#it's like someone took nails to the chalkboard in my brain

[answrs]

I thought I'd seen the worst of typos in legal advice. I was wrong.

"a coy pond for coy fish"

[shakethediseeas]

PERISHED ROSE, perished beautifully

Since the day those things took over, they told you you were destined for only the best, and you were the most perfect creature on the planet they had taken over.

You would lay on the fake grass in the most expensive attire fit for royalty while everyone else was in white rags. Everyone looked at you as if you'd be their savior, but where you looked was at the floor, not even bothered by the people surrounding you, wanting to touch you, be saved by you.

Your voice was like nails on a chalkboard to me, your blank face was one of disgust to me, your nonspeaking tongue was an open invitation to me.

What would it take for you to have a different reaction? With your face so blank, like a canvas, it needed to be painted with a new emotion.

I approached you, but you don't even look at me; your eyes are always on the artificial green at your feet.

Nothing made you angry, happy, uncomfortable, or fearful because you knew nothing could happen to you; those things wouldn't allow it.

We had a connection.

Winter came, making the rose wither.

It was another song, you on stage with that stupid face. You were up against one of the top three, not that it mattered since you had always been number one. You were perfect after all.

You both belonged to the same thing, owner; it said it wanted to know who was truly the best, even if it costed a pet.

Who knows what the blonde was telling you for you to break that blankless face. Anger never seen before, it was a true look of hatred as you grip your instrument.

When they dragged you away, I could only think, why wasn't it me? Why couldn't I get that reaction out of you? Like a baseball bat swinging your instrument at me and taking what's yours, my life, It was the only way to truly go out.

Whatever words reached your ears that day by the true savior flicked an impossible switch in your brain for you to swing at various living beings that day; of course, who would mind? Their lives belonged to you.

After the 16th life they finally put the bullet through your head.

It was bitter, such emotion, but it wasn't caused by me. It was the insane glare of hateful emotions directed at someone else. What did he have that I don't?

Every human scattered, terrified of their savior being replaced by a monster, a cold, heartless charmer who took first place. What would they do without you?

But they do not understand how truly lost I am without you. It's not fair for humans to think they had connection with you.

You only spoke one sentence since those things took over.

"Ivan. When I die, I want to die perfectly. It's only fitting for a perfect rose like me."

I always hated you in a way. The way you never reacted to anything, but that day you spoke you had an emotion I still can't identify.

My goal was to make you have a reaction toward me or anything before you died. I never knew why.

I never knew what it was.

"Tonight, the perfect rose will die ugly, and a better one will bloom beautifully.

I finally rid of you and make that freak always by your side watch."

[emasstars]

alternate reality

silly little idea i had where dally didn’t get shot, and just ran away to nyc. this will not become a series. this was just me trying to get ideas down.

he wasn’t exactly sure how he ended up in this situation. he kind of blacked out years ago, knowing he had to get away—knowing he could never go back. he was about to throw himself off of this roof, some miserable, 50-years-old-looking woman with awful eyeshadow yelling at him over the work he was doing.

“how many times do i have to tell you,” she whined, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. dally was kind of surprised she even had a husband, and kids. “those aren’t the same colours as i had before!”

“listen, woman,” dally said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. he hated this job, but what other options did he have? “i’m just using the materials my boss gave me.”

the woman, ugly thing she was, narrowed her eyes. dally climbed down the fire escape, ignoring her complaints and cries, saying some bullshit like, “i’m the landlord!” and blasting some feminism in his ears. he got it, it was the 1970s, but it wasn’t anything personal!

“i’m doing my job,” he deadpanned, wiping the grease from his hands onto his uniform once he was back on the ground.

the woman scoffed, crossing her arms. “well, it’s not good enough!” she sneered, and it took everything in dallas not to punch her right then and there. instead, he managed to stay silent, packing up his toolbox.

“i’m out,” he muttered.

“excuse me?”

“i said i’m out!” he snapped. “hire someone else for this, i can’t deal with your bullshit.”

you let out a shaky breath. you recently moved into a new life—new city, new you—and while a fresh start seemed like a great idea at first, now it’s turned out to be awful. you don’t know anyone, all of the people in the complex are rude, and they treat you like you’re some vile dirt left under their shoe that they can’t scrape off.

so, here you stand, desperate for some sort of communication, about to rap your knuckles against the splintered door that belongs to your neighbour’s apartment.

he keeps to himself, and you rarely see him, but the walls are thin, and sometimes you’ll wake up early in the morning because some bang sounded from his apartment. you glance down at the small tray in your hands, carrying some foods. hopefully, he won’t be offended.

you exhale shakily, your brain working this up to be more than it actually is. you replay in your head what you plan to say, swallowing dryly before knocking on the door.

[astarionslittlejuicebox]

The Promise of Eternity (Part 2)

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: The reader helped Astarion ascend and became his spawn. After saving the world from the Elder brain and it’s destruction, the reader and Astarion set out to take on the world together. While he promised to never forget the gifts the reader has given him, Astarion has seemed to have changed his attitude towards the reader in the last century…. After someone breaks one of  Astarion’s rules, how will this affect the reader’s fate?

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: potential for minor spoilers, suggestive themes, language, mentions of death, mentions of blood, abusive relationship, mention of slavery

Word Count: 1246

Imagine Series List

Side Notes: 

This imagine series takes place 200 years after the events of Baldur’s Gate 3.  Everything you read in here is a story from my mind outside of the original BG3 character Astarion.

In this imagine series, Astarion is a bit more unemotionally unavailable, and this series will follow the decisions and consequences of that change. This is not canonically accepted and it is just an idea I’ve had in my head! (I do believe Astarion might truly care for the reader after Ascension, but that is open to individual interpretation.)

In this series, TAV is mildly based on my first character I played in BG3; she is a drow and I will make references to her in her background and knowledge as well. I do apologize that it is not 100% your own imagine, but the name for TAV is up to you as well as anything else that I can think of leaving to you, the reader, to decide.

I appreciate everyone who reads the imagines and this series, and I hope you enjoy the story!

TAV POV

Breakfast time was a busy time for everyone in the castle. The chefs were busy preparing a large feast for the Lord of the castle and his exquisite taste buds. For the last two hundred years, Astarion has indulged and refined his taste for mortal foods, and the ever-rotating kitchen staff struggles to keep up with his desires. This morning, the chefs had prepared a feast of danish hens, caviar, fish, eggs in various styles, and other luxuries that only the nobility could afford in Toril. As I walked around the long dark wooden table that stood proudly in the center of an exquisitely decorated dining hall, I observed those who were hustling and bustling about the dining hall. Humans, elves, tieflings, and other people of all sorts of races rushed about to ensure that the breakfast buffet on the table would match the vampire lord’s meticulous standards. The silverware was polished and then examined before it was repolished several times until the silverware was finally deemed satisfactory. 

I took note of the facial expressions of the servants as they all appeared to be frantic in their preparations. I was searching for any signs of deception or discontent with their tasks as servants placed two sets of plates on the table, one at each end of the table where an intricately designed chair sat proudly. One of the chairs belonged to the vampire lord himself, and the other belonged to his most beloved. I fondly glanced over at the chair I had sat in so many times over the last two centuries. Before I could reminisce on fonder days, a familiar voice agitated my drow ears.

“This fork is not shiny enough for the Master!” The voice sounded like the person only spoke from their nose—an impressive talent—but the voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to the ears of those who heard it. The tiefling made her way hastily to the seat I had been staring at, with two puncture marks still lazily bleeding on her neck. Upon noticing me looking at her, she narrowed her eyes and gave me a snide look. “Look away, spawn, or I’ll tell your master that you’re bothering me.” She let out a laugh that reminded me of a pack of gnolls, but I turned my attention elsewhere as I left the room. On my way out, I almost collided into the pale elf himself, Astarion. He didn’t even spare a glance at me before I was shoved out the way and into the wall. I caught myself before smoothing out my dress and continuing my path towards my bedchambers. I could hear the ridiculous hyena laugh echo through the hallways until I had gotten several more feet away. Several of the spawn had given me sorrowful expressions as I passed, but I merely smiled at them as I took longer strides. Pity was etched onto every one of their faces, and I could not bear the weight of it on my shoulders. Besides, someone in this castle had broken a rule, and I was tasked to find whomever had done so.

Arriving at my bedchambers, I hastily opened and shut the door behind me before my handmaiden, Kristiana, greeted me. Kristiana was a spawn without a vampire master who Astarion and I had taken in under our wings one hundred fifty years ago. She was a short human female with big brown eyes, golden brown hair, and a soft smile. She was totally devoted to serving me hand and foot.

“Good morning, Mistress, was the sunrise beautiful this morning?” She asked as she walked into the large dressing room attached to the bedroom. “What are we thinking of wearing today? A nice autumn themed dress or shall we wear something more comfortable today?” I slipped off my gown and handed it to her through the door. Before I walked towards the warm bath she had drawn me. I sunk into the heated water and my muscles relaxed into the hot water. Kristiana walked over and poured water on my hair and brushed the knots out before she proceeded to wash my hair. 

“We are going to put on something more comfortable for today. After I am dressed, please take the day to rest and relax. You’ve been working so hard lately, and you deserve a break.” Kristiana’s hands paused in my hair. 

“Are you sure, Mistress? You know there are still plenty of duties for me—“ I waved my hand to stop her.

“I am absolutely sure. I can handle myself. Besides, I have business in town, and I am perfectly capable of handling myself.” I gave her a smile, which she graciously returned.

“If you are sure, I shall take you up on that offer.” She then continued delicately washing my hair while I washed my body. The sweet aroma of peaches filled the air in my room as dirt and grime was washed away from my body. Once I was rinsed, I stood up and wrapped a soft towel around my body as Kristiana laid out a plain black shirt and black trousers for me, I put on a pair of black leather boots to finish my outfit then smiled at Kristiana. I sat in front of the mirror, even though I couldn’t see my reflection, as Kristiana stood behind me and ran a brush through my hair.

“Just throw my hair into my usual bun and we shall call it a day.” I saw her nod her head in the mirror before her skillful hands went to work twisting my hair into a beautiful bun. She placed small black pins into my hair to hold it in place before she pulled out two strands to frame my face. She took a step back to admire her work before she smiled at me.

“All done, Mistress, and you look as beautiful as you always do.” I gave her a small smile. 

“Thank you Kristiana. You always do such a wonderful job. You are dismissed until tomorrow.” Kristiana gave a timid bow before she walked out of my bedchambers. I took a moment to sit in the complete silence of the empty room and thought about how my morning had started. My eyes watered with the familiar sting of tears as I recalled the small glimmer of how things used to be with Astarion, but the moment quickly dissipated the moment she walked into the room. 

I sighed heavily as I looked out the window, reminiscing on the days when Astarion and I were on the same page, wanting the same things, and speaking the same language. You will be my most beloved spawn, my right hand, my dark consort. I felt a single tear escape from my eye as his honeyed words rang through my head once again. Together you and I will be the most powerful people in the world. A few more tears slid down my face and collected onto my trousers. I had foolishly thought my little star had meant those words he had spoken, and I believe he truly did at one point in time. I wiped the tears that escaped my eyes before I straightened my posture. Regardless of how I thought he felt, he did entrust me with the task of finding whoever had stolen his blood. I grabbed my cloak and left my bedchambers as I set out to head towards my next destination: the library of Baldur’s Gate.

[renon4224]

Mental Vampyre

“Keira, when are you gonna transfer?” Kody asked, his new body only a few months old and impeccable.

“Not sure, when I feel old?” Mentally, I’m at least three hundred, physically? There’s no point in asking.

Kody laughed, his new voice like daggers to my ears, “You look old, come on, you promised you’d transfer with me this time.”

Promises mean nothing to someone who can live forever, “Maybe next time.” I sighed, arguing with my latest vibrator was tiring, “I’m going out.” And left.

The last boy’s memories were still tickling my mind-space, he had a really good body, too bad he decided to think for himself. Kody decided to follow me out, tailing me like a lovesick puppy.

“Darling, can you get my transfer tube?” Thoughts belong to those who are smart, not lazy little wannabe transfers.

“Yes love.” The whirr of mind machinery was music to me, and nails on a chalkboard to others.

I swiped some lipstick on, bright beautiful red lipstick, and kissed Kody. His body slumped to the floor, I grabbed a ‘dream catcher’ and stabbed it into his eyes. Placing myself inside the transfer tube, everything in Kody’s twenty-seven years implanting into my brain, I sighed, this was why I ‘dated’ to feel the rush of another lover’s memories, the hotness of their voice in my mind. I stepped out, nude and new. Kody’s body shrivelled to nothing but bones, and my own was glorious, I could grab another male in about thirty seconds outside. But first, disposal. I grinned, I loved this part, it was always the best, I took the body in my hands and started crying. I waited until it looked like I was completely wrecked up about his ‘death’.

“911, how may we help you?”

“My lover, he- he transferred!” I cried out, choking on fake sobs.

“Into what body?”

“None! He used m-mine, and didn’t bring a spare!” I heard the receiver drop, I changed my DNA every two years, and no one figured me out.

“We’ll be right there.” The line went dead, and I wrapped the phone cord around my wrists, and yanked. 

Rug burns on the wrists made cops think I was restrained, I laid across the body for when the ambulance arrived.

“Ma’am, we need to see the body.” 

I nodded, choking on sobs ‘trying’ to tell them to ‘fix’ him, and got up, a lady wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and gave me ‘hopeful’ words. Hope for what? A real death, or that ‘Kody’ might come back? His voice cried out for his body and I let the onslaught force sound out of me as well. More meaningless words, why does everyone try to tell me it’ll be alright? I took his mind, he’ll never recover. I don’t want ‘alright’ I want to keep my mind, and everyone else’s.

The girl next to me had beautiful auburn hair and violet eyes, I wonder how she would taste in my mind. What beautiful things has she experienced, and what horrible ones? What does she think about? Her hands were cool, the cold of an Ancient. Someone like me.

[bigbadripley]

The Hangover - Prompt #4

This is just something I threw together based on prompt #4 from this post. 

TW: mention of alcohol, some swearing, mention of killing. 

Clint Barton and Gender Neutral OC. 

Words: 583. Enjoy!

I awoke to my head pounding and ringing in my ears. The agony was almost enough to make me cry out or groan. Still, I was distracted from it momentarily by my surroundings when I peeked through the cracks of my eyes: hardwood floor, coffee table, dust bunnies from Peter not sweeping like he was supposed to yesterday. I was on the living room floor, and I couldn't quite remember how I got there. "Morning, sunshine!" A voice roared through my ears and rattled my brain inside my skull, startling me from my thoughts and annoying me. I turn my head and begin to sit on the floor to find that the person speaking far too loudly is Clint, holding a mug of coffee in each hand. "Party too hard last night?" He asked, extending one of the mugs for me to take. I reached up and took it from him before I responded. "What, you weren't there?" I asked in a snappy tone. I couldn't remember much from the night before. There was a small party with the gang; everyone was drinking and playing games, and I was still on the floor instead of my own bed. Clint laughed at my confusion, "Nope. Had a couple of beers and went to bed. Looks like you didn't quite make it." He sat on the couch cushion nearest to me and sipped out of his cup of brown liquid. His slurping and swallowing were particularly irritating to the headache and caused me to caress my neck in anguish. Clint clearly took note of this, and I knew he would take advantage. "Someone didn't hydrate. Rookie mistake." "Shut up, bird." I groaned in response to him seeming to speak louder now. This caused him to chuckle and made the pounding between my ears match the sound coming from his throat. I could kill him. Everyone else was in bed or out of the base. I could do it and not even get caught. My throughs must have been as straightforward as a billboard behind my eyes. "Sorry, am I annoying you on this beautiful morning?" He questioned, laughing even more at my visible irritation. Every word was like nails on a chalkboard. I shook my head, "The sound of your voice right now is kinda making me wanna toss myself off a cliff," I responded before taking a sip of my coffee. If he was trying to teach me a lesson, this had to have been the worst time possible. "Consider this payback for yelling into my hearing aid the other day," Clint said with a triumphant grin. I squinted at him, trying to think of what the hell he could have been talking about before I remembered. Tony told me to get Clint to come to the lab, and I popped my head out the door and yelled before I realized Clint was standing there. The second I raised my voice, he jumped precisely as I did when he greeted me good morning. I felt terrible for it and apologized already. "That was an accident, jerk!" I said defensively, still trying to keep my tone from being too loud because of that mishap. Clint knew it was an accident, but it was crystal clear that he intended to hold it over my head for a very long time. He sighed at this and reached over the couch, then pulled out a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water with a smile. "I know."

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Heart’s Choice - Chapter 17

*Warning Adult Content*

- Carlos -

I stand in a dark, featureless place, a place with no beginning and no end, a place with no way out and nowhere to go.

"Get out."

I spin and find myself face to face with Kyle. He still looks pissed.

His face is pale as porcelain, his eyes are black as the void and the veins beneath his skin look like they're filled with ink.

"Whoa." I hold up my hands and back away. "Kyle, it's me, Carlos. Mr. Martinez, remember?"

"I remember."

"Good. I want to help you, Kyle. I want to help. Understand?"

Slowly, he shakes his head back and forth.

"Get out."

"Kyle, just tell me who did this. Tell me who hurt you. If you tell me, then..."

"It's you."

"What?"

Kyle's face contorts with pain, and black tears leak from his eyes.

"This is all because of you."

My mind grapples for an explanation and seizes on the only one that makes sense.

"Because I got mad at you and made you go for burgers? Kyle, I'm so sorry for yelling at you. I'm sorry for what happened to you. But that wasn't my fault. Understand? Someone else did that and I need you to remember who. Can you..."

"It's you. It's you. IT'S YOU." Kyle screams, the sound grating like nails on a chalkboard or gravel in a blender.

"GET OUT."

Just as he'd shoved my physical body, he shoves my astral body so hard I fly off my feet and backwards into the dark.

~ ★ ~

The world spins.

My head hurts.

I blink up at a tiled ceiling, lost in shadow and then wince as someone shines a light directly in my eyes.

