#its so cringe to hear myself that i want to rip my skin off

[whiskeyyoodles]

Me trying to practice music on my own in my own flat with no one around: god this is so fucking cringe

[pepperfishh]

The Autonomous: Chapter 13

The Autonomous: Chapter 13

It’s darker when I open my eyes. I guess the infirmary lights can be dimmed. I take a deep breath, and the air around me smells distinctly male. I don’t know how else to describe it.

I look down and Four has his head leaned forward, resting it on the edge of the bed. He’s fast asleep, still holding my hand. For the first time, he looks like the eighteen-year-old that he is. Not some scary instructor, not the man who chucked knives at me – just… young.

Who is he, really? I’ve seen so many sides of him, it confuses me. Which one is the real Four? I’m not entirely sure, at this point. But he saved my life. And I feel safe with him. Whoever he is, I like him.

I can’t believe this is all an act to catch the new Divergent in the faction. There’s no way. That was legitimate concern for me. If he was part of the group who wanted Divergents dead, he could have just let me fall in the chasm last night.

I carefully extract my hand from his, going as slow as I can to not disturb him. Once my hand is free, I try to push myself up. A small groan escapes my lips and I wrap one arm protectively around my ribs for support.

I feel him lifting his head. Once he’s sitting up straight in the chair, he purses his lips at me.

“Are you ever going to just ask for help?” he asks softly. But he’s got a small smile on his face and there’s no bite in his question.

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” I mutter. “But since that failed; can you help me stand? I need to go to the bathroom.”

He nods as he comes to his feet. His arms raise far above his head, stretching. My eyes are drawn to the small line of skin I see where his shirt lifts up. I can hear his neck cracking as he tilts his head from side to side.

Frowning, I say, “Sorry. That can’t have been a comfortable way to sleep.”

He returns the frown. “You really need to stop apologizing. For… literally anything at this point.”

He reaches forward and helps me turn in the bed and swing my legs over the side. I have a death grip on his arm as I lower my feet to the ground, and I don’t let go until I feel stable on my feet.

I release his arm, but he still hovers. “I’m good now,” I assure him. “I’m sore, but I can walk on my own.” He nods and points to a nearby door.

When I close the door behind me, I lean back against it and take a deep breath. I don’t actually need to use the toilet; I wanted a mirror.

I step forward and grip the edges of the sink tightly as I take in my appearance. I fight the bile back down; there is nothing left in my stomach to come up. I can’t.

There’s dried blood in streaks down the side of my face. It’s covered with bruises and cuts. My chest is scratched and turning colors, which is very clearly visible with the huge rips in my shirt. I tilt my head up slightly and cringe at the bruises around my neck. The outline of his hand is clear. I lift my shirt a bit and see the black and blue on my rib cage.

I turn on the faucet and run my hands under the water, and then pull them through my hair, trying to make it look somewhat more normal. For the first time since the Choosing Ceremony, I miss my long hair. I wish I could pull it down around my face to hide some of the marks.

Sighing, I grab a towel from the dispenser and run it under the water before leaning closer to the mirror to get a better look at my face. I drag the wet towel up and down, scrubbing the blood off my face.

I catch a glimpse of the mark around my neck again and an unrecognizable rage over comes me. I can see that fucker’s handprint on my body. My arm flies forward on its own accord and my fist smashes into the mirror as I let out a loud curse.

Maybe a second later, the doorknob is rattling. “Tris!” Four calls worriedly through the door.

I reach out absently and unlock the door before he tries to break it down. It flies open, but I don’t even see him. I look down and start pulling the pieces of glass out of my knuckles.

Four takes in the scene around him and sighs, pulling my hand away so he can take over.

“Sorry.” I force out.

His eyes snap to mine. “What did I say about apologies?”

“S-” He tilts his had and gives me a look of disbelief. I pull my lips into a thin line in an effort to stop any words from coming out.

He finishes with my hand in silence and then runs it under the faucet. He turns off the tap and pulls me gently back towards the bed, guiding me to sit back down on the edge of the bed.

He grabs a roll of gauze off the table and wraps it around my bloody knuckles. When he’s finished, he just stops in front of me.

“We should go down to breakfast.” The thought of food makes my stomach turn. “You have to eat something, Tris. Shauna is sending you out with meds. You can’t take them on an empty stomach.”

“I’m not going in with my head down.”

He doesn’t try to argue.

I pause at the door and look down at myself. I pull the zipper up higher on the hoodie and pull the hood over my head. As we walk into the dining hall, I realize I don’t need to keep my head down to look like I’m cowering. Because instead, I have my own personal bodyguard.

Uriah, from the table right next to Christina and Will, catches my eye as I walk in. He lifts his hand to wave, and the drops it as he takes in my appearance. I drop into the seat across from Will. Al is noticeably absent. Four taps at my shoulder.

“Scoot,” he says, motioning with his hand for me to move over. Christina is staring at him, eyes wide. I scoot to make room and meet resistance on the other side. I practically jump out of my skin. I turn quickly and see Uriah. How did he get there so quickly? Four places a calming hand on my shoulder and I relax.

For a moment, all three of them stare, eyes flashing back and forth between me and Four.

“What happened?” Will asks, keeping his voice low. I look over his shoulder and see Peter whispering something to Molly. He looks noticeably better than Drew. Or me. But I do see slight bruising on the side of his face and feel slightly better.

I glance up at Four in question. Why does he look so okay?

“He ran away like a bitch.” He clearly tries to keep his tone even, but I detect the anger bleeding in.

I reach forward to grab a piece of toast, but Four immediately pushes my arm back down when he sees me wince and reaches forward for me.

Finally, I look at my friends. “Peter, Drew, and…” I swallow. It still hurts. “And Al. They cornered me in the halls last night and tried to…”

I can’t finish. I think they get the point.

“Oh my God,” Christina gasps out, her eyes wide in horror.

“Are you alright?” asks Uriah, looking genuinely concerned.

“I’ll live,” I say as Four simultaneously just says “No.”

I turn to glare at him.

“But you’re…” Uriah looks upset. “Three against one? And they’re all twice your size. That’s hardly fair.”

“Yeah, because Peter fights fair,” I scoff. “That’s why he stabbed Edward in his sleep.”

“Al, though,” Christina starts. “Are you sure, Tris?”

I stiffen. “Yes,” I grit out harshly. “I’ve spent enough time around someone I thought was my friend that I can recognize his voice while he’s calling me a bitch for….” I trail off, not wanting to finish. “I’m sure.”

Movement from the entrances catches my attention, and my toast drops out of my hand in surprise as Drew shuffles in.

I hadn’t really gotten a good look at him last night, but now in the bright day, the damage is… Seeing him actually makes me feel better. His face is swollen beyond recognition. His lip is split open and a huge cut is running from his eyebrow down his cheek.

“Did you do that?” hisses Will.

“No,” I say, my eyes sliding to the side to look at Four, who has a suspiciously satisfied smirk on his face. “No, Four broke it up before I got tossed into the chasm.”

Four opens his mouth to argue. “Well, not technically before…”

“Okay, he broke it up after Peter threw me in the chasm. And then pulled me out before I lost my grip on the railing.”

“They were going to kill you?” says Christina, horrified.

“We have to do something about this,” Uriah says in a low voice, and I look at him in surprise. I’ve never heard Uriah sound so serious. Ever.

His face is full of guilt. “I should have made sure you made it back to your dorms last night instead of leaving you in the halls alone.”

Four’s face tightens, like he hadn’t considered that. A flash of anger appears on his face, but before he can open his mouth and say something stupid, like place any blame on Uriah, words start falling out of my mouth.

“No. No, Uriah! I had no intention of sleeping in my bed last night anyway,” I assure him. “I intentionally just kind of ditched you guys. It’s not your fault. At all!” I keep my voice firm. This is no one’s fault but the three that attacked me.

“What?” Four asks. “Where the hell were you planning on sleeping last night, then?”

I blink at him, surprised by his question. “Hadn’t figured that out yet,” I said, shrugging, and then cringing. “But Peter stabbed the last person that outranked him in their sleep. And he was noticeably upset when rankings got posted yesterday. There’s no way I was going to close my eyes in the same room as him.” I let out a derisive laugh. “Guess it didn’t matter anyway.”

“We still have to do something,” Uriah repeats.

“What, like beat them up?” Christina grins. “Looks like that’s been taken care of.”

Four looks unreasonably pleased with himself. Suddenly, someone is standing behind us and tapping on Four’s shoulder. We both turn to see Eric looking down at us. I duck into Four’s side, remembering the slightly less traumatic events that also happened last night.

He motions with his head to the side. Four stands and then helps me up. We follow Eric to the edge of the room.

I’m not a fan of the look he’s giving us. When we’re finally out of earshot of everyone else, he takes a deep breath and looks at me. “Fuck me,” he breathes out. “Tris, did you actually see Al and Peter’s faces?”

“What?” I ask incredulously. “Are you kidding me?”

“I know,” he insists. “Look, I know. But leadership spoke with Drew this morning. He swears it was just him. And refuses to give up anyone else. They’re letting him eat and then he’s out. But the other two… you guys both said they were covering their faces. And we can’t make them out on the cameras.”

“I spend everyday with both of them,” I hiss. “I know what their voices sound like.”

“I know, Tris.”

“Dammit Eric, you fucking promised me.” At least he has the decency to look guilty. “I didn’t even want to report it! And now nothing’s going to happen anyway.”

At just the moment I have the thought that Four is being surprisingly quiet right now, his hand moves too fast for me to catch and glass shatters into the wall behind Eric. The dining hall goes silent.

“Four,” Eric warns, his voice low.

“No, are you fucking kidding me,” he growls. “I can vouch that there were three people there.”

“But you can’t vouch for their identities. And we have nothing we can offer to Drew to entice him to rat out the others, because he’s getting thrown out either way.”

Four glares at Eric one last time before turning the both of us around and walking back to the table with my friends.

“Transfers,” he calls out. “We’re doing something different today. Let’s go.”

Will and Christina stand up next to me. They make eye contact with Four and some kind of unspoken message passes between them. Four nods and releases his hold on me and Will and Christina flank me on either side.

“Be careful,” Uriah says, stepping away as we all start to leave.

“We’ve got her,” Will promises.

Four leads us around the paths of the Pit, taking us higher than we’ve ever been. Will’s face goes white the higher we get, and I’m starting to get really sore. I grab his arm like I need his support, and simultaneously offer him mine. He gives me a grateful smile.

Four turns and is walking backwards, watching us. Backwards, on a narrow path, with no railing. I thought he was afraid of heights.

Four’s eyes shift over to my arm around Will’s, and all expression drains from his face. It sends a chill through me. What is up with him? I cannot keep up with his moods.

He leads us through a hole in the ceiling and we walk across the glass. The glass ceiling of the Pit becomes a glass floor in a room with glass walls. We follow him through another door into a room with graffiti covered walls.

“This is a different simulation, known as the fear landscape.” He goes on, explaining what the fear landscape is and how it works. “Your final test will be to go through your fear landscape as quickly as possible.”

When he finishes his explanation, Peter stupidly opens his mouth. “That doesn’t sound fair. What if one person has seven fears and someone else has twenty? That’s not their fault.”

The laugh that comes out of Four’s mouth makes me shiver. He stares at him. “Do you really want to talk to me about what’s fair?”

The crowd parts immediately as Four walks towards Peter. Will pulls me to the side to get out of the way. Four stops in front of Peter, folds his eyes, and says, his voice deadly, “I understand why you’re worried, Peter. The events of last night certainly proved that you are a miserable coward.”

Peter says nothing.

“So now we all know,” Four continues quietly, “that you are afraid of the smallest girl in your class.”

Will wraps his arm around my shoulders while Christina’s shake with suppressed laughter. A small smile even makes its way to my face.

At dinner that night, I sit between Will and Christina, with Uriah, Lynn, and Marlene sitting across from us. I haven’t seen Four since we left the fear landscape, and I mentally chastise myself for caring. He already saved my life; it’s not like he owes anything else to me.

It’s like he said to Peter; I’m the smallest girl in the class. He’s just overprotective because he thinks I’m weak. I haven’t given him any reason to think otherwise.

Uriah is smiling across from me. His hands are waving wildly back and forth, telling us some story about something that happened during training. Suddenly, his face goes hard – still a weird experience for me – and he glares behind me.

“What?” he spats out. As I’m turning my head, I hear someone clearing their throat. I look up to see Al standing behind me. I freeze; my body is tense and I feel that same nausea settling in.

Al has dark shadows under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept. I feel a sick sort of satisfaction at the dark bruise on his cheek bone, but also bitterness that he doesn’t look as bad as Drew.

“Tris,” he says, his voice breaking. “Can I talk to you?”

Will has turned to glare at him, keeping one hand on my shoulder in support. “Are you kidding? You don’t get to come near her ever again!” A rush of gratitude towards Will rushes through me.

“I won’t hurt you. I never wanted to…” Al’s eyes start watering. A few months ago, the tears may have gotten to me. Hell, even a few days ago, I may have felt sympathy for my friend crying in front of me. “I just want to say that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.  I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I… please forgive me, please…”

Al reaches for me, like he’s going to touch me and several things happen at once. Christina is on her feet, facing him. Uriah is halfway over the table. Will is pulling me closer to him, like he’s trying to shield me. A bench is knocked over somewhere nearby.

But I push away from Will and stand up. I have no sympathy for the boy in front of me. The hatred inside me is unrecognizable.

“Stay away from me,” I say quietly, my voice cold. “Don’t come near me again.” Our eyes meet. His are watery. I don’t care. “If you do, I swear to God, Al, I’ll fucking kill you, you coward.”

He takes a step backwards and my body stays rigid until I see him exit the dining hall. All of a sudden, I deflate, my shoulder relaxing and just breathe for a moment. My eyes scan my surroundings; Peter is several tables over, smirking at me. Several tables over, I find the source of the overturned bench; Four is standing next to an overturned one, watching intently. I can’t figure out the expression on his face, but I look away before he makes eye contact.

“Tris,” Uriah calls softly. I turn to him. “You good?”

Shakily, I nod and return to my seat.

[connieshusband]

Fucking hate you, love to fuck you

Hate sex

Oikawa x fem!reader

"fuck you!" "Is that a promise?"

4k

reader was the captain and ace of the girls team, reader goes to Aoba Josai, reader is also Kag's cousin

Degradation, Slight Feminization Kink, Praise Kink, Fluffy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'm not very good at writing smut, I also got tired while writing so its short... sorry, Sir Kink: but very minor, no beta we die like men

-cross posted on my ao3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/31932412

MINORS DNI

Summary:

You hadn't registered that you'd slapped him until he look at you holding his red cheek with his large hand.

And you certainly hadn't registered that he had his tongue down your throat not a moment later. An honest to god moan leaving your lips which he smugly ate up.

___

Degration as well as any kink should have the full consent of all parties involved every time!!

I'm not very good at e2l so be gentle 🤩

I'm such a simp lmao

Oikawa could never figure out why you hated him when you both entered your first year of high school. Having come from a different middle school than you, he figured you'd be like the rest of the people in your grade level and fall all over him.

He wanted to ask why you had such a large stick up your ass during your first group project but chickened out. He assumed you'd at least get along as you were captain of the girls volleyball team and known for your powerful spikes. The setter in him really wanted to find out your perfect toss.

But it wasn't until your 3rd year when he came to despise you too.

He'd overheard you telling your best friend that your cousin made it onto his high schools volleyball team. Being the nosey Nelly that he is, he made the mistake of asking which school your cousin attended.

"Karasuno," you said, your chest puffed out.

It clicked: the black hair, intense expression, the last name even. He could practically see his protégé in the reflection of your eyes. He mentally slapped himself for not seeing it sooner.

His eyes narrowed, matching yours as tension of your silent beat down had to be cut by Iwazumi.

_____

You set down your suitcase, giving your aunt a big hug as she greeted you in the doorway. You give Tobio a fist bump as he helps you carry your things into the spare bedroom.

Your aunt had graciously allowed you to stay with her so you could be closer to school for your final year.

"I can't believe you're dropping volleyball club just as I'm about to join," Tobio whined, setting a suitcase on a chair in the corner of the room.

"I know," you said sullenly. You hadn't wanted to, but being captain and a 3rd year just wasn't going to be practical. Not being the best student, you thought it would be a wise decision.

Having always been close your your cousin on your dad's side came with its perks, including but not limited to drama. Ever since Tobio had joined volleyball in middle school he'd talked about Oikawa, usually brushing off some of the down right nasty things he'd said. But you hadn't. You took it upon yourself to help him train harder and harder to be able to defeat his bully when he'd found out he couldn't attend Aoba Josai with you.

Being an ace had its advantages when teaching Tobio about different techniques on how to set up a spiker best. Often gossiping about the smug bastard as you worked.

Of course, there was no escaping the pretty boy at school either. When your best friend, Ryu, had started dating his best friend Iwaizumi, being the 3rd and 4th wheel at hangouts became increasingly awkward.

And even worse when she mentioned your current math grade. Damn that ginger setter. And Mr. Perfect boasting about his grades to you. Which had lead you to your current situation.

Sitting in his bedroom.

Listening to him drawl on and on with rapidly decreasing interest.

While he looked hot as fuck.

What?!

With new found annoyance you scoffed at him snapping his fingers in your face.

"earth to y/n, I know I'm ravishing, but now it's math time." He said, a smirk decorating his lips.

“I ignored you on purpose, dumbass. Don't you get that I hate you?"

"I'm not asking you to stay, besides this has nothing to do with me?? Its calculus..."

"narcissist," you mumbled under your breath.

"must be your type," he shot back, "gawking at me for the last hour."

"aren't you dating whats-her-face from English?" You retorted, feeling your face heat up.

"yeah??" he said, confused.

You mocked his confusion, ""yeah" God, then stop flirting with me."

He scoffed, an eyebrow disappearing into bangs, "you must be a narcissist if you think I'm flirting with you because wow, it almost like I can't stand the sight of you, y/n," he rolled his eyes in disgust, sitting up in his chair indignantly.

You push him back into his chair, turning on your heels, saying nothing more.

"good!! I was going to kick you out anyway!"

____

You notice his current girlfriend wasn't hanging out with him at lunch nor sitting in his lap during English. In fact. He hadn't found new arm candy by the time your next session rolled around the following week.

___

After begrudgingly agreeing to do another tutoring session and making him promise no funny business, that rule was broken when he had his sleeves rolled up of his blue silk shirt, he glasses laying forgotten on the table, fingers rubbing his tired eyes as he tried to explain a difficult problem to you.

How could Tooru Oikawa be so fucking sexy and such a fucking dick at the same time?

Asking myself this a lot while writing

"fuck you, Oikawa! I don't need your bullshit!"

"fine! Fucking go then!" Giving you a light shove towards the door.

You hadn't registered that you'd slapped him until he look at you holding his red cheek with his large hand.

And you certainly hadn't registered that he had his tongue down your throat not a moment later. An honest to god moan leaving your lips which he smugly ate up.

You shoved him against his bed, your own smugness drinking up his moan.

You pulled your tank top off as you climbed on top of him. "You have condoms?" You asked, cringing at your breathless voice.

He flipped your position, hot breath fanning your ear, "don't you want to be filled with my cum, baby?"

Rolling your eyes, you flipped the position again, "the last thing the world needs is more of you running around."

He considered it before saying with a shrug "top drawer."

Leaning over, your legs still gripping his hips, you pulled out a condom wrapper and tossed it at his face. His nose scrunching cutely.

"pull some weight, lazykawa," you said, yanking his pants and underwear to his ankles. He was already fully hard and you took great satisfaction in wordlessly teasing him.

Trying to ignore you, a blush creeping up around his ears as he hurriedly rolling the condom onto his thick length, as you remove your bra. He flips your position once more, hovering over you, a taunting smirk plastered over his lips.

"can't go 10 minutes without getting your greedy pussy fucked?"

"Can't that mouth do anything besides half-assed insults, Shittykawa?" You mocked, he raised a cheeky eye brow at you.

He lowered his face to you heat, "want to find out?" You grip his hair harshly and shove his face between your thighs.

He rips off you panties and eagerly laps around your cunt before catching himself, slowing his ministrations.

He gripped your thighs as he buried his face in your heat. Alternating between sucking in your clit and finger fucking you, never letting you get both at the same time.

You bit your tongue, doing your best to avoid begging for more - a futile endeavor.

"C'mon babygirl, I know you want it," he sing-songed

You swallowed your pride, "please Tooru."

"sorry couldn't hear you, your legs were busy clamping around my ears.

Your legs shook in frustration and pleasure as he lazily drummed his finger on your sweet spot.

He leaned overtop of you, sucking harshly in your neck as his other hand massages your ass.

"please, Tooru! Please sir!"

"oo~" he remarks, returning between your legs, 3 fingers entering you suddenly as he nibbled along your thigh, quickly returning to sucking on your clit.

You come hard and without warning.

"delicious," he remarks, sitting up and licking his fingers clean, "and so many lewd noises too."

"You have a knack for bringing out the worst in people," you attempt to sound threatening but only succeeding in boosting his ego.

"Oh no~ I hate to find out what the best would be..." He unbuttons his blue silk shirt, allowing you to drink up the full show of his abs. "Not talking so big now, eh, Kageyama?"

You scowl at him before grunting a "just fuck me already".

"don't mind if I do."

You connected your lips with his, enjoying the noises he made as his neglected cock became engulfed in your warmth.

Neither of you lasted long.

He emptied himself into the rubber with a sexy grunt lining up with your moan.

After care he collapsed on top of you, his deep breaths matching yours.

Your hands still resting on his back, feeling scratches from your nails decorating his skin.

He had pressed his forehead to yours, you looked up to meet his eyes which were flitting between the purple marks on your neck and your eyes.

He hadn't held your gaze for more than a second when the realization of what just happened hit both of you at once. Pushing your bodies apart, you shamefully picked up your clothes from the floor leaving the room quickly.

____

It had been weeks since that day. You hadn't gone back for another tutoring session, claiming to Ryu that your grades had improved.

The free time had allowed you to be a better supporter for your cousin, getting a chance to meet his teammates and his friends.

You meet Karasuno's Ryu and think to yourself how well he and your Ryu would get along

While hanging out with your cousin at the spring tournament, you were enjoying a lunch break with a vibrant ginger, his best friend Hinata and a mutual friend with spiky hair. Bokuto, you had learned, was in your year and had a ton in common with you.

Maybe you'd gotten carried away returning his flirty looks and laughing a little too hard at his jokes. He remarked often how different your personality was from your cousin. After exchanging numbers to practice volleyball sometime (him being excited to practice with another captain/ace) an unfortunately familiar voice pulled you away from your fun.

"y/n?"

"what?" You roll your eyes, at Oikawa. You knew he had been watch you and the rest of Karasuno after they had win their first game. Beside you, you can feel the 3 boys, especially Tobio fuming.

"I have a question about the math assignment."

"I'm busy."

"too bad."

Recognizing that he wasn't going to go away until you give in, you stand up, brushing the dust from your bottoms. He leads the way out of sight from your new friends.

He harshly pushes you against the wall, "what do you think you're doing princess?"

You flip your position, he winced as his back connects with the concrete wall. "You ask you the same thing, princess."

His hand instinctively wrapped around your muscular arm submissively.

"you like that don't you?" You asked.

He nervously glanced around him for on lookers. Luckily he'd chosen a pretty secluded spot

"wouldn't want your fan girls to see you being treated like the pretty white you are?" You smirked.

He nodded shyly.

You grabbed his ass, earning a submissive squeak from him.

"such a good princess, getting his flat ass groped," you smile, you see him swallow a moan as his eyes flutter shut.

You begin painfully slowly palming him through his shorts, feeling him grow under you.

"I hope you lose," you whisper sensually into his ear.

He scowls at you as you pull away completely. Leaving him hard, exposed, and blushing as you return to your new friends.

______

The cheers from Karasuno's supporters hadn't quieted down as the team packed up. Still high on adrenaline and pride for your baby cousin, you took the time to use the bathroom before the long drive home.

Rounding the corner you heard voices, recognizing one to be Oikawa and the other belonging to a deep voiced man.

Sneaking a peak your eyes go wide. He was face to face with Ushiwaka. The former not fairing well in the conversation. You didn't think a man could look for upset than the way Oikawa looked right now.

As the conversation comes to a close, you wait until Oikawa has gone out if sight to chase after him. Accidentally running into Ushiwaka.

"sorry" you mumble, attempting to move past.

"you're with karasuno, yes?" Ushiwaka asks.

Your mind didn't really register him, instead giving him a quick pat on the shoulder and a "that's great, buddy," as you run after the brunette.

Hearing an "I look forward to playing them." In the distance.

"Hey!"

He was too far ahead to really hear you, pushing past the front doors.

"HEY!" You yell, nearly at his heels. You stand in the doorway breathing hard, "TOORU!"

He turns to face you, Iwaizumi annoyed that he can't convince their captain to just get on the bus already.

You beckon him over and he skeptically approaches you.

"here to gloat?" He asks, his voice lacking the usual sharpness.

"Tobio is staying at Hinata's tonight and my aunt is out is town for the next two days," you say.

You see the cogs working as he pieces together what you're offering. His mouth forming an 'o' shape as he realizes.

You smile smugly before running back to where Karasuno's bus is parked, giving Tobio a running jump hug, which he awkwardly returned.

__

If nothing else, Oikawa was punctual. Arriving at exactly at 7:30. You hadn't done anything special, just heated up 2 frozen pizzas that your aunt had left. Watching his form as he quietly ate his 3 cheese. He hadn't said a word besides "thank you" after you'd served him. While yes, apart of you meant when you'd said that you hoped he lose but the guilt of seeing the cocky bastard looking so small on the other side of the table, nibbling on the crust. Pity maybe?

"You played really we-"

His eyes were red, his pride keeping him from crying in front of you. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You want to have sex?"

he hesitated before asking, "can we be nice?"

You nodded. Making your way to his chair, straddling his hips and cupping his face. You kissed him slow and deliberate. You don't kiss long before you start to feel his dick springing to life. You stand up pulling him, walking backwards, towards your room accidentally walking into the partially open door.

"Graceful," he commented, a hint of his salty tone under his words as he resumed kissing you.

You grinded against each other for a few moments, drinking in each others moans. You pulled away momentarily, his cheeks dusted pink, breathing heavy, his dick straining in his pants.

"You're so beautiful," you said. He blushed harder, his cock twitching in it's confines. Your fingers dip under the waistband of his pants and pull them down, licking your lips when his cock hits his stomach. You're about to press your lips to his tip when you feel pressure on your forehead.

"y-you don't have to..." he says. You cock your head to one side, your lips parted as you gaze up at him. "I-I get it you know... I don't hold it against you..."

"I want to," you say, "if you want me to."

He nods slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as he enters your warm mouth.

Out of all the sex you'd had, this moment with Tooru didn't feel like sex. It felt like making love.

After he got close, you popped your mouth off and had ridden him. His muscles still sore from his games. Your lips danced with his as his hips met yours. Both of you reaching your climax simultaneously.

Tired in the best way, you cuddle up to his bare chest, kissing his cheek, "don't think this means I like you, flatass."

"of course," he says, relaxing into your touch.

"good."

"it was the fact that my dick was down your throat that made be think that."

You punch him in the ribs, earning an 'ouch' followed by a quiet, "let me have one win today." Followed by an even quieter "sorry" from you.

You place a gentle kiss on his cheek again before returning to your snuggle position. He wraps his arms around your waist as you both drift off to sleep.

______

It's been a number of days and neither if you had spoken about it. You wanted to text him a simple 'good morning' but the image of him quietly shuffling out of your room at the crack of dawn when he thought you were still sleeping, placing a gentle kiss on your temple. You didn't want to seem too eager or somehow let on that not only were you awake but had enjoyed when he'd done it.

After the girls had lost to Fukurodani's girls in the semi finals, Ryu had insisted on dragging you out to play volleyball with her and some 'friends'. You secretly hope it's the other girls from your team. You find yourself not disappointed that it's Iwaizumi and Oikawa.

"Warm up 'Yama!" Oikawa yells at you, serving the ball in your direction as you and Ryu approach.

Caught off guard for a moment, you return the ball back at him, hitting his face lightly with an oof.

Of course, Ryu wanted to set for her boyfriend, leaving you with Oikawa.

You made a pretty good team, he picked up your style quickly, the ball exactly where you wanted it without having to tell him anything. Not to mention that Oikawa had racked up a third of the points on service aces alone, Iwaizumi finally adjusting to being on the receiving end on them. He and Ryu had made a magnificent comeback, clearly having practiced with each other before. You were lucky if you could get a piece of one of Iwa's spikes, Tooru faired better but they quickly took the lead. You grab Oikawa's arm, causing him to look at you curiously.

"set it to me, but I'll set it back. You spike it," you said, finishing your sentence by looking at him.

He considers it.

"break it up love birds!" Iwa shouted at you. Ryu making obnoxious kissing noises behind him. You quickly let go of his arm to flip her off, causing her to burst out laughing.

Iwa serves.

"it's mine!" Tooru yells. Mid jump, he faces you, the subtlest of winks as the ball flies into the air.

Smiling, you angle your body for a spike, Ryu taking the bait, but at the last moment, your hand sent the ball perpendicular to the net, straight into Oikawa's hand. The ball whizzing past Iwa's ear.

The adrenaline getting the better of you as you both embrace, celebrating a successful kill.

You revel in you best friend and her stoic boyfriend exchanging a bewildered look.

At the end of the game Oikawa offers to drive you home, when out of the way of prying eyes, he leans against his car. "Before your cousin goes to nationals, he and shorty should play against us."

"Yeah and maybe Tobio can set for me one round," you say, playing with the hem of his shirt, "but if there's any funny business from you, I'm calling it off."

"Who, me??" he jokes, aware of his history with your family.

You don't respond, opting to gently press your lips to his. He returns the kiss, cupping your face.

________________

Did I write myself into the story? ┐( ∵ )┌ Maybe a little...

I'm also not opposed to doing a part two, so lemme know in the comments ( ꈍᴗꈍ)

Also not me writing my first Haikyuu fic be Oikawa when I wanna break his knees 🥴🤚 (couldn't resist tho he's been on my mind, especially with glasses 🥵🤒)

Also also not me writing this from 1:30 am to 8am then had half my work deleted so I had to redo it the following night 🤪👈

[retrievablememories]

tokyo 2112 | baekhyun (m)

title: tokyo 2112 pairing: rich guy!baekhyun x reader genre: sci-fi/cyberpunk au, enemies to lovers, angst, non-explicit smut request: “hi, how are you? 💕 could i request some cyberpunk x baekhyun fic? i have in mind Tokyo, neon lights and explosive lovers. please feel free to choose the amount you want to write or you can. and thanks! ✨” word count: 12.8k warnings: body modifications/prosthetics, attempted robbery, physical violence (not between bh x reader, though reader does think about fighting him 💀), blood, non-graphic wounds, mentions of sex/one non-explicit sex scene, mentions of a car accident, frequent alcohol use/unhealthy reliance on alcohol, smoking, mentions of classism/poverty, mentions of experimentation, surgery is performed on the reader but not described, one mention of being weighed on a scale-like device a/n: this is my first real, lengthy attempt at enemies2lovers (or maybe just the genre “reader’s an a-hole who makes a lot of assumptions”) because i’m a clown and like to challenge myself for no reason...and this is why i don’t fool with this particular romance genre 💀 feedback is appreciated, this fic is just a whole lot of me experimentally punching above my weight and i’m a bit undecided on my feelings about it

also, i imagined the reader’s arm with a similar structure to the winter soldier’s, for reference

Tokyo, year 2112

You meet him in a Lower Tokyo club, the neon lights bleeding into each other and creating a deep, vivid landscape. It’s an unnaturally pretty scene—unnatural like everyone and everything else inside this club.

There’s a look of subdued wonder on his face, which makes you roll your eyes. He’s all made up and way too pretty to be in this dingy club with his gaudy piercings and expensive rings. Still, he enters the building in all his affluent glory, standing out against the crowd of gritty and cobbled-together androids and half-humans.

He’s a rich man’s son and an even richer man’s grandson. He’s known for being attractive, intelligent, and ridiculously rich—and that’s about all you know of the man himself. Him and his family have been excellent at keeping their personal lives air-tight, only ever letting the public know what they want everyone to know. But ultimately, they are only human. You know they cannot be as perfect as they try to maintain, and you can only imagine the unsavory things in their family history that go much deeper than anyone could ever think up.

“Do you think he wears all that to make up for the lack of enhancements?” Your friend Valor asks. He’s gesturing specifically to the man’s lip piercing and the chains hanging off of it, attached to the collar of his shirt. It’s a little strange, but it’s a signature look for him, and certainly not one of the weirder things in here.

“I’d like to rip it right out,” you reply in lieu of an actual answer to Valor’s question.

