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siriuslysatorusimping · 5 months

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Semi-Grade (Another Level - Installment 4)

Summary:

“Rinko-chaaaan,” Gojo’s voice in her phone called, a smirk still in his voice. “Did you hear me? You’re gonna be a Semi-Grade 1." “You’re a manipulative bastard,” she said drily. “Technically, I agreed to this under duress.” “That so?” he hummed, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Big talk from the slut who still didn’t tell me to stop.” He had her there. He’d asked her color whenever he thought it might be too much, which was often. She’d said green every single time.

AN: I once again combined the two parts into one. So this is the entirety of the installment. Say 'fuck you' to the old geezer, everyone 😂

Also, don't let the header fool you, Gojo and Rinko still gettin' a lil spicy in this one 👀👀

Prev - Let Me Know You | Another Level Masterlist | Kiko's Masterlist | Next - Seeing Double ->

Semi-Grade 2010

“Why am I not surprised to see that you put your number in my phone?”

She could hear his lighthearted laughter as she paid for her sweet plum senbei. He’d also named the contact ‘Best Friend 💦🥵😍Satoru.’ The photo was him holding up a stupid peace sign, sunglasses in place, and a giant goofy grin on his face. She’d officially learned to never leave her phone near him without supervision.

“You’re welcome!” he said, a smile in his voice. “It’s good to hear from you too!”

“Gojo,” she said, a warning in her voice.

As much as she enjoyed his antics, she was wary of him calling her so suddenly.

“What do you want?”

“Well, since you asked,” he hummed. She felt her eyes narrow as he spoke. “I want your tight pussy-”

“Tell me that isn’t why you called me,” she deadpanned, ignoring the small spark in her cunt at his statement. She’d been planning on having a nice day to herself, buying some groceries, and making a simple dinner before she spent the evening watching TV. They’d had maybe a single conversation that didn’t end with him inside of her, taking her apart. And that was the opposite of the simple, relaxing, solo evening she had planned. “Because if it is, I’m hanging up.”

Pushing past a small group blocking the path, she approached the last stand she needed to visit before leaving.

“Wait!” he called, and she let out a heavy sigh. Waiting for him to continue, she pointed at the fresh takenoko bamboo shoots and held up three fingers. “That isn’t why I’m calling. Though, if you’re offer-”

“Goodbye, Gojo.”

“Wait-!”

She hung up, stuffing her phone back into her pocket as she accepted the bag containing her vegetables.

“Can I get four of the kamo eggplants as well?” she asked, already pulling her money out as they nodded. “Thank you.”

The bruises had finally faded from her neck, having taken two weeks to fully disappear. Not that she was complaining too much. Her uniform covered them almost completely, and when she wasn’t working, it was cold enough to justify the large, bulky scarves she wore. And just a bit of effort to hide the bruises he’d sucked onto her neck was well worth the absolute ruin he’d inflicted upon her to earn them.

Not only had she been right when she assumed she wouldn’t be able to leave first thing the next morning, but he’d somehow - it wasn’t that big of a mystery - convinced her to stay the entire weekend in his bed.

She ordered some yakitori to hold her over until dinner, taking a bite as she continued walking home. The small smile that had been tugging at her lips since she’d seen his contact when he called finally won out, and she released a quiet chuckle as she munched on her snack.

He was absolutely insufferable. But she knew he would say the same about her.

The sound of her phone ringing again made her roll her eyes. Answering it wordlessly, she waited for him to speak.

“That was rude, Rinko-chan,” Gojo said, a pout in his voice now. “But I’ll forgive you this time.”

She stayed silent still, waiting for him to get to the point.

“I have some great news!” he finally continued. “Kurisaki Rinko will be a Semi-Grade 1 sorcerer by the end of the week!”

Her eyes narrowed, remembering how he’d gotten her to agree to let him recommend her promotion.

“Do you need to cum, Rinko-chan?” his voice asked, his teeth biting at her ear. His hips didn’t stop moving, continuously hitting that sweet spot inside her that made her feel like she was being ripped apart. “Hm?”

Her moan made him chuckle, fingers speeding up as he rubbed her clit insistently.

He’d tied her hands to the headboard, a smug grin on his face as he said that he’d untie her when she agreed to accept his recommendation.

“Tell me what I wanna hear,” he murmured, moving to her neck to suck her sweaty skin between his lips. “Just a few simple words, Rinko-chan.”

“You’re such a manipulative-”

The slap to her clit made her back arch into him, a scream falling from her lips as she fought against the ties at her wrists. He groaned deep in his throat when she clenched around him desperately, still tugging on her arms.

“Give in, baby,” he growled, thrusting into her harshly and stilling as he nudged against her cervix. “I can leave you on the edge all night long, sweetheart. Make you my personal little cumslut and not let you cum once.”

Her whine was long, prompting a single, deep thrust as he grinned down at her. His eyes were bright, shining down at her sinfully as he delighted in her completely wrecked state.

“You know you want to,” he taunted, his face just a breath away. A laugh escaped him when she unconsciously tried to lean up to kiss him. “Come on, baby. You know what I wanna hear. You need to cum? Want me to kiss you?”

She slammed her head back against the bed, another moan escaping as he started to move slowly. The head of his cock brushing her gspot was just enough to send a shiver through her.

It wasn’t going to work, she’d told herself stubbornly when he’d started his game. He wasn’t that good. His ego sure as hell didn’t need the boost. She wasn’t going to let him fuck her into agreeing to-

A sharp thrust, paired with another slap to her clit and him biting her neck had her relenting in a broken sob.

“Fine!” she cried, her body shaking with the pain and pleasure combination. “I’ll accept it. I’ll let you recommend me! Please just- fuck!”

He’d leaned back as she finally gave in, a smug grin on his face as he sped back up and rubbed tiny, quick circles on her clit.

“Good girl,” he cooed, capturing her lips with his, pulling her tongue into his mouth and sucking on it. “Such a good girl. Cum for me.”

She whimpered against his lips, her body falling over the edge so quickly she barely registered it happening. The pulses of her cunt squeezing him pulled a low groan from him, and he let out a cruel laugh when she tried to pull her hips away from his fingers still teasing her clit.

“Keep going, baby,” he murmured, pecking her lips sweetly. His eyes were glinting as he leaned back just enough to stare into hers. “You’re gonna keep cumming for as long as you held out.” The mirth in his eyes made hers widen. “That’s right, sweetheart, you held out for so long. Did such a good job edging yourself. Now, you get rewarded for giving me what I wanted.” He paused his thrusts to grind his hips against hers. “Now, be a good little slut and take it.”

“Rinko-chaaaan,” Gojo’s voice on her phone called, a smirk still in his voice. “Did you hear me? You’re gonna be a Semi-Grade 1.”

“You’re a manipulative bastard,” she stated drily. Ripping another bite of meat from the skewer in her hand, she willed herself to keep her thoughts from how many times he’d forced her to cum that night. She’d screamed her throat raw, unable to form coherent thoughts as he wrung her dry. Her clit had been a swollen, overused bundle that hurt by the time he was done with her. “Technically, I agreed to this under duress.”

“That so?” he hummed, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Big talk from the slut who still didn’t tell me to stop.”

He had her there. He’d asked her color whenever he thought it might be too much, which was often. She’d said green every single time.

“When’s my first assignment?” she asked, changing the subject. “Who am I shadowing?”

“Tomorrow,” he replied, his amused tone telling her he knew exactly what she was doing. “And you’ll be with Nanamin, just like I said you would.”

“Am I supposed to wait until he contacts me?” She stopped walking, taking the final bite of her snack and tossing the wooden stick into the nearby trashcan. “Or are you giving me the details?”

“Both,” he replied, voice still amused. “I’m calling to tell you that you can meet me afterward, if you don’t take too long, for dinner.”

“Am I staying here or coming there?” she asked, immediately regretting her choice of words. “Don’t you even dare say what I know you want to say.”

She’d opened the door, but she was slamming it right back shut. Still, her lips curled up in a smile when he let out a knowing laugh.

“Fine, fine,” he relented, still chuckling. “Here. This one will be a two-parter, so you’ll need to be here for a few days. You can stay with me if you want.”

“Why do I feel like this is a ploy to trick me into bed with you?” she teased, her smile growing when he scoffed.

“Baby, I don’t need to trick you into my bed,” his mock offense was driven home by his haughty tone. “You’ll come to my bed willingly, and we both know it.”

Most likely, she mused to herself. But she hadn’t really poked at him in a while.

“Maybe Nanami will offer-”

His growl was quiet, but she heard it, and she would deny the twitch her pussy gave at that sound until the day she died. It was somehow more fun to rile him up the more she got to know him.

“If you want to be bored to death,” he replied, his voice nonchalant. There was a dull edge to it that was quickly sharpening. “I’m sure he’d love to have you. But I know you wouldn’t leave me hanging on my birthday, Rinko-chan.”

Raising her eyebrows, she pulled her phone away from her ear to look at the date, realizing that he wasn’t joking. His birthday was tomorrow.

“Hm,” she murmured, climbing the stairs of her apartment building. “I supposed I can try to squeeze you in tomorrow evening. Think you can fit me into your busy schedule?”

He hummed, voice immediately losing its edge.

“Baby, for you?” his voice was teasing. “I’d clear the whole damn thing.”

Unlocking her door, she let out an exaggerated scoff. Setting her groceries down, she began to put away the ones she didn’t need for her dinner.

“Oh?” she asked, opening her senbei and crunching on one absently, uncaring that he could certainly hear it. “I guess I should feel honored that you’d be so willing to let me skip the line.”

Now he was laughing, she could hear him muffling his chuckles unsuccessfully and then him apologizing to someone.

“Jealous, baby?” he taunted, the playful lilt to his voice making her roll her eyes. “Wish there wasn’t a line?”

Weirdly enough, she suddenly realized she wasn’t. That had her freezing in her task, bamboo shoots inches above the countertop. It was something about their casual teasing and his insistence to become her friend that had her smiling slightly, an odd fondness overtaking her.

He wasn’t exactly a manwhore, he didn’t have the time for that. But she knew he wasn’t celibate either, and she found herself not caring as much as she thought she might.

Then again, that could have something to do with the fact that after the first time they’d had sex, she didn’t think it would be happening again.

“No,” she admitted, surprise coloring her voice as she said it aloud when she realized she hadn’t responded to him. “I actually don’t.”

There was a pause, one she assumed meant his eyes were narrowing as he tried to figure out if she was telling the truth.

“Huh,” he finally breathed. “That’s good, I guess. Wow.”

“Don’t tell me you want me to be jealous?” she asked, resuming her task. She put her phone on speaker as she set it down on the countertop. Even though she got a rush when he acted a bit jealous as well. But maybe it was the insult to his pride in thinking someone could be better. She did like to poke at that aspect quite a bit. It made the sex so much better when he had a little bit of aggression pent up towards her. “This isn’t-”

“No,” he cut her off, his voice serious now. “I’m just surprised. But that makes it easier. I’m glad we don’t have to go through any… I’m glad we’re on the same page already, I guess. I don’t usually-” He stopped for a moment, his voice muffled as he replied to someone’s question. “I’ll be honest with you, I don’t usually see someone more than once.”

She raised her eyebrows, giving her phone a look of disbelief.

“Gojo,” she said, scoffing again. “You don’t need to bullshit me-”

“I’m serious,” he cut her off again. “I’ll make you a deal. Because I said I want to be your friend - and I meant that by the way - I won’t lie to you about this shit. If you’ll agree to the same. Occasional, casual sex, and we let the other know if that changes or something happens.”

Tilting her head to the side, she mulled his words over. He made it sound too easy, just like recommending her for Grade 1.

“Kurisaki?” he asked, and she realized she’d been completely silent. “You there?”

“Yeah,” she called, walking back to her phone and staring down at the stupid contact picture he’d taken. “Kinda unclear though, what do you mean by if anything changes? Like, if we have a partner we think may have given us something?”

“Or if you get a boyfriend,” he replied easily, and she could almost picture him shrugging. “Any change. But yeah, definitely safety. I always use condoms, but-”

“Always, huh?” she asked, cutting him off with a smirk. “Pretty sure-”

“Okay,” he cut her off in return, defensive. “It was- you agreed-”

Her laughter made him trail off, and now she just knew he was scowling.

“I’m just messing with you,” she said lightly, finishing her task and getting out a cutting board so she could start dinner. “You said you were clean and I believe you, and I have an implant. But yeah, I typically use condoms, too. So we should be fine.”

A thought occurred to her, and she couldn’t help but giggle as she wondered how to word her question.

“Okay,” she began, almost dissolving into giggles. “This is such a stupid fucking question,” she heard him let out an annoyed sigh as he waited for her to continue. “But indulge me for a second-”

“Yes,” he deadpanned, but he did sound amused too. “If you’re asking if my reverse cursed technique could counteract STDs. I’ve never tried, but with how it works, yes-”

She finally lost the fight, her laughter bubbling out of her loudly as she leaned against the countertop, wheezing and clutching her stomach. Why it was so funny to her, she would never know, but it just tickled something in her that found it hilarious.

“You literally have a free card to be such a manwhore,” she wheezed, her giggles still making it hard to breathe. “It’s like an asshole’s dream come true.”

“Excuse me,” he snapped, sounding offended. “I still need to be careful because it doesn’t exactly prevent pregnancies. And it’s not like I’ve confirmed that it actually works against- stop laughing!”

“Sorry!” she gasped, gaining control of herself with some effort. “I just- it’s so funny to me. I’ve heard so many men complain how they hate how condoms feel and you’re out here choosing to wear them like some kind of masochist-”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he said, the irritation in his voice sobering her. “Do we have a deal or not?”

“It’s a deal,” she agreed, taking a deep breath to ensure her giggles were gone. “Though I guess there isn’t much of a point for you, but I appreciate the idea of communicating like adults. So it’s a deal.”

“Good.” He was quiet for a moment before she heard him say under his breath, “You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?”

Raising her eyebrows, she looked down at her phone in confusion.

“Me?” she asked, trying to remember what she’d done. “Wait, what did I do?”

He was silent for a minute, and she wondered if she’d actually made him mad.

“Fuckin,” he groaned quietly. “Got me thinkin’ about how you feel wrapped around my cock.”

Another laugh escaped her, even as she felt her cunt twitch.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she teased. “Did having the responsible conversation about safe sex and-”

“You weren’t just talking about that,” he countered, his voice stern. “You were talking about how it feels to not wear a condom and what else am I gonna think about except your tight cunt wrapped around me like a goddamn vice?”

Her jaw dropped open, a rush of heat running through her now, her underwear suddenly sticking to her uncomfortably.

“That sounds like a you problem,” she said, keeping her voice even. “I am thinking about my dinner.”

“Oh, I’ll fucking show you how it’s your problem,” he whispered, the words sending a shiver through her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rinko-chan.”

He hung up without waiting for her to reply, leaving her grinning as she continued prepping her veggies.

“How did it go?”

Gojo had been waiting for her when she exited Yaga’s office, falling into step with her easily when she brushed past him.

“As if you weren’t listening in,” she teased, tossing him a look over her shoulder. “But it went fine. It was just tedious.”

It had been a bit textbook if she was honest. A few dozen Grade 3 curses in an old apartment building that was scheduled for renovation. It had been simple but tedious.

Nanami had called her the previous evening not long after she’d gotten off the phone with Gojo. He’d informed her that he would meet her at the Shinjuku metro stop early the next morning, meaning she would need to catch the first train to Tokyo.

His monotone voice had been unsurprised that she’d already been informed of her soon-to-be Semi-Grade 1 status, but he still went through the basics to remind her of the steps.

As a Semi-Grade 1, she would be accompanying him on at least half of his missions for a minimum of six months. After that six-month period, depending on performance, she’d be reevaluated. If she was up to par, an exam would be scheduled in the form of a solo exorcism of a Grade 1 curse. Upon successfully completing that, she would officially be a Grade 1 jujutsu sorcerer.

She knew the steps, but she was still reeling from the idea that she was actually getting a chance to go through them. Part of her knew that she could be expecting a disgruntled call very soon.

Pulling her scarf tighter, she walked faster, wanting to escape the cold that had been seeping into her since the moment she’d stepped off the metro to greet Nanami that morning. She’d been bleary-eyed and exhausted, having had to rush to catch the metro after her train from Kyoto had been delayed. It wasn’t much, but it had been enough to stress her already fraying nerves.

Gojo matched her stride easily, his long legs having no trouble keeping pace as they reached the car Yaga was lending her during her stay.

“Dinner?” he asked, leaning down to cage her against the driver’s side door. “Or did you get dinner with Nanami already?”

Rolling her eyes, she gave his chest a light shove, surprised when he relented so easily.

“I need to shower,” she stated, pointing an accusatory finger at him when he grinned. “Alone. I mean it. I’m gross and sweaty and cold after today, and I just want a hot shower. And then maybe dinner. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“We can stay in,” he said, his hands going to her waist. Pulling her closer, his right hand went to her ass, massaging it as he spoke. “I can grab something while you shower.”

“Just let me go to my hotel-”

“Rinko-chan,” he cut her off, leaning down again so his face was just a breath away. “We both know that while you’re not on assignment with Nanami, you won’t be at that damn hotel.”

Her breath stuck in her throat as he grinned at her, his blindfold doing nothing to hide that he was watching her every reaction.

“You can shower at my place while I get the food.” His grin grew. “It’s nicer than a hotel’s anyway.”

Sighing, she gave a small nod. He leaned in to press his lips to hers, slipping his tongue into her mouth briefly, teasingly, and then withdrew as quickly.

“I’ll see you there,” he whispered. “Park in the garage, spot 4.”

Giving her ass a light squeeze, he smirked when she swatted his hand before disappearing as he warped away.

She shook her head before taking a deep breath and climbing into the car. As she started the engine, she plugged in the address for his condo. The last time she’d been there, he had been the one to take her to the train station to go home, and he’d warped them to get there to begin with.

When she pulled into the parking garage, she somehow wasn’t surprised that the spot he’d specified was near the top, making the walk to his door almost nonexistent.As she grabbed her bag from the backseat, she heard the ping of her phone.

Gojo 🙄😈💦| key is in your back pocket

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she felt her pockets to find the small key tucked inside her pants. As she retrieved it, her eyes narrowed when she realized he must have slipped it there when he’d been groping her ass.

I feel like I should be worried at how easily you did that. |

Gojo 🙄😈💦| ;) Gojo 🙄😈💦| what can i say? Gojo 🙄😈💦| i’m good with my hands

Shaking her head, she chose to ignore his last text, walking into the building and through the small lobby that led to his front door. It was nice. Expensive. She’d looked the complex up out of curiosity when she’d gotten home, only to find that it cost a hefty fortune to purchase a condo that nice.

He was a rich boy if there ever was one.

Though, she mused as she unlocked his door and stepped inside, Special Grades were paid well. Even if she didn’t know the exact numbers, she knew that they made a small fortune for each job. On top of the fact that they received a consistent salary whether they went on exorcisms or not.

She made a beeline to the master bathroom, starting the shower and turning it to the hottest it could go. As steam filled the room, she pulled the leggings and oversized sweater from her overnight bag, shedding her dirty clothes and shoving them into the bottom.

As she climbed into the shower, she sighed deeply at the feel of the boiling hot water against her skin. It was ridiculously cold outside, and the majority of their mission had ended up involving chasing the Grade 3s around the outer hallways of the construction site. She felt like the chill would never leave. But as she stood under the spray, her muscles relaxed, and she reached for the shampoo he had sitting on the ledge.

He’d told her last time that she was welcome to use any of his products, which she fell in love with and then immediately forced herself to fall out of love with when she found out how much they cost.

Again, he was a rich boy to the core of his being.

Taking her time, she stayed in the shower longer than she needed to because it felt so relaxing. The rainwater showerhead made it feel like a luxury, and she had to admit that was one of the things that had her relenting earlier.

The hotel that Jujutsu Tech had booked for her could never.

Smirking to herself, she dried off slowly, slipping her sweater over her head and pulling on a pair of boyshorts and her leggings. Toweling her hair dry, she allowed herself a heavy sigh of annoyance when her phone rang.

Just because she’d been expecting it didn’t mean she was ready for it.

Holding the phone to her ear, she tossed her towel into Gojo’s overflowing hamper in the corner and waited.

“You knew this wasn’t going to go over well.”

She released another heavy sigh, making sure her phone picked it up.

“Don’t sigh at me, girl,” Yoshinobu scolded, his voice quiet. “You do know this isn’t going to go over well.”

“That’s why I’m sighing,” she replied, combing her fingers through her wet hair to brush it. “I’m surprised it took you this long to call me to give me an earful-”

“Wouldn’t have to if you had just told me yourself,” he cut her off in a stern voice. “What are you doing getting mixed up with Gojo Satoru? Better yet, what did you do to have him so damn insistent to get you to Grade 1?”

An excellent question, she thought to herself as she took a seat on the edge of his bed. Yoshinobu would have a damned heart attack if he knew where she was now.

“Couldn’t tell you,” she replied honestly, still not even sure herself. “But he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer when I tried to refuse.”

“Well,” Yoshinobu scoffed quietly. “It’s because he knew you’d be a fool to turn down a recommendation from him.”

The small smile that pulled at her lips was stamped down immediately.

Gakuganji was a hardass, grouchy old man. And he answered to the higher-ups, mainly her family, but he did care about her. He’d made that clear throughout her time in school. But his loyalties had to lie in preserving his own skin at the end of the day.

Still, it was slightly comforting to hear him tell her indirectly that he approved of her recommendation.

“I’m well aware,” she said quietly. Finally giving up on her hair, she focused instead on fidgeting with the ends of her sweater. “It’s my only shot, yeah?”

“A risky one, though,” he agreed indirectly again. “I’ll be getting another call in the next few hours. News has traveled quickly. They aren’t happy. But they can’t go against Gojo, at least not openly. They’d make it far too obvious that they’re purposefully impeding your promotion if they did.”

Nodding her head, she let out another sigh.

“How far you think I’ll make it?”

It was the question that had been swirling in her mind since she’d heard Gojo’s voice excitedly telling her she was Semi-Grade 1. While she knew that she was skilled enough to make it, she also knew that her father and the Zenin clan would go to great lengths to keep her as far away from success as possible.

“Realistically?” Yoshinobu sounded reluctant to answer. “You’re more than capable. But-”

“They’re also more than capable of stonewalling it.”

“You got lucky,” he argued. “Your official committee is going to have Yaga and Nanami on it, as well as Mei Mei-”

“But,” she pressed, knowing he was hedging. “Who else?”

“Ogi,” Yoshinobu finally relented.

“Dodged one bullet right into another,” she muttered. “Ogi is more level-headed than Jinichi, at least.”“And they’re all angry,” he countered. “Watch your back, Kurisaki. They might not care to stay on official channels for this.”

“You think they’ll put out a hit on me over this?” she asked, trying to tell herself she was surprised. But she wasn’t. Feeling the sadness settle in her chest, she realized she was far from surprised. She suddenly remembered the threat they'd given her years prior, worry settling in her gut. “My mother-”

“Will be in danger,” he confirmed. “More so than you.”

“If I withdraw now-”

“You’ll only solidify the weakness they want to take advantage of.” His voice was stern again, and she knew he was right. “If you withdraw now, you’ll only confirm that they can control you with fear.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’ll talk to Mei Mei, she keeps an ear to the ground when it comes to high-paying hits. But you can’t give it up now. If you do, you’ll only be throwing away the only chance you’ll ever have.”

Her heart clenched, knowing that now more than ever she needed to focus on her technique.

“What do I do?” her voice was quiet, feeling desperation threatening to swallow her. “How am I supposed to-”

“You stay calm,” Yoshinobu stated, his voice harsh, just like it had been when she was in school. “You don’t let them get to you. And you focus on yourself. These assignments with Nanami aren’t a joke. You can still get yourself killed if you’re too worried about other things.”

She couldn’t fight the frown as he spoke, knowing he was right. Letting out another heavy sigh, she clenched her jaw.

“So my only option is to make it.”

“Always has been,” he replied, voice still unforgiving. “Name a time when that wasn’t the case?”

The call ended soon after, with him reminding her to watch her back and her snapping at him to worry about his own skin.

Pushing herself to her feet, she tossed her phone back onto Gojo’s bed behind her. Shoving the anxiety down, she resolved to visit her mother as soon as she was home again.

Yoshinobu would let her know if Mei heard anything about a hit put out on her mother. Hell, Mei would likely reach out to her directly if something like that popped up.

As she exited Gojo’s room, she saw him placing takeout containers on the large island in the middle of his kitchen. He turned when she entered, pulling his blindfold down briefly to show her how he looked her over.

“No bra,” he mused, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Still mad about last time?”

His teasing made her roll her eyes because yes she was, actually. He’d ruined her favorite, most comfortable bra.

“What’d you get?” she asked, ignoring his question and moving to peer into one of the large paper bags he’d yet to empty. “I’m hungry.”

He hummed, caging her against the island and leaning down to press his lips to the left side of her neck. Inhaling deeply, he moaned as he sucked a mark onto her skin.

