you.” You spoke suddenly, under the moon of a quiet night.

Price didn’t respond immediately, afraid to break the sudden fragile atmosphere between you two, and silently urged you to continue.

“...she was captured on your watch.” The accusatory sting in your tone was like a knife in the dark.

Price dipped his head low. “And we fought like hell to get her back. We don’t leave our men behind.”

“I know.”

A long silence followed. You were assessing him. Mulling over whether this task force was worth your time or Laswell’s trust. Price could see it in your eyes, and as much as he’d want to convince you to stay right there, that olive branch was already extended a long time ago by Gaz, Soap, Ghost, and even König. As captain, it was his duty to keep you in line. As Price, he wanted to earn your trust. To trust you himself to make that decision.

When his last cigar for the night burned low, the sliver of smoke joining the creeping sunrise, you hummed.

“See you later, Price.”

You retreated back into his office, and from behind him, Price heard the rustle of paper. You left without another word.

He might have rushed to his desk to see what you’d done to his paperwork, and a low, rough chuckle bubbled from within his chest.

You signed his offer.

ghost

‘Laswell’s attack dog.’ That was the cruel summary of your file.

Ghost was the first person Price consulted with on getting you in the team. From how Price and Laswell described you, it slowly dawned on Ghost just how much Laswell trusted you.

If the 141 fails, Laswell will send you.

Naturally, that made Ghost a little wary of you. He trusted Price, he trusted Laswell, but he didn't trust this outlier. You're another sniper, too. Just what he needed after König joined up. Wonderful.

He wasn’t subtle in his caution against you, but it wasn’t supposed to be subtle. It was a warning.

You didn’t cause trouble. Quite the opposite, in fact: you were quiet. Too quiet. Always tending your gear or spending hours at the range, seeming to only have the next battle in mind. He had to check the security feed to make sure that you were going to your room at night and getting food instead of living at the range 24/7.

By that point he’d decided to go to the range and see you for himself.

“Where’d you learn?”

He couldn’t help but ask as you perfected a whole round of targets. You weren’t startled by his presence, already having heard his quiet steps long before he saw you.

“Picked it up as a habit,” was your frosty reply. “Then did it for money.”

“How old were you?”

“Ask Kate.”

There it was. He had his suspicions about how you came to be so attached to Laswell. If you’d served in enough missions, or if there was something deeper than that, with how you would kill for her without question or how Laswell trusted your strength, yet still discreetly asked Price to keep an eye on your well-being.

“Suppose I won’t,” he said, and that was enough for your to pause and turn back to him.

“Thought you were grilling me for info, LT.”

“I know when not to pry. You better not bring old enemies to us.”

“The dead can’t walk.”

Were you cold? Distant? A bit mean? Yes, yes, and yes. But Ghost was patient. So long as you weren’t a threat or nuisance to the team, you could stay. You were even one of the more obedient ones, so he wasn’t complaining.

That changed when he partnered with you on the field for the first time. It was also your first mission with the others, as you were usually the sniper from the far back instead of charging in with them.

Amid the sands and gunpowder, you were a machine. No enemy slipped past your combined strength, and you complemented each other’s combat styles perfectly. He goes in with the heavy fire while you shot down snipers like you already knew exactly where they were.

“Fuckin’ splendid, soldier,” he said on the way back, when everyone else was asleep.

“I try, sir.” 

He looked forward to training with you from then on, silently one-upping each other’s skills from shooting to sparring in an endless chase to the top. The competition grew notorious enough that other soldiers began approaching you for advice on how to improve themselves or to compliment your skills, garnering a reaction from you that only Ghost could tell was embarrassment.

Despite not being as close to you as the rest, your standoffishness and frigid personality were things that Ghost was familiar enough with that he could see right through you. 

“Aw no, another Ghost?” Soap once complained when Price sent them your file. Ghost had only scoffed then at the ridiculous notion.