The man appears misplaced—like a researcher conducting a study of alien beings rather than a regular club goer—though he doesn’t seem to mind this. He just observes everything around him.

Valor chuckles and shakes his head at the display, throwing back another shot. “Weird.”

“Hm. Come on.” You steer Valor in the other direction, looking to get away from the man before he can get near your area of the club. Though this is your first time being in such close quarters with Byun Baekhyun despite his popularity across Tokyo, you’d like to cut things short if at all possible.

Another hour passes, and the drinks keep flowing. Your mind has gotten pleasantly hazy by now, almost enough to make you forget about the trespasser in your club scene. Almost.

You, Valor, and three other familiar faces sit at a small table near the back of the club. One of the guys is recounting some run-in he had the other week with the Droid Commission, though you can barely hear over the music that’s only getting louder, so you just nod and pretend to understand. However, he suddenly falters in his tale and his eyes dart up to a spot above your head. Turning back, you see that he is standing just over your shoulder. Without thinking, you recoil.

Baekhyun slides from behind you and comes to stand in front of you all now, a strangely convivial smile on his face. He acts like he’s merely visiting you all at brunch instead of standing in a club in the roughest part of the city.

“Exquisite work here,” he says, though his words drown in all the noise. None of you know what he’s saying, or who he’s saying it to. Noticing the acute confusion, Baekhyun lowers himself to your level, his scent passing across your nose as he does. Some robust and fancy cologne you don’t know the name of. Your eyebrows furrow at his proximity, and your blood rushes; maybe out of anger, or maybe just from being drunk. Then he touches your left shoulder, right where the metal of your arm connects to your living flesh.

Yeah, definitely anger.

“I said, this work is exquisite. Quite fascinating, really. Who made it?” Baekhyun has to get fairly close to your ear for you to hear him above the commotion, and you can feel the heat of his mouth next to your skin. His eyes travel the length of your arm, which is fully exposed in your tank top. His voice is irritatingly smooth, and the chains of his lip ring lightly brush your shoulder when he pulls back after he finishes speaking. Though your arm may be made of metal, it still has artificial sensory “nerves” running through it that connect it to the rest of your nervous system—and right now, they are screaming from that slight touch.

Maybe you really are just too damn drunk.

You look into Baekhyun’s dark eyes, which are imploring, coy, and playful all at once. The others at your table watch this interaction as if suspended in time, probably trying to process the sheer nerve of this dude.

“Fuck off,” you blurt out, and brush him off your shoulder with your flesh hand.

He remains unoffended; he even looks entertained by your blunt rejection.

The man who was previously telling his story speaks up. “You heard her. Fuck off, pretty boy.”

Baekhyun straightens up and nods, then reaches into his jacket. Two of the men leap to their feet, thinking he’s about to pull out a weapon—which would not be the first or last occurrence in this club—but he only brings out a business card, tucked between two of his fingers.

“Ever vigilant, aren’t you?” Baekhyun says, laying the card on the small tabletop. Then he directs his next sentence to you. “If you decide you feel like telling me more...get in touch.”

Then he disappears back into the mass of moving bodies just as quickly as he came. You flex the fingers on your metal hand, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

Both men at your table sit back down, although they’re still a bit disgruntled. Valor picks up the card to inspect it. “You gonna call that weirdo?”

“Please. You know me better than that by now.” You pluck the card from his hand and rip it up without a second thought. However, it takes a little longer to forget about the heated imprint of Baekhyun’s fingers on your shoulder, or his whispering voice fluttering against your eardrum.

Getting the arm was merely an act of survival, the way you saw it.

Money was low and jobs were scarce—ones that weren’t dangerous, straight-up unappealing, or low pay. There had been a scientific research trial for a new cybernetics program, and it paid much better than many other opportunities around—enough to live on for at least a year, give or take, especially with the cheaper cost of living in your area. You’d been terrified about giving up a part of your body, thinking your body might reject the foreign technology and kill you for the offense, but your desperation outweighed the fear.

Thankfully, it worked.

That was nearly two years ago, though, and the trial was long over. Even with you spending as frugally as you possibly could, the money was close to running out.

Odd jobs here and there help you out some, but they are few and far between and don’t pay nearly enough to make a living on.

You’re getting increasingly anxious about the lack of options and dwindling money, though you also spend half of your time getting drunk, hitting up the club, and simply trying not to acknowledge your crumbling life. If worst comes to worst, you can always think about finding another research trial and exchanging another body part. Maybe. These cybernetics programs often crop up more in Osaka, which would require you to leave the city, but maybe you could get another gig and scrape up enough money for travel...

For now, however, you are back at the club’s familiar bar and making small talk with the bartender, who’s an android without a real name or identity. Everyone just knows it as T-4000, though it appears to be fine with its little niche in the world. Sometimes it teases you about your arm and wonders when you will make a complete transformation into a “metalhead” like itself. Though you cringe, the company is better than nothing when the others aren’t around, so you allow the jokes.

Alone at the bar, you’re too preoccupied with staring into your drink to register the body sliding onto the bar stool next to yours until you hear The Voice flowing out again.

“One Blue Lagoon, please.”

Oh, fuck. You put your head in one hand and angle your body away from his in hopes that he doesn’t notice it’s you. But just as your fortune turns out, he happens to be facing your metal arm.

“Oh, it’s you again.” Baekhyun sounds pleased to see you, like this is some great unexpected coincidence, though you know that’s not likely true. You lift your drink to your mouth and pretend you don’t hear him, though that doesn’t deter him. “I never did hear back from you. How sad.”

“I have no desire to talk to you or anyone like you,” you say, still with your head turned.

“Anyone like me?” He chuckles.

“You don’t belong here, in case you didn't notice.”

“By whose definition?”

“Everyone’s,” you retort. T-4000 comes back with Baekhyun’s drink, and it gives you a look of bright amusement and curiosity with its digital-screen face as it rolls away to help another customer.

“I don’t concern myself with ‘everyone’s’ opinions,” Baekhyun replies, drinking from his glass. “Just the ones who matter.”

“Right, like your rich friends,” you scoff. “Why the hell are you even here?” You turn to him then, though looking at him feels like a mistake—like staring into a solar eclipse. He’s still wearing his chains, like always, and his eyes are smoked out with dark shades of eyeliner. The makeup makes him look eternally tired, but in some high-fashion model way.

“Because I don’t like being around my so-called ‘rich friends’ any more than you would.” Baekhyun smirks.

“So sorry.” You roll your eyes. “Maybe you should become a hermit, then.”

“You seem to be doing a good job of that right now. Where’s your friends from last time?” He looks around as if they’ll materialize.

“None of your business.”

Baekhyun leans on the bar counter, placing his arms on top of it, and his cologne hits you again. You try to hold your breath against the scent, though you can almost taste it in the back of your mouth. Shaking your head, you peer directly into his eyes now, which are as exceedingly curious as the last time. They’re still inky dark under this lighting, reminding you of black holes that absorb all light and life.

“Is it bad for me to want to know more about your arm?”

“Like I just said, it’s frankly none of your business.” You cast a forlorn glance at your drink, which has gotten dangerously low.

“Fair enough.” He sips again. “Now. What if I want to know about you?”

The back of your neck flares with heat, though you can’t fathom why. “You must be truly bored if that’s what you came here for. Unfortunately, you aren’t as interesting as you seem to think you are.”

“You injure me.” But you both know he’s not hurt at all by anything you can think of to say to him. “But this isn’t about me—it’s about you.”

“What about me? How you want to steal my arm and use it for scrap metal, maybe? Or to build yourself a body mod, even? You really stand out in here being the only one who’s not partway made of tin or some shit, and it makes people distrust you. You can figure that out, right?”

“You make a lot of assumptions.” Baekhyun swirls his drink around in his glass, the blue liquid swishing around the sides. “Let me make some, then. You seem like a mysterious, closed-off, and perpetually discontented person. And despite what you might think, it’s not my first time seeing you around. I guess I can’t interest you in entertaining my presence just for company’s sake?”

You pause, wondering where Baekhyun could have possibly spotted you. You don’t hang out in any of the places someone of his standing would usually be seen in. But then again, does he even frequent those areas of Upper Tokyo? He’s always spending his time mingling in Lower Tokyo’s notable haunts instead. “...Are you some kind of peeping tom or something equally pathetic?”

T-4000 perks up at that, even from its distance on the other side of the bar, and it scoots a little closer as if it’ll need to call the Droid Commission in another minute. Which, in actuality, is a terrible idea—calling on one of the city’s many vigilantes would have a more effective outcome, if need be, but sending them for Baekhyun of all people might land you all in prison.

“Tokyo is big,” Baekhyun deadpans, like it’s something even a baby would know. “You can see anyone anywhere.” Then his voice melts back into its normal suave tone. “I’ve noticed you in passing, once or twice. Your arm is something special, but it’s hard to forget a person like you.”

Despite yourself, you don’t totally hate the comment. That alone makes you want to leave the club and not look back for at least the next month or so, knowing he’s probably said this to dozens of other people before. You stay in your seat, though, trying to see what easy line this man is going to throw out next.

“I wonder why I’ve never noticed you, then.”

“You seem to be too consumed with your own problems half the time, even though I don’t know what those are. The stress is written all over your face, though.”

Can never miss a chance to be insufferable, it seems.

“Okay Mr. Psychoanalyst.” You knock back the tiny bit of drink left in your glass and push it away from you. You shake your head at the android when it gestures for a refill.

“Not a psychoanalyst, you’re just achingly easy to decipher.” His tone is casual, like this isn’t meant to be an insult, though you take offense anyway.

“You’re not very good at whatever this is,” you say.

“What do you think this is? Flirting? Maybe you wouldn’t be wrong there.” He laughs.

“Yeah, well. Get some more practice and then maybe you can convince some other poor sap to get to know you better and sign over the rights to their cybernetics, but I won’t be falling for it.”

“I guess that means I’ll just have to try harder, then.” And then he finishes his drink, too. “Not the stealing your arm bit, but the getting to know you part.” He pauses for another moment, and then says, “It’s easy to become enamored with this place.” He waves his hand around at the club’s surroundings. “Expect to see me around more often. I think I’ve already taken a liking to you.”

Baekhyun tips his empty glass to you and gets up from his stool. His cologne swirls around you as he leaves, not overpowering, but enough to make its mark on your olfactory memories. You don’t look back to see where he walks off to, too busy trying to ignore the small headache building behind your eyes and your elevated heart rate.

He’s already taken a liking to you. Why would a ridiculous comment like that even get to you?

God. You really need to get laid.

So, you do just that.

Not with Baekhyun, but with someone from the club whose name you don’t even remember before it’s even over. It was painfully uneventful sex, and it did nothing to banish the man from your mind, which makes you feel even more irritated.

Walking back to your tiny apartment afterwards feels like a certified Walk of Shame even though it’s late at night and no one really cares to notice you. You spit on the sidewalk as if that could properly convey your disgust. You think of Osaka again—and what the fuck are you going to do to even get the money to get there?—and of the business card that you’d ripped up without remorse.

You shake your head, sending that thought back to the depths of your mind. Nevermind. That doesn’t matter. What could he possibly have for you, and why would you want it? Tucking your hands tighter in your pockets, you keep your head down and remain inconspicuous until you get back to the not-so-welcome sight of your own place.

You, Valor, and a few others sit around a makeshift bonfire at Tokyo’s Rainbow Bridge—or what remains of it, anyway, with weeds and tall grass sprouting up in the space that was once its parking lot. For the past hour, this impromptu hangout been nothing but smoking cigarettes and drinking cheap alcohol and shooting the breeze. The nights are always much colder than the days, the chill biting into your skin and seeping into your clothes, but you try to ignore it and huddle closer to the fire. Maybe there is something, anything else you could be doing other than this, but you are just a bit too weak—and a little too lonely—to say no to the companionship. Even if it means listening to the uninteresting conversations of men who you barely know outside of the club or without a bottle of whiskey in their hands.

Your hangout session remains sleepy and boring for a while until someone makes a suggestion. One of them keeps going on about some steady, reliable work he’s supposedly found from a trusted friend, though he refuses to elaborate on what kind of work it is when asked. You make a sound of disgust and tune him out. Useless suggestions are as bad as none at all.

“Maybe we oughta rob that Baekhyun dude.”

You look up from the flames, fixing your eyes on the one who said it—a man called Lockjaw—and someone else chuckles in disbelief.

“You serious?” Valor asks.

Lockjaw sits forward in his ratty lawn chair, and with the way the light hits his face, it’s easier to see how his bottom jaw and teeth are completely metal. It makes you wince internally every time you see him, though you always feel kinda bad afterwards. That must’ve hurt exponentially worse than your own procedure. “Why the fuck not? He struts around Lower Tokyo like he has it all...and the bastard does. We sit and grovel for scraps, yet there’s a walking goldmine right in front of us.”

The idea of taking Baekhyun’s riches had never quite appealed to you or fully manifested in your mind. You didn’t want anything belonging to him, mostly because of your own disdain towards the man. However, the suggestion appears in sharp relief now, so obvious that it’s hard to believe no one else proposed it until now. You don’t immediately respond to this concept being thrown around, but something uneasy settles in your chest.

Valor sits back with a mildly disinterested look. “And you think someone like him doesn’t have major security hanging around waiting to incinerate someone with a ray gun if they tried it?”

“Do you ever see anyone hanging around him?”

“Doesn’t mean they’re not there. Somewhere.”

“Then we’ll be strapped up,” Lockjaw says, throwing his hands in the air. “And any of his little ‘security team’ who tries it will be blown into the stratosphere. That’s how we take care of that.” You shake your head only slightly, a movement not noticeable enough to be picked up by the others. You rub your tongue against the inside of your cheek, picturing all the ways this plan could go belly-up. To your irritation, Valor decides to drag you into the fold despite your efforts to stay out of the conversation.

“What do ya think, Y/N? Baekhyun’s been on your tail lately, maybe you could help lure him in.” That stirs up several murmurs and targeted stares in your direction.

“Yeah?” Lockjaw leans forward even more, his ass nearly slipping off the edge of the chair. “Think you can get in good with him?”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “Uh...it’s not like I’m buddy-buddy with him—”

“You don’t need to be, just tell him to bring his ass here and we’ll do the rest.”

Your mouth tightens. With all eyes trained on you, some expressions less friendly than others, it feels impossible to refuse. “I guess.”

“It’ll provide the money you’ve been worrying over for the past year.” Valor offers, and you shoot him a side-eye. Not like you needed him to broadcast your business to the world.

“That’s how life around here works,” another man chimes in, putting his cigarette out on the dirt and getting off his makeshift stoop of an upturned bucket. He stretches his arms and legs, and though you can’t see them under his long pants, you can hear the soft whirring and clicking of his metal legs. “Eat or be eaten. I’ve made my choice.”

Lockjaw gives a wolfish smile. Your apprehension rises, though you say nothing. “Eat, we will.”

You try to act nonchalant the next time you see Baekhyun at the club. You only notice him as you’re leaving, having already waited most of the night to see if he’d show up this time. You slow to a stop as you spot him in the alleyway behind the club, speaking to another club-goer—you’ve seen the person around before. You can only imagine what they were talking about before you’d interrupted their little scene, and the person scurries off, perhaps somewhat reluctantly, once it’s clear they’ve lost Baekhyun’s attention. Maybe that was the poor sap he’d finally found who’d be misguided enough to give up their cybernetics.

Baekhyun approaches you with a smile, his chains catching in the light of the flashy neon sign above. The kohl is dark and smoky around his eyes, in perfect sameness with every other time you’ve seen him.

“Hello, one who’s name I still don’t know—”

“You should come see me,” you interrupt. You want this to be as quick as possible, not wanting to dwell on any fake niceties.

Baekhyun lifts an eyebrow. “See you? At...your place, or—”

“At the ruins of Rainbow Bridge. Thursday night, around 9. Unless you’re too busy doing rich people stuff.”

“Rainbow Bridge…” He draws the words slowly across his tongue. Probably thinking of what a ruin the bridge is now—and has been for the past few decades—and wondering why you’re asking him to meet there of all places.

“I have a friend who lives around there—no fucking place to stay, you know, just holes up wherever he can. But he can...let you see the inner workings of my arm. Pick him up, take him back to your place; I’m sure you have a lab.” And because you know what he’s really looking for, you throw in, “He’s studied the technology, knows it inside-out. He could help you build...whatever it is you want.”

Baekhyun’s eyes, which you normally perceive as two lightless voids, sparkle at that last part. You can practically see the light increase in them. “Oh really?”

You roll your own eyes. “Yes, really. I’m not going to let you walk off with my damn arm, but you can...take notes on the mechanisms and shit. It’s up to you. I just got tired of you fuckin’ asking, so don’t think this is going to turn into some weekly meetup or whatever.”

He nods, slowly at first, and then more assuredly. “Alright, then. I’ll come.”

“So...yeah.” A sudden wave of anxiety crashes over you now that the trap has been laid. You feel as if you make one wrong move now, it’ll blow everything. He’ll find out and hate you for it. But why should you care about him hating you? “Then...see ya Thursday. Bye.” You decide to make your exit, walking briskly past him in the alley.

“Leaving so soon?” Baekhyun asks, turning back to watch your figure retreat. You wave one hand behind you in a dismissive gesture.

“I’ve been here all fuckin’ night, Byun. I’m going home now—to get some sleep, if I’m lucky.”

He chuckles, the sound fading behind you as you walk away. “Sweet dreams.”

Your steps falter just slightly when those words leave his lips, and several emotions begin warring in your chest. You ignore them all and continue on your walk back to your place, though you almost wish you could turn back to the club and ask for another drink or three. Something to get your mind off that ridiculously simple phrase that’ll be spinning around in your mind all night.

The night of the plan, you begin having major second thoughts.

It’s not as if you didn’t already feel shitty about it, but your mind keeps racing with how ridiculous of an idea this really is. It’s far too late to talk anyone out of it, as they’ve already stocked up on contraband weapons and laid their gameplan, but you feel less and less “okay” about being a part of it.

Most of all, you feel increasingly guilty about using Baekhyun’s trust in you for this; he never seemed to assume you had any other motives behind your invitation. Even if it’s ridiculously, oddly naive of him to trust you—someone he knows nothing about—you don’t feel great about exploiting that for your own gains.

It takes him less time to show up than you’d hoped. He’s right there at the agreed time, annoyingly punctual, his sleek black luxury car pulling up in the dirt and patchy grass. It looks like it was cut out of a magazine and placed there—almost comically out of place. Just like him.

Baekhyun gets out of the car and walks out onto the grass to meet you, uncaring of the mud and dirt he’s stepping in. He smirks, his hands in his pockets and his chains dangling. “Would now be a good time to get your name, or are we in too deep at this point?”

There’s no one else but him. Definitely too trusting.

You nervously chew your lip as you mull that question over. If everything goes like the others intend it to, there won’t be a point in telling him your name. But if he’s still alive by the end of the night, you could be exposing yourself. Still...a name won’t matter either way if he can give a perfect description of you to the Droid Commission.

Suddenly, you decide not to give it any more thought. “It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N, Y/N...” He says your name like he’s tasting a charming new food. “I like it. It suits you.”

Baekhyun’s smile is too sincere, and it doesn’t make you feel any better. “Come on.” You turn your back to him as you lead him through the tall grass and toward a broken section of the bridge’s main road. It leans against the main structure of the bridge and sticks halfway out of the muddy ditch that was once Tokyo Bay, its jagged edge reaching toward the night sky.

It’s darker under here, with the broken bridge blocking out the moon and stars and lights from buildings nearby. Your stomach rolls.

“So, who is this friend of yours?”

You turn to Baekhyun then, and you don’t know if he can read the anxiety on your face. Maybe he can. He’d proudly bragged about his own abilities for figuring people out.

It happens all at once, somehow slow and fast at the same time.

One of the men—the one with two metal legs—slinks out from behind the broken bridge and sneaks up behind Baekhyun, a stun spear in his hands. Its two large metal prongs are lit up with electricity. Those metal prongs are aimed directly at Baekhyun’s back, ready to make contact, but that never happens.

“Look out!” you scream, and shove Baekhyun out of the way. He stumbles off to the side, falling against the concrete bridge, and you wildly grasp the long spear with both hands, blocking the man from reaching Baekhyun.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Metal Legs shouts. He drives the spear’s metal bar forward, knocking it into your upper chest and collarbone with a force that makes your teeth chatter, and the pain and shock take your breath away for a few moments.

You’re not a fighter. You usually try to stay out of any ridiculous brawls when they do happen, whether at your apartment building or the club, but you do your best to hold the dude off. So even though you stumble back, you keep your hold as tight around the spear as you can and shove it back, putting your weight behind the movement and cracking it against the man’s chin. He howls with pain and anger and his hands momentarily loosen on the weapon. You take that opportunity to snatch it completely from him.

Nearby, Baekhyun is busy fending off Lockjaw with a long knife, both of them fully engaged in a fierce clash of blades. You feel a burst of surprise. He was armed this entire time? Had he realized something was suspicious after all? Most of all, how does he know how to fight?

You don’t have much more time to think about that, though. Metal Legs is recovering from the hit, his hand reaching for his side like he’s about to pull out his own knife or gun. You leap forward and shove the prongs of the stun spear into his ribs. He quickly collapses to the dirt, motionless after a handful of frightening convulsions. You feel cold fear at the idea that you might’ve just killed him, but you can’t dwell on that when you see the others bursting out of the tall grass a few yards away from you and Baekhyun. The backup, in case something went wrong—which it most definitely has.

Lockjaw has Baekhyun up against the concrete of the bridge, his knife near Baekhyun’s neck and Baekhyun trying to block the blade. The sharp metal inches increasingly closer to its target. With your legs shaking, you run up behind Lockjaw and dig the electrified prongs into his side, sending more volts through his body than you can imagine.

Lockjaw’s weapon drops, and Baekhyun stumbles away. The man takes a little longer to be knocked unconscious than Metal Legs, but you are relieved when he’s out a few seconds later.

You look at Baekhyun, who appears dazed and winded; you belatedly realize he might’ve received some of the shock too, with both men’s arms locked together when you initially used the spear. “Get out of here! The rest are coming—go!” A shot from a ray gun zips through the air between you two and burns the concrete of the bridge.

Baekhyun looks at you wordlessly. Then he grabs your wrist as tight as a vise. You glance at him questioningly, and your confusion mounts when he drags you along with him as he takes off towards his car. The red smearing across your hand and wrist tells you he must be bleeding from somewhere, and shock blooms in your chest for a wild moment.

The car door opens without him even touching the handle or speaking a command, and he jostles you into the backseat, trying to avoid the spear’s prongs; you’re still holding it tight, as you expected you’d need it to face the others—however futile that would’ve been. You’re so frazzled once you get in the car that it takes you a moment to realize Baekhyun is in the backseat with you. “What are you doing?!”

“Get on the highway,” Baekhyun speaks, ignoring your frantic question, and the engine roars in your ears as the car peels out of the grassy lot. The vehicle narrowly escapes another round of angry shots fired by the others, and the grass sizzles where the shots land.

A self-driving car. Of course he’d have one of those. You stare at the steering wheel as it turns on its own, maneuvering you both away from the scene of the crime and back onto the paved roads.

“Your arm…” You look at the sleeve of Baekhyun’s jacket. It’s torn now, and you can see the skin of his forearm underneath, which displays a long cut. Lucky for him, it’s not deep enough to need stitches. He has similar, smaller ones on his hands.

Baekhyun examines the wound and makes a sound of disgust. “It’ll be fine,” he says decisively. “The bastard wasn’t as good with a knife as he wishes he was.”

You nod silently, though the movement feels mechanical. As the reality of the situation seeps in, a whirlpool of dread forms in your stomach.

“Fuck, I-I’m fucked.”

Baekhyun gives a humorless laugh. “You’re fucked?”

“I’ll...need to lay low for a while.” Then you glance at him. “Unless you’re driving me to the Commission. Then, well…at least they can’t get to me while I’m in prison.” Your laugh is equally humorless.

“You’re going into hiding?” Baekhyun asks, and the corner of his mouth lifts. You don’t expect this reaction. Not after him almost being jacked and led into the situation by none other than you.

His smirk exasperates you. You almost want to roll your eyes at him not realizing why you’d need to hide. Or maybe he’s just playing coy about it; but you give him a break for now. “I ruined the plan and helped you out, so yeah, my own place is not gonna be safe anymore. ‘Friends’ are fleeting out here. Especially if you fuck with someone else’s money.” Valor crosses your mind, the only one you could really call a friend out of all the others—and only because you knew more secrets of his than they did. Your chest tightens with a strange guilt. You should’ve just said no from the beginning.

The car is quiet for a few long moments. Then Baekhyun shatters the silence with, “Come home with me, then. You can stay there for a little while.”

You bark out a laugh. “You can’t be for real.”

He sits back against the leather seat. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t. It’s a waste of time otherwise.”

“After I just—could’ve gotten you killed?”

“I said it before—you’re like an open book. Your emotions are practically written on your face. It’s pretty damn obvious to me you were never truly up for this plan. Unfortunately, you aren’t the badass you think you are, but at least your efforts saved me.”

“But I still—”

“You certainly don’t have to take the offer if you don’t want it.”

You become quiet at that. Even if you don’t think you deserve this level of mercy, you don’t want to shun this offer of safety and be left to contend with the streets alone. Your voice is tense and quiet when you respond. “I’ll take it.”

Baekhyun’s home is a penthouse in the heart of Upper Tokyo, which doesn’t surprise you. The contrast in his neighborhood’s appearance with what you’re used to seeing in Lower Tokyo is stark and painful—spotlessly clean streets with sweepers continually traveling up and down them, bright holographic billboards, people walking around with personal androids accompanying them. You begin to feel resentful again, and you wish you could swallow those feelings after he’s been gracious enough to rescue you, but you can’t help it.

You two must make quite a sight once you pull into the apartment building’s parking garage—you holding a stun spear, wearing a slightly shabby outfit of a T-shirt, jeans, and jacket, and Baekhyun walking out with disheveled, torn clothes and bloody hands. Someone gets out of the parking garage elevator once the doors open, and they give a startled look when they see you two.

“Good to see you, Jongin,” Baekhyun greets the other man. His tone is friendly, but his expression dares the other man to ask any questions—which you both know he won’t.

“Good evening, Baekhyun.” The man gives a slight nod in your direction as he walks past you two, though there’s no hiding the distaste he thinks he’s disguising. His eyes linger on your metal hand, and you feel exposed; you try to convince yourself he’s just looking at the spear, which would also make sense.

You try to shake the feeling off as you and Baekhyun step into the elevator cabin, but confusion rushes over you to replace it. The floor of the elevator is more like a scale, sensing the weight of your bodies and sinking slightly further into the floor once you step onto it.

“What’s that all about?” you ask.

“Oh, yeah. That. This isn’t like your typical elevator, it’s a teleportation channel,” Baekhyun says this nonchalantly as he reaches for the touchscreen panel on the wall.

“Um, what? I don’t want to be teleported anywhere.” You jump right back out of the cabin before the doors can close, and Baekhyun gives you a weary look as he holds them open with one crimson hand.

“It’s safe, you don’t have to worry about anything. All it does is take the atoms in your body and replicate them elsewhere; the floor measures your mass. I’ve done it hundreds of times.”

“You don’t say.” Sarcasm drips from your voice. “Yeah, no thanks. I’m not interested in turning into ground meat on the other side of that thing.”

“There are no stairs in this building, just teleportation channels. If you want to climb the side of the building to get to my place, be my guest.” Baekhyun starts pressing on the panel as if he’ll leave you behind, and panic spikes in your chest. You decide to get back on with him, much to your displeasure.

You close your eyes tight just as the inside of the cabin starts glowing with light, and you can only hope your last lived experience won’t be riding a teleporter with Baekhyun in the same night you tried to mug him.

Surprisingly, the transportation doesn't feel like anything. One minute you’re there on the parking garage ground floor, and the next minute you hear the whoosh of the doors opening again. It’s like you never moved an inch, but you obviously have when the doors reveal the lavish interior of Baekhyun’s home.

Grateful to be at your destination, you step out of the teleporter as quickly as possible. “How did we end up right inside your place?”

“Clever, right? It uses fingerprint recognition so no one else can get access but me, but you’d know that if you hadn’t slammed your eyes shut.”

For all your talk of Baekhyun being out of place in Lower Tokyo, you suddenly feel like the fish out of water inside his penthouse. There’s metal and glass and holographic materials everywhere, which is the same stuff you’d find in Lower Tokyo, but here it’s all much more sleek, shiny, and well-maintained. His living room alone looks bigger than your entire apartment.

“Come on, don’t just stand there.” He gestures for you to follow him further down the hall, and you hesitantly do.

“Um...I don’t really want to carry this all night,” you say, referring to the stun spear still in your hands.

Baekhyun turns back to you, blocking the path to the rest of the hallway. “Do you even know how to turn it off?” It’s still charged with energy. You look at it up and down, but it isn’t immediately obvious to you. You don’t want to admit that, though, and keep awkwardly looking for some sort of Off switch until Baekhyun can’t stand the silence anymore. “Look, just give it to me.”

Your mouth twists at that. It seems nonsensical considering he’s just given you a safe haven, but you’re wary he’ll try to turn the weapon on you. Maybe he was waiting to get you alone and dispose of you himself. He appears to understand your thought process, because he scoffs loudly and holds his hand out for the spear.

“If I really wanted you dead, I could’ve done it in the car—or better yet, let your friends take care of you. Just hand it over.”

“Mm, I think not. I don’t think you’d want to get blood on your pretty leather seats.” Still, you give him the spear, if a bit reluctantly. You don’t know what he does with it, but he takes it into another room and tells you to wait in the hall. When he returns, it’s gone.

Baekhyun leads you to a clean and unoccupied guest room. It’s large, with floor-to-ceiling windows that give an expansive view of the city below. It’s also nicely decorated, much like one of Upper Tokyo’s many upscale hotels, but it seems like it hasn’t seen a warm body in months. There’s a certain lack of warmth to it. “Don’t get many visitors?”

“Now is not the best time to make jokes about me filling my perpetual loneliness with frequent trips to your club, if that’s what you’re attempting to lead up to.” He steps through another door, which you find out leads to the bathroom. “Everything you need should already be here—except clothes. I’ll get those in a moment.”

“Right,” you mumble, your eyes carefully tracing over everything in the bathroom. You know your skeptical behavior is probably pissing him off at this point, but distrust has long become an inherent feature of yours. You’ll keep this act up if you know it’ll get under his skin.

The hot water in this shower doesn’t run out after five minutes like the one back home. You can’t shake the old habit, though, and you wash yourself as quickly as you can, body tensed with adrenaline as you expectantly wait for the warm flow to stop after the five minutes are up. When that doesn’t happen, your muscles relax a little. Though it feels good, you don’t know if you’ll get used to this any time soon.

The clothes he lays out for you on the bed are plain and black, but still better quality than what you’re used to seeing and wearing. Soft on your skin. Smell good. You wonder where he’s went off to—maybe to wash up and patch up his wounds, if he has any sense. You also wonder if you should try exploring his place, but you feel like that’ll be risky; he has too much advanced technology around here that would probably find a way to kick you out of the penthouse window at the first sign of nefarious activity.

...Which is how you end up merely sitting on the bed and waiting to see what will happen next. But not before checking the entire room for any signs of surveillance tech or something else foreboding. This is also when you make the joyous discovery that your phone is missing, and you reason it must’ve fallen out of your pocket in the earlier clash; you know you had it when you first met up with Baekhyun. That pisses you off, but there’s nothing you can do about it now. Though you feel disconcertingly cut off from the outside world without it, who would you even contact anymore? One of the others, who’d probably try to track you down and enact a cold, hard revenge for you blowing up the plan? Lockjaw’s face flashes into your mind, along with the other scalding looks you received the night of the planning, and you shudder slightly.

When Baekhyun comes back to your room—and you’re almost surprised that he does—he looks significantly smaller in presence without his all-black clothes, glittering face chains, and heavy makeup.

Indeed, the man standing in front of you with damp hair, baggy pajamas, and bandaged hands doesn’t seem like the same suave person from the club at all.

“So now what?” you say, raising an eyebrow at him.

He shrugs. “Well, if you’re going to be living here, you need a tour.”

Living with Baekhyun isn’t quite what you expected it to be. He’s home more often than you’d think, for one. You would’ve thought he’d always be in business meetings or off somewhere finding more luxury goods to buy or just doing whatever. You can’t really get mad at him for being in his own home, but you try to keep space between the two of you. With your own designated spaces, it’s not hard to do this, which you are at least marginally glad about.

Trying to deal with Baekhyun while completely sober isn’t your idea of a walk in the park. Despite yourself, you wish you could go back to the club even once; Baekhyun certainly won’t let you drink up all his liquor, nor will he tell you where he’s hidden it. For your own good, he claims. Sure.