“You smell like my soap,” he grumbled, letting his tongue flick out and caress the spot he’d just released. “Fuck, I’m fucking starving-”

“I am eating real food,” she stated firmly, biting her lip against the moan that bubbled in her throat when he bit her neck teasingly. “I’m serious. I haven’t eaten since before lunch, and whatever this is smells delicious-”

“Fuck yeah, it does,” he moaned against her neck. His hands grasped her hips, pulling her back to grind against his crotch, his cock pressing against her back insistently. “You can eat, baby, but let me at least have a taste to hold me over-”

She swatted his hands, turning quickly in his grasp and poking a finger into his chest.

“You are literally impossible,” she retorted, her eyes narrowing when he pouted at her. “Gojo-”

“It’s my birthday,” he whined, nuzzling his face into her neck again and she laughed at that.

“What are you, eight?” she asked, unable to keep from teasing him. “Who even says that about their birthday-” she cut herself off, grasping his hair and tugging him back gently so she could look him directly in the blindfold. “You’re an only child, aren’t you?”

His ears turned pink, and he shrugged his shoulders as she started laughing again. “I fucking knew it! Of course you are. An only child to one of the big three. And you were born with the Six Eyes and Limitless? No fucking wonder you’re such an asshole.”

Setting aside the very glaring fact that she was, technically, also an only child, she pressed on.

Gojo was pouting at her dramatically now, and she let out an exaggerated sigh. Taking a step forward, she placed her hands on his chest and forced him to step back until his hips were resting against the counter opposite the island. Pulling his blindfold down, she held his gaze with hers as she sank to her knees slowly.

“But I guess I’ll cut you some slack since it is your birthday,” she murmured, unbuckling his belt and quickly unzipping his pants. “But then you’re letting me actually eat some fucking food.”

His eyes were wide as he stared down at her, mouth parted in surprise. She freed his cock, fisting it tightly for a moment, watching his eyelids drop as she did.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands threading into her hair as she gave his leaking tip small kitten licks, savoring the taste of his precum. “Shit, baby-”

He cut himself off with a deep groan when she opened her mouth and eased him in slowly. Licking along the underside of length as she took him, she let out a moan when he touched the back of her throat.

“Oh my fucking-” he almost choked when she continued, taking another deep breath through her nose as she relaxed her throat until her nose was just nudging his pelvis. “Fuck, Rinko!”

Moaning again, she eased him back out, letting her teeth just barely scrape along the thick vein on the underside as she did so. Flexing her jaw, she felt a satisfying pop from her joints as she shifted them around to adjust to the strain. He was bigger than she was used to, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah?” she asked, blinking up at him slowly, smirking when he just stared back silently. “You wanna fuck my throat? Hm? Think you can handle it?”

Without waiting for a reply, she pulled him between her lips again, sucking his head lightly like a lollipop. His broken moan was paired with his hands tightening in her hair, fingers digging into her scalp as he thrust into her mouth.

“Fucking perfect,” he grit out, eyes going hazy as he stared down at her. Thrusting again, he nudged the back of her throat roughly, tears jumping to her eyes at the feeling. “Taking me so good, baby- shit!”

She swallowed around him, blinking quickly to clear the moisture from her eyes.

He seemed to take that as her sign to keep going, using his grip on her hair to slam into her repeatedly, his head falling back with a low moan. She whimpered around him in response, closing her eyes as she focused on relaxing her throat and breathing through her nose. Tonguing the underside of him occasionally, she smirked internally at how wrecked he sounded.

“Gonna cum,” Gojo rasped a few minutes later, his thrusts growing choppy. “Fucking- oh fuck, Rinko. Baby-”

He tried to pull back, but she grasped his hips, hollowing her cheeks and sucking harder. Feeling smug, she refused to release him as he stuttered, cock twitching wildly as he came down her throat. His moan was long, low, and broken as she swallowed around him, letting out her own moan at the taste.

As she felt the last of his cum coat her mouth, she released him with a pop. Catching her breath, she wiped the drool and cum that had dripped down her chin with the bottom of his shirt. A satisfied smirk overtook her when she looked up, seeing his dilated pupils and heaving chest.

“Happy birthday,” she murmured smugly. “You enjoy yourself?”

He let out a feral growl, using his grip on her hair to yank her up so he could shove his tongue into her mouth. Teeth knocking against hers, he groaned again when he tasted himself on her tongue as it massaged his. One hand moved from her hair down her back to grip her ass, already trying to push her leggings down.

“Ah,” she chided, pulling away and pressing her hands against his chest when he tried to follow. “I said I was going to eat some real food afterward, and I meant it. Just needed an appetizer.”

Smirking up at him, she skillfully removed herself from his grasp. Tucking him back into his pants and zipping them up, she turned and went back to peer into the takeout containers on the island. Digging through the bag, she discovered he’d gotten them Thai food. She hummed excitedly as she pulled the plastic forks and spoons from the bottom of the bag before opening one of the containers.

Turning back around, she saw him still staring at her, dumbfounded.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice teasing.

Taking a small bit of rice on her spoon, she soaked it in the green curry and did a tiny dance at the flavors on her tongue. She took another bite before she realized he was still just staring at her silently, and her face scrunched.

Growing worried, she felt the dread begin to build at his continued silence. Part of her, a loud part, was beginning to worry she’d done something wrong. Her fingers began fidgeting with the spoon in her hands, willing herself to stay calm.

“Gojo?” her voice sounded small, and she cleared her throat. Taking another deep breath, she fought to hide the anxiety bubbling to the surface. “Did I-?”

He seemed to snap out of his trance as she spoke, moving to cage her against the island again.

“You can eat,” he murmured, leaning down to press his lips to the skin just below her ear. “But after?” He ground his hips into hers, letting her feel how he was already hard again. “You’re mine.”

Hiding her moan with a hum, she let her head fall to the side briefly. Her confidence was returning quickly with his tongue teasing her skin and making her feel dizzy. She could feel her boyshorts sticking to her now, a fresh rush of slick escaping when he nipped her neck repeatedly.

Still, she couldn’t help but mess with him further, standing on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek and moving around him.

“If you think you can handle it, Gojo,” she hummed, searching his cabinets until she located a bowl. Shoveling rice in the bottom, she poured the curry over top and took a seat on one of the stools on the other side of the counter. “You look like you could use the breather, anyway.”

Her pussy twitched when his eyes narrowed, and he clenched his jaw.

“Careful,” he warned, watching her hum contentedly. “Don’t get all cocky-”

“Too late,” she said, watching him round the counter until he was next to her, wrapping his arms around her middle. His chin rested on her right shoulder, fingers intertwining just above her left hipbone. She held her plastic fork up threateningly, her own eyes glaring at him in warning. “I am serious about eating. So if you don’t let me eat, I’ll use this fork to-”

“I’m gonna let you eat,” he said, exasperated. A small smile tugged at his lips when she nodded, her eyes narrowing at him seriously. “But I mean it when I say I hope your little game is worth it. Because when you’re done eating?” He paused to lick at the lobe of her ear slowly. “I’m having dessert.” Emphasizing his statement with a harsh bite, pulling a surprised yelp from her. “And then I’m gonna fucking wreck you.”

Turning back to her bowl, she hummed as she chewed.

“Big promise from someone who was an absolute mess from just my mouth a few minutes ago.” Watching his face from the corner of her eye, she continued. “You taste delicious, by the way.”

His hands flexed against her side, nostrils flaring and letting her know she was really testing his self-control.

Turning her head, she accepted his kiss, allowing the quiet moan to escape when his tongue gently probed her mouth. He moved against her slowly, lazily, for just a few moments and then he pulled away.

“You’re a fucking menace,” he grunted, pecking her lips once more before removing his arms and getting his own bowl.

Returning to her side and sitting on the stool to her left, he rolled his eyes at her wide grin.

“You like it,” she teased, nudging his shoulder with her own. “You can’t tell me otherwise.”

Chuckling, he pressed a gentle kiss to her temple.

“Makes dessert that much sweeter,” he muttered, watching her pause midchew before she smirked subtly, resuming her happy food dance.

AN: I am too lazy to make the same graphics I occasionally make for the texts right now... 🫠

Next - Seeing Double

#gojo satoru x original female character #gojo satoru fanfic #another level #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #goinko #goinko another level #gojo smut #goinko smut

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hotwings0203 · 3 years

Note

Dead best husband dabi expects his wife to come home make him dinner and fuck his cock then spends the money she makes on beer

Tw:dubcon, misogyny, food play

It’s a tedious routine, almost like dreadful clockwork. You come home from your 9-5, take off your shoes, throw your keys on the counter, and not even before you make it into the kitchen is when his requests come out.

No, you say requests to keep yourself sane, but they’re actually thinly veiled commands.

“Where’s dinner? I’ve been waiting all day.”

“God, you look like a slut. Were they having an orgy at your work or somethin’? Is that what you were so busy doing all day? No wonder this place is a mess. Clean this shit up.”

“Hurry up, the lights broken. And you smell like shit, go wash-no, after you change the bulb.”

You have to look at your wedding photos frequently to remind yourself that he’s your husband, not some lowlife you picked up.

Except, every time you look at the pictures to evade his harsh insults and biting directions, it feels like the Dabi in your memorabilia sneers more and more rather than smiles.

It’s his permanent look, in fact, you’ve forgotten how it felt to feel a warmth in your heart when he smiled demurely at you. It’s hard to remember how his soft touch across your cheeks felt rather than the usual slap delivered to the sore skin.

When you walk in, he’s sprawled on the couch, a t.v remote in one hand and a beer in the other. He’s wearing a wife beater and shorts, absentmindedly scratching his balls when you utter a small “Hey hun.”

“Don’t you ‘hey hun’ me. Where the fuck were you? You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes and immediately make your way to the kitchen, with him leaping up from the couch and tailing behind you.

“Don’t fucking walk away from me, what, you ignoring me now?”

He grabs the back of your neck and slams you face-first into the fridge, preventing you from opening the door.

“Ow! No, I was just looking for a snack-“

“-shut up. You don’t get to eat until I do, you cow. Or are you forgetting how this marriage works?”

He crushes your neck and leans forward to take a whiff of your hair.

“God, is that cologne? You cheating on me now?”

“No Dabi, we had a company lunch and I was just talking to some friends. Maybe that’s what you’re smelling.”

He lets go of you and throws you towards the sink. “Good. You better not be. If I find out some douchebag’s been putting his hands all over you I’ll slit his balls and make you eat em’.”

You grimace and wordlessly start putting pots and pans together, ignoring the rumble in your stomach. You didn’t even get a chance to take your suit off, but you don’t dare exit the kitchen until he’s had his fill yet.

He’s just hangry. That’s all there is to it.

Your husband scratches his stomach and ambles back to the living room, belching obnoxiously and running his hands through his unruly hair.

Hours go by as you slave over the stove, making his favorite desserts and dishes as your fingers begun to progressively cramp, your legs begin to burn as you stand and finish up. With him in the living room it’s easy to taste your own food and get some meager meal in between breaks, but you stop yourself from gorging without him.

Knowing Dabi, he’d measure how many cups of food you started cooking with and subtract it from how much remained now.

Even though it was your money that bought this food.

You’re at the sink a while later cleaning spoons when he strolls in again, crossing his arms and leaning against the entrance of the kitchen. He watches you for a couple minutes, sighing and humming to yourself as you scrub vigorously.

He doesn’t take in the copious amount of dishes you made, he doesn’t compliment how spotless the place looks despite all the cooking that went down here, no. Dabi stares at the way your ass wiggles while you work, the way your body bends attractively over the running sink, your tits brushing against the countertop.

You yelp and drop a small plate when you feel hands encompass your waist. His body is pressed tightly against yours, his hips lightly humping you like an eager virgin does. The force of his weight against you pushed you forward and you have to quickly grab onto the sink spout to avoid falling face first into soggy sink food.

“Dinners almost done Dabi, I’ll be out with it in a bit.”

“Mmmh, I’m not interested in eating that kind of food right now.”

He rests his head on top of yours and you barely refrain from screaming. What the hell did that mean? Wasn’t he the one harping on you earlier for not cooking fast enough?

“God, you look like a perfect slutty housewife right now. ‘M gonna fuck you.” He mutters as he begins yanking your trousers off while bending you further on the sink.

Your hands brace on the wet banister as you let him take what he wants. Last time you refused, he shoved one of his beer bottle necks into your pussy and made you ride on it.

“Dabi-Dabi, the food.” You try to tell him to move the dishes being pushed around from him manhandling you up on the counter but he doesn’t listen.

One plate goes crashing onto the floor, your Alfredo sauce mixed with porcelain bits.

“Oops,” he says not so regretfully. When your panties are successfully ripped down, he lifts your waist and lugs you onto the countertop, your upper half plastered on the cool marble.

His patched hands snake their way up your shirt and push the fabric up along with your bra while his now naked hips start pushing against your bare cunt.

Your exposed tits are squished down and you hiss as your body envelopes the cold counter. You try to lift your head up but he pushes you head back down.

“Uh-uh, no moving ‘till I’m finished. This is what you get for dropping food on the ground. In fact-“

His eyes catch a hold of the mini cakes you whipped up, and a sly grin on his face erupts as he looks from them to your quivering hole.

“Why don’t you have a taste of it? One down, a couple more plates to go!” You cry out in frustration as his hand swipes across the bar and sends the cake dish flying onto the floor.

He pays no heed to the defeating crash, just merely inspects his fingers that got some whipped cream on them while he smack the plate.

“A chef’s gotta taste her own cooking right? This cunt definitely looks hungry and oh so greedy right now too,” he pouts mockingly and traces his cream-covered fingers around your labia, roughly circling your clit and mixing the sweet food into the crevices of your pussy.

“P-please Dabi, don’t. We can do this after dinner, I’m so tired right now! I have to clean up this mess too!”

But no amount of pleading satiates the sadistic bastard. He just yanks your head back and shoves his fingers in your mouth when you open it in pain.

“Suck on ‘em real good, just like how you suck off your bosses. That’s how you get all this fuckin’ money right? You show a little ass, flash some tits, suck some old geezers off-and boom! You’ve got a nice house, and nice husband.” He leers at you as you choke on his slender digits.

Only when you feel like you’re about to vomit is when he yanks his hand out and wipes up another stray glob of frosting from the side of a testing plate. He doesn’t waste any time in working his fingers back inside you, a different hole this time however.

It feels so wrong with a massive creamy glob being pushed along your walls along with expert fingers that know your body inside out, but no matter how disgusting it is, he still finds your spongy area and begins stroking. The smooth filling glides up and down your g-spot as the pads of his fingers batter your sloppy pussy, and in no time you begin moaning.

“Oh Dabi, oh Dabi, fuck, please,-“

“Oh Dabi, oh Dabi,” he mocks cruelly, pinching your clit and squeezing your squished nipples as he pulls his fingers out right at the tip of your climax.

You try to turn around and plead for release but he doesn’t let you. Without missing a beat he takes his bricked up cock in hand and taps it on your ass before gliding in your weeping, cream covered pussy.

The moan you let out is so lewd that even a pornstar would be proud. You hate him, hate this marriage, hate the way he orders you around and looks down on you regardless of how you shower him with love and money.

But holy fuck, when his mushroom tip bangs against your womb like that and drags up and down your sensitive cavern you forget all the abuse.

Back and forth, up and down, sideways and forwards is the way you feel fucked. For someone who just sits on the couch all day you wonder how someone with such frame could fuck like a stallion, barely missing a beat.

“Hah, haaa fuck, you little whore, yeah, bring that ass back on Daddy, show him what you show those creepy fucks at work.” He pants and strikes your ass as you ricochet off his pelvis, his balls slapping your sticky labia.

You whine and try to wriggle out of his intrusion when he sneers the insult, but he merely cages you in between his arms and hunches over your bare body, pumping into you faster than before.

Your open jaw clacks as your tongue drops out in pleasure, his animalistic grunts and curses going straight into your ear and sending you over the edge.

He cums before you, groaning and dropping his dead weight over your suffocated body, not bothering to aid in your pathetic rubbing against his deflating dick.

“A little bit more, please Dabi? I’m so close honey-“

His fingers twitch next to you as he regains himself, exhaling through puffed up cheeks and yawning widely.

“Shut up. You don’t deserve to get off after the mess you made here.”

He peels his sweat-soaked body off of yours and tucks himself back into his pants, regarding the mess on the floor.

All your hard work, gone within a few minutes of ruthless fucking. Which you didn’t even get off to.

He fishes out a crumpled $10 from his musty shorts and throws it at your face like a cheap hooker would take.

“Here. Buy some Plan B and get me some beer. And you better not leave before serving me some fucking food, useless bitch.”

#scummy dabi #bnha #mha #dabi smut #mha smut #bnha smut #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi x reader #dabi #dabi imagine #dabi oneshot #scumbag dabi #tw:dubcon #tw:misogyny

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holylulusworld · 3 years

Text

The Roommate (2) - Living together

Summary: You and John try to get used to each other.

Pairing: AU John Winchester x fem!Reader

Characters: Charlie Bradbury

Warnings: language, cocky John, flirty John, angst, a hint of mutual pining, mentions of sex, virgin reader

A/N: The idea for plot and some details came from @shooterere per request.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

The Roommate masterlist

“Doll, can you tell me how this crazy coffee machine works?” John looks at your coffee machine, furrowing his brows. “That monster doesn’t want to give me my coffee.”

“Oh, you must push the red button, choose the coffee you want, press the blue button, and put a cup there,” you explain, pointing at your coffee machine. “Let me do this, you can check on the toast meanwhile.”

“I like your toaster, it leaves a nice pattern on the toast,” laughing John looks at your toast. “Is that a kitten or a dog?”

“That’s Hello Kitty, Mr. Winchester, “you tut. “It was a gift from my friend Charlie. She was in Japan and bought it for me.”

“It’s cute, somehow,” John tries. “I never saw a pink toaster. What else can it do?”

“Only toast,” shrugging you get the coffee ready. “What are you doing for work? We talked about everything but your job.”

“I own a garage,” he lies, hiding he owns more than one. “My sons and my best friend work with me. I like to get my hands dirty once in a while. Sadly, I’m busy doing paperwork most of the time.”

“Sounds interesting. I work part-time at a library and study economics,” you say, snatching the toast out of John’s hands. “I’m usually home till eleven and can prepare dinner for us. I made a list of what we will need this week. You can add what you like to eat. Maybe you want a sixpack of beer too.”

“Give me the list and I’ll check if you forgot something,” John watches you pour him a cup of coffee, smirking as you ask him how he likes his coffee. “Black, doll. Like my soul.”

You giggle at his comment, give your cocky new roommate a wink before you usher toward the living room. “I got time left to have breakfast and to load the washer before I go to the grocery store. Do you have dirty clothes?”

“Only my underwear and a shirt,” he grins, stepping inside the living room to lazily lean in the door frame. “I don’t know if you want to wash an old man’s boxers.”

“You’re not that old,” you stuff the toast into your mouth before you say something you might regret. Yes, John is elder than you thought when you talked to him on the phone but there is something about the man that makes your heart flutter.

“If you say so, doll,” John purrs the words, pushing off the door frame to sit next to you on the couch. “I’ll be out of your hair till six. Do you want to cook? I can grab a snack on my way if you don’t want to.”

“I got the day off, John. I will cook if you tell me what you like. Do you eat meat or are you vegan?”

“Fuck no,” John shudders, looking at you in disbelief. “I want meat. I love meat in any form, Y/N. Soft and juicy.” eyes glued to your thighs John licks his lips. “And I love to eat it too.”

“Mr. Winchester,” you gasp, slapping his chest. “Don’t say something like that.” giggling nervously you look up at John who grins wolfishly. He set his eyes on you and will be damned if he can’t sink his teeth into you sooner or later.

“It’s true, baby doll,” he husks, leaning closer. “I would kill for a steak or a good burger. How about I bring the wine?”

“I’m not into alcohol, but you can have some wine if you want to, John. I can put it on my list,” you say, glancing shyly at John.

“Nah, sweetie. You cook and take care of the groceries and I’ll bring the wine. Tell me how much I owe you for the food and groceries.”

“Beer, toast, eggs, milk,” looking at your list you cross out what you got. “Charlie, I need steak and apples.”

“So, how’s it going with Johnny boy?” Charlie smirks when you giggle nervously. “Babe, give me the juicy details. It’s been a week now. Tell me if you already fucked.”

“Charlie!” you tut, looking around the store to make sure no one heard what your friend said. “I did not sleep with John. He’s my roommate, okay. I don’t think it’s a good idea to hit on him and,” you sigh deeply, “even if I wanted to flirt with him, I’m not his type. I saw the pictures of his girlfriend on his phone. She looked like a supermodel.”

“Y/N, you’re hot, smart, and sexy. Don’t underestimate your value. I can tell, that guy almost ate you alive when he picked you up.”

“No, he didn’t, Charlie. Now let’s get the rest from my list and forget about John for a while. He’s a nice guy but not interested.”

“I bet he wants to do dirty things to you,” rolling your eyes at the quirky redheads’ words you follow her silently toward the next shelf. “Do you have condoms?”

“CHARLIE!”

“What? Better safe than sorry, babe. We will buy you a package of condoms and lube. Maybe some booze to loosen you up a little,” Charlie exclaims.

“I don’t want to be drunk when I finally have sex for the first time. And again, I don’t think a man like John would ever show interest in me. I saw him look at the pictures of his ex-girlfriend just yesterday. Maybe he even moves out again.”

“Doll, that smells amazing,” John licks his lips. His stomach grumbles and you laugh when he drops his jacket and bag to usher toward the table. “It looks even better.”

“I thought as you moved in and all we could celebrate a bit. I made steak, potatoes, and green beans. I got the beer for you and juice for me,” you explain, handing John a bottle of his favorite beer.

“Baby doll, that’s amazing,” John pecks your cheek, smirking when you don’t shy away. “Thank you, sweetie. That’s the best day since ages for me.”

“You’re welcome. I got you everything you put on the list too. I made space for your things in the fridge,” you explain where John can put his groceries and how much he must pay you for everything. “Let’s eat first, I don’t want the food to get cold.”

“Let’s get back to the rules. We already talked about the rooms you can use and the costs but,” biting your lower lip you try to gather the courage to talk to John about the women he will bring home.

“I get it, doll,” John smirks, sitting on the couch next to you. “You want to know if and when I will bring women to your home.”

“It’s your home now too, John,” you stutter. “I don’t want you to feel like a guest and I’m not a prude. I know men have needs and that you will find a girl sooner or later.”

“I’m not looking for a girl right now. The disaster with Sharon was worse enough, Y/N,” John watches you nervously tug at your sweater. “Except you want to become my girl,” he smirks, leaning closer to brush his fingertips over your hand. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“If we want this to work out we need more rules. A man like you would never be interested in me, I get it, but that’s no reason to make fun of me, John,” watching you storm out of the living room, angrily wiping your eyes John sighs deeply.

“Doll, I didn’t want to make fun of you,” he grumbles. “You’re sexy, so goddamn cute and I like you.” whispering the words John curses himself for being too pushy.

“Doll?” knocking on your door John sighs deeply. “Y/N, can I come in, sweetie. Listen, I’m sorry. If you get to know me better, you’ll know I’m flirty around pretty girls. I’m sorry if you got it wrong.”

“John, I’m not pretty,” you sniff, opening the door to your bedroom. “I know you try to be friendly and get in my good graces, but this is not necessary.”

“Y/N, this was not about getting in your good graces. You are a cute girl and I like you. Please let me make it up to you. How about I get us dessert and we watch a movie?”

“Oh-okay,” nodding you look at John who gives you a soft smile. “I like vanilla ice cream the most.”

“Vanilla, got it, sweetie. You can choose a movie while I get the ice cream. Do you want anything else?”

“Maybe some strawberry sauce,” you grin. “I like strawberries.”

“Noted, doll-“

“How was work?” watching another movie, the one John chose, you prefer to look at your roommate. He wanted to watch a horror movie and now the girls scream in terror. “Anything new?”

“I worked on a car today,” John says. “Bobby, my partner said we are ready to buy another garage.”

“Oh, that’s great – I guess,” you shrug. “The library called today and told me I’ll get fewer hours. Sucks. I worked there for four years and now there is that new girl and she gets more hours.”

“I’m sorry to hear, doll. Why not looking for another job?” stopping the movie to talk to you John frowns. “Hey, don’t cry, Y/N.” he says softly when you choke out a sob.

“It’s just, I finally could pay for everything. With my job, the part you pay, and the money from Mr. Talbot I had enough money.”

“Money from Mr. Talbot?” John asks.

“I help him with his papers, bookkeeping and everything else and he pays me a few bucks. You know, he’s eighty and got no one to help him,” you explain. “He was a good friend of my granny.”

“You got experience in bookkeeping?” nodding you tell John about your talent with numbers and that you love to work for Mr. Talbot. “You know, I could need help at my office. How about you give me a hand and work part-time for me and my partner?”

“John, I don’t need your pity. We shouldn’t live and work together,” you’d like to work for John but mixing work and your private life is a bad idea in your opinion.

“Y/N, I offered you a job to have someone at my office I can trust with my papers. Let’s talk about it with my partner Bobby, you’ll like the old geezer. He’s not as charming as I am but a good guy.”

“You want me to work for you?”