The light is withdrawn and as my vision clears I recognize Mrs. Peters' nurse leaning over me.

"Someone call an ambulance," she says. "He shouldn't be moved."

"No, no," I whisper hoarsely and try to raise my hand, then choke on a scream as pain bites down on my arm with a mouth full of needle teeth.

"Lie still," the nurse orders, resting a hand on my chest. "Looks like you've got a broken arm and a concussion. You need to go to the E.R."

"No, no. Can't..."

I try to shake my head but the nurse quickly grabs either side of it, holding it still.

"Don't move. You could have a spinal injury as well."

"No, I'm..."

Well, I'm not fine, obviously but I'm not as badly hurt as it might seem.

If only I had the energy to say as much, Kyle drained most of mine.

"What's your name?" the nurse asks.

"Carlos."

"Your full name."

"Carlos... Ángel..."

Suddenly too tired to remember the rest, I give in and shut my eyes.

~ ★ ~

"Fuck."

I flop back against the pillows of the hospital bed I'm still stuck in and stare up at the bright, fluorescent lights glaring down from overhead.

I'd slipped in and out of consciousness as the paramedics arrived, loaded me into an ambulance and took me on a very expensive and in my opinion completely unnecessary ride to the hospital.

I mean, yeah, my arm was broken but other than that I was fine.

Mostly fine.

I'd have to wear a neck brace for ten days but I didn't have a concussion.

If my eyes hadn't responded to light and if I'd been barely conscious for a day and a half and if I had trouble remembering basic facts, well, that was just the effect of taking a little trip to the other side, not brain damage.

It used to happen all the time when Aunt Toni used me as demon bait.

I'd get possessed, she'd trap the demon inside me, then exorcise it and send it back to whatever hell it came from.

Meanwhile, I'd be wandering around in a place like the one Kyle was stuck in now and when I came back...

Well, sometimes it took a while to readjust to my physical body.

Try explaining that to an E.R. doctor, though.

"What are you complaining about now?"

John looks up from the chair he's occupied for almost twenty-four hours.

"You need more pain meds?"

"No," I grumble. "I need more money."

"What for?"

I roll my head to the side as much as I can from the confines of my human neck cone and glare at him.

"You know how much a ride in an ambulance costs? Like, $1,200."

"You got insurance, don't you?"

I groan.

"I'm a young, healthy, single, self-employed guy. I got the cheapest insurance I could buy. It covers... I dunno. Basically nothing. Fuck."

"Hey, you're alive, that's what matters. We'll figure this out."

"Who's we?" I ask, frowning at him.

There's no 'we' with someone I met barely two weeks ago, at least not when it comes to figuring out shit like paying hospital bills.

John rubs the back of his neck.

"I just mean... in general, you know. Actually... there's something I need to talk to you about."

"Yeah?"

He clears his throat but before he can speak, someone knocks on the door and detective Latoya McKenzie enters, her long braids bound in a knot at the back of her head today.

"Turner, you got a minute?"

"For you? Always. What are you doing here so early?"

"Early? It's nine-thirty in the morning, Turner. And seeing as this is apparently your mobile office now, I figured I'd stop by. Got that file you asked for."

John glances at me.

"Oh, ah... Did you bring it with you?"

McKenzie arches her brows at him.

She holds a manila folder and clip board.

She holds out the folder and John rises and reaches for it with a strange hesitation, as if afraid it might be full of spiders or something.

He takes it, flips it open, stares at it and then his shoulders drop an inch as he releases whatever strange tension he was holding.

"Oh. The Peters case."

"Kyle?" I ask, sitting up with interest.

"No. Mrs. Peters' husband, Richard," John says distractedly, turning pages over in the file.

"Your little encounter with the stairs inspired me to pull the record of his death. Apparently, there was an investigation, prompted by the life insurance company. He'd taken out a sizable policy only a few weeks before."

"Oh. Good timing."

I'd told John of my suspicions regarding Mrs. Peters.

He'd been far more willing to believe them than he was to entertain my other conviction, which was that Kyle hadn't meant to hurt me.

I was almost certain Kyle meant to protect me but John remained highly skeptical.

I couldn't blame him, given my current condition.

"At least according to the coroner, Lucille's story checks out. Richard Peters suffered a massive heart attack, during which he fell down the stairs, which in turn caused a severe vertebral dislocation. His spinal cord separated from the back of his skull, resulting in instant death. He probably died exactly where you landed."

"Nice. Thanks for the imagery."

"The question is... what caused the heart attack?"

"How old was he?"

"Fifty-five and in good health," Detective McKenzie says, leaning against the door with her arms crossed over her generous chest. "He was a fire chief. Had to take a yearly fitness test and always passed with flying colors."

"Still. Sometimes top athletes drop dead," John says. "That doesn't mean anything."

"No and toxicology came back null. So his death was ruled to be the result of natural causes, leaving the insurance company on the hook and Lucille to cash in on the policy."

McKenzie blows on her long, sparkly purple nails.

"How much did she get?" I ask.

"Half a million, give or take."

I whistle.

"Shit. That's not bad."

"Nope. Not bad at all," John agrees, closing the file and handing it back to McKenzie.

"So, what?" I ask, propping myself up on the pillows. "Kyle's aunt won the life insurance lottery?"

"Maybe."

John scrubs a hand through his short, dark hair and sighs.

I catch a whiff of him as he lifts his arm.

It's nothing unpleasant, just the natural scent of his body, subtle and dark, smoke and musk.

Instantly turned on by it and surprised by the strength of my reaction, I cough and pull the hospital bed sheet over my lap.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah. Just a tickle in my throat."

"I got something for you, too," McKenzie says, handing me the clipboard she carries.

"Front desk asked me to bring this to you. They said just sign the highlighted bits and you're good to go. Seems your bill's been paid in full."

"What?"

I sit up, flipping through a stack of forms that make the SAT look like child's play.

"By who?"

"Mrs. Lucille Peters, apparently."

"Fuck."

I look up and meet John's eyes, which do that weird kaleidoscopic thing they do, turning from brown-green to amber-gold with the changing angle of light.

"Maybe she felt responsible," McKenzie suggests. "Since you got injured in her house. Wanted to avoid a lawsuit."

"Maybe," I allow, reading through the list of charges with my heart in my throat.

The total comes out just short of $10,000.

"The fuck am I supposed to pay her back for this?"

"You don't owe someone for a gift," John says.

A true gift, no. But this?

This feels like a bargain I didn't agree upon and now my soul's on the table.

"Fuck."

McKenzie's radio crackles with voices speaking in code.

John's phone buzzes at the same time.

He answers it and even hearing just his side of the conversation, I know it's bad.

"Yeah. When?"

A pause.

"Copy. On my way."

Disconnecting, he rises and rubs a hand across his jaw, looking down at me as if caught in a snare of indecision, unsure what to say.

"What is it?" I ask, sitting up.

"John... tell me."

"There's been another... Someone found a body."

"And?"

"And it's weird. Upside down, throat slit. Drained of blood."

I shake my head.

"It's too early for the second Feast. The full moon isn't for two more days, right?"

"Right."

"So what is this? Practice?"

"I don't know. Look, check yourself out of here. Have Nguyen take you to my place. Lock yourself in and set the alarm. The code is 0405. Got it?"

"0405," I repeat.

"Good. Rest and take it easy. I'll let you know what I find."

He leaves with McKenzie at his side and as I watch him disappear through the door.

I almost call out to him, almost ask him to stay with me, instead.

But I don't.

I've no right to ask that of him.

We're stuck in this shitty situation together, we've got the hots for each other and yeah, we fucked.

That still doesn't mean there's a 'we' or that there ever will be.

In the meantime, I've got work of my own to do.

It's time to get a hold of Aunt Toni. 

[reidsaurora]

"How I Ended Up Here" ~ S. Reid (requested)

Summary: When Reader begins to wonder if they really do belong at the Academy, their long-time rival and next-dorm neighbor, Spencer Reid, steps in to help them prepare as the term comes to an end.

Pairing: Trainee!Spencer Reid x sorta GN!Trainee!Reader (no pronouns used)

Word Count: 1,329

Content Warning: violence related to FBI training but nothing graphic, i think that's it!

Genre: a lil Angsty, a lil Fluffy, mostly Rivals to Lovers and Hurt/Comfort

Extra Notes: yeah i know dorms aren't usually set up this way but it's for the story so shhhh // i also don't know ~exactly~ how Hogan's Alley works, this is just going off my general knowledge lol

Based On the One-Liner: "Why do you cry yourself to sleep at night?" "What are you-" "These hotels have thin walls."

Originally Written: 06/23/2022

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

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"𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭��� 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐝. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭—𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞." - 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐊𝐫𝐳𝐲𝐳𝐞𝐰𝐬𝐤𝐢

"Another day of forgetting the deadly force policy, I see."

His words were like nails on a chalkboard. "Oh, can it, shrimpy. At least I didn't have to weasel my way out of the sprint."

He smirked. "Just means I'm more special than you."

Finally, I turned to face him. "Spencer Reid, do you find enjoyment in making me suffer?"

He tilted his head, his eyebrows furrowing like he was searching for his answer. He nodded, "That and the fact that I only have two more weeks to torture you."

My face lit up like a kid in a candy store. "Are you serious?!" I exclaimed, "Only two more weeks until I finally get rid of you?!"

He scoffed, like he wasn't the reason this whole conversation started. "You're gonna miss me when I'm gone," he said in a sing-song tone.

"I highly doubt it," I replied, mocking his tone.

That was how I ended up crying myself nearly to sleep in my dorm.

My brain ran rampant with thoughts of how horrible I was at all this, much less if I'd be able to pass Hogan's Alley. I worried that I'd be a disgrace, that I'd just get booted from the program, even though I'd already passed the first eighteen weeks of classes.

As tears continued to fall from my eyes and kept on dampening my cheeks, I heard a knock at my door. I wasn't expecting anyone, but then again, it could've been a test from one of my teachers—one more way for someone to prove I wasn't good enough to become an FBI agent.

I cleaned myself up with a tissue before trekking over to the door. "Ye-"

I stopped myself when I laid eyes on the one person I never wanted to see at my door: Spencer Reid.

He licked his lips, like he was searching for his words. "Why do you cry yourself to sleep at night?"

I was baffled by his question, but continued on by asking, "What are you talking about?"

"These dorms have thin walls," he answered point blankly.

I rolled my eyes, but stepped aside. "Come in, I guess."

He chuckled lightly at my words as he walked into my dorm. His hands slid into his pockets as he took a quick look around my room. I waited for a witty remark or a sarcastic comment, but instead, was met with, "You never answered my question."

"Why should I? You'll just use it as ammunition against me."

He held out his hand, flexing his pinky finger upward. "Pinky promise, I won't."

I rolled my eyes again, but locked my pinky around his. "You want the truth?" I asked, sitting down on my sofa.

He sat down beside me, nodding again. "I just promised I wouldn't make fun of you for the first time in eighteen weeks. It must be a serious issue if I've sworn off our war for five minutes."

For the first time since I'd met him, I let a smile find its way to my face. I looked down as I began fidgeting with my fingers. "I'm scared I'm not going to be good enough to pass Hogan's Alley."

"That's all?" he asked, like it wasn't a big deal. He spoke with his hands as he said, "Everyone's scared of Hogan's Alley."

I stopped him, grabbing one of his hands. Why did I like the way his skin felt against mine? "Reid, I don't think you understand. I'm eighteen weeks in and I still have problems remembering the deadly force policy. Hogan's Alley is gonna kill me."

His hand parted from mine, and I missed the way it felt. He tapped a finger on his chin, contemplating something. "How about…" he hesitated dramatically.

I thought my eyes would roll into the backs of their sockets as I waited for his suggestion impatiently. "Just get on with it."

"How about for the next week—every day after classes—we meet up and study together?"

That was how I ended up screaming into my pillow for an hour before I finally managed to fall asleep.

Regardless of my reaction to his question, every afternoon that week, Spencer and I studied together at my dorm.

Spencer sat across from me, reading questions from a textbook, while I lay across the couch, tossing and catching an old, crumpled piece of paper.

"Can you quote the fourth rule of the deadly policy word-for-word?" he asked.

Continuing to toss my paper ball, focusing on the sound it made when it landed in my hand, I answered, "The subject is attempting to escape from the vicinity of a violent confrontation in which the subject inflicted or attempted the infliction of death or serious physical injury."

"Give me a scenario where you'd need to use this rule of the policy."

"In the case that the criminal has killed or harmed someone and attempts to flee with the weapon he or she caused the infliction of death or serious injury with."

Spencer stood from his seat, kneeling in front of me. I sat up, locking eyes with him. My chest heaved with nervousness as his face got closer to mine.

"You've got this," he told me, his breath hot on my face.

I simply nodded, unsure how else to respond after his actions. My stomach churned with butterflies as he backed away, immediately craving his lips on mine.

I blinked a couple times in confusion. Why did I feel like this?

I turned my attention back to the textbook in his hand. "You got any more questions for me, string bean?"

"Nope. You aced every single question today," he informed me, his eyebrows raised. "You're gonna kill it at Hogan's Alley tomorrow."

That was how I ended up in his arms the next day.

"We did it!" I practically screeched, jumping into his arms.

"No, you did it!" he rejoiced, letting go of me.

I blushed at his words. I could tell his expression was filled with excitement for me, proud of how well we'd done.

"Spencer, thank you," I smiled gratefully, wrapping him up in another hug.

"Don't thank me," he smiled as I lay my head on his chest. I took in scent, I took in the way his hands felt against my black. I took in the way his chest rumbled against my cheek when he said, "Thank that brain of yours. You did that."

Suddenly, I felt someone tap my shoulder. "Are you Y/N Y/L/N?" a man asked as I turned around.

"Yes, sir," I answered, a wave of anxiety coming over my stomach as I let go of Spencer.

"I just wanted to congratulate you on how well you did at Hogan's Alley."

"Thank you," I blushed.

"That is to say, you did so well that I'd like to discuss a potential job opportunity with the FBI's counterintelligence division," he told me, holding out what I assumed was a business card.

Excitement and apprehension both found their way rushing through my veins. My eyes grew wide in surprise as I took the card. "Thank you so much, sir. You won't regret it," I exclaimed as I shook his hand.

"I'll have my secretary set up a meeting. Congratulations on passing Hogan's Alley."

And with that, he walked away, leaving me to jump into Spencer's arms once again.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I squealed, my smile growing larger (if that was even possible).

"Don't thank me," he smiled back. "Like I said, you did that."

I leaned back to look up at him, my arms still looped around his back. He grinned from ear-to-ear, his smile filled with excitement (presumably for me). I found my eyes lingering on his lips, wondering how they tasted, how they felt.

And suddenly, I didn't have to wonder anymore.

That was how I ended up here, with his lips spread across mine, his arms wrapped around my waist, and his last name instead of my own.

"𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐢𝐭, 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭, 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮." - 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧

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First of all, i just wanna say: I'M BACK, BABY!! tbh, this has been the longest three weeks of my life and I'm so excited to be back, making content for you guys!

Next thing I wanna say is thank you so much to @spencersiq for requesting this! I hope you don't mind that I went with rivals to lovers instead of enemies to lovers but I love the way it turned out and I hope you like it too!!

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↳ Request an imagine here!

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☆𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒☆

[brisbookmark]

The Three Times Jason Wasn’t Saved- and The One Time he Was

Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: detailed descriptions of torture, angst, character death, blood, needles, knives/ cutting, batfam au where the gangs all here, Robin!Jason, reader can summon weapons, sad ending

One

His head hangs, he doesn't have the energy. His feet barely touch the ground, and yet he makes no move to stand himself up. They're tingly and fuzzy and cold, as are his hands that are tied above his head. 

Jason Todd hangs in chains like a slaughtered pig, and his breathing is hoarse. His dull blue eyes land on the bloodied crowbar laying on the floor. It's his blood, and it makes him groan in pain. Hyper realization of his injuries hits him and he whimpers. It's low, pathetic, and his breathing picks up.

He doesn’t remember how to wear clothes that aren’t covered in dirt and grime and acid. The fabric of his robin suit sticks to his skin, blending with his wounds. Every small move of limb sends fires of pain throughout his body, and he tries his hardest not to make a sound. 

The Asylum wing is freezing and he’s cold, skin almost blue. He shivers every once in a while- it’s different from when the Asylum is scorching hot and he feels like he’s in hell where he belongs. The hair he used to keep so elegantly messy, it's dirty and scorched and matted and greasy against his head.

And he’s scared.

He knows that if he looks up, he'll see pictures. Taped to the dusty and damp walls of Arkham Asylum. Red circles trace each of their faces, and whether or not it's paint or blood he doesn't want to know.

It’s blood, it’s always been blood.

He can't bear to see their faces right now. Barbara, happy and smiling next to Dick as they enjoy a Gotham carnival. They're happy without him, he always held them back. He was too dependent on Barbara as a sister figure and was just an annoying kid to Dick, they're better now. 

Bruce. With a child on his shoulders. The son Jason could never be. A new Robin, one that could properly fulfill his duties. He was the failure, he was never going to be what Dick Grayson was. Maybe his replacement could, his replacement wouldn't let himself get captured.

Barbara and Selina and Alfred who had only ever taken care of him.

All with red targets around them. Everyone he'd ever cared for. Marked.

Everyone except Y/N, who's picture lay in pieces on the ground. Unlike the others, it wasn't taken by Joker's goons, and it wasn't recent.

It was her student ID from their first year at Gotham Academy. She was young, really young, eyes still bright and skin untainted by the scars of vigilante work. And she wasn't even looking at the camera but rather off to the side, caught by surprise when the photographer flashed his equipment. She hated pictures, and going to school was never a part of the deal. She’s mid laughing and so alive and happy in a world where Jason never hurt her. 

He'd stolen it soon after it was taken, sticking it in his wallet so she'd be forced to ask him for his own. You couldn't access the Academy Library without one after all. 

And the Joker had found it in his pocket and took it and ruined it and tore it and left her in pieces in the corner, her name never spoken from the maniac again. 