To your surprise and slight relief, he doesn’t ply you for any more details about your arm, though you’ve definitely caught him running his eyes across it more than once—studying it like words on a page. Whatever’s spinning around in that mind of his, you can only guess. His lingering interest only makes you think he’s scheming for a way to take the arm off you when you’re sleeping or equally vulnerable, though, so you remain guarded around him.

“One day, you’ll have to understand that I’m not the evil villain you think I am,” he tells you. He regards your attempts to avoid him with a certain bored amusement, like how one might think of a particularly entertaining pet cat.

You let the steam of the food you’re cooking billow up across your face, making your eyes water from the slightly-too-warm heat before answering. Leave it to him to bother you during one of the times when you can get some undisturbed, Baekhyun-free peace. “Maybe you should stop dressing up as one whenever you go out, then.”

He chuckles. “It’s like you’ve made it your personal mission to throw verbal stabs at me whenever possible.”

You shrug. “I have to do something to pass the time here.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “You could do that just by having a normal conversation with me.”

You cross your arms, looking at him from where he stands at the kitchen island. He’s in his dressed-down form now, sans eyeliner and jewelry.

His kitchen is not like any other you’ve encountered, fully equipped with the capabilities to make every single one of his meals by itself—and order more ingredients whenever necessary. It’s undoubtedly convenient. But you often still like to make food of your own, just so you don’t have to feel so...dependent on him for every little thing. “About what?”

“About who you are. What you like. What you dream about—I don’t know, something.”

“What I dream about.” You make a noise of disbelief. “How can you waste time on dreams when you live the life I do? I just focus on trying to survive. That’s it.”

Baekhyun opens his mouth automatically like he’ll say something, but he pauses as if he’s just absorbed the full weight of your words. Suddenly, there’s a certain sadness pooling in his eyes and pulling at the corners of his mouth, and you hate it—intensely. You don’t want his pity or sympathy. And yet, he’s already given it to you by letting you live in his home.

“Before you say something pathetic, just don’t,” you blurt out, wanting to stop him before he can start. “You want to talk? My favorite color is green, and my favorite food—alcohol. I have an arm made of fucking titanium, the club was my main hangout spot, and I hate entitled people. Talk about that.”

Baekhyun’s sympathy evaporates into an unimpressed expression, lost just as quickly as a whisper on the wind. “Closing the door again, I see. Alright. Have it your way.” He leaves the room then, giving his back to you and shutting you out similar to how you just did to him.

This should be what you wanted. But it only makes you feel oddly unsatisfied.

“Here.” Baekhyun slides something across the table towards you after dinner one day—another dinner where you sit on opposite ends of the table and where you try to ignore his existence. You instantly recognize the small, glistening package as a cellphone, though it’s a model much more advanced than you could’ve afforded.

You look up at him as he stands in front of you, one of his hands shoved into the pocket of his black pants. “...What are you doing?”

“Giving you something to communicate with so you don’t feel like some princess stuck in a glass castle.” You roll your eyes at that. “I’m not sure who you’d talk to since all your friends do hate you, but the thought counts. And everyone needs a phone.”

You sit forward to look at the phone in its packaging, tracing your metal fingers against the surface. The sensation circling around in your stomach is an odd one. “Please don’t tell me that you hosting me in your penthouse was just an easy way to get a sugar baby.”

Baekhyun looks slightly flustered at that accusation, and you’re gleefully, childishly pleased about taking him off guard. His surprise is quickly replaced with a shit-eating grin, though. “It’s nothing like that; I could’ve already had that kind of arrangement 100 times over.” His tone suggests that he has, which sends a chill crawling up your spine. But maybe not 100 times over. “I did it to help you out. But if thinking of it that way gets you off, be my guest.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Byun,” you say, taking the phone out gingerly. It’s a lightweight thing, looking like it might dissolve if you look at it too hard. Its screen is clear raised glass—which you assume will project out the hologram technology this phone is inevitably equipped with—and has silver backing. It’s a piece of work. Though it appears fragile, you know it’s sturdier than that—or it wouldn’t be such a popular model as it is now. “It’s...nice, though.”

Baekhyun waves his hand noncommittally. “I wouldn’t settle for anything less—even if it’s for someone as eternally pissed-off as you.” You bite your lip against the rebuttal that wants to come rolling out, instead preoccupying yourself with figuring out the controls on this thing. Which takes an embarrassingly long moment. Baekhyun watches you for the duration of it, biting his own lip against the urge to laugh at the frustrated furrow between your brows and the crinkling of your nose. Really, the phone looks like a thin sheet of metal with a slice of glass over it; how are you supposed to operate this? Eventually, he says, “There’s a button on the bottom that activates it...you have to press that.”

“Right, clearly.” You try to rid yourself of your embarrassment as you turn the thing on, but even as Baekhyun leaves the room you can hear his chains clinking together as he laughs silently at your confusion.

As if your life could not get any more chaotic, your metal arm begins malfunctioning. 

The metal is not as flexible as it was just a few days before, and it gives you a hard time whenever you try to do simple maneuvers. Your arm is overtaken by a sensation that feels like nerve damage with how the entire limb and shoulder tingle and burn from wires that no longer want to do as they’re told. You’re not entirely sure what’s wrong with it—a good oiling could usually fix any stiffness when necessary, but this nervy feeling is new.

For a while, you try to hide it from Baekhyun, which feels kind of ridiculous even to you. You’re only hurting yourself more, but you are a little too prideful to give him the pleasure of inspecting your arm like he’d always wanted to from the start. You don’t want to be his science experiment.

However, it comes to a point when you must ask for help when your arm stops working entirely.

You wake up to this terrible realization. After another morning of having gotten only a little sleep the night before, something immediately feels wrong. Your arm is dead weight beside you. When you try to sit up, it doesn’t respond to your movements. You can only feel the painful tug on the flesh part of your shoulder where the weight of the metal pulls at it, and you groan in pain and annoyance.

You support your arm with your other hand to prevent the tugging, which quickly gets exhausting and annoying as you try to go through the morning motions. You can’t keep this up while washing, so by the time you get out of the shower, your shoulder is killing you from where the arm dangles.

When you get to the common room, Baekhyun isn’t there. He isn’t anywhere else in his penthouse, either. You don’t even know how long he’s been gone. When you bring yourself to finally call his number, you bitterly remember that you still don’t have it saved in your phone. You want to scream in irritation. You can’t leave to go look for him—yeah, right—or get help from anyone else, either, because of the fingerprint recognition on his apartment entrance. Now that you think about it, you are like a princess in a glass castle here. That reawakens another bout of anger in you. Safe haven or cage?

Baekhyun appears an hour or two later—you’re not totally certain, having refused to expend the strength to move from your current spot to check the time—wearing his usual getup. You don’t know if you should be relieved, but an emotion similar to that sweeps through you despite your lingering apprehension and dislike.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. His eyebrows crease when he sees you splayed across his couch, your metal arm propped up on the couch back.

Don’t be combative, you think to yourself. But it’s like an impulse; you can’t stop yourself. “Why do you immediately assume something’s wrong?”

“You’ve never been so casual,” he gestures to your posture, “around me or in my place before, so I’m trying to figure out if your brain has been infected by cyber bugs or something. Because if we need to quarantine, then—”

“Well, you’re not totally wrong for once.” You struggle to sit up, your movements stiff, and your arm slides off the couch back and slumps limply to your side. Baekhyun's eyebrows shoot towards his hairline at that, and he looks at you questioningly, stepping closer to you.

“What happened to your arm?”

“Don’t even fucking know…it’s been feeling weird for a week.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

You look up at him, cynicism coloring your expression. “I’m sure you can take a wild guess.”

He gives the familiar sigh-and-eye-roll combo, like he’s done probably a hundred times since he’s met you. “Yeah, I can.” He waves his hand. “No matter. I’m calling Yosuke.”

“Who’s Yosuke?” You turn to watch Baekhyun retreat—probably to his bedroom or office. He turns back to you momentarily.

“Someone who can fix your arm.”

— 

Yosuke turns out to be a man around the same age as Baekhyun—a big contrast to the older, wizened cyberneticist you’d pictured in your mind. He and Baekhyun act overly familiar with each other, apparently being long-time friends since their younger years.

There is no difference in how he treats you and Baekhyun, which is another thing you didn’t quite expect. He is clearly wealthy like Baekhyun, coming in with a nice suit and expensive jewelry and a suitcase full of more tools than you’ve even seen before, but he doesn’t have the haughty rich man aura. That makes you feel a little more comfortable, and you are glad that Baekhyun let you have some privacy with this and left the lab for the actual procedure. Even if it meant he didn’t get his wish of poring over your arm’s wiring like some kind of cybernetics kinkster.

To your relief, the fix is simple enough. The implanted electrodes in your shoulder that help send signals between your brain’s neurons and the artificial nerves have failed, but those are relatively simple to replace.

“Shitty tech, I guess,” you mumble, casting a displeased look at your arm. You aren’t sure why, but you feel embarrassed about it failing on you. Maybe you just thought it’d be reliable forever. “I got it as part of an experimental research program, so it was probably never going to be the most dependable thing anyway…”

“Hm.” Yosuke smiles. “Maybe not, but it’s still an extraordinary piece of work—especially in this early form. Some of these mechanisms are new even to me. Was that the 2110 Tokyo trial, by chance?”

You nod, though you feel a tiny bit less relaxed with knowing that even Yosuke doesn’t recognize all the intricacies of your limb. Hopefully you’ll still walk out in one piece. “Yeah, the very one.”

“Excellent work,” he reiterates. “It was an early research trial, but still yielded some of the most functional and human-like large-scale cybernetics of the last few years. You could’ve done a lot worse. Maybe you already know that, though.”

“Maybe,” you repeat quietly, but you are mostly speaking to yourself now.

—

After the electrode replacement is done in Baekhyun’s home lab, you can finally feel your arm like normal again. Yosuke does a few sensory feedback and dexterity tests to make sure your arm can function as it should, and he promises to come back the next day for another round just to be sure.

You almost don’t want Yosuke to go when he finally does pack up to leave. It feels nice to be around someone who doesn’t inspire some wretched, nonsensical anger in you.

Baekhyun slips back into the lab after Yosuke leaves, and you glance up from your arm at his arrival. He looks at your bandaged shoulder and watches appreciatively as you flex your metal fingers. “All good now?”

“It’s fine,” you mumble. “Thanks.” Saying that word to him is not easy, but you relent, figuring you should at least give him that much. “You should be thanking the gods you don’t have to go through this kinda shit.”

“Really.” It’s not a question, the way he says it. It’s filled with sarcasm. Baekhyun reaches down and rolls up his left pant leg, his chains hanging as he does, and you recoil, confused. Why the fuck is he showing you his bare leg?

“It’s cybernetic,” he says, barely concealed pride in his voice. “You can’t even tell, the work is so good.” Something like jealousy and anger stirs in your chest. Even if you had wanted to tuck those emotions back in, they’ve escaped from the cage now and are intent on running rampant.

“So. Byun Baekhyun is part-metalhead, after all?” You slide off the surgical chair you were sitting in for Yosuke’s procedure, coming to stand a couple feet in front of Baekhyun. You look down at his leg—which, for all intents and purposes, looks like a completely flesh-and-blood limb. “You joker. Quit fuckin’ around.”

“It’s not a lie.” He knows you won’t believe him, so he taps a spot behind his ankle twice. A long, thin panel that stretches from just above his ankle to his upper thigh opens on his leg, exposing the wiring and metal within. You can’t school your expression in time, and your mouth drops. “Incredible, right? Custom-made. So, yes…I do have an idea what it’s like.”

“Custom-made, huh.” You bite your lip so hard you think it might bleed. “Unbelievable. You’re the kind of person who does these things because you want to, because you can, not because your survival hinges on it. You must truly think you’re special.” The words come hurtling past your lips like venom.

“I didn’t choose this on a whim,” Baekhyun argues, straightening up to face you and letting his pant leg back down. The look on his face says his patience has finally run out, presumably tired of you throwing insult after insult at him since you’ve been in his home. “You don’t know anything about me other than what you’ve seen and heard on screens and from others. I’ve tried to get familiar with you. You reject it at every turn.”

“I don’t want to ‘get familiar’ with someone who gets custom cybernetics that cost hundreds of thousands just because they fuckin’ felt like it, while the rest of us have to do it just to get enough money to live for maybe a year on.” You’re gritting your teeth so hard that your jaw feels like it might crack.

Baekhyun steps closer to you, diminishing the space between you further. His eyes burn with animosity. “I was in a car accident, Y/N. I was just a teenager. No one even knows this but the people closest to me, and I don’t want anyone else to know it. I lost my leg and nearly my life with it. Before you start preaching to me about choices versus survival, realize that you aren’t the only fucking person in the world who’s ever had to do what was needed to survive.”

Your breath catches. You feel like the wind has been knocked out of you. Suddenly, all the fight drains from your system, and you are left feeling deflated and cold. His blazing eyes feel like two bullets trained on you, and your gaze falters.

Baekhyun doesn’t wait to see if you’ll have another response lined up for him; he turns heel and stalks out of the room.

As promised, Yosuke returns the next day for your additional tests. Your conversation with him isn’t as enjoyable as it could be. You are still reeling from Baekhyun’s revelation and unsure how to approach him. Neither of you spoke to each other for the rest of that night, instead choosing to actively avoid each other. You know you can’t keep this game up forever, though.

“Baekhyun’s in a sour mood today,” Yosuke remarks. “Rare for him. Any idea why?”

You shake your head, worrying your lower lip with your teeth. “Mmm...no.”

The slight smile on Yosuke’s face tells you he doesn’t believe you. “Well...I’m sure you two will figure it out sooner or later. He seems to have an affinity for you.”

“What?”

“He was pretty concerned when he contacted me about your arm. He’s mentioned you before then, too. He seems fascinated by you.”

You purse your lips together. You remember his days of annoying flirting in the club, which feel so far away now, and how he’d come to you with a bunch of flowery words and told you he’d taken a liking to you. Perhaps he was really telling the truth about that. You wonder if he possibly mentioned the attempted mugging to Yosuke, and you cough nervously.

“Well, he’s…” you wave your flesh hand, “...a character.”

Yosuke chuckles. “You two seem kind of fitting, I don’t know why. Similar love for recklessness, maybe—from how he describes you, anyway. Like peas in a pod.”

Fitting? Peas in a damn pod? The next words come thoughtlessly rushing out of you in an effort to change his mind and slap away whatever outlandish idea he has of you and the other man. “I don’t want Baekhyun.”

Yosuke raises an eyebrow, though he keeps his gaze on your arm as he watches the movements of your metallic fingers for any irregularities. “I never said you did, Y/N.”

In your haste, it occurs to you that maybe Yosuke really was just referring to your similarities—which you’ll continue to vehemently deny—rather than suggesting any deeper connection. Though that’s what it sounded like to you. Fuck. You don’t know anymore.

Is this what they’d call a Freudian slip, then? How wonderful. You rub your temples with your free hand and shake your head. “Then let’s just forget the last few minutes of this conversation.”

Yosuke smiles. “Whatever you’d like to do.”

—

Yosuke leaves soon after he’s finished testing your arm, but he reassures you that you can see each other again if you feel like having the company—just have Baekhyun arrange things.

Speaking of Baekhyun. You should probably say something to him. You’re not enthusiastic about puttering around his home feeling even more awkward than you did when you first arrived there. So, you walk to his office and knock on the door, turning your ear to it to see if he’ll give a response. You don’t have to wait to hear one, though, because the door panel slides back on its own.

You’ve never been in his office before, though you knew where it was—it was one of the places he decided not to show you on his little house tour—but it’s just as obnoxiously streamlined and full of tech as every other part of his home. Baekhyun sits behind his desk, elbows propped on its surface and fingers crossed together.

“Y/N.” His voice holds none of the playfulness, casualness, or even cool sarcasm you’ve heard from him before.

You step a few feet forward into his office. You feel like you’re standing underneath a spotlight, lit up for the entirety of the world to see. In reality, it’s just you and him here—Byun Baekhyun, one of the richest men in Japan.

He stays silent, presumably waiting for you to speak first. That is what you came here for, so you do, even if it makes you feel like you’re going to peel out of your skin.

“I was a dick. I’m sorry.”

Baekhyun blinks. “An apology? From you? The world must be ending.”

“I’m trying to be serious here, Byun.” You sigh. “I was...wrong to assume what I did about you. I guess...I don’t really know anything about you...but. I felt like I had you all figured out already. So, I’m sorry.”

The tension in Baekhyun’s shoulders releases, if only a little. His expression shifts into something not quite as impenetrable as it was just a few moments ago, but not completely open, either. “Apology accepted, then.”

“Thanks.” You shove your hands into your pockets. “Well, I thought...if I’m not to make any more assumptions about you, I should probably get to know more about you?” 

Baekhyun looks interested now, and he releases his hands from their formerly tense position. He leans forward slightly. “Then I should do the same with you.”

Your hackles raise, despite you trying to keep yourself more open-minded. “I...don’t want to. You know enough already.”

Exasperated, Baekhyun spreads his hands out in front of him. “Here we go again. What are you so afraid of? And why even ask me about myself if you don’t want to share anything about you?”

“You can think of it as gathering intel—not making friends. I’m not asking you about your life story so we can have picnics together and talk about our wildest dreams.”

Baekhyun scoffs in disbelief. “When are you ever going to be honest with yourself? Emotional constipation isn’t a good look for you.”

“Honest with myself about what?”

“You are attracted to me. You are interested in me beyond supposedly gathering intel. And for some reason I can’t conceive, it enrages you.” The words come off his lips with the trace of a smirk, and though they make your skin prickle with heat, his smirk makes you want to jump across the desk and land one good punch on him.

You snort. “You’re a piece of work. Attracted to you? Everyone doesn’t throw themselves at the first person with a whiff of money or notoriety.”

Baekhyun gets up from his desk to step closer to you, much like he did the other day. He’s close enough for you to count the moles on his face, barely noticeable except for when he’s at this proximity. His cologne wraps its scented arms around you and pulls you in. You didn’t notice it as acutely yesterday, too embroiled in the argument and trying to process what he revealed to you, but now it hits you full on. How is this not considered some kind of olfactory warfare?

“Then tell me you don’t want me.” He whispers it to you in that same stupid, silky voice he’d always used in the club. That voice, combined with his scent, transports you straight back to that environment—the pungent taste of alcohol, the blinding neon lights, the ear-splitting music. And the one man who you just can’t figure out.

You open your mouth only slightly, afraid to breathe in more of his fragrance and lose yourself to it like a fool. “Fuck you.”

“That’s not an answer.” Baekhyun’s voice remains in the same low whisper, and he grins like he already knows the truth. “But I can do that, if you’d like.”

It doesn’t take much effort for him to close the rest of the space between you. When he kisses you, you don’t slap him, stomp on his foot, or knee him in the balls like you might’ve thought you would. Instead, you kiss him back—gradually, tentatively, but your lips fall into a rhythm with each other’s.

His lip piercing is unyielding on your skin; the edges of it press into your lip. The kiss is not rough or even frantic. You think this all might’ve been easier if it was—easier to allow yourself to keep hating him so intensely and channel that energy into your actions. However, all your previous thoughts of knocking his head off or pulling his lip ring off fall away; you just allow yourself to exist solely in this moment and absorb the feeling of his lips on yours.

Maybe now you could allow yourself to admit—internally, at least—that yes...you did want this. You wanted it from the first ridiculous time you met him in the club, and when he put his insolent hand on your shoulder. Whispered into your ear like he knew exactly what effect it was going to have.

Baekhyun’s bedroom—the one other place he hadn’t shown you besides his office—is neatly arranged and smells entirely like him. Other than those base things, you don’t care what the rest of the room is like. When you both somehow make it there, Baekhyun backs you up onto the bed, his lips still attached to yours.

The weight of his body is solid on yours. His tongue nudging against your lips and asking for entrance makes your body flush with heat. Before you can get fully invested, you pull away. He looks at you questioningly.

“Take this off,” you mutter, pushing his face chains away from you. He laughs lowly, pulling away from you to take his piercing out and put the chains away.

Pulling your clothes off comes naturally; it doesn’t feel clumsy and stilted like it did the last time you slept with someone. Baekhyun’s hands flit over every inch of newly exposed skin he can access.

The way Baekhyun touches your metal arm is reverent, worshipful, and you hadn’t realized how much you needed this—this kind of unabashed admiration—until it happened. No one has ever touched your metal arm in a way that wasn’t clinical or otherwise similarly detached. His fingers glide across it like it’s still made of skin and blood and bone, and he kisses the length of it, up to your neck and all the way back down to your metallic fingers again.

Water beads at the corners of your eyes. You try to ignore it. You don’t even acknowledge the few tears that do slip out, sliding towards your ears from your supine position.

Baekhyun lifts himself to be level with your face again. You turn away from him, too afraid to see whatever emotion will be lying in his eyes—not wanting to reveal the full magnitude of your vulnerability to him—but you don’t say a word when he presses his lips against the tear tracks on your skin.

Funnily, ironically, every motion comes instinctively. Him rocking against you, his heavy, dark breaths echoing in your ears, his long and low moans—your lips searching for his, your teeth creating blooming bruises on his skin. Though you have pushed him away and dismissed his proffered company at every opportunity, this intimacy feels like a grand coming-together—something that was bound to happen at the end of every road.

—

The sheets are twisted, the sweat is cooling on your skin, and you are both tired but satisfied. Content in a way that neither of you have truly been in a long time. You rest your head on Baekhyun’s chest, closing your eyes and listening to him breathe underneath you, the metal of your arm still warm from the heat of his skin. 

“I could give you an upgrade.”

Your mouth twitches. You think you might have imagined the words, so you stay silent for a while longer until Baekhyun nudges your arm, checking if you’ve already fallen asleep.

“Upgrade?”

“Your arm. I could...have a new arm built. One like my leg.”

You sit up to look at him, the sheets falling from your body. “Don’t say pretty things you think I want to hear just because you’re still in the post-orgasm haze.”

Baekhyun blows air out of his nose, too tired to properly argue or even scoff at you. “Like I said before, I don’t waste time saying things I don’t mean.” His voice quiets. “We both know you can’t get your limb back, but...I could...give you something to help, at least. It’s...easier to deal with the cybernetics when they actually look like they belong on your body.” You know he speaks from experience there, by the way his gaze falters and drops to his lap.

“To feel more like a human again, huh.” Some part of you—multiple parts of you, maybe—had still been grieving over the arm you’d given up almost two years ago. Maybe it was a silly thing to be hurt over compared to the many other problems in your world, but it was difficult to stop feeling like you’d sold away a portion of yourself for nothing. Nothing but fleeting money.

Baekhyun’s offer stirs something in you. You turn your body away from him, feeling the tingle in your nose and eyes again that could only signal one thing. “Stop doing this. Being so...I don’t know, forgiving. Not after all I’ve done and said to you.”

Baekhyun sits up then, resting his hands on your arms. “I want to do this for you. Stop acting like you don’t deserve anything good in the world.”

You turn back to face him after a long moment, though the tears still linger in your eyes. “I don’t want to be the only one who benefits.” You shake your head slowly. “If you really agree to give me a new arm...you have more than enough resources to help change the nightmare Lower Tokyo has become. Help them. Help us. I don’t want to be some one-off experiment or pet project you discard once you’ve gotten your fill—some broken bitch from Lower Tokyo you think you can fix and turn into one of your family’s many success stories.”

Baekhyun is breathless from your admission; this is the most transparent you’ve been with him since you’ve met. Though part of him wants to shrivel back from your words, he clings to your long-awaited honesty, even if it is only shared with him to rebuke him and his family’s selfishly opulent ways. He thinks of why you pushed so hard against him trying to make a personal domain of Lower Tokyo, leaving the comforts of his own place to absorb the shadows of yours, and a better understanding of your rejection begins to dawn in his mind. Tentatively, he brings one of his hands from your arm to your cheek, thinking you might still wince away from him, but you don’t move.

“You’re right.” His voice is tight with the knowledge of it. “I can help, Y/N. You, and everyone else. I mean—I will. If there is one thing you can trust me on…let it be this.”

You stare into his dark brown eyes, trying to hunt for any signs of dishonesty, though you find none. There is only the heat of his hand on your face, and his open, yielding expression. “I will hold you to that, Byun Baekhyun.”

[youryanderedaddy]

Hello, dear 💛 firstly, I am congratulating you for your blog, you’re doing an amazing stuff and I’d very delighted to support ya’ 💕 so here’s mine; what about a hitman/assassin yandere who is very infamous in underworld for his reputation finally finding his darling, what would be his first encounter and the after? A little bit smutty maybe? It’s up to you, 🌹

Aww, thank you so much for the support and for the idea. I hope that you will like how it turned out. It isn’t as filthy as I wish it was, but oh well, there is always a next time lol

 Title: Stone cold 

 Tw: female reader, obssessive behavior, non-con, dub-con, veery slight knife play, slight dirty talk 

   You should have known that something was up the very moment someone knocked on your door on a Friday night – it was unusual. Especially when you take into an account the weird accidents that had been happening the last three months. People in the neighborhood went missing one by one, some of your personal items like clothes, lipsticks and even toothbrushes were stolen and you always felt a pair of eyes burning a hole through your back. But still, you didn’t want to freak yourself out and tried to stay positive, reasonable. If someone wanted to take you out, they would have already done it, right?

 While mentally encouraging yourself, you slowly got closer to the black door. By now the knocking had stopped, but you could hear the soft breathing of your visitor outside of the apartment. In a way you really wanted to stop for a second and rationalize why this unknown person was breathing so damn loud, but decided against it – what good would it do anyways? With that in mind you finally reached out to unlock the door and slowly opened it to reveal a man, covered from head to toes in black. The darkness of the corridor had swallowed  all of his recognizable features and you could only make out his eyes, while his mouth and nose were hidden away by a ski mask. And if this wasn’t alarming enough, the bulge in his right pocket looked suspiciously close to the shape of a gun.

“Caught you.” The intruder hummed, looking more than pleased with himself, and his eyes sparkled with a wild emotion you didn’t know the name of. Your body was paralyzed at the sight of the weapon and you were starting to regret moving into such a dangerous area where no trace of a police involvement could be found. Not that you would have the time to call them anyways since the next moment the man had managed to push you  to the floor with a loud „boom”, pinning your body down with his own. You finally gained the courage to scream your heart out, but your terrified cries were quickly muffled by the gloved hand, covering your mouth.

 “You scream one more time and I will drill a fucking hole into your pretty little head.” The man whispered into your ear in a dark, eerie voice. “Right here.” He gently touched your forehead in a clear warning. You broke out into a cold sweat, but remained motionless, immobile. “Do you understand me?” The hitman asked huskily and pressed his elbow into your shrinking stomach. You nodded quickly, your heart now racing so fact you could almost feel the abrupt beats against your skin. You had made a grave mistake opening the door, but it was too late now.

 “Good.” The stranger smirked like a wolf, ready to tear apart the innocent lifeless lamb in front of him. He finally raised his hand away from your mouth. As if to prove your darkest fears and theories, the man suddenly took a sharp shiny knife out of his left pocket and slowly ran it trough your exposed collarbone. He only let the very end touch your skin but its coldness, combined with the adrenaline rushing into your veins, were enough to send you over the edge with fear. “Don’t panic. I have already decided to keep you for myself, so as long as you behave, I have no reason to hurt you. ” The man finally uttered after watching you squirm helplessly for a while, the stupid teasing smile never leaving his lips. He took off his mask and dropped the knife on the ground, just a few inches away from your carotid artery, and fiddled with the first button of your thin shirt. This mere action of his made shivers run down your spine and you couldn’t help, but shut your eyes tight, just for a moment, just to put yourself together.

 “Why are you doing this?” You whimpered, cringing at the way your voice broke into a sob right at the end. You never thought that you would be violated on the cold, hard floor by an unhinged psychopath, but fate always finds a way to screw with us, they say.

 “Do you know who I am, princess?” The man asked with a smug, arrogant expression on his face. You shook your head in response. In an alternative universe you might have thought that the intruder was quite handsome – broad shoulders, dark green eyes, a well defined jaw line and a strong muscular body. But in the current situation the only word you could use to describe the dangerous fellow was insane. He had shamelessly attacked you in your own home, your supposed safe heaven, and showed no remorse whatsoever. “You might not know me, but I know you.” The man continued. “I used to work with your father. ” His gaze was now fixed on you. “I doubt that daddy dearest has ever shared with you what he does for a living, but tell you, it isn’t pretty.” The trespasser lowered his head to bite at the soft skin of your neck, making the hairs on your neck bristle due to the unexpected contact with his teeth and because of that you couldn’t even register the hurtful words he was spitting about your father. You didn’t want to believe him anyways. “But he made a mistake.” The man added, still licking your sensitive skin. “The bastard messed with the wrong people. Stole money from my boss too. Lots and lots of it.”

 “T-that can’t be true.” You moaned in discomfort against your better judgment and tried to kick at his joints out of impulse. But of course, he quickly grabbed your leg before any damage was done and pinned it back to the floor.

 “Oh, but it is, princess. And that’s where I come into the picture.” The man purred contentedly, his attention on you once again. “I am quite infamous in the underworld, ya see. ” He stopped to make air quotes with his fingers. “ My name is Edgar, I am an assassin. I would kill anyone and everyone for the right price. ” For a second the murderer stared at intensely. You could swear that his eyes turned red in a spar of moments and in them you saw a mixture of bloodlust and a desire for flesh. “So when  they asked me to hunt you down in order to mess with your dad, I obviously agreed. It started off as a way to make an easy buck, but the more I followed you around and collected private information, the more I postponed killing you.” The man sighed, seemingly frustrated with himself. “At first I thought that I wanted to plan out your disposal well ahead of time and that’s why I was wasting so much time, but soon enough I realized I was interested in you.” He smiled softly this time as if he was recalling a pleasant memory, involving you. “You were so sweet, so… normal. I wanted you.”  The assassin admitted at last and took a deep breath. His little confession had made you vivid, frantic with worry, and suddenly you were a living, breathing creature again. You scratched at the back of his neck and summoned all of your strength left to get your hand out of his grasp. You tried to punch him right in the face, but your attempts were fruitless as he easily overpowered you. Before you could strike again the ruthless killer picked up his knife from next to you and put the blade under your chin. His eyes sparkled with childlike excitement.

 “There is no point in fighting me. Everyone already thinks you’re dead, I made sure of it.” The man moved the edge down, stopping at your cleavage. He licked his lips suggestively and the alarms in your mind went crazy all over again. “Your life belongs to me – your body and your heart too. I will take you right here and there is nothing you can do to stop me.” Edgar laughed cruelly as he cut the fabric of your blouse, revealing your chest, hidden by your plain bra. With one swift move the string holding it together was ripped apart and your upper body was fully exposed to the hungry eyes of the stranger. He cupped your breasts with his palms and massaged them gently, twisting your erect nipples lightly with his fingers. You wanted to numb the unfortunately pleasurable feeling but it wasn’t going away as the intruder kept on teasing the swollen tips.

 “S-stop!” You protested, shaking your shoulders violently. Everything was starting to feel too real and you couldn’t let the savage man take away from you something so intimate and personal. In the end he paid no mind to your continuous struggles and selfishly did as he wished.  Soon enough his hand traveled down your thighs, to your crotch. Edgar slid his wrist beside the elastic waistband of your panties and wasted no time, starting to rub the sweet spot between your legs. You held back a moan, as the embarrassment washed over you.

 “Don’t hold your voice back, princess.” The assassin growled in your ear, pressing harder on your sensitive bud. You couldn’t help, but cry out due to the intense pleasure you were receiving. “Yeah, just like that, let me hear you.” The man kept fingering you, while you arched your back, and eventually you felt yourself getting damp down there. The killer chuckled, satisfied with your cute reaction and the way you were squirming around his forefinger.

 “You act like you hate all of this, but your pussy is so wet, baby.” He suddenly drew his fingers in and out of your entrance, making a lewd pop of splashing juices just to get his point across. “You might turn out to be a little slut after all, huh.” Edgar whispered in your ear and licked the trace of salty tears down your scarlet cheeks. Your face felt red and hot, your eyes were still shut tight. The way his touch made you feel was so invasive, yet ecstatic none the less

 After the man had stretched you properly, he was ready to claim his prize. The assassin had spent so much time stalking you, following you, desiring you and now he finally had you in his arms, exposed and split open for him alone. Moving down to leave wet kisses and love bites along your shoulders and collarbone, the intruder lowered himself onto your tight, sloppy hole and you felt his hard erect member rubbing onto your tight entrance. A new powerful wave of hot, choking tears fell down your cheeks as you shook your head violently.