“Sure, doll. Let’s watch the rest of the movie and tomorrow, you’ll come with me and we can talk to Bobby. I bet he’ll love you,” John grins, glancing at your cleavage. “Old geezer always had a thing for pretty girls like you…”

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@justsomedreaming

@cassiopeia-barrow

@its-the-timey-wimey-winchesters

@mscarter213

@jo-like-josette

@mep6811

@prettydeaneyes

@rvgrsbrns

@deanwanddamons

@tearsforhan

@waywardbabie

@certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel

@belovedcherry

@amandamdiehl

@sycochick

@abeautifuldiaster124

@matsumama

@rynabarnesrogers-reading

@homeorbust

@emoryhemsworth

@lunaticgurly

@spnbaby-67

@wonderlandfandomkingdom

@heartislubbingdubbing

@kitkatd7

@doctor-hp-mcu

@lovefromthewinchesters

@coffeebooksandfandom

@moosekateer13

@miss-nerd95

@caffeinefueledfangirl

@vicmc624

@mariaenchanted

@bxnnywriting

@lady-pswrld

@thinkaboutmara

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@suckmyapplejacks

@princesssterek

@lexy586

@notbrooklynsblog

@xoxabs88xox

@doozywoozy

@moshymosh

@soccer-100000

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

The roommate tags

@boogiewoogiebutt;

#The Roommate (2) - Living together #AU John #au john winchester #au john x reader #john winchester #John Winchester fanfiction #au john Winchester x reader #plus size reader

147 notes · View notes

wondersofdreaming · 4 years

Text

Dangerous Attraction

Characters: August Walker (POV) x female reader (3rd person)

Word count: 1.109

Warnings: Cussing. Vulgar language. Age-gap. Dangerous mission. Mentions of sex.

Author’s note: This was a request by @iinvisiblewings - I hope you like it <3

“Hey I’ve done the survey ❤️ could I get a little piece with August Walker ? Kinda like an age gap thing but where the reader is 20 and August is his age 🥺🥺the rest is up to you I love your work.”

Special thanks goes to:

@viking-raider for your piece of advice <3

@iloveyouyen for reading it and helping with the edit <3

And a big thank you to @radaofrivia for helping with the plot, the editing, the inspiration, the motivation, and the encouragement! <3

Gif by @littlefreya <3

Divider by @firefly-graphics from this post

I do not own any characters in this short story, except the reader who is a figment of my imagination.

MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated.

“Agent Walker? You have a new mission.”

One of his co-workers put a manila envelope on his desk.

“No briefing?”

The agent shook his head and left the office before he could be interrogated further. Everyone knew about August’s methods. Cold, brutal, and act first, ask questions later.

He grabbed the envelope and ripped it open. Inside was one piece of paper.

“Find information about John Lark and his connection to the Apostles. Use any means necessary.”

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

August moved with designated steps towards the IT-department. He stomped directly over to Michael Smith, the head of the IT.

“Smith, I need a hacker,” he demanded.

“Walker, to hack what exactly?” Smith asked perplexed, not taking his concentrated eyes from the computer monitor. August watched as a string of numbers were reflected in the glasses.

“Pentagon.”

The entire room silenced. You would have been able to hear a needle being dropped to the hardwood floor.

“And why do you need access to the Pentagon?”

“Mission.”

Smith nodded. He turned around towards his personal laptop. After connecting it to the wireless printer, he handed a piece of paper to August.

“These are the top 5 hackers I know of, best in the country. Number 1 might even be the best in the world. No one knows who that person is, so you might want to use some of the others. There’s a bit of info on some of them.”

August hummed his inappreciation for the lack of information. He walked with determined strides towards the exit, already having made up his mind to find the top hacker on the list, PH03N1X.

The last place August ever thought of to find the world’s best hacker was at Harvard University. He adjusted his tie, and with a purposeful mindset he stalked down the hallways of the prestigious university.

It had taken nearly a month’s search to find PH03N1X. Having only gotten a lead that the person in question was a physics-student of Harvard. No mentions of gender, name, age, nor family.

August arrived at the physics labs and entered without permission. The teacher was sitting in his adjourned office, while the students were working on different assignments.

One student, in particular, caught August’s eye. She sat in the corner of the room with not one, not two, but three computers filled with physics formulas and equations, and was that a black hole? A little white device sat next to her, hooked up to a fourth mini computer. He slowly crept up to her, looking over her shoulder as she punched in the results of her research.

“Quite the experiment you’re working on… PH03N1X,” he whispered in her ear. Her back shot straight up, hitting her head on his broad chest, while a loud gasp left her soft lips.

She moved her upper body slowly to meet with the one person, who just revealed her secret identity. Hoping, no praying, that none of the other students had heard him, she smacked her palm over his moustache covered mouth.

“Shhhhhh!”

August smirked. He nodded towards the open doors that lead outside. She removed her hand, saved and closed the four computers and pocketed the little device.

They walked towards a nearby park, away from prying eyes and attentive ears. She was on her phone the entire walk there, tapping on it so fast he felt dizzy watching.

“How did you find out?” She asked, nervously fiddling with her jacket.

“It took some time, but you showed your face to one guy, and he cracked under pressure like an egg.”

She sighed in defeat.

“I’m going to strangle him,” her voice strained, obviously thinking of how she could get revenge on the blabbermouth.

August chuckled. He liked this feisty female.

“How old are you?”

“20. Why?”

“Curiosity.”

An elderly couple walked past them, giving them weird looks. She quickly grabbed his arm, hugging his bulging bicep. He tensed his muscle so she could feel how massive he really was.

“Hmm. What is it that you want, Agent Walker?” She didn’t sound impressed by his antics.

He stopped in his tracks. She waved her phone at him, a picture of him and all his personal information underneath.

“Your help,” he answered shortly.

“With what?”

“Pentagon.”

She whipped her head back at him. Shock clearly painted on her face. Then a broad smile slowly spread on her lips. Her eyes sparkled with intrigue and excitement.

“I’m in.”

It took a week before they could plan out the big hack. August made sure it was at a safe place, and the house filled to the brim with the latest technology. She searched through all the equipment to look for someone who might be watching.

“What do you want me to do?” She asked.

“Delete all content about John Lark and the Apostles.”

“That’s going to take some time, Walker.”

He leaned over her, whispering seductively in her ear.

“Better hurry up, Tinkerbell, ‘cause we don’t have much time.”

“Then stop interrupting me, old man,” she told him through gritted teeth. He noticed she closed her legs and sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders, making her breast jump at the movement.

August’s eyes widened. He liked the spunk of this woman. He was even thinking of using her physics skills to his advantage.

He moved to sit on the sofa and opened his computer.

It was time to write his manifesto and rid the world of the illness infecting it.

“When all this is over, I might even make a real woman out of you and make you mine,” he told her nonchalantly.

He heard the crash of a chair. She had stood from her space and stomped over to him. She gently removed his laptop before she moved between his legs to tower over him.

“Listen here, geezer, I will never, ever, become yours or spread my legs for you. I am my own woman. I do not belong to anyone, especially not you. After this is over, you will leave me alone, and we will forget this ever happened.”

She moved to go back to her station, but August grabbed her wrist.

“You’re wrong to think that you are the one in control, Tink. Before this mission is over, you will, willingly, come to my bed and beg for me to fuck you into oblivion,” the smile on his chiselled face, he could see it annoyed her. He released her hand and watched as she stiffly went back to the computers.

“How about a deal?” She asked.

“Listening.”

“You don’t ‘fuck me into oblivion’, and I don’t tell the world you’re John Lark.”

#Henry Cavill #This man #I need a drink #August Walker #henry cavill x reader #Henry Cavill x female reader #henry x reader #henry x female reader #Dangerous Attraction #My story #Short story

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xxsmokeyy · 4 years

Text

Levi x Drug Dealer! Reader (F) The Lunatic And Her Dog

genre: smut, canonverse — Levi’s early recruitment

summary: being a former thug, the new soldier is given a task to ingratiate himself, finding an old associate from his past along the way.

tw: vices (drugs, cigarettes), rough sex

wc: 12,039 holy fuck (smut is only latter half)

“Coderoin. A strong, sweet, and highly addictive drug that’s been circulating in Stohess District for about four years or so,” the Commander says, voice gruff as he explains the content of the unwrapped paper filled with azure tablets.

Coderoin. Levi thinks he’s heard of that thing not long before. He just can’t quite put his finger on it.

“The Military Police Brigade failed to capture the primary smuggler of this substance multiple times, and it’s only recently come to their notice that it’s gotten reformulated to a liquid solution,” he continues, pinching one of them in his fingers, rolling it back and forth to study its appearance.

Levi can only stand back in ennui, the lack of interest reverberating from his aura. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that information?

Erwin places the tablet back to the paper, propping his palms on the tabletop, and stares deep into Levi’s unamused eyes.

“You’ll have to hunt this drug dealer down.” The curt order comes. Levi cocks a brow in confusion, wondering why the blond would make him do such thing.

“That’s the MP’s job. I thought I joined here to kill those filthy titans, what are you going on about?” he quizzes in confusion.

Erwin sighs, lids shutting close before he massages his temples. “The higher-ups are still not exactly in favor of your recruitment in the army, and as much as you hate buttering people up, you’ll have to deal with this case to secure your postion,” he makes intelligible, getting into the details so to clarify things out.

The raven haired man before him listens intently with a permanent scowl on his face, arms crossed over each other. He’s most definitely not liking the idea of seeking those damn swines’ goodwill. Just when he decided to trust the guy.

“You’ll earn Darius Zackly’s approval once you catch the little felon,” Erwin speaks truthfully. Of course, the Supreme Commander who so hates him, of all people. “It’s just this once. Trust me, you’ll have no more problems with your stay if you solve this case,” he even adds to convince the man. Not that there’s any way around this matter. Levi has to do this to prevent further threats in his position and to clear his reputation as well, by hook or by crook.

“You basically want me to suck up their asses,” he concludes, not a question, more of a full decisive statement. The Commander grunts his affirmative response, still getting used of his soldier’s sharp tongue.

“Tch. To hell with that.”

—

The afternoon later, he’s walking on the stony pavements of Stohess District, left with no choice but to follow the Commander’s orders.

Ever since the death of his last friends, Farlan and Isabel, just a few weeks back, things have gotten ridiculously out of hand regarding his enlistment. It almost arrived to a point where he’s wanted in court for seniors to debate whether he can stay up top or should be sent back to the Underground, considering his heavy crimes.

Holding a poster in hand, he studies the illustration keenly. It says the words WANTED: Notorious Drug Lord in big, thick, and bold letters. In the sketched picture is a person wearing a hood. From what he’s told, the wanted criminal has been in the hide for years now, but never once left the district.

“That man never shows himself. That portrait is from a witness in a pub near a shanty town. Some say he often appears wearing a cloak.” That’s what a Military Police officer said to him when he asked for the dealer’s whereabouts.

A man? He squints a little to see the image better.

It’s a bit difficult to determine since it’s only a roughly sketched side profile with a hood worn, blocking the hair, but he’s sure as hell those are certainly not eyes of a man, looking ultimately feminine and provocative. He doesn’t know, but those eyes are somewhat achingly familiar. And those plump lips that held a suggestive smile? He’s fully convinced that it’s a woman.

“A woman? That’s in no way a fair lady. Women here in Stohess stay at home and polish their husbands’ boots.” That’s what the Military Police officer said as well when he told it’s a woman.

Fucking sexists. Not that he cares, though.

Levi stops by the said pub, pushing on the saloon doors before walking to a table of three men, boisterously laughing like crazy. It’s dark and warm inside, the trademark ambience of local bars eating up the whole place. “Any of you seen this guy?” he lazily asks, showing the piece of paper to their faces.

Their eyes dart on the illustration before all of them fall silent, throwing looks at each other, and Levi can swear he could hear the rusty gears in their pea sized brain turn.

When they keep quiet, he almost surmises they turned mute upon seeing him and is about to leave them alone, finding them completely useless. He just wants to finish this task, and quick.

“Heard ya were a nasty criminal in the Underground,” the guy on his left comments and drinks the beer at hand, briefly pausing, “ya can’t seriously be turnin’ y’er back on that kinda past,” he smugly continues.

Levi’s brows twitch in irritation. How is that relevant to what he asked?

“Just answer the damn question,” he orders assertively and slams the paper onto their tabletop. The guys exchange gazes once again like it’s some sort of stupid inside code.

“What makes ya think ya can fool us? We know you’ll arrest us off the bat if we answer, young’un,” the man continues, his company still speechless. What, is he the leader of their pack or something?

The way they stare him down with the most condescending eyes is ticking him off to ridiculous measures, he could’ve knocked them out cold one by one already if not for the fact that they obviously know something, and nobody else is in the pub other than them and the staff.

“I don’t give two shits about your work. I’m not asking for you, I’m looking for this guy right here,” he jabs a finger into the poster, causing every one of them to look at it once more.

“I ain’t convinced—”

Levi has had enough of their refusal and decides to pull out his knife, kick the very chair the garrulous man is sitting on to drop him on the ground, beer spilling everywhere, before using the dirty sole of his boot to shove the man’s cheeks against the wooden floor.

He kneels down on his right knee, his other foot still stepping on the man’s face, and points the tip of his freshly sharpened knife just a few centimeters from his eyeball, which earns him a whimper of surprise.

“Gonna stop yakking any minute now?” Levi asks. It’s a bit surprising to him that the bartender of the pub didn’t meddle the whole time for pressing on his customers, oddly similar to the lukewarm nature of his hometown.

The two men freeze in fear, afraid that if they do anything to counter the soldier’s menace, their good friend might suffer and go blind. How worthless.

After a couple more seconds, the old geezer eventually gives in and speaks. “That’s our dealer,” he admits, voice weak and shaky. Levi cocks a brow and listens, finally getting the information he‘s aiming for.

“Guy’s been selling drugs that originated from the Underground,” he adds.

“Coderoin?”

“Yeah. He never shows up to us buyers, only sends brokers to deliver.”

“That’s not a man,” Levi corrects again, slowly getting convinced it’s someone he knows from way back. The descriptions about the wanted dealer and the way she arranges things precisely match, not to mention the poster looking exactly like her.

“I told you I won’t end up in brothels, Levi. I created something, and it’s doing great,” she says with a proud smile painted on her colored lips.

“What is it?”

“Coderoin.”

But the soldier only sounds out of his tree in the listeners’ ears, and they immediately speak to nullify his scarcely credible conspiracy theory. “There’s no way. Women here in Stohess—”

Yeah, he gets it. If they don’t believe it then let it be. See, this is why they haven’t caught the culprit for the past years, because they’re looking for a damn male.

“Where was she last seen?” Levi asks, completely dismissing their words, but the guy tries to oppose the small detail once again. “That’s a man—“

“Where was she last seen?” he repeats, cutting off his hostage’s words while he flattens with his boot the man’s cheeks in such a way as to crush his skull, emphasizing what really is important here and what he’s actually asking for. Levi ignores how the poor guy yelps in pain, waiting for intel he can benefit from.

“I don’t know!” he truthfully says, face already deforming from the forceful contact, having difficulty breathing.

“She lives at the skid row,” the bartender chimes in as he wipes on a glass, turning Levi’s head his way. Someone who knows her real identity, huh?

“How do you know?” he keeps his foot down and quizzes, looking for the authenticity in his words. The runt might be fooling him for all he knows, a trap to lure him in.

“I live there,” he simply says. “I don’t have business with her so it won’t be bad if I rat out on her,” he shrugs and turns his back to return to working. The guys listen, puzzled about what they’re talking about.

The ravenhead thinks for a moment, then rising to this heels, kicking away the head he was previously pulverizing before heading out the bar to make off.

In the end, none of them was substantial but the barkeep. And in Levi’s humblest opinion, the guy whom he mostly talked to should drop his so-called friends who didn’t even have the guts to drag their pal out of his plight, being one who gets rid of ineffective people himself.

He looks up at the gloomy afternoon skies once he exits, the clouds moving as he thinks about a variety of stuffs from his past. Envisioning and etching into his brain the familiar silky locks, rose red lips, and a pair of sultry eyes, he then starts walking.

Now, to find you.

—

With the help of the villagers’ directions, he’s arrived at the said skid row by foot. It surprises Levi a lot, having not expected to see a number of resemblances between the Underground and the surface. The visible corruption is no different from down there, with certain rundown areas openly exposed, just a couple blocks away from extravagant neighborhoods. That just goes to show that people’s amoral natures don’t change wherever they go.

He scans his eyes around, studying the dark and uninviting alleyways, the narrow paths, and the compressed townhouses. It’s almost as if the sun refuses to shine here.

This place isn’t any less than a junkyard, he thinks, coming from someone who has just escaped from one.

He takes a step forward to head to the flat where you apparently reside, only to get stopped by a bunch of gangsters, another guy putting his hands on Levi’s shoulders. An animal touching him with filthy fingers, something he hates the most.

“Where do you think you’re going, kid?” the insect says as he looks down on the soldier’s short stature, showing not a droplet of respect. “What’s a scout soldier doing here? There ain’t no titans here, boy!” There’s nothing they love to ridicule more than suicidal people under the disguise of a uniform.

He immediately uses his clean hands that would unfortunately be dirtied as he removes the assaulter’s arm away from him, squeezing it with great force before twisting the whole limb around with full intentions to dislocate it.

The man screeching in pain, Levi gives him a good kick in the face, causing him to fall to the ground, unconscious. Of course, there’s three more left standing. Even if they’re rendered speechless and horrified, he still can’t let bothersome runts on the loose.

One of the delinquents attempts to swing a fist at him, a sorry excuse for a punch by the way, only to get hit right in the guts, disgusting spit flying everywhere. The other tries to slash a knife, which he only snatches away with nimble fingers before hitting a nerve on the neck to knock the guy out cold.

The last one, hairline already receding and looking grey, tries to hit him with a bat. It’s a pitiful sight to look at, really, how they all think they could give him a good beating when they approached him. He crouches down to dodge the weapon, dragging his dominant leg on the floor to kick sweep the old fart off of his toes, head falling against the solid concrete.

Dusting his hands to rid himself of the muck he gained from fighting them, Levi stands upright in vexation and observes as they either squirm or doze off on their own. A flock of vagrants that has got to learn how to keep their hands to themselves.

The thing is, he has had enough of drunkards trying to get on his way. He just wants to get his job done, bring you to those impotent MP’s and get this reputation Erwin kept saying to secure his position for a lifetime.

When finally sets foot on your alleged doorstep, he tries for three knocks, waiting for a response. As much as he wants to finish this task, he doesn’t want to barge in your suite, if possible, because he’d also hate it if it’s done to him. He tries again, focusing to catch with his ears any faint sound.

Minutes pass by and he turns the knob open to find out it’s unlocked the whole time, all his deliberations of keeping still and going down the drain.

It’s quiet and empty.

Levi freely enters, keeping an eye out for attackers, if there are. It’s small, but enough for one person.

He goes with the assumption that you live alone, and maybe don’t have any flings. He still remembers how you latch onto different guys back in the day to have them arrange deals for you. Yeah, you had a way with your words, especially towards men. The epitome of a social butterfly.

But maybe it’s not like that anymore, now that you’re in a city like this with rich people out and about.

How did you wind up here in the first place?

He keenly observes as he goes further in. To your credit, the place is relatively clean. No scattered trash, no messy clothing, and the furniture are well organized. Well, that’d be essential to make an innocent front and hide your junk evidence. But still, impressive.

Nothing really seems malicious at first glance. So far, no one’s coming out, and there are no drugs to be found.

He stumbles upon two more closed doors. He finds that one of them is a bathroom, and the other your bedroom. Aside from those, there’s nowhere else to go. He enters your personal space, looking for something peculiar.

Your bed is fixed, sheets folded nicely. You had a study desk, and a bookshelf. Based from the covers’ titles, they’re all about science. Tch. It’s a dead giveaway. No matter how much you tried to make an oh-so normal living space, those books would be a suspicious lead.

Now what? You’re nowhere to be seen.

Is she home?

He looks around the room looking for an ashtray or even a fire because somehow, it reeks of burning cigarettes, like it’s being consumed at the moment.

Something finally clicks inside of him. Of course, you’re a damn drug lord. An infamous one, at that. You’ll need someplace to hide once all hell breaks loose, and someplace to hide your stuff.

Levi uses his boot to lift the carpet he’s currently stepping on, and finds, just what he expects, a trapdoor. Clever, but not too much.

He then vigorously kicks the door open, which nearly bursts it off of its hinges, if not already. It swings down loosely, losing its assistive joints. He ignores the wooden ladder provided and instead jumps down, dropping on his knees.

“Now you gotta fix that,” says a soft and seductive voice that is definitely no stranger the young man.

Levi raises his gaze and finally finds you, sitting on a chair in the opposite end of a long presidential table, smoking a mint cigarette, and the stench reaches his nostrils. That’s where the ashy pong was coming from.

The secret chambers appear almost pit black from the lack of natural light if not for the candle sconces built on the walls all around, and the lone lantern situated on the table.

He scrutinizes you for a moment, meeting your luscious, glowing eyes. Your hair is styled just the way he remembers, luxuriant, untied, and flowing in sync with your movements. Your plump lips shaded red, fierce like how you want it. Your figure voluptuous by your feminine puff sleeved dress, black front laced corset over top hugging at your curves. For a dress so dainty, you ultimately still looked provocative.

Actually, he kind of understands how it’s unbelievable for such a lady to be a criminal of ill repute. Although nothing much has changed with you external-wise, your youthful attributes have only matured beautifully, and you’ve indeed grown up to be an enchanting woman.

“It’s me. You’ve found me,” you claim, feeling his strong stare burning into your skin. What, does he not recognize you now?

It’s totally the other way round. Every single one of your physical features under the warm candlelight’s reflection keeps rekindling memories inside his head, some just flat out inappropriate.

“So you are the goddamn drug dealer,” he states, not any less than a confirmation.

“Drug dealer is a bit brusque, don’t you think?” you comment with a smile. Anything but to be called a drug dealer. How cheap.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I prefer to go with narco hustler, rolls off the tongue just right,” you suggest. It sounds plain dumb to Levi’s ears, you had zero taste. “Okay, maybe it doesn’t,” you take back upon seeing his seriously bored expression. He has always been one so hard to read, but now he just looks evidently repulsed.

Levi stays standing across of you, resting his arm on top of the other, and leans back against the ladder. Maintaining respective distance, he decides to linger for a bit, intrigued by what stories you must got.

“Rumor has it you’re one of them now. Guess it’s true,” you posite as you observe his physique, wearing a uniform jacket with the wings of “freedom”. Couldn’t he have joined the MP’s out of the three? Lame.

The young man watches back as you lift your wrist up and bring the stick to your delicate lips, inhaling a lungful before blowing the smoke upwards, and he could easily feel how you held yourself up with superiority. Nothing new with the headstrong woman that you are.

“What the fuck are you doing up here?” he inquires right away, genuinely curious of your sudden disappearance years ago. He knew full well you weren’t dead, but he never got his hands on news about you.

“Huh? What the fuck are you doing up here, too? You surely downgraded from being a crime boss to a pongo’s dog. Seriously?” you retort cheekily. Last time you checked, he was doing well with his gang, couldn’t he have stayed that way?

He massages the temples of his forehead with closed eyes. Your words are making him think back to his decisions, but not too deeply. He reluctantly contemplates if it’s alright telling you things, but chooses to do so. You had a spot in his life, too, no matter how small. And he’s going to arrest you anyway.

“Lot of complications. It was all supposed to be a job to kill the Section Commander then we’d get granted citizenship…” he trails off, unsure of whether to go on or stop there, “but things took a turn.”

“Hmm?” you hum, waiting for his continuation.

He stays silent and refuses to say a word.

“Alright then. Well what about… who was it? Farlan and Isabel?” you ask cluelessly, thinking if you got their names right.

He sighs. It was exactly what he was trying to avoid. “They’re in the Survey Corps now as well?” you quiz, partially interested. You already know the answer. Who would leave their beloved boss? You just know for sure it won’t be them.

“They’re gone,” he averts his gaze, expertly hiding his emotions away with thick pride.

Your eyes largen a little in realization. “Oh. Sorry.” He catches you put out your cigarette by prodding its cherry into the glass ashtray. There’s still about half left but you paid no extra mind, and it says a lot about your well heeled state.

Enough about him. “What exactly happened to you?” Levi questions, and you prop your elbows on the tabletop, interlacing your fingers together before resting your chin on them.

“Bought citizenship,” you start off, never taking your glance off him. He‘s hot all right, still a sight for sore eyes. Heavily improved, even. It has been five years, after all. You admit, he aged like the finest wine there is.

“A pain in the pockets, yes. But worth it.” You pucker your lips and furrow your brows together upon remembering your old situations.

“Underground folks were becoming cheapskates day by day! Can you believe it? They’re trying to buy two-fifty for, what, five bronze coins? My stuff are as expensive as your maneuvering gear, you know!” you complain, memories of being wrongly paid years ago flashing through your brain.

That’s life. At least you’re well off now. That’s what’s important.

He rakes his eyes around the room and finds stacks and stacks of packaged tablets, same ones as those Erwin showed him.

“Coderoin, huh?” he comments, testing the word on his tongue. Nothing special with the name, probably came from the scientific components. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass.

The warm temperature from the window restricted room urges him to remove his jacket, and so he eventually does. You try not to raise both your eyebrows in captivation as you see the outlines of his muscular torso tracing through his clothes, his veiny forearms exposed by his cuffed shirt.