Now, though, as you silently fussed over your teammates while insisting that you weren’t at all concerned, it made him feel a little warm inside.

Nothing wrong with a second Ghost if it meant more people looking out for his comrades.

And with how you seemed to have König wrapped around your little finger, Ghost could at least trust you with keeping him in line.

  gaz

He can’t explain why, but there’s something about you that reminded him of his old anger; the frustration he had with how much injustice the world let slip between the cracks, the helplessness he’d felt before he met Price.

Your relationship with Laswell… it’s a little like his own with Price, but in the place of brotherhood or mentorship is something quiet and mournful, the kind of loyalty forged out of a dark place. It’s clear that you view Laswell as a kind of savior, the type you’d owe your life to. It’s the only way to explain why you only come back to her.

Gaz kept his distance, unlike Soap. He could tell when you needed space and respected it — unlike Soap. Or Price. Or — he couldn’t believe it — Ghost. It’s just Gaz being respectful, definitely not related to feelings of intimidation or fear. Maybe.

Funnily enough, it’s that wordless consideration of your alone time that made Gaz the first person you warmed up to. It was only a brief chat about when the next resupply for ammo comes in. You’d been running low for a while and your kit is rather specialized, but Gaz was the first you’d spoken to without hostility or work in mind.

With that ice broken, the next conversations were slow-going, but easier. Shared watch duty where Gaz babbled mindlessly about everything he'd been thinking about, just to keep himself awake, while you listened silently, but intently.

Gaz didn't know that you were actually paying attention until you started setting out his favorite tea in the morning without a word or clearing your throat before entering a room because he hated getting startled. Those were things he'd only told you at night, when he thought you were barely tolerating him.

Instead of a terrifying shadow, he started to see the human side of you. The considerate side that you tried to hide with a bitter scowl when he brought it up. Dare he say it, it was a little endearing, like the grumpy stray cat he used to feed as a kid.

When the rest of the 141 noticed, he'd automatically been designated as your unofficial 'translator.' He could decode any of your blank (and sometimes terrifying) expressions to the letter.

"Quit it, Soap, they need a nap."

"Captain, you're bumping into their injured shoulder, sir."

"LT, might want to hide your tea stash, think they saw your cup."

"König, come back! We just wanted to compare gear!... Eh, sorry mate, he's gone."

"What d'you want, black coffee or... latte? Huh. Two lattes, please."

Usually, when you'd be paired up with Gaz, you're the sniper supporting him from far away. Your quiet murmur over the comms, even in a firefight, instantly calmed him down and Gaz swore that he worked better when he knew you were watching him.

Post-mission naps on your shoulder didn’t sound too bad, either. That was a privilege he wasn’t going to give up to anyone. No matter how annoying about it Soap got.

soap

We know Ghost's attitude didn't stop Soap from getting all buddy-buddy with him.

But even then, your demeanor, as sharp as a coldsnap and twice as biting, gave him pause. He's spoiled with reactions from other people to his presence, whether it's reciprocated friendliness or annoyance at his energetic personality. Total apathy, with a tinge of hostility, only came from Ghost and you. And Ghost warmed up to the guy already, so your silence bothered him a little.

Not that he hated you, but it stirred a competitive urge to challenge your coldness and finally get you to crack.

Mercifully, he somehow didn't end up getting killed in the process of fighting for your attention. He's not subtle about it, though: other people on base always referred to him as your 'pet dog' when he's looking for you.

"Hey, your Scottish Terrier came by, was yowling for your attention."

"Put your dog on a leash, would you? He won't stop interrupting R&D to ask where you are."

"Feed your pup, sergeant, he looks pitiful from over here."

But you didn’t look down on him the way others do. You didn’t see some kid trying to play hero, who got lucky because Price took a shine to him and had no other skills to speak of. You looked down on him the same way you did at everyone else: a detached gaze from your metaphorical ice castle, nothing more. And in a twisted way, it’s refreshing.