 “Please, I am begging you, don’t do it!” You whimpered, defeated and light-headed from the fear, arousal and adrenaline, pumping in your veins. Edgar ignored your pathetic pleas and instead decided to shut you up by gently pressing his lips against yours, moaning into his little seal of love. He pushed his big throbbing cock into your heat ruthlessly, unable to wait any longer, simply using your wetness as a lube. The murderer started thrusting into you in a steady, harsh rhythm, without giving you the time to adjust to his inhuman length. In just a few minutes your mind had stopped worked and you were reduced to a mumbling mess of tiny moans and mewls.

 “S-shit, you feel so good, princess. So fucking tight.” The man exclaimed, breathing heavily and quickly moving his hips back and forth along the way. One particular move of his send you very close to the edge and your walls clenched down on his dick, which didn’t go unnoticed. “Did I hit your sweet spot?” The man smirked, running a hand trough his sweaty dark hair. The other one went straight to your nipples, twisting and rolling them once again. You couldn’t stop yourself from crying out in unwanted, but intense pleasure. “Wanna cum, baby?” Edgar teased, as he touched every part of you  – your breasts, your belly and your soft thighs. “Wanna squirt all over my cock?” The criminal kept taunting you, driving you crazy little by little. “Do it. Cum for me, princess.” Soon enough your sensitive, over stimulated body convulsed as the powerful hot orgasm washed over you. You felt dizzy, tired and lost. Unfortunately, the crazed man wasn’t finished yet – he kept thrusting and thrusting, until he finally released into your very core.

 Once his breathing calmed down, the intruder pecked your cheek tenderly, pulling you in his lap. It went better than he had imagined it would.

 “You did so well, princess. So good for me.” Edgar stroked your hair lightly, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. But you couldn’t make half of his words as exhaustion and shame overtook your tired mind, the voice in your head screaming louder than the man’s love affirmations. But maybe it was better that way – anything else would be too painful after everything that had happened. “You are mine now.” The killer spoke after a while, before hugging you even tighter. Soon enough you would realize there wasn’t an easy way out of his warm, deathly embrace.

[lazywonderlvnd]

this is a tiny soft birthday piece for @l0vegl0wsinthedark -- you deserve way more than u think u do my angel and i hope this lifts ur spirits just enough to enjoy ur day like u should (and while i’m finishing a whole ass fic for you) happy birthday ilysm ❤️❤️❤️

includes: lots of weed smoking, kissing boys, and a room full of gryffindors and slytherins getting along

The chair is definitely made for one person, but that hasn’t stopped Draco from making himself comfortable on Harry’s lap in an entitled manner reminiscent of Crookshanks. In fact Crookshanks, in Harry’s opinion, looks a bit annoyed at the stolen bit of real estate. He’s contented himself with Ron’s lap but he’s watching Draco with an almost human expression of contempt.

There’s a layer of smoke sitting stagnant at about head height, like a potent cloud, that Harry had noticed five minutes ago and can’t unsee now. Had they really smoked that much?

He looks around the room: at Seamus, who is speaking rapidly and with extravagant hand gestures to Blaise in an Irish accent so thick Harry can make out only one in five words; at Hermione, with one of the two circulating joints in hand, laughing with tears in her eyes at something Ginny’s just said; at Luna, holding the other and staring peacefully off into space, completely unaware of Pansy sneaking glances at her. Yes, perhaps they had smoked that much. Goyle looks utterly blazed too, his eyes bloodshot and slitted, fingers positively caked with cheese dust from a bag of crisps. 

Bringing his focus back round to Draco on his lap — who is, from his position, engaged in conversation with Dean — Harry gives a great yawn and shifts a bit, trying to relieve the slight tingling in his right leg. Draco readjusts himself without missing a beat, moving some of his weight around to Harry’s other thigh and continuing uninterrupted in his spiel about … well, Harry’s not sure, really. He thinks it’s something about some artist or another, Draco’s current obsession.

“Harry!” 

He turns, blinking, to see Hermione holding the joint towards him and shaking it. The ash falls off and lands on the carpet.

“Oh — oops,” she giggles. “Sorry. I said your name a million times. Here, take it, it’s yours.”

He leans over the arm of the chair to reach out as far as he can while being weighed down with Draco, stretching towards her on the sofa, and just manages to snag it with his fingertips. She pulls out her wand and cleans the ash, then turns back to Ginny.

Harry drops his head back and takes a hit, pulling the smoke into his lungs, holding it there, and then blowing it out towards the ceiling. He watches with fascination as it joins seamlessly with the larger cloud. He’s become completely neutralised to the smell of the weed but he keeps getting whiffs of Draco’s shampoo, a brand new one he keeps raving about that’s supposed to work all kinds of wonders on his scalp and hair follicles. All Harry really gives a shit about, though, is that Draco’s smelled like coconut lately, which he very much likes.

He lifts his head and takes another hit, but this time he brings his mouth close to Draco’s ear and blows the smoke into it, causing him to cringe away, startled, while Dean starts laughing.

“You’re so fucking annoying when you’re high,” says Draco, trying for scolding except that his eyes are bright and he can’t quite keep a smile off his face. “Give me that.” He snatches the joint from Harry and brings it to his lips, letting the smoke drift out through his nose and looking like the world’s loveliest and smallest dragon. He must see the way Harry’s looking at him because after he takes his second hit he leans down with a coy grin and Harry meets him halfway in a kiss so Draco can breathe the smoke into his mouth. His tongue follows shortly after and Harry loves the way he can taste the weed on it, earthy and bittersweet. 

He loses himself in it quickly, his hazy, sluggish brain happily forgetting the presence of eight or nine of their friends around them as he drinks his fill. All that’s real or matters is the warm, solid weight of Draco in his lap, the smell of weed and coconut, his soft lips and wet tongue and the gentle fingers on his jaw, stroking lightly. His own hand, the one not draped behind Draco’s back, finds his hip and snakes beneath his shirt, just enough to graze warm skin. Draco smiles against his mouth and hums into the kiss before pulling away and trailing his lips towards Harry’s ear.

“I’d settle down if I were you,” he says softly, his breath tickling Harry’s neck. It’s only then that Harry realises he’s got a semi that’s beginning to dig into Draco’s arse and he lets out a quiet laugh. Just to be cheeky, he brings his lips to Draco’s jaw and kisses down his neck, grinning when he feels Draco shiver.

“But I’m enjoying myself so much,” he whispers, hand sliding from Draco’s hip to his lap, where he squeezes over his half-hard cock, causing him to squirm and gasp in surprise. He grabs Harry’s hand and pulls it away with pink cheeks while Harry laughs against his neck.

“Oi, d’you two fucking mind!” comes Dean’s voice, and Harry looks up to see him watching them with raised eyebrows.

“You don’t have to watch,” Harry tells him, ripping his hand out of Draco’s grip to squeeze his thigh this time, delighted by the squawk of indignation.

“Draco’s still holding the joint, you pillock,” says Dean. “And he’s about to singe your arm with it.”

“I’m not about to singe anybody, you troglodyte,” Draco says, whipping round to glare at him. “Not all of us are bumbling Gryffindor barbarians born without a trace of elegance in our blood —”

“Ow!” Harry yells, snatching his arm from around Draco’s back when something scalding hot touches his skin. Dean descends into howls of laughter while Draco takes Harry’s arm and starts apologising profusely. He goes as far as chucking the joint at Dean, whose laughter subsides as it lands in his lap and he jumps out of his chair before it can burn him. Harry can see it beginning to burn a hole in the carpet.

This is not by any means the first time this carpet has seen a lit joint. Hermione has fixed most of the damage but here and there are obvious reminders, which Harry actually quite likes. There is, he thinks, such a thing as too much cleanliness and perfection. If a burn mark on his carpet is a memory of a good time, he can’t see what’s so bad about it.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” Draco coos, lifting his arm and pressing a soft kiss to the tiny burn mark.

“You did that on purpose,” says Harry, affecting a deep, childish frown that makes Draco laugh. He cups Harry’s cheeks and kisses his lips once, twice, three times, then his cheek, before pulling away.

“Better?”

“Oh, I’ll need more than that if you wanna make up for burning me,” Harry tells him, cheeky grin back in place. Draco rolls his eyes and Harry hears both Dean and Ron making retching noises while Seamus wolf-whistles.

“Who has the other joint?” Dean asks as he drops the roach into an ashtray on the coffee table. “Someone needs to roll a new one.”

“Harry, you do it,” says Pansy. “Blaise did the last two and they were terrible.”

“What the fuck?” Blaise says, glaring at her. “They were fucking decent, what’re you on about?”

“Harry?” Pansy presses, ignoring him. “Will you? Yours are the best.”

“That’s because he’s good with his hands,” Draco says, bringing his lips to Harry’s cheek again where Harry can feel him grinning.

“You have to get off my lap then,” says Harry, prompting a heavy pout from Draco that makes him look twelve.

“Just do it on my lap, it’s not that hard.”

Harry huffs out a breath but agrees; he likes Draco’s warm weight and doesn’t really care if it’s a little more difficult to do, but mostly it’s because in spite of the burn he’s still half-hard and doesn’t necessarily need everyone seeing it. Dean brings over the flat tray with a mirrored base that Harry likes to use for this purpose and sets it down on Draco’s lap.

Draco makes a game of kissing his neck while he’s trying to roll the joints, causing him to fumble several times to the general chagrin of the room at large.

When he’s finished, Dean removes the tray and all the scattered, ground-up weed on its surface and takes the joints, lighting them both and handing one off to Seamus so the rounds can begin again. Harry wonders vaguely how long it would take for the whole room to fill with smoke and eventually suffocate them.

Draco’s nuzzling his cheek now and Harry slips his arm back around him.

“We should kick everyone out after they finish these ones,” he hums into Harry’s ear. “I’m very anxious to make up for burning your poor arm.”

Harry laughs and squeezes his hip playfully, but he also feels his cock twitch with interest. Their friends will come again, plenty of times; more important is the very baked, very randy Draco in his lap whose mouth looks more inviting by the minute.

“Yeah, all right,” he agrees. 

“Good,” Draco says and kisses his cheek once again. His touchy-feeliness is one of Harry’s very favourite things about Draco when he smokes. It’s like he can’t help it. “I’m gonna get some lemonade actually, do you want anything, love?”

“I’m okay,” says Harry. “Don’t be long.”

With another kiss — on his mouth this time — Draco stands up and Harry takes the opportunity to swat his arse before he walks away. Draco yelps and blushes and smacks his arm but he’s smiling, and it makes Harry’s heart even lighter than the weed does.

[clockworkwhump]

Wash

warnings: nooses (not in a suicidal manner), captivity, morally grey whumper, descriptions of hanging / loose / broken skin, nudity (non sexual and not described), implied pet /  institutionalized whump   <3 i’m not so active on tumblr anymore but i’ve been thinking about these boys a lot!  Jak huffs to himself, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. Stupid, stupid captain and stupid elf and stupid everything. The last thing he wanted was to look after the thing, yet here he is.

"Jak, you seem rather interested in our captive. Or so I'm told. Why don't you keep an eye on it today? The others tell me they're tired of seeing it everyday. Keep it out of our way."

Yeah, whatever. At least it's a day off from training. The spot he'd chosen off of camp wasn't so bad either. A quiet area, in front of the river and surrounded by woods. He sits on a stump, the elf kneeling next to him in the grass. A rope wraps around its neck, loose for now, but the threat of Jak yanking it tight persists. He wishes he didn't have to hold it.

"Nice day, huh?" Jak says, looking over to the elf. It doesn't respond, eyes closed and head tilted toward the sunlight. He supposes it might've missed it after being tied up under an outdoor tent for days. It's fists are curled in the grass, like its afraid it'll float away if it lets go. "You awake over there?"

The elf moves at that. Its eyes - lacking pupils, ugh - open, head turning to face the human. Jak cringes. Maybe he should've let it stay like that. He hadn't really gotten a good look at it before.

Its ears are more mangled than he thought. Drooped down, tattered at the tips and crusted over with blood at the earlobes. As far as Jak knows, elf ears are supposed to stand tall. These look wrung and ripped to shreds.

It's skin, too, smooth yet dirtied with blood and grime. It's nose is slightly lopsided, neck littered with fingerprint bruises. Malnourished, too. It stares at Jak, blinking slowly, lips slightly parted.

"Do you talk?" Elves talk. Don't they? Jak is sure he's heard them speak before. In their own language, yeah, but he's heard English too. Maybe this one doesn't speak. It doesn't look like any elf he's ever seen, anyway.

"Yes, sir." Its voice is clunky, like it's trying to talk around its tongue. Maybe it isn't used to talking. "I can read, too. And count. I was known in my home as a scholar. I know how to do many things," It says, carefully, like it's testing the waters for Jak's reaction. "And I will leave that at that, sir. Do with it what you will." It dips its head again, seeming quite proud of itself. “..Alright, then.” He glances out toward the river, if only to rid his eyes of the other. He doesn’t like looking at it for too long. It’s blank stare is bad enough, not counting the infected wounds and scars littered across its body. It doesn’t look in pain, though. Maybe it’s gotten used to it? Or it doesn’t feel it? He doesn’t know how elves work, maybe it can heal itself and that’s why no one’s been tending to it. “Do you want to work?” Jak keeps his eyes on the water, but he feels the elf’s eyes turn to him again. It hesitates. “I.. want to prove myself, sir,” It decides. “I can be helpful. I can do whatever you need.” It looks down at the grass. “I know you’re taking me back to the jail, though. That’s okay. It’s your job. You seem like you are very good at your job. That’s a good thing to be. Back at home, I was-” “Stop.” Jak exhales, exasperated. “I don’t care what you were like back at home. You clearly don’t, either, we didn’t find you at home. We found you running away.” The elf makes a strange, sort of huffing-humming noise, fisting its hands in the grass once again. “Yes, I know.” It says curtly, dipping its head and closing its eyes again. It doesn’t speak, and Jak assumes the conversation is over. At last.  - How do other elves do it? Aymer digs his nails into his palms, screwing his eyes shut. He wants to be useful, so, so bad, but whenever he tries he babbles on and on and no one wants an elf who talks. He’s surprised the human hadn’t beaten him black and blue for uttering a word, much less a conversation. Maybe it was a test? If it was, he definitely failed it.  No one wants an elf who’s been to jail, either. It’s just his impulses. He runs away, gets thrown into whatever jail finds him first, and thrown into a shelter the next day.  He supposes he’s lucky humans still think elves are useful enough to keep around. He knows many would rather they get killed off. Hunters, especially. The only thing that stops them from killing the elves they catch is the bounty. Aymer’s sure his luck will run out one day, though. Maybe it’s now. Maybe the human took him out here to kill him and dispose of him quickly. He glances up, seeing the human’s eyes dart around the woods. Maybe he’s looking for a place to do it easily. The knot in Aymer’s chest twists painfully.  “Look,” The human starts, and Aymer’s ears twitch in response. “We’re packing up to leave tomorrow morning. You’re going to have to walk all day, and you’re already dirty enough as is.” He stands up, exerting lightest pressure on the rope around Aymer’s neck. The elf stands quickly, legs wobbling. “You can wash off in the river. It’s still and calm here. Just get the dirt off.” He glances in the direction of the camp. “And don’t take too long.”  “I, I won’t, sir,” Aymer hears himself say, stumbling over his words. The human leads him downhill, stopping at the riverbank. He stands there for a moment, as if thinking, then loops the rope around Aymer’s neck on a thin tree hanging over the river. “Just the dirt, like I said. Don’t dawdle.” The human gives Aymer a look, then turns around. To give him privacy, he assumes. “I won’t.” Aymer replies, far too late, stripping and stepping into the water. It’s cold, but not unbearably so, and sways around his legs nicely. He can feel excess dirt caked on his skin already coming loose. He steals a quick glance at the sun, then starts to quietly clean himself. He wonders - no, no, they’re still going to kill him. He knows it. Maybe they just.. want to wear his senses down. Or it’s going to be.. formal? So he should look clean? None of this makes sense to him right now. But he will admit: it feels awfully nice to scrub dirt off his skin after so long.

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Three): Maybe God Is Just A Cop We Can Fast Talk

Notes: I’m trying to test out not stockpiling chapters and just post whatever I got when I got it. So, we’ll see how it goes. Additionally, apologies in advanced if my work is a bit more fucky on spelling and grammar from now on out. They use to have some degree of beta reading, but now it’s the wild west. It all depends on my brain, which is smooth. 

Word Count: 13,335

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, death, entirely too on the nose foreshadowing, f/f sex scene, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, masturbation, sex toy use, nipple sucking, dirty talk that may or may not be cringe (I had fun)

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V takes a deep breath as they pull into the parking garage of a large apartment building complex, her nose wrinkles. August has settled into Night City, air humid and thick, the stink of trash filling her lungs at every breath. The smell of NC in summer and a landfill are only a few degrees removed from one another. Jackie is in the passenger seat, nearly pressed shoulder to shoulder. Wakako is paying them to rescue some corpo chick, a gig V would usually roll her eyes at, but the apartment is a known Scavenger hideout. Without someone stepping in, the woman will be ripped apart, organs and cyberware chopped out to be sold. Corpo or not; no one deserves that.

The merc covers her lips with chapstick and a little above, so she smells the balm and not Night City, then dabs some on the inside of her mask as well. The trick reminds her of when her mother would have her and Eira smear homemade balm under their noses before going to pick through landfills; telling them stories of old plague doctors who’d shove cloves into beaked masks to avoid the stench of death. The chapstick isn’t quite so strongly scented as the mash of camphor, menthol, and coconut oil her mother would use. But it strikes that nostalgia bone nonetheless.

“Still not used to the smell?” Jackie taunts her, grin pulling at his lips.

“God, no,” she quickly signs, her choker translator off as she pulls on her mask.

“It grows on you.”

“Six months in and the only thing that’s grown on me is you.”  Her mask takes over translating her signing, though she’ll have to shut it off when they get in.

“Was that almost a compliment?”

“A compliment? From me? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Pff, real funny,” he rolls his eyes, “chick we're looking for's somewhere in this building. Probably crawlin' with the pendejos that kidnapped her. Eyes and ears open, all right?"

“Opening my ears isn’t gonna help much, but alright.”

“You’re real close to my last nerve, chica,” he says but he’s smiling.

“Love you too, Jack, now, the fixer give you any tips?”

“I’m not your mother,” he tries to mimic the older woman’s voice, “just do what I pay you for, it’s easy work. Sh, yeah.”

“Okay, let’s do this.”  

With that Jackie and V leave the car, stepping out into the garage. The taller of the two checks his two pistols, ensuring the gold emblazoned weapons are loaded and ready for the mess that surely awaits them. There’s no telling how many Scavvs are here, the body hacking gangers the equivalent of cockroaches. She checks her own .50 caliber pistol,  it’s loaded and she has a knife strapped in a holster on her thigh.

“Elevator. This way.” Jackie nods towards the elevator in the parking garage, leading the way as V follows behind. Dirty elevator doors open for them, the words NO FUTURE scratched across the stained metal. The two mercs step inside, V leaning against a graffiti covered wall, leg shaking with anxiety.

A digital interface, T-Bugs avatar appears at the elevator button panel, flashes of code as the runner quickly hacks through it without needing an apartment key. The doors close and the rusty elevator lurches into movement, heading up.

“Target's Sandra Dorsett. Target's biomon went mute a couple hours back. Suspected abduction. Target could've possibly flatlined already. Not sure you're in time,” Bug’s voice comes through V’s hearing aids, subtitles on her mask for good measure, as the runner delivers her warning. That’s always a risk with rescue jobs, but they have a decent track record for getting to people in time.

“We're in time, Bug,” Jackie corrects her, “ we. Sure, you're on phones, but… that don't make you any less a part of this squad.”

"Squad… Charming.” V can nearly hear the Bug rolling her eyes.

“Awww, c’mon Bug, you know we need you.”

“No arguments there, without me you gonkbrains probably be shot to death by turrets or sitting in jail by now. “

“And without us, you’d have to step foot outside your apartment.”

“A true horror,” Bug mocks, a scoff in her voice as the elevator stops, doors opening, “focus now, You’re lookin' for twelve thirty-seven.”  

V and Jackie step out of the elevators, greeted to trash strewn apartment halls, graffiti scratched across every inch. Hands on their iron, the mercs make their way down the hall. With a thought V mutes the translation tech in her mask, linked to her neuralware, that way a stray hand gesture won’t give them away.

“Han, is that you?” An older woman starts to step out of her apartment.

V quickly waves her hand, signaling the woman to make herself scarce and she nods before running back in. Between the Scavenger’s victims and the innocent residents; there’s a lot of room for potential casualties. Low profile is essential if they want to do a clean job.

“Target should be inside, but I got zero eyes on her biomon. Fingers crossed it's not too late. Ugh, hate this life or death shit,” T-Bug explains as they reach the door they need, “try hacking the door, think you can trip it on your own, V?”

V’s fingers itch to just pry the damn thing open or try to pick the lock, despite knowing the former would give them away and the latter is impossible with the electronic model of door. The young merc brings up the scanner of her mask, running a quick scan of the door and sending the quick hack through. It slides open, Jackie able to slip inside with her following close behind.

The doorway opens into a wider room and V’s heart sinks. The sticky cloying smell of blood claws its way through anything, so thick in the air that her efforts to block out the city smell are rendered useless.  There’s a steady but slightly muffled thrum of electronic music coming from the other room, not a Scavenger in sight, but their handiwork paints the room. Low grade medical equipment, a shitty old school heart monitor attached to a woman in a ripperdoc chair. The woman is dead, no monitor or scan needed to know that. Body ripped open, entrails spilling out, red spattering down the black leather of the chair. Blood paints the walls around her, her skin a sallow lifeless shade of gray. Her abdomen is a mess of bloody organs and half ripped out implants.

“Are we fuckin' late?! Is that her, is that our target, V?!” Jackie calls out, voice low and edged with worry in his voice as he tries to scream and whisper at once, gesturing with his gun as he points at the corpse.

V doesn’t bother to open her scanner, looking over the woman’s body, it's not hard to know this isn’t their target. No high up corpo would pack this crap. What implants remain are cheap and poorly installed, the ones around her eyes have left the skin creased and scarred. Worse quality than what someone would find in the poorest of Nomad clans. Likely, a joytoy, or perhaps a Maelstrommer as the shitty over the top implant installation is common among the gang.

“No,” V signs, looking up at Jackie, his eyes on her to subtitle the ASL, “our girl is protected under echelon II corpo immunity, this is back-alley black market crap, no corpo in their right mind would walk around with this shit.”

Jackie nods, his shoulders losing a little of their tension as he moves up to a door, the music louder as he just opens the door peeking through, trying to get a feel for the room before they go through. Judging by the music and the still fresh blood mingled with the older stains, the Scav haunt is still being used. Jackie pulls away from the door and presses against the wall next to it.

“V, mira, eyes up, pendejos ahead.” Jackie warns her as she puts her hands to the door, trying to peek through the crack, the music louder and less muffled with the door cracked. V can see plastic sheets, coolers, chop shop equipment as they butcher people. Through distorted bloodied plastic hung from the ceiling, the pendejo in question standing in front of a cooler, back turned.

“Drop him quiet, V.”

V takes a deep breath and counts the music beats, waiting for the tempo and volume to rise before she opens the door, hiding the creak of it behind the pumping club style music. The merc drops to a crouch as soon as she walks through, creeping up behind the Scavenger, pushing through plastic sheets, she unsheathes her tactical knife.

In one swift movement she stands and kicks out the man’s knee, bringing him down low enough to grab his face by his mask and pull him towards her. He has a mere moment to struggle in her grasp before she then sinks her knife into his skin, piercing the flesh and arteries where his neck meets his shoulder. He goes limp in her arms and she pulls her knife out with a twist, before she shoves him forward into the cooler. The lid shuts with a slight thud, drowned out by the music.

“Nice, couldn’t have done it better myself, chica,” Jackie praises as she wipes her knife off on her pants, red smearing across the black fabric.

“On your toes. More bodies incoming, they're almost on you,” Bug warns as the mercs move to the next room, creeping through the garbage strewn hall and going around a bend, an open doorway showing a group of Scavs.

Whether thanks to music or their own lack of intelligence, the gang members don’t hear them as they find a nook around the corner to hide. V pressing her body tight against a fridge, Jackie not far behind her.  The dark spot, appliances, and trash does well to hide the two from sight.

“Fistfuck these reapers. Oye, V! They're comin',” Jackie warns as two of the Scav start to come around the corner, “wait for your chance. Pick the prick off. “

Tucked away the two mercs aren’t noticed. She watches as the two men walk by, following a path down the hallway without noticing them. V tries to hear what they say, straining to hear over the music, something about scoring big, a chick with “preem ass chrome”.

“Cabrones… thick as locusts. Let's wait and plan a spree.”

V gives a nod, trying not to comment that they’ve already discussed this. Stealth has never been Jackie’s strongpoint, he talks too much, can’t stand the quiet. She watches as the two gang members turn their backs to the mercs. They stop at the end of the hallway to stand guard and V goes to move.

“Let's take 'em… Suerte.”

She tries not to shake her head, not to sign at him to stop talking. She’ll tease him for it later, the two stay in a crouch, creeping up behind the two Scavengers. The merc gets close enough to feel the warmth coming off the gang member's body, V and Jackie lunge at the same time. Jackie snaps the Scav on the left’s neck and V slices the throat of the one on the right; two men dead at their feet. She rummages through the freshly dead corpses pockets, adding a few eddies and a Max Doc to her own.

“All down, limp meat. But probably not the last of 'em,” Jackie says as they start back towards the corner, staying low and...mostly...quiet as they reach the open doorway, “Move on, move up. Right behind you, V.

Their hideaway corner has an open doorway in the room that leads to another larger room, windows at the far end and around  Shelves and cabinets of ammo and grenades fill the room, should be easy enough to stay out of sight. Three men that she can see, one closer to the doorway, easy grab. And if they time it right they can grab the other two in tandem.

V raises her knife to her chest, pressing the hilt to her skin, then pounces on the nearest ganger. She yanks his head back and onto the blade, the weapon piercing up through the base of his skull, as she drags his body back. He’s already dead by the moment she’s dragged him from the room, dropping his corpse where he won’t be seen.

“Careful, once you get the next two,” Bug warns, voice low, “goliath ass Scav the next room over.”

“Gotcha,” Jackie whispers as they start to make their way back into the room where the next two are.

V stays to the left side of the room and Jackie goes to the right, both staying low and close to cover. The younger takes a deep breath, the clutter and way the room curves means they’re out of sight range, making it harder to coordinate. Nonetheless, she mentally counts to three and jumps her target. She grabs the gang member by the chin, wrenching up his face as she slams her knife into the front of his throat,ripping it out with a spray of blood.

“What the fuck!?” A voice, deep and masculine yells out, just as Jackie snaps his target’s neck. A bulking mass of a man, around Jackie’s height has scrambled to his feet; a heavy machine gun in his hands.

“Fuck, eyes on you!!” T-Bug warns just as a bullet tears through V’s bicep, superficial, no pain as adrenaline spikes.

And the chaos starts as the bullets begin to fly, V grabs her pistol, takes aim into the room and starts fire while moving. Jackie doing the same, the pair scrambling behind a cabinet, crouched and facing one another. His sweaty forehead nearly smacking into her mask. The room around them tears and shatters with each bullet fired their way, none managing to hit them, she doesn’t think the ganger saw where they took cover.

Their pistols can’t cut through the rapid fire being shot their way.  Her heart is pounding, her fingers tight on the trigger, HMG’s need a cool off time. If they wait it out, his gun will overheat and they’ll have a window. And if he’s not coming to pick them off, playing the distance game, it means he’s dead set on protecting something; got to be Dorsett.

“Gun’s going to overheat, then we’ll get our chance,” V signs and speaks to Jackie at the same time, miscommunication not something that can afford right now. Her voice is rough and out of breath, her face wet with sweat behind her mask.

“Hijos de puta! Our target’s gotta be through there, V!”

“I know I know,” she squeezes his shoulder with one hand, the other still signing, “once the gun overheats , we’ll rush him and finish this up.”

“HMG should only have a few more rounds before then, but won’t be long before it cools back off. You got a tight window,” T-Bug informs them, able to keep better track of it when not in firing range.

And then the fire slows, lightening and nearly stopping, Jackie and V both jump over the cabinet, seeing their chance and not hesitating to take it. They rush towards the room, the man cursing when he sees them charging and the door begins to shut. V skids into the wall and Jackie slams against it just as the door fully closes, cutting off their access. The older merc digs his nails between the door and wall, trying to pry it open with a grunt, but it doesn’t budge. Crow bar, crow bar, something, there has to be something.

Then a gunfire blasts through the wall, narrowly avoiding V. They missed their window and he can shoot through the wall. This is great. This is fantastic, exactly what they fucking need!

“Head down, Jaina, take cover!” Jackie yells out, yanking V back behind a shelf with him.

“Fuck!”

“Need options Bug, you got eyes on this shithole!?”

“Uh, lemme see, room he’s in connects to a balcony, the window to get in is small. V might be able to slip through to him.”

“How do I get there?”

“Got a window on the left, gimme two secs to grease the lock.”

“If I get his attention elsewhere, could you break down that door?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jackie nods as they put together their new plan, “flank him and draw his fire! I’ll do the rest!”

V sees the window Bug is talking about, her interface over it as it slides open, she easily jumps through, a closed in balcony cluttered with equipment, more trash that nearly trips her as she reaches the next window. The industrial shutters are damaged and broken, allowing her to peek through, the goliath, as Bug put it, is inside. A shaved head and face of mottled cyberware. She grabs the lowest rung of the shutters and rips the already broken mess up; then fires three shots at the man. They hit but don’t bring him down, only streaking blood down his leather jacket, he swings the gun to face her.

A loud boom rings out, metal screeching, as Jackie busts the door down. His boots pound against the floor and he slams into the Scavenger, the gang member’s body hitting the wall with a thud. Jackie rips the HMG from the man’s hands, raising it high above his head and bashing the gang member’s head in with it. Blood streaking the wall behind him and the ganger falling limp on the carpet. V climbs through the window, giving the Scavenger

“That’s the last of them,” T-Bug tells them, “time to find our target.”

“Question is, where the hell is she?” Jackie asks as V makes a beeline for the one door she sees. They’ve gone through the rest of the area, it has to be it. It's the last damn room in the apartment or whatever.

“Look around, gotta be there somewhere.”

“Holy fuck.”

V’s breath catches in her throat when she swings that door open; the horror of the front room was just a taste of what these people are capable of. White linoleum stained ruddy with blood, a bathroom with fluorescent lights making the ghostly gray of the corpses stand out. The bathtub is jammed full, naked bodies bleeding the ice water red, hanging out to smear crimson over white porcelain.

“Jesus christ… ” Jackie breathes out as he steps in behind her.

V swallows the nerves and bile down, rushing to the bathtub.  The first body stacked on top is a man, skin cold to the touch and no pulse in his neck, she moves him aside. Can’t save them all, can’t save them all; she tells herself. As she checks and moves bodies, finding only one with some warmth still clinging to her body, top level chrome in etching her cheekbones and down her bare chest. Her nose and mouth barely above the ice water, it’s a miracle she wasn’t drowned under the weight of the others who weren’t as lucky.

“Think I got her. Got our target!” She yells out as she pulls the woman halfway from the tub, sitting on the edge of it. V’s fingers numb and sting all at ones from the ice, she delicately brings the woman’s shaved head to her lap. Ice water soaking through her jeans and chilling the skin beneath.

Sandra’s eyes are just slightly open, not alert, but V can pick up on some movement behind them. Pulse at her neck faint, albeit consistent. Bad shape, but not gone. The instinct to keep checking the bodies, the need to see if they can save anyone else, pulls at V. But she has to secure Sandra, has to attend the one she was sent after and at the very least she knows has a fighting chance.

Jackie stands at the door looking in and keeping guard, there's likely more Scavengers in the building, if they catch wind of what’s happened in their nest. They’ll storm in and they can risk the gang members opening fire into the room, snuffing out anyone's chance of living. Her stomach churns, once they secure Sandra they can check on the others.

“We make it, she alive?”

“She’s hanging in, I think,” V’s fingers twitch with the need to sign her words, but the need to support Sandra’s neck  and head wins out. She’s not sure if the poor woman can process or feel anything right now, looking nearly catatonic, but...maybe a touch that doesn’t hurt can be of some comfort through it all.

“V, jack into her biomon. Need to know what we're dealin' with.”

“Ooh, this does not look good…” Jackie breathes out, green eyes running frantically over the bathroom, taking in the sheer horror of what they’ve found.

“She’s not alone here, Bug, there’s bodies stacked up, crammed together, like slabs of fucking meat. I’m not sure if anyone else is alive, I- fuck.”

“We’ll do what we can for them after, keep it together. And if she survives, she won’t even remember, tiny scar on the subconscious in the long run.  Jack into her biomon.”