“I haven’t released it yet, but I just finished formulating a liquified version to easily shoot it up the veins for a more elongated and ecstatic experience,” you proudly brag to divert your attention as well, and Levi cocks a brow in confusion. Haven’t released it yet?

“The MP’s already know there’s a new formula,” he informs, recalling what the Commander said when he was educating him about it earlier.

“What? Already?” you ask, gasping in surprise. It’s a given that word spreads around here fast, but you’re doing your best to work in confidentiality. Some big-mouthed brokers of yours must be babbling.

“Yeah.”

“See how famous I am?” You giggle, letting the issue slide.

“Everyone thinks you’re a man.”

“What?” you ask again, completely scandalized, eyes widening in repulsion. They cannot be serious. You never knew that! Not even your associates told you!

It’s a bit amusing to him how that almost looks like it matters to you the most. Do you even know why he’s here? You don’t seem to be questioning his out of nowhere presence.

“You’re a drug abuser. It’s natural for people to think that way,” he says, eyeing your reactions.

“That’s mean! I’m not an addict. In fact, I don’t even do those often,” you oppose a matter-of-factly. It’s not half a lie, you probably had one the past week, but aside from that, you never took it recently. This stuff is for the customers to abuse. You don’t really have an avid addiction to it.

Honestly speaking, being one for dirty felonies ending just a couple months back, he couldn’t care less what kind of profession you had, as long as people find their own way to live, he’d immediately—but only mentally—give kudos to them. It’s hard enough trying to survive in a corrupt system.

You lived all by yourself back then. You were a tough and independent one, he’d give you that. You helped him with particular deals. Important ones.

In actuality, it’s solely because of you that he got his hands on certain armaments like the ODMG. It was hard to obtain those, seeing as it’s a highly illegal trade and costs an arm and a leg. Though on the plus side, it made his stealings more convenient and less a pain in the ass.

But he wouldn’t say you’re good friends, nor are you on the same gang. Associates, he would say. At times, something even more than associates. Oh, it’s not anything close to romantic. Just something beneficial on both sides.

“I mean at least I’m not a squaddie now, playing soldier like you,” you add, playfully mocking him. Levi throws you a glare of the same energy. It’s not like he wanted this. He’s got no choice, it’s better than going back to that sunken town, alone at that matter.

“You don’t show up to people here,” he surmises from what he learned. As you rise to your feet and walk to the piles of boxes, you fail to notice how he gives your form a runover, from head to toe, his eyes involuntarily staying on some shapely areas.

“This is where I bring my brokers. I’m not going face-to-face with my dear buyers now. What if they sell out on me? Can’t trust people nowadays.” It’s true, because back there, everyone was a criminal in their own ways. You grab a small bag of the tablets and turn around to show him, dangling it mid-air.

“But I’m telling you, people here are as generous as lords. It’s basically easy money everyday,” you say and throw him the drawstring bag, which he catches with one hand in maximum proficiency, the action causing his arms to flex a little. Oh, those muscles. Suave.

“You’re living in a dumpster.”

“It’s called a sentimental value,” you dismiss.

Levi pours some out and takes a moment to observe the packed drugs on his palm, the blue color even and smooth. He’s never found himself drawn to this kind of thing, but he understands the usage. Something to escape from reality for a short period of time.

“I never expected you to turn on your past, of all people,” you mindlessly comment, causing him to look at you with furrowed brows. Though you never meant that the bad way and just wanted to speak your mind, your choice of words still strike a nerve from within him.

Why the fuck are people on the surface keep acting like angels as if they’re any better? At this point, he’d prefer his hometown people over some half assed drug addicts.

This should be enough for today. He carelessly chitchatted for long, almost forgetting his true purpose of being here. It’s too bad he has to ruin your oh-so perfect life. Well, there’s not much he can do about that as it’s how the cookie crumbles. Dragging people down to rise up the ranks is part of the norm in this wretched society, it’s just unfortunate he has to do it to you.

“Say, what if you join me? Leave the Corps and let’s team up. You can run the errands, and I stay here to formulate,” you continue to propose, fully unaware that you ticked him off just a second ago, bringing him back to earth.

“I can’t. Apparently, I’m a soldier now,” he straight up rejects and starts to walk up to you, handcuffs ready by his belt.

Taken aback by his deadpan refusal, you tilt your head in an attempt to understand. “Well then, if that’s what you want.”

“What I want is for you to come with me,” the soldier finally admits, showing the restraining shackles he has at hand.

Realization dawns upon you, and you feel a bit dense. Oh, right. He did welcome himself into your home, completely unannounced.

A dry and bitter chuckle leaves your throat continuously, dissolving into a long thread of laughter that echoes around the spacious room, resembling those of a mentally deranged woman. Levi’s forehead knots in a mix of puzzlement and irritation as he waits for you to calm down.

Your fit of entertainment starts to boil down, tears of satiric bliss filling your ducts. You wipe them off timidly, building up the manner of being a prim and proper lady. “Sorry… that was funnier than I expected,” you apologize, and he couldn’t quite understand what you want to come across with. He waits for your explanation.

“Buzz off, will you?” you ask of him once you finish composing yourself.

“What?” the man quizzes.

Your face turns dead serious as you fish a tiny pouch from your dress’ pockets, throwing it lazily to the table, contents spilling mid air due to the loosened tie. An abundance of golden coins shower all over the place and fall suspendedly to the ground.

“I’m telling you to fuck off. Now,” you don’t flash him even the smallest of smiles as you curtly give him the order.

You’re bribing him.

And fuck, did you drive him round the twist, he has never felt so insulted his whole life.

Is it because you’re doing well than him now despite the honorability of occupation? Is it because it’s coming from someone he knows from the past? Is it because of your tone so ludicrously condescending it’s making every single drop of blood in his body boil?

“Need more? Why don’t we negotiate upstairs with the amount that will send you away?” you carry on with casting aspersions on him.

What a jackass. After all you’ve done for him? There’s nothing you hate more than shameless traitors, and this guy in front of you doesn’t bat an eye about being one.

Meanwhile, you were rubbing to his face the looming difference between his stability and yours. And of course, it doesn’t matter whose reputation is better, because both of you were miscreants at one point in life. The only distinction is: you gladly kept on with that line of work, and he was forced with his.

Levi takes big strides to reach your form, dropping both the jacket and the drugs he was holding. He’s furious, but he refuses to show. All he wants now is for you to shut your filthy mouth.

He lunges at you and slams you against the wall, wrapping his fingers around your neck. An involuntary whimper slips past your lips, and it certainly feeds his ego to see you so helpless. “Shut your damn mouth,” he bellows, tone imposing the dangers you could get from rubbing him up the wrong way.

You’re not about to give him what he wants. He’s barking up the wrong tree here, treating you so indiferrently for what? For letting him in and being hospitable? For offering him a generous partnership? Can you believe this guy? He’d throw your acquaintance off the window for his own sake. Selfish crab.

“Hate to see your ally so successful?” you attempt to breathe out, one hand trying to unclasp his fingers, one hand aiming to claw your nails at his face. He slaps it away before you can make contact and increases pressure.

Your eyes well up from the suffocating pain as he robs you of air supply, choking you tightly and pressing roughly. Crap!

“That’s—all you got?” you struggle to challenge him, same time trying to pull the slightest amount of oxygen into your lungs you can catch on.

Your dare does absolutely nothing but piss him off. Wow, you’re a bitch to try and control. Levi has the means to tighten his grip. It doesn’t even matter to the MP’s if he brings you dead as long as he can hand over the evidence. But he won’t go that far, because that far would be killing you off.

Staying that way for a moment longer, he examines your facial expression, still brave and never surrendering. He then lets go of you, but only by throwing you to the hard ground. Your back hits the flooring and you squint your eyes in sharp ache, all the while desperately breathing for any available air.

“Rot in hell,” you curse at him in great detestation. Lying back, you gently caress your neck as if to heal the reddened skin from the harsh force he applied.

Levi sighs, collecting himself, and kneels down in level with your weakened body. Maybe he went too hard on you. He has got to keep his temper at bay.

“Sorry,” he genuinely says. It’s not everyday he says that word, but when he does, he accepts that he’s mistaken. A bit surprised, you peer at him with a bleary vision, finding a scowl on his face as he admits his wrongdoing.

You swear you were ready to laugh it all out and forgive him, if not for the fact that he’s currently grabbing the handcuffs, still determined to arrest you. How sincere of him. What exactly was he apologizing for again?

You wait for him to scoot over, discreetly regaining steady breath as you stay laying down. You’re not the best at countering someone combat wise, but growing up a female in the Underground has taught you a couple moves enough to stall you some time to escape.

As he finally crouches beside you, you jolt up to sit and sling two of your arms around his nape and under his armpit, pulling him towards you before throwing him beside with the strength you can manage to utilize.

When did you learn that move? It baffles Levi a little, but he won’t let you have your way. His weight isn’t something you could overlook, that you’re dragged along with and on top of him. The moment you try to quickly prop yourself up and make a run, he grabs your waist and rolls over to bring you back down, straddling on top of you.

“I’ll kill you!” you spit to his face, once again feeling betrayed. You never once thought he’d drive you into a corner do this to you.

“That’s cute of you,” he says in graceful sarcasm. You fight him back with a piercing glare, but he only looks back at you with those apathetic, steel grey eyes. Nothing has changed within them, they’re still cold and indecipherable. It matches his personality well.

Apathetic? He can’t be all that bad, he’s just human. He has needs, one way or another.

You stick a hand out to pull his dark locks, and for once, you actually succeed. He hisses in irritation. He should have expected you’d put up a fight, but he doesn’t get why he’s just straight up pissed. Talk about annoying.

He doesn’t expect it when you forcefully yank him in for a deep kiss, the sudden motion causing your lips to crash together, freezing him in place. It’s all just to take him by surprise and then you’d gab the chance to run away in haste. Cheap trick, but worth a shot. If this will work, that is.

Earlier than he can try to push you away, you kick your knee into his abdomen and hurl him aside with all your might, doing your best to head to the ladder leading up to the trapdoor. But Levi is quick on his feet and kicks your leg to make you lose balance. Tripping over yourself, you fall toward the table, your stomach plowing into its side frames. He will never let you escape.

You inwardly curse him for being such a headache. Before you know it, your left arm is rashly held behind your back and you shriek in pain, your cheek shoved down onto the tabletop. Shit. He got you there.

“Can’t you be any gentler?” you ask, voice soft and of forged innocence, which is patently just an attempt to con him. He ignores you and instead starts wearing one part of the handcuffs around your wrist from behind. You think of anything to get yourself out of this. Chuckling dryly, “Hey… I told you already. Let’s talk things out,” you woo, but to no avail. Levi twists your arm a bit, not too much, but enough to shut you up. He sure is enraged.

A lock clicks from one of the shackles and you feel the cold steel wrap your frail wrist. It’s happening, the most humiliating moment for a criminal. You’re all tapped out of ideas—

with your limited field of vision, you scan your eyes around what you can see, finding a trail of drugs scattered on the ground. It must be from when he launched at you and tried to strangle you to death. Although you still don’t know why he did that, you bury the thought to the back of your head to come up with a plan.

—except one.

A smile creeps up your lips, one that appears when you just figured out something clever. Alright, then. Let’s see what else is enraged.

Not giving him the chance to lock both your hands together, from your held up position, you perk your bum up a little to make a feel for his crotch. Your thick cheeks hit something poking and you giggle in festivity. It so turns out your hunch is right, his bulge is, indeed, straining from inside his pants.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he stops dead in his tracks and questions, more like an order for a valid answer.

With your bended over form being perfectly convenient, you wiggle your ass and stick it up against his obviously aching groin, teasing it even more. It’s a shame you’re both wearing clothes, your titillating movements ending up just mere friction.

“My, my. How long has it been like that?” you jest, voice about half an octave high and femininely suggestive. His brows knit in pique and flips you over to make you face him and to put a halt to your indecent measures. You click your tongue in mock, elbow propped against the table to look up at him.

“What a naughty soldier,” you whisper with a satisfied smirk, and reach a hand out to pull his cravat, yanking him down and in for another kiss. This time, it’s you who won’t let him escape, with nothing else but a nice trick for women to prevail over men.

It makes his hackles raise how you try to enter his mouth with your probing tongue like you’re the one in foremost control. As if he’ll let that happen.

He pushes your tongue back and bites your lower lip, earning him entrance along with a quiet mewl. He then travels your wet cavern with his own, forcefully exploring every inch to show you who’s in charge, like always. There and then, he instantly distinguishes the mint flavored nicotine evenly mixed in with your sweet saliva. It interests him how five years have already passed, and yet you consistently taste the same. Up until here, you never dropped the habit of smoking.

You try to fight back and earn your place, hooking both your heels into his hips to draw him closer. Even if it’s utterly inappropriate and misplaced, you quickly feel your pussy drip with excitement. Everything feels so nostalgic.

Amidst the kiss, his palm begins to roam around your body, from your neck to your chest. Levi finds the corset a hindrance, and he takes note to go back to it later, maybe rip it apart as well.

He resumes exploring your body, from your tummy, to your clothed womanhood. It starts to rile you up and turn you on as he slips his hand under your dress, not bothering to lift it up, just blindly cupping for your sex. When he finally feels your panties, you know for certain he smirked.

“You’re not so frigid yourself,” he comments upon the discovery that your growing wetness is soaking the fabric. He slides one finger against your slit, your undergarment still in between. He gently rubs on it as he sucks on your soft lips, earning him quiet moans in return. What a nasty tease.

When you both pull away for air, you open your eyes to look daringly straight into his grey ones, and while you exchange stares, you also let go of his cravat and grab his hand as if to guide them deeper and further in. He finds that you’re more than just eager when you put his hand inside, now in touch with your intimate skin. He gladly takes your offer and tears your panties away, his vigor making you laugh breathily.

Levi plunges two fingers in without delay, and you yield in defeat, letting him do as he likes. He has no intentions of lurking around the corner. You let your head hang back as he does you with his slick fingers, moaning to your will when he hits your good spots.

He lets his unreasonable hate and anger dissipate into nothingness, allowing himself to be indulgent in giving you pleasure. It’s been so long that this almost serves as your reunion. He doesn’t mind that. Just as long as he keeps in mind his sole purpose of breaking in to take him with you.

The ravenhead watches you spread your legs wider, visibly aching for more as you surrender to him and give him full control over your body. He moves his dexterous fingers in and out, the rhythm exquisite like how you prefer it. It’s like he still memorized you the same. Your responsive hums are tempting and fervid, your bodily movements a subtle indication of a longing. He increases his speed, looking for an angle to rub you up good, and he knows he hit it right when you shudder a little, back falling to the table and grip losing.

He lets on with working his hand, your juices coating his fingertips as he jabs them in deep repeatedly. It’s a flattering sight to see you so lost and vulnerable singlehandedly by his mere touch, and he would be lying if he says it doesn’t turn him on.

Your sweet, melodious moans resonate inside the whole of the chambers, music to Levi’s ears. Your mouth partly hanging open, eyes in but a permanent daze as you struggle to crack them open. The way he has you going crazy is beautiful. You’re beautiful. Not half-bad-looking for a woman about to approach her thirties.

Out of nowhere, a mood ruining thought crosses his mind. He recalls you saying this place is where you bring your brokers. And since your neighbors haven’t found out your true identity and racket yet, having a clump of men visit your apartment could entirely be misleading.

It’s only natural that they think you’re some kind of courtesan selling your body. Knowing you, you don’t give a flying fuck if people think that, but with him, it doesn’t sit right. Who knows? Maybe you actually humor the same men every once in a while. Just look at what you’re doing now.

A grim expression materializes on his face. No, he’s not jealous. But in all honesty, he wants what’s his to stay his.

You couldn’t think of anything as he harshly thrusts his fingers into you, your body’s consciousness focusing only on the uprising pleasure, but when you’re this close to coming, all of a sudden, he pulls them out at once, grabs your hands and finally locks both your wrists together with the handcuffs before pinning them on top of your head.

Cruelly left hanging, a wave of disappointment rushes over your veins. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” you whine, genuinely annoyed as you’re already fully installed and waiting for your explosion. Did he do that on purpose? Yes. But to your surprise, he doesn’t do anything to lift you up or bring you with him to jail.

Brows furrowed and eyes dark, Levi unties your corset’s lacing in a rapaciously eager manner, harshly pulling down the garter of your neckline to let your boobs bounce free. Your eyes widen a little when he pulls your skirt up to gain thorough access of your fruity folds. You didn’t expect him to continue on, with you restrained, even.

“Just like the good old days, huh?” you tease, voice awash with prurience. Although this reminds you of those days, this is surely going to be a new experience. While handcuffed? You love it, and just thinking about him pounding you out as you’re unable to lay your hands on him makes your neck hairs straighten in great arousal. You’re totally into this!

He’s suddenly reminded of years ago when you’d come over to catch up with the latest trades, or simply just bring with you your babbling of the day. Oftentimes, the visit ends up in the bedroom, the couch, the kitchen.

You were both young, both helping fill each other’s primitive needs and desires, not the thinnest string left attached. You handled the whole thing casually, the whole thing being just lustful sex every once in a while. Fuck buddies. That’s what they call it.

Memories of your heated body rubbing up against his, lips messy on one another’s skin, hands everywhere, nude and naked—sometimes still completely clothed, fucking you against the wall, fucking you on the counter, and finally, you kneeling on the floor as you eat him up hungrily. All of those, just five years ago.

He’s only proven you haven’t changed despite the time difference when you kick your kitten heels away like you disregard its price, stretch your right leg out to reach his crotch, your foot making a feel for his huge bulge.

He looks down to his pants, your toes stroking his covered length invitingly as if to provoke it. “You’re one fucking dirty bitch,” he points out upon your indecorous actions, meeting your catlike eyes illuminating nothing but indiscriminate salacity.

“We’re not all that different, see?” you tell, never tearing your gaze off him as you continue moving your foot up and down. He’s straining so bad, almost making you giggle. Come on, Levi. You’re just as aching as me. We could use a quickie.

He sternly grabs your ankle to stop your lewd ways and keeps quiet until you speak. Does he really think he can stop you from acting so dirty? You then bring your chained wrists to your chest, gently massaging your exposed breasts with what space you can manage, giving him a little show you know he can’t resist.

“I mean, just look at you, wearing a cheesy cravat like it’s gonna make you look dignified,” you poke fun at him and laugh, flashing him a grin before seductively licking your lips. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, but is still unable to take his eyes off of your body as you continue to play with your very own mounds.

“Shut up,” he orders, stripping the authority in his tone. Oh… you know him perfectly well. It’ll only take one last trigger for him to fire away and spring into action.

“You shut up and just fuck me,” you demand candidly, the smile in your face disappearing in the blink of an eye.

You like to think he’s one hell of a dog as he listens to your whim, undoes his trousers, only dropping them so far because of his difficult, complicated, and inhibiting harnesses. What a costume. He glares at you when you raise a sly brow at him, cocky expression conveying the words: still wanna be a soldier?

Levi just wants you to shut up for real, and he victoriously does that by pulling your body closer to the end of the table, then practically ramming his huge dick inside you, his massiveness able to cover your whole depth when he mercilessly buries it in. A long and sonorous moan leaves your throat in the utmost pleasure. Shit, he’s so big! Your tight walls are forced to adjust, desperately stretching to adapt to his size.

“Oh, fuck!” you exclaim, throwing your head back to release your emotions, eyes clenching shut in nauseating pain. Overwhelming! Can a man in his age still grow? You didn’t expect this in any way. It sure hurts like a bitch, but that’s just one of the reasons why you love it.

The cadet starts moving in a pace that tells you he won’t be beating around the bush, quick and rough. The only thing you’re worrying about is the soreness that you’ll get once this is finished, because right now—you’ve said it two times—you love it.

His anger seeping as he forces his dick in and out of your fuckhole, Levi finds it an entertaining cabaret as he watches you, your makeshift play consisting of you opening your mouth wide to moan in fervor, whipping your head side to side, eyelids falling while he quickly drives you to the brink of insanity. One bewitching whore, he thinks.

He bucks his hips even faster and spreads your legs wider apart to let you have what you want, violent and aggressive. Like an obedient lady’s man, Levi spoils your carnality by licking his middle and forefinger to rub your engorged clit, his spit helping him circle the most sensitive spot in ease.

You arch your back up in surprise, your nerves receptive in alerting you of the littlest motions. He’s so good. So good that your brain is going blank, unknowing of what to do. When you squirm under him, try to shoot up and search something to hold on for dear life, only to fall back against the table, your manacled hands suddenly add up to the gratifying thrill stirred with powerlessness. It makes Levi smirk for a fleeting second.

Not so free now, are you?

Simultaneously, Levi deepens his thrusts and starts to rubbing your clit directly to intensify the sensation, back and forth, up and down. With fervent eyes, he feasts on your body as it loses control, tits bouncing from his relentless humps, pussy unendingly leaking. Out of reflex, you try to wriggle away, but to no avail. You’re losing your mind by his marvelous stimulation, and you remember just how he feels like before.

The humidity is starting to take over your bodies, and you both feel hotter. The dark room, the rattling of the lantern on the table, sweat beginning to break through your skins, his stifled grunts, your loud wails, both your heads full of lustful desire. Who knew an apprehension would end up like this? Purely lewd. Seems normal to you, though.

The telltale signs of your upcoming orgasm appear. Your walls envelop around him tightly, your moans longer and hitching, your breaths shaky as you catch it and whatnot. The immense pleasure that keeps gradually stacking up inside your veins finally snaps free, and you come with unruly convulsions. Eyeballs rolling to the back of your skull, your cunt contracting around him, he doesn’t stop, and fuck is it overbearing.

His dick reaching the end of you, his merciless thrusts unwavering when you’re obviously trembling uncontrollably, he’s a damn ruthless lad. The amount of spasms you receive is livid, you so wanted to applaud yourself for choosing the perfect guy. Exceptional taste.

Your high eventually tones down and you’re back to awareness. The demon stops moving soon as well, deciding maybe you’ve had enough.

You gasp for breath after losing your grip from the mind boggling experience. It’s been so long since you’ve had amazing sex, and when you say so long, you mean excruciatingly long years. You study him as he looks back at you. Still so dominant, isn’t he? Refusing to get off the same time you do.

Alright. You’ve had enough mindless nooky. Now it’s time to break free from his clutches. From your lied down position, you then proceed to distract him with some ramblings.

“You better not be fucking your comrades like this,” you quip, collecting yourself.

“I’m not like you,” Levi answers and pulls out, thinking about how much men you’ve entertained your whole life. You cock a brow upon hearing his smart assed reply and mock him again, a giggle escaping your mouth, “Gonna keep acting so clean?” He should know not to continue wanting to look like a saint. He’s not any different than you, for shit’s sake.

“You have a screwed up background, Levi. You can’t seriously be thinking your superiors will be in favor of you just because you lick their boots,” you honestly advise. Disgusting. One moment he’s leading his people, then being ordered around the next.

It’s this again. You shamming like you’re so immaculate. He’d prefer it if you get off your high horse.

“I’m giving you a chance, just quit and—“

“If you keep running your damn mouth, I’m going to make use of it,” he cuts you off before you can continue offering him a deal. It’s not that you genuinely believe he’ll go with it, you just want to stall him because you’re only playing by ear. One wrong move and he’ll stop you dead in your tracks.

His words pique your interest. Does he mean that in the sense that you think it is? “Oh yeah? And how?” you push his buttons to give it a shot.

Levi shows you what he means through grabbing you by the nape to yank you up, then dropping you to the floor, pretty face nearly shoved to the concrete. It hurts a tad, your knees hitting the ground roughly, but your eyes almost immediately dart on the bunch of azure tablets scattered everywhere, three of them within your reach. Perfect!

Quickly, you snatch them with both your hands in one fell swoop, and Levi miraculously misses out on your sneaky motions. You hiss a little in pain and close your palms together tightly when he pulls a fistful of your hair to hoist your head up. Forced to make eye contact with him from below, you momentarily meet his gaze brimming of disrespect before he dicks your mouth down with his length.

He pushes your head to his groin and pounds, so deep and so rash that you literally feel him hit the back of your throat. Tears pool from your ducts as you’re forced to take him inside your mouth. But he doesn’t get it wrong, because he knows you like it, of course.

With full intentions to reach his own end and cum on your pretty tongue, he shoves his erection into your warm cavern and tightens his hold on your now messy locks. He eyes you with resounding authority as you’re down on your knees with fettered hands on your lap, dress still on but tits bare and pouching outward from your neckline, looking up at him with glistening eyes like a good, well-behaved girl. It madly turns him on seeing you like that, what a view.

His fierce stale eyes prod you to bravely blink the tears away and independently move to your own will, proceeding to suck him with stupendous obedience. Fine then, you’ll go along with him. Nothing wrong about taking your time.

Levi throws his head back a little from your sudden motion, bobbing your head back and forth in harmony with his pumps, but quickly returns his gaze to you. You gladly eat his whole size without hesitation and keep your body still, nipples fully peaked in eagerness.

You’re always so damn good, just as he remembers. Never going without a challenge, the same lecherous emotions brewing within your orbs, listening to what you’re told. His grunts start to become audible.