When he found out that you'd gotten close with Gaz before anyone else, he was ready to whine. Ghost certainly got the worse end of his complaints. Since then, he'd butt into yours and Gaz's conversations, especially when you started joining the boys for lunch instead of eating alone.

It was only on your first leave together, your first civilian outing, that Soap realized that you were closer than he'd thought.

While he was drinking at the pub, you carefully watched him, silently looking out for signs of him getting too drunk, at which point you'd begun secretly ordering watered-down versions of his drink until it was practically juice. 

Even with how wasted he was, he saw through your trick, but all was forgiven by the next morning when you'd cared for him through his hangover in your own, grumpy way. You even cooked breakfast for him, but he wouldn’t tell you that it was practically tasteless and mostly hangover cures. The thought counts, right?

And wow, he would not stop rubbing the fact that you took care of him all over 141’s faces.

“Watch your back, Gaz. I’ll be takin’ your spot soon!”

“Johnny, it’s two in the fucking morning.”

“You can’t be their favorite and Price’s at the same time. Pick one!”

“No. Besides, think König is second to me, not you.”

“The fuck?”

könig

You reminded him of the deep winters of his deployments in the north. Cold, cruel, yet beautiful. Sorrowful. Lonely. Silent. Calming.

Make no mistake, the first few months with you around, König was sure he was going to have a breakdown. Your lightless stare bored holes into him, no matter how hard he tried to hide from your field of view. It took enough of his energy to resist the urge to hide behind any of his new 141 teammates. Seriously, how did he get along better with Ghost than with you when you didn't even have a mask?

It didn't matter if you’re built like Ghost or the scrappiest operator around: your chilling aura always left König with his hands clammy and breaths a little short.

If Gaz pre-friendship was giving you space, König was running from you at first sight.

But when König watched you grow close with the rest of the 141, his sharp eyes catching that lightning-fast flicker of tenderness on your face, it was over for him. He had to see it again, like sunlight glancing off fresh ice.

Cue the big guy trailing after you helplessly, like a fidgety shadow, that the other 141 members politely pretended to ignore. Not that he's any good at hiding.

König may have done a good job at absolutely shattering his terrifying image with his actions at base, but when you're on the field, he's an entirely different person.

A beast. A hunter. A king of the battlefield. He's covered in blood from head to toe, glee rushing through his veins as he bludgeoned two men with his bare hands. For a moment, he wondered if you would be impressed with his kill count. You must be. Then he thought for another moment. Then another.

And he remembered that you were his partner for this mission, and that no, this was not a good look for him.

Slowly, horrified, he turned back to you. You looked over the aftermath: a warehouse filled with bodies, not all of them slain with bullets, and broken weapons. König barely heard you convey your victory to Captain Price over the comms, even if you were right in front of him.

It was only when you clapped him on the arm that he snapped to attention: both from your touch and the miniscule smirk on your lips.

"Don't forget to watch your six."

"You... are not... afraid?"

"Just glad I'm not on your bad side. Let's go."

On the next missions, König would restrain his bloodlust a little, if only to see you in action himself. You moved smoothly and quietly, just like a shadow leaving death in your wake. He watched you snuff out an entire enemy safehouse without anyone noticing. 

You truly were the Angel of Death, going from door to door, taking lives like it was divine decree. There was never a more beautiful sight.

König was... stuck to you like glue, to say the least. He'd slowly begun joining you at target practice, or sparring, or running into you around the base and coincidentally offering his help with the reports you meant to file.

Whether you noticed or not, he didn’t care. Actually, he wouldn’t mind if you noticed how helpful he’d been. The more you saw him as reliable, the more you’d be willing to be his buddy on the field, yes? And the more he’d get to see you in action, no?