Jason assumed that was good. Better to be left in silence than threatened and marked for death. Hell, he couldn’t remember how long it's been since he’s seen her, and he softly starts to whisper her name. She promised him a night out once he found his mother, 

No, he couldn’t. 

Maybe the Joker couldn’t find her, hadn’t figured out her identity. He could keep her safe.

"What's that my boy?"

"No.. no," Robin pleads, the voice of nails on a chalkboard sending fear into his every bone. "Not again, not again."

The Joker comes into view and a weak cry comes from Jason's lips. His body jerks and another cough wracks his body, warm blood spilling from his mouth. Broken ribs, internal bleeding, punctured lung, he has no idea what it could be. If only Alfred were here, or Dick. To let him rest as they fixed him up, took care of him.

His chin is grabbed harshly, the bruising making it worse. The Joker laughs, pushing his face upwards and close to his own. He can smell death and acid on this villain, and Jason whimpers again. 

"How long do you think it's been, Jason?"

The robin doesn't answer. He can't keep track. He tried counting the amount of times Joker visited him, but then again, that was most likely more than once a day. And sometimes it was Harley, or a low level goon dressed like Batman and Nightwing and Batigrl and her. 

Time is a blur to him, he's been in pain too long. Everything hurts, even if someone were to save him now, he feels practically gone already. 

He wanted someone to save him.

"What about it Jason? You think Bats will come? Save his precious son?" The Joker prods, mouth wide.

Jason wants to say it. But the words dont leave his mouth. 

"Go on, don't be scared Jason. Tell me, tell dear old Joker."

"HE'LL COME FOR ME!" he yells, and it uses all his strength to just move his jaw.

"Even when he's better off without you?" The Joker asks, and he bends down to lift the bloodied crowbar. 

No. Please, anything but that. 

"He's going to! He has to!" Jason screams, and then tears start streaming down his cheeks.

The metal finds its way onto his hip, sending his body swaying helplessly as he cries. 

"Tell me, who's hurting you?" The Joker asks, grin never leaving his face as he hits Jason again. 

"Please stop, I'll do anything," the boy pleads, desperately trying to think of anything else. If only the Joker would end him now, let him go free.

"Who's hurting you Jason?"

"YOU!" He shrieks, the crowbar smacking painfully across his chest and ripping at the skin. It's like his lungs have collapsed, he no longer has bones. 

"Wrong!" 

"The, the Joker-"

"WRONG AGAIN MY BOY."

Jason looks up at the pictures on the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. Blood pours into his mouth and he spits it out, shaking in his chains. "Batman.. batman is hurting me."

The next hit never comes. "Attaboy," The Joker mutters, and then he leaves.

Two

He returns the next morning. Jason assumes it's the next morning, as he's in a new purple suit. Harley gave him a dosage some odd amount of time ago, it must be a new day. His limbs are numb, his wrists are cracked and bleeding. He tries to keep his tongue in his mouth but his jaw is slack and disfigured, it’s increasingly difficult. 

Jason hasn't slept in days. Dark circles accessorize his black eyes, it's a miracle he can see at all.

The green haired man sets a timer in the corner of the room, and the Robin's brain goes into endless loops of trauma. The crowbar, the explosion that almost killed him. His mind wandered to warm arms pulling him out, thinking Bruce had pulled him from the rubble. Except it wasn't his father at all.

Batman hadn't even tried. 

"Jason." The Joker says sweetly, walking around the boy like a predator. The robin is helpless, he's lost all feeling in his limbs. "I thought I might tell you a story today."

The dark haired boy stays silent. He doesn't cry, he doesn't scream, he prays to a god he doesn't know for it all to stop. A bullet, a poison, the world ends in a fiery explosion, he didn't care.

"Jason."

"Just kill me already," he pleads, voice cracking and desperate.

Loud laughter echoes through the room. Jason's head hurts from the sheer volume, and it doesn't stop. It gets louder, and it carries around, and Jason lets out hushed breaths. 

"I can't kill you boy, we're a great team you and I! Would you like to hear my story?"

Jason closes his eyes in anticipation for today's beating.

The Joker grabs his face again, and Jason is groggy. Fading in and out of consciousness. But as his eyes are forced open and the first thing he sees is a blade, Jason screams.

It's a dull knife, long and serrated and bloody and dirty. And in its reflection is the lunatic's face, grinning like mad. The light catches on the razor as the Joker's eyes go wide.

"Wanna know how I got these scars?" He sneers, and Jason cries. He struggles to get away, hanging helplessly from his suspension. Nothing works, and two goons from the shadows hold him still with no thought towards his bruised and broken body.

He's in agony, and he's begging. He's in insurmountable pain and he can't do anything about it. The razor is brought to Jason's lips, presses to the side of his mouth with dull pressure.

He’s muffled now, and he continues fighting. 

"Just,, like, this!!" The Joker yells, dragging the blade upward through Jason's skin at a slow agonizing pace. He wants this to be slow and torturous, and Jason only cries and shakes. It hurts, god it hurts, he's being cut open, and the blood and tears mix and cause him more pain, 

He almost wishes for the crowbar again and once the knife is finished on one side, he screams again. His blood bleeds from the blade and falls onto the floor, joining the rest from the past days. Months? It couldn’t have been years.

“Such a handsome young man,” the joker croons, erupting into even more laughter. “Tell me what brought the chicks in, your crippling daddy issues or your criminal record?”

Jason couldn’t answer if he tried. The Joker grabs his face, almost smelling his newfound wounds, and then pulls back, leaving him in a hanging sway. 

“Let me go..” he pleads, mouth sore. His bright blue eyes are so devoid of color it hurts, and he closes them. Blood and dirt clumps on his pretty eyelashes. 

“Now I don’t think I can do that dear Jason.”

Joker licks the blade clean, it catches on the man's tongue and cuts him, not that he cares. Jason's glad he's not forced to swallow the damn thing.

Well, be careful what you wish for. 

Its sharp edge is brought down his jaw, down his neck, so close to his jugular veins, if only he could shift and catch himself on the blade, he could end it all. 

He starts crying.

He doesn’t know when he stops.

The Asylum walls go black, and he's shrieking. Harley Quinn brings a bat to his body as the Joker moves his knife, and it finds solace along Jason's cold chest.

One cut. Two cuts. Jason screams more. His throat is raw, he doesn't even know where his terror is coming from anymore, it'd been beaten out of him. 

"Bruce-, bruce stop-"

The Joker laughs. "AHA, the boys learning, don't you see? That's right, that's right."

The cuts are few, and after a while they're bearable. The hardest part to deal with is Harley"s high squeals as she beats him. She calls him cute, handsome, a songbird.

Songbird.

"You can't.."

"I can't what Jay darling? Hmm?? What can't I do?" The Queen of crime pouts, and Jason sees red.

"Don't say that," he spits, finding his voice. "That name isn't for you bitch."

The next time the knife touches his skin, it's coated in acid. And he's yelling for it to stop, he's pleading, thrashing around.

His kicks find Harley and he's flown forward and backward, still chained to the ceiling. Its desperate.

"JAY DARLIING," she sings. "Puddin what else gets our birdie going?? Mm? What makes him sing like a good pet. Oh this is exciting!" 

"SHUT UP-"

"Jay," Harley flutters her eyelashes, bringing herself close to his face. "Baby? Love? Is it sweetheart?" Her mouth is wide, eyes deranged. "Perhaps it's Mister J! He stares into her gaze, and for a second the jester flinches.

If Jason wasn't suspended and restrained, he'd kill her. He knew it and she knew it and Joker most definitely knew.

"Well Jason, kill her then! Do it loverboy, why won't you end her?" He croons, and Harley feigns sadness. 

"I-" he starts, unwilling to let himself hang in shame. How could he do this? 

"Oh come on angel! Why don't you try?" She shrieks, and then Jason is shouting, further tearing into the cuts along his mouth as he brings his legs up, attempting to wrap them around Harley's neck. 

He doesn't get very far. Someone holds him steady, and the stinging knife is brought back to his chest. An H. An A. Another H and an A. 

Straight across his chest, and then it begins again. Jason's breathing is labored from his attempt to retaliate, and he slips back into his daze of unconsciousness. He can't do this much longer.

THE.

Jason can see it in the mirror on the opposite wall. He doesn't remember when that got put there. If he could reach something with his feet he could throw it. Break the glass, pick it up with his feet again perhaps, end this torture-

JOKES.

Jason feels like vomiting. 

ON.

Jason vomits on the ground in front of him. Sweat sticks to his skin and he's pale, he feels a fever growing on him. The knife continues lower to his bruised skin. This couldn't get worse, could it. 

YOU.

The words are engraved on his body, marred by the blood dripping from it. Jason's eyes roll to the back of his head. The trauma puts him to sleep, and the Harley Quinn whispers another "Jay Darling" into his ear before departing. 

Three

Y/N’s picture is gone now, he can't even piece it together in his mind anymore. The scraps are scattered and disintegrated into dust.

This time he hears Harley before Joker, she's hanging off of the clown's arm, looking at him with the adoration of a psychopath. In her hands is a long poker, tip red hot, and she swings it without a care in the world. She giggles as her love comes closer to the half dead boy, untying his chains.

Jason lands on the floor, a crumpled heap of skin and broken bones. His head hits the ground, but it's the most beautiful thing he's touched in a long time.

He doesn't move, curling into a protective ball. 

"Mister J our bird isn't moving," Harley whines, kicking him in the back. He groans, shielding himself as best he could. There's nothing on the ground that's usable, not even a sharp stick or rock, there's a used abandoned needle but it sends him into nausea.

The Joker's laughing brings him back to reality as he attempts to crawl away. The floor is appalling, disgusting, a mix of wax and blood and body fluids that he wished he could forget, but he's let go. 

Jason slams his hands on the cement, using the force to wake him up and pull himself forward. His legs don't work, he's going delirious again, and then there's the sizzle of water behind him.

"Where are you going birdie?" Harley asks, and the Joker takes another step closer. 

"No, no, NO-" Jason pleads. Please let him go, dead or alive he doesn't care. Just get him out of here, make it stop. It's the only word he knows at the moment, every syllable is tortuous to pronounce. He bangs his head on the cement. God he’s going insane.

Stop touching him. Stop hurting him. 

He’s been beaten and tortured and degraded in the worst ways possible. He couldn’t remember what it was like to be human. And still, this was the worst pain yet.

He's pinned down as the hot poker nears his face, the symbol bright red on the end. Like a branded piece of meat. His flesh burns and sizzles as the Joker gives more pressure, and Jason's never screamed louder. 

It's in the intense silence within which he screams with his whole body. It forces its way from deep in his throat, demonic and angry and scared. 

He's hiding a truth from himself, and soon he's not screaming from the burning, but rather that he's stuck here. Forever. 

Edged with the tantalisingly sweet release of death, the Joker will never give it to him. 

The Joker will never let him die, he will never let him go. And now his cursed J is on Jason’s cheek, he’ll forever be the Joker’s pet.

When the brand stick is taken off his skin, Jason is sweating and pale and falls asleep.

"What a shame you couldn't handle it."

x

Y/N runs through the hallway with desperation. She'd tracked down Harley one night and by some god forsaken miracle, the deranged woman had blood on her skirts.

Another miracle hadY/N sneaking into Wayne Manor to ask Barbara to help her, analyzing the blood samples to track down the Joker.

They found something better.

For a second she believed Bruce's high end, most technologically advanced equipment was wrong. Babs assured her it wasn't. That was Jason's blood on Harley, less than two weeks old. 

"Jason?"

The boy looks up, whimpering. He almost doesn't hear her.

"Oh Jay," she whispers from the hallway. She's just a shadow but Jason knows it's her. No one has ever said his name with such gentleness. 

The woman lets out a sob. He's here, he's alive, he's gonna be okay. 

Jason holds back sobs of his own as she runs to him. Her fingers are first to touch him, resting on his chest and trailing over his scars, his wounds and his blood. His torn clothes, the dirt and acid burns. Her hand stops over his heart, beating so slow she would have believed him to be dead.

But this is Jason. He's not dying anytime soon. Especially not if she can help it.

Tears stream down her face as she wraps her arms around him, holding him close. 

He's gonna be okay.

Y/N is immediately supporting him as she conjures a knife to cut him down. His arms are free and he nearly goes unconscious.

She catches him before he can fall. It's not like the Joker when he needs to crawl away like a wounded puppy. He welcomes the other presence in the damp room, shaking. Jason lifts his head, and he doesn't even have to move until she's at his side. It's so different.. he forgot what this feels like. 

Jason forgot what it felt like to have emotions besides fear. 

He curls into her lap, slowly using her body to sit up. 

"Jay look at me, please," she murmurs, holding his face and brushing the hair out of those colorless eyes. "Oh my god I knew it.. I knew you were alive.. Jay I'm so sorry-" she stops herself, kissing the top of his blood matted head.

That doesn't matter now.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, you're okay sweetheart. Stay awake okay? Okay. Stay awake for me please."

Jason nods, hanging onto her. If he lets go, she'll leave. He'll lose her and he'll be stuck here again. She'll fade away.

It hurts to move, every bone and every limb is on fire. Then she's grabbing him and they're standing up, she's practically half carrying him.  

Mumbles of his name fill the empty asylum wing. Js and Jason's and Jay's pass her lips as if just repeating it is gonna make him alright.

One step, and Jason crumbles. He can't walk, it's a miracle he can feel his legs at all. "I'm not going anywhere," he mutters. 

She doesn't say anything. She knows.

Footsteps in the background. Walking, jogging, running. 

Maniacal laughs and snarls and spit.

Y/N bends her knees and slings him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and then she starts running. Down one hallway and then the next, the Arkham Asylum is a maze.

"Jay, side of my mask, the-"

"Comms," he finishes, holding the button to turn it on.

"Bat? Batgirl, do you read me?" The girl whispers, ducking into an alcove.

"I'm here. Did you..?"

"I've got him. Babs, he's alive, Jason's alive, he's breathing-" It feels so good to say, to not just breathe an empty statement. 

Crying comes from the other side of the comms. Barbara composes herself enough to speak, but even then, emotion hangs in her voice. "Let's bring him home then, where are you right now? Dicks outside the Asylum with Bruce, don't worry about the thugs or the cameras, we have it covered."

"I'LL FIND YOU BIRDIE!" 

"The Joker's here," Y/N tells Barbara and the air hangs with a pregnant pause. 

"Okay, Tim's gonna have you turn right, we got his signal."

The woman turns, ducking into the darkness.

"Y/N,." Jason wheezes, hanging onto her shoulders with the strength he could muster. 

"Jason if this is one of, one of your 'if we don't make it out' speeches-"

"Nevermind," he replies, wishing he had the energy and the ability to smile. She does, she smiles for the both of them- even if he can't see it from this angle. 

"God I'm going to make him pay for this. Writhing and screaming and begging for me to end him," she threatens, listening for the next of Barbara’s directions.

She's told to go right and through a door.

There's two sets of footsteps now.

Y/N continues, trying to fill the silence. The Joker won’t track her voice, the alarms are too loud. "That doesn't matter now, I guess. You're alive and I- we thought you were dead and it took so long for me to accept that, and I still don't know how I found you but I did and Jay I'm so proud of you-"

"Hey this doesn't mean you can give me a speech of your own," Jason interrupts, and she cracks another smile. She’s rambling like she always does when she overthinks, and he closes his eyes to imagine that they’re once again on a Gotham skyscraper with a bottle of champagne. Spilling secrets and laughing like they weren’t masked vigilantes with secret identities. 

"I love you Jason, and you're not leaving me again."

"HAHA I LOVE THIS GAME-" The Joker yells. His psychotic grin fills Jason’s vision as the maniac throws open a hatch, jumping down into the room. Jason is dropped to the ground and Y/N has her sword in hand, stepping in between the two men. 

His vision is blurry, he can’t see anything, and the ground is warm. 

He can’t succumb. Jason stands up again, grabbing a pistol from Y/N’s leg and he shoots. The feel of a gun trigger isn’t unfamiliar. 

Yelling fills the room, as does the clash of metal and fists, Jason smiles as the Joker cries out in pain. Another door opens, there’s girlish laughter now, and so many footsteps. He keeps shooting, dropping enemies like a second nature because he was Jason Peter fucking Todd. 

Jason’s ribs get stomped on again and he loses his gun, and metal echoes on the ground as something is dropped. Three gunshots ring through the room. 

No. 

No.

The Joker and the Harlequin keep laughing in glee, and Jason blacks out from crying again. 

x

Cold hands grab his face. The man who laughs is, well, laughing and pulling Jason’s face close to his own. The smell of death fills his senses and Jason opens his eyes. 

"How long do you think it's been, Jason?"

[dreamescapeswriting]

The Nanny  ~ JJK [Request]

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

GENRE: Angst, established relationship, slice of life, married life, family au

PAIRING: Jungkook x fem reader

Hiring a nanny was supposed to be beneficial to both you and Jungkook, you were heavily pregnant with your third child so having a nanny seemed like a good option but looking back on it now it didn't seem like it to you. Irene was lovely at first but the longer she worked for you and Jungkook the more you began to grow insecure about her. It wasn't like she wasn't good at her job she was fantastic, the best nanny someone could ever wish for but she was this 5''5 perfectly toned woman with jet black hair. Breathtakingly beautiful and young, everything that you weren't anymore. 

The 24-year-old had moved into the house that you and Jungkook owned so that she could help look after the kids while Jungkook was at the studios throughout the day. Her job was basically to become like an older sister to your daughter and son, helping you around the house with things that you weren't able to do. 7-months pregnant meant you couldn't do as much as you used to with the kids and she would help to step in whenever things needed doing. Another thing that being heavily pregnant do was making you feel as though you weren't good enough for Jungkook. Whenever he would try to be affectionate with you, you would blow off his advances and ignore them. It wasn't because you weren't interested because of course, you were, he'd been your husband for twenty years. You were hopelessly in love with him and always would be but it was because you didn't feel good enough. The hormones were always playing on your emotions making you feel worse than you needed to. Making you overthink every small little detail going on around you.