“Look at you, sucking like a little slut,” he groans, slowly becoming unable to process things by your turn on serving him gratification. You give him a hum in response, the muffled sound creating a vibration as you continually hollow your mouth wide open against his thickness, sending chills up and down his spine. He inwardly curses, fuck.

Levi untangles his fingers from your strands, rests them on top of your head instead, and stops giving guidance, allowing you to perform well. You know just what to do and how to please him anyway.

You pull away, a loud and satisfying pop ringing inside the enclosed space upon losing connection. Panting, you inhale the air you could to prep yourself, temperate breath ghosting over his dampened skin. Time to take matter into your own devices. You glimpse at your interlaced fingers, clinking of metals reaching your ears. You can work this without using your hands. Let’s give him a show.

Pausing, you adore his intimidating thickness, the glowing pearls of precum impressively still there on its tip. You playfully swathe it with the edge of your tongue and look straight at him with a childlike gaze, the salty taste staining your buds. The sensitive area causes him shudder and shut his eyes closed inadvertently. And it’s rewarding to see him so affected, because this play is more about you controlling his pleasure, less about him being invulnerable. You feel your pussy trickle with desire.

Without any beating around the bush, you angle your neck a little to the right before gingerly taking him inside your mouth once again, closing in inch by inch. When you dauntlessly push forward until you’re on the verge of gagging, his size filled your throat the way you like it. Then, you go back to pumping in and out in a regular pace, sucking the tip harshly every once in a while.

Levi could feel himself approaching, his guttural groans set free and detectable. Fuck, you wanted to stroke him with your hands to add up to his growing euphoria, but you can’t.

This time round Levi is only able to peer at you from his drooping lids, following your every movements, and he finds winsome the way your cheeks lose its original shape due to his cock being inside, your lips lush and full around his shaft, tongue dancing in a way that mirrors the lantern’s fire. Moving in a very devious pace, you run a lick on the underside of his hot, veiny penis, lapping him up like a thirsty bitch. God, you are coy, and it’s taking him every last ounce of his resolve for his body not to react something close to pitiful submission.

It takes him one last blow for him to finally explode, a powerful rush spreading all throughout the ends of his limbs, his balls clenching as he shoots his cum deep inside your chops, to which you willingly gulp down, a satisfied ahh leaving your lungs like your quench for his seed has been solved.

The soldier mindlessly pats your head, and you give him a quiet purr before rising to your feet. We’re not finished yet.

As if your lips are magnetized into his own, you lean in and let them crash together. He answers back just the same, indicating he’s still up for some more. But you shouldn’t put your guard down, you might not know it if he knocks you out all of a sudden.

“You’re still the same nasty whore I know,” he vehemently growls in between the lip locking, intense flame starting to devour his system. “Shut up,” you talkback. You ache to touch him but these irksome shackles are on the way. You choose not to mind it anymore since it’s only a matter of minutes before you leave.

You push him back down to the chair and he sits down in force. “Pull my skirt up,” you order on a whim, and he does as he’s told, holding your skirt for you. You help yourself into the same chair and truss your knees beside his thighs, settling for a convenient position until you’re straddling his front, wrists on the chest’s top rail, then sitting on his fully stiff and awaiting cock. As you spread your laps apart to aim and sink down, you swear you almost went insane.

A lengthy, strenuous hum slips out your lips upon letting your tight cunt engulf his big dick. “Fuck,” you mutter, whipping your head back in zeal. You should try not to lose your mind or else.

Your stretched out neck grants him the opportunity to nibble at the delicate skin, sucking intensely to create a mark of ownership, the tangy flavor due to the thin film of sweat covering your skin. It stings a little when he nips, but almost tickling at the same time. You mewl and let Levi finish his job and lower your forehead to meet his glance.

It doesn’t take you long before returning to crashing into him, his distinct taste amusingly addictive to you. The kisses sloppy and unorganized, you begin to roll your hips up and down, and he thrusts upward to meet you like an animal in heat. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” he breathes out low.

You pull away to gasp for wind, chest stuttering and ragged from your unfaltering humps. “I know,” you brag and pause. The near to none distance between you two allows you to study his facial features and point out what changed by the years.

Hmm, not a lot really. He still looks twenty-four with his superbly chiseled jaw, slightly parted inviting lips, narrow nose, and the slim lining of his brows. Flawless and without fault, except for the darkening bags under his silver pools, which you dig by the way. He is, in fact, the godly embodiment of sexy, you bet women in his rank swoon for him only to be pushed aside. Lucky of you, you have a one of a kind charisma that drags this real life devil to his feet.

You look into each other’s face for a couple briefing moments, both of you discovering similar pairs of fiery eyes filled with lust in an overflowing amount. Meanwhile, his gaze dawdles on your red lips, color smudged by his doing, and he likes it. The longer he stares up at you, the more he’s convinced you’re nothing but a licentious woman hiding under your little renaissance dresses. Just thinking about it makes him want to fuck you so bad.

Levi refuses to stay still and dives into your breasts, causing your back to arch, unexpectedly hitting the perfect spot. He isn’t content and squeezes your butt, then letting his hands sit just at the top of your ass’ globes. “Levi—ah!” Shit! You desperately hold back your uprising orgasm. You have to stay in tact.

With that in mind and while he suckles on your twin mounds, you grab the chance to wring your clasped hands to your mouth, letting three of your dear coderoin melt and simmer under your tongue. This will have to do.

It’s thrilling, you’re about to drug a person who’s currently eating your boobs out hungrily in an alternating manner. What an odd situation. You wish you could continue fucking, but let’s not forget that Levi is very objective, and he’ll still eventually do his task no matter how much fun you spent with him. Before he can do that, you’ll just beat him to it.

You wait for the sweet, pungent tang to unravel, and when he lifts his chin to kiss you, the drugs are already diluted by your spittle. You skillfully transfer it into his mouth in a sparse method so he won’t notice right away.

Completely unaware, Levi gets to sparring with your tongue in a battle of ascendancy, his hands groping everywhere, and you don’t stop riding him gracefully like you didn’t do anything malicious at all.

With every grind being slick, an endless seduction, you continue enjoying yourself for the last lingering junctures. The constant sheathing into your impossibly close-fitting fuckhole extracts husky groans from his throat, ending up subdued against your mouth. He bites on your lower lip, earning himself a delightful whimper.

Two minutes pass by, something snaps, the brisk effectiveness all thanks to you. He doesn’t know why kissing you feels so dizzying, and… intoxicating. He slowly stops moving his lips and pulls away, cracking both his eyes open, only to be greeted by a cunning look. Then and there, overwhelming peak hits him like a freight train.

He feels less aware, a heavy weight being pressed against his body, colors around him becoming vibrant and he bets his whole life he could feel his own blood stream moving from inside his veins, synchronized with his heartbeats. His peripheral vision seems artificially sluggish yet accelerating.

Your lips quirk upward, discovering the befuddled expression plastered on his handsome face. You notice how his muscles strain in distress, but he can’t move even a single inch, indicating your success.

Levi’s brows furrow in cluelessness, eyes later widening upon realizing what kind of dirty stunt you pulled on him from up your sleeve.

You fix your posture upright before removing your body from his, heaving out a sigh of relief. Standing up, you look at him. Frozen and unable to do a single thing to restrain you. Down and obedient like a mere, small pet. At long last! He’s out of your hair.

“You’re too high to walk straight right now, aren’t you?” you jest, voice laced with the most graceful condescension. Of course, you know perfectly well first times can be extremely stupefying, especially with the dosage you just used for a rookie like him. Instead of it being euphoric, it’s entirely going to be the opposite. Nothing close to good.

“What the fuck did you just do?” poor Levi seethes in anger, but even his tone sounds tenfold more groggy compared to when he first arrived.

“Gave you a heavenly experience?” you giggle and repeatedly pull your wrists away from each other in an effortless attempt to break them apart, the hindrance of a shackle limiting your movements. Bothersome.

What part of weariness and intense jet lag is the heavenly experience? In a trice, Levi blames himself for being careless and taking you for granted. He should’ve done better than forget you’re from the same garbage dump he’s from. You’re one fucking crazy bitch.

Helpless, he watches you walk to the part of the table where you left the cigarette pack, shaking it all out just to get one and clip it between your lips. Some roll off to the ground, but you pay it no heed. His blood is boiling hard and tries to stand. You let him squirm around, confident that he can’t do anything, and struggle on your own to fish your lighter from your dress’ pockets.

You take your precious time lighting your stick, butane triggering the fresh burn of tobacco. You don’t mind that you look ridiculous with both hands on your face, or that your hair is a mess, or that your breasts are popped out. As you suck for smoke and briefly fill your lungs to then blow it upwards, you think, it’s just you and a spiked guy in here anyway.

Letting the nicotine rush take over your senses, you sit on the edge of the table and examine the dark haired soldier. What gives, he’s more impotent than you now. It’s ever so rare to see Levi so open to attack. “Mint goes well with coderoin, you know?” you inform just to piss him off.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Though you can hear his fury, the threat only sounds so void, the usual venom lacking from his pitch.

He sits back as you pull in smoke into your chest, exhale it out, menthol aroma reaching his nose. You chuckle heartily that among every tip and corner of his body feels like burning from rage.

Time is ticking and slipping away from Levi’s grasp. He stays silent, the pounding of his heart loud enough to ring in his ears. He can’t accept he got deceived. Did you plan this from the very start? When? The moment he told you his intentions? The second he asked about your life here? Or maybe when he kicked the trapdoor open? That can’t be. Five years, and you’re quicker on your feet than you once were.

“That’s cute of you,” you copy what he said when you barked the same phrase. You admit, earlier was a close call, but thanks to your sharp mind and the past you shared, you won him over. Barely.

As always, men are most vulnerable when driven by libido. What fools.

With one last hit of the cigarette, achieving the lightheaded state you’re aiming for, you drop it to the floor, not bothering to extinguish it. Burn this house down, for all you care. You’ll have to move places from now, knowing he might start tailing behind you for vengeance.

Now, you can’t stay longer. The drugs won’t last on him from such a method. It’s not the right way to take it—through kissing.

It was a good time, but unfortunately, you have to part ways with him. The guy wants to arrest you, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You’d rather settle in and have five kids with an old geezer than spend the rest of your life in a prison. You’re not dense, you know how heavy your crimes are, having circulated in both the Underground and the surface for plenty years. Impressive of you, right? Makes it all the more fun to carry on.

That’s why they should just dream of catching you, because you’ll never let that happen.

You walk toward his immobilized body, movements slinky as you bend over to reach his face and deliciously run your tongue over his lips, tasting the seemingly nectar. As much as he wants to just grab you by the hair and kick your annoying face, he’s only able to lift his arms up a few inches before falling back down again.

It doesn’t escape your field of vision, reminding you to leave immediately. “Sweet, isn’t it?” you ask once you pull away, a sly smile on your lips.

“Why don’t we call it a truce, shall we?” you lastly negotiate. His lips are firmly pressed into a thin line and refuses to say anything. Steel grey eyes look back at you in annoyance. You tilt your head in curiosity. You know he has a lot going in his brain. This might be the last time you see each other, will he choose to keep those in?

Well, he does want you out of his sight right now before he regains his strength and kill you on the spot. He clicks his tongue in impatience.

“Just fucking leave, you lunatic,” he spits. You sure will.

“Gladly. Until next time, Levi,” you drawl and blow him a kiss goodbye, then strutting away in triumph, smile never leaving your face even if you’ve fully turned your back on him.

When you finally disappear, he lets out an exasperated sigh, contemplating his defeat. Nape resting on the chair’s rail, he looks up to the dark ceiling. A droplet of sweat slides from his forehead, which he manages to wipe away in no time, resilience overcoming the delirium.

Actually pondering about it, you’re a real witty one. Of course he was still going to take you with him eventually, he just hasn’t planned it ahead. Seriously though, a sneaky tactic. He massages his nose bridge, shaking his head.

What a crazy brat.

In the end, he decides to just pass on the work to Erwin about getting on the good side of the monarch and politicians, knowing full well he was in for some major explaining—maybe leave out the obscene details.

502 notes · View notes

i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 4 years

Text

Red, White, and Blue neon lights

Steve Masterlist - Full Masterlist

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Bucky knew damn well Steve wasn’t going to get any action himself and after the fiasco at the fair, he decided it’d be better to just have him look at women instead of having to keep them entertained. But leave it to Steve to fall in love with a burlesque performer.

Word count: 2616

Author’s note: This is with Steve after the serum. Just pretend they’re on a break from the war or smthng. I know full well that it doesn’t work like that, but I want to do this around the forties. Also, I wrote this quite quickly cause I was inspired so I didn’t preread it. Gif isn’t mine.

In the darkest alleyways of the city, Bucky drags Steve along to a bar with red, white, and blue neon lights forming the, now iconic, uncle Sam poster. From outside, Steve can hear music that is nowhere near the music you ordinarily hear in bars. It slow and sensual. He reads the sign above the door. Doll Dizzy*. America’s finest broads. “Of course they had to word it like that,” Steve thinks to himself, almost visibly shaking his head.

‘Why are we here again,‘ Steve asks Bucky, obviously uncomfortable because of the unfamiliar scene while Bucky looks to fit in.

‘Well, I was thinking-‘

‘That’s never a good idea.‘ Steve gains a slap to the arm from Bucky while he grins at him.

‘Oh shut your hole,‘ Bucky laughs, ‘see, I was thinking. If Captain America is worse at pulling chicks than a chrome dome geezer, than why not bring him somewhere where the girls are already in their unmentionables?‘

‘I feel like I should be offended.‘ Bucky grins again and puts his arm around Steve’s shoulders.

‘Come on, lets just enjoy the night.‘ Steve sighs and nods, following Bucky into the dim establishment. Bucky buys the both of them a ticket and they walk into the bar.

Inside, everything is doused in neon lights. On their left is a bar with more liquor than even Steve could ever consume and in front of them are tables, booths, and a stage. Everything looks quite overly dramatic to Steve. The curtains that cover the stage are the same ones you see at the theater and the booths and tables look a bit more like they belong in a club uptown.

Nevertheless, Bucky guides them to a booth in the back. A little discreet spot and Steve thanks him for it. His image as America’s golden boy is still imminent and he wants to keep it going that way after all that’s happened.

A scarcely clad woman comes to their table and Steve turns a bright shade of red. He tries to look anywhere but her body, but all he gains are giggles and laughs from both the woman and Bucky.

‘Afternoon gents, what can I get ya?‘ She seems friendly, but Steve still finds it hard to stay respectful.

‘My friend here has to get a bit of a buzz,‘ Bucky tells the woman with a pat on Steve’s chest, ‘what’ll do that for me?‘

‘Got just the thing. I’ll be right back.‘

‘Thanks doll.‘ The girl scurries off and Steve finally breathes again. Bucky laughs.

‘Where in the heavens did you bring me?‘

‘It’s a burlesque bar,‘ Bucky grins, ‘it’s about as much fun you can have without anyone being naked.‘

‘I don’t think-‘

‘No, stop,’ Bucky waves a finger in his face, ‘don’t think. Just enjoy the show. It’s just singing and dancing, but the girls just aren’t wearing their petticoats. That so bad?’

‘I suppose not.‘

‘That’s a good lad,‘ Bucky speaks proudly. The girl comes back over with their drinks and puts them down. She brought them a shot and a beer to chase it. Bucky hands Steve a shot and clinks their glasses together. ‘To beautiful women.’

Steve sighs and throws the shot back, knowing it’ll do nothing for him. At least Bucky is having a good time.

The curtain opens and a man in suit stands on the stage holding a piece of paper and a microphone.

‘Good evening gentlemen,‘ he says with a dirty smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes Steve feel dirty to be here. ‘We have some beautiful dolls waiting to perform for you, but first the rules. Rule number one, you don’t touch the girls. Touch the girls and you will be escorted out. Number two, no forceful behavior towards our girls. We care for our girls and we will throw you out. Number three, no vulgar language about our girls. They are here performing for your pleasure. Thank you very much for your attention. We have a beautiful line of women standing ready for you. Rose, Pansy, Lavender, Peony, but right now I have the pleasure to introduce to you, our pride and joy, Jasmine.‘

‘Are those their real names,‘ Steve asks Bucky in a whisper.

‘Of course not,‘ Bucky chuckles.

They watch as the curtains close for a short while. When they open again, a woman in a red, floor-length dress with a sweetheart neckline and a slit all the way up to her hip so you can clearly she see isn’t wearing knickers steps onto the stage. Her lips painted as red as her dress and her hair done beautifully. She stands behind the microphone, barefoot.

The men begin cheering when the piano man starts playing and the girl starts swaying her hips. Steve’s eyes go wide when he hears her voice. She has this southern sound to her voice, but it sounds heavy and dragging. It’s the kind of voice that has a story. It’s to beautiful to be like that naturally. She could put most famous singers to shame in Steve’s opinion.

‘A real looker, ain’t she,‘ Bucky elbows Steve to get his attention, but he just hums in agreement. It doesn’t strike Bucky as anything strange when Steve seems to be staring so intently at the woman. After all, they are here to ogle women.

The number ends too soon. Steve turns his attention back to his glass while Bucky continues to enjoy the women on the stage.

Song after song passes until Jasmine returns to the stage, this time dressed in much less. To Steve, she’s still as beautiful as she was before. He enjoys her singing and her enjoyment in singing. This time around, she seems to be looking at him as well. When she dances, she seems to look for his reaction every time it’s a bit more scandalous.

Or maybe he’s just imagining it. After all, there are lots of guys here. Maybe she’s looking at Bucky. Bucky is much more confident and was always considered the better looking one of them. And suddenly the song has passed.

A few minutes later, their waitress puts a bottle of champagne on their table with three glasses.

‘Oh, we didn’t order this,‘ Steve says, looking at her in confusion. She throws him a smile and just walks off. ‘What was that all about,’ he asks Bucky, but he just shrugs.

‘Good evening gents, may I join you,‘ a female voice asks them. The two look to their side and there she stands. Jasmine dressed in her clothes from the last song, or lack thereof, and a sheer robe tied over it.

‘By all means,‘ Bucky smirks, pulling Steve to his side so she’ll slide into the booth on his side.

‘I must say, I never expected Captain America to visit a place like this one,‘ she looks smug, almost proud, ‘I think this kind of corruption calls for celebration. Bucky, darling, could you open the bottle for us. Don’t shoot it please, it’s expensive.‘

Bucky follows her orders to a tea, like a good soldier should. He pours the glasses, handing her the first as a gentleman should. But she seems to have much more attention for the bigger man.

‘Cheers, to your corruption,‘ she says to Steve. He gives her a shy nods and the three take a sip. ‘So how’d this git manage to drag you down here?‘

‘Git?‘

‘What’s that? Can’t take a bit of ragging**, Barnes,‘ she teases, but quickly turns back to Steve, ‘well? You don’t seem a man who goes around in the sticks***.’ Steve isn’t sure what to say. It’s not like there’s any way to talk this into a good thing. He was nearly dragged by his hair.

‘The man has a hard time talking to women,‘ Bucky tells her, ‘so I thought I’d bring him here so he wouldn’t have to talk.‘

‘Ah, like so. Well, if I’m bothering you, you can just say.‘

‘Oh, no, I quite enjoy your company,’ Steve mutters barely audible. She grins brightly an shuffles and bit closer to him. Most of the talking is still done by Bucky and Jasmin, but he quite likes her with them. She leaned into him more and more, teasing and playing with the cuffs of his sleeves.

‘Well gents, thank you for a wonderful night. I best get going if I want to catch the last bus,‘ she smiles and gets up, ‘maybe I’ll see you two around?’ Bucky nods, but Steve is still amazed and quiet. She leaves looking utterly amused and Steve knows he’s blown it. His heart was beating too damn fast for him to be able to get any words from his mouth.

‘Ey, loverboy,‘ Bucky snaps his fingers in front of Steve’s face, ‘you good?‘

‘Yeah, fine.‘

Into the cold of the night they step. Bucky and Steve. Bucky obviously fairly buzzed, Steve awfully sober. If only he’d be able to get at least a little buzzed to match his friend. But hey, at least he doesn’t have to call a cab.

Steve drags Bucky in the direction of the car when he sees this pretty little thing sitting by the bus stop. He recognizes her right away. Jasmine.

‘Evening,‘ he greets with a small smile. She looks at him and smiles, leaning back a little to straighten her back and make herself look bigger.

‘Evening capt’n, did you have a good night,‘ she asks cheerfully.

‘Wonderful. Thank you for spending some time with us,‘ he gives a small nod in appreciation.

‘Your friend ok?‘

‘Buzzed,‘ he explains to her with a shrug, ‘nothing I can’t handle.‘

‘I can see that. He’s basically sleeping.‘

‘You miss your buss?‘ She nods, her smile faltering. ‘Need a ride?‘

‘Sorry I was acting so-‘

‘Don’t bother,‘ she giggles, ‘most proper men get weird around the bar. Just glad you’re one of them. Would be a real shame if Captain America turned out to be a dick, wouldn’t it?‘ He smiles at her joke. He know she’s just saying it to make him feel at ease, but it sounds sincere and he grasps onto that part rather than the other.

‘May I ask your name? I feel strange calling you Jasmine.‘

‘It’s Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.‘

‘Y/N? That’s a very pretty name,‘ he compliments, trying to sound smooth but the happiness on his face is hard to miss.

‘Thank you.‘ He notices she’s staring at him while he drives. Bucky is snoring in the back seat, but it still feels quite romantic in the front. He does feel nervous, but she makes it feel easier.

‘Say Y/N, I know this isn’t quite how it’s supposed to go, but may I ask you to join me for dinner sometime?‘ He takes a quick peek over at her shocked face.

‘Oh, ehm, wow,‘ she stammers.

‘You don’t have to of course,’ he quickly tells her to make her feel at ease, but then he hears her giggle.

‘I would be honored to join you for dinner,‘ she gleams, ‘I just didn’t expect you to have the guts to ask.‘ She looks to the snoring figure in the back. ‘He’d be proud of you if he heard.’

‘We’re here.‘ Steve parks the car on the curb and runs out to open the door for her on her side. She smiles brightly when he does and takes his hand.

‘Such a gentleman,‘ she comments, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek while she gets up, ‘I like it.‘ His face turns bright red again as he walks her to her front door. ‘Wait here for a second,‘ she asks him before slipping inside. He watches the lights turn on and some rumbling inside. It takes her no longer than a minute or two before she comes back to the door holding a piece of paper. ‘My address and phone number.‘ He nods and takes it, putting it in his breast pocket.

‘I’m sorry I sound so impatient, but would you be free tomorrow,‘ he asks her, ‘see, I don’t know when I’ll be deployed again.‘

‘Tomorrow would be wonderful. Pick me up at six?‘

‘Certainly.‘ The two stare at each other for a moment, his eyes looking at her soft lips. She took off the red lipstick, but they still look amazingly inviting and soft. ‘Would it be improper to kiss you right now?‘

‘It would,‘ she answers with a mischievous smile, ‘but you’ve already seen me in my unmentionables.‘ He takes a step closer to her, gently resting his hands on her hips as she lays her hands on his shoulders.

‘We’ve been doing this whole thing backwards, haven’t we?’ She smiles at him as she feels her heart beating faster and faster. Men like this are hard to come by. And she even found one she actually likes.

‘We have,‘ she answers and presses her lips against his. It’s a short, but wonderful kiss. The both of them gleam when they let go of each other in a state of pure bliss. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.‘ He nods and watches her go inside before he gets back in the car.

‘Who would’ve though.‘ Steve jumps out the sound of Bucky’s voice.

‘Jesus Christ Buck, you scared me,‘ he puts a hand to his chest trying to control his breathing and the adrenaline running through him.

‘I’m proud of you punk,‘ Bucky smiles and pats Steve on the back, ‘she’s quite the catch.‘ Steve smiles proudly, but looks down at the steering wheel.

‘Of course I have to manage to fall in love with a woman completely out of my reach,‘ Steve laughs, ‘it’s not the first time.‘

‘But this woman obviously wants you too,‘ Bucky tells him. They both know they’re revering to Peggy who has always been out of reach for Steve.

‘How can you be so sure about that?‘ Bucky gives him an unbelieving look, confused at Steve’s words.

‘I’m sorry, did you forgot you were just kissing her at the door,‘ he asks the man next to him, ‘believe it or not, this woman is interested in you.‘ Suddenly, Steve gets scared once again. This time because of tapping on the window. Steve rolls his window down and sees Y/N again.

‘Hey, I’m sorry to intrude, but would you want to come inside? Oh, hi Bucky.‘

‘I would love to.‘ She nods with a disappointed look on her face, knowing where this is going.

‘But you have to drive Bucky back.‘

‘I do.‘

‘No you don’t,‘ Bucky stops him, ‘we’re less than a mile from base. I can walk. No problem. Need to sober up anyway. They don’t like drunks at the base.‘ He’s more talking to her than to Steve. He knows the only convincing Steve needs is her convincing. His won’t work. He’s already overused that today.

Before Steve can say anything, Bucky is out of the car. He salutes Steve and Y/N and head in the general direction of the base. Speechless, Steve gets out of the car and follows Y/N inside.

She sits him down on the couch and curls up on the other side, both of them holding a cup of tea. She seems much shyer than before, but a good kind of shy.