Now, if only the others would stop hogging you for a second… he could interrupt that conversation you were having with Ghost… if Ghost wasn’t looking… any time now…

[ponderingmoonlight]

Stitching JJK men up or at least trying to

This gorgeous art is by @bogactivity! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for letting me use it as a cover 🤍

Pairings: Gojo x fem!reader; Toji x fem!reader; Yuta x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,4k

Warnings: injury (lol), the boys being smooth operators hehe, not proofread I'm honestly glad I even managed to finish a fic with this hell of a week in my back, this is the first free afternoon I'm having y'all

Let me know if you want a Part ll of this! Since it took me forever to write and I spent my only free afternoon of this week to finish that for you guys, I'd be beyond thankful if you show a lil support to your girl 😭

Gojo Satoru

„C’mon man, you can’t be serious about that”, you mutter in sheer annoyance, eyes roaming up and down the blood-covered man in front of you.

He has some nerves, showing up at your doorstep with his reversed technique when there are probably hundreds of injured jujutsu sorcerers and normal human being out there crying for help. God, if it was the first time, if he wouldn’t be the strongest. But something inside you tells you he does this on purpose, something inside you just knows this isn’t a coincidence.

“I’m here to get stitched up”, he announces proudly, making his way into your home as if he’s inviting.

“Don’t bleed on my floor”, you warn him.

Is there a way out of this? You worked for 18 hours today, just returned home since Shoko took over for you. And now? Now he’s here – here to ruin your night.

“I won’t if you help me”, he hums with a sly grin plastered on his face.

A gaping hole in his chest, an injury that would have killed every other being if he wasn’t the strongest. Oh, you know damn well that he healed himself just enough to make it to your place. But even though you want to stand your ground and throw him out in a heartbeat, you simply sign to yourself and roll up your sleeves. After all, it is easier to get rid of him when you’re doing what he wants, right?

“Take that off”, you instruct him, nodding towards his uniform.

“You don’t have to ask me twice back.”

“Don’t call me that”, you mumble while watching as he exposes his firm chest.

Damn, sometimes you tend to forget how trained that man his. With his abs cooked in god’s kitchen and his body toned like a Greek statue, it’s hard to keep your face from blushing. Not even the fact that there’s a gaping hole in his chest can distract you from the stinging fact that Satoru Gojo is too damn hot.

“Enjoying the view, (y/n)?”

You shake yourself, avoiding eye contact as if your life depends on it. Fuck, he really caught you staring. That sleek bastard who thinks the world belongs to him, who is used to women and even men falling to his feet. Get this over before you lose the last bit of class you have left.

But the second you touch his bare skin something changes. No, it’s not you who gets flustered by his sheer presence, it’s not you who stumbles over their words. It’s Satoru Gojo, flinching back the slightest bit with the faintest blush creeping up his face.

Satoru Gojo.

Blushing.

“Are you…blushing?”

His bright blue orbs widen, cheeks getting redder and redder by every passing second. You can’t stop the grin that gets wider and wider, tilting your head to the side like he always does when he’s about to get on your nerves.

“What’s wrong, Satoru? Not used to getting touched by a woman?”

“None of them are you”, he presses out.

Fuck. Now it’s you who reddens in an instant, you who stares at him with wide eyes, your palms feeling sticky against his skin. How? How is it able that he sweeps you off your feet with a few words? Why does he have this power over you when you tell yourself over and over that you don’t care about him, that you are nothing but comrades?

Why does he have to be so…him?

“What’s wrong, (y/n)? Cat got your tongue?”

You close your eyes. Just a few seconds more, you’re almost finished. And after that you’ll throw him out, after that you’ll-

“Is it possible that maybe…you’re into me as well?”

“As well!?”, you repeat out of instinct.

“Come on, playing dumb doesn’t suit you. Don’t ya think I’d be able to heal myself?”

“I know you are.”

He tilts his head to the side just the way you hate it.

Hate? Out of instinct, you shake your head ever so slightly. No, you never felt hate when you touched his body, didn’t even feel hate when he smeared his blood all over your couch. No, this is something completely else. This is…

A crush?