“Jacking in,” V slots her personal link into Sandra’s biomon port, information lighting up her mask's interface, “Sandra Dorsett. NC570442. Trauma Team Platinum.”

“Platinum? Shit, Trauma shoulda swooped in if she sneezed,” Jackie scratches the back of his head, the question clear, where the fuck is Trauma?

“Guessin' they jammed the transmitter sig. Lookin' at a hacked biomon, firmware reconfig or a neurovirus…”

“Carajo, T-Bug! You ain't seein' this place. This is tubs, ice, hooks and cleavers.” Jackie explains.  Scavengers are brutal, crude, rudimentary; anything too high tech isn’t coming from them.

“Hmm… Scopmuncher's hack, huh. Got an idea. Check her neuroport. Find a shard? Yeah, pull it - that'll be what's muting the biomon.”

V gently maneuvers the woman’s head, nails rubbing over her shaved hair, seeing the two standard neuroports behind her right ear. One with a shard placed inside. She’s heard stories of infected shards, where removing them ends up causing more harm than whatever’s on them. But, she trusts T-Bug.

“Shard found, removing it now.” She gently pulls the shard from Sandra’s neuroport, pocketing it for now, in case it’s needed later.

“Check the biomon. Anything change?”

“Greetings, Sandra,” an artificial voice explains,  “If you are conscious, assume recovery position now. An emergency evacuation unit has been dispatched and is due to arrive at your location in 180 seconds.”

“Trauma will be here in three.”

“Your premium plan will cover 90% of the projected costs of your rescue and treatment,” the biomonitor warns and V can’t help but roll her eyes, capitalism and healthcare, a match made in hell.

“Ay, pobrecita,” Jackie shakes his head, “let's get her off that ice.”

V nods, pulling her jack from the naked woman’s biomonitor and gently bringing Sandra’s body up and into her arms. She lifts the woman bridal style, water soaking her arms as she stands up. Sandra’s body starts to shake and convulse, leg unintentionally kicking at V’s arms.

“Shit!”  V curses out loud, hitting her knees as she brings Sandra to the ground. The woman’s body twitches and convulses, eyes rolling back into her head, as a ghastly choking sound comes from her mouth.

“She's flatlining!”

“V, need to know what's going' on!”

“Jackie, airhypo, now!”

“¡Ey, catch chica!”

Jackie throws the airhypo and the merc snatches the green first aid hypodermic out of the air. V quickly presses the tool to the center of Sandra’s chest and pushes the needle into her skin, shooting the compressed adrenaline into her system to stabilize her. Sandra’s body stills and relaxes, her chest still falling and rising steadily. V breathes a sigh of relief and pushes her mask onto the top of her head; sweat stinging her eyes and her lungs demanding she breathe freely. She swallows hard and blinks, Sandra still stable on the floor.

“Fuck..I, target seized but we got her stable,” V recounts to T-Bug and shakes her head, still in shock at just how close they came to this woman dying in her arms.

“You alright, jaina?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just, yeah. Uh, fuck...”

“I getcha, got a stomach of steel, but this is….”

The merc is used to death, seen it firsthand many a times and dealt it to many a people. But she’s always prided herself on not taking innocent lives, every target she’s ever killed, every person she’s put in the grave had a healthy share of blood on their hands.  She knows that doesn’t necessarily make it right, doesn’t many it doesn’t cause any harm, most monsters still have someone who loves them. And as a corpo, maybe Sandra isn’t truly innocent, V wouldn’t know for sure.  But she doesn’t deserve this, this horror, neither do any of the people stewing in ice water.

She’s always been surrounded by death but in this  bathroom, with her knees pressing against bloody tiles, she feels like she’s choking on it.

“We’re gonna get you out here, safe and sound, I promise,” she tells the woman in her lap, maybe more for her own benefit than for the woman who can’t hear her. She picks Sandra up again and turns towards Jackie, “Scavs will scatter the second they see Trauma, hate to ask this, but once they show up, we need to see if we can save anyone else, you mind checking out the bodies in the tub while I handle her?”

“Course, gotta save who we can.”

V nods, thankful that Jackie and her are on the same page. There’s a steady whirr of engines and the young merc takes Sandra out to the balcony, in the faint distance she can see the Trauma Team aircraft incoming. Wind picks up as they draw ever closer, sweeping up and blowing trash around from the area. It feels nice on V’s bare sweaty face, but she tries to tuck Sandra a little closer to her chest, trying to keep the unconscious woman warm, which seems almost ironic in the heat of the city. The aircraft pulls up beside the balcony with flashing lights and V cringes at the whirring of its turbines, turning the volume down on her hearing aids.

“Landing, stand clear. Initiating security protocol. Follow all instructions. Stop in the doorway!” The speakers on the aircraft boom and V would flip them off if she weren’t holding Sandra.

A little step extends out to the balcony and holograms mark out an area she isn’t supposed to step into. Then the Trauma Team members come out, four individuals in green uniform with white helmets, guns drawn, holsters of equipment hanging off of them.  Two of the workers lay a gurney down in front of V.

“Place the patient on the ground!” A man yells at her, gun drawn. She rolls her eyes and does as asked, gently placing Sandra on the gurney.

“Five steps back. Now,” one of the workers demands, then shoves V back and away from Sandra, gun still pointed at her as the others rush to take the woman into the aircraft.

“There are some other people...” she switches on the translator in her choker to sign, but they ignore her.

Of course, Sandra is the only person in that tub who means anything to them, because she has money. She can just hear them over the turbines as they start to assess the woman’s condition, loading her in the aircraft, the last worker following behind. The young merc sighs watching as the vehicle flies off, as much the Trauma Team system boils her blood, their doctors are well trained. Sandra is in good hands.  After a moment she turns back to the entrance to the apartment, Jackie waiting in the doorway. His hands empty.

“No one else…” She starts to sign then trails off, seeing the look in his eyes.

“All dead long before we got here.”

“Fuck…”

“Let's get outta here,” he claps a hand against her shoulder as they start to leave, “Elevator gets us to the garage direct.”

“Good work. Shitshow's over. Cuttin' my wires now. See ya in the near future,” T-Bug says her goodbyes, cutting off her connection to the mercs.

Good work, somehow those words ring hollow when there’s a tub of corpse not three feet away. There’s a heavy weight in V’s chest, they did what they were paid for, one person is safer now because of them. All things she should be proud of, but she can’t help but still feel hollow and bitter about this entire thing. Her head still hangs low as she follows Jackie out of the apartment.

“Listen, chica,” he gets her attention, “got this thing. Mind if I borrow your wheels?”

“A thing?”

“I got a date with Misty, but… heh, I can't take the metro! How's that gonna look for me?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll help you out, I guess,” she signs, feigning annoyance, though they both know she’s happy to help.

“Ah, savin' my ass, V, thank you. How about I drive you home, eh?”

“Please, I feel like I’m about to drop any minute,” she admits, body heavy with exhaustion and head starting to hurt from all the commotion. Even the translator tech’s voice is starting to make her head throb.

The elevator doors open, welcoming the two mercs as they scurry inside, V leaning all of her weight against a wall as Jackie hits the buttons. Doors closing, it starts to move, and V’s thankful for every second that gets her closer to her bed. It's an unusual feeling, she’s not typically this worn out after a job. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing, she’s learned, most jobs leaving her still riding that high and looking for ways to burn the excess energy. But, all she wants right now is to crawl in bed and pretend the world is a kinder place, 

“Oh, almost forgot. Should get Wakako on the halo - tell her the job's done.”

V gives a short nod before pulling Wakako up on her phone, it rings a few times before it projects the image of the older woman, V keeping it on speaker so Jackie can hear the call.

“Ahem! V? How did it go? Our client is alive and well?”

“Of course.”

“Splendid. Your payment awaits you - ready to come and grab whenever you like, even right away. But I guess home is the only place you wish to be now. The NCPD has surrounded Watson. The district is closed. If you are to make it past the cordon, you must move fast.”

“Shit, thanks for the warning, catch you another time,” V signs her goodbye as she hangs up and groans, thunking her head back against the wall. Of course, just her luck. The elevator doors open and Jackie leads the way out to the garage, V following closely behind.

“Gotta get going if I’m gonna make it home tonight,” V mentions as they reach her car, she doesn’t want to have to crash on his garage or his mom’s place if she can help it.

“Leave it to me, chica, I’m driving.” Jackie tells her with a little grin pulling at his lip as he climbs into the driver seat and she plops down into the passenger side.

Jackie revs the ignition and starts fiddling with the radio, while V cranks the air conditioner. She tosses her mask into the backseat for now, fiddling with her hair. The pull out of the parking garage as Jackie finds a song he likes, kind enough to keep it on low volume for V’s sake, she finds herself sinking into the seat, watching the city pass by from the window. Trying to focus on the neon lights that pass her by and not the negativity that’s threatening to overtake her mind.

“Can’t stop digging Night City,” Jackie tells her following a few moment of silence, save for the radio.

“Place definitely has an energy to it.” They drive past what she assumes is a joytoy arguing with a man, advertisements that flash so vividly in the night, street vendors peddling over the top food items. Noisy, smell, chaotic, and messy; the essence of Night City

“Nah, chica, it's more than that. Morgan Blackhand, Andrew Weyland, Adam Smasher. Legends are born here!”

“You and me, the next ones up?” She signs, playfully raising an eyebrow at him.

“You know it, jaina.”

“And we’re not gonna need a corp to do it.”

“Swear to god, V,” he shakes his head, grinning, “only merc I know who don’t get all tingly when I mention the greats.”

“Not saying they aren’t badasses, but being the best of the best is easy when you got a billion eddie corp in your corner. Blackhand was in Militech’s pocket, Weyland was on Petrochem’s payroll and Smasher is a certified Arasaka cocksucker,” she explains, fingers cramping from spelling the names as quickly as she can so her tech will translate it right, “but you and me are going to do this right, reach the top without the corp’s dick in our mouths.”

Being a legend may always be Jackie’s dream more than it’s hers… But she’s been growing into it more and more with each passing day.  She’s enjoyed the ride so far and wants to keep up the momentum. While by no means a perfect life, she’s happier than she’s been in a long time. Independent and doing a job she loves more often than not. Though, there’s still something missing… that she can’t quite define. As they keep working their way up that ladder, she’s only feeling more and more like she’s where she belongs. It only gets better from here, so long as her past stays there. V can’t help but think hitting the big leagues is what’s really going to put all the pieces in place, herself included.

“Damn right we will, V. Blackhand’s gonna wish he was us.”

“Blackhand is dead.”

“Psssh, you really believe that, chica?” He looks at her like she’s grown a third head.

“You don’t?”

“Hell no, Blackhand’s out there somewhere, sitting pretty after blowing Arasaka Tower off the map.”

“No one’s seen him since the tower fell, anyone in the tower when it came down is dead, you don’t survive that shit.”

“No one has ever found his body or Silverhand’s!”

“Because it was buried under rubble,” she’s signing frantically and grinning, the little stupid argument lifting some of the gloom off of her, “wait, who the fuck is Silverhand?”

“Silverhand, the ro-,” Jackie pauses, eyes going to the rearview window, she follows his eyeline, a van behind them, “hey is it just me or, argh, van’s on our ass, we got a tail, V!”

V gets a hand on her iron and turns in her seat to try to grab a better look, she can see the holographic mask glitching green and red on the driver. The van jerks into the left lane, speeding up to pass them, then in the very next moment pulling in front of them. V’s brows furrow, what are they doing? Then the double doors to the van open up, two masked gang members opening fire on the mercs.

“Scavs! ¡Hijos de puta!”

And V’s half out the window, sitting on the sill of it,  in the next instant, firing back at the Scavs. Bullets whirl by and V tries to maintain a steady hand as she shoots off shot after shot, aiming for the gangoons heads. Gunshots ring out through the night, bullets whiz past V and blow holes in her car, as she keeps blasting right back. People from the streetways scream, terrified of being caught in the shoot out.

“Come on, V, shoot!”

“Keep it steady,” he side mirror explodes as a bullet hits it, “fuck!”

With a thought, V shuts off her hearing aids, the world going quiet around her. Unable to hear the screaming and racket as she focuses only on shooting the Scavs. Blood sprays, a bullet ripping through a gang member’s head, their body going limp and spilling onto the road. The vehicles swing through a right turn, Jackie a thankfully empty chunk of sidewalk before swinging back out to the road. V reloads her gun as a bullet tears through her hip, not fatal but it hurts like a bitch. She fires off two more shots, catching the last member in the back of the van just as it takes a quick left turn.

But the curve comes back to meet the stretch of highway they’re on. She fires off a few shots as it goes, trying to tear through the tires before the gangers greet them again, but to no avail. The Scavenger van takes the short curve and comes back through the exit, taking the left lane to drive alongside them. V tries to fire a shot at the masked driver, but her aim is off, only blasting out the last of the van’s intact windows.

The van’s door opens, another masked gang member blasting at the mercs as the cars struggle to stay neck and neck. A sharp pain lodges in V’s shoulder and she blows the man’s brains out in her next shot. Only the driver remains and she starts blasting without hesitation, knowing they can’t easily shoot back and has no more friends covering his ass. One last bullet connects with his temple, his body going limp and the van going onto the street, crashing into a building.

She breathes, blinking, heart still pounding in her chest. There’s blood still coming from her wounds and wind whipping around her as Jackie drives. She pulls herself back into the vehicle, bending a knee and keeping one foot in her seat with the other back on the floorboard, because she can’t be bothered to sit properly. She catches Jackie’s lips moving and flips her hearing aids back on.

“Ears were off, mind saying it again,” she signs and can’t help but shrink when she sees the glimmer of annoyance on his face, the tension of the situation no doubt making what’s usually a minor request feel a bit more aggravating.

“Are you okay? You need me to take you to Vik’s?”

The mark on her hip and bicep from earlier are minor, just scratches where bullets skimmed the skin. It's her shoulder that could warrant some concern. She flips on a light in the vehicle, craning her neck to get a better look at the injury. The entry wound isn’t too bad, low caliber, just some blood steadily weeping from her shoulder. V rolls and shifts her shoulder, a tightness to the movement. She touches around her shoulder blades, no exit wound. V rubs around the wound, feeling the injury. Something solid within her flesh, not far from the entry wound.

She knows Vik says not to remove the bullets, that it can cause more harm digging around in the wound, but if she leaves it the thing will annoy her forever. With adrenaline still spiked, heart still pounding and these injuries still feeling like stings at most, it will hurt more later than it will now. So, V digs her fingers into her own wound.

“What are you-”

V finds the bullet beneath her skin and digs her nails into it, ripping it from her flesh, bloodied metal now exposed. She rolls her shoulder, it’s bleeding a bit more, but the movement feels better, more free.

“ Jesus christo, V! Fuckin’ hate when you do that shit!”

V laughs at his reaction, her pisspoor first aid never failing to make Jackie uncomfortable, she tosses the bullet out of the window. She rubs her bloody fingers off on her pants, before pulling at her shirt, a little hole where the bullet struck.

“More bummed about my shirt than anything, Vik doesn’t need to see my mug tonight,” she signs, as if she doesn’t have a hundred more black crop tops.

“Fine, but don’t call me bitching if you’re hurting later tonight.”

“Oh, ‘cause you’re one to talk.” She signs quickly, whipping around in her seat to face him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hijo de la chingada, V, Misty, this is it for me, I’m done for ahhhhh,” she whines aloud, dropping her tone and trying to mimic Jackie, grinning when he scrunches his face in response.

“I was sick!”

“Well, yeah, that’s what happens when you eat your weight in cheap-ass sushi!”

“It was all you can eat!”

“Pffft,” she sputters and squeals, laughing at his excuse, “Swear to god, Jack, only man I know who can take three bullets to the chest and keep going, but a tummy ache knocks you on your ass!”

“And you’re the only woman I-oh shit.”

Police lights cut across the bridge to Watson, a full police cordon blocking the way. At least four or five NCPD units standing between V and her bed. Because of fucking course they are. She groans and thunks her head  against the seat in frustration.

“Fuck me.”

“‘Preciate the offer, chica, but we gotta run that one by Misty first.” Jackie winks and she makes a gagging noise at him in return. But she’s unable to control the warmth the joke brings to her cheeks. That’s not a mental or emotional road she’s ready to venture down, she shuts the light off in the car, the last thing they need is pigs catching sight of the blood and deciding to give a shit.

Jackie slows the car down as they pull up to the blockade, he’s calmer than her, he’s been fast talking the NCPD his whole life. While no stranger to cops, they’ve been a more sporadic presence in the former nomad’s life, leaving her to fiddle with her choker. She turns off the translator tech, prepared to break out the puppy dog eyes and soft broken little voice if she has to.

A female officer saunters over to the driver’s side window, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and silver cyberware etching her forehead and chin. Her eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark shades.

“Watson's on lockdown till further notice. Necessary security measure,” she explains to the mercs. V can’t help but eye the bulky security robots, ready to blast them to smithereens if the NCPD deem it ‘necessary’.

“Officer, ma'am! Damn are we ever lucky we ran into you,” Jackie greets the officer, turning up the charm.

“Really… What's it that makes me so special?”

“Uh, a heart of gold? 'Course only somebody with a heart of gold can understand just how much I need to get back to my girl.”

“Your… girl?”

“Hm… that's a shame.”

“C’mon, look at him,” V slings her forearm onto Jackie’s shoulder then rests her chin there, making puppy dog eyes at the officer, “no model citizen maybe, but he’s a good kid.” She pats his chest for added effect.  

There’s a grin pulling at Jackie’s lips and she struggles not to smile in return, wanting to laugh at the silliness of it all. The officer sighs and turns away from the pair, the two taking the moment to make faces at each other, trying to make the other break and laugh.

Let them through. But they're the last,” she turns back to the mercs and they try to force serious expressions, “OK, on your way.”

“You have a good evening, now, officer… ma'am,” Jackie nods and starts to drive through the blockade.

V pulls away from Jackie’s side, instantly feeling colder away from his warmth, she twists to look forward. Watching neon lights and city people walking by. Sometimes it feels surreal. Not minutes ago she was shooting gangoons in the back of a van. Not an hour or so ago, she was pulling a woman out of an ice filled tub. Yet, the world keeps spinning, couples and families walking down the same streets her and Jackie have nearly died in so many times. No, no storm clouds, if she digs that hole she’ll need an excavator to get back out.

“So, you can be nice when you feel like it,” she signs and talks, content to use her voice at the moment, just her and Jackie after all.

“When am I not nice?”

“Uhhh, always!”

“I'm always never not nice!”

“Puh-lease!”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Oh, Jackie, I can’t possibly talk around strangers, you, Misty, Mama Welles, and Vik are the only people I can talk with.  But the moment it’s time to pull out the wool over a pig’s eyes, suddenly, you’re real talkative!”

“Tone is an important tool in manipulation, my eyes can only do so much.”

“Keep that in mind when you beg me to order your food for you.”

“What? No!”

Jackie laughs, warm and deep in his chest at her offense at the mere notion of having to be in charge of ordering her own lunch from now on. It's just so much easier to have Jackie do it, waitresses are much more used to weirdness in Night City, but there’s still that odd little look when she starts signing and her translator tech does its thing. Jackie still laughs about the time he made her order the lunch over the phone and they hung up as soon as they heard the artificial voice, assuming it was some scam.

“Oh shit…” V says, soft and low as they pull up towards an intersection, two men holding guns aiming at  a driver’s side window, some poor bastard panicking behind the wheel.

“Outta the car! Now! C'mon! Ain't got all day!” The armed man screams at them and V’s fingers twitch to grab her iron. Then a large police aircraft vehicle comes flying in, lights flashing.

“Check it out, V. Shit's goin' down,” Jackie says, trying to hunch down behind the wheel, which does nothing to hide his six foot five form.

“Aa, shit, they're here!” One of the gang members yells and they’re screaming at each other to shoot. A small group of officers deploy from the aircraft vehicle, the led blue adornments to their uniform and odd helmets that cover their eyes tell her they’re MaxTac. The officers start firing back at the gangers.

“NCPD's apex predators at work, gonk out there nothing but a midday snack.”

“Wonder why they’re busting out MaxTac for this? Just looks like a regular carjacking to me.”

“Who knows, corpo behind the wheel? Got a quota to meet?”

“To put on a show of intimidation.”

“Might be onto something with that one,” the gangers are shot dead, bleeding out on the ground around the car they tried to jack, “welp, shows over.  Poor bastards… but they had it comin'.”

They pull away from the conflict, nothing but the hum of the radio playing as Jackie drives her home. Her leg is bounces softly in the floorboard, her fingers tapping at the window sill, occasionally catching the wind. The feeling she’s more accustomed to after gigs, a restlessness, adrenaline and energy boiling over. Maybe she won’t just drop once she gets home, no longer bone tired. Oddly enough, the shootout seems to have lifted her spirits. She’ll take a high stakes, high adrenaline car chase over the bone weariness ther rescue put her in.

Jake is in Heywood, so he won’t be able to get through the cordon. Cecelia is probably working at Tom’s Diner tonight. If she’s near the end of her shift, V might be able to score a lay and late night pancakes. Her mood is still a bit too sour to hit up a bar or club for a stranger, but still feeling the need to work through this energy and tension. She was dreaming of nothing more than hitting the pillow, seeing if she could sleep soundly tonight, but now she doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep at all unless she gets some energy out.  She gets out her holophone and opens up Cecelia’s contact.

“Whatcha doing, jaina?”

“Texting Cecelia,” V shrugs, shoulder twinging in pain,  “y’know how it is.”

“Of course, shit gets the blood pumping, why you think I always got a date night planned after a big gig?”

“Thought that was so you could steal my car?” She teases, typing up her message to Cecelia but not sending it yet.

“That too, but after you nearly die, just gotta do something to feel alive.”

“I think we might just be perverts.”

“Eh, that too,” he laughs as they pull into her apartment complex’s parking garage, “we’re here.”

“What about you? Not likely to make it back to Heywood now…” She asks, holding her thumb over the send button, if Jackie can’t get back through he’ll be crashing at her place and she doubts he’s going to want to sleep on the couch listening to her and her fuckbuddy go at it.

“Chill, V. They'll let me through.”

“Sure about that?”

“Oh yeah. I'll play nice Jackie again,” he stops the car near the elevator doors, “go, have some fun, lord knows you need it.”

He sticks his hand out, V smacking her palm into his own, a quick shake then they bump their fists together. His hand practically engulfs her own, that foot and a half of size difference obvious even in the contrast of their hands. One of these days she’s going to strain her neck looking up to talk to him.

“Tell Misty I said ‘hi’.”

“I will. Ahí luego.”

Goodbyes said for the night, V grabs her mask from the backseat and steps out of the car, her joints and injury protesting the movement. Her combat boots stomp against the pavement as she calls up the elevator, giving a final wave to Jackie as he pulls out of the garage. She leans against the wall, on her good shoulder, sending the text to Cecelia.

V: you @ work???

The elevator dings and V steps inside, cringing at the sudden bright light of the elevator, a stark contrast to the dimness of the garage. Video screens play ads for energy drinks and cyberware; everything under the sun. Everything in neon bubblegum colors or horrific details, because shock value sells nearly as well as tits.  Her holo buzzes and V checks a text from T-Bug, the runner knows she’d rather text than call but the sudden message is strange nonetheless. Bug only reaches out when it has something to do with a job.

T-Bug: Forgot earlier,  a runner I know has something you could probably use. It's a runner shop outside of Kabuki.

For some reason she’s not shocked at all that Bug would text in full grammatically correct sentences. V can’t help but think the world would implode if T-Bug ever sent an emoji or emoticon.  But gifts are a little unusual for her, but for some reason the experienced netrunner is convinced she can teach V the craft.

V: thanx bug, thats sweet of ya~!

She’s promptly left on seen, no indication of Bug typing anything back,  and V can’t help but laugh. The more T-Bug acts skeeved out by her affection, the more she wants to tease her with it.

“Good evening, Night City!~”

The screens cut to Night After Night, the host Ziggy Q coming to sit at his desk, green hair and gold suit twinkling under his stage lights. V rarely watches this kind of thing or watches TV as a whole if she’s being honest, just more noise, but she finds herself unable to help watching as the elevator starts to move.

“My first guest for tonight is the president of The Church of El Yahu, The Last Emancipator and the bane of Arasaka’s PR department; one Reverend Colver.”

The camera cuts to an older man dressed in black and beige, seemingly lost among the neon pinks and yellows of the stage. He sits down on the plush magenta couch, nodding towards the host.

“Praise be to thee our Father in heaven.”

“And ouuur second guest is Karina Lee, host of the Chip In program, which promotes the use of cybernetic implants,” a woman with a thick dark afro of hair comes onto the stage, “ how’s life treating you beautiful?”

“Can’t complain, Ziggy,” Karina tells him, she looks much more in place than the Reverend as she sits down next to him,  bright clothes and heavy gold cyberward indented in her jaw, “thanks for having me.”

“Now, I’d like to have us talk about the most exclusive and highly sought after implant on the market today, Arasaka Corp’s Relic. But maybe we ought to make sure our fair audience is up to speed,” Ziggy says, waving a dramatic and manicured hand towards the camera before focusing back in on his guests, “Karina, what is the relic exactly? In a word, if you could?”

“In one word? I’d say, immortality.”

“Immortality? Really?”

V can’t help but roll her eyes at the dramatic wording and the over the top expressions the host makes. Nothing can make someone immortal, that's a pipe dream, even if it is possible it will never be feasible on a mass scale for anyone who isn’t rich. TV types always got to exaggerate, she figures.

“That’s right, the relic allows you to transfer the consciousness from a dying person, finding a new home for their soul on a transferrable chip. This person, they’ll never leave your side, a companion with you  forever in your own consciousness. Just imagine if-”

“Child, child-” the Reverend cuts her off, “think for a moment about what you’re saying! This relic is an abomination that feeds on human misery! It is an unnatural likeness, a golden calf born by false prophets! What’s more, this technology is just another tool of coercion and corruption, only the wealthy and powerful elite will have access. And they will pay any price in exchange for a chance at this so-called immortality. Arasaka speaks of preserving the soul but they can promise nothing more than a heartless, mindless, algorithm speaking with the voice of the departed.”

“Well, that is true that Arasaka Corp has specifically limited access to the relic in order to-”

“The promise is a lie,” the Reverend starts to stand, gesturing emphatically, “an evil lie, motivated by greed and lust for power-”

“HA, now that is rich,” Ziggy cuts off Colver’s ramblings with a laugh.

“Excuse me!?”

“False promises, greed, a lust for power,” Ziggy rolls his eyes, “well sounds an awful lot like a church to me!”

“Wha- how dare you?”

“Do you not promise a life after death? Do you not charge funeral fees to a family in mourning? Maybe the Reverend is just afraid of a little healthy competition, huh?”

“Competition,” the religious figure scoffs, “you believe everything in this world can be counted, measured, rationalized!”

“And wouldn’t we be right?” Karina interjects, “we can construct artificial brains, create new consciousnesses!”

“But I ask you why? What does that give us? Are we as a people on this earth any happier for it? You claim that this relic gives eternal life, but all I see is an eternity of suffering. Rather than say goodbye, we haunt ourselves with their voices, their presence, but-”

“What do you folks think? Who holds the truth, is it Ms. Lee or maybe Reverend Colver? That is up to you!” Ziggy gestures at a screen behind him, showing the two guests,  “Send Colver or Lee to 7892 to cast your vote and enter your name for a chance to win tickets to this year's playoffs! Until next time, Night City, toodles!~”

V sighs, as the program cuts out and more ads start to be blasted at her. The conversation a heavy one, now tinkering around in her skull. The idea of keeping a dead loved one around as an imaginary friend… she thinks of her mother instantly, the person whose death most gravely impacted her. If she had her mom still lingering around, sitting in her head, it sounds...strange. A part of her thinks she’d love it, to have her mother back, but eould she ever see it as her mother? Committing herself to a fantasy like that, it doesn’t sound healthy, at all. Death is natural, learning how to say goodbye is part of life, right? She can’t imagine her spending all her time talking to a ghost from the past.

Her holophone buzzes in her pocket and she realizes the elevator is on her floor, probably has been for a few minutes. She shakes her head, she doesn’t need anymore heavy shit in her skull. The relic has nothing to do with her, anyway. Wondering about what if’s and could be’s won’t get her anywhere. V gets her holophone from her pocket, a text from Cecelia, a much needed distraction and relief. She starts to text her regular hookup as she makes her way to her apartment.

Cecelia: Yeah, be off in an hour, why?

V: i have a proposition

Cecelia: ???

V: bring me pancakes and i make you cum ;)

V’s flirting skills continue to impress absolutely no one, but Cecelia is still into the merc,  so that’s really on her at this point.

Cecelia: Will you pay me back for the pancakes?

V: yee

Cecelia: Drop by your place around midnight, sound good?

V:  pls and thanx! :3

V slips the phone back into her pocket, opening her apartment door and slipping inside. She shuts the door behind and starts stripping off her clothes, she needs a shower before Cecelia gets here. The waitress probably wouldn’t be too excited to come in and see V covered in a layer of sweat and blood.  Clothes off she takes her hearing aids out and puts them on her desk before she makes the beeline for her shower.

She cranks the water up as hot as possible and steps under, her shoulder and scratches sting, but she focuses her energy on washing the blood and sweat away. V washes through her hair, muscles relaxing at the feeling of hot water pouring down on her, the smell of rose scented shampoo and conditioner lingering in the air as she washes.

She’s tempted to touch herself under the water, her soap slick thighs clenching together. It's tempting, still just riding that adrenaline high, it’d be nice to find some relief. But the bullet wound in her shoulder should be attended to first, she dug the bullet out in the car, but the injury still could use some first aid. She didn’t have anything to stitch it closed and she’s not sure it’d be the smartest idea to stitch herself in a moving car, not that she hasn’t done it before.

V shuts off her shower, ignoring her swollen clit and the tension in her core. She steps out of the water and stands in front of her bathroom sink, her reflection showing in the mirror. The merc grabs her first aid kit, getting out the stuff she needs to suture her shoulder.

Vik will bitch at her for it later, call her work shoddy, but she’s been taking care of her own injuries for years.  She doesn’t need to run to him for every little thing. She pats it dry first, leaving pink stains on her bathroom towel, then she pours some antiseptic peroxide on it. A curse on her lips at the sharp sting, she cringes and takes a deep breath, preparing the needle and suture. The needle pulls through her skin with a harsh pain, as she pulls her skin back together with a quick crude stitch.

Content with her oh so shoddy work, she finishes drying off and leaves the bathroom, dropping her dirty clothes in a laundry hamper to be mended and washed later. She checks the time on her holo, still thirty or so minutes before Cecelia said she’d drop in. V throws on an oversized black tee shirt and a pair of shorts it completely covers. Her skin feels warm, still smells like roses and honey, something about the warm cozy feeling makes that little fire inside come back.  She clenches her thighs together again, mentally cursing her sex drive, libido, hormones, whatever it is that makes it so she can put a needle through her bloodied skin and still want to cum immediately after.

There's a skip in her step as she rushes to scoop her phone and hearing aids off her desk, putting them on the little circular table next to her bed instead, so they’re easily in reach. Then she plops herself onto her bed, atop the covers and blankets, she sinks into them. She feels warm, skin soft and clean to the touch. When she stretches slightly in her bed, she feels a soft sound leaving her lips.

Her breasts feel soft under her shirt, squeezing and groping herself over her clothes. Sensitive pierced nipples stiffening under the fabric, she pinches them lightly, whimpering at the pressure. She presses her head back against her pillow, biting her lip as she puts a hand underneath her shirt, teasing her breast directly, playing with her piercings.  Each touch makes her slicker, makes her clit swell and beg to be touched.

V shoves a hand down into her shorts, pushing two fingers through the lips of her wet cunt. She presses them against her clit, groaning as she begins to rub, quick messy circles. Focused on just getting there, a harsh pressure and quick pace, squirming her hips against her own hand as she builds herself up. Pleasure pools in her center, building upon itself, growing higher and higher with each stroke of her clit.

A blue light goes off, strobing and bright enough to illuminate the room. Her phone buzzes on the side table with a notification. Someone knocking on her door, she wipes her slick fingers off on her thigh and quickly puts her hearing aids in.

“V!~ It’s Cece!” The older woman’s voice rings out and V jogs to the door, feeling like she’s about to combust.

She opens the door and Cecelia quickly steps inside. V hates the diner uniform, a yellow dress and apron. But Cecelia manages to be beautiful in anything, why on earth she wants anything to do with V is beyond the merc’s comprehension. She’s tall, though nearly everyone towers over V to some extent, with a cute shaggy pixie cut of dark hair. Olive skin with a dusting of freckles and amber eyes, far too beautiful to be rolling around in bed with some nomad turn street punk.