‘Tell me if I’m going to fast,‘ she mumbles, ‘but I’ve never met a man quite like you and I’m sure my momma would tell me to keep you as close as I possibly can.‘

‘That’s a big compliment. Thank you,‘ he smiles shyly. She puts her cup of tea on the coffee table and moves towards him on the couch.

‘Can I kiss you again?‘

*Doll dizzy: A boy who’s crazy about girls. **Ragging: Making fun of, nagging. ***In the sticks: Undesirable location.

A white Jasmine stands for sweet love.

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #captain america #captain america fanfic #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel #steve x reader #cap x reader

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deepdonutkid · 3 years

Text

Gambling man

Warnings: swearing, smoking, drinking, dirty talk (starting soft here)

A/N: This is the first chapter of my newest series: Do you wanna touch ! There is also the summary of the story and the masterlist and the warning for the story as a whole. Have fun reading it and I hope you leave some love here!

There were no words to describe how annoyed he was. Why should he do something for Tommy after the regular work in the betting shop? John was tired and this was an understatement. He was nearly constantly yawning, rubbing his eyes and his head was aching. The kids kept him up all night. One wet the bed. This woke up the others. They wouldn’t go back to sleep that easily, of course and John was already half-dead when he arrived at work. And now he had to go to a swanky bar called “The mockingbird” to pick something up for this brother.

He didn’t even know what it was, but apparently it was expensive. Tommy was god-knows-where and John was sick of being his clown. It was always the same. ‘John do this’ or ‘John do that’ and he couldn’t escape it. Of course he tried, like a million times already. It has been like this since they were kids and even nowadays he couldn’t say no to his family.

After all, family was the most important thing in his life, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t complain while doing the dirty work again. At least he didn’t have to care about his kids for the rest of the night. Polly was watching them. He agreed with Tommy about that. It was his only condition. When the job was said and done, he wanted a good night sleep. John couldn’t remember his last peaceful night, maybe before the war or even before his wedding. He was still a child back then, but he doesn’t really miss this part of his life.

Back then they were poor kids with some knives, robbing some fellows to get some coins. When he was hungry he had to steal, because begging never has been his thing. Looking back wasn’t glorious. It was just sad and nothing more. Now he has the money for food, but nobody will cook for him. Martha died during the war, so when he finally came home, broken and shattered; he was all alone with no one to comfort him. Well, he had the kids, but they behaved just as bad as waifs and strays. They still did. Always jumping around, asking way too many questions, destroying everything that comes to their hands and John just needed a break.

Just one night, was all he was asking for.

But first he had to do his job. Then he could think of all the ways he could spend his free time. So he walked to the pub and grumbled. How fucking garish it looked! Everything was so nice and expensive and everyone acted like they were about humans. John gave a sniff about these posh fuckers. The look in his eyes was dismissive as he entered this fancy place.

Indoors it smelled like wine and cigars. Not bad, he thought as he glanced around. The place was light and warm and full of laughter. Golden ornaments everywhere, he noticed and shook his head about it. This was nothing he cared about. They wouldn’t even serve beer here.

John walked to the bar and ordered a whiskey, Irish of course. Then he waited at the counter, like Tommy had explained to him. A man would walk up to him and asking him how the weather was outside and regardless of the cloud free sky that night, John should answer: “It’s fookin pouring.” What a bloody drama was this anyway? Why he couldn’t pick up the package like a normal person? But with Tommy and his secret plans and all this bullshit he had no other way, but to do as he was commanded.

The Shelby drowned one glass and then next and then the next, still no contact in sight. For the glimpse of a moment he thought he had to wait all night for the man to come. After his fourth glass of whiskey a small man with a bowler, white stubbly hair and a curly moustache arrived. He had an umbrella with him and used it as walking stick. The way he walked looked almost cartoonish. John gave his best not to laugh about this codger, especially when he asked the question. “Oh, young boy, could you please tell me, how is the weather outside?” The voice of the strange man was croaking, which made the whole conversation even more farcical.

Now he really had to bit his lip, so he wouldn’t burst out in laughter. “It’s fooking pouring”, John chuckled and emptied his glass.

“Good”, the old man said: “Just as I expected. Now I don’t need the paper anymore. Take this.” He handed John a newspaper with something inside. John took it and put it in the inside of his jacket. The dossier was safe there.

Instead of saying thanks, John shouted to the bartender: “One drink for him and one for me.” The guy behind the bar rushed to them and poured another drink. John wasn’t drunk yet, but sooner or later the whiskey would do his work.

The job was a simple transaction, but his part of the deal wasn’t done yet. First he paid the barkeeper and waited for him to leave. Then he sat there awhile and drank there quietly. He still didn’t know how he should hand the money discretely… until the man asked: “Boy, please do me another favor. Lend me some money for the cab.”

This had to be a sign, he thought and pulled out a thick wad of money, which he slipped into the wrinkly hands of the geezer. “This would be more than enough. Farewell.” He muttered and stood up from his stool, ready to leave.

Just in this moment he realized nature was calling and he should do that, before walking into the cold night of Birmingham. So he took a little detour to the lavatories.

With steady steps he headed to the exit. One last time he turned around. There was something interesting about this place after all. In the back were four card tables. John liked to play, whenever he was at the garrison, but even if he left right away, the garrison would be closed as soon as he arrived in Small Heath. It was almost midnight by now, but John was now more drunk than tired and he though one or two rounds of cards couldn’t hurt.

So he walked towards the tables and studied them to pick the right one. On the first were just some posh greybeards, which weren’t interesting at all or at least not for John. The second was empty and on the third table were two Chinese men talking in their mother tongue. The last table caught his attention. There sat the croupier, a man with a scar across his face in his forties, a Spanish guy with gelled hair and a lady. She had her hair open, so the blonde locks would reach her tailbone. This seemed by far to be the most interesting table.

Without a second thought he sat down at table number four. The other players nodded slightly, when he arrived. The round wasn’t done yet, but the pot was full of chips and in the middle was a golden hair pin. Now he realized why the woman wore her hair open. She had used her pin as her stake.

John decided to take a closer look at his fellow players. The two men were exactly what he thought they would be… greasy, compulsive gamblers. Nothing more to say.

But the lady… Well, there was something about her. John couldn’t point it out yet, but he was eager to find out. Everything from her golden shiny hair to that arrogant grin on face was capturing. She had a fierce look on her face as if she knew something everyone else didn’t. Every little detail like her dominant cheekbones or tilted chin seemed to add to the impression how privileged and entitled she was. Yet, she was quite charming in her pink dress. Her clothing seemed to be expensive, but it completed her appearance.

John was so caught by her presence; he didn’t recognized when the round ended. The other player with the scar and the hat folded, so she won. As she revealed her hand, her opponent groaned and slapped his fist on the table. Apparently she had nothing, but a good poker face. The Shelby was pretty impressed. He had played cards with some girls before, but none of them were really good at it. They just tried to flirt with him, while playing.

So he leaned closer to her and whispered: “Any luck today?” She gave him a dismissive glare and then collected her stake.

While she twirled her hair around and put the pin back in place, the croupier asked John, if he wants to join for the next round. He nodded, pulled some bills out of his pocket and gave it to the dealer. In return the dealer handed him some chips and started riffle the cards.

The man who just lost the last round stood up and left the table grunting. Then the lady declared in a dry tone: “At least more than him.” John let out a little laugh. Obviously she was funny too. He already took the bait and was curious to get more information about her.

The Shelby slid closer to her and smiled at her, but that didn’t seem to please her. “Don’t fucking look at my cards.” She growled, raising an eyebrow. John bit his lip, glaring at her with amusement. Then he noticed, he didn’t even check his hand, so he did that- a jack and a five- and then placed a bet.

After he had done that, he started staring again and couldn’t stop until she nagged: “What exactly do you want from me?” He chuckled. As if he would know that?

“Whatever you want to give me”, he grinned and leaned forwards as he tried to get in a more comfortable position on his chair. While talking he noticed her smell. It was a combination of roses, vanilla and oranges. What a great contrast to the people he usually talked to. He wanted to ensure, that this wasn’t an illusion, but sniffing on woman wasn’t a publicly accepted thing to do. Even he knew and heeded that.

With widened eyes she gazed back at him. “So… you want to get slapped?” she answered, with blank eyes. The woman was quite serious, but John couldn’t help but smirk at her. He liked her fervor.

John smothered to say a little delinquent ‘Maybe’ and placed another bet as it was his turn again. His cards weren’t the best, but he wanted to keep playing.

They played for a while. Then out of the blue the lady asked: “Should I take you silence as a yes? Or did you swallow your tongue?” He didn’t expect her to insist on an answer.

His hand scratched the back of his head as he searched for words to say. “No, I just…”

“Just what?” she interrupted him, before he could even finish his sentence. Now she seemed to sneer.

Her laugh made him laugh too. It was contagious and he always had a thing for fierce women. “I just want to know you name at least” he added.

“Does this matter?” she responded while fumbling with her chips: “Aren’t we here to play cards, ey?”

The Shelby nodded. She was probably right. He shouldn’t care about this, but yet he still had the desire to know more about this mysterious creature in front of him. “To the game… no” he murmured: “To me, yes.”

She looked down at her cards, as she raised the stake. He didn’t know, if she would ignore him again, so he introduced himself first: “I’m John.” He raised her by two more chips.

The blond groaned as if she was almost disappointed. Then in the next round she called and said with the most Russian accent he could imagine: “I’m Darja, but you can call me Dascha.” Now he was surprised again. He didn’t expect that. From first sight she didn’t seemed to be Russian… but who would have guessed he was Romani. They would have thrown him out, if they knew.

“It’s a pleasure” he nodded and waited for the other player at the table to end his turn. That slickly guy folded and now it was just the two of them in the game. John decided to call and as he placed another red casino chip in the pot he whispered to himself: “Dascha”

Her name was like a sweet melody to him and fitted her image as an entitled little madam. They moaned the loudest though, when they get a good fuck. The picture of them doing it in the lavatories wouldn’t leave his head as he peered into the distance. How he would shag her, grabbing her tiny little butt, while she begged for more.

This little though brought him unholy amounts of pleasure. With a grin on his face he finally arrived back in reality, just to notice that he should shut his cards down. She waited patiently and then showed her hand.

The two of them starred at the cards. He had won with just a three of a kind. That was luck indeed. She had a pair of queens.

“Seems like you’re lucky tonight”, she mumbled as she took a sip from a colorful drink.

His eyes widened from surprise and amusement. Grinning at her he asked: “Oh, is that so?”

The blonde woman clucked her tongue and gave him a dismissive stare. “Don’t get cocky after just one round.”

So the next round started. They played for a while. Sometimes she had won and sometimes he did.

Now his cards were even better than the last time. John had to bit his lip to hide his smile. Soon after he placed a bet, he got an idea. The guy on the other side of the table was nearly out of money and so it was clear it was a race between them now.

When the other guy reached his limit, John put three of his red chips in the middle of the table and said to the croupier: “Open a side pot, please.” Then he slowly turned to the woman. She hasn’t changed mimic or position, almost statuesque. There was still this mysterious smile on her face. But then she moved her hand to call.

“Shall we make this more interesting?”, he purposed and flicked a coin in his hands.

She glared at him for a while, completely silent, as if she tried to read his thoughts. Very quietly she hummed. John had to focus on the melody to even hear it, so it wouldn’t get lost in the surroundings. Finally she tilted her head and inquired: “What do you have in mind?”

It seemed like the Shelby had caught her interest as well and he was ready to play with her. John licked his lips and laughed. “Just a little bet. If I win this round, we’ll meet again… on a date.” He knew just too well, that if he mentioned something more sexual, this little lady would run away. But as his grandfather used to say, he had to think of the long game.

The Russian nodded. “But what if I win? What do I get? Do you even have something interesting for me?”

Now he was a little lost. He thought he’d never get this far. What could she want was the question in mind. Well, he couldn’t give up his pocket watch and he didn’t have anything else expensive with him. But on the other hand she seemed to be rich enough to deny his offer.

John was desperate, not completely, just a little. This might be his only chance with a woman like her. So he did what he could do best- be an arrogant asshole! He looked at her the whole time until he made his move. His eyes wandered from her to his manhood and then back to her. With a cocky smile on his face he underlined his wager.

And she burst out in laughter: “Hell no!” It took almost a minute until she calmed down again. She was still giggling like a five-year-old, when she added: “This is not going to happen, but I’m going to take your ring as a stake. So you’ll learn your lesson.”

At first he didn’t know what she meant. Then he looked at his hands. Like other Romani he wore at least five of them. Most were family heirloom, but his wedding ring wasn’t. All his other rings were luxuriant. His wedding ring was simple golden and had no ornaments like the others. Until now he had completely forgot about this. Of course he was still wearing it. He never took it off. Not during the war and not after Martha had died.

John had never questioned it, but now he had to. If he wasn’t so sure, he would win, he would have never agreed to this. It was a weird feeling to take it off, after all those years. He turned the ring in his hand, still worried if he would get it back. Then he heard her giggle again. She felt confident, John wouldn’t cross this line, but because she was so convinced, he finally put the ring on the table. “Then teach me”, he grunted.

Once again it was time to turn the cards. His heartbeat was going crazy as his fingers reached for the two cards in front of him again. He flipped them as quickly as possible. There was no chance, she would win. John had a fucking flush on his hand.

He was watching her closely, as she played with one lose streak of her blond hair. One moment she was laughing, and then she hung her head. Suddenly he would realize the bittersweet nuance in her smile, as she had shown her cards. The Russian had lost again. “My luck ended, when you came to this table, I guess”, she mumbled.

On the other hand John couldn’t feel luckier. He took his bet back, put his ring back on and piled up his chips gleefully. “Oh, you shouldn’t be sad. You just won a date with me”, he joked knowing he was just rubbed salt in her wounds.

Amused he watched her as she pouted her lips. She stood up from her stool, stretched herself and declared: “I better get going, before I lose the rest of my dignity.” A nod to the croupier was enough to tell him to change the chips back into money.

John did the same, when he had put his money away, he ran after her. “Wait, darling”, he said under his breath: “You don’t get away this easily. You still owe me something… Let me walk you home, so I know where I can pick you up for our date.”

She chose to ignore him, so he grabbed her wrist to stop her from going away. Then she turned around to him and raised her eyebrow. “Do I?”, she asked: “I thought this was a joke or would you really gamble away your wedding ring? What would your wife say about this?”

Before he could even answer, she added: “I mean I feel very flattered by your attention, since you’re somehow good looking or whatever, but I don’t fuck married man.”

“Stop right there”, he replied: “Yes, I was serious and don’t bring my wife into this discussion. The date doesn’t mean we have to have sex… I mean it would be nice, but that’s not my point. I want to get to know you… and I won.” Somehow he couldn’t tell her the truth. He was a widower with four children and he didn’t want her to pity him. Actually that was the last thing he wanted right now. In his opinion it was better if she thought he was a married asshole, than a poor, sad widower.

With a straight face she wrest herself free, just to offer her arm, so he could link in. Her cheeks were gleaming red as she moaned: “Let’s just get out of here.” Gladly he would take her hand and guide her outside.

It was still warm outside and it would be one of the last pleasant evenings in Birmingham for the next time. Fall was coming soon and it would get way colder. Right now, he and the lady to his right could walk down the street without a coat. John was mentally prepared to give her his jacket, if she would need it, but she was silent as they left the nightclub.

“Why do you want to walk with me? I don’t live so far from here”, she asked and looked the other way.

It was so dark outside; he could barely see his own hands in front of him. Yet he knew that her face was still flushed with shame. His smile was undeniable. “Well”, he explained: “You don’t come from Birmingham and so you might not know, it’s a dangerous town for a woman like you.”

He could see the silhouette of her head nod. Then he heard her laughter. “And you are here to save me?”

Of course, it wasn’t his job to bring her home, but it felt like the right thing to do and after all, he wanted to spend more time with her. It was a weird thing, yes, since he had only known her for maybe an hour or less, but there was something about her, something captivating and he thought that eventually- if he could get to know her better- he could figure out why she was so fascinating to him. There was something in her eyes, something he had never seen before and he was keen to know, what it was. Or maybe he was just needy and an idiot to fall for the first pretty woman he had seen for months. After a while he answered: “Yes, I do.” His voice was soft, when he spoke, it sounded so unfamiliar.

“What make you think I need a savior?” was her next question. Somehow he got the idea, that she would never stop asking things. The way she said it seemed so innocent to him. He had seen war and violence en masse and he knew his city well enough to predict something bad, without having any second Romani sense like his aunt.

“Nah, I just think it’s better to be safe than to be sorry”, he responded and caressed her arm with his thumb. Usually he wasn’t so sweet, when it came to woman, but he still tried to charm her. And it somehow worked, at least she giggled again.

Then she joked: “So what? You’re going to heroically fight them off with your fists? Is this what you want me to believe?” Suddenly she stopped walking and just stood there, staring at him.

John chuckled and stopped as well. “No, I have a gun.” He didn’t want to scare her, so he just said it very calmly. And well, there was no need to show his Webley to her, right?

The Russian laughed even louder. Somehow she managed to say: “Excuse me… English is not my first language… Is gun another jargon for cock?”

Another time this would make him laugh as well, but now he thought she was not taking him seriously, which hurt his big male ego. After all, he was a goddamn Shelby, a King of Small Heath, a gangster or whatever people liked to call him… and yet the little lady in front of him was twitting about him.

So he opened his jacket and his gun shimmered in the light of the nearest lantern. “See? I’m not joking, honey”, he grunted. Others would fear him now, but she looked very unbothered right now. She wasn’t impressed or scared, she hid all her emotions beneath her brilliant poker face again.

They stood there in silence for quite a while. John wasn’t sure how to proceed and he was still waiting for her reaction.

All the sudden a big smile from one ear to the other was carved into her skin. Her eyes seemed so lost, like she wasn’t mentally here anymore, when she lifted her hand to his head, or to his cap to be precise. She snorted as she hovered with her finger over the edge of his flat cap. He was about to tell her about the razor blades he had sewn in there, when she presented the blood on her index finger. “You are one of these Peaky Blinders. Am I right, John?”

He felt caught, even though this wasn’t actually a secret. It was more like everybody knew who he was. So why couldn’t he say something now? All those words were stuck in his thought and he couldn’t break nor speak. His head was all blank and he still wanted to turn this conversation around. The only thing he could do was to nod.

“Good”, she whispered and came close to him: “I like when someone doesn’t play by the rules, because neither do I.” The Russian moved away and her cheek briefly brushed against his. A shiver ran down his spine. Her voice was electrifying and he wanted her to moan his name over and over again.

She was so mean, when she teased him like this, but he couldn’t deny that this was appealing to him. “Fuck”, he groaned and put his hand on her waist to pull her closer. Now he could see her face in the light of street lantern again. To his pleasure he noticed that she seemed at least a little scared. “Following the rules is just so tiring and on top of that also boring. Why should I keep playing by the book, when is so much more fun, just to break some shit?” Under his fingertips he felt the fabric of her dress and how she trembled.

Just like he thought it was getting to cold for just a summer dress like hers. “Do you want my jacket?”, he offered with a smile and moved his hand to her cheek to caress it gently.

Slowly she shook her head and refused his kind gesture. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.” They were still close and she hasn’t hurried away, which was a good sign for him. He liked to feel her warm body against his. The last time he had felt something like this was so long ago.

A small, but very vulnerable smile graced his lips. “Dascha?” Calling her name like was oddly intense, but his heart jumped when she squeaked. He hadn’t imagine her to be so soft all the sudden as if she was melting in his hands. And the look in her eyes gave him the rest. It was like the world had stopped for a second. There was no sound, no other smell and no other visual sensation. Everything else became so blurry. Now there was just her. Maybe it wasn’t even his action, maybe the whiskey had made him to it, but he leaned in to kiss her.

Their lips met a lot sooner than he thought. John was so relieved, she didn’t push him away and seconds later he was surprised how soft and sweet her lips tasted. He couldn’t get enough of this. His hands were all on her body. Right now everything else that happened this night was irrelevant. This was worth all the stress. And he was glad, he had enough courage to do it.

Even when they parted, they were still strangers to each other, but John was sure he felt a connection. Heavily breathing he couldn’t take his eyes of her. She was still panting. Her lips were swollen and her whole face was heading a shade of red unknown to mankind, but fuck, she was beautiful.

“You stole a kiss from me?” It sounded more like statement than a question, but John nodded in agreement. Yes, he did that and he was so proud he did. It was the most interesting thing, that has happened to him in months and he would do it again, if he had to.

The blond bid her lip and moaned: “Now I have to steal it back.” He hadn’t even realized what she just said, when he felt her lips on his again. She had caught him in surprise and he got the idea how she must have felt, when he attacked her like this. It was rushed and yet perplexing good.

They only stopped, because the bell announced the next hour. She looked up at the sky as if she could she the clock tower from this dark alley. “I have to go now”, she explained: “But let’s meet here again next week. Same spot at eight.” Then she pointed above them. Only now he noticed they were standing at the corner of St. James and George Road.

“Can’t wait”, he replied and smiled. There was no point in asking her again, if he should walk her home. She seemed to be sure to go home alone. The Russian nodded and hurried away. He kept eying her until she disappeared behind the next corner. This whole encounter was so surreal.

On the way back home he thought about her and hoped he wouldn’t forget their next meeting. Now he just had to figure out, how he would convince Polly to take care of his kids. When he got home everything was silent. The kids were asleep and he would go straight to bed to. As he stumbled out of his clothes and into his bed, he still could feel the touch of her lips. Needless to say, he had a wonderful sleep that night.

tagging: @theshelbyclan @justalonelyslytherin @bonniesgoldengirl

#peaky blinders #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders fic #john shelby #john shelby x oc #own character #fanfic #my first multichap #multichapter #john shelby is a switcher #by deepdonutkid #deepdonutkid #cheeky john #tw drinking #tw smoking

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omni-scient-pan-da · 3 years

Text

And They Were Oarmates

The Third Part of My Fic About The Oars by omni-scient-pan-da (One, Two, All)

For @i-have-all-these-freaking-uwus @burntuakrisp @wh33z @reaping-mae @jo-the-nerd @emo-bi-mess @taurianskies7 @the-dumbass-multishipper @pictures-that-are-kinda-cool @iprefertheterminsane @inkytrinket-irii

About six weeks had passed since Rowan set out on his journey to find his husband, and word was starting to get around that he was looking for a warlock with green magic.

Unfortuntely, he was no closer to finding Killian than he had been when he first started. Anytime he thought he’d found someone that could take him to the warlock, it turned out to be the wrong person. Every lead he had had led him to a dead end, but Rowan refused to give up hope. He’d do whatever it took to find his husband, even if it killed him.

Right now though, things weren’t looking the greatest. Even if he hadn’t been worried about what was happening to Killian he had more pressing matters to focus on at the moment.

Like the angry dragon that he’d accidentally stumbled upon.

Bright green fire shot past Rowan as he darted to the side of the cave. Holy shit, Rowan thought to himself. I didn’t realize dragons were so sensitive about being called warlocks.

It hadn’t seemed like an unreasonable assumption at the time, but if nothing else, this dragon really seemed to hate being confused for a warlock.

Rowan peaked around the corner, trying to gauge how far away the exit was. If he could just get past the dragon without being burned to a crisp, he could try and make a break for it. But of course, that would require him to actually be able to make it past the dragon.

“Look, I’m sorry I confused you for a warlock!” Rowan yelled, trying to reason with the dragon. “It won’t happen again!”

Green fire shot down the corridor once more and Rowan sighed. This was going to be difficult.

Killian fell to the ground, breathing heavily.

“Again,” the warlock commanded, glaring at him.

“How many times is it going to take for you to realize I just can’t do magic?” Killian asked, wiping sweat from his brow as he pushed himself up off the ground into a sitting position. “It’s just not possible for me.”

The warlock smiled at him and suddenly Killian felt very very uneasy. The warlock never smiled, not unless he was about to do something Killian would absolutely despise.

“Everyone can do magic Killian,” the warlock sneered. “Maybe it’s just that you need a little more motivation.”

Green light sizzled through the air and all of a sudden the warlock was holding Killian’s ring in his hand. His wedding ring. The one thing that he had left to remind him of home, the one thing that still connected him to his husband, the one thing that gave him hope that he might actually find his way home.

“Isn’t it funny how something so small can give a person so much motivation?” the warlock asked, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk.

“Give it back you son of a bitch,” Killian ordered, trying to put all the force he could muster into his words, but even to his own ears his voice sounded hollow, shaky, and a little broken. He couldn’t take the ring, the ring was the one thing he had left.

“This little old thing?” the warlock asked innocently, twirling it in his hand. “Maybe having the metal on your person is what’s interfering with your magic.” He grinned sadistically and the palm holding the ring lit up in green flames.

Moving without thinking, Killian roared, lunging at the warlock. “YOU BASTARD!” he wound his arm up to punch the geezer in the gut, his own fist now alight with burning red angry magic as he swung. The only thing on his mind was how badly he needed to get that ring back, he had to have it, the warlock couldn’t take it from him, he needed it, he needed Rowan, he needed-

All of a sudden Killian flew back in the air before landing on the cold hard ground once more, his stomach on fire as if he had been the one to get hit and not the warlock.

In front of him the warlock laughed as green protection sigils flashed around him. “Reflection spells Killian, remember?”