“Leave right now”, you breathe out.

Nope, you simply can’t afford to have a crush on that man. With a swift motion, you push him to your door, don’t even give him the chance to fight against you. What a ridiculous idea, why would you even-

“I still need my uniform-“

You smack the door close behind him before breathlessly running up to his uniform and throwing it out of the window onto him.

“Don’t you dare to come here again!”

“Oh, I definitely will (y/n).”

Toji Fushiguro

“Come on (y/n)-“

“I hate that man and you know it”, you argue.

Not even the cigarette Shui Kong gave you will distract you from what he’s asking for. God, how much you hate that man. Toji Fushiguro, walking sex himself.

And the biggest asshole you’ve ever met on top.

“Well, technically it’s your job. But I’d hate to force you into this.”

He crosses his well-dressed legs, gaze meeting yours while puffing on his cigarette. Oh, how much you hate that he’s right. After all, he’s paying you a decent amount of money for saving those stupid men from certain dead.

“Where is he?”

You can’t believe your own ears, that you even consider helping that man after he dumped you. Toji has to suffer for the things he’s done, for leaving you standing in the rain after telling you over and over how fucking special you are to him. No, there’s absolutely no damn reason for you to throw your cigarette away, to follow after Shui.

“Took you quite some time to get here. Lucky for you I’m not that serious injured.”

That deep unpromising voice, that tone you know oh so well. The urge to turn on your heels and run away almost becomes unbearable. God, how stupid was it to even consider heling him? Fuck Shui, fuck your contract. You definitely won’t help him-

“Oh, it’s you.”

Fuck. You want to shoot yourself right on the spot, hide behind the door or get swallowed whole. But instead, that traitor Shui exposes you to Toji’s merciless eyes, shoves you into the tiny apartment before you’re able to protest.

“Absolutely not nice to see you again”, you mutter under your breath.

No, you don’t even dare to look at this force of a man, to give him that power over you ever again. Him with his damn gorgeous eyes, him with these mountains of muscles. Oh, you know damn well how fucking easy it is to fall for him.

“Can I get some help?”

You can’t resist. The urge to take a look at his wounds overpowers your strong will.

And you regret it immediately.

There he sits, shirtless, a bandage poorly wrapped around his enormous biceps while he tucked the end of it between his teeth. Fuck, when you only imagine where his mouth was, that he discovered your body with his mouth more than once.

You swallow hard.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to help. Now excuse me, I need to take that call.”

No, no, no. Your heart falls onto the ground immediately, eyes widen in sheer horror when Shui turns around and threatens to leave.

“You can’t leave me here alone with him”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

“You’re a strong girl, aren’t you? You are the only one I trust in when it comes to him.”

And with that he’s gone, leaves you standing in the rain like a lost puppy.

“Don’t stand there and look after him when I’m here, princess.”

“Oh god, please just shut the fuck up”, you grumble.

Do you even have the chance to get out of this? You catch a glimpse of him and his toned body, blood running down his arm. When you’re already here, it wouldn’t be a crime to do your job.

And ask for a ton more money when Shui returns. 

Without saying another word, you sit down next to him. Putting on your gloves, taking a closer look at his wound.

“Got shot, hm?”

Clean, disinfect.

“Yeah.”

Take out your tweezers, search for the bullet.

“So, how you’ve been princess?”

“Don’t call me that”, you warn him.

“Aren’t ya at least a lil excited to see me?”

“Absolutely not”, you reply dryly, digging a little deeper than necessary into his wound.

What is that little part inside of you that makes your heart beat a little faster, lets your palms get sweaty? No, you are definitely not excited to see him again. How he broke your heart the last time, how he played you-

“I hoped he’d call ya. That’s why I let that fucker shoot me.”

Wait…What? Your eyes dart up in an instant, tweezers digging so roughly into his flesh that a groan escapes his delicious lips.