“I got extra honey and syrup for-”

She’s cut off by V’s lips in the middle of explaining what’s in the little white diner container. Her words dying on the merc’s tongue, V presses in deep, tasting all she can of Cecelia’s mouth, finding the taste of coffee and cigarettes awaiting her. A bitter taste, one she despises, but she ignores for the sake of her own lust. She presses the taller woman against the closed door, hands grabbing at the curve of Cecelia’s hips, pulling up on the dress of her uniform.

“V, V,” Cecelia breaks away from the kiss, panting, “you're gonna crush your pancakes.”

V rolls her eyes, taking the container from Cecelia’s hands and quickly placing it on her computer desk. Then she’s shoving a hand under the waitress uniform, Cecelia keening as V slips her hand into the older woman’s panties. The merc buries her face into her partner’s neck, licking, sucking and biting at her skin as she works her fingers against her clit. V braces her other hand against the door, sharply biting the expanse of skin against her lips. She gazes up at her fuckbuddy, the woman’s head thrown back against the door as she whimpers, V’s hand doesn’t stop working. She rubs the same two fingers she had on herself just moments before over Cecelia’s clit, the bundle of nerves swollen and slick. The merc’s hand is soaked in it already, she finds herself wondering if she’d find a puddle on her apartment floor if she looked down.

“You’re smoking again,” V whispers against Cecelia’s neck, marveling at the bruises her teeth have left behind. She knows the effect her voice has in these moments, so rarely heard by Cecelia, and when it is it’s husk with lust.

“So-” V twists her wrists and sinks those two fingers inside, “sorry, I fuck, V, stre-fuck-stressful day, I fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“That hardly seems fair, what did I taste like?” V pumps her fingers steadily, feeling slick run down her wrist.

“Li-aH, ah, uh, honey, you ta-taste like h-oney, al-always do~!” Her hips squirm to meet V’s thrusting fingers, trying to chase her own pleasure.

“So, you get honey and I get to lick the inside of an ashtray?”

“I sa-said,” V adds a third finger, speeding up her movement, “Fuck, I’m sorry!’

“Hmmm, I don’t think sorry cuts it here, Cece.” V starts to rub her thumb clumsily over Cecelia’s clit, watching the woman moan and squirm. Her thighs are vice tight around V’s wrist, teeth sinking into her lip. She’s close.

“V, fuck please, I, fu-uck!” She whines and pleads, V’s not even sure what for, if it’s too much or not enough.

“Fine, I’ll forgive ya, but I gotta get the taste out of my mouth first.”

V drops to her knees, yanking Cecelia’s underwear down to her ankles just to bury her face between the older woman’s thighs. The merc uses her hands to keep her partner’s legs spread and gives a heavy messy lick of Cecelia’s clit, ensuring her tongue piercing makes contact with the sensitive nerves. Already built up to near orgasm, Cecelia screams out, the lick sending her right over the edge. Slick gushes onto V’s mouth and chin, coating her tongue in a heavy layer that she swallows before she starts licking again. Pubic hair scratches at her nose as she laps and licks at Cecelia’s cunt. Licking her through orgasm and prolonging it into another, and another, drawing the high out with every lave of her tongue. Cecelia squirms and thrust her hips, sloppily humping against the merc’s face, she knots her fingers in V’s bleach blonde hair. It becomes too much, orgasms drawn out to long, tears forming at the corner of Cecelia’s eyes.

“St-stop!”

V pulls away instantly, face a flushed mess of slick and lust. She slowly pulls away from Cecelia, standing up, the taller woman’s knees are buckled and she’s leaning all her weight against the door. The two pant, each catching their breath and V looks down on the floor, her suspicions confirmed at the wet droplets, Cecelia managing to drip down onto the wood.

“I, uh, take it you’re a little worked up tonight?”

V makes a wiggly ‘kind of’ hand gesture, winking at Cecelia, smirking. She can’t help but feel a sense of pride looking at Cecelia; panting, neck marked, underwear around her ankles, and still dripping.

“That taste better than cigarettes?” Cecelia asks, smiling and still out of breath as she kicks off her heels and  steps out of her panties towards V. She cups V’s slick sodden chin, amber eyes soft as she brushes her thumb across the younger woman’s bottom lip.

“Much.”

Then their lips connect again, the sweetness of slick cutting down on the bitter taste of Cecelia’s bad habit. They lick into each other’s mouth, press into each other, pull away slightly; all to fall back into it. V starts pulling at the buttons of Cecelia’s uniform, revealing inch after inch of cleavage. She pushes it down off the older woman’s shoulders, leaving her in nothing but a bra. Heavy breasts surrounded by black lace, but only for a moment then V’s greedy hands unhook it, pulling the last bit of fabric from Cecelia’s body.

“On the bed,” V signs and speaks, words slurred with desire.

Cecelia gives a soft laugh and V discretely scratches at her hearing aid, the device starting to rub the inside of her ear raw, sex sweat irritating it. This type of tech became completely waterproof millennia ago, but they can still chafe. Refocusing her attention, she stares at Cecelia laying down in her bed. A beautiful face is no doubt what first drew her eye to the waitress, but Cecelia’s curvy soft figure was next. Large breasts that spill over most of her bras, a soft stomach, and thick thighs. A contrast to V’s own body, the merc more petite and curves more...subtle.

V doesn’t hesitate another moment, straddling Cecelia’s waist, the older woman’s hands instinctively reading for the merc’s hips. A twinge of pain when Cecelia’s unknowingly brushes against the small injury there, V ignores it in favor of pulling her shirt off over her head, throwing it onto the floor. She expects eyes raking over her small pert breasts, a look of desire in Cecelia’s eyes. But finds concern instead, fingers reach out to V’s shoulder, nearly brushing the crude stitches.

“What hap-”

V grabs Cecelia’s wrists and pins them to the bed, burying her lips into the older woman’s neck again. She sucks and bites, hoping the action gets her point across; don’t touch that, don’t ask that, don’t push. V likes fucking Cecelia. They are fuckbuddies, but Cecelia has a way of asking questions, wanting to know more beyond how skilled the merc is with her tongue. So, she has to steer it back on course, latching her mouth around one of Cecelia’s breasts, sucking and licking at her nipple. Cecelia moans and whimpers when V teases her chest, giving the other breast the same treatment and pulling off with a wet pop.

“Fuck, point made, V,” Cecelia swallows hard, “you still have any straps laying around?”

“Want me to fuck you with it?”

“No, uh, wanna watch you ride it”

V’s never scrambled so fast to get her toy box out from under her bed, a little chilled at leaving Cecelia’s warmth, she pulls her treasure trove out. She chooses a toy, essentially double sided and strap strap on. One end is a vibrating bulb likes shape and the other a dildo. V strips off her shorts before clambering back onto the bed. She lightly taps Cecelia’s thigh, licking her lips when the brunette spreads them for her.  The ribbed bulb slides easily inside of Cecelia and her high pitched whine lets V know it’s doing its job, pressing on the g-spot, when theyfuck it should grind against her clit too. Once inside, the rest of the toy sticks out, making it look like Cecelia has a slick black silicon cock.

Then V turns the vibration on, Cecelia screaming out as it buzzes and vibrates inside of her. V can’t help but laugh at her overstimulated and sensitive partner, she pins Cecelia’s hands back down to the mattress and straddles her. Her wet neglected cunt hovering just over the vibrating dildo, she kisses at Cecelia’s jaw. The brunette’s eyes are closed tightly, face contorted in pleasure as the toy works it’s magic.

“Thought you wanted to watch me?” V teases, smirking against Cecelia’s skin, then sinks down on top of the toy.

V whines and whimpers as the vibrating toy fills her, Cecelia grabbing her hips, amber eyes now firmly watching the blonde. Moans and squeals echo throughout the room. V fucks herself on the toy, Cecelia’s hips thrusting up to meet the movement, slamming the toy further into her each time. They’re both sensitive, Cecelia from being overstimulated since she walked in the room and V from neglecting her own needs until now.  Heavy squelching noises ring out where the toy plunges in and out of V’s cunt; mixing with the buzzing of the toy  and the clap of their flesh meeting on each thrust. There’s a tension in V’s center that grows tighter and tighter inside of her, pleasure building upon pleasure. Each slide of the toy inside of her brings her closer and closer to her end.

She lets go of Cecelia’s wrists, the hunched over position getting uncomfortable, V shifts her hands back onto the brunette’s legs, leaning back to support her weight that way. Then Cecelia thrusts, angle slightly changed and hitting impossibly deep, too much, too much. The tension snaps and V’s overwhelmed by pleasure, she bounces on the toy through her orgasms, yelling out as she rides out the waves of ecstasy.

A soft whine leaves V’s lips, when she starts to come down and the buzzing toy is too much, Cecelia looks about ready to pass out and V realizes there’s no way all the slick where they connect is from her.  The merc whimpers pulling off of the toy and turning off it’s vibrations, earning a sound from Cecelia who gasps when V gently pulls it out.

The toy is soaked; their thighs and the bed where their hips met too. Too tired to care about organization right now, V casually throws the toy to the side, she’ll clean and store it properly later. She instead collapses next to Cecelia, the two gathering their breath.

She’s not sure how much time passes, just laying next to Cecelia, but V’s heart rate and breathing calms down. Ther merc yawns, her ears hurt worse now. But, the orgasm was worth it. Her stomach is starting to hurt too.

“Your pancake are probably cold by now,” Cecelia tells her with a laugh and-

Oh fuck, V forgot her pancakes. She jumps out of bed, stumbling on her way to grab her food

“Did you just trip over a used dildo?”

“Not answering that.”

V brings the food back to the bedside table,  throwing her oversized shirt back on, before climbing into bed with her meal. She folds her legs and sits the meal in her lap, facing the side of the bed with Cecelia sitting next to her.

“You mind if I borrow some sleep clothes?”

V gives a thumbs up, opening her food container, her stomach growls and she realizes she hasn’t eaten since probably noon. Cecelia got her a stack of pancakes covered in honey, maple syrup, and whip cream. Even a little carton of milk packed tightly in with the food, probably her attempt to keep V from drinking too much Nicola.

“I assume that also means you’re okay with staying the night? Marlow’s at her dad’s this week, so the apartment’s kind of lonely…”

Another thumbs up, taking a big bite of food as Cecelia starts to look through her closet. Anything that fits V properly will be too tight on the brunette, but V’s collection of oversized sleep shirts should be fine. The merc watches half heartedly as Cecelia pokes through the old tees, already having devoured half of her pancake stack.

“Samurai?” Cecelia raises an eyebrow, looking at a bagging black and red shirt, the one she kept that originally belonged to Ava, “you listen to dad rock?”

“Not mine, don’t wear that one!”  V quickly signs with one hand, sometimes she wears it and can still convince herself it still  smells like her old love… She doesn’t want it smelling like anyone else and maybe that’s stupid, maybe that’s weird, she doesn’t know or care. It means something to her. She doesn’t know or give a fuck about the band on it, some shitty punk group no ones given a damn about in years, but it belonged to Ava. That’s what matters.

“Okay, no problem,” Cecelia seems to understand, not noticing or at the very least not mentioning V’s odd tension around it. She instead throws on an oversized white shirt before coming back to the bed.

The shirt on V reaches past her knees, but on Cecelia it hits around the mid thighs. V feels the brunette’s warmth as their sides touch, sitting close together. V shoves another chunk of pancakes in her mouth, nearly inhaling it.

“At least drink some milk, you and that friend of yours are the worst about chewing your food. I swear, I’ve seen you both choke five or six times in one meal.”

V nods and grabs the little carton of milk, her stomach dropping when she sees the back of it. A woman’s face stares back at her, a little different, more cleaned up and hair on her head,  but still bone chillingly familiar. Sandra Dorsett, a little message under her picture asking if anyone’s seen her.

“Something wrong, V?” Cecelia puts a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles, then her eyes fall on the carton, “you know her?”

V shakes her head, because she doesn’t, not really. And even then, it's a moot point, the ad is old and Sandra is safe now… probably.  Not like V actually knows, she could have died in the Trauma Team vehicle, before they even made it to the hospital. And god only knows what the long term effects will be and she’s the lucky one.

“Well, they found her, from what I heard.”

V raises an eye at Cecelia, turning to face her a bit more.

“Caught it on the news just before I clocked out, they haven’t released the footage of the rescue yet, but apparently she was pulled out of some Scavenger hideout. Trauma Team got her and say she’s going to make a full recovery, so, good news…” She drags it out, like she’s testing V’s reaction trying to see if she can get anything from the merc.

“It’s good,” V signs, Cecelia’s eyes falling to the mercs hands, “but, you know Scavengers… there was probably twenty, thirty more bodies there, left to rot because they didn’t have enough money for Trauma to care.”

“Yeah, it's fucked but, hey, one person is better than none.”

“I guess… I hear even the people who get saved are fucked up afterwards. They don’t remember anything, until something triggers a flashback and next thing they know they feel like the worlds crashing in on them.”

“Won’t be easy, for sure, I can’t even imagine what that poor girl has gone through, but people are resilient.”

“Got to be,” V signs, chewing her lip, “the world’d eat them alive otherwise.”

“You got a good heart, V, you know that?” Cecelia tells her, tucking a strand of hair back behind the merc’s.

“Gross.”

“Yes, yes, I know, big bad merc can’t have feelings, fear her, blah blah blah,” Cecelia rolls her eyes and V blows a raspberry at her. Then stands to put what’s left of the food on the side table, the brief moment of vulnerability putting her off her pancakes. Cecelia always manages to pry something from her.

“Let's get to sleep, before I kill you,” she signs, then gestures to Cecelia to get to bed.

Cecelia curls up with V’s pillow, nestling into the sheets while V pulls out her hearing aids, rubbing at the raw skin. Putting her hearing aids back down, she sees the text notification on her phone. From Jackie, the message is short enough to display in the preview window.

Jackie: got big news, chica! B-I-G BIG!!! talk to you in the morning, hehehe!~

V lets out a huff of air, smiling and rolling her eyes all at once. He’s dramatic, always has been. His idea of big news is probably some new restaurant he found, maybe he won some eddies on a boxing match.  She shakes her head and puts the phone aside for now, crawling under the covers. Cecelia lifts an arm, allowing V to curl up close with her head on Cecelia’s chest as she drifts off to sleep.

[mimirexx]

Im super duper late for the jeanpikuweek i feel so bad ;-; but i finally finished this work! I chose the promts AU, saving and alliance and tried to put it into a fic somehow! Since it got a little long i divided it into three chapters and will post one chapter each day 😌

Read it on AO3 or under the cut!

Breakout

An AU where Jean is a shifter and got caught by Zeke and his men. Beside the torture he was receiving, Pieck visits him and the two start to get closer. They want to escape together - but at what costs?

TW: torture, beating, rape (no explicit rape, not between Jean and Pieck!), blood, violence, angst

Chapter one - Chapter two - Chapter three

Deep down in a basement where no sunlight reached sat Jean, a man unfortunate enough to have been captured and imprisoned during a failed mission. He had long forgotten what day it was, spent too much time in the darkness to distinguish between day and night.

Heavy chains hung around his wrists, not allowing him to move more than a few feet away from the wall. There was a thin mattress on the ground where he slept and a shabby piece of cloth that couldn’t be called blanket in any possible way. The cell he was locked up in was small, the stone floor so cold.

They ripped off his clothes before they threw him inside, leaving him in nothing but his underwear, mainly to ensure he had no chance to hide any weapons whatsoever but Jean had a feeling it was also to humiliate him. He was on enemy territory, so of course they would use every opportunity to humiliate and torture him. Nevertheless, he never gave away any information. They could do whatever they wanted, Jean wouldn’t lose a word.

Whether it was beating him up, burning his skin or slicing off his limbs, the shifter remained silent. There was nothing that could make him betray his friends and comrades. Their safety was the top priority, he would be fine as long as they didn’t kill him- which he didn’t think was their intention. At least not until they knew what they wanted to know.

He’d be fine until then.

~

“Why the long face?” A male voice spoke up, standing in front of his cell. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Jean didn’t answer, instead just stared at the same spot on the wall he was staring at for hours. One would say there was something really interesting on it with how long and intensely Jean already stared at it. He was thinking deeply, thinking of a way to escape that cell.

Though, he had no idea where he was. Even if he made it out, he didn’t know where to go, which made him an easy target to get captured a second time and receive even worse treatment. The smartest move was to stay where he was and try to gain more information. Everything else would be suicide.

The male stepped into Jean’s cell, the sounds of his boots echoing as he approached the brunet. Only when he stood right in front of him did Jean look up and immediately received a kick in the stomach, making him groan.

Jean kept his volume as low as he could because he didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of hurting him. The man crouched down and turned Jean’s face towards him, his lips curled into a mischievous grin.

“My, my. You’re such a nuisance, you know?” He laughed. “Just tell us where your people are and you’re free. Are they really worth all this? I don’t think so, they aren’t even looking for you.”

The brunet looked up at the person that was Floch Forster, a man who betrayed the Survey Corps along with some others, and furrowed his brows in response. It could’ve been about a month already if Jean counted right and his chances of being rescued were shrinking with each passing day, but Jean wasn’t a person to lose hope. If his comrades didn’t come to help him out, he would find a way out by himself. Either worked fine.

“All of this could end right now,” Floch said while looking into Jean’s eyes. “You’re not who we are after. You don’t need to go through all this. If you tell me where the Commander is, I promise you will never have to see any of us again.”

“Fuck you.” Jean said very simply and spat into Floch’s face. “Different from you, I’m not a traitor.”

The redhead’s expression darkened at Jean’s action and his hand found its way around the other’s neck. “Hah, I just like being on the winning team. And I’ve been nice up until now but spitting at me? That’s intolerable.”

Before Jean had the chance to say much more, he was forcefully pressed down against the stone floor. Floch knelt down behind him and used his free hand to pull Jean’s underwear down.

“That needs to be punished, don’t you think?” He kept Jean pressed down against the ground and rubbed the tip of his member against his entrance.

Jean shivered in discomfort and cringed. That was about the most disgusting thing Floch could do, but not even that was enough to make Jean talk. He was convinced to keep quiet, especially in front of Floch.

“Just do what you have to do and leave me alone.” He muttered and closed his eyes. He wanted this to be over quick because any minute he spent without Floch around him was a minute well spent.

Floch didn’t need to be told twice.

Jean was left alone afterwards again and decided to lay on the mattress to spend the rest of the time there until he would fall asleep. It didn’t take long for him to do so and give his body and mind some rest.

~

When he woke up a few hours later, he was surprised to see that his blanket was draped over him. He blinked a couple of times before shrugging it off and looking around.

The second surprise was a person standing in his cell. After squinting a little, he saw that it was a very short person. The black hair gave it away and Jean slowly sat up. He winced a little, feeling sore, but managed to sit anyway.

“You look awful,” the ravenette hung up the torch on the wall and sat down in front of Jean.

“I’m sorry for not getting ready and greeting you properly,” Jean rolled his eyes.

Pieck giggled. “I forgive you, but only this once. Here, I brought you some stew. It’s still warm.” She carefully placed a tray in front of Jean as she said that.

He stared at the bowl of steaming stew and looked away. “I don’t want it,” he lied. The only things he got to eat were bread and sometimes an apple if he was lucky enough. Not that it affected him much, his titan powers allowed his endurance to grow stronger. He could stay weeks without food and would be fine if he wanted to. Not to mention that Pieck was the enemy.

A gorgeous, kind and caring enemy who brought him a little food whenever she came.

She was the only one who hadn’t made a wrong move on him yet. That didn’t earn her his full trust, however, he enjoyed her company. It was a nice change.

“It’s not poisoned or anything, look.” She scooped a spoonful of the stew and ate it, showing her empty mouth afterwards to prove her point. “It’s safe to eat and you need to eat something proper before you pass out or anything.”

“I’ll be fine,” he denied anyway and leaned his back against the wall. “Shifter and all.”

“I don’t care.” She lifted the bowl and filled the spoon with stew before holding it out for him. “Just eat it.”

“Will you tell me where we are if I eat it?”

“You know I can’t,” Pieck moved the spoon a little closer, “now open your mouth.”

Jean narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t deny that the stew smelled really good, and Pieck ate from it, it had to be safe. So he eventually opened his mouth and ate the spoonful, chewing it slowly while savoring the taste. It had vegetables and potatoes and even some meat. It’s been a while since he last had meat.

“...I can eat by myself.” He insisted and took the bowl and spoon from Pieck. It was a little embarrassing to be fed like a child.

Pieck let him and rested her hands on her lap. Her expression turned a little more serious, her brows furrowing. “What did Floch do?”

“The usual.” Jean replied nonchalantly.

“Can’t be, I don’t see any injuries…”

He paused to look up at her for a moment. “Healed. Not important.”

Pieck was quiet and lowered her gaze slightly. It seemed she put one and one together and didn’t need any further explanation.

As the cell fell into silence, Jean ate more of the stew, eating rather quickly so he would finish soon and avoid getting any of them in danger. But one question was on his mind.

“Why are you doing this?”

Pieck tilted her head. “Doing what?”

“Bringing me extra food and all… Is that your way of coaxing me to get information?” He raised a brow.

“Ouch, that’s not nice to hear. Although I understand why you think this way.” She shrugged and gave him a little smile, “that’s not my intention nor my job. I know we’re at war and that information is very precious but I do not like the way you’re being treated... You’re a human being just like the rest of us and I wouldn’t want one of my comrades to be treated like that if they were in a similar situation… So I’m trying to make it a little easier for you.”

Jean stared for a moment before he gave a nod and continued to eat. He wasn’t sure if Pieck’s words were genuine. She did sound like she meant what she said so, for the time being, he left it at that.

“Don’t you get in trouble for being here anyway? What if they find out you’re bringing me food?” Jean questioned next. Up until now, that was Pieck’s fourth or maybe fifth visit. She always brought him something small to eat. He did not want to draw any unnecessary attention.

“They won’t, it’s my turn to watch over the prisoners so I need to be here anyway.” She crossed her legs and leaned back against her palms. “And don’t worry about the food. I know what I’m doing.”

Jean was a little hesitant but nodded anyway. Nobody noticed that he was getting extra food or a chance to have a decent conversation with another person and he would rather keep it that way. “I see… I hope for you that this isn’t any kind of trick.”

“No way,” Pieck shook her head, “you’re too smart to play any tricks on. And I’m starting to like your company, so this is a win-win for both of us.”

“Mhm..”

The brunet was quick to finish the bowl and set it back down on the tray. “Thank you for the meal.”

Pieck smiled and leaned forward again. “You’re more than welcome. You know, talking with you is way more fun than talking with the others.”

“What, because I’m half naked?” He joked, making Pieck giggle.

“Of course not! Although I have to admit, that’s definitely a sight to behold,” she wiggled her eyebrows playfully.

Jean rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall again. He couldn’t help the little smile from forming on his lips.

“What I meant,” she said, “talking with you, it feels so different. Makes me feel careless. It’s like talking to a good friend.”

“A friend, huh…” Jean repeated before shrugging. He missed his friends, they were all precious to him. What he would give to see one of them now... It’s been so long.

“Is there anything else I can get you for today?” Pieck spoke while taking the tray and standing up.

“How about the keys for these?” He lifted one hand, making the chains rattle. “And a map?”

Pieck smiled with sympathy and grabbed the torch. “Dummy. You have the keys and map to my heart, that’s the only ones I can give you. You know that.” She hummed and walked out of the cell, making sure to lock it behind herself before waving. “See ya.” And she disappeared in the dark.

Jean watched her leave and exhaled deeply. He already knew Pieck wouldn’t give him any of these but it was still worth a try. Even if only to humor himself.

It was after Pieck’s visits that Jean felt a little better. It was like she was restoring his energy so he could make it through another day or week. Talking with her was so calm and without any pressure, it was so easy.

He might not fully trust her but he still looked forward to the next time he would be able to have a chat with Pieck.

~

A few days or so later, Jean didn’t know how long it was, Zeke personally came down to his cell. He was in charge of these people and the whole mission, Jean learned. He was the one who suggested kidnapping one of the shifters to turn the tables. This far, it didn’t appear to benefit him much since Jean didn’t give away any information and the Survey Corps had yet to make a move towards them.

The brunet glanced up when the door of his cell was unlocked and the tall blond walked inside. Behind him stood a few other soldiers with rifles pointed at him. He stared at them before shifting his gaze up at Zeke.

“Jean Kirstein, am I right? I gotta say I’m quite impressed.” The blond stopped right in front of Jean and rubbed over his beard.

Jean just stared, the indifference obvious on his expression.

“You’ve been here for more than two weeks and haven’t lost a word. That’s quite exceptional.”

Just two weeks? It felt so much longer. But then again, Jean lost every sense of time he had. He couldn’t even tell if it was day or night at the moment.

Zeke hummed and tilted his head. “Aren’t you a smart man? You should know that your friends will not find you here, never. And you should also know that we will not stop searching for them. We’re at advantage. If you tell us where they are, we will let you leave. I will even prepare you a lunch bag for the way, how does that sound?”

“You don’t think I believe you would really let me go, do you?” Jean raised a brow before a sly grin came to his lips. “Kick and punch me all you want, tell your men to rape me as many times as your sick brain feels like. Do whatever pleases you. You’re not getting anything out of me.”

It was Zeke’s turn to stare. His eye twitched a little. He cleared his throat and nodded, “I see. Then we just need to continue trying out new things until we find something that works. Or until I’m sick of it and just feed you to someone.”

He waved two fingers, making one of the soldiers at the door enter the cell with something in his hands. Once he was close enough, Jean could see that it was some kind of bottle with a colorless liquid inside. At first glance, it looked like a bottle of water.

But Zeke wasn’t that innocent.

“Have you ever touched sulfuric acid?” He took the bottle and opened it, crouching down in front of Jean.

Well, that made him a little tense.

“Curious to know what this does to the skin?” Zeke’s glasses reflected the light of the nearby torch. The grin on his face didn’t make the situation any better.

Jean clenched his teeth and glared. “Tsk…”

“Where is your base?” Zeke questioned.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you climb some trees and search for it, Monkey?” Jean spat, unintimidated.

And that was when Zeke splashed a generous amount of the acid over Jean. It hit his face, stomach, arms and legs, causing Jean to cry out loudly. Every single drop of the acid burned in such a cruel way, turning his skin into a bright red mess with many blisters. It burned mercilessly through his flesh and Jean felt every drop of it having its effect on him.

He groaned and panted heavily, biting his lower lip in an attempt to stifle his noises. His body naturally began regenerating and steam rose to the ceiling. Jean looked at Zeke, shot him a look of disgust.

“Did that help your memory?” Zeke questioned with a dark expression. “Will you tell me now?”

Jean took a few deep breaths. Then he smirked. “H-hah? That only tick-tickled a bit... You-you gotta try better.”

The blond snarled and grabbed Jean’s face with one hand, shoving the bottle into his mouth with the other. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind this!” He tilted Jean’s head up so the liquid would run down his throat.

Jean tried moving his face away somehow while he tried to scream and felt how the acid burned his insides. From his air pipe down to his lung and guts. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling at all. In fact, that was the worst kind of pain he had ever experienced. It was a hundred times worse than just getting the acid on his skin.

It felt like he was melting from the inside, like he was decomposing while the acid devoured his organs and bones. He wanted to cough and throw up and breathe at the same time, wanted to get the acid out again. But chained up and held in place, he had no chance to defend himself. And for a split second, he was considering Zeke’s offer. The pain messed with his mind.

When Zeke finally pulled the bottle away because it was empty, Jean fell back and began wheezing. Breathing was almost impossible now and Jean was on the brink of passing out. Even though his body was regenerating itself, it would surely take a while and the pain was unbearable.

Zeke said something Jean didn’t hear. A few moments later, he did pass out and laid sprawled out across the floor. His mouth hung open, steam passing his lips with his body’s desperate attempt to heal itself.

This was rough. This Zeke was insane, a maniac, and he was sure he would get to experience even more of these psychotic torture methods in the next days.

But as crazy as Zeke might be, Jean was stubborn and strong. He just needed to hold on. And maybe he needed to find a way to escape earlier before all of this could cost him his life and pain wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

~

Jean groaned in discomfort and reached up a trembling hand to press it against his stomach. It already was much better from when the acid burned him but the soreness and irritation was still there. His body already healed most of the damage, Jean could tell, but it wasn’t fully done just yet.

His eyes blinked open tiredly to get a view of his surroundings. Still in the cell, still chained up. The only difference from the last time he was awake was that he was now laying on the mattress with the blanket over his body. There was something strange under his head too.

“Jean? Can you hear me?” He heard a tender voice by his side and turned his head slightly to look up at the person.

Upon seeing the worried expression on her face, Jean’s lips tugged into a tiny smile. “Your voice is… is soft like an angel’s... Not sure i-if I’m already dead…” He murmured and closed his eyes again.

“Oh, God… I’m so glad you finally woke up…” Pieck whispered, her hand coming up to run through Jean’s long hair.

“Don’t tell me... you were worried about the enemy. That’s.. That’s not how it works, Pieck.” He let out a small chuckle which ended in heavy coughing.

“Jean!” She exclaimed and turned him onto his side quickly, patting his back to help him ride out the cough. “Stop talking, you’re not in the condition to talk now. You need to rest so your body can focus on healing.”

Jean laid back once he got a grip of himself and let out a weak sigh. He glanced up at Pieck again and looked into her eyes. He wasn’t sure if he saw tears in them because he couldn’t focus too hard but it was easy to see that she was very sad.

“‘M fine,” he assured her and lifted his hand which Pieck took into her own. Her much smaller hands embraced his big one, squeezed him.

Pieck looked into his eyes and this time he saw rage in them, something he had never seen before. She always wore a smile on her face, so Jean never imagined how it’d look like if Pieck got angry. It was scary, in a way, to see her enraged, out of all people.

“You were unconscious for two days… Zeke went too far this time. He’s gotten so gruesome ever since all of this started, he’s not the person I once trusted anymore. I can’t trust someone who would go this far only for dumb information.” She stated, her voice loud enough for Jean to hear but still kept quiet.

“Jean.” She gave his hand another squeeze, “I’ll help you out of here. I thought Zeke was a good person- he’s clearly not. And I’m not gonna sit and watch how his actions will get worse from here on.”

Jean was silent for a moment, letting Pieck’s words process in his head. Surely, hearing that she would help him wasn’t what he expected, and he couldn’t tell if this was a trap or not. After what Zeke did, he had to be much more careful now.

“You just couldn’t resist my charm, could you?” He joked.

“Maybe that’s true too.” She reached one hand down and smoothed out Jean’s hair. “But I’m serious. You don’t deserve such treatment only because you're the ‘enemy’. I’ve made my decision.”

The brunet closed his eyes when he felt Pieck’s hand on his head. It’s been a while since he last received a tender touch and with Pieck it felt so right. He knew that it could be a trap but it was the most gorgeous and kindest trap ever.

For a moment, he wanted to believe Pieck’s words. Just for one moment.

When it was only him and her, Jean felt like everything was right. She always sounded so sincere and genuine and honest… always treated him as equal and even almost like a friend. Maybe that was how Pieck was and maybe she was honest about wanting to help him. This was a tough decision.

“Can you tell me where we are exactly?” He opened his eyes to look up at the ravenette, awaiting an answer from her.

Pieck gave a small nod. “We’re in an open area, about ten miles away from the nearest forest. They’ve spent weeks building this place to hold someone - preferably a shifter - captive. Right now, we’re underground. So if you planned to transform to leave, you’d have to get to the surface first or else you’ll be stuck in the ground. It’s too small.”

Her fingers entangled in his locks, giving him a few more strokes before she held Jean’s hand on her lap using both hands. “We’re pretty far away from any kind of civilization, so just running away won’t help, they’ll capture you again.” She explained, rubbing a thumb over Jean’s knuckles. “I would suggest going southwest, that’s where you can find the most people and hide until you know where to go.”

“I see.” He muttered and stared up at the ceiling in thought. If that was the case, he needed a plan to get out of the building and leave without anyone noticing to buy time. And he needed to be fully healed to be able to run that distance.

“I can sneak out the keys of your cuffs but I haven’t seen any kind of map here apart from the big one in Zeke’s room. I can’t give it to you but I will try to make a sketch of it for you from my memory.”

“Why?” Jean questioned, moving his gaze to her eyes. “Why are you doing all this for me? It can’t be only because Zeke poured acid over me. What’s the real reason behind all this?”

“...I don’t want Zeke to win. Not anymore. He’s my friend but his motives aren’t something I can agree on. If I can stop him or at least manipulate his plan somehow, I will.”

“What are his motives?” Jean was the one to squeeze her hand this time.

“...He wants to turn all subjects of Ymir infertile. He thinks that it’s better, that those who can turn into titans should no longer exist. He wants to rot them out and that’s wrong… but he won’t listen to anyone.”