Killian took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the searing pain in his abdomen. “Give me the ring back or I’ll kill you.”

The warlock snorted. “As fun as it’d be to see you try, I think there are more important things at hand here, such as the fact that you can do magic.” he held up the ring, that sadistic grin of his plastered across his face once more. “And now I know exactly how to trigger it.”

After nearly getting burned to death by a dragon and numerous other failed attempts at finding his husband, Rowan was starting to get really fucking tired. He wasn’t giving up hope just yet, he couldn’t give up hope. Rowan couldn’t even begin to fathom how he was supposed to carry on without even the smallest slimmer of hope of finding Killian again.

But he was getting really really tired of all the traveling and time and energy it took for him to even find the smallest whisper of Killian, only for his plans to completely blow up in his face.

All he wanted was to find his husband, was that so terrible? Was he truly destined to endure a life of suffering without him? Constantly searching for a man that might not even want him anymore?

That was the worst part about this whole ordeal, the way Killian had acted in those last few precious moments before he had been stolen from Rowan. The warlock had to have done something to mess with Killian’s mind, right? There was no way Killian would’ve said or done those things of his own violition...

Rowan shook his head as he walked, heading back into the inn where he had been staying for the past few nights, hoping he could get in quickly without the owner noticing that half his shirt had been scorched off. Luckily for him, Rowan had always been able to pull of a crop top.

Rowan pushed open the door to the inn, peaking his head inside to see if there was anyone in the lobby. Upon finding no one, he darted inside, thankful his room key had managed to survive his little skirmish with the dragon as he unlocked the door to his rented room and steped inside, sagging against the door as soon as it closed behind him.

“Just... Keep moving Rowan, keep moving and you’ll be fine,” he muttered to himself under his breath. “As long as you keep moving, you’ll find Killian eventually and then... And then...”

And then he really didn’t know what would happen next. He’d find some way to free Killian from that horrible warlock that had taken him? He didn’t know the first thing about magic, how was he supposed to defeat an all powerful warlock? And then of course came that nagging little voice in the back of his mind as he started to question whether or not Killian would even want him to come to his rescue...

Rowan sighed, pushing his doubts aside as he dug through his clothes to find a new shirt. He’d have to buy a new one to replace the one he’d ruined, but that could wait for another day. Right now he needed a drink and a long night’s rest before he decided which town to jump to next in search of his husband.

After changing clothes, Rowan headed out of his room once more, this time to the small tavern across the street from the inn. After taking a seat at the bar and ordering a drink he glanced around the room, looking for anyone that might have any clue where his husband could be.

“This is pointless... I’m never going to find him this way. I need to change strategies or... Or something or else I’m going to go insane.”

“They say talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, so I’d say you’re on the right track,” a voice perked up from behind him said.

Rowan jumped a little in his seat, turning around to find a cloaked woman standing behind him. “I um... I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were standing there.”

The woman smiled slightly. “Don’t worry about it,” she replied. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time... You’re the one trying to find the Le Sorcier Vert, aren’t you?”

Rowan’s eye’s widened. “Do you know how to find him?” His heart was pounding in his chest and he didn’t dare to hope any more than he already was. He didn’t know if he could handle losing hope the way he’d lost Killian.

“I can do you one better,” the woman replied. “I know how to defeat him.

Author's Note: Okay alright it's been 3 months since I updated this but I have no concept of time, so once again, special thanks to @i-have-all-these-freaking-uwus for sending me an ask and motivating me to finish this thing! There WILL be a part 4 and when I post it you can find the link HERE and I'm thinking part four will be the finale? Who knows, but there should be an updated list with all available parts HERE that includes links to the whole series, and I promise, the story will definitely have a happy ending. As before, if you wanna be tagged when part 4 comes out, leave a comment below or reblog this because seriously, I will not work on this for ages unless I have external motivation. Thanks so much for reading this far, I'm glad you're all enjoying the story so far!

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lambourngb · 3 years

Note

If you are still doing this, to make it through (with hearts and wrists intact)

combining the wip ask with WIP Wednesday ! Alright, so there’s two remix challenges going on right now, but I didn’t sign up for either of them because I have enormous anxiety about deadlines and I’m also kind of a control freak about my work. I do love the concept, so I decided to remix my own work.

to make it through (with hearts and wrists intact) is a remix of Last Years Wishes. It is completely the fault of @haloud who mused aloud about what if Jesse got to use the shed on Michael. You guys remember what I did to the shed in LYW right? Yeah. Poor Michael. So while Alex is waiting at the Airstream, talking to agents Ross and Rollins, this is how Michael’s day is going....

[warnings: canon divergent within 1x13, mention of Michael’s feelings for Maria, but nothing happens past the discovery of Rosa’s body in the cave ]

“Old man, you are calling me on my day off,” Michael yelled into the receiver of his cell phone speaker over the rushing sound of air after picking up the call.

The windows were down because his AC in his truck went on the frizz again sometime during when Max had stolen-borrowed it to drive Liz home from Texas, leaving him behind to share a long awkward ride with Maria in her classic Chevy. Awkward because he had been buzzing from the encounter in the desert. He hadn’t slept with anyone in weeks, not since Alex, and that had been a ridiculous attempt for him to pine in celibacy considering just how little the other man had missed him. Some things end in a whimper.

Texas had been about hope, about maybe finding someone who was connected to him on a species level. He hadn’t realized how deeply Max’s enthusiasm had sunk into him until the fraud had been revealed and disappointment had set in. Between Alex’s brusque brush off and realizing they really were alone on this planet, Michael hadn’t thought he could feel even lower with the weight of Isobel’s salvation fully on his shoulders (and Liz’s). Then shining like a bright star in the night sky, he had found Maria.

She had effectively chased away the touch starved ghouls that had haunted his skin that night, he could still barely believe they had dropped right to the rocky ground and scratchy blanket to fuck. It was the type of raw passion he had with- no, in that particular moment he hadn’t thought about Alex but afterwards? He couldn’t avoid the connection the next morning, particularly when she had sworn him to secrecy, and then had reinforced it when she had fully kicked him out in the cold after he had returned her repaired necklace.

It was unfortunate for her that he was already wired to enjoy a push-pull hot-cold dynamic.

Ten years of Alex Manes meant Michael had learned to read past a blustering denial to see the real truth. She really liked him, she just didn’t want to admit it, and good god, if that wasn’t a déjà vu moment for Michael, he didn’t know what was. Maybe it was stupid to believe it would work out any better with her than it had with Alex, but with Noah dead, his m- his reason for building his ship gone, what did it hurt to try again?

His healed hand curled around the grip on the steering wheel with a shiver of disorientation at the new flexibility, but he pushed it down to concentrate on that meager bubble of hope of what was ahead for him. Maria. Normalcy. When he had offered to leave her alone at the gala, she had refused to take him up on it. That's the problem, I never do.

It had felt good to hear that, that he was wanted, even as he heard the conflict in her voice over what she desired versus what she thought she deserved to have. That was also painfully familiar to Michael as well.

Caulfield had seeped into his skin, three layers deep in the worst type of burn. That brief moment of his mother, wrapping around his mind with her love and sorrow and hope, and then she was gone. The screaming, that he had heard from outside the chain link fence, suddenly disappeared as the explosion moved outward in a shockwave. For a few minutes he had stood on solid ground in that prison, for the first time since a sweet boy had returned his kiss at seventeen under a galaxy of plastic foam planets, and then it was over. His mother was gone, and in her stead, he had Alex telling him that -

Michael forcefully pushed that thought away and returned his attention back to the cranky drawl of Walt Sanders, “I know kid, but I’m already out with the wrecker in the other ass-end direction, so I need you to go help this cry baby who can’t change a flat. Help me make some money, so I can afford to keep your ass employed.”

“Fine, tell me the location, but this is holiday pay, not overtime.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sanders muttered, before rattling off the mile marker and the highway. “It’s a Lincoln sedan, black. Probably some old geezer out on a drive to church who ran into trouble.”

“You calling someone else a geezer is funny to me, I hope you know that,” Michael replied, hitting his turn signal to make a left to pick up the state road. It wasn’t as if he had a planned time to see Maria, the lunch hour and official opening of the bar was still an hour away. A little delay that made him some extra cash was doable.

“Shut the hell up kid, and get going,” Sanders griped good-naturedly, before hanging up on Michael.

The sun was bright overhead, the storm from the night before having washed the land and sky clean of clouds. Across the pavement ahead, the heat and the brightness, cast a mirage of dark shimmering water that creeped just out of reach as he drove toward his new destination. His mind ticked over the set of priorities ahead, to make a little money with a tire change, then to drop in on Maria to make his case, and finally, he knew he needed to swing by Isobel’s to check on her in the aftermath of Noah’s betrayal. Somewhere in all of that, he knew he would need to make it home to see Alex for that promised talk, but there was plenty of time for that because Alex rarely came by during the day to see him.

“I’m still fighting his battles, not mine.”

Michael flexed his hands on the steering wheel again and pushed down the heaviness in his heart that accompanied thinking about Alex. Ten long years of waiting and wanting him. If Michael cared to count up all of the trips to Roswell that Alex had made on leave, the two weeks together after the class reunion that frankly felt like a hallucination to Michael, all of those hours spent together would add up to a month. A month that stretched out over ten years, 520 weeks, or 3,650 days.

Counting the distance to the nearest star was in light years, but when it came to counting the distance between the stash of wedding rings he had purchased for Alex over the years and what he had been actually allowed to have with Alex, well, that was a calculation beyond the redshift spectrum. It would take energy to transverse that distance one more time, and Michael had nothing left inside to fuel that journey. He couldn’t afford to be lost in the black again, not with Isobel in free-fall from Noah’s years of manipulations, not with the prospect of telling Liz they had found Rosa’s body on the horizon. It was just too hard to believe that this time, with Alex calling him family, with Alex throwing back the closest declaration to love that he had ever made, actually meant he was ready to move toward Michael and work to cut the distance between them on his own.

It was better to head forward in a new direction, than to look back like Max had said. Besides, every other time he had failed to be enough of a reason to help Alex bridge his own chasm between what he wanted and what he had allowed himself to have. What could have changed? Caulfield had just cemented the complications for them both.

A dark shadow in the distance, parked just off the road caught Michael’s attention. He glanced down at the odometer to mark the mileage and started to ease up on the gas. That must be the motorist Sanders had fielded a call from earlier, he realized. The ‘old geezer’ in the black Lincoln with a flat tire. He glanced in the rearview mirror to check for traffic but the road behind him was devoid of other vehicles.

Michael hit the turn signal and hazard lights on his truck, turning briefly to the side to check that he had some spare water bottles for the customer and his toolbox within reach and then turned onto the shoulder of the highway. Mentally he was already five steps ahead of himself as he stepped out of the truck to approach the car, thinking about the size of socket to fit over the lug nuts for the Lincoln’s wheels, whether his torque wrench was even in his box, or if he would have to camouflage his telekinetic efforts to change out the tire, that it took a moment to realize the tires on the Lincoln were whole and unharmed on the driver’s side.

Puzzled, Michael slowed his approach, and started toward the passenger side of the car. The windows were rolled up and dark, the tint was straddling the threshold of legal for New Mexico. There was still no sign of defect in the tires, he noticed as he was halfway around the passenger fender. Faulty tire gauge, he mused before he noticed the engine was rumbling almost inaudibly. Fucking hybrid, which meant whatever issue it had been definitely beyond the parts available at Sanders.

It was a little odd that the driver hadn’t stepped out to greet Michael, but not terribly unusual when it came to elderly customers who seemed to have a healthy paranoia about everyone they encountered. Still, Michael pasted a smile on his face and tapped on the window.

The automatic window slipped downward in an expensive whisper, but it wasn’t a helpless old man on his way to church at the wheel.

Jesse Manes smiled at Michael flashing his teeth, “Surprise.” Before Michael could do more than step backward, Jesse lifted a large gun-shaped object and fired. Yellow particulate matter exploded into the air, enveloping Michael completely. Pulling his arm to his mouth to attempt to block the pollen, did little good as he felt the sedating effects almost immediately.

He coughed into the open air, scrambling back toward his truck on weak legs as he tried to clear his lungs of the fast-acting poison. Behind him, he heard the car door open, and the crunch of boots on the loose gravel from the road’s shoulder as Jesse approached him. Though his powers were gone and his strength was waning fast, Michael had never backed down from a fight in life.

Certainly, not a fight for his life.

Swinging with all of his might, he hurled his heavy toolbox at Jesse blindly. There was a thump and a curse, but the footsteps kept coming. Animal-like terror set in as Michael crawled now on his knees toward the cab of his truck. He had to move, he had to live, he wasn’t going to die here on the side of the damn road- Suddenly a black boot came down on his hand, pinning him place and lighting up a fierce agony of pain in its wake.

“I like the fight, Guerin, I do,” Jesse remarked with a quiet menace. “Shall I make this hand match your other-”

It was on the tip of Michael’s tongue to point out the obvious, but then Jesse saw it for himself. His left hand, healed and pristine, clutching at the hot blacktop surface.

“I see.” He barked out a laugh that chilled Michael. “I knew it. I knew you weren’t the only one in Roswell. I thought about killing you right here you know, but now, you might finally serve a purpose in your useless life. You thought you could use my son in your perverted schemes? Well now it’s your turn to be bait.”

Michael’s vision was already fading into blindness with the pollen taking hold, but he managed to spit out between numb lips, “Go fuck yourself.”

“Not today. You’re the one who is fucked.” A hand grabbed a tight hold of Michael’s hair, wrenching him backward, and then it was merciful darkness.

***

#malex fic #wip wednesday #last years wishes universe #wip meme #michael guerin #jesse manes is his own warning #Anonymous

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maximumjinx · 5 years

Text

Been reading a lot of salt. So here’s some I wanted to see in a fic.

_____________________________________________

~Ladybug’s Finale~

Marinette counted to 10, for the fourth time today.

“It’s a chronic thing girl, it would be best to just keep the seating this way anyways!” Alya explained as the seating was arranged so that she sat in the back row. Again.

Without her knowledge or permission.

Again.

Lila smiled sweetly, sat closely to Adrien who looked mildly uncomfortable as he shot his classmate an apologetic look. Marinette wasn’t even jealous as much as she was annoyed that the class has decided to protect and cater to Lila without resistance or question. Lila explained her hearing problem had flared up again, but this time Marinette only remained silent.

Nothing had exactly been the same since the class first turned on her. The heroine knew she had to treat Lila like a constant akuma, patiently observing for the right time to strike. It also helped to smother the hurt she felt from her best friend abandoning her at lunch, and their after school plans, and their paired project.

Marinette decided to pour herself into her job instead.

Down came the shrine to Adrien and his modeling, instead she would dedicate her spare time to finding Hawkmoth and ending his terrorizing once and for all.

The class went to the movies and held a group picnic, without any invitation or notice to the class president. Alya claimed that Lila (who was in charge of invitations) simply texted the wrong number. Lila’s curled smile told a different story. Marinette blew a breath, rolled her eyes, and assured Alya she was fine, she was able to not only catch up on her schoolwork, but complete her work for the rest of the semester.

Marinette won the two design contests she had entered a month later. None of her friends could attend the first award ceremony, as Lila had just broken up with her secret American singer boyfriend, and she needed their support. Marinette didn’t mention her second award. Or any she won afterwards.

Alya began to post Lila’s ‘encounters’ with Ladybug and stories to the Ladyblog as prime sources of information. She couldn’t figure out why Ladybug wouldn’t stop for an interview anymore.

Chat Noir rarely saw his Lady anymore, since she patrolled frequently while he was attending his extra circulars and modeling. Even after an akuma, she would give him a sad smile, a weak fist bump, and flee before she detransformed. The akumas were defeated with ease now, as Ladybug had surprised Chat with not only new moves, but new weapons as well. Marinette had been attending extra training with Master Fu and earned new powers after all.

Her cork board was covered in red string, sighting of Hawkmoth, crossed out suspects and more. Marinette was frustrated, but getting closer with each day.

“Marinette why don’t you take a break? See if Alya wants to come over or maybe hang out in the park to watch Adrien’s shoot!” Tikki suggested, trying to cover her worry with a bouncy attitude.

“Alya hasn’t texted me in months Tikki, let alone ask to hang out.” Marinette mumbled, still deep in thought as she examined her board.

Tikki faltered, but refused to give up.

“Why don’t you patrol with Chat for a change! You both haven’t really connected in a while.”

“It’s better that way. He’s flirting with me less and less and we’re both more focused on Akumas.”

“But Marinett-“

“What, Tikki?!” Marinette whipped around to face her kwami. Her eyes were glossy, angry and hurt.

“Nobody likes me! They don’t want anything to do with me! I may as well be the same as I was before Ladybug.” Marinette didn’t cry, but pulled a pained smile instead. “They don’t check up on me. They don’t care.”

The goddess of creation was at a loss for words. She looked warily for an akuma, but nothing appeared. Marinette took a deep breath, and felt the tips of her fingers go cold again. Her chest ached, but it was duller now.

“No akuma, you don’t have to worry.” Marinette half heartedly closed her investigation board, grabbing a black sweater on her way out the door. “We’re late to meet Master Fu.”

___

“You’ve unlocked the staff I see.” Fu noted, as Marinette began basic forms. “The last Ladybug to unlock that was considered very strong. And unforgiving.”

Marinette only hummed in response. She liked the staff, it reminded her of her brief moment as Lady Noire. Chat and her had so much fun that day.

“Master?” She strutted forward, bow extended. “Why don’t you train Chat like you train me?”

Master Fu was silent for a moment, Wayzz watching warily.

“That boy has enough on his plate without extra training added.”

Marinette wanted to protest that she was busy as well, but remembered her new free time.

“Besides, since I lost the Butterfly and Peacock miraculous when the Temple was destroyed, I decided it be better to only let you see where the miracle box is truly hidden.”

The staff stilled. Tikki looked at her chosen with piqued interest.

“Marinette?” The kwami tried.

“You lost the miraculouses with the temple.” Marinette parroted.

Master Fu tilted his head. “Yes.”

“Master, where did you lose the Miraculous book?”

“I lost everything that day, when the temple-“ Master Fu froze, looking at Marinette with wide eyes. She hadn’t dropped her bow yet.

“Fu, you geezer.” He chastied himself, “Marinette the book! Whoever had the book-“

Marinette dropped the bow, a loud vebrato echoinf around the room. She looked to Tikki with an unreadable expression.

“Looks like my chances with Adrien really are ruined.”

...

“Marinette wait- we still don’t know the full story!” Tikki yelled, from inside Marinette’s bag. But the blunette was already racing home, feet literally pounding the pavement.

How didn’t she see it before? She had crossed out most of the Agreste household, but if she could make is so that Ladybug and Marinette were in the same place, couldn’t they do so as well? Adrien isn’t Hawkmoth, she knew that much. Whichever side he took on Lila’s lies didn’t make him a villain, if he decided not to interfere or shake the boat, those are his own issues to work out.

Gabriel Agreste. The elusive, fashion designer. With an assistant that knows his every move in and out of a potential suit, his very own Mayura. He had the resources to go to Tibet, he had the book in his possesion, and if he himself wasn’t hawkmoth, he at least knew more about the villain than he let on.

“Tikki, spots on!” Marinette hissed, suddenly taking a sharp turn into an alley. A new fire was burning under the heroine. She would need Chat to take down Hawkmoth, she may need all the heroes. Tikki wrapped around her, without any flashes or spectacular poses.

Ladybug immediately took to the roofs. A call to Chat should be able to at least transfer to his kwami, even untransformed. She admits she hasn’t been as close to Chat lately, with everything around her she doesn’t feel like getting close. The people she believed were her close friends were quick to turn around and leave her behind. The boy she loved wasn’t what she built him up to be, this was her own fault, she knew that.

But Chat, he was the partner Fu chose, he took things less seriously than he should, and Marinette believed it was because she had let him for too long. She liked the banter they had back and forth, liked being able to talk to someone without worrying about what they thought about Marinette. She was a spaz, she was late, she was disorganized, and she was cowardly. But that was different now, she had to grow up. So she did.

Now wasn’t the time for anymore games.

“Kid, Ladybug is trying to contact you.”

Plagg was resting on Adrien’s pillow as his chose sat at the desk, practicing his Mandarin. Plagg has been around for eons, and knew every language there is to know, even the dead ones. He had lived through them after all. The kwami was correcting Adrien on his pronounciation.

His chosen jumped up, eyes wide.

“She is?”

“Wait- don’t get too excited it might be-”, Plagg couldn’t finish, suddenly transforming Adrien in a rush. Damn it, he hated when his kittens didn’t let him speak.

Chat Noir on the other hand, was estatic.

“I should get her flowers, we haven’t had any time to hang out. She hasn’t been looking like herself lately.”

It was true, Ladybug had gotten a few upgrades on her suit, but even Chat had noticed how much black had bled into the classic polka dot design. He wasn’t too worried, he himself was covered in the color. But the black was now covering her legs to her thigh, her chest and upper back was now covered in a thin but incredibly strong black armored plate. She had a hood now too, entirely red that she kept loose for the most part, but he had seen up and around her face during nightly patrols. Lastly, she now had a belt, to hold her yoyo and what he guessed a bag full of special transformations for her kwami.

The change was gradual, new things here and there, but startling all the same.

Chat decided to skip the flowers. As much as he loved Ladybug, he knew lately she wasn’t responding to his advances. There was a part of him that wanted to be bitter and try harder, but after weeks of having Lila forcibly hanging on his arm, he could guess why Ladybug wanted the space. He was still dealing with taking the distance as a place to let them both breathe, and not as a form of rejection.

He arrived to his Lady’s location, and noticed her hood was up. He suddenly felt uneasy. The sun was only setting, so why have it up now?

“Hey there Bug-“ he wanted so badly to finish it with ‘-aboo’, but pushed it back.

She turned around to face him, and he saw a new change. Her mask had turned into a visor, the black dots still in place, and bending around her nose like glasses. It looked more efficient at protecting her eyes than the last mask. Also, her hair was loose. It was tucked into her hood, with small pieces framing her face and resting on her shoulders.

She wasn’t smiling, but looked worried.

“Ladybug?” Chat felt uneasy with the look on her face.

Ladybug steeled herself, “I think I know who Hawkmoth is and we need a plan.”

Chat looked alarmed.

“You figured it out? What are we waiting for!”

“Wait Chat,” Ladybug placed an hand on his shoulder, “we could need the other miraculous holders. And we need to look more into the suspect. I might have a way in with my civilian identity but we need to do this carefully.”

Chat faltered. His lady would never risk her personal identity, he’s mentioned before she has too many loved ones to protect. Has that somehow changed?

“Can you at least tell me who it is?”

Ladybug looked at Chat carefully, and sighed.

“The guardian and I were talking when I realized it.” Chat tried not to let her regular meetings with Fu sting, “Master Fu lost the peacock and butterfly miraculous back at the temple in tibet. He also lost several artifacts from his temple, and the book of miraculous.”

Chat could feel breath begin to come out shallow, heart racing in his chest.

“So whoever found the book, must have found the miraculous.” He finished. “Gabriel Agreste is Hawkmoth.”

“Or Gabriel Agreste somehow got the book from Hawkmoth.” Ladybug wasn’t sure about that theory, but she couldn’t accuse him without better proof again.

Chat Noir disagreed. He found the book with a few belongings of his mother, and a map of Tibet. His father was never the same after his mom disappeared. A thought occured to him.

His eyes widened, “Mayura-“

“Might be Gabriel’s assistant Nathalie Sancouer, yes.” Ladybug didn’t appear angry or determined to track these two down. Instead it looked like it pained her to realize the truth. Perhaps she was mimicking Chat’s own emotions.

Chat looked at his Lady. Obviously she had been going through a few things. Bad things. And if she was willing to risk her identity when unknowning there was a better candidate for undercover work beside her, Chat knew she could trust her with his identity. He always knew that.

“Ladybug, I know it’s important to keep our identites a secret, and I’m not sure how you would even try to investigate out of the suit, but you have to know something first.” Chat took a step back.

“What are you-“

“You don’t have to reveal yourself to me. I know how important your own identity is to you. But there’s an easier way to get to Agreste.” He took a deep breath. “We have to use Adrien.”

Ladybug’s face shifted to disbelief, then to anger.

“We won’t put a civilian in danger! And he didn’t handle the Snake miraculous well, we would be sending him in without any protection!” She barked.

Chat smiled humorlessly.

“I think he can handle himself.” He was risking everything. But with everything his father might have done, it was his job to make it right. “Claws in.”

He heard his partner shriek, and quickly cover her eyes.

“Chat now is not the time! What makes you think your civilian identity can get closer to Adrien or Gabriel than mine?”

“Because I live under the same roof.” Adrien thought for a moment. “And I’m not Gorilla- in case you had any doubts.”

Ladybug’s mouth dropped, hand trembling over her eyes. She didn’t want to look.

“Adrien?” She asked shakily, still unable to remove her palm. She felt long fingers carefully wrap around her own, and gently pry her hand away.

Adrien Agreste stood on a roof in pajama pants and a hoodie, hair messed up from the wind, and a sheepish smile on his face.

“Hey LB.”