"Mrs Jeon?" You turned around from reading to your youngest daughter to see the nanny getting ready to leave for the night. 

"Yes, Irene?" As you looked at her you took in her appearance and your mouth could have dropped open. She looked insanely beautiful, more so than usual. Her long hair was curled perfectly and she was standing there in one of the tightest black dresses you'd ever seen. Irene smiled softly at you as she looked at your daughter who was almost asleep in your arms, 

"I was just coming to tell you I'll be at my boyfriend's this weekend if you or Mr Jeon need me you have my number." Her boyfriend, you'd met him a couple of times and neither you nor Jungkook approved of her taste in men but it wasn't your place to say something to her since she wasn't your daughter. It wasn't as though he was a bad guy it was just a bit of a jerk, never picked her up or dropped her off in her car and would make her pay for 99% of their dates despite him earning more than she did. 

"That's fine, I think we should be okay. Jungkook has the weekend off," You whispered as you daughter crawled into her bed to fall asleep, both you and Irene stepped out of the room and began heading down the stairs. She walked down the staircase first being careful not to fall or make too much noise since your son was already asleep in his bed.

"Are you going to dinner tonight?" You asked as you watched her putting on some high heeled shoes, Jungkook walked over to you when he heard your voice and smiled wrapping his arms around your waist to greet you. 

"You look lovely tonight, date night?" Shivers ran through your body as he complimented her, your brain instantly reminding you of how many times he used to compliment you and that he no longer did it. 

"Yes! I'm meeting San at the restaurant." She announced happily as she picked up a bag ready to get into the cab that was outside waiting for her but Jungkook stepped in. 

"You're catching a cab?" Jungkook unwrapped his arms from around you and began shaking his head at her.  

"Yeah. It's no big-" As she was about to tell him it was no big deal he interrupted her, insisting he would take her.

"I'll take you. Y/n go get in a bath while I take Irene to her date. You're not catching a cab this late at night," Without giving you a chance to tell him to stay here Irene and Jungkook were out of the door leaving you behind as you stared at the front door. 

"Sure. Take her." You mumbled as you kicked the floor, turning around to make your way to the bathroom to have a relaxing bath. 

"Did she get to the restaurant alright?" You asked as Jungkook came into the bathroom and started rubbing your shoulders. He'd been gone for almost an hour so you assumed the restaurant was far away. Jungkook rubbed circles into your skin as he kissed the top of your head,

"She got stood up, she's in her room crying. San broke up with her in the car over text," He sighed as he continued to massage your shoulders but you just shrugged his touch away from you. The thought of them being out of the house alone together for the last hour was starting to seem unsettling to you. She was in such a nice dress and she was stunning, you wouldn't blame Jungkook if he'd thought about her before. 

"Turn around while I get out?" Jungkook sighed at you as he looked into your eyes, trying to convince you that you didn't have to hide your body from him.

"I've seen you naked before Y/n-" He tried to speak to you but you shook your head,

"That was before I carried three children, covered in stretch marks and my boobs started to sag." You cut him off harshly and he shook his head at you turning away as he mumbled something under his breath that you couldn't hear.

"Not all of us can be twenty-something and be stick thin Jungkook! I'm sorry I don't flaunt my body for you to see anymore!" You yelled a little too loudly as you wrapped the dressing gown around your body but Jungkook turned to look at you ready to ask what everything was about when he caught on. 

"Irene isn't flaunting her body for me to see," He told you as he looked at you shaking his head at the thought of himself even looking at Irene as anything more than a daughter in his eyes. 

"Well she's not walking around the house on the weekends in nothing but a shirt and booty shorts for me is she?" As soon as you snapped at him he knew what was going on in your head but you just pulled yourself away from him and headed to the main bedroom.

The next morning Jungkook was sitting in the kitchen with a large mug of coffee, he'd spent the night on the sofa wanting to give you space to think over what you had said. 

"I'm sorry." You mumbled as you walked into the kitchen to kiss his cheeks, you'd spent most of the night thinking about how long you and Jungkook had been together. The amount you'd been through when he was younger, he would never leave you just because you were pregnant and weren't as active together as you used to be. 

"I promise there's nothing going on between us, she's like a daughter to me...I'm going to shower." He whispered as he kissed you lovingly on the lips, you smiled as you felt the same sparks you had over the years. 

"I'll shower, change and we can take the kids to the park. Sound good?" You hummed in response to him and he wandered off towards the bathroom. Irene coming into the kitchen not long after him in nothing but a hoodie and some shorts. 

"I'm sorry about San," You told her as you began to pour her some coffee and yourself some tea, trying to play nice with her as you thought back on what Jungkook said. Nothing more than a daughter to him. 

"It's no big deal. Plenty of fish in the sea," She smiled at you looking around the kitchen, 

"Where's Mr Jeon?" She questioned as she put her hair up into a bun, showing off her neck to you as you watched her. Along her pale skin was several deep purple marks up and down it. 

"H-He went for a shower, did you end up going out last night?" You stared down into the mug trying not to let your mind go where it was going but it was too late. Irene smirked as she looked at you, 

"No." She took the mug from your hands before turning to leave the room. Those marks weren't on her neck the night before she left so there was only one way she would have gotten them.

"Babe?" Jungkook asked as he walked into the kitchen to look for his phone, as soon as you heard his voice you dropped the mug onto the floor letting it shatter into pieces and splash the scolding liquid up your skin. 

"Mrs Jeon?!" Irene's voice ran through your body like nails on a chalkboard as you looked at her in the doorway and then to Jungkook who was standing in front of you in nothing but a towel with a concerned look splashed across his face. 

"I see her as a daughter?!" You asked as the pregnancy hormones took over your brain, pointing over at Irene who's neck was still on full display for everyone to see if they wanted to.

"What are you talking about-" Jungkook stopped himself when he turned to see the marks on her neck, his eyes widening as Irene sent him a playful smirk. 

"Baby. No. I would never do anything like that to you," He reassured you as he stepped closer to you but you stepped back away from him yelling at him not to touch you. 

"I-I get it! I get it! I mean I'm pregnant, why wouldn't you want to go off and be with someone like her," You mumbled as you watched Irene wander into the room, attempting to clean up everything that was on the floor but Jungkook snapped at her to get out of the room and leave you alone. 

"But you could get her," She whined out, placing her hands onto Jungkook's chest as he stared at her, 

"Don't act like something is going on in front of my wife, there is absolutely nothing going on and there never will be." He moved away from her touch and she glared at him, 

"I'm so much better though, you could have me...You won't need someone who's pregnant, she hasn't let you touch her in months. I know that for a fact." Tears began to roll down your face at the thought of her knowing every detail about what was going on between you and Jungkook. The truth was before you began to grow jealous of her you'd confided in her about your insecurities towards Jungkook. How you hadn't slept with him or even let him hold you since getting pregnant with your third child, you thought you could trust her. 

"So what? I love her! I would never throw away a twenty-year relationship with her because she won't let me touch her." He snapped once again and you watched him as he handed Irene a wet cloth, 

"Rub that shit off your neck. You're fired." The colour drained from Irene's face as she stared at Jungkook and then to the cloth in his hands. 

"You can't fire me-"

"I can, I did and you signed an NDL so you can't talk to the press about anything you heard in this house without being sued. Wipe it off your neck, pack and leave." You stared at Jungkook as he looked over at you, Irene rubbing her neck to remove the purple stains throwing the cloth into the sink as she stormed off. 

As soon as Irene was out of the house Jungkook locked the doors and turned to look at you, 

"I would never do anything like that to you Y/n, ever...I'm sorry I didn't see what she was doing until now." You shook your head at him as he brought you into a tight embrace, 

"I'm sorry I assumed something was happening," You laughed weakly as you kissed his chest,

"I love you," He kissed the top of your head 

"Yeah mum we love you," You turned behind him to see your daughter holding onto your son's hand as she helped him down the staircase. 

"I love you guys too, shall we all go to the park?" You asked as you watched their faces light up at the mention of going to the park together. 

"Go and change, I'll get dressed and we can go have a picnic." You told them as they both began to climb back up the staircase towards their bedrooms, 

"I'll go and help," Jungkook whispered as he kissed your lips lovingly, heading up the stairs after the kids.

Tagline: @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @fan-ati--c​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @rjsmochii​ @bisexualmess007​ @innersooya​ @sw33tnight​ @sweeneyblue1​ @jin-from-the-block​

[snackleggg]

Nails being dragged across a chalkboard

~~~

First time using my Far Below concept

Summary: Danny has a talk with a strange ghost

~~~

The sound was grating.

Like nails being dragged across a chalkboard.

The sound of someone peeling away dry paint.

The creak of old floorboards and the laboured breath of the dying.

It was all of these sounds and none of them at the same time.

Danny shook his head.

He had to get out of here. This place was messing with his very sense of reality and soon he wont even know down from up.

(Did he ever really know down from up in the infinite realms? Was there even such a concept?)

Danny made his way through the old wooden house, careful of broken glass and always knocking before going through doorways. It just felt polite. Something in his core warning him to be wary and to be a good guest.

As soon as he got to the other side of the house he was bolting.

Finally he came through a doorway and could see across the room was the door leading out. But the room wasn't empty or unoccupied like the rest.

The fireplace was burning bright with a warm yellow and orange fire. There was a kettle going on the stove top on the other side of the room and by the fireplace was a comfortable looking arm chair. It had an intricate quilt draped over it, like something you would see at a grandmother's house. There was a small coffee table and another chair, this one not as luxurious or comfy looking as the armchair, it was just a plain wooden one like you would sit at a dinner table.

The walls were decked with pictures of people, all standing infront of an open field with a small house visible in the background. The house in the picture looked almost exactly like the one Danny was in now, if only the one he was in now wasn't run down and at the bottom of the most dangerous place in the infinite realms.

It took Danny too long to notice the figure standing next to the stove waiting for the kettle to boil. The sudden comfortableness of the room infront of him shot his focuse but he managed to regain it as the kettle went off with a high pitch squeal- (like nails being dragged across a chalk board)

Danny shook his head of the thought as he focused on the figure that was removing the kettle from the stove top and pouring a black goopy liquid into two ceramic tea cups covered in intricate flower patterns.

They were tall, their head would probably hit the ceiling if they stood upright. They were hunched over slightly and like many of the residents of the Far Below they didn't seem to have any defining features about them, just a black shadowy mass for a body. They were humming a soft tune that made Danny's eyelids feel a bit heavy but he shook it off. He had to focuse!

He tried sneaking past but a creaky floorboard betrayed him.

"Why don't you sit down for a drink dear?" Came the smooth echoy voice of the ghost who still had their back turned to Danny. Maybe they had known Danny was in the house all along and had just been waiting for him to make it to the last room? But why?

With a resigned sigh Danny sat down over on the wooden chair. The fireplace drowned the whole room in a warm orange glow that only served to increase the feeling of comfort.

The ghost finally turned around as they made their way over with the two cups of black goopy substance. Their only features were two glowing white eyes on an otherwise completely void black face. As they placed the cups down on the coffee table that was between them and Danny he saw they had long sharp thin needle-like fingers that worked delicately around their surroundings.

The ghost sat down on the arm chair and Danny inexplicably felt himself relax.

'No! Bad Danny! Stay focused!' He reminded himself as he tensed again. The logical part of his brain knew not to trust anything that looked nice or appealing in the Far Below. It was always a trick, like a venus flytrap offering sweet necture to an unassuming fly. Danny hated the fact that he was the unassuming fly in this metaphor.

"Well little one?" They spoke again in that buttery smooth voice "What brings you to my parlor?" They asked.

Danny got the sudden urge to spill all his secrets, to tell this ghost everything until he had all his thoughts out on the table, like showing his cards but he swallowed the urge down as he spoke in a shaky voice "I'm just passing through"

"Hmm" the ghost tapped their long needle-like fingers against their chin "it is dangerous to travel these depths when so young. Would you like to stay here a little while until you are better prepared?" The ghost offered.

"N-no thanks" Danny shakily replied. He had a white knuckled grip on the chair's arm rests.

"Very well, but I insist you have some tea before you go" the ghost said, gesturing down to the cups of bubbling black goo.

Danny looked down at the tea. It looked like tar, like some disgusting rotting substance. But as he focused on it the smell finally hit his nose. It smelled delicious. Like chocolate cake and flowers and all the good things in Danny's life. Danny had been travelling through this hell scape for a few hours now but it felt like it had been forever since he was home. Maybe one sip wouldn't hurt. Just to feel home again.

Before he knew it he had his shaky fingers around the cup and was bringing it towards him. The logical part of his brain was screaming at him to stop run get out. But it was just one sip? What could it hurt?

Danny held the cup in shaky hands up to his mouth. Why were his hands shaking? It was just a little tea. Then he made the mistake of glancing up at the ghost. Another feature was visible on their face now, a mouth of razzor sharp teeth, all curled into a sadistic smile. The image was such a sharp turn to the comfortable daze Danny had just been in that it shocked him right out of it, right before he took the sip.

He suddenly jerked the tea cup back down onto the table "I- I think I'm good! Thanks". The smile had disappeared from the ghosts face. Had it ever really been there? Danny didn't want to look back down at the cup, he didn't want to get entranced by it's empty promises of home and comfort.

The ghost sighed "I suppose it can't be helped"

They suddenly stood up and Danny tensed more. His mind, now clear, noticed all the little things of the room that hadn't clicked before. How the stove fire had never been on. How the people in the pictures on the walls looked unhappy, horrified even. How the fire had turned from a warm orange-yellow to a sickly green-gray with ash and soot routinely puffing out. The light it cast was no longer comfortable and friendly.

Instead of attacking like Danny expected they would, the ghost merely stood infront of the fireplace, their back turned to Danny again.

There was a silence. A pause. Danny considered leaving, bolting for the door as quickly as possible but he knew he would never make it in time. He was suddenly very aware of how easily those needle-like fingers could pierce his skin.

Finally the ghost broke the silence "Human's are like sheep in a factory, all meant to be slaughtered"

Danny felt petrified on the spot.

"Ghosts are the sheep that escape. They get a taste of life without death, or maybe it's death with life? But either way they will be found by the farmers and brought to their fate as well"

The ghost suddenly turned around. Their glowing white eyes pinning Danny in the spot with their intensity.

"But you, you are like a sheep that escaped and found it's way onto a raft in the open ocean. What will happen? Will you die, meet your fate like the rest of us? Or will you find lands untold? An existence that we could never dream of? A freedom of the slaughterhouse of inevitability" there was a brief moment were it was just silent. Like the whole Infinite realms was holding it's breath. Danny felt crushed under the silence, like it was suffocating him.

Then the ghost blinked and the feeling vanished.

"Such an interesting concept" they cocked their head to the side "Thoughts?"

Danny's ears were ringing. He could hear the sound of glass crunching under feet, of a cat sharpening it's claws on a scratching post, of nails being dragged across a chalkboard.

"I need to go" he managed to wheeze out.

The ghost nodded at the door and Danny got up and ran, never looking back as he escaped that house.

[dearest-kibble]

WELLL GANG IT TOOK FOR FUCKIN EVER BUT HEY HERE IT IS ABOUT 7,000 WORDS OF KAGEYAMA. THANK YOU ALL FOR STICKING WITH ME IT REALLY MEANS A LOT THAT Y’ALL WERE STILL HERE EVEN THOUGH I WAS TAKING FOREVER LIKE HOLY FUCK MAN I APPRECIATE YOU ALL SO SO SO MUCH FOR THIS AND HOPE IT’S ALRIGHT!! 

tw: noncon dacryphilia breathplay(choking) kidnapping general shady-ness  very blink and you’ll miss religious symbolism. Abuse

“Don’t mess this up Kageyama.” You wake up in an old building, seven men stand above you, head to toe in suits. And you distinctly remember reading something someday, about how the yakuza always cover their body. And about how the yakuza have a hand in human trafficking.

“Damn Kageyama, we don’t do any of that Oikawa-Gumi shit here!” The Man who's speaking is shirtless and his hair is buzzed short. He’s got a red dragon winding up his stomach and a red koi on his sternum.

“So many women were brought to Oikawa I just thought-” The man - Kageyama you assume - has black hair and blue eyes. You think he’s staring at you.

“You thought? I find that hard to believe.” A guy with glasses (do yakuza wear glasses?) sniffs and turns his nose at Kageyama. “I thought you only thought about being Oyabun.”

“Shittykawa is a liar and you all know it!”

“Still more honorable than a guy who deserted his family and has a samurai tattoo!” A considerably smaller redhead speaks up with a defiant voice.

“They betrayed me!!” His attention (if it was on you, is not anymore.) shifts as Kageyama raises his voice, flails his hands a little and starts to pace.

“Kageyama, be quiet!” A man behind you talks. The man with blue eyes immediately stops talking, the man with glasses and blonde hair laughs.

“All of you shut up!” A louder voice bounces off the walls, all five men stop talking and look to the man behind you. He’s got brown hair, short, militant and an angry-looking scowl on his face. The man next to him has silver hair, but you don’t think it’s from age. A chorus of “sorry Oyabun” echoes through the room, large, dark and empty.

“Kageyama, you will not mess this up.” Intense coal eyes stare into blue.

“No Oyabun, I will not.”

“Good because she’s under your care.” You almost expect the man with brown hair to offer you a smile, it’s the silver haired one who does.

“What?!” You turn around quickly as the voice sounds much closer than you remember it being. “I’m-” The man takes a few seconds looking at his fingers. (His left pinky is a stub) Before continuing. “Oikawa never had me do anything like that. Girls just talked to me.”

“Girls talked to you!?” A newer person, short, standing next to the shirtless one - has an energetic voice. “Why’d you ever leave?”

“Because Oikawa treats his family like shit!” And like that, the talking erupts into furious voices trying to get a word in edgewise until once more, the two behind you speak up.

“Everyone shut up!”

Once again they all fall silent.

“Kageyama, get her where she needs to go. You know what to do right?”