“I see.” Jean said again and furrowed his brows a little. He didn’t only need to escape, they had to do something about Zeke and stop him. If his plan succeeded, it would be the worst outcome.

The brunet began pushing himself up into a sitting position, wincing a little when a particular move hurt too much. He exhaled carefully once he sat and glanced around the cell quietly.

While he looked around, he noticed that Pieck used her coat as a makeshift pillow for his head and couldn’t help but smile. Maybe she spoke the truth about wanting to help him out.

“Alright,” he looked up at Pieck, “will you be able to get me a sketch or something similar of the surroundings and this place by tomorrow? I’ll think of something to do against Zeke and his men.”

Pieck nodded. “I’ll do my best. And you don’t move around too much, your body needs to rest and heal.”

The brunet stared, a little deadpanned. He gave a short glance around the small cell, down to his cuffs and back up at Pieck. “Not like I have a choice?” He raised a brow in amusement.

“I meant it as in ‘don’t strain your body’.” She corrected.

Jean nodded quickly and held back a grin. “Oh, sure! I’ll just tell them not to beat me up too bad next time. Mhm, understood.”

“Jean!” Pieck pouted and gently slapped his arm. “You know what I meant, you big dummy.”

He let out a short chuckle. “I know, I’m just teasing you. By the way…” His voice became a bit more serious again, “what about you? I guess you will stay here?”

The ravenette gave a small shrug and looked around, scratching her head. “Not like I have a choice,” she repeated his words.

“Listen, if you really help me out of here and you really aren’t on Zeke’s side anymore…” he trailed off. “My people will understand. We can figure out something for you to stay with us, we could need someone intelligent and strong like you.”

“You expect your friends to welcome me with open arms after what I’ve done?” She tilted her head, brows furrowing.

“You were following orders.” Jean emphasized. “If what you’re saying about turning your back on Zeke is true, then I can talk with my people about this and we will figure out something. Whatever happens, I can assure you that you will not get this kind of treatment, even as one of Zeke’s soldiers.”

“Ah…” The ravenette looked down and scratched the back of her neck.

Jean reached out to touch her shoulder gently, making Pieck face him again. “I’m not telling you to make a decision right now. Zeke aside, I know you probably have close friends here. Just.. think about it and let me know once you made up your mind.” He offered.

Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy to just take her back with him, Jean knew that, but this place - and especially Zeke - were awful and someone this kindhearted like Pieck had nothing to do here. They could become really good friends if the circumstances were different, so Jean wanted her to go with him.

Not to mention that someone like Pieck would benefit them greatly. She was strong, she was smart. If Zeke lost her so suddenly, it’d be a big shock and a big disadvantage, that much was for sure.

Then again, only if what Pieck said was true.

Though, Pieck didn’t seem like the person who needed to lie to get what she wanted. Jean had a good feeling about it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, try to get enough rest.” She reached up to take the hand that was on her shoulder and pulled it down. Giving his hand a few gentle pats, she soon stood up and grabbed her coat as well.

Jean watched her stand up and gave a firm nod. “Be careful.”

After she left, Jean carefully laid down again and closed his eyes, both to let his body do the work of regenerating and to think deeply. He needed to concentrate and think of a plan.

[xplrerdolan]

𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐆𝐔𝐘 [ 𝘊𝘖𝘓𝘉𝘠 𝘉𝘙𝘖𝘊𝘒 ]

⤬ SUMMARY: Colby thinks he may have met the one. Amber is everything he’s ever wanted; he’s never been so in love before, he’s sure of it. And then he meets you—and suddenly, Amber’s once shining colors seem so dull. He knows it’s wrong, but the more he resists you, the more he wants you—and the more he hates himself for it. ➝ NOTE: this fic is written from Colby’s perspective.

⤬ WARNINGS: cisfem!reader, adultery, swearing, consumption of alcohol [reckless; in excess], smut, unprotected sex

⤬ WORD COUNT: 4.5k

⤬ DISCLAIMER: this is a work of fiction. i do not condone the act of cheating, and in no way is this fic meant to glorify or promote adultery.

© xplrer on Tumblr // asteriasyzygy on Wattpad

pinterest aesthetic board // spotify playlist

❋ ❋ ❋

I loved Amber—love her. I swear. Everything from her auburn hair and honey-brown eyes. She dazzled me when we first met, and I want to believe that those feelings are still there. They're just buried... really, really deep.

It was killing me; she was killing me, slowly and torturously. With her claws impaled in my ribs, still sinking, threatening to own every part of me—down to my last breath.

It was getting bad. Or maybe that's just what I'm telling myself to provide me some sense of comfort. "Getting bad" was an understatement; even "getting worse" didn't do it justice. The other night, I did something terrible—so far beyond bad or worse that my stomach clenched every time I thought about it.

For the first time in weeks, Amber and I got intimate. I wanted to remind myself of who I had fallen in love with a year ago. I wanted to pull myself out of the mess I'd made; I wanted to pull Amber right back into my arms and lock her there tight.

We fucked in the dark—my first mistake. My second: I fucked her from behind. Hearing her moans, which normally drove me wild, was making me soft inside her. I didn't give her time to notice. I did the only thing I could do. I twirled her hair around my fingers and pulled her back, lifting her upper body off the mattress toward me. I brought my other hand to her mouth and silenced her. She perceived this as an act of dominance, not of shame.

I screwed my eyes up tight and thought of her. The mere memory of her sent blood coursing through my groin again, making me rock-hard inside of Amber. I focused on the wisps of her image that flashed through my mind as I chased my orgasm so it could all be over.

In the midst of my euphoria, I nearly called out her name—[Y/N]. I felt it teasing the tip of my tongue before I swallowed it forcefully, her name swelling in my throat and choking me. Tears rose to my eyes and I pulled out of Amber quickly, the evidence of my crime mocking me from inside the condom. I pulled it off me in disgust, flinging it towards the trash can and probably missing.

Amber—bless her heart—started to comfort me. "Baby, don't worry," she said softly, pulling my hands away from my face. "Don't be so hard on yourself. It's been a while. I didn't expect you to last long. Besides, I enjoyed myself while it did."

Her smile was so sweet. It took everything in me to not break down right there. I pulled her in for a tight hug to hide my face. I held my breath until the burning feeling in my nose went away and my tears dried. I kissed her cheek, fighting the bile rising in my throat as I did so. It's not that she disgusted me—I disgusted myself.

Without a word I stood from the bed and went to the shower. I turned the tap all the way to the left, the water quickly becoming scalding hot. I forced myself to stand under it, my back arching away from the heat as it assaulted my body. I grimaced as I endured my self-inflicted punishment, grabbing a bar of soap and scrubbing at my skin desperately. I wanted to wash her away. I wanted to remove the layer of skin she corrupted. Twenty minutes and half a bar of soap later, I resigned myself to the fact that it wasn't working. When I stepped out of the shower, my skin was a stark red.

I tried to remember all the pain of that night as I drove to her house for what I promised myself would be the last time.

❋

I didn't tell her that I was going over there to talk. I just told her I was coming over. To be completely honest, I told her instead of asking to feel like I had some control over the situation knowing I didn't. From the moment I'd met her, she had me wrapped around her finger, tucked neatly under that silver and amethyst ring she wore on her left middle finger—the one I'd first complimented her on when we met.

My fingers curled around the steering wheel in response to the flood of memories from that night; her little black dress, shamelessly flaunting her body; her body, the source of my hypnosis, my obsession. Even among a slew of memories I wish I'd never made, I savored the image of her body—covered, uncovered; coated in sweat as we fucked in the backseat of my car, drenched in water as I fucked her against the tile walls in her shower.

That night, she'd walked right up to me and snatched the red-solo cup right out of my hands before taking a long, deep drink from it. In fact, she drained it. The amethyst in her ring glittered as she handed my cup back to me, and since I was already pretty drunk, I didn't pay any mind to the sheer audacity of her careless, crass actions. Looking back on it now made me puff out a dry laugh and shake my head at myself. Our very first interaction was a red flag—[Y/N] took what she wanted when she wanted, and once she got what she wanted, she discarded what she didn't.

If I could go back, I'd say, "Get the fuck away from me." But hindsight is 20/20, and that's not what I said. On my way to incoherence at the hand of alcohol, I slurred at her, "Ni—cool, uh... thingy."

Couldn't decide on an adjective, couldn't remember the noun. Completely helpless in her presence from the first moment. And just like every other time she left me helpless, she just giggled at me for it. She found it funny, the effect she had on everyone around her. Everyone—men, women, nonbinary people, regardless of their sexuality or how attracted they were to her sexually. Every person she touched or talked to or smiled at was instantly inclined to like her. She was the kind of person who made you insecure in your own desirability—not just sexually, but whether people desired to be around you, and if people desired to be your friend. She was the kind of person you craved approval from. You could beg her for it with your eyes, try to get her to say it out loud, but she never budged. She left you hanging, dangling in front of her judiciary stare.

Imagine what happens when a person like that decides she wants more than just the drink in your cup? more than the shirt off your back? more than what you have to give? Here I am, the remnants of an answer.

She informed me that the thingy on her finger was a ring. She held her hand out, fingers sprawled, palm down. Innocently (ignorantly) I held her fingers in mine and gently twisted them, just barely turning them to the left and right, to watch the crystal glitter. Its edges were jagged, the rock as sharp and raw as her sense of humor. I traced the swirls of smoky purple with my eyes, squinting to really focus.

She humored me as I was clearly very drunk. She was feeling the buzz from the drink she'd stolen from me, and she was keen to catch up. When Tara, who had brought her to the party, walked up to her with a cup filled one-third of the way with brown liquor, which I could see from the shadow against the plastic, she was only too happy to take it with her free hand and immediately chug its contents. Rather than cringing from the taste, she stood before me with her eyes closed, humming. I stared at her in awe, my attention ripped away from her shiny ring while my fingers were still wrapped around hers. I only snapped back to reality when she pulled her hand from mine and gently pushed up against my chin to make me close my mouth.

After my mouth was closed, her fingers lingered on my skin, and subtly—quick enough for no one else to notice—she trailed her thumb over my bottom lip. She told me later that she liked the way it always made me look a little pouty, even when I smile. I had a feeling it only did that around her—when I was reduced to a beggar.

Stopped at a red light, I looked into the rear-view mirror and examined my lower lip. I ran my fingers over it, exactly where hers had been, and heaved a sigh through my nose. I could never look at my own lips the same way again.

I remember that I'd tried to tell her I had a girlfriend; I'd giggled it out, sounding like a little boy about to do something his mom had told him not to. Rather than backing off, she only seemed that much more interested. She didn't like being told she couldn't have something. And she'd take it anyway, just to prove she could, just to spite the rules.

She got off on the idea of making a loyal man disloyal. Whether it was to prove there was no such thing as a loyal man or to prove that she could get anyone she wanted no matter the circumstance, I don't even think she could say. It might be a little bit of both.

As I pulled onto her street, I solemnly admitted to myself that she'd done more than prove both, even with me walking away today. Walking away today didn't negate that I'd walked toward her before. The memory of the first time I met her was often revisited with anger; anger directed at her. Until now, I'd blamed her for my actions. But she hadn't been in that bedroom a few nights ago. She hadn't replaced Amber with herself, I did.

I knocked on her door twice. She called back to give her a second, and I could hear her music playing in the background. When she reached the door, she swung it open and posed in the doorway.

An involuntary whine came from the back of my throat, feeling briefly lightheaded as the blood in my body redirected south. I peered down at her over the bridge of my nose as if tipping my head away from her would make her any less irresistible.

She stood before me, dressed only in lingerie. The lacy ensemble was a bright cherry red, the color stark against her beautiful skin. The bralette cupped her breasts as if it were made for her body—and knowing [Y/N]'s tastes, it probably was made for her. The lace detailing continued down over her ribs, and a satin bow rested at the base of her cleavage. The matching panties came up to her waist, and a bow matching the one on her bra sat just under her bellybutton. They were incredibly simple, but her beauty and grace made them seem intricate and complex. What really killed me was the matching sheer boudoir robe, with its satin belt tied around her waist, emphasizing her curves, and its faux-fur trim surrounding her like a demonic aura.

She took my resistance for teasing, giggling at me—or maybe she could see right through me, and she knew I was desperately trying to resist her. And maybe she planned to dress as she had just to ruin me.

But truthfully, that's exactly what it did. And because I'd already accepted that I was a pathetic, weak bastard, I let my resolve crumble. One last time, I thought firmly. One last time and then it's over.

I brought my left hand to her waist, the satin belt feeling like heaven against my fingertips, and pushed her back into her foyer and shut her door, pretending for the moment that she was mine. She was mine and she wanted me as much as I wanted her, and she didn't want anyone else.

My hands moved up to cup her face, my thumbs tracing over her jawline. My eyes roamed her face freely, looking over her features as though I hadn't memorized them already, as if they weren't stained on the backs of my eyelids. Her gaze steadily met mine, a twinkle dancing in her eyes like she knew just how much power she had over me. She knew how weak I was for her.

For fuck's sake, she hadn't even touched me yet and I was already drunk on her. She'd left me breathless with just a look; she'd stolen whatever fragmented sense of control I had left without so much as a "hello."

Somewhere between wallowing in self-hatred and drowning in lust, I pressed my lips against hers, welcoming the sweet torture. Her lips felt softer than the satin draped over her waist. My hands started exploring her body, pushing past her robe to grab at her ass over her panties. While the feeling of it was enough to send a thrill through my lower abdomen, nothing brought me more euphoria than hearing her respond to my touch.

Her moans sent me out of my body; the only thing I cared about was her pleasure and being the source of it. My fingers pushed the red lace to the side before properly gripping the plump flesh, massaging it gently the way I knew she liked. It pleased her enough to earn her fingers raking through my hair, tugging on the little hairs at the base of my neck to make me whine.

It pained me that she had found that sensitive spot of mine in the few weeks we'd been sneaking around while Amber still hadn't found it after a year. My eyebrows knitted together, and I pulled [Y/N] tighter against my body, savoring these last moments of true satisfaction. The friction between our bodies made me harder than Amber had made me in months. Among the embers of my burning lust flared the searing heat of self-hatred; indulging in her made me a masochist to my own sadism.

I guided her backward through her hallways, the route all too familiar. We stumbled into her bedroom, making sure to lock the door—hiding from even the pictures on the wall.

On a less significant day, I'd be ravishing her. But, as I reminded myself sternly, this would be the last day I spent with her—I had to savor it. Despite telling myself that over and over again, the reality of it hit me hard at that moment. I felt myself choke on the emotion, my body betraying me as I felt tears prick at my eyes.

I refused to allow [Y/N] to see it. I turned her around, facing away from me, and gathered myself. While I calmed myself down, I slowly trailed my fingers over her sheer robe from her wrist up to her shoulders, raising goosebumps along her skin. I focused all of my energy on disrobing her, not letting a fraction of my attention slip elsewhere—especially not toward inconvenient, intrusive emotions.

My hands moved to caress the bare skin of her chest, just above her gorgeous breasts. They traveled south over her bust and then settled on the delicate bow holding the garment together. I undid the bow gently, taking my time loosening it. I could tell she wanted me to hurry—she sighed and pressed herself against me—but, just this once, I was going to indulge myself first.

I shushed her softly, drawing the sound out as I brought my mouth next to her ear. I whispered to her, "I'm going to take my sweet time having my way with you today."

She shivered against me, my breath fanning over her sensitive skin tickling it just right. She chuckled softly, an amused smile stretching over her face. She then clicked her tongue and cast a gaze over her shoulder, considering me briefly. Apparently, she decided to play along; her body relaxed against me, allowing me to control the pace.

I carried on with my actions, pulling the garment off at a painstakingly slow pace before draping it over a chair in the corner of her room. Her stillness made her look statuesque; I wouldn't be surprised if she turned to stone right before me, proving to be some artist's rendition of perfection.

"Lay down for me, on your back," I ordered.

She complied. If I didn't know any better, I might feel like I had some control over her, like she was naturally submissive. But the truth was [Y/N] merely allowed others to feel dominant; we both knew it was me who followed her, not the other way around. But for the moment, it was nice that the cat humored her mouse.

I crawled across the bed, pausing to hover over her and steal a kiss. Before I pulled away, she tugged at my shirt by the hem, wordlessly commanding me to remove it. I pulled it over my head by the neck, tossing it haphazardly to the floor. I leaned over her again, my hands on either side of her head, my arms outstretched.

She trailed her nails softly over my arms—always careful to not leave marks—before resting them on the back of my neck, pulling me down toward her again. She kissed me then like I'd never been kissed before: with a gentle passion, a soft intensity. She must have known—somehow, she must've.

When she pulled away from me, I lingered above her with my eyes closed, still processing the complex emotions she stirred in me. As I contemplated this, she pressed another kiss to my lips, this time quick and succinct, a little peck. It was enough to ground me back in reality.

I moved down her body, trailing open-mouthed kisses across her skin. I watched as her chest began to rise and fall faster the closer I got to her core, feeling more pleasure from causing her arousal than I'd felt in my entire relationship with Amber.

I situated myself between her legs, scooping my arms under them so they rested on my shoulders. She shot me a confused glance as I had yet to remove her panties, making me smirk. I blew softly over her covered core, a sensation that would do little more than tease her. She sighed again, a wry smile on her face. I was staying true to my word of taking my time with her.

I closed my mouth over her center, pressing my tongue against it to dampen the lace and taunt her with a feeling just on the cusp of pleasure. I sucked the cloth into my mouth, drenching it further, making sure it just barely grazed her most sensitive spot. She moaned, the sound a mix between pleasure and frustration. She ground her hips toward me, seeking more from me. I felt drunk on her desperation and wanted to feel more of it. I brought my hands to her hips and held them down, continuing her slow torture.

She balled her fists in the sheets, pouty moans falling past her lips. I felt her resist the pressure I placed on her hips, but I wasn't ready to give into her. I delivered a sharp, quick smack to her outer thigh. She gasped, relaxed into me, and let out a low moan.

After another minute of making her endure my teasing, I pushed myself up on my elbows to pull her panties off, earning a sigh of relief from her. I returned to my position and pressed kisses to her skin—along her thighs, in the crevices where her legs met her hips, and all over her mound. Finally, I kissed along her lower lips, starting at the very base and working my way up to the place she needed me most.

I settled my attention on her clit, slowly swirling my tongue around it, earning the tiniest moan from her. I then sucked the bundle of nerves into my mouth to further stimulate her, watching her back arch slightly and pull even harder at the sheets.

I couldn't stop watching her reactions. I felt myself growing impossibly harder at the sound of her moans, the head of my cock starting to throb. I lapped at her ambrosial juices, my tongue roaming the entirety of her pussy. She really started to squirm for me when I slipped my tongue into her, curling it up each time it entered her. After teasing her with my tongue, I brought it back to her clit and moved my left hand to finger her with my middle and ring fingers, sucking on the hardened bundle of nerves while my fingers pumped in and out of her.

At this point, her fingers were in my hair and her legs trembled around my head. She moaned my name in pleasure over and over, seemingly incapable of saying anything else. Her head was tipped back into the pillows, her back arched dramatically. I brought her closer and closer to her orgasm, my eyes trained on her writhing figure, enjoying the view immensely.

It didn't take long for her walls to start clenching around my fingers, a feeling that made my dick twitch in anticipation. I sped my fingers up, curling them up to tease the most sensitive part within her. Her voice broke off as she reached her peak, her hips grinding against my mouth desperately. My fingers worked through her high, slowing down as her body relaxed again. I lapped at her folds for a few moments longer, just enjoying the taste. When she looked down at me again, her eyes were filled with lust and affection.

When I crawled over her again, I pressed my lips against hers in a long, sensual kiss. I felt her push against my chest, wanting me to lay back so she could return the favor, but guilt weighed heavily in my stomach at the thought. As badly as I wanted it, I truly did not deserve it, and I would rather feel regret and longing than even deeper guilt. I chuckled into her mouth softly and shook my head.

"I can't wait any longer," I lied, pulling her bottom lip between my teeth. She moaned softly at my words, her nails scratching lightly over my chest.

I pulled away from her to finish undressing. I kept my eyes on hers, watching her reaction as my cock slapped against my lower abdomen, feeling a rush of lust as she subconsciously bit her lip. I attempted to crawl over her again, but she shook her head, sitting up.

"I wanna ride you," she purred. Another wave of lust washed over me, making me moan softly. I laid back against her pillows and watched her straddle me.

She leaned down to kiss me, grinding her dripping pussy over my shaft as she did so. A strangled moan escaped me; finally getting the attention I'd been craving was enough to make me quiver under her touch. She teased me like that for a while, working me up even more—the sweetest torture.

Finally, she allowed me to slip into her, my eyes rolling back into my skull at the feeling. She let out an erotic moan, the sound mixing with my own gasps of pleasure. I gripped her hips as she worked them over me. My eyes lazily trailed over her body, drinking in the sight of her gorgeous body.

She placed her hand under my chin and lifted my gaze up to meet hers. When our eyes locked, my heart stuttered in my chest. We held eye contact for a long moment, long enough that I felt myself unravel beneath her.

Then, she smirked down at me, a little giggle slipping past her lips. It was incredible how she could do so much to me while doing so little. I flipped our positions, surprising her, making her giggle more. I couldn't hold back a chuckle and a wide smile myself. I swooped down to kiss her before working my hips against hers, the feeling of her pussy around me making my mind go almost completely blank.

In fact, horrible as it was, the only thing on my mind was how much better it felt to be with [Y/N] than Amber.

I dipped my head down, biting marks into her neck—a luxury she could afford. She tugged on my hair, hard; it was the only thing she could do without leaving any evidence behind. I shut my eyes tight, trying to push the image and memory of Amber from my mind at this moment, focusing only on the woman underneath me.

I brought a hand up to grab a fistful of her hair, tugging on it to expose more of her neck to me. I sped up the rhythm of my thrusts, my teeth grazing against her sensitive skin. I felt my orgasm approaching, so I brought my thumb to her clit and rubbed it vigorously, wanting to feel her clench around me one last time.

I knew her body well enough to make it happen. Not even a minute later, the walls of her pussy fluttered around my cock, a stuttering, breathy moan escaping her. The way her legs trembled around me and her hips rolled up to meet mine sent me over the edge, making me cum harder than I'd ever cum before.

I rested inside of her after the fact, my head nestled in the crook of her neck. She played with my hair, humming contentedly as she gave me a moment to collect myself. When I finally did pull out of her, I reached over for the baby wipes she keeps on her nightstand, cleaning myself and her up carefully.

I laid back, opening my arms to her. She curled up next to me, laying her head on my chest. I stayed silent for a few moments, trying to enjoy my last few moments of peace for what they were—the calm before the storm.

When I took a deep breath, [Y/N] already knew what was coming. I explained my feelings to her in as little detail as possible—I was too ashamed to admit to her that I'd been replacing Amber with her in my mind, but I suspected she already knew.

I left her fifty bucks for a Plan B, kissed her once more, and left her house for the last time.

[artsyxloner]

Not Just a Monster

Warning: blood,Voices, violence

4: Green Roof Apartments

It was dark by the time I had gotten to the green roof apartment building. I was coming up near the font where it looked like they were doing construction work? but Spotted something laying on the ground.

Its limbs were all Sprawled out getting closer making sure it was dead before I went in.  Half of its head was chopped Capitated it had looked-like its face was beaten in my something big?

Its teeth were all yellow and dirty as its skin was a sickly bluish-gray. But one of its ears stood out the most. It was enlarged, I was sure to remember this and put it in my field journal.

I was about to check the front out when I heard the monster utter some words. " I can't see?!" It spoke my eyes went wide as I turned to look at it.

My feet Accidentally hit some gravel making the smallest noise. Its enlarged ear started to twitch. " I can hear you!!" I mumbled its fingers moved when all of a sudden they shot out spikes. Until it hit the concrete building wall making a crashing sound.

I jumped out of the way before it could hit me. I rolled on to the payment as another shot of spikes came. Laying on my stomach it was either fight or flight since I didn't have a weapon I chose to leave knowing I could get killed.

The only reason I didn't before was because of the golden If you didn't know already. Getting up I ran away, not able to fight well I wasn't a good fighter as you have seen before but I was extremely lucky.

Going in behind the building there  I checked for a possible way in. As I moved stuff out of my way I found a door hidden behind a white tarp. Moving it out of the way there was a sound of a huge thud making the group shake.

I wobbled a little bit trying to steady back my balance. Knowing I shouldn't have looked back but my Curiosity got the best of me. I nearly fainted seeing a monster about the size of Wait no it was the size of the hulk.

It kept saying " Protein" that's when I knew that was one of the monsters that ate people. Grabbing ahold of the door handle I twisted it opened running in quickly I shut and locked the door behind me.

I signed out a heavy breath feeling sweat run down my forehead and back. If this place has these kinds of monsters there's no telling what is in this building.

I should have known, there can't be a place without some type of these things living in it some more than others. Inside the back building was dark and it gave me the creeps.

Lights flickered on and off creaking sounds coming from the old busted pipes and the floor was kinda wet with water they made have had a water leakage somewhere.

I made my way down the hallway as my footsteps splashed the little amount of water. It Echoed making the place give me goosebumps my arms my whole body shook.

I needed some sleep because I have been through a lot today my body was sore even though I healed. Checking every door it was locked until I came to the end of the last door.

Opening it Carefully as the Hinges made a squeaking sound I cringed hoping nothing heard that I was surprised to see a closet. It was those that had a little cot where the people slept on if they need to borrow one.

I smiled, it even had a pillow. Slipping off my duffel back after a while of carrying it I felt relieved hearing my bones and muscles stretch and pop. I flopped down my side hitting the comfy cot.

My breathing slowed as my eyes began to feel heavy they flutter for a few seconds before closing that's when I knew I was going to have some fucked dreams tonight from the things I saw.

...

There was nothing but loud screaming everywhere I went. Everybody was running away as they knocked each other over them jumping over seats and them hiding behind stuff.

I was confused at why they were doing this? What was wrong I didn't see anything out of the ordinary?

At the time I wasn't aware they were all running from me. I didn't have any control over my body just only inside my head, I could think.

I mean I could feel my body moving but and something wet was gushing from my nose. I was confused about what was happening? It was just a nosebleed wasn't it? that's normal.

That's when I looked in the window and was horrified at what I saw my reflection was smiling back at me with pitch-black eyes and blood was all over the bottom of my mouth dripping down to my neck.

That's when it began.

I sat up breathing hard, remembering the horrific image of myself. I quickly pick up my duffel bag and unzipped it bringing out my opened water bottle pouring some in my hands I splashed my face with some to cool me down.

I wiped my eyes rubbing them until I couldn't see it anymore until I saw stars. Signing I ran my fingers through my frizzy, red hair, I've had this dream since the night they were killed and it's like the inner monsters inside me want to keep reminding me.

I'm starting to hate it, next time I see it I'm going to tell it to fuck off! Getting up I drank my water and took out some Oreo pocky Munching on them Quietly.

I know all this junk wasn't good for me but it was the only thing I had. As I did I felt my nose dripping wet, making me Drop my pocky stick.

" shit!!" I grabbed the ends of my sleeve trying to soak up the blood that was constantly flowing. " Now! Now! that's what you get when you say you were going to tell me to what's the word... fuck off?"

I almost choked on my food hearing its damn voice. " it's too bad I didn't get to talk to you when you fell." I covered my ears not listening to the inner monster inside me wanting to come out.

I stayed silent not listening. " fine ignore me, but when the time comes you'll need me." I still stayed quiet " It wasn't my fault it was yours why would I need your help!?" I fussed getting down on my knees.

" When the time is right Soo-Nico." This made me scoffed no more like a laugh like a crazy person. If someone saw me from their point of view they would think I am.

Then the voice left like it was never there. My fist clenched as I started to bang on the floor. " I'll never need you!" I whispered as tears beamed my eyes.

I cried quietly for a few minutes leaning my back on the edge of the cot. Then I heard the sound of instrumental music coming from the speakers go off. Seconds later there was a young man's voice.

I nearly jumped out of my skin, " uh, uh," it went Static " Survivors, the first floor is safe now."

" come to the first floor. We'll be safer together." The guy paused then spoke up. " We survivors must stick together. Please come down. Come down here now."

" –I said please come down..." the man's voice went static again followed by a long Frequency that hurt my eardrums. I couldn't think for a moment there were people here? There were survivors.

I wasn't alone, I hurried I get up but stopped a thought coming to mind. What if he was trying to trick someone like me to get me to come and then take my stuff and keep it for himself? He just is saying it's safe and lies.

But for some reason I knew he wasn't lying, it sounded like he was calling for someone to come down that was being stubborn. If they were stuck up there? I only had two choices to go or not.

I decided to go I needed some social interaction if there were people there? but I would be wary and careful of them.

I wasn't going to trust them that was for sure just stick around long enough to see what type of people they are.

Getting up I grabbed my bag slinging over my shoulder carefully opening the door it was still the same as last night the same creepy eerie feeling I didn't notice before but there were cobwebs.

With dead bugs and flies in them ready to be eaten. My face crinkled up, feeling bad for them I knew how they felt now, Well in some way.

I moved down the hallway going to the entrance that's probably where they are at. I stopped every few seconds hearing strange Noise this was the first floor He said it was clear right?

Maybe he was saying one part of it was clear and blocked off. That means there could be monsters Roaming free around this section of the first floor.

I felt fear creep inside my chest and up my throat. Seeing the monsters I saw last night, there could be some-more like that or worse.

My arms got goosebumps, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand. It was like I was trying to freak myself out. I just wanted to turn back and hid in that closet and never come out.

It was promising but I knew being a wimp wouldn't solve anything. So I forced myself to go on my feet talking a right at the end of the blinking light that hung down from the Ceiling.

I passed a bathroom door that said out of order, Ignoring it I passed on seeing the walls that had wallpaper were all ripped up with mold spoiling over them.

Toys and clothes were all sprawled out all over the floor I bent down to pick up a shirt but dropped it when I heard screaming and crying.

My eyes turned to where the sound was coming from them landing on a pair of double doors. I ran towards them stepping on my tip-toes to look through the small glass window to see what was happening?

There was a group of people holding back a woman that was most likely in her late forties. With the front entrance open they all looked terrified.

[weakzen]

Touch

After another nightmare about Murphy, Mason surprises the Detective with a visit—and a few unexpected things more.

pairing: female detective/mason rating: 18+ warning: smutty smut, trauma, murphy creepiness - see tags on AO3

AO3 version

-

The blood comes closer.

It races forward, whipping around each coil before surging down the straightaways in a rush of crimson. It takes its time somehow too, winding in long, lazy loops, meandering through the tangled labyrinth of tubing so slowly that a fleeting bit of hope tries to spark in my chest.

But I know better. The blood never stops.

It always comes closer.

Isn't it thrilling, Detective?

Closer and closer.

We'll be inseparable after this!

His words jolt me into a sudden frenzy and I thrash against the bindings and the solid weight of his hand pinning my hip to the table. A ragged, primal scream tears from my throat as I jerk and twist until the straps slice into my flesh. I snap forward to bite the needle lodged in my arm, to rip it free with my teeth, but his hand clamps around my neck and slams my head against the table. White light and pain explode into my vision, and his fingers tighten ever-so-slightly in a warning I don't heed.

But it doesn't matter.

No matter how much I struggle, his blood comes closer. Closer and closer.

And there's nothing I can do to stop it.

Fear spikes through me as I continue resisting in a body that begins to feel more and more distant. All I can hear is the loud echo of his heavy, excited panting. All I can smell is his sweat mixed with a sickening metallic tang. And all I can feel is the clammy hand pinched around my thigh, his fingers squeezing with anticipation and—

There will always be a part of me inside of you.

I twist awake from the nightmare with a heaving gasp.

Bile surges hot into my throat and I swallow hard against it. My heart thunders in my chest, pounding something wild and desperate into my skull, into my ears. For a terrifying moment, I can't sense anything except the deafening throb of blood.

But…

Slowly, gradually, it recedes to the sound of rain.

And I finally choke down a long, shuddering breath.

I'm not sure how long I lie there afterward, sucking in air, my body buzzing unpleasantly while I stare at the ceiling, but eventually I become aware of just how warm I am and kick myself free of my joggers and the sheets. A shiver ripples up my spine as my bare legs are exposed, and I absently blow at a few damp strands of hair plastered to my cheek. After another long moment, I sigh and roll over to put my feet on the floor, burying my face in my hands while I wait, once again, for the trembling to die down.

Never thought I'd miss the semester when my roommate's alarm clock blasted me awake every morning while she power-slept through it, but… here I am. Getting more misty-eyed and sentimental by the second.

Ah, the halcyon days when the mystery of who left the dishes in the sink was the biggest concern in my life.

Snorting softly, I crack my neck a few times before I push off the bed and shuffle into the bathroom. I don't bother with the light. Or the mirror. I already know I look like shit. Instead, I hunch over the sink to alternate between drinking from the tap so greedily I start coughing and drowning my face in the cold water. I bury it in a towel afterward too, for good measure, pressing myself so deeply into the cotton that it's actually a little difficult to breathe.