“You lie as always”, you breathe out.

“Bet I don’t.”

With a swift motion of his uninjured arm, he draws you closer, traps you against his broad chest.

“Missed ya”, he mumbles against your hair, takes in your delicious scent.

“You dumped me.”

“Dumped you? Would never do that.”

“You did”, you insist.

A little whimper escapes your lips when his hot breath brushes over your neck just the way you always loved it. Fuck, you’re here to do your job, to stitch that fucker up and leave. Why are you lying in his arms again, why is his arm wrapped around your waist so tightly that you can’t escape anymore?

“Imma show you how much I missed ya-“

“Toji”, you warn him half-heartedly.  

“I-I’m…Just here to do my job.”

“I have a better job for ya.”

Yuta Okkotsu

Gojo doesn’t have to tell you twice. The second you hear his name, hear that he’s injured, your feet sprint down the alleys of Jujutsu High on their own.

Yuta Okkotsu.

The boy who simply swept you off your feet the second you heard his voice. The boy who always stayed up with you until past midnight, watched how you trained your mind and hands to use reversed technique just like Shoko does.

“If I get hurt someday, I want you to take care of me.”

“No way, if you get injured I’ll send Shoko herself. I’m not good enough to help you”, you laughed.

“You are good enough in every way, (y/n).”

And now you’re here, lungs feeling as if they’ll burst any given minute, mouth tasting like fresh blood. You have to be on time. Please let you be on time.

“Gojo-sensei!”

Your voice sounds so strange in your own ears, filled with thick dread. Gojo didn’t even tell you what’s up, didn’t even tell you what exactly happened.

“Yuta is injured, hurry. I’ll send you the location.”

“Easy (y/n). Otherwise you’ll have to use reversed technique on-“

“Where is he?”, you breathe out.

The world around you begins to spin so violently that you feel like fainting for a minute. All you want to see is Yuta being fine, Yuta being only slightly injured. Where is he? Is he fine? Your mouth can’t keep up with the sheer speed of your thoughts anymore.

“Look who’s here to save ya, Yuta!”

Your glossy eyes shoot up, take in the sight in front of you. There he stands with a trail of blood running down his gorgeous face, his gaze locked with yours. He is injured, but alive. A few bruises here and there, but overall fine.

Yuta’s fine.

“(y/n)!”

Like in slow motion your feet start to move again just like his, running and running until you get greeted by his opened arms.

“I was so scared for a second. He told me you’re injured”, you breathe out.

“Oh, don’t worry about that too much. Just a few cuts and bruises and- OUCH, yeah, I think my ribs are broke.”

“Sit down, I’ll take care of this.”

You position your trembling hands on his body, eyes never leaving his sight. These last few hours were like a trip to hell and back.

“I’m sorry (y/n), but you know we aren’t allowed to fight.”

“But what about Yuta and the others? What if they need help?”, you insisted, not even Shoko’s hand placed on your shoulder able to calm down your pounding heart.

“They’ll call us as soon as it’s safe.”

“I didn’t even get the chance to tell him that…”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, a wave of tears hunting you down without mercy. Oh, how much you’d give to see him again, to finally tell him how much he really means to you.

“You will, don’t worry about it.”

Shoko was right, after all. Yuta is here with you, the minor bruises on his body healing in an instant while he smiles gently at you.

“Look? I told you you’ll take good care of me”, he comments gently.

“I’m just glad you’re fine. What on earth happened here? Jujutsu High looks like a battlefield. And don’t get me started on Maki and Panda…”

Shivers run down your spine just by thinking of the state they were in when Shoko was called. Just the thought of Yuta still being out there, fighting whoever responsible for these severe injuries...

You swallow hard, hands shaking just like they did when realization hit you. Yuta could have died today. All of them could have died today.

“You’re here. That’s all that matters right now.”