“Yes Oyabun.”

“Good.” His gaze is away from you, glaring at someone else as silence splits the room.

“C’mon.” He makes a show of not looking at you when he gruffly gestures for you to move to his side. Try as you might to seem calm, your joints are cold and stiff as you march to his left.

“Don’t cause a fuss okay?” He sends a sharp glare your way.

“She’s terrified Kageyama, you don’t need to scare her more.” The man with silver hair looks at you more apologetically than you’d thought a yakuza could. But as his hands rest on his hips you can see the gun holstered on his side. You look away quickly after smiling quickly.

“Yeah! Be nicer to her!” Kageyama shrugs off what the redhead says and walks towards the singular door and opens it to walk through. It leads to an empty, grey hallway - chilled and complete with flickering light. About fifteen paces ahead, there's a flight of stairs with the much-needed railing that rusts and peels in the flickering, damp hallway. There's the faint sound of city pop coming from the top of the stairs, through a bleak door with peeling paint. There are no other places of entry or exit, simply the one large, looming, decrepit door at the top of steep steps. Still begrudgingly silent, Kageyama starts up the stairs, feet falling hard on each step like drops of a guillotine. You follow numbly after him. What other choice is there really? Go back to the room with so many others? Die in a hallway while muffled music plays from a door? Your legs ache by the time you stand near the door. It’s not a high climb. Kageyama opens the door and you expect to hear nails on a chalkboard but are greeted by the soft melody of plastic love and the smell of cigarettes. The beeps of slot machines punctuate loud cheers and disappointments around a roulette table, the thwap of cards hitting the table and laughter at a bar does little to distract from the fact that Kageyama who had barely looked at you before — (Was it on purpose?)  — was staring directly at you. Pressing a hand to your face, you feel a drop of wetness on your cheek. A tear. You wipe it quickly and Kageyama turns away slowly. Eyes lingering a second after he turns his head.

“You’re slow, move quicker!” You nod in his direction though he’s already moving ahead again. The casino is loud and boisterous and though you’re sure it’s actually an illegal gambling den, many well known wealthies sit around a roulette table with a man in a suit, typical of a yakuza.

“You want a drink?” You expect it to come from a sleazy, older man wearing an old baggy suit, not the man who’s been leading you through this mess of tables and smoke and glitz. It’s fine, there are so many people around you.

“Why are you offering me a drink?” He’s turned to face you, still not smiling but eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion.

“O-Oikawa said to offer women drinks. I-” Oikawa? He might not be so bad. Still, a yakuza who didn’t run with the good kind any more so-

“No thanks.” The confusion displayed earlier on his face, deepens into a frown that forms on his lips and lines that appear in between his brows.

“What, why?” He’s actually confused somehow.

“I don’t know you, you’re a yakuza - you might drug my drink - the list could go on?”

“I'm not going to drug you" He sounds angry and mutters "Just trying to be nice, fuck." And you've stopped for only one moment but the sleazy men you thought would hound you start to crowd, either unknowing or uncaring that you are in the custody of organized crime.

"Pretty lady want a drink? Got a margarita with your name on it." It's unsurprisingly a man with cigarettes' smoke on his breath and intoxication in his step. You note he's already holding the drink in question.

"No thank you-" You begin to answer, in a politely exasperated tone that you think is quite amicable for someone whose arm is practically around your waist.

"Listen - she's with me, alright?" Kageyama doesn't stop there, despite that in your opinion, he should. "She's mine." The words send a pang of anxiety straight through your spine and into your brain before they reach your feet and as they itch to step away into a crowd, another man speaks up someone much less intoxicated, still - with a drink in hand.

"She in trouble with the Daichi-Gumi then?" They're much more informed. And Kageyama nods to the asker.

"Guess he's still got his Oikawa roots then, huh?" And that doesn't make any sense at all because he's nothing like the man you talked to and who gave you a handsome wink and made small conversation.

"Don't compare me to that bastard." And instead of the usual anger, you think it's a note of exhaustion in his voice. And the conversation ends right there, "mine" being a forgotten word in the mix of much more confusing sentences. It's relatively peaceful after that, the scowl on your captors face scaring many others away. You continue down the luxurious gambling hall and into much quieter corridors with soft sounds passing through doors as you walk down a carpeted hallway, well lit and warmer. Once again, Kageyama opens a door and walks through. For a long, fleeting, whirlwind of a moment, you are alone before remembering that if you walk out without Kageyama, you run the risk of having a yakuza family hunting for you. Hell, they'd hunt your family, you've heard about what they do to screamers. Twisted fingers, bloody stomachs and scarred backs - missing eyes if the they’re lucky. You step through the open door and into the room. It's low-lit, casting a pleasant glow on the furniture.

Kageyama is already sitting down on an expensive - looking sofa no —loveseat. He picks up a remote from the side armrest and turns on a TV installed into the wall. Loud moans and the sound of flesh on flesh boom from the speakers before he switches to the sounds of shoes squeaking as they run across a floor. He pulls a nail clipper from his pocket to trim already short fingernails. There's a large bed with lights hanging above it on one side of the room, a wardrobe - open - full of thin clothing you wouldn't be caught dead in outside of your house. There's a small table, a bottle of wine and two glasses on mahogany wood, next to a singular unlit candle. Though the sound is gone you can’t help but linger on the moans that came from the TV and how Kageyama has led you into a room with such a large bed and a shower that has no door and is only walled with glass. You forcibly relax your jaw just before you speak.

"I'm here to-" You gulp down air, trying not to look at the silk sheeted bed. "Pay a debt."

"Yeah dumbass, what else would you be here for?" If he doesn't bring up any other possibility, neither will you.

"How?" The way that he instantly looks at you, blue eyes ever intense when he speaks  makes your stomach flip unpleasantly. You know exactly how. He’s led you to this room, what else could he be expecting?

"Daichi put me in charge of you, you'll do what I say." Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"I'm not going to do what you tell me. I'll work off my debt in this casino, but I'm not doing everything you tell me to do!” Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He blinks at you, brow once again furrowed in confusion. He puts his nail clippers down on the arm of his seat, and stands, taking off his jacket in the process. You knew it - you fucking knew it.

You shuffle backwards as quickly as possible, spine hitting the round doorknob.

You can’t go any further.

Kageyama creeps forwards, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal raging water delicately inked into the toned muscle of his right forearm, chrysanthemum petals drifting downstream from a skull at his shoulder. Down his left, where his elbow meets his forearm stands a samurai, maple leaves falling gently from the mouth of a black koi that flounders to appear just over the edge of his shoulder. On the front of his chest there is only a solitary demon - red and standing amongst black clouds which dig deep - over his nipples as the Oni stands on the cool blue with its fiery feet. He walks over to you, shirt off and tugging at his belt. With a decorated arm, he sets the white shirt on your head, careful not to touch you. What flees from your lips is a very audible sigh expressing your relief that he doesn’t seem to want to violate you.

“I’m going to take a shower. Put that away for me.” You don’t even attempt to retort as you quickly move it off your head and turn away from wherever Kageyama sounded like he was. You conveniently face towards the wardrobe and walking towards it, you notice all the clothing you had neglected to think about. Short schoolgirl uniforms, a pair of fluffy handcuffs, all sorts of exposing clothing that you think for the second time, you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in. You push sets of clothing aside to find an empty hanger, not finding one, you kneel down to check the bottom of the cabinet. You find a box full of something, flat squares that are easily torn, and one empty hanger with a leather suit that probably went on it beforehand. You instinctually turn at the sound of water hitting the tiled shower. He’s standing still, body naked through the glass and quickly you avert your eyes from him. The loud crash of falling water on the tile makes you turn, despite your knowledge of where it comes from. You can see Kageyama’s naked back through the clear glass, koi and cherry blossoms disappearing in rapidly forming fog that covers the rest of his body. Watching the glass fog with the softening sound of water on tile in the dim light of the room, a dry sob of relief releases from your throat. He isn’t going to do anything. It’s just one large scare tactic. With the realization that Kageyama is just going to unorthodox lengths to make sure you don’t run, your knees buckle and you crumple to the floor, back stable against the side of the wardrobe - and you let the tears fall.

Each bone, muscle and thought eases with the knowledge that this yakuza is just taking a shower. He’s still the good kind of yakuza - Oikawa taught him well. He just happens to be a little strange. While he showers, your face is bathed with your own free tears. Your hands cup your cheeks and you smile softly into your palms, feeling so much steadier as your breathing returns to its normal steady in and out. Picking yourself up from the carpeted floor and feeling you back crack you bring yourself in front of the TV watching as people toss a volleyball into the air. It’s awfully methodical as they toss it to each side over and over, you almost forget about the pitter-patter of water behind you. You don’t even notice as it stops and the man comes out to watch you watching the game. You barely hear the zipper on his pants - just dismissing it as some sound from the game. It’s not until he’s directly behind the couch and he asks you a question that you remember where you are.

“Where’d you put my shirt?” You turn and tilt your head to look at his dripping hair, wet pants and wetter jacket.

“It’s in the closet.”

“What?”

“It’s the only place to put a shirt.” He grumbles at your words but it’s not hostile.

“You have the bed, that’s where I normally put my stuff.” You glance at the bed again and then back to him.

“Who doesn’t use a closet?”

“Next time you’re going to put it on the bed. No point in using that shitty closet - can’t find anything in there,”

“Hopefully there won’t be a next time.” His eyes squint face lowering to yours. He blinks twice before his blues widen.

“Have you… been crying?” Your eyes must still be puffy red.

“No?” His nose is just a hairs’ width away from yours.

“You better not be lying. Lying to your Oyabun has serious consequences.” Abruptly he stands up. “And you’re mine now. You can’t lie to me.” His hair bobs as he nods and removes his dripping suit jacket. Once again the black koi  surfaces across the spanse of his muscular back.

“I’m…” You shouldn’t be asking, but he must mean this in some other way, right? “Yours?”

“Daichi told me to watch you,” He says dumbly. Well, If that’s all he means, it shouldn’t be bad. You’re going to ignore how his head turns slightly to look and that the lights that glint off his eyes menacingly. “You're part of the family now. My family” A slimy feeling crawls up your back at his words, not for the first time.

“What does that mean?”

“Talking back to your Oyabun has consequences.” It hangs over your head, his words and your next ones clashing in your mind before deciding on,

“Same can be said for thinking you’re Oyabun.” It’s a much less dangerous thing to say, now that you know you’re safe and he’s just a strange person.

“I will be Oyabun, and you’re part of my family. You already have to do what I say.” He’s scared you enough, he’s not going to do anything and you’re not even sure he can with patrons of the gambling den so near. You take a breath and steady yourself though you aren’t even nervous and without thinking-

“I’m not some part of your fucking yakuza family!” Your palm makes harsh contact on his cheek. He was just trying to scare you earlier. You turn aside as he stands still as a leaf in water. Clasping your hands together you wait trying not to think about the fact that you just slapped a yakuza. He turns slowly, wide eyes a lighter blue than you had originally thought.

“Do it again.” A large hand rubs at his red cheek. “Please?” Kageyama cocks his head to the side, hand still over his red cheek. You’re rooted to the ground, standing still, you're not going to move even if he said he wants you to hit him again.

“If you won’t do it, I will.” He removes his hand from his cheek, and makes a fist before stopping. “You had an open palm.” All four fingers of his left hand splay open as he inches towards you with confident steps. “It felt so nice to be touched by someone again.” Eyes like the Starry Night glare down while his face holds the least unsettling smile you’ve seen from him. You can’t do anything against a member of the yakuza, and the important thing about the yakuza floods back into your mind: the man with silver hair had a gun, why shouldn’t he?. You stand still as a statue, you will not flinch, you will not cry. He’s right in front of you, and you stare defiantly into his eyes as he stares right back. There is nothing to say and both of you are waiting for the first blow.

It lands.

Hard, right on your cheek and the sting is so much but so little compared to the gun that could’ve put a hole in your head. Your head is pushed to the side by force before you snap it back to look into his eyes.

“It doesn’t feel the same…” He mutters the words. “Maybe if you-”

“I’m not going to do anything you want me to.”

“Fine. I’ll try again.” And the hand connects with your cheek once again. If the first stung, the second was like a stab. Cold and sharp and the feeling staying much longer than you’d hope. Kageyama looks at you, whose face is still utterly defiant and pointed towards him. Though the red welt on your cheek is far more noticeable, he seems to be looking at your eyes.

“Shit.”  It’s a quiet utterance, but he sounds mildly put out. “It’s not gonna work unless you touch me.”

“No.”

“Either you touch me and I figure out why I get this weird pit around you. Or,” And he seems to have to think for a second about his phrasing. You think you hear a ‘can’t blow her brains out.’ “Or I give you to Oikawa.”

“Oikawa?” And you know this is a bad idea, you’re standing up to a Yakuza for fucks sake. “Oikawa just gets people to pay their protection tax. Hell, he’d clear my debt.”

“He’s the guy who has the top joint of my pinky, you don’t wanna be given to him, trust me.”

“Oikawa has a soft spot for women, he’d clear my debt and let me go.”

“He had me bring in any woman I found.” Oh. “A lot of them lived where he used to spend a lot of time. Called them prostitutes?” Oh no. “I think Oikawa would be happy to see you. Suga always says to try and make things better between our families.” He’s not going to get to you like this, you’ve seen Oikawa around - talked to him. The most harm he’d ever cause is when someone harassed a woman. Knowing this yakuza, he’s probably trying to scare you again.

“You’re lying. Oikawa helps women on the streets. I heard he even set up a safe house!” Oikawa would never do anything like what Kageyama said he would. He wouldn't!

“He called it a brothel.” He wouldn’t he wouldn’t. Oikawa always said to go to him if you needed help - he did.

“Oikawa wouldn’t do that! Not to me, not to anyone!” He wouldn’t he wouldn’t he wouldn’t.

“Shut up!” Deep unexplored, ocean blue eyes churn as the yell falls upon your ears..  

“Oikawa wouldn’t do that! He’s kind and he’s helpful!” You’re advancing so much closer to him, letting your guard fall.

“You’ll shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for you.” His hand is gathering in a fist again, skin straining against his rapidly whitening knuckles

“No I won’t! Because Oikawa would only ever take care of a woman and treat her much better! You’re making up blatant lies to ma-” The blow lands hard on your stomach, and you stumble back on shaky feet, tripping over themselves as you try to stay upright.

“He called your “Safehouse” a brothel. He kept women there, they smiled after enough time. I won’t fucking hesitate to give you to him too.” You fall over as he speaks, air being beat from your lungs as you fall flat on your back. Even while you’re gasping for breath he continues.

“The guys call it a horrible, shitty place and I don’t wanna send you to Oikawa, he’s a shitheel. But you’ve gotta fucking learn to listen - and Oikawa always made sure they did.” But Oikawa wouldn’t - he told you that you were safe with him and his people, that they were the good kind of yakuza.

“He’s not like that.” It sounds hollow to the both of you.

“Just listen to me dammit!” His large hand is tangled in your hair, threatening to beat your head into the floor. “I’m trying not to send-” The agonizing feeling of hairs being pulled from your scalp forces you to blink back tears. You yell at him again anyway.

“You just wanna see me as a prostitute!” And your voice doesn’t break but you can feel the tug of your vocal chords pulling on your eyes.

“Maybe.” It’s strange that his eyebrows furrow at your words but his grip on your hair tightens. “I wouldn’t have to threaten if you listen and touch me.”

“I shouldn’t have to if I don’t want to!” The wet tears that might’ve shed earlier are replaced with dry anger.

“It doesn’t matter what you want. Your Oyabun told you, that should be enough.” He yanks your head up by your hair, a few strands ripping right out of your scalp with a sharp pain. “Touch me.” The pain is splitting in your head, on your cheeks, in the breath that you're still trying to regain. “I said, touch me!” And he drops you. Weight held up by Kageyama comes crashing down onto the carpeted floor and you with it. He growls, sound deep in his throat as he makes another threat.

“Fuck, I’ll even give you to the Ushijimas’ to use as target practice if you aren’t obedient. How’d you like to be shot full of holes? That better than touching me?” The words come out in a harsh jumble, spilling from his mouth like a bitter wine. “Do it. Touch me before I stop being nice and kill you myself.” This time it's a kick to your back. “Then someone from your precious family will pay your debt.”  

“How do you-”

“I make it a point to know my future family members.”  He gives you an uncomfortable smile, mouth curling up as eyes don’t shift from their stoic glare. He steps even closer, hand rising once again to make you flinch but it doesn’t stop rising as he squeezes your neck harshly. “C’mon, get my hands off your neck! Pry me off of you!”

“N..” Air is fleeing your collapsing lungs, “O” It takes all the willpower in your body to fight against the muscles in your shoulders that want to lift your arm and the tendons that control your fingers to curl around his wrist and tug. Kageyama snarls as he frees your throat. His hands reach behind him and he must have a gun. He’s threatened to shoot. His hand moves so slowly, fingers curling around something behind his back. The black of his suit jacket reflects the all too bright light, cheers and beeps of the slots muffled by thick walls. The blunt pain throbbing in your face, on your stomach. The sharp intakes of breath sending stabs of pain to your lungs and the man with dark black hair and dark blue eyes keeps his hand behind his back, his left hand tugging on his suit jacket. He’s getting the gun, it’s in the back of his pants. You feel the familiar, cold prick of tears at the back of your eyes, that only intensifies as you he squats down and you flinch softly.

“C’mon,” His hand is still behind his back “Touch me.” You don’t want to die. You don’t want anyone to bear your debt. You suck in a deep breath, heavy weight forming in your chest as you reach out your hand towards his face. He inhales a tight breath, cheek twitching as your palm inches closer and closer. When just a finger finally grazes his cheek he flinches away from it and the weight inside you gets heavier. You didn’t do what he wanted. 

You fucked it up. 

You clamp your eyes shut. Slowly - what’ll he do if you move too quickly - you begin to drag your fingers from his cheek, rough with the smallest starts of stubble. He raises his hand with four fingers to keep yours on his cheek, trapping your palm against his clammy hand and rough chin. He exhales a shaky breath, his black-blue eyes closing and head nuzzling into your hand.