—-

#miraculous ladybug #chat noir #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #fic #ml salt #alya salt #lila salt #lila rossi #hawkmoth #ladynoir #adrienette #marichat #ladrien #tikki #plagg #writing

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maatryoshkaa · 5 years

Text

young god | chapter 11

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 5.3k

warnings: ryu says: be extremely careful with this one. extremely triggering; extreme descriptions of violence, domestic abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, child abuse, foul language, traumatic/suggestive descriptions

description: Han Jisung finally recounts the dark events of his past, revealing just what made him into the monster he is today. the world as you knew it has flipped on its head in the span of one night, and time is running out for you to decide who you’ll stand by.

watch the trailer here!

11| young god.

“Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop,

And when the wind blows, the cradle will rock.”

Mama’s singing voice was soft in Jisung’s ears, her gentle fingers smoothing out the locks of his hair. He was curled up into her side, his tiny fists, which had been clutching stubbornly at her nightgown, finally loosening as his heavy eyelids drooped. Jisung couldn’t even remember what nightmare he had been having before he had cried out involuntarily and woken his mother, the warm embrace that followed immediately soothing the tightness in his chest and drying the tears on his cheeks.

Mama was always so warm. Mama was home, and Mama was safe.

This was the earliest memory Jisung could remember — every time something triggered all the flashbacks, the nightmares, he would always find himself back here — in this memory, in Mama’s arms, everything growing less and less clear every time. It was like wading through muddy waters, a thickening shroud of fog, as if his memories had become a frayed photograph — blurred at the corners and fading out of focus.

Eventually, he had stopped trying to remember altogether, and the lullaby became nothing more than white noise ringing in the back of his mind.

━━━━━━━━

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

The box was wrapped in gold paper, complete with a red bow and ribbon. Covered in little Santa Clauses and Christmas tree patterns, it was small, but weighted enough to make Jisung’s arms slightly sore from holding it. Father would have called him weak had he said anything, so Jisung bit his lip and sucked it up.

“Man up, boy,” he would bark, delivering a slap to the side of Jisung’s head that was hard enough to make his eyes water. “Don’t tell me I raised a little girl?”

Mama would tell him not to mind his words.

Father was watching him now, leaned back on the couch. Maybe there was a glint of impatience in his eyes, but Jisung didn’t notice it as he slowly undid the bow, fingers barely touching the paper for fear of ripping it as he unwrapped it. He never got gifts on his birthday — in fact, Father didn’t even seem to remember the date at all, and Mama never had the money to buy him anything. Christmas, though, was easier to remember.

The fluttering paper fell away to reveal a black box, and when Jisung lifted the lid it something shiny — metal? — caught his eye.

“Cost me a damn fortune. Old geezer down at Young Wings gave me a load o’ shit...”

Mama glanced over at his father, a hand hovering above his arm before withdrawing it timidly. Jisung’s attention was still fixed on the present — it was a camcorder, and brand new; the polished silver metal winked at him, and Jisung pulled it out with wide eyes. He flipped open the screen, fingers fumbling with the power button. The red recording light blinked at him like a rabbit’s eye. Grinning, Jisung held it up to his parents, smile not faltering despite Father’s disinterested eyes and Mama’s tense features.

Mama smiled into the lens. “Merry Christmas, ‘sungie.” Jisung turned away, too fascinated with the present to notice how the smile never quite reached her eyes.

They didn’t celebrate any more Christmases after that.

━━━━━━━━

“February 22nd, 2005.” Jisung cocked his head, squinting at the viewfinder as it came into focus. “Yes! That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” His tongue ran over the gap where one front tooth used to be — he’d lost his first tooth a couple days ago, but he could swear the strange, metallic taste of blood was still in his mouth. He scrunched up his face. Blood didn’t taste good; he decided he wanted as little to do with it as possible.

Jisung was sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, the dying rays of the sun filtering through the window and spilling onto his hair. He had been filming video logs since Christmas — dramatically narrating battles between his old teddy bear and action figurines, or pretending he was a celebrity showing guests around the house. On some days, he would prop up the camcorder and hum a radio tune stuck in his head until he fell asleep. After all, Mama said he was too little to play outside with the other kids, and Father certainly didn’t play with him.

“Darn,” Jisung mumbled as the camcorder screen went blurry again. “Why do you keep doin’ this?” He got to his feet, pacing around his room while pointing the camcorder at random items. When it still didn’t focus, he opened his bedroom door and wandered into the hallway. His father was home — Jisung hadn’t seen him all day, but he had heard sounds coming from his parents’ bedroom — and surely, Father would know what to do, right?

“Father?” Jisung called, his voice coming out more timid than he’d intended. “Um, I—I know you don’t like to be bothered, but my camcorder isn’t--isn’t working. U-um...could you, m-maybe—”

Jisung’s stutters were cut off by a loud, strange gasp that made him freeze at the door. It sounded as though someone was in pain, but not quite. The door was shut, but when he listened closely he could hear...heavy breathing...heavy breathing, and a woman’s voice.

“Mama?” His voice was barely above a whisper as one hand scrabbled for the doorknob, twisting it open. Inside, it was dark — but his camcorder was zoomed in, and Jisung watched as it finally focused on two figures on the bed. One, his father.

And two, a woman who was definitely not his mother.

Jisung’s gaze darted wildly. Clothes were strewn all over the floor — a red cashmere coat, his father’s dress shirt. His wide, confused eyes flickered up again, adjusting to the darkness. Father wasn’t hurting the woman — no, he was kissing her; she was on top of him, touching him, and he was letting her, and Mama was nowhere to be seen, and — and —

His camcorder clattered to the floor and Jisung felt his heart stop, both heads on the bed snapping in his direction.

“Baby, we have a little visitor.” The woman spoke first, the cool calmness in her voice turning Jisung’s skin to ice.

“Get out.” His father had locked eyes with him, and when Jisung’s feet stayed frozen in place, his father pushed the woman off and strode towards him. “GET OUT!”

Something in Jisung clicked and he unfroze, fingers slippery with cold sweat as they grabbed at the fallen camcorder and he dropped to his knees. His father was standing in the doorway now, Jisung scrambling to push himself away — back into the hallway, back into the light.

“If you ever speak a word of this to your mother, boy,” his father’s voice was a low rumble above his head, like thunder before a tempest. “I’ll ram that camera right into your skull.” His finger came to rest on Jisung’s forehead before pushing, hard, and Jisung fell backwards, watching his father’s dark face disappear behind the closed door. His head hit the floorboards, hard, but he crawled to his feet, breaking into a run back into his bedroom and slamming the door shut.

Jisung glanced down at the camcorder, a pounding headache beginning to ebb and flow between his ears. The red recording light was still blinking with the comical innocence of a child’s eye — as if forever oblivious to the things it had seen. He slid to the floor, feeling like he was about to throw up, and punched the button to stop the recording.

━━━━━━━━

“June 3rd, 2006.” The ice cream truck rushed past him, and Jisung lightly whistled its tune as it disappeared around the corner. “This is my neighbourhood! Here’s the basketball court—” He pointed the camcorder through a chain-link fence, where a couple of older boys were in the middle of a game. “There’s Levanter Park—” — a children’s playground surrounded by tall lavender flowers — “And in the distance, that’s Miroh Heights.” He shifted the camcorder upwards to film the tall buildings looming in the distance, behind the suburbs. “And we’re back to my house!”

Ever since Mama had started working more shifts, Jisung had been able to sneak out more without anyone noticing. When Father got home, Mama would have to leave, and vice versa.

Jisung had tried his best to forget the woman in Father’s bed — after all, he hadn’t seen her since, having begun avoiding his parents’ bedroom altogether. Sometimes, he wondered if it had happened at all. It was all so strange. It must have been a nightmare.

He swung open the front door, reaching down to unlace his sneakers — and froze. On the doormat sat a pair of red heels.

Did...Mama own red heels?

He ran into the kitchen, a familiar nauseous feeling settling in his gut. There, sitting on top of the kitchen counter, was the woman from months before. She was wearing the same cashmere coat despite the summer weather, loosely draped over her frame so her bare shoulders were exposed.

Jisung’s breath caught in his throat. Somehow, he willed his feet to move, every fibre of his being screaming for him to run, to run into his room, to run out the door, to run anywhere that wasn’t here. But instead, he lifted his camcorder, shaking as he tried to focus on her face. This was real. He needed something to show someone that this was real. Sensing the movement, the woman turned, eyes widening in surprise before a dark smirk curled across her blood red lips.

“Well, well. Look who we have here, hm? Filming something?”

“I-I won’t tell Mama,” Jisung blurted, and the woman’s face darkened. “P-please don’t tell F-Father—”

“Oh, he’s not home, pet,” she chuckled, and stood up. Jisung felt as if his feet had rooted in place, throat painfully dry as she slowly walked up to him. “It’s just you and me.”

There was a red Zippo lighter in one hand, and the other fished in her pockets as if looking for cigarettes. She lit it with a crackle that made him jump, and ran a long finger down the side of his cheek before glancing down at the camcorder in disdain. “Naughty, naughty. You look just like your daddy, though. Same pretty-boy eyes.”

She held his chin between two of her long, red nails and Jisung shrank away from the touch, the sound of his ragged breathing filling the air as his eyes brimmed with tears. “Not quite a man yet, though, are we?” The woman chuckled, her breath reeking of cigarette smoke and liquor. With a smirk that made Jisung’s gut flip, she shrugged the red coat off her shoulders, the heavy fabric hitting the kitchen floor.

She was wearing nothing but lace lingerie underneath, her catlike gaze flickering back to Jisung. “Say, mama’s boy, want me to teach you how to be like daddy?” Jisung was frozen, pupils quivering as his eyes darted back and forth. “Just give me your little camera, hm? You can touch me, too. I’ll make you feel real good.” Her hands were touching him, they were grazing his shoulders and chest and roaming lower, and lower, and —

Jisung shook his head frantically, hands shooting out to push her away — but a red-taloned hand caught his arm and halted his feeble attempts. The woman scowled, and before Jisung knew it his arm was burning — she was pressing the lit cigarette into his forearm to snuff the flame. With a choked gasp he squirmed in pain but she wouldn’t let go, red nails digging into his forearm like a snake’s fangs as his nostrils filled with the smell of her perfume and his own burning flesh. His fingers were trembling violently around the camcorder, clutching it close to his chest for dear life.

She pressed harder, and a scream of agony ripped through his throat before he could stop it, making the woman loosen her grip in surprise. Seizing his chance, Jisung yanked his arm away before a voice thundering through the house made him halt in his tracks.

“What the fuck is that?”

So his father was home.

The moment Jisung’s eyes shot up to meet the woman’s, it all made sense. She was leaning back on the kitchen table, red lips spread wide in a Cheshire Cat’s taunting smile. She was toying with him — she knew that the moment his father came down, wrenching the camcorder from Jisung’s hands would be child’s play.

Snapping out of his horrified state, Jisung finally willed his legs to move and he sprinted out of the front door. The woman’s high-pitched laughter was ringing in his ears even as he made it to the sidewalk and ran out of his neighbourhood, as far away as his legs could possibly carry him. The sky had darkened, the red hues of the sunset making him shiver involuntarily. When Jisung finally collapsed, it was in a field of lavender flowers on the outskirts of town.

He threw his head back towards the sky, and let the sobs rack his body until he lost consciousness.

━━━━━━━━

“December 31st, 2009.”

His own voice sounded foreign to his ears, barely above a hoarse whisper. His house was always so quiet — tip-toes and whispers and furtive glances, for as long as Jisung could remember, as if one wrong move would set off a bomb.

What Jisung would give for quiet in moments like right now.

He could hear shouting and banging on the other side of the house, shaking the walls and making him jolt with every sound. The moment it had begun he’d froze, bare legs hanging off the side of his bed before — as if by reflex — snatching the silver camcorder off of his dresser. He hadn’t picked it up in months — no, years — hadn’t been able to touch it since without feeling nauseous. The moment his skin brushed the cold metal, the memories would shoot through his head like electricity. The grits of dust it had collected bit into his palm now, his own erratic breathing filling the room.

“You fucking whore — you want to leave me? That it? Do I need to remind you that I’m the reason you’re still alive?”

Father. Father’s voice always carried no matter how far away he was. Jisung heard pounding on the floorboards, the sound of someone running — no, crawling; his mother’s fingernails were scrabbling at the base of the stairs. There was a crash, and the struggling stopped momentarily.

“N-n-no, pl-please—” choked sobs were closing up his mother’s throat; Jisung could hear the thick tears in her voice through the paperlike walls. “You can h-hit me, y-you can — I won’t mention your--your other woman, just--God, not in front of Jisung.”

Jisung heard his father wheeze an incredulous laugh. “Jisung,” he spat. “You should’ve gotten rid of him when I told you to, eh? I’m telling you, Ji-Eun—” his mother’s name sounded foul in his father’s mouth — “I never wanted any of this.” There was a blow, and a cry of pain. “But you just wouldn’t get rid of the baby, huh? You just had to fuck everything up, and you still bitch about how hard your life is every fucking day.”

“N-not Jisung,” his mother gasped desperately, “Chungho, he’s your son—”

“THAT BOY IS NOT MY SON!” His father’s sudden roar made Jisung leap to his feet, eyes darting around his room frantically. “I never wanted a son, that boy is a mistake you made and kept.” There were footsteps coming up the stairs now, getting louder and louder — and with a jolt of horror, Jisung realised that his father was dragging his mother towards his room.

Before Jisung knew it, there was a deafening bang on his door that nearly sent him toppling to the floor, as if a body had been slammed hard on the other side. The fighting had never happened so close before — it was always, always on the other side of the house, always downstairs, as if Mama had wanted him as far away from it as possible.

Mama always told him to stay far, far away from the danger, from Father — but it had never been this bad. Jisung would always stay in his room and pray for it to end — pretending as if the shouting, the banging, the screaming was all just static from the TV he could tune out if he tried hard enough. But he knew it had been getting worse as the years passed, Father’s drunken rages growing more and more violent; Mama’s face growing sickly pale and paler still.

The sound of his bedroom door cracking at the hinges snapped Jisung back to reality. Shaking, his eyes shot to the window, under his bed, then to his closet doors. Feeling as though his feet were dragging through wet cement, he felt his legs propel him towards the closet, not even managing to shut the door properly before his bedroom door came crashing down in an explosion of splinters and plaster.

Father was crushing Mother’s weak frame into the ground, both their faces scratched from splinters of wood. Jisung’s body was pressed against the back of the closet — he was long past the age where he could hide away from the fighting in the closet. He was taller than he was years ago, his limbs having grown awkwardly lanky and so he barely fit anymore. The camcorder shook violently between his fingers as he aimed it through the tiny crack in the closet, the small crack of light revealing a fragment of the hellish scene.

Father’s huge hands were wrapped around his mother’s throat and every fibre of Jisung’s being was on fire, every inch of his body screaming for him to open the door, to save her, to stop him. His mother’s voice echoed in his ears, telling him to stay away from the danger, to run, to stay away — but Father was killing her, he was killing her—

He lowered the camcorder, trembling fingers ready to push the door open — and froze. At that moment, just outside the closet, his mother tilted her head upwards. Her eyes met his, wide and bloodshot with fear, and Jisung felt his heart stop. Mama, I’m coming, he wanted to scream, Mama, Mama, I’ll save you—

Face contorted with pain, swollen eyes locked on his, she shook her head ever so slightly. Then Father’s fist came down with a sickening crack, and her eyes rolled backwards into her skull.

The silence that followed seemed to swallow Jisung whole.

This couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening. Mama wasn’t — Mama couldn’t be. But her whole body had fallen limp like a rag doll, and the house felt infinitely emptier, and at that moment Jisung just knew what horrible thing had just happened.

Father’s erratic breathing on the other side of the door brought him back, if only momentarily. “Shit,” the man muttered. There was so, so much blood pooling from beneath Mama’s body, slowly leaking a trail towards Jisung’s hiding place. “Bitch fucking--fucking asked for it. Had it coming…”

Little broken sobs were beginning to bubble in Jisung’s throat as the horror sank in, pathetic hiccups growing louder the harder he tried to shove them down. His vision was growing hazy. His head was throbbing. And when his father wiped his bloodstained hands on his dead mother’s body with the nonchalance of wiping on a rag, something in Jisung’s chest snapped.

Jisung tore through the closet doors, the hoarse sobs licking like flames in his throat giving way to a roar of anguish. His eyes were burning with tears, gaze tinged with crimson red, ears ringing as his face contorted into something animalistic, something he had never felt before, something that wasn’t him. Everything was spinning; the floor was collapsing beneath his feet and threatening to swallow him whole. His hand wrapped around a long fragment of broken wood, and, as if it was an anchor to the last bits of sanity he had left, Jisung let out a bloodcurdling wail and plunged it deep into his father’s neck.

The man howled in pain, wheeling his large body around, but Jisung had already sprinted through the splintered doorframe and tumbled down the stairs. There was dark, slippery liquid all over the floors that reeked of blood and alcohol, shattered glass from bottles sinking into the soles of Jisung’s feet as he ran, his father’s heavy footsteps shaking the ground right behind him.

Jisung found himself in the kitchen, and the caricature before him turned his blood into ice. His mother had been cooking: a pot boiling over on the stove sending hot water splashing onto the tiles and onto his bare feet. The corners of his vision were blurred like a fish-eye lens, the camcorder dented but still locked between the fingers in one hand and slippery with blood. Little details jumped out at him. An open jug of cooking oil. An abandoned meat cleaver on the counter.

He whipped around just in time to see his father lunge for him, and Jisung’s mind went blank. He felt his fingers find the handle of the meat cleaver, his eyes bulging out of their sockets and trained on his father’s chest — and charged forward.

Jisung drove the knife straight into his father’s flesh with a terrible force he never knew he had, a neverending scream tearing through his vocal chords -- and brought it down again, and again, over and over and over, until several eternities later, when Jisung’s screams had finally given way to quieter, quivering sobs, his hands stiffened and he dropped the knife with a clang.

Suddenly, the house felt enormous, a seemingly endless silence flooding the suffocating air. Somehow, he got to his feet and limped out of the kitchen, stumbling back up the stairs.

“Mama,” he mumbled. His vision was blurry, eyes darting everywhere and refusing to focus. The camcorder was forgotten in his hand. “Mama?” Jisung dropped to his knees by her side, shaking hands touching her hands, her blood-drained face.

Jisung didn’t know how long he stayed like that, by her side, silent wails racking his body as he felt the warmth slowly seep from her skin. Mama was always so warm, Mama was always safe, Mama was all he had—

And Mama was dead.

He wrapped his arms around her limp frame, trying to lift her from the growing pool of blood and down the stairs as best he could. His legs gave way before he had reached the bottom, toppling down the steps, and he landed hard on his side, dragging his mother’s body the entire way down. As Jisung’s hands scrabbled to push himself back up, crawling forwards into the kitchen, his mouth went dry as he caught a full glimpse what he had truly done.

Red. That was the only way he could describe the remnants of his father, a giant crimson mass soaking the white kitchen tiles. Red blood on his own raw, bruised hands. And a familiar red lighter that had skidded from his father’s pocket and was now lying in the mixture of fluids on the floor tiles. The cooking oil was still on the countertop, and the moment Jisung’s eyes fell on it there was only one thought coursing through his mind.

In a single, final motion he lurched forward and brought down the jug cooking oil, feeling it sear his eyes as it splashed all over the floor, the walls, the body — before fishing the the red lighter out from the pool of blood and vodka. With the last of his strength he flicked it open, eyes mesmerized momentarily by the tiny flame — and let it fall to the ground.

Flames erupted from the floor, enclosing him in a circle of fire and heat. It was like a bomb detonating, the walls shaking violently as black smoke flooded his lungs. Choking, Jisung’s hands blindly snatched at the flames for his mother’s body, desperately trying to lift her out of the fire. The camcorder’s acrylic strap was sticking to his palm, melting into his skin as it grew unbearably hotter, flames licking at his skin as he limped forwards, no longer able to tell if he was dragging himself out of the fire or further inside of it.

Jisung’s palm smashed the screen door and it burst open. The blast of freezing winter air that hit him as he stumbled out of the building finally leached the energy from his bones, and Jisung collapsed, skinned knees buried deep into the fallen snow. The night sky was a hollow purple, the weak lights of stars drowning in the black billowing smoke from what once was his home. Cradling his mother’s lifeless body as the house burned to the ground behind him, weeping with the agony of an angel cast to the infernos of hell, Jisung could almost hear a familiar lullaby ringing in his ears.

Rock-a-bye, baby, on the treetop

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock

When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall

And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Somewhere, a firetruck sounded, followed by the growing wail of police sirens approaching — but Han Jisung was laughing like a madman.

━━━━━━━━

“They told me that there was nothing left from the fire but bones,” Jisung had told you. “The delivery lady — Old Mrs. Hwang, I think — was the one who called the police. I woke up right before the paramedics arrived and hid the camcorder’s memory chip in my pocket. It was like I already had the reflexes of--of a murderer.”

“What happened then?” You had asked him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Did they…”

“Find out? Never. How could a ten-year-old single-handedly burn down a building? More importantly, why would he want to? I must’ve looked traumatised enough, because the whole thing was written off as a gas explosion. Faulty pipes, something leaked, and the moment my father turned on the stove the house went up in flames.

“I was famous across the country,” Jisung’s voice was ironic, but his eyes were flat and hollow. As if he had already condemned himself long ago. “Everybody pitied and swooned over the poor, orphaned boy — but after a month had passed I became a ghost again, floating from orphanage to orphanage. Then I met Minho—” his eyes snapped up at you— “And after the kidnapping case, it was like everything had snapped again. I couldn’t run from what I had done — I could still see it, every single time I closed my eyes.

“I couldn’t save her. I should’ve died that day — no,” he had chuckled hollowly, “maybe, I never should have been born.”

The moon was three-quarters full, a pale teardrop outside your bedroom window. Your mind had been in limbo for hours now, shifting endlessly back and forth between what Jisung had said, what you had heard, and everything you had seen until now.

Jisung had finally fallen asleep beside you on the bed, his eyebrows slightly furrowed but his breathing otherwise even. You had made him stay the night, a request that surprised the both of you — Jisung, who had still been respecting the distance you had forcibly wedged between the two of you — but you couldn’t bear the thought of him having more nightmares. Especially not after tonight.

Funnily enough, you thought, you’d much rather have a wanted serial killer safely sleeping next to you than out roaming the streets doing heaven-knows-what. A voice in the back of your mind mentioned how you had never expected that your first time with a boy in your bed would be under circumstances that were...less-than-favourable, but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it now.

It all made sense. It all fit together like a grotesque puzzle: the way Jisung reacted with the colour red, all his strange, uneasy symptoms, why all the victims were known to be abusers or mistresses, and oh, God — his family. Your mind flashed as you imagined him bringing the knife down on his abusive father, the scrap metal on his kidnapper — and the stone on the dead man from the Yellow Wood. It was like he had his own Mark of Cain — whoever hurt him would have the pain and wrath reenacted upon them thousandfold.

Maybe it should have felt wrong, what you were feeling — you should have been repulsed, you should have turned him in on the spot, you should have written him off as a monster, a murderer — but you didn’t. No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. You’d seen the moments his facade had cracked and revealed the raw, vulnerable, broken boy underneath; you could feel the regret and torment he was living with every day, eating away at him from the inside like a disease. And, most of all, you saw the flashes of the boy he might have been in his wide, sheepish smile and bright, mischievous eyes, in his gentle hands and soft voice. In the fleeting moments of happiness that had been robbed from him too young. And now, you realised that you were certain about one thing.

You were absolutely, hopelessly in love with Han Jisung.

Your eyes wandered to his sleeping face, studying the dark circles beneath his eyes, the stress ingrained in the lines of his features. You had seen the same shadows in Lee Minho’s expression — these boys who had grown up with worry and pain etched into their faces like scars.

Jisung shifted slightly, mumbling incoherently and changing sleeping positions. After hesitating for a moment, you gently took his wrist in your hand, gingerly studying his hands and ankles.

Sure enough, there were faint white lines where cable ties and rope had once burned into. Jisung’s shirt had hitched up slightly, revealing rosy skin dappled with numerous bruises and mapped with more miscellaneous scars that all told the same, horrible story.

Your eyes finally settled back onto Jisung’s face again, a knot of bittersweet emotions festering in your chest. Outlined in the silver moonlight, he looked ephemeral — like a young god with too much power thrust into his hands, cold and damaged and beautiful; capable of the most terrible things.

You didn’t know what was going on inside his mind, and you had no idea how things would change when morning came. It felt like he was slipping from your grasp the harder you tried to hold on. Was this how Minho had felt? Out of control? If so, you were beginning to understand why the coroner had wanted to help Jisung in the first place, to mask the ugly truth. To protect his friend, the only brother he’d ever known.

“Trust me, y/n, I was in your position once, too. You’re just like how I was.”

Maybe you weren’t so different from Minho, after all. Because as you watched Jisung’s sleeping figure, felt his body warmth pressed up beside you as something in your chest swelled in both tenderness and pain — you knew you were more than willing to lie for him, too. If you could save Han Jisung’s life, if you could bring back the boy with the happy, angel-like smile from your very first date — no, if you could keep even a fragment of the light and peace left in his eyes, then that was what you had to do. You would hide everything until — until the case was closed.

And maybe, you thought as the moon burned into your drooping eyes, just maybe, everything will be okay.

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