Yuta doesn’t think twice. He intertwines his hand with yours ever so gently, his face radiating nothing but pure affection. Oh, how much these last hours showed him how much you really mean to him. Not a second passed in which he didn’t ponder about whenever you’re doing okay, if you’re safe here at Jujutsu High. And now you’re right where you belong: By his side.

“I love you, (y/n). I think I did all this time.”

Oh.

Your brain needs a few moments to comprehend the words he just said. Yuta…love…YOU?

Yuta loves you.

Yuta. “Finally!”, Gojo screams from afar.

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @ @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @luwumii @tachiharazsstuff @kentocalls @cheesemachine44 @ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299@busyreader17 @4pgletter @okay-it-is-ivy @iluvtoru

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Fanart used in the cover by @bogactivity - you NEED to check out their artwork!

[saphronethaleph]

Skydancer

“Well… darn,” Leia said, with feeling.

Apparently she’d picked entirely the wrong time to look in on the rebels in the Dennogra system. The Imperials had somehow got wind of the presence of the base, a sting operation had gone into play – while she was there, no less – and a Star Destroyer and an Interdictor were hanging overhead, TIE fighters flying cover over the base while stormtroopers closed in.

Her transport was already disabled, burned out by the first wave of fighters, and the local Rebel net had gone silent thirty seconds ago with the last report being that Base Orenth and Base Trill had both been neutralized.

Leia reached for her hold-out pistol.

She had a choice coming up, soon. She’d either be surrendering herself into Imperial custody, hoping for the means to make an escape attempt, or she’d be selling her life dearly.

And…

...she couldn’t see herself surrendering to Imperial custody. They knew she was a Rebel, now. Tarkin might be dead, but she had no reason to expect that any Imperial captors would be even as merciful as him.

Her fingers slid over the grip of the blaster as she moved from cover to cover, ears alert for any sign of the Stormtroopers closing the net, then paused as she spotted something.

There was an A-Wing fighter left in the hanger.

Leia frowned, trying to remember what she knew about the A-Wing.

It was… shielded, she knew that much, and it was fast and agile. And it didn’t rely on an Astromech droid to make hyperspace jumps.

That was it, then. That was how she could get out of this.

She just needed to handle enough fighters to get clear, and then the Interdictor – either escaping it by flying out of its range, or disabling it.

The A-Wing had concussion missile launchers, didn’t it? And the shields on an Imperial cruiser or destroyer were…

Leia thought about that a moment longer, checking in all directions, then made up her mind and ran for the fighter.

“Hey – stop!” a voice shouted, and Leia whirled. Without stopping, she snapped off two blasts, and one stormtrooper fell with a smoking hole in his breastplate.

The other ducked into cover, then returned fire, and Leia paused by the front leg of the A-Wing before firing twice more. That left her only two shots left in the small energy cell, but the shot did down the other stormtrooper, and she hurried up the ladder into the cockpit before sealing the canopy and hitting the self-start button.

The fighter’s computer flashed an unhappy pattern of lights at her, and Leia bared her teeth.

“Come on, you bucket of bolts,” she muttered, stabbing at a few controls, then the status screen came up. She flicked the repulsors online, then the shields, and a moment later a blaster bolt peened off the shield and into the corner of the hangar.

Blasters came up next, and Leia twisted the yoke. It was intuitive and responsive, a sign of good design, and she walked her fire across a whole squad of stormtroopers.

Then she keyed the main engines, and the whole hangar behind her was fried as the powerful engines boosted her upwards.

Two patrolling TIEs immediately began closing in on her, the sensor screen pinging a warning, and Leia muttered a curse.

She wasn’t a pilot… but this was a very fast and very agile fighter.

And it wasn’t like anyone else was showing up to save her skin.

A twitch of the yoke, and she snap-rolled ninety degrees to starboard before spinning halfway around. The twin cannon spat fire, blowing one TIE to pieces and clipping the wing of the other, and the second one wobbled in an uncontrollable roll before managing to get some control of itself and come back around.