Softly feeding from the hand that bit.

“Thank you,” Your eyes are wide open as you stare at his features seeming so soft in comparison to his sharp, metallic anger. He murmurs softly into your palm. “It feels... nice when you touch me.” It’s such a stark contrast from the roaring, growling man threatening to force you into prostitution. The Kageyama who’s in front of you is smiling gently while his hand - though chilled and rough - is gentle against the back of your hand. It’s too much, one blink and tears start to fall. A hiccup erupts from your mouth which you shut as soon as he pokes an eye open. Whimpers based in the bottom of your sore throat start to strain against your closed mouth. His smile widens, growing into that uncomfortable smirk with lips stretched too thin.

“Fuck, you’re such a pretty crier, y’know that?” Kageyama groans the words staring at your face, still in the palm of your hand. “It makes me hard.” As if to emphasize his point, he jerks your hand downward, to the bulge in his suit pants.

“I - Kageyama I’m here to pay off a debt,”

“Yeah, you are.” He grinds his clothed hard-on into your palm. “You’re here to do whatever I tell you to. And I said-” The back of his hand brushes against your palm as it reaches to pull at the zipper of his pants. The grip around your wrist tightens as he drags your hand down. “Touch me.” and slowly your fingers curl around the length that was pulled from his pants.

“Good girl.” He snarls the words as his fingers ghost over your clothed sex, thin panties doing little to dull the strangely gentle caress of his four fingers. He pushes the fabric aside quickly and though you’re completely dry, shoves a finger into your tight cunny.

“Haven’t touched… anyone,” He groans as your hand stays deathly still on his cock. “Like this.” He thrusts his finger into you again. Beads of precum drip from his cock onto the back of your hand.

“Stop… please,” He smiles at your watery eyes. “It doesn’t feel good…” It feels like someone breaking your trust. How could you have trusted a yakuza?

“I’ll make it feel good.” He was going to leave you alone. He was going to leave you alone. A fat tear rolls down your face. Kageyama’s lips curl into another smirk as he pumps his fingers just a little faster.

“Is this what Oikawa meant when he said I’d have trouble ‘fingering’?” He says it to himself more than to you. “Cause I don’t think I’m having much trouble.” He wasn’t going to do anything. A small scream falls from your mouth as you think — you did this to yourself. You slapped him and now… Your hold on his cock tightens. You wish you could say it was in anger rather than for the sparks flying through your body. “Stop closing your eyes.” He huffs. “Makes it seem like you’re not enjoying it.”

You aren’t. You aren’t fucking enjoying it. The way he stares at you, leering at your misty eyes and dripping nose. The way he’s got his fingers stuffed inside you. The way he has your hand wrapped around his dick. It’s much easier to think this is some dream. To pretend your breath isn’t quickening or this is just some fucked up fantasy you’d never want to be real. But it is. And the gasp you let out when you feel your pussy clench - that’s real too.

“Sounds like you do. Feels like you do. Tightening around my fingers like that?” He chuckles darkly to himself before barking, “Dumb whore! Move your hand!” Immediately you release your grip on his cock.

“Not like that.” He glares at you and uses his free hand to grab your wrist once more. Harshly, he tugs it to his mouth and spits onto your palm. “Stroke my cock.” Once more, he shoves your hand down, saliva dripping from your palm to the couch and his bare legs. He hisses at the feeling of your hand, moans as you pump your fist. “Keep doing that.”  You nod, mouth parting to gasp only for tears to fall in.

“Holy shit.” His fingers curl inside you, his cock twitches harshly in your hand. His arms woven with ink, flex as his right hand curls into a fist slowly unclenching - rising. All too late, do you notice his fingers lacing themselves around your neck pushing you down, down into the cushions. You can still breathe, he’s not meaning to choke you yet. Your head is still, and that is enough, his face inching ever closer, blue eyes blown wide - mouth parting just so slightly. His face growing closer with each second that makes your brain tick with dread.

“So fuckin pretty….” He sighs quietly. “Bet your tears even taste good.” His mouth presses to yours. He wastes no time shoving his tongue inside. It’s sloppy - like you’d’ve expected, salty saliva spilling from the corners of your lips as he drags his long, rough fingers slowly from your cunt. You whine through spit and sob as the feeling of fullness is taken from you. (though you’ve felt empty this whole time) Your hips roll on their own, grazing against his knuckle. Your cunt weeps at one final touch before you're stuck humping nothing.

“You're wet enough right?” Breathless, he pulls away from your mouth, lips pink, swollen and parted, his cheeks flushed a dark shade of cherry. He looks from your eyes to his fingers to the hand around your neck. “You better be after all that crying. My pathetic little crybaby, so wet for my cock.”

You wish you could spit in his face, wish you could scream. But all that can escape your lips are soft moans, little whines at the loss of his fingers. “Please” dances on the tip of your tongue, pirouetting its way through your teeth and tapping at your lips.

“God…” His cock pokes at your entrance. “You’re so warm…” It’s hard to ignore as he presses in, pushing against your walls so firmly, warmth making your hips roll to meet his cock as it buries deeper inside you. Your hand had been moved a long time ago - or just recently, it’s hard to tell, hard to remember. Or have you already forgotten? Still coated in spit and precum, it rests on his chest, over one of his many tattoos, you slide it upwards to his shoulder. Watching as the spit leaves a trail over his body. Pretending like it’s just water. Your eyes gloss over the forced extravagance of your prison. The ceiling is in between - the sky. Some say heaven. And your sullied hand raises to pull for the sky. When was the last time you’d seen the moon. Surely only hours ago. A rough thrust and something loud echoes in the room. You can barely hear it over the dry crust on your hand. Reaching for the above as your beaten body is defiled. For a second you can feel it, the clouds of the sky.

The sky disappears too as you’re dragged back down to earth by long fingers that squeeze more harshly at your neck. Suddenly only the constricting of his fingers on your windpipe and your pussy on his fat cock are present in your mind. Pleasure and fear hazing together in your mind to create nothing more than blank sight in your eyes and sparks running from your legs to your brain. Your hands continue to tighten around his wrist, pulling harshly as he continues to squeeze and squeeze at your throat.

“You gonna cum?” He continues, picking up his pace and pushing you further into the sofa. You try to shake your head, despite the tightening in your stomach,

“No Kagey-” He looks up from where he’d been pounding into your sloppy cunt, cock shoved right against your cervix, throbbing hashly while he raises his other hand to give a harsh slap to your cheek.

“What do you call me?”

“O-o” You can barely breath and the cock inside of you is so hot. The stinging against your cheek feels so good in the fog of shallow breath and fullness that you can’t help but moan at - when he adjusts his angle and turns you around, pushing your face into the cushions and ass in the air.

“Oyabun,” You can’t help the way your voice breaks as you sob and Kageyama once again starts to move.

“Fuck I feel powerful when you cry.” If only every word didn’t make you wail even louder.

“That’s a good girl, keep crying.” You shove your face further into the cushions, tears soaking into the fabric.

“Please,” You don’t sound like yourself. You already sound broken and halfway gone. “Just cum.” Anything — fucking anything to just end this.

Kageyama just groans behind you as the nauseating pleasure continues. Balls slapping against your clit, friction building slowly as you moan through every thrust unable to keep from feeling every tiny twitch of his cock, every vein sliding against the walls of your cunt.

“Fuck fuck fuck! I want you—” He lets out a loud shaky breath as years of frustration paint your walls.

Breathing heavily with his hands planted firmly on your hips bruisingly tight, he holds you against him. Even fuller than before — with your womb filled with his cum. His hold on your hips releases so gently before he puts a hand on your ass, rubbing it softly, stopping occasionally to squeeze lightly at the flesh. You whimper softly, “Please, no more.” He ignores you, or perhaps he didn’t hear, coming off of his first orgasm. His hands find your hips once more, far gentler than before as he speaks with labored breath.

“Everyone better’ve heard you moaning.” Slowly he begins to pull out, inch after painful inch slowly exiting your sore cunt. He slaps you again, right on your ass. You’re too sore, too used to the point of breakage to cry at the pain (or is it pleasure?) “I’m your Oyabun, they better know that.” The zip of his pants coincides with the cheering for a point in the game that’s still playing. He sits next to your fucked out body on the sofa, and rubs one hand over the still sensitive part of your ass before quickly running his hand over your spine, shoulder blades and neck, settling in your hair. His fingers stay there, nails grazing gently against your scalp. His fingers linger for a minute before he pulls your body up and into his side, propping your head against his shoulder. You stare blankly ahead, eyes glazed with tears and cum dripping from your abused pussy onto the sofa. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you as close as he can, both of you breathing heavily. Kageyama seems to recover his breath quicker than you, as his slows and steadies — head falling against your crown with tiny, quiet snores coming from his chest. Half clothed, sore and exhausted you breath in the smell of the room, barely registering the feeling of cum dripping from your cunt. Hardly noticeable with the sound of snores and the feel of a body pressed against yours. Fat, raindropped tears roll down your cheeks. And instead of your wish to pull away, to leave this room — you cannot. What would happen to your family, to you? Would the man who beat you really let you pull away from him even in his sleep?

No.

So you settle into his side, raise a hand to rest over his tattoos and wait. Eyes wide open.

---

He wakes up about thirty minutes later - pats your head - dresses and runs out of the door without a word. You're too catatonic, still on the couch, still watching men play volleyball on the television. You watch him leave, tension held in your shoulders melting — unlike the candle on the table. Realistically, it's probably thirty minutes that he’s out of the room but it feels like only a few seconds. Time flies when you're having fun. He returns with a bottle of water and a bowl of something that smells wonderfully of spices and cooked pork. He sets both water and bowl on the glass coffee table. He’s gotten one spoon and he sits next to you on the sofa, pulling your legs onto his lap, jerkily giving a message to your thighs that only serves to renew tension in your body. He continues for a few seconds, delicate hands hardened with callouses knead into the flesh before abruptly stopping and leaning forward. He picks up the bowl and lifts the spoon, a small drop of liquid spills.

“I don’t know your favorite yet so I got you mine.” He waits, watching your lips tremble. Your jaw falls and even if you were to speak, you're not allowed to. He shoves the spoon in and waits for your mouth to close. He sits there for a minute. He’s staring at you again and instead of wiping a tear from your cheek, closes your mouth with a delicate touch. You begin to chew slowly, staring straight ahead of you. The sound of volleyball fills your ears and Kageyama doesn’t speak for ten whole minutes, only feeding you curry and closing your mouth when you cannot. It’s peaceful. Even as you're naked and Kageyama is shirtless again. He takes his time making you finish your meal. Only watching set after set of volleyball on the screen.

“You like volleyball?” The hand that has settled back onto your thigh rests softly - so different to the way he was beating you before - moves to where your neck meets your shoulder. “My grandfather was a coach.” One more bite and you’re done. “I think he was gonna teach me before he died.” The match on the screen ends, shifting to commentary and Kageyama opens the bottle of water. “Let me know what you like to eat, okay? I’ll make sure to get it next time.” He brings the bottle to your lips without any sudden movements and steady hands, and with his other he takes your chin and holds you in the most gentle grip you’ve ever felt. He rubs the bottom of your jaw line, easing your mouth open once more and presses his lips softly to your temple before tilting the water back.

“You’re such a pretty crier,” He pulls the bottle away and kisses the corner of your mouth, the slight stubble on his cheek grazing against your cheek. “When I’m Oyabun, I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of, okay?” He sets the plastic water bottle down and pushes your legs from his lap. He rises from the cushions only to sink between your thighs. “Just do what you’re told and I won’t have to do - this -” He presses two fingers onto the forming bruise at your stomach. ��again.” He parts your sore legs. 

“So will you be my good little crybaby?”

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 30

First time reader click here

TRIGGER WARNING! This chapter is a horror movie. There's blood, gore and psychological horror elements. Lemme know if it was actually scary - I'm desensitized to this shit. This was written to come out on Halloween but I was too slow with writing.

Wooden floor creaking behind me, I couldn't feel the cold of it, not even a single splinter piercing the arches of them, I ran like my life depended on it. The darkness behind me was alive; it breathed, pulsated, spreading along the walls of the hallway like mold. The hallway seemed to be endless.

As soon as I realized that, I noticed that it, in fact, did have an end and not a door was in sight; that quickly proved to br also just a trick of the eye - there were doors, the hallway was riddled with them, each one dark, identical and placed neatly about five feet apart. With shaking hands, I turned the knob, slamming the door behind me with a loud bang.

Panting, I let myself slide against the door, eyes closed, sheet landing in a puddle of white fabric on the floor around me. First five seconds passed quietly; then, a noise interrupted my panicked thinking and my eyes flew open as the scene in front of me produced more confusion.

The familiar scene of the pond behind my grandparents' stables, the poppies - a splash of blood red against the dull greens and browns - swaying in the breeze. A Dora the Explorer bucket hat and a six-year-old me, hair in pigtails, poking at a spot of moist soil with a large stick.

I knew where this was going yet I couldn't pull my eyes away from the scene that was going to unfold. A stallion my parents had recently bought, ill-tempered and moody, jumping over the low fence and galloping noisily right at mini-me. The terrified animal was screaming yet I was oblivious to it's distress, too busy trying to fish out earthworms out of the wet ground. Almost in slo-mo, mini-me noticed the running, screaming animal and bolted for safety, its hooves missing my little body barely by a feet.

I felt the cold water of the pond on my skin. It was dirty and blooming at the time, musky smell assaulting my senses, murky water choking the life out of both versions of me. In the distance, I noticed a much younger and slimmer dad sprinting full-speed towards the splashing child in the pond. He was screaming something and I leaned in, trying to hear him better.

The scene vanished into thin, wispy smoke. My head was once again clear and the suffocating dread and panic subsided, letting me take in several deep breaths and try to assess the situation calmly. I had survived that accident, even successfully overcame my fear of swimming later on.

Hands shaking and heart fluttering like a frightened bird, I recoiled from the locked door when it began to rattle, the noise deafening in the eerie quiet of the house.

The shadows were taunting me. Trapping me in my worst fears, making me relive my worst memories. The artifact needed something from me - what was it? I wondered, tucking the sheet in some semblance of a toga and standing up to explore the room. Save for a few outdated pieces of furniture, it was cold and empty, void of life. Nowhere to hide.

I paced the room, coming to a halt next to the heavy, thick velvet curtains. Expecting to see a window behind them, I was surprised with another old wooden door with a bent handle that had gathered an impressive layer of dust. With rattling behind me increasingly growing in volume, I had no other option but to press it down and quickly dart into the next dark room.

Clint. Lifeless eyes wide open, his body laying at my feet, sheet-white and rust coloured stains adorning his mouth, nails black and broken as if he'd been clawing at the dilapidated wooden floors. I backed away from him, further into the room - the archer's body began to move and tremble, tiny little gashes appearing on every inch of exposed skin. The thing that was breaking out of him glowed, pale blue and sickly.

"That's not..." I whispered to myself. "Clint is alive," As if I had been doused with cold water, the images of MAFS incident seeped into my mind, the what-ifs of my past actions weighing heavily and clouding my mind with guilt.

"Come on, we don't have much time," Steph's voice appeared behind my back, loud and out of nowhere. I was rightfully sceptical about the reality of him - while his face was the usual, tense expression of boredom, he stood differently. I couldn't describe the difference if I tried; it just felt wrong. Like a puzzle piece was missing.

"I don't think so, demon dude," Squaring my shoulders once again, I prepared myself for the inevitable pain.

"Who?" The copycat asked, faking concern surprisingly well. "It's the artifact. It's making you see things that aren't real," With a wave of his hand, the door flew open, exposing the hallway filled with the void that was chasing me previously.

"Oh what I saw was real alright," I countered, tilting my head to examine the entity. Unknowingly, it had given itself away - Stephen's magic always glowed gold and orange, in the sense that he wasn't like Loki - Strange's spells were always visible. "I'd rather you kill me then spread your vile disease beyond this... Space," With none of the bravery I actually had, bluff came surprisingly easy. Perhaps, I really was ready to die so my friends and family could live.

Not-Stephen tsked and grinned maliciously, once again waving his hands about. "Killing you? So barbaric and an absolute waste of potential." The shadows pushed something into the gaping hole of the doorway, something curled up in a fetal position and whimpering. The entity picked up the man by the shoulders, forcing him to kneel in front of it, teary baby browns staring back at me, wide with terror.

Tony. My feet took an involuntary step forward, where my Tony was trembling, whimpering in the creature's grasp, unseeing eyes looking straight forward. As if I wasn't there.

"Submit and I will let him go. Right now, he's relieving the worst memories of his life," The entity raised an eyebrow, a mock imitation of Stephen's expression. I could hear Tony mumbling faintly, something about his chest and Afghanistan and bombs and Obadiah.

It pissed me off. Firstly, how dare this wannabe-Pennywise, this LOST-fog-monster-reject to lay his filthy metaphysical fingers on my Tony. And secondly, for the sloppy intelligence job - I had been woken up by Tony's nightmares more than enough to know his biggest fear wasn't Afghanistan. It wasn't Obadiah and it wasn't Bucky killing his parents, it wasn't even the vast, consuming black emptiness of the space behind the wormhole.

Anger burning my throat, I lunged at not-Stephen with a bloodcurdling scream, feeling my nails dig into the cold, clammy flesh of the thing's throat. Taken by surprise, both of us stumbled, falling into the abyss of the hallway, me kicking and scratching and screaming all the way, fingers squeezing deeply into the lifeless imitation of flesh. His screams mixed with mine and Tony's into a shrieking cacophony.

The darkness was laughing, cackling, noise sharp like nails on a chalkboard. It hurt, but the thing's grip on me hurt even more. "He'll never love you like you expect him to. They don't care about you. The mage said he'd help you and now you're dying here, alone," Black smoke began leaking out of the impostor's mouth along with the words, both acrid and venomous.

My head was pounding as more and more of the stuff came into contact with my body. My vision swam, bordering on unconsciousness. "If I'm dying, I'm taking you with me, bitch," I screamed out, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until I exploded together with my surroundings, in a short of white, blinding light.

And then, there was darkness. My limbs were once again filled with concrete, mouth dry and skin burning like I'd been branded with a hot iron.

I opened my eyes to the familiar sight of the room with the fireplace. The fire was roaring, crackling and and shooting noisy sparks, accompanied by heavy breathing to my left. Disregarding the nausea that followed my every movement, I hung my head over the side of the car coming to witness both sorcerers laying haphazardly on the floor, a thin river of blood seeping into the carpet from Wong's head.

Confused, disoriented and terrified, I called out for them, voice barely audible and terse. Had I been screaming?

The sorcerers' chests rose and fell rapidly; my panic subsided but not by much. I crawled out of the cot only to land ungracefully on my face, body refusing to cooperate and feeling about as well as after I'd ran a marathon. Inch by inch, I crawled over to the chair I had left my things on, fighting with my body for every movement I made.

Fumbling, l pulled out my phone and pressed the green call button on the one person one would call in this situation. My best friend.

"Yes, dear?" His baritone was tense but nonetheless calm.

"Help, some-something happened," I managed to say, no louder than a whisper. "Sanctum," I clarified, hearing a noise of things falling over and several distressed voices shouting in the background.

"I am coming, do not end the call," Loki replied immediately, barking out several commands I didn't quite catch. There were more noises of distress as I obediently stayed on the phone. "Darling, can you tell me what happened?"

"I- Killed?" I tried to articulate my thoughts, tongue becoming more and more uncooperative by the second.

"Oh my God, who's dead?!" I heard Bruce yell, probably, right in Loki's ear.

"The Thing," I clarified, hoping to calm him down.

Loki cursed in his native language, I heard him trying to wrestle the phone from someone - unsuccessfully so, I might say, as Tony's distraught voice was the next thing I heard. "Princess, listen to me. Are you okay? Where's Strange? We're gonna be there in 10 minutes. We're coming."

An avalanche of information for my overtaxed brain and aching body, I struggled to keep up with Tony's rambling and filtering out Loki's screeching in the background. So much noise. My head hurt. "No, Steph and Wong are down. Alive." I managed to convey the most important part, a terrified sob leaving my chest burning. "Please, talk," I begged Tony, not wanting to be left in that terrifying, consuming silence ever again.

And Tony talked. He babbled nonstop, things that I didn't really catch neither care about, having enough strength to give a hum of approval every few seconds or so. It appeared to be as calming to him as it was to me, I didn't hear any more complaints from the team, only brief increase in volume as one of them got closer to the phone. A part of me conceded I should've made at least one joke about being put on loudspeaker, however, my brain was exhausted.

Burnt out, rather. The emptiness settled in my bones, chilly, like the blood had been sucked out of me, making my body just a vessel for the darkness that stalked my nightmares. I dug my nails into the soft flesh of my bare thigh, feeling none of the pain, just the relief when blood seeped through the cuts, crimson and warm.

That's how they found me. Loki threw open the door, breaking one of the hinges, eyes immediately darting between me and the laying sorcerers, as he swiftly cast a bright golden spell on the room, warming us from the inside out. Carefully stepping over the two men, Loki kneeled in front of me, green eyes staring right into mine.

I heard cursing and thudding but all I could focus on was the shining emerald of Loki's eyes. "Oh, child," He whispered, reaching out with both arms to pull me into his chest. I couldn't have resisted even if I wanted to, my body was utterly drained of fight.

"What happened?" Tony asked, a hysterical pitch to his voice.

"I can assume there was a failsafe left behind by the artifact, it took out both sorcerers and attempted to finish the job it started," Loki spoke up, hand gently petting my hair, still clutching my limp body like I was dying. "She fought it off, I don't know how, but she fought it off. It has entered a dormant state again."

"What do you mean took them all out?" In his distress, Tony seemed to have lost all sensibility. "What happened to her?!" He was getting impatient, angry.

"With an artifact like that, it's a blessing they are still alive. It is ancient and unpredictable," Loki explained patiently, none of his usual vitriol present. "And she... You could say she was mind-raped," He stated, quieter.

I groaned in protest. Loki's spell of gold did what felt like a wonder: the light was slowly coming back into the room, into me, filling me with warmth I didn't know I could lack. "As if," I slurred. "As if that Pennywise wannabe could ever," My body was, nonetheless, exhausted. "I've swallowed more kids than he could ever," My eyelids dropped, the comforting noise of Tony's and Loki's combined chuckle amplifying the surplus of warmth within me.

Last thing I saw was Tony's watery smile, tears crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he lifted me from Loki's arms, hot rod red of his suit saturating the room with color. Feeling safe for the first time in what felt like forever, I let my eyes close voluntarily, a smile crawling onto my face. I was right. Tony was alright, it wasn't really him that was getting tortured in the nightmare-verse.

"What..." I heard Stephen croak from somewhere. "Baby?!" His voice raised a whole octave; Thor's fond chuckle followed the rustling of fabric and a few stronger choice words from the sorcerer as Loki briefed everyone on the situation at hand.

"How is she, Tones?" Bruce asked quietly from above me.

"Pretty out of it but on her way back to health," Tony replied with another watery laugh. "Cracking jokes and whatnot clownery."

Bruce exhaled in relief, stroking my face with the side of his fingers. It was almost palpable, the general atmosphere of respite in the room, the sudden free flow of oxygen to my lungs.

"I am so sorry," Stephen's whisper was more felt than heard by me; the spice of his cologne and copper of blood reached my nostrils, burning them, keeping the warmth from leaving my body ever again.

My fingers weakly held out to him, finally coming to grasp his more-than-usual shaking hand. "Not your fault," I breathed. "Persistent cursed box," Were my last words before my consciousness gave out. Sleep sweet sleep.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​@pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95

[noona-clock]

The Dog Walker - Part 4

Genre: Dog Walker!AU

Pairing: Hanbin x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 2,065

Could things get any better?

You almost wanted to laugh at the fact that you’d ever thought that because yes, things had absolutely gotten better.

The day after Hanbin had requested you start coming out to say ‘Hi’ to him as he walked by your house, you had done just that. Instead of peeking out through your blinds, you actually went to the front door, opened it, and said ‘Hi’ to him. He said ‘Hi’ back, and then the two of you wished each other a nice day and said you would see each other tomorrow.

It took probably less than a minute -- definitely less than two minutes -- but it still managed to be the best less than two minutes of your day.

The next day, you decided to not only say ‘Hi’ but also comment that the weather was particularly lovely today.

“Perfect dog walking weather,” Hanbin replied with a half-smile.

“I trust you on that,” you called out as he gave Frankie one of the dog treats you’d left out. “You’re the expert.”

The day after that, the weather was quite the opposite. It had been extremely chilly and rainy all morning. If you hadn’t already seen Hanbin walking dogs in all kinds of weather, you would’ve wondered if you’d even see him.

But you had already seen him walking dogs in all kinds of weather, so you didn’t wonder.

You did, however, have to leave the dog treats, water bottle, and cookie on the small table in your entryway. It would be a hand delivery kind of day, apparently!

When the time came, you opened your front door, squinting your eyes through the rain as you leaned out just a little bit to see the corner of the sidewalk. As soon as you saw Frankie -- and then Hanbin -- you called out his name and waved him to your door.

As they both headed over, your eyes widened at just how adorable Frankie looked. He was wearing a yellow hooded raincoat, his leash threaded through a small hole on the back, by Frankie’s neck.

“Wow, I will never look that cute in a raincoat,” you said when Hanbin and Frankie arrived. You leaned over to grab the treat from your side table, squatting down to make Frankie sit before setting it in the palm of your hand and offering it to him.

When you stood back you, you could’ve sworn you heard Hanbin say, “I don’t think that’s true,” but it may have just been your imagination.

“Hmm?” you hummed inquiringly, lifting your eyebrows at him.

“Nothing,” he murmured with a shake of his head.

...Guess it was just your imagination.

You leaned back over to grab the water bottle and cookie, handing it to him with a smile.

“Oh, I guess -- you can eat the cookie here if you want. So it doesn’t get soggy.”

“Do you know of anything worse than a soggy cookie?” he asked before taking a bite.

“Not at the moment, no,” you chuckled. “That’s the kind of thing that makes me shudder just thinking about it.”

“Like nails on a chalkboard.”

You nodded quickly and shuddered.

Hanbin laughed softly before threading his hand through Frankie’s leash, letting it hang on his wrist as he used that hand to break the cookie in half.

“Here,” he said in his typical quiet voice, holding one half out to you.

“Oh, no, you don’t have --”

“Please.”

And there was just something about the way he said it. There was something in his tone that made your heart all fluttery and warm, so you bit your lip to hold back a very bashful smile and accepted the cookie.

“Thank you,” you said in an almost-whisper.

Hanbin opened his mouth slightly, obviously about to say something... but he stopped himself and instead shot you a tiny grin. “You’re welcome.”

After breaking off a smaller piece of your half-cookie and popping it into your mouth, you took a step back and told Hanbin (and Frankie) to stay safe and dry.

And, again, the two of you wished each other a nice day and said you would see each other tomorrow.

Thankfully, tomorrow brought much more pleasant weather. You figured you would stay in your doorway as Hanbin passed by, picked up the treats, and continued on with his walk -- as had happened the days before the rain.

But, to your surprise -- and utter, squeal-worthy delight -- Hanbin again broke his cookie in half and offered the piece to you, forcing you (in the most harmless way) to step out onto the sidewalk and join him.

He repeated his action the next day, even asking you how work was going. You ended up explaining your job to him as you slowly walked a few steps down the sidewalk, Frankie’s collar tag jingling delicately with the unhurried pad of his paws.

And in the days following, you found yourself joining him on his walk just a little bit longer than you had the day before. After almost two weeks, you were taking a much longer break than usual and walking around the entire block with Hanbin and Frankie -- and sometimes Banjo (who, luckily, had not had another run-in with a squirrel since that fateful day).

But did you feel even the slightest bit guilty about taking a much longer break from work than usual?

No. Absolutely not. How could you feel guilty when you were spending that time talking to and getting to know a perfectly nice and decent man?

...Okay, let’s be real.

Hanbin was not just a perfectly nice and decent man.

He was... 

Well, he was the most interesting person you’d ever met. He was shy and thoughtful and cautious and ambitious and serious and laidback and funny and you were never really sure what was going to come out of his mouth, but there was always a guarantee it would be something thought-provoking or amusing or... just plain interesting.

Clearly, he had the mind of someone who should be accomplishing a great deal more than he currently was.

Dog-walking was a very admirable profession, of course, but... Hanbin warned you constantly that he was, in many ways, incredibly dumb, and you had decided he was the smartest incredibly dumb person you knew.

You were just curious as to why he wasn’t doing something... more. Especially when it was obvious he was more intelligent than he realized -- or at least than he admitted.

“Can I ask you something?” you inquired as soon as you reached him at the bench.

Typically, you greeted him and Frankie first thing -- like any person would do upon meeting up with a friend. But your mind had been itching with this question since the day before, and you simply couldn’t wait a second longer to ask him.

“Sure,” Hanbin replied with a somewhat awkward chuckle.

The two of you saw and spoke to each other every day for close to ten minutes -- for almost two weeks straight now! -- and he was still shy and awkward around you.

It was adorable.

“How did you get into dog-walking?”

Hanbin lowered his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling slightly in thought. “Well,” he began with a soft exhale. “My mom’s best friend owns the boutique, and I’ve always loved animals. Dogs, especially. I hung around a lot, and eventually, she just hired me.”

“Did you go to school? University?” you asked.

“I started to, but... it wasn’t for me,” he answered before turning his head just enough to shoot you a glance. “...Why?”

He was definitely trying to hide it, but you could tell from his shaky voice that he was nervous for your answer. Most likely, he thought you were going to judge him -- or were already judging him for not having a degree.

“I was just curious,” you answered, attempting to keep your voice light and carefree. “You have all of these incredibly deep and philosophical thoughts, so I just wondered how you got here. Dog-walking.”

“Actually, going on walks every day with someone who can’t talk to you kind of forces you to think about deep and philosophical stuff,” he pointed out with a strained laugh.

A grin appeared on your lips, and you looked over at him, wanting to make sure he saw that you weren’t disappointed or judgmental or any sort of negative emotion. “That is very true,” you agreed.

The two of you walked in silence for a bit, and just as you were approaching the last corner of the block, you heard Hanbin inhale sharply as if he were about to say something.

You lifted your eyebrows and glanced over at him inquisitively.

“I --” he started before abruptly cutting himself off.

After a brief few moments of silence, you said, “You what?”

Hanbin let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head a little. “Nothing, I just -- I was going to tell you something, but --”

Again, he cut himself off.

“Tell me what?” you asked, your heart beginning to race just a little bit at the prospect of him wanting to tell you something.

“Well, I -- I don’t know, I just --”

As you both rounded the corner and your townhouse loomed in the very near vicinity, Hanbin began to slow his steps, preparing to drop you off as usual and continue on with his walk.

“What is it?” you murmured.

He didn’t answer you right away. instead waiting for both of you to come to a complete stop in front of your door.

“You... can say ‘no’ if you want to. Obviously. But what I wanted to tell you... I would like to tell you... over... dinner?”

It took a little while for his words to register in your brain.

But when they did, every working part of your body shut down. Especially your heart.

...Had Hanbin just...

Asked?

You?

Out?

Like... on a date? 

Or was it just dinner as... friends?

“Dinner?” you finally managed to ask, the word almost getting stuck in your throat.

Hanbin nodded before hastily adding, “I mean, you don’t have to, but I just thought it would be nice --”

“Tonight?” you interrupted.

A very small, almost invisible smirk pulled at Hanbin’s lips. “If you can. Or any night. Whenever you’re free.”

You wasted no time in telling him, “I’m free tonight.”

Because you were. Definitely.

...And if you weren’t, you had no problem cancelling whatever plans you had.

“Okay,” Hanbin chuckled. “So, I’ll come here? To pick you up? Maybe... seven o’clock?”

Apparently, you had used up all of your words because you now found you couldn’t find any. You were incapable of speaking, so you simply nodded and choked out a positive hum.

After fumbling through a good-bye, you slipped in through your front door and closed it gently behind you. You let out a very deep exhale, waiting until you heard Hanbin’s footsteps fade away before leaning back against your door.

“Oh my god,” you muttered to yourself. “I... I think I have a date tonight.”

But not just any date!

A date with Hanbin.

Cute Dog Walker Guy!

...Were you sure this was really happening? 

I mean, he had asked you out to dinner, but that didn’t necessarily mean he had asked you out. Right?

It wasn’t 100% definitely a date. Right?

Or... maybe it was? You hadn’t been asked out in so long that, apparently, you had totally forgotten what constituted a date.

The sound of a notification on your computer pulled you out of your ponderous haze, and you blinked quickly when you realized it was past time for you to get back to work. Your breaks had become longer ever since you’d started walking around the block with Hanbin, and this whole ‘is it a date or not?’ conversation you’d been having with yourself had added even more time.

If you were away from your computer any longer, you’d most certainly get in trouble, and while Hanbin was a very good reason to take a break from work, you didn’t want anything work-related occupying your thoughts after 7 PM tonight.

Because at 7 PM tonight, you had a date.

Yes, you were officially declaring that it was a date.

You were going on a date.

Tonight.

With Hanbin.

...Oh, boy.

Part 5

[seasonsofeverlark]

Pumpkin Pie and Cheese Buns

Author: @evestedic​

Prompt: Hard working coming home for thanksgiving. Stops at the store on the way to pick up the dessert she didn’t bother to make no one will notice anyway and runs into their ex lover. Tries to leave fast but has to take the walk of shame back to grab the cranberries too. Arrives home not just with the cranberries and pie…  [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T

____________

“God damn it!” Katniss was not happy. 

It was Thanksgiving, which meant she was being forced to spend time with people she didn’t even know.

Why?

Because they’re family, Katniss.

She could hear her Aunt Martha’s voice. 

Why should she care that her cousin was getting married?

Or that her nephew had gotten into college? 

Or that her godfather was slipping her a 20 buck bill while winking an eye at her? 

She wasn’t a total bitch, so she bore with it, but this was people she saw one fucking time per year! 

If it wasn’t for Thanksgiving, she was sure she wouldn’t see them again as they never even called. Nor did she.

But, be that as it may, Prim loved big gatherings and the attention; she was, after all, quite cheerful. Her father also bore with it, although better than her. 

However, who knew? This year her mother was coming with her new boyfriend. 

Ugh, puke… 

And that was why she was there, November the 26th, coming back from work and on her way to Aunt’s Martha’s house. 

Katniss was not happy. 

She had already left the store not five minutes ago, but something kept nagging at the back of her head while she accommodated the bags in the back of her car. 

Of course, being who she was, she had forgotten dessert. The pumpkin pie with maple whipped cream. Sighing and fuming, she went back to the absolute chaos of the aisles. If she arrived at her aunt’s without dessert…well, she would rather face a biblical plague. 

After perusing the dessert stand and seeing everything was completely wiped out‒not even crumbs were left‒she gave up and thought about getting some canned peaches and cherries.  That’s when she heard it…   

“Is that you, Katniss?” 

That voice. 

She had loved it at one point. Now, it was just nails on a chalkboard. 

Turning around, she set her eyes on a huge blonde guy; he had a perfect gym advertisement body, a smirk on his face, and his arm around a blonde girl with the same perfect gym advertisement body. 

“Cato.” 

“Buying for Thanksgiving?”

“No, just came because I was craving some peaches.” 

“Oh.”

Seriously? It was the most direct sarcastic answer ever, and he had actually believed her? 

Katniss rolled her eyes and was about to turn around when the Barbie clone spoke. 

“Is this the one, babe?”

“Yes, baby, that’s her.”

“Oh, I thought she’d be…I don’t know, prettier?”

“She never wanted to put in the effort, baby.”