Another element of two TIEs was vectoring in, and Leia finished her spin before diving towards the ground. There were Imperial ground elements down there, still visible, and if the fighters were going to shoot at her she could at least decoy them to try and hit the ground forces – then a large Imperial walker was looming up before her, and Leia adjusted her angle a little to aim between the front and back legs.

Pulling back out again as soon as she shot between them, Leia glanced around to get a good handle on the situation, then yanked the yoke back and switched from engines to repulsors. That meant the big engines weren’t pushing her forwards any more, letting her make a tight turn, and she pulled the trigger twice about when she’d be lined up with the pursuing fighters.

Three more explosions lit the sky, followed by drifting clouds of smoke as bits of TIE fighter rained down, then Leia switched back to main engines and turned towards her next targets.

Even a novice like her could tell that she didn’t want to be surrounded by enemy fighters. So the only way out of this was going to be to make sure they didn’t – or couldn’t.

“We feared we’d lost you, Princess,” General Rieekan said, as Leia clambered down the side of the A-Wing she’d appropriated. “When we heard about the attack on the Dennogra base, we feared the worst.”

“I was all right,” Leia replied. “Fortunately I had an A-Wing.”

“You’re not wrong,” Wedge agreed, inspecting it. “That’s definitely an A-Wing.”

He frowned. “What actually happened, Princess? The report was that there was an Interdictor overhead… was that incorrect?”

“No, there was,” Leia agreed. “Along with a Star Destroyer. Like I said, I had an A-Wing. Whoever designed that fighter is a real expert, it can be flown as well as you please by even a novice.”

Wedge, Carlist Rieekan, and everyone else present not named Leia Organa exchanged confused looks.

“...no, it can’t,” Wedge said, slowly. “It’s a good bird, a bit lighter than I prefer, but it’s extremely temperamental… who else was flying with you? Did anyone else get out?”

“All the other fighters were taken out on the ground by the initial bombardment and fighter strike,” Leia replied. “The one I used happened to be deeper into the hanger and it survived.”

“You escaped by yourself?” Rieekan asked. “Princess, I’m… sorry for my tone of voice, but that’s impossible. Or it shouldn’t be possible. Those two capital ships carry nearly a hundred TIEs between them, and while some of those squadrons are bombers or boarding elements that’s still-”

He broke off, because Leia was counting under her breath.

“...that sounds about right,” she said. “Well, I counted about sixty, anyway, and maybe a dozen bombers.”

“I think we need to check the gun camera footage,” Wedge decided. “I want to see this.”

About an hour later, Leia was in the middle of catching up on important messages when Rieekan came into the meeting room she was using.

So did Wedge, and most of the other pilots on the cruiser.

“We’re not worthy,” Derek Klivian declared. “We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!”

“Hobbie,” Wedge said, shaking his head. “Are you ever going to stop that?”

“Nope, sir!” Klivian replied.

“He’s got a point,” Rieekan said. “Princess, we’ve reviewed the gun camera footage. And then taken some anti-nausea medication.”

“Is there something wrong?” Leia asked.

“Well, you’re one of the best pilots in history,” Wedge replied. “None of my best pilots could do that. I’d have said even Luke couldn’t do that, but then Hobbie told a joke and we decided to actually do it.”

“Princess,” Rieekan went on. “I regret to inform you that a genetic test has revealed that you’re Luke Skywalker’s sister. We think you’re both the children of Anakin Skywalker, who went down in galactic history as the single most capable natural pilot ever recorded.”

“...though you might just earn the top spot, now,” Tycho added. “Seriously, that was at least fourteen consecutive chakra manoeuvres and you shot down at least two fighters per chakra manoeuvre. And I never knew the A-Wing could do half of the other things you made it do.”

Leia was still wrapping her head around Luke Skywalker’s sister.

“Ever considered being a pilot?” Wedge added. “I’d say we can give you lessons but that might not even be necessary…”