“She is standing right here. And if working out turns you dumb, I’m glad I didn’t do it.” 

Katniss had gone out with Cato for two years when they were nineteen. Back then, he had been a kind guy, funny and perhaps a bit silly, but very nice, normal. He had asked her out after a college party, and she accepted; the rest was history. 

However, after one year of being together, he began frequenting the campus gym and suddenly started to change. All he could talk about were diets, exercise, and protein. Katniss was all in for a healthier life; hell, she knew if she kept on eating Greasy Sae’s food every other night, she was going to clog her arteries by the time she was 35, but Cato was relentless. He got rid of all of her comfort food and she had been forbidden to eat chicken and meat ever again. Only turkey and fish were allowed, vegetables, no dairy or eggs, no sugar! She was going crazy; Katniss had reached the obscene point of hiding in the bathroom to eat a Snickers bar, only to quickly brush her teeth and rinse with Listerine at least thrice so that her boyfriend wouldn’t taste any trace of chocolate when he kissed her. It was that night when she knew she couldn’t do it anymore. She no longer recognized the guy she had agreed to date or herself, for that matter. So, Katniss decided to end it right then and there. She skipped her next class and went to their dorm only to find him banging the very same Barbie girl who was in front of her in the canned aisle right now. 

Quickest breakup ever. 

He had said it was her fault for not ‘putting in the effort,’ and she hated him for it. 

“Jealousy doesn’t fit you, Katniss. Well,” Cato gave her a once-over, “I doubt anything does. Have you gained weight?” 

“If I have, that wouldn’t be any of your fucking business. What are you doing here? Came to buy something for dinner? I think there’s a celery and mineral water pack on sale.” 

“Still salty because I chose someone better?” Cato shamelessly licked the girl’s ear, making her giggle in an obnoxious way that made Katniss want to gag. 

She didn’t have to stand here and watch this; she-

Was that a hand on her waist?

“Hey, sorry I took so long. I literally had to wrestle this from an old lady.” 

That voice. 

Peeta Mellark was holding onto her waist and smiling that charming smile that could probably tame a wild animal, while proudly presenting a ham to her.

“Um…” Eloquent as always. 

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were with friends.” 

“Yeah, no…Not my friends.” 

“Aren’t you the baker guy? You’re slumming it with the bakery employee?” Cato laughed while Barbie‒Katniss really couldn’t care less about her actual name‒looked at Peeta appreciatively. 

“I haven’t introduced myself,” Peeta said, extending his right hand but not letting Katniss’ waist go. Cato immediately took it, flexing his bicep as he did so, but his expression faltered when he shook Peeta’s hand. “Peeta Mellark, owner of ‘The Cake Lair’. Have you guys ever been?” 

Katniss was confused. 

It wasn’t as if she and Peeta were actually friends. They had talked, yes. She simply loved the pastries he sold, and because of how she had raved about his cheese buns, well…the double entendre put her in an uncomfortable position, but he had only laughed and thanked her for the compliment, as he had, in fact, baked those himself. 

Peeta always made sure to set aside at least two cheese buns for her prior to the end of the day. 

And okay, yeah, they had exchanged numbers and texted from time to time, but nothing deep. It was always things about the weather, the cheese buns, or how Prim was. Did that qualify as being friends? 

Katniss was awful at being a good friend, hence why she only had two: Gale and Madge. Her sister and father didn’t count; they were family. 

Shaking her head, she returned to the present to find that arm still around her and Cato’s face getting red. 

“Just let go, dude.  You’re about to pop a vein.” Peeta chuckled. 

Katniss directed her gaze at their hands; she could see they were both squeezing the hell out of each other. Cato probably thought he could scare Peeta off with his muscles, but he clearly hadn’t seen Peeta shirtless on a hot day, hauling 100-pound flour sacks onto his back as if they were light cargo. Peeta was strong, like ‘I could iron clothes on your stomach’ fit; he just didn’t flaunt it, and Katniss appreciated that.

Cato huffed and let go, and Peeta smiled once more and winked at Barbie, who was giggling like an idiot. 

“So, we should be going soon if we want to make it, Katniss. You know how Aunt Martha gets if we don’t get the groceries in time for her.” 

So yeah, she had told him about her hellish weekend to come last week, but Katniss didn’t think he would remember. 

With his hand still on her waist and her still not shrugging it off, they made to pass Cato and his doll, but, of course, the bodybuilder felt the need to use the sole neuron in his brain. 

“You know you’re just a replacement, right? I mean, she went and looked for the next guy that kinda looked like me because she clearly can’t forget me.” 

Tuck your thumb over your middle finger to make a proper fist. If you wrap your fingers around your thumb, you’re likely going to break it. 

Her father’s words and the boxing lessons came back in a flash, and before Peeta could hold her back, Katniss pivoted on her left foot, momentum aiding her, and connected her first with Cato’s jaw. She wasn’t an expert boxer or anything of the sort; she just liked the exercise, and she was strong. But Katniss must have been lucky enough to hit the sweet spot because Cato dropped to the aisle floor, unconscious. 

“Babe!” Barbie girl screeched, and suddenly, two more gorilla-looking guys were coming to her aid. 

Friends of his, no doubt. 

“Tell your boy toy, next time he wants to bully me to think twice, lest he finds himself beaten up again by a woman,” Katniss spat at the blonde girl. 

“You did this?” A broad and tall black guy asked. He was actually pretty scary, but Katniss held her ground and managed to nod. To her surprise, he chuckled and sort of bowed to her. “He’s an ass. I bet he had it coming. We’ll take care of him.” 

“Thresh! He’s your friend…” Barbie girl actually had tears in her eyes. 

“He’s not. We’re just in the same weightlifting class. And don’t cry; he’ll come to soon. Finnick, help me bring this idiot back.” 

“You must have a mean right hook, hon,” the guy with reddish hair and perfect teeth told Katniss. 

“I do.” She jutted out her chin proudly; her dad had taught her well. 

“Nice to know you have it all sorted out. Katniss, should we go?” Peeta was pulling her a bit, and she let him, both soon finding themselves out in the parking lot, having decided to leave behind the cans and the ham. 

Once they were in front of her car, Katniss did something she rarely did. 

“I’m sorry I cost you your ham.” 

Peeta seemed surprised, but he simply smiled. “That’s okay. There are a lot of hams left, actually; I just needed an excuse to walk up to you.” 

“Why did you do that?” 

“That guy was an ass, and I know you could’ve handled it on your own, but…,” he leaned in a bit and whispered, “doesn’t it feel good to let him know you’re with someone much better now?” 

Katniss couldn’t help it, she laughed. “You’re full of yourself, Mellark!” 

“Hey! I’m a catch, I tell you. Owner of his own bakery, hard-working; I know how to cook and bake, and I’m easy on the eyes, too.” 

“Not to mention, tons and tons of humility.” 

“That, too.” He smiled, and Katniss rolled her eyes, but she really didn’t feel angry with him. She hadn’t needed his help, but he had offered it freely without expecting anything in return. “So, I guess this is where we part ways.” 

“What are your plans for tonight, Peeta?” Katniss suddenly asked, and he was surprised as well. 

“Uhhhh, not much. Bake something? Eat it while watching TV, nothing exciting.” 

“You can come to my Aunt Martha’s, if you want. Prim would love to see you, and this way I can repay your ‘act of kindness’.” 

“Really? You sure it wouldn’t bother you?” 

“If it did, I wouldn’t have asked.” 

“Sure, I’d love to.” 

“Okay, but before that, there’s something I need you to do for me.” 

“What is it?” 

“Can you drive? My right hand is killing me.” 

                                                °•. ✿ .•°

“Why couldn’t you just buy it?” Katniss whined.

“Because I actually enjoy baking. You should know this already.” Peeta chuckled as he handled the mixer. After a few more turns, it seemed everything was ready. “I just need to flour the containers now.” Peeta patted his hands on his apron and went back to the pantry. 

Katniss took her chance. 

She slowly inched her hand forward, her eyes not leaving Peeta’s back, just in case. 

Two more inches and-

“I swear, Katniss, if you’re reaching for that dough I won’t make any cheese buns for a week.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she exclaimed, shocked. That wasn’t fair! Peeta hadn’t even turned around, but he knew what she had been about to do. 

“Try me, love.” He then approached the table again, watching a grumbling Katniss cross her arms. “You know you can’t have raw dough while pregnant.”

“That’s a stupid rule. I bet it’s invented. How did women manage centuries ago, then?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. They sometimes died intoxicated, so no biggie.” Peeta was serious now. 

“I wouldn’t die over a bit of dough…” She said it under her breath, but he heard.

Peeta sighed, and Katniss felt a pang of regret. Damn him. “Katniss, do we really have to discuss this again? It’s Thanksgiving, and I’d bet my bank account Aunt Martha would come down here and force you to go to the party if you weren’t so-” 

“Go on, finish what you were going to say.” Katniss knew she was so big she might be in need of her own postal code. 

“-tired. You’re carrying twins, and that’s not an easy feat. The only thing she asked for was the pumpkin pie with maple whipped cream.”

“Every fucking year.” 

“She indulges during the holiday.”

“Why not just get one from the bakery?”

“She wants it fresh.” 

“Why doesn’t she come down here and get it herself?”

“You really want your Aunt Martha here? Right now? Today?”

“…No.” Why did Peeta have to be so logical? 

“I know you’re crabby and your feet are probably swelling. Let me put this in the oven, and then I’ll massage them with some of that lavender cream your mother gave you.” 

“And a bath.”

“A massage and a bath, you got it.” 

Peeta, of course, fulfilled his promise and left Katniss so relaxed she fell asleep and didn’t even notice her husband had gone and come back from the Everdeen’s annual Thanksgiving gathering. 

By the time she opened her eyes, he was sitting next to her, reading a book. 

“Hey…did you all get a proper rest?” Peeta put a hand on her belly, smiling. 

“I think so, yeah; they just started moving.” 

“I can feel. Here, let me help you up.” Peeta’s strength was no joke. He could single-handedly lift her up, yes, even when she felt like a whale, and prop her on the bed so she could sit comfortably. “That okay?” 

“Yes, perfect.” 

“Happy anniversary, love.” He presented her with a huge cheese bun, making her laugh.

“Peeta, just because we fucked for the first time four years ago today, doesn’t mean it’s an anniversary.”

“For me it is! Come on, I bet you didn’t think we’d end up doing it in the bathroom that night.” 

“I seriously didn’t.”

“But here we are, and that’s all that matters.” 

Her husband really was the cheesiest person alive, but she secretly adored that part of him. 

“Shut up and let me enjoy my cheese bun.”

“Your wish is my command.” 

[whyiask]

Once Upon a December

relationships: platonic creativitwins, platonic LAMP WC: 1476 Summary: Roman has been singing a song to himself, but something is always missing. The same song has popped into Remus’s mind and he can’t stop humming it. Maybe all they’re missing is each other. tw: a bit of gross stuff having to do with intestines during Remus’s bit in the middle genre: light angst --> fluff

-

Roman and Remus had almost nothing in common. Roman was a prince, Remus was a duke. They had separate sides to the imagination. It was difficult for them to hold a civil conversation without some big disagreement. They had been separate for so long, neither could remember the brotherly relationship they once had, except in wistful daydreams and faint memories.

“Dancing bears, painted wings,” Roman sang under his breath. “Things I almost remember.” He raised his arms and self-orchestrated, waltzing with an imaginary partner around the room. Something felt off. Missing. It always had.

“And a song someone sings.” He performed a perfect pirouette, stepping out into a lunge. Roman could almost hear someone singing along with him, a whispered memory in the back of his brain.

“Once upon a December,” he murmured. He had trailed off from singing, coming to a stand-still. The music halted as he stopped his solo dance. It was wrong, something was wrong. It shouldn’t be a solo. But… a duet wasn’t right either. It felt like a part of him was missing, the power and emotion in the song was excellent, the passion was clear and the dramatics were all in place. Roman couldn’t place a finger on what was missing, but he knew that he couldn’t fill the void.

In the back of his mind, he could remember performing the song, although he never had before. In his mind, it was magical, a rich, full sound and it was complete. But as hard as he tried, he could not produce the sound. It didn’t frustrate him like it should have. Instead, all he felt was that whisper, the broken sound trailing off, the wisp of memory slipping through his fingers.

Roman was almost afraid to start his song again- afraid of breaking the spell, losing the moment. Sighing, he wiped away his makeshift ballroom and left the imagination. Maybe someday he would finish the number. Maybe someday it would feel whole.

He doubted that day would ever come.

-

Remus wasn’t particularly fond of music, not unless it was nails on chalkboard or screams of agony. That’s why he was surprised at himself when he found himself humming Once Upon a December. As far as he could recall, he had never seen the musical, leaving all the Broadway and Disney to Roman.

“Someone holds me safe and warm,” he hummed under his breath. The lyrics sprang to his mind and he was drawn to them, unable to stop himself from singing lightly. It felt weird, wrong for him to be singing such a soft song, but he couldn’t stop- he didn’t want to stop.

“Horses prance through a silver storm.” Remus conjured a small, silver horse. He held it up, examining it closer. He pulled open a hatch on it’s stomach and held back a chuckle as the horse’s intestines fell into his palm. 

“Figures dancing gracefully across my memory,” he sang, slightly louder. He weaved the long, meaty strings into red ribbons, dancing in front of his eyes. After a moment, he snapped and they fell back into his palm. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

The melody had been echoing in his mind for some time now, but it had always been dissonant, notes striking minor and empty. Singing it out loud had been the closest he had been to feeling complete in a long time. Even as he finished a few lines of the song, he could almost hear another voice, echoing it back to him.

Remus shook his head and snapped away the items in his hand. It wasn’t worth dwelling on. He was cold and lonely, it had never bothered him before, and a silly song- that wasn’t even part of his side of creativity- wouldn’t come along and fix anything just like that.

-

“Someone holds me safe and warm,” Roman sang out, spinning into the living room of the mind palace. Logan rolled his eyes fondly from behind his book but didn’t look up. Virgil was lounging across an armchair, scrolling through his phone, and he didn’t acknowledge Roman’s presence at all.

“Horses prance through a silver storm,” he continued, riffing his way through the line. Patton stuck his head out from the kitchen and his face lit up when he saw Roman. Roman gave Patton a small flutter of his fingers as way of greeting.

Patton came out into the middle of the room to join Roman. “Figures dancing gracefully across my memory,” they sang together. Roman took the melody and Patton sang a light, upper harmony over the top. Roman paused and his eyes lit up.

It had… sounded almost right. Something was still missing, but singing with Morality had been closer than singing by himself.

“That’s it!” he gasped. Patton beamed.

“What’s it, kiddo?”

Roman pointed directly at Patton dramatically. “You, my dear padre! That harmony is everything I’ve been looking for.”

Patton’s eyebrows scrunched, signaling to Roman that he was slightly confused. “I’m glad I could help…?”

Roman thought for a moment. “Logan, Virgil? Would you mind-”

Logan sighed and put down his book. “Is it important?”

Roman nodded vigorously and Virgil stood up as well, slouching over to Roman’s side. “One time, Princey,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes. “But only because I’m in a good mood. Don’t expect this to be a regular occurrence.”

Logan stood up as well. “I’m not sure I can be of much assistance, but as Virgil said, I’ll try one time.”

Roman’s smile was bright enough to light up the whole palace. “Brilliant!” he cried, grabbing Virgil’s hand(ignoring the yelp of protest) and Patton’s, who then linked with Logan. They sunk out together, rising up in the imagination, where Roman quickly pulled up his ballroom from before.

Logan, Patton, and Virgil backed up to the corner of the room, waiting for Roman to begin. He looked down and took a moment to breathe, to get in character, before lifting his gaze with passion alight in his eyes.

A wave of his hands later and music had started playing. Roman hit his first note, launching once more into his intricate solo waltz. In the musical interlude after the first verse, Roman looked over to the other sides with a carefree laugh.

“Feel free to join in anytime, guys.”

Patton joined in immediately, providing a light, twinkling upper harmony. Logan took a second longer, but added to the song with a low, steady one-note harmony that added richness and texture to the song.

It took Virgil another few lines, before slowing adding his voice with a mid-range, twisty, discordant harmony that nearly made Roman gasp at the sheer brilliance. It added an eerie twinge to the song, but it was bittersweet and sounded much better than before. He shot Anxiety a blinding grin before continuing to belt out his lyrics.

Singing with the other sides was magical, it was a beautiful moment, and Roman felt bad for feeling incomplete still. They had a rich sound. They had a magical moment. What was wrong? What could possibly be missing still?

“Far away,” Roman sang, growing softer on the bridge.

“Long ago,” another voice joined him, singing the melody line, only altered slightly to be dissonant. Roman spluttered and spun around to see Remus standing behind him.

“Re?” Roman asked hesitantly, almost unsure if he was hallucinating his brother’s appearance.

Remus scrunched his nose up and gave an awkward wave. Remus being awkward? What was happening?

Roman didn’t know what to do, so he did the only thing he could think of: the show must go on.

“Glowing dim as an ember,” he sang softly, approaching Remus slowly.

“Things my heart,” his twin responded. Roman held out a hesitant hand to his brother.

“Used to know,” they sang together, harmonizing effortlessly. It wasn’t perfect by any means, and their voices sounded weirdly rough together, but for the first time in his entire life, Roman felt whole.

“Things it yearns to remember.”

The whisper- the memory- was it from before the split? When Remus and Roman had been one and the same?

“And a song someone sings,” both voices were light and disbelieving. Remus took Roman’s outstretched hand.

“Once upon a December.”

The last note lingered in the air. The other sides had frozen in place, unsure what was happening but not daring to interrupt. Roman made eye contact with Remus and a silent message was conveyed.

This is how it feels to be one with your other half, even if just for a moment.

Roman and Remus had almost nothing in common. Roman was a prince, Remus was a duke. They were as opposite as can be, but once upon a time, they had been one. Together. King Creativity. Although they fought and clashed, they made each other complete. And maybe they weren’t as different as they liked to believe.