I don't know why I do it. Or why I stay there as long as I do.

Silent. Stiff.

Suffocating.

But I don't pull away.

Not until I hear the faint squeaking of cloth and realize my fingers have twisted themselves into fists and I'm clutching the towel so hard that my hands are shaking. As I stare down at it, something else twists inside me too. Some fierce and overwhelming urge that demands I keep going. That I tear it in half. Rip it up. Shred it apart entirely.

My jaw clenches under the force of it, until my teeth start to squeak too.

Then—for some absurd fucking reason—I picture Nate kneeling over the destroyed towel, a sad little frown on his face as he bemoans the thread count.

And a laugh sputters out of me instead.

It's long and wheezing and only slightly hysterical, but I can't help it. The image is just so— ridiculous and bewildering and, honestly, pretty fucking funny.

As my body shakes with laughter, I drop the towel into the sink and curl forward to put my face in my hands. Tears bead at the corners of my eyes and my stomach starts to hurt from the effort. Tightness cinches around my chest too, and claws up to lodge in my throat. Heat prickles and swells across my face, and my lip trembles and my eyes begin to sting and I suddenly know exactly what's fucking coming.

So I brace against it.

It doesn't matter.

And I hold it back.

It doesn't. It really doesn't.

Until it gradually passes.

It's over and done.

I take a deep, shuddering, and practiced breath afterwards, sniffling just enough to clear it away before I flick the unshed moisture from my eyes.

Then, without another thought, I whip the towel around the rack unharmed and walk back into my room.

I move towards the bed, but I pause as I pass into the cool air flowing in through the window. My arms fold instinctively against it, even though the chill brushes pleasantly across my uncomfortably hot face. I glance over at the damp and tangled mess of sheets awaiting me and frown. I frown harder knowing, as usual, I'll probably only end up twisting around in them until it's too bright to pretend I have a chance of falling back asleep.

And, with that decidedly unappealing thought in mind, I turn to face the rain instead.

The tang of cold moisture and pine drifts inside, and I inhale it eagerly. I always did enjoy late summer in Wayhaven, when the storms roll back in to chase away the heat. The towering dark clouds, the breeze snapping every banner, awning, and flagpole in the Square, the promise of wet earth on the wind and the heavy stillness right before the downpour rips free—it's hard not to get excited in the presence of something so magnificently powerful.

Lightning flickers across the sky as if in agreement, and thunder follows it a few moments later in the distance, a long and low rumble that rattles the glass in the windowpane.

I smile softly, shifting a hand to stroke my neck while the breeze soothes my flushed skin.

Yesterday afternoon seems so distant now, though. I remember that excitement when I left the station, the stupid little grin on my face when it started pouring and Tina's shrieks as she ran back into the doorway to shout goodbye. I remember driving up here too, with my window rolled down, nothing but total contentment in my heart as the rain streaked over the windshield and across my knuckles. And I remember walking into the Warehouse, jacket dripping, and that dull ache of happiness that rolled through me as familiar voices called out in greeting and my eyes fell on the steaming mug waiting by the spot where I usually sit.

I remember it, but… right here, now, alone in the dark once more, it's hard to believe any of it actually happened to me.

It's hard to believe I ever really felt that way at all. It almost seems… borrowed. Like all of its brightness belongs to someone else entirely.

And this shit, right now, is what I truly am—and all I'll ever know.

A familiar tightness claws up my throat again. My eyes start to sting.

"Scared of the storm, sweetheart?"

I startle immediately and startle hard.

My attention snaps to the doorway, only to recognize a dark and familiar figure leaning against the frame.

Fuck—I hadn't even heard him open the door! Or knock, I want to add, before I remember it's Mason and doors are one of the few things he actually won't do.

Shit.

I take a deep breath, roll my shoulders back and shoot him a smirk that I don't really feel.

"Petrified.”

Mason smirks in return. "Then maybe I should come in and make you feel safe. Hold you very close to me until it passes."

I can't help the soft chuckle that escapes my lips as I glance away. My arms folds a bit tighter around myself and I shift slightly on the spot. “Not sure I'm in the mood for that kind of comfort right now.”

“Lucky for you, that's not the only kind I can offer.”

My brow arcs in question—and curiosity. I'm not sure how much I believe him, but… I am always interested to see what he'll try.

Without looking away from the window, I give him a small nod of invitation to come in.

The door clicks shut, and heat soon radiates across my bare skin through the loose, open-backed shirt I wore to bed. Mason's hands slide over my hips from behind, his fingers splaying briefly, giving just the slightest squeeze, before he wraps his arms around me and settles them into a fold beneath my own. He rests his chin on top of my head too—something new he's started doing lately, though I suppose I am at perfect chin-resting height—and he gently pulls me back against him.

A sigh escapes me as he does, louder than I would've intended. And maybe he wasn't entirely bullshitting about that comfort.

Because I can't deny just how damn good it feels to be held by him, even now.

My eyes flutter shut as I sink further into his warmth and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Smoke and sandalwood envelop me, as does another scent underlying both, something dark and pleasantly rich and unmistakably him. Something familiar too, achingly so, that makes my breath hitch over the sudden and unexpected swell of fondness spreading across my chest.

My shoulders sag, my head tilts back, and the tension knotted around my throat loosens. His chest rises and falls against my own breathing, sometimes aligning so we press together fully on an inhale, and I slowly realize I don't think I've never felt this relaxed in anyone's arms before.

That is, until I also realize he definitely felt every part of my reaction—right down to the slightest bit of movement—and I inwardly cringe.

Thankfully, at least, he doesn't care enough to comment about any of it. I cringe a little further, hoping that small mercy extends to anything he witnessed while he stood in the doorway.

Or noticed before he opened the door.

My back stiffens again as I try not to think about just how far he can hear across the Warehouse… I bite my lip to suppress a groan.

“How long were you standing there anyway?"

"Long enough."

A weak chuckle escapes me. “Well, that's not embarrassing…”

“'Cause there's nothing to be embarrassed about,” he states, his words delivered so casually and matter-of-fact that there's no room to doubt his belief in them. “Especially not with the view you provide,” he adds, his voice dipping into a low rumble.

I chuckle again despite my unease—and my surprise. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Glad to know I add a little brightness to your morning too, sunshine.”

His scoff ruffles my hair and I swear I can almost feel his eyeroll. My smile widens.

I lean against him even further, and his arms tighten around me in response. Comfortable silence blankets us, as it often does, and I try to relax into it, into him, closing my eyes once more as my fingers trace idle paths over my neck. The gentle downpour continues outside, steady in its intensity with soft, irregular tings and the occasional roll of thunder.

“Guess the rain ruined your rooftop solitude this morning,” I murmur absently.

"I wouldn't call it ruined."

I hum in acknowledgment and my attention slowly returns to the storm. The rain falls lighter now than it did earlier, when I made the decision—because of Nate's unusually strong encouragement, even for him—to spend the night at the Warehouse rather than drive back into town. Something about my car having 'questionable traction, even under ideal circumstances' and 'certainly a lot of spirit, if not much else,' to which I countered that he and everyone else needed to start having some faith in the most reliable, tenacious, and clearly valuable member of our team.

I mean, a muddy road is nothing. That car has already survived the jerks, stops, and stalled clutches of a teenager with a learner's permit, four years of designated driving for sloppy, belligerent classmates, overnight parking on some of Vancouver's shittiest streets, a hockey riot, Tina spilling a full milkshake across the dash, Adam crashing into it from multiple angles, Mason doing his damnedest to destroy the suspension from the backseat, aggressive karaoke in the front seat with Felix, a standoff with a fucking moose, and that's not even half of what I can remember.

And even after all of that, it continues to rumble along, coasting like it has a full tank when the fuel gauge dips into the red, rattling change loose from its crevices whenever I want a coffee, providing occasional shelter to the neighborhood family of raccoons.

I just think it deserves a little more respect is all. But I know they'll all come around eventually.

Even if I have to make them.

I grin—though it falters somewhat as my fingertips brush over the scar on my neck.

It… feels worse than it looks, in more than one way. Which is a fucking shame, if not completely fitting, because of course that asshole didn't even have the decency to leave me with a badass scar. All this one does is pull uncomfortably if I turn my head too far, but… it doesn't bother me anymore, not really.

My fingers stop directly above the pulse throbbing beneath those gnarled ridges and dips.

It doesn't matter.

Frowning, I continue to stroke my neck, more intently than I had before. And maybe that's why, or maybe it's the nightmare still wrapped fresh around my mind, or the fact it rained that night too, but the memory of Murphy's bite suddenly slams into me as hard as his mouth did.

He chewed a little.

When I fumbled for my throat, my fingers slid across torn flesh into muscle. The blood burned my hand as it poured out. Slick. Hot. A stream of wet fire rushing over my fingers and down my arm to drip from my elbow, down the middle of my chest, my stomach, sinking heat into my underwear and the cold, sweat-soaked gown plastered to my skin.

It burned sickeningly hot, but not as much as Murphy's tongue did, when he dragged it up the length of my neck and pushed it into me.

I startle hard when my hand is suddenly snatched from my neck.

“You always this tense when it rains?”

“I'm not tense,” I say unthinkingly, then cringe at my obvious lie.

Mason scoffs and smirks so hard I can feel it through my skull.

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. “I'm just, uh… stiff with appreciation.”

His smirk widens. “What a coincidence—”

“—So am I,” I say at the same time as him, then roll my eyes. He laughs, his body shaking against my own, and I can't help but smile too. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“I'm sure you do, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a few lingering kisses to the spot I was just touching. He squeezes me tighter for a moment, then folds our arms back around me, his hand tucked over my own.

I take a deep breath and try to relax once more.

“…I actually really like storms,” I say a moment later, in an attempt to keep my mind from wandering again.

“So do I.” Silence briefly falls over us again, until he adds, “The air always smells cleaner when it rains. Sharper, in a good way. And there's so much noise all at once, it all kind of… blends together and almost fades away. Makes everything else fade away too.”

My eyes fall shut again as I enjoy the rumble of his words against my back. “Makes everybody flee inside as well.”

He snorts. “That's always a nice bonus for anything.”

I hum in response. Then he surprises me by speaking further.

“…I don't like being out in it much either.”

“Because it's cold?”

“Freezing, yeah. But more because it stings.” His fingers twitch slightly against the top of mine. “Feels like being stabbed over and over again by millions of tiny needles.”

I hesitate for a moment, briefly pressing my lips together, then I slide my fingers upwards to lace partway through his. Mason stills behind me, and I don't need to turn around to know he's pinning me with a gaze.

Then his fingers curl between mine in response.

A pleasant ache twists in my chest, and I give a small nod toward the window. “…Does it feel that way even in something gentle, like this?”

“If I stand out in it long enough, yeah.”

I huff softly. “Guess showering can't be much fun for you then.”

He chuckles deeply, squeezing me in a decidedly more suggestive manner as he presses his hips forward. “You're always welcome to join me and make it better.”

I open my mouth to reply, but quickly forget what I meant to say as I actually think about his proposal. More specifically, as I think about sliding against his wet and soapy skin. And his hands gliding across mine. And, of course, the fact that he's more than strong enough to hold me up against the wall…

My breath hitches as I bite my lower lip—and Mason descends, grinning, to hook his chin on my shoulder.

“You want me to tuck you in, sweetheart?” he asks, his lips brushing against my ear and sending a pleasant shiver down my body.

“Why do I get the feeling the way you'd tuck me in is identical to the way you toss me down for a fuck?”

He chuckles. “Because they are the same. You just aren't naked right now.”

“That's it?” I turn to face him, my brow raised and a growing smirk on my lips. “Not even gonna offer me a little tenderness and care?”

“Nope,” he replies simply—then scoops me up over his shoulder like he's done so many times in the past.

For a moment, my mind jumps back to when he first carried me like this, over that tree so long ago, but the thought disappears when he unceremoniously dumps me onto the mattress.

I huff and roll over into a somewhat more dignified position. “Thanks.”

“You can thank me when I'm done.” Amusement and desire play across his darkened features.

“Yeah? What else do you need to do?”

“You, obviously.”

I laugh, but the thought is rather tempting right now. Far more so than when he first showed up…

“May I join you?” he asks, his voice dipping into a husky rumble. There's a sharp gleam in his eyes and a hungry grin on his lips.

An answering one pulls at my own lips. “You know the rule.”

His grin widens. “It's the only one I actually like,” he growls before practically tearing his shirt off.

No street clothes in my bed, I told him once, the first time he tried to flop onto my duvet in jeans. Only house clothes and underwear are allowed—or nudity.

And he wastes no time getting to that state.

I scoot over to make room for him, though he still manages to sprawl out practically on top of me as he flops into the bed. He stretches out with exaggerated laziness before folding his arms behind his head and fixing me with a smirk. It's obvious he's temping me to look at him.

And, of course, I do.

The dim light coming in through the window softens the muscled planes of his body. I let my gaze roam over the long and familiar lines of his form, biting my lip as I take in the contours of his bare shoulders and chest, the ridges of his abs, and the trail of dark hair leading down his stomach to the very apparent arousal on full display.

“Look as much as you want, sweetheart,” he purrs, letting his thigh fall atop my own as he spreads his legs even wider.

Chuckling softly, I let my eyes linger there for a moment before I glance back to his face, where it's clearly evident he's been enjoying the attention. I roll onto my side just as lazily and prop my head up on one arm. Then I reach over to skim my other hand down his torso, keeping my palm flat and close enough to his skin to feel his warmth, but not close enough to actually touch him.

He watches my movement intently, breathing in through his teeth as my hand moves lower and lower. When I reach his cock, I curl my hand around the base as though I'm about to grasp him, my fingers circling closer and closer as I move my hand up his length—but right as I'm about to make contact, I keep moving, closing my hand into a fist after it passes by the tip entirely.

His hips roll forward to follow, and I grin as he lets out a frustrated growl.

“But don't touch?” I ask, giving him a wink.

Mason scoffs, but the broad smile on his face says the teasing pleased him more than anything else. He licks his upper lip and scoots closer to me, until we're pressed together, his side against my front, and his face close to mine on the pillow below.

“You can touch as much as you want,” he replies, gazing up at me through half-lidded eyes and long dark lashes. He begins to slowly rub his leg against mine. “And I know you want to.”

His words rumble over me, low, invitingly, and very accurately. I inhale slightly as he nudges his knee against my legs, asking me to part them—then more sharply as I oblige and he slides his thigh between my own, although not quite as high up as I would like.

Heat spools low in my belly as I rock my hips forward slightly, leaning into his warmth. My gaze travels up our bodies. Our bare legs tangled together. The sliver of my stomach brushing against his skin where my shirt is pulled up. The rise and fall of his chest, just waiting for me to reach over and touch him for real this time.

But a question surfaces in my mind before I do. A concern.

Something I've wondered about for a long while now, but has been in my thoughts with more frequency lately.

Because he's been touching me more lately, outside of the bedroom.

A lot.

Pressing his shoulder against mine when we stand by each other for a group meeting. Splaying his hand across my back while we lean over to examine something. Reaching over to brush strands of hair from my face after I blow them away in annoyance.

And a multitude of other tiny ways to try and fluster me because words alone rarely cut it anymore.

I've played back with my own teasing touches, of course, but…

It's a lot of effort on his part just to get a reaction out of me. A lot of painful effort too, for someone so hypersensitive that even a gentle rainfall against his skin could cause agony.

Much less what it must feel like for him when he's exposed like this and touched so directly.

So intimately.

I glance back up to catch his gaze, only to find him already watching me with those pretty grey eyes.

“…Doesn't it hurt you, though?” I ask quietly, before I can stop myself. “Being touched when your senses are so heightened?”

All trace of amusement and desire drops from his face instantly. He frowns and looks away.

I glance away as well, regret lurching in my stomach to an almost sickening degree. My fingers curl around the hem of my shirt and begin twisting the fabric.

Of course I had to fucking ask. Of course.

I know this… arrangement between Mason and myself is superficial and meaningless, even if the more stupidly curious part of me sometimes forgets. I've always appreciated his honesty about that, how upfront he's been from the very start about not wanting to know me or share himself. After how hard Bobby almost fucked me over… it's a relief to be around someone so direct about his intent.

Someone who isn't going to pretend to care about me in order to get what he actually wants.

Mason would never do that. He's a good guy. We have a good thing. And I don't want to fuck things up between us just because I'm terminally fucking nosy.

I shouldn't have pried. And definitely not about something like that.

I take a low, steadying breath and ready an apology on my lips, but his voice cuts through the silence first.

“Yes.”

My eyes snap to his face, only to find him already staring at me again. There's a strange, piercing intensity in those grey depths now, something I've never seen there before.

“It does, most of the time,” he continues, holding my gaze, his brow furrowing and his jaw tightening slightly as he pauses for a moment. “…But not with you.”

My breath snags over his words and suddenly it's my turn to look away and frown.

I want to dismiss it as just… more innuendo. An obvious invitation to slip out of my shirt and roll on top of him. And I'm sure he meant it like that, and I'm sure he wants that too, I know, but…

There's an edge to his tone. A heaviness to his words.

Like the calm and undeniable weight of a storm before it breaks.

My stomach does an uneasy flip, and I don't know if it's because I'm scared of whatever it means—or because I'm excited.

I really don't know what to say in response, either.

…So I don't say anything.

I just…

Thunder rumbles somewhere far away from us as I reach over and brush my fingers across Mason's stomach.

His eyes shut and he inhales sharply through his teeth as I slowly flatten my hand and begin caressing him there. His abs dip and roll with my movement, and his hips join the motion when I start to tease my fingers further down. I stay there, just long enough to give him some hope, my fingers inching closer and ever closer, until I abruptly change direction to the sound of another frustrated groan.

Chuckling quietly, I keep my touch soft as I follow the path of dark hair up his torso. My fingers ruffle it lightly along the way, briefly detouring out across his freckled skin to graze his nipples. He moans quietly in response, and chills prickle across his flesh. His chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath, and I continue upward, passing the cords of leather looped around his neck, the shard of quartz catching the faint light, until my fingers glide into the hollow at the base of his throat.

Slowly, I draw a single finger up the long column of his neck. His head falls back to allow it, his chin rising in the air, his body arching too, as my fingertip drags up through his heavy stubble and briefly catches on the edge of his jaw before it flicks free. His tongue darts across his lips, but I don't give him time to recover before my hand immediately veers in to cup his cheek, gliding slowly again until he's nestled fully in my palm. I roll my thumb across his soft, slickened lips as his hand slides up my side.

Desire churns in his eyes as he stares into mine. Desire and that same strange intensity.

My breath snags again and I bite my own lip, dragging my thumb to the edge of his, until it catches and flicks free.

Then I kiss him.

I keep it as soft as my touch, even as his lips press eagerly against mine, even as it deepens until we moan into each other. Our tongues slide together, hot and wet, and I lean into him, pulling my hand away from my head to find the arm he still has folded behind his. Our fingers immediately lace together when our hands meet, and he curls his other arm around my back to pull me against him. Our kiss becomes more urgent as we move together, his thigh sliding further up between mine as a familiar heat begins to build and throb between my legs.

We're forced to break for air eventually, our foreheads pressing together as we pant against each other. I swipe my thumb across his cheek and give him a brief kiss.

Mason breathes out a moan and kisses me back. “It always feels good when you're touching me,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice thick and hoarse.

A smirk twitches at the corner of my mouth, and I move as though I'm about to start kissing him in earnest again—but instead I only graze my lips against his before I pull away. He follows again, and then breathes out a chuckle against my mouth as he reaches down to smack my ass.

A sharp laugh bursts from me and I offer him a sly smile. “Even when I'm teasing you?”

“Especially when you're teasing me,” he replies, a smile of his own gleaming in his eyes.

He kisses me briefly, then moves his mouth to my neck, where he presses wet kisses against my skin before grazing his teeth over that spot he knows I like. Chills of pleasure ripple across my body, and I inhale sharply as his thigh starts to glide higher between mine, closer and tantalizingly closer to the ache between my legs. I roll my hips forward to meet him—but just as we're about to make contact, just as I can feel the heat and the barest brush of him through my underwear, he pulls away entirely.

And suddenly it's my turn to groan.

“Makes it all the sweeter when I get to pay you back for it,” he whispers against my ear, grinning.

I smile too, even as I huff a little in response and roll my eyes. Then I reach down to grab his cock, teasing my fingers along his length.

“Guess this means I'll just have to put my hands on you even more often.”

“As much as you want, sweetheart,” he groans, his eyes shuttering closed as he grabs my ass and squeezes. “As often as you want.”

We kiss again, and his hand moves up to cup my breast, his thumb briefly circling my nipple through the fabric before he slides his touch to my stomach, to the bare flesh exposed at the bottom of my shirt. He strokes my skin there, breaking away from our kiss to look into my eyes as he nudges the fabric up with his thumb.

“And I'm more than willing to do the same for you,” he states simply, staring at me with such a heavy intensity that it feels like I might actually fall into his gaze.

His words are innuendo. A silent ask for permission. A promise of pleasure.

And something more.

Again, my breath hitches and my stomach does a tiny flip. Again, I'm not sure what to say in response.

…But, whatever he's offering, I think I want to find out.

I think maybe I want it too.

So I kiss him again while he slides his hand under my shirt.

His thigh surges up fully against me, dragging sweet pressure against the heat between my legs. I moan into him, tightening, squeezing his leg between mine as I grind against him. We move together like that, hands still clasped tightly, while he kneads my breast and I stroke him the best I can from what our position allows.

But it's not enough—and soon we're forced to briefly disentangle so we can reach each other better.

He rolls onto his side to face me, and I hook my leg over him, giving him ample access to cup me through my underwear. His fingers stroke and tease me through the damp fabric before he slips his hand inside to touch me more directly. I gasp as he does, and he grins, giving me a low growl of appreciation when he feels the full extent of how wet I already am.

He strokes his fingers along the slickened length of me before drawing upward to circle my clit. I bite my lip and hiss as hot pleasure arcs through me, but I can't contain the moan that soon breaks free, or the way my hips start to rock against his touch. I capture his lips in another kiss as I drown in the sensation, and I do my best to concentrate on him as well.

My hand glides along the hot and solid length of his cock, rolling his foreskin along his shaft as my thumb swipes over the sticky wetness at his tip. He groans against my lips and thrusts into my grasp. Then he slides his fingers into me, not giving me any time to recover before he withdraws and plunges back in, drawing his strokes in long lengths that hit my clit with each pass and tear sharp, guttural cries from my throat.

Pleasure coils inside me as our foreheads press together. We exchange moans and gasping breaths, the only noise in the room aside from the rain and the slick sound of his fingers fucking into my cunt.

But even that stops too soon, as Mason withdraws from me with a departing flick that makes me twitch and groan.

He slides his fingers into his mouth as he holds my gaze, sucking on them for a moment before pulling them out with a deliberate pop.

Then he wraps his hand around the crotch of my underwear and yanks them down my thighs.

I barely have time to kick myself free of them before he rolls me into his lap between his legs. My shirt soon follows, as he sits up to tear it off me and toss it somewhere into the darkness. I shift my legs to curl around behind him and he's already kissing me again, pulling me against him. I taste myself on his tongue as it rolls against mine, as we roll against each other, his hands clutching my hips and my fingers curling into his hair and the sweet, aching grind of his shaft rubbing against my cunt between us.

But it's not enough.

I lift my hips up and his hand is already wrapped around the base of his cock, steadying it for me. Holding his gaze, I slide myself against the tip a few times, watching the anticipation build in his expression.

Then I sink down onto him.

We both groan loudly. And he groans even louder as I wiggle my hips back and forth to get as much of him inside of me as possible.

Grinning briefly, I wrap my arms around him as we begin to move again.

Mason swipes my hair away from my neck and buries his face there, kissing greedily while his hands curl around my ass and squeeze. Heat begins to build between us, slowly and deeply, as we rock together. Sweat prickles across our skin where we touch, a few beads trickling down between the press and roll of our stomachs. I push my face into the soft curtain of his hair and breathe, inhaling his scent, until his teeth graze that spot on my neck and tear a gasp from my throat.

My head falls back and my hand follows.

I fumble behind myself to brace my weight on my arm, leaning away from him slightly until I find that sweet angle where pleasure surges and drags in a loop with every thrust. My eyes fall shut, breathy moans escaping me as I drive myself against him and begin rubbing my clit with slickened fingers. He curls his hands around my hips in encouragement, snarling his own urgent groans while he rolls his hips in time with mine.

My hair sways against my back, and I lose myself in a haze of sensation, in our moans, in how good he feels, how much he fills me, the heat of him between my legs, the aching throb, the spiraling build of pleasure against every right spot—

A breathy, desperate, needy growl cuts through all of it, something I've never heard before.

Something I briefly mistake for my own.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart.”

My eyes snap open to see Mason staring at me intently with dark eyes, dark waves of hair framing his face.

And his fangs fully bared.

My heart catches for a moment—and his eyes widen a little in surprise.

Then all I feel is an electric and overwhelming thrill surge through my entire body.

His eyes widen even further.

Even so, our rhythm barely stutters. I fall into it again, my eyes shutting as my head falls back too.

Another growl escapes him, softer this time, but still just as breathlessly needy. Then his hands slide up my back as he pulls me closer.

“C'mere.”

Mason's arm cradles my lower back as he holds me tightly against him. His hand curls behind my neck and my breasts crush against his chest hair as we move. He shifts us and his hips slightly, until everything aligns once more to hit all the right spots. I sigh deeply as he does, moaning and clutching him hard while we rock back and forth towards the edge.

His movements become more intense and directed to guide us there. His fingers tangle in my hair and he buries his face into my neck, kissing along my throat as our breathing become more urgent. I tilt my head and angle myself into his lips and his tongue and his growling moans.

And into the tips of his fangs that graze across my skin and jolt me straight over—

A familiar tension coils in my throat and belly.

“Fuck, Mason—”

And bursts into pleasure.

I cry out and arch into it, into him, clenching tightly as it pulses through me in waves. With a few harder thrusts, he shudders against me quickly after, his own orgasm taking him with a loud groan. He presses his face into my neck and breathes heavily, so much that I almost miss the quiet and ragged whisper that escapes his lips.

“Alex…”

I don't know why, but… even in the haze of climax, something about the way he says my name catches in my throat and makes my chest ache.

My brow furrows and I hug him tighter, pressing my own kisses into his neck.

We stay wrapped in the afterglow for a long moment, our heartbeats thundering together, both of us unmoving except for the rise and fall of our chests and the late twitches of pleasure. A pleasant buzz fills my body, making my limbs tremble slightly. I relax into it, my eyes slowly falling shut, until he shifts to press his forehead against mine.

He stares at me for a long moment, a lazy smile gracing his lips and nothing but contentment in those beautiful grey eyes.

Then he smirks.

“If I knew you'd like the fangs so much, sweetheart, I would've brought them out a lot sooner.”

Heat immediately flushes across my cheeks. His smirk widens, revealing the smallest hint of pointed canines.

Despite my blush, I roll my eyes and try to scoff, but a smile tugs at my lips and a laugh comes out instead. He grins too, but his eyes soon flutter shut, and it's only when a breathy little groan escapes him as well do I remember that he's actually still inside of me.

So, of course, I clench around his cock slightly for effect.

He inhales sharply, but it quickly drags into a chuckle and a broad smile. His eyes shine brightly as he moves in to bite my neck, growling as he teases his teeth against my skin. Chills prickle across my flesh and a pleasant shiver ripples down my spine. I laugh again, then hook my chin over his shoulder, smiling as I nestle against him.

My eyes fall shut, and a quiet swell of happiness rolls through me as I savor the moment. The rain falling outside, the cool night air brushing over us, the feel of him clutching me tighter as he sighs and presses a long kiss to my neck.

I sigh too, heavy with comfort and contentment, reluctant to move. Even to brush away the strand of hair tickling the side of my face from the breeze.

I absently blow at it, knowing it won't do much.

Mason reaches up to tuck it behind my ear.

[lokispettigerr]

To Summon A Witcher: Geralt x Reader Chapter 1 (NSFW) Smut

Summary:  Reader lives and works in one of the most romantic cities in the US, Charleston, SC. However, because of the city's colored past, romance isn’t the only thing that can be found there– it is said that ghosts, goblins, ghouls and the like make the city their home. When Reader meets one of these creatures she has to get the help of someone not quite so human in order to be free, but he frees her from much more than she ever expected.

Taglist: In reblog

Word Count: 1769

Warnings: This shit spooky, fam.  Graveyard, and corpse mention.

A/N: This is the first-ever Geralt fic I have written. I hope you enjoy it! Leave me your thoughts in the comments or in an ask!  

“Yeah, it’s this huge guy with stark-white hair, golden eyes, and seriously, a body that could pick me up and snap me like a twig,” I told my best friend, Genny.

“Sounds hot. I’m not sure I understand where this is a problem?” She swirled the coffee mug around, stirring up the settled liquid in her latte. “I mean, unless you are waking up to find that these dreams with the ‘Daddy-white-haired-tree-man’ are really wet dreams that soak your covers through… I could see that as being a problem.” She laughed a musical beautiful laugh. I danced around her comment, not wanting her to know how I felt when I woke up from the dreams of the mysterious man or the nature of some of the dreams which truly did feature bare skin, hard muscle, and moans that rang out in unison.

“Genny, I have never seen this man before in my life, yet he has been in every dream I have had for months now. I just don’t know what it means.”

“Sure, but you’ve had to have seen him somewhere.” She looked around us now, glancing all about the outside patio of the coffee shop that was nestled between a bakery and a uniquities store. People were milling about, their arms full of shopping bags or clutching briefcases or talking on their cell phones. “Honestly, I want to see this guy.” Genny licked her lips. “Maybe he is nearby right now,” she whispered, “Either that or he was the main stud on some porn. Yeah, that’s likely it.”

I stared at her blankly. Why did everything have to come back to sex? I mean, to be fair things always came back to sex for the both of us and this was likely one of the reasons why we enjoyed each other's company so much, but this was serious. Dreams mean something, or so my mother taught me to believe.   And I couldn’t help but think that the man in my dreams had something to do with my current predicament. After all, they had started shortly after things took a turn for the worse.

I’d felt it on more than one occasion, and lately with the way things were going whatever beasty was following me seemed to only be growing stronger.

It had first started on a cold, wet day. The rain had been steadily falling for more than a week, but that day the wind was stirring maddeningly and there had been a tornado warning.

When the storm began I was at work and after the numerous alerts and warnings, me and my coworkers were all told it would be best if we left. In my rush, I dashed out of the door with only my keys.

I had forgotten my bag and my phone and all the contents that I had slowly collected over the years and kept in a satchel as a sort of talisman to ward off evil spirits and the like that seemed to want to attach themselves to me.

The satchel contained an odd assortment of things: a small vial of salt, a clay statue with its own strikingly unusual appearance, a stone of jet, a globe of labradorite, and the tooth of a black cat that all helped me to feel safe, to be protected and to walk unnoticed throughout the world-- at least in the realm of those things not living.

From childhood, I noticed shadows, without shape or form. Most of the time they were harmless. As I grew older, I became more aware of other creatures and entities. The shadows would go from playful to predatorial.

I quickly grew scared and when my mother found out she took me to see a children’s therapist. The apparitions did not stop, they poured forth latching onto my fears, my desperation and hopelessness. It was as if I had become a house for them to dwell within.

I became haunted.

I passed through the hands of multiple therapists, too many to even count. None of them could help me. I was a child becoming a teen that was out of their depth. They either pitied me, despised me, or feared me.

Eventually, my mother heard tell of a spiritual healer, who was no more than a witch, yet she was the only one who could help.

Instead of claiming that I was delusional or sick, the healer praised me for my abilities and told my mother I was gifted, however, the healer sensed the dark energies threatening to consume me and crafted the satchel that had been blessed and enchanted with wards to keep me safe.

And from then on, I carried it with me wherever I went.

That is, until the day the tornado hit.

I’d left work feeling hopeful that I would make it home before the storm became dangerous. But the further I went, the harder the storm raged. I lived in an aged and historic town and was lucky enough to be within walking distance from my work. A few blocks and I would have been home.

I dashed through the rain, taking care not to slip and hurt myself. My keys jangled loudly against my hip.

Rainwater was pelting my eyes and I had trouble seeing. I was soaked. Lightning flashed while thunder rumbled threateningly.

If I would have left a few minutes earlier from my work maybe things would have been different.

If I would have not forgotten my purse with the enchanted satchel within maybe things would be better for me.

Being a human means making human mistakes and mistakes breed consequences that are not often too kind.

I’d rounded a corner at the French district, splashing through puddles when I came to the wrought iron, overgrown with ivy and tangled weeds, entrance of the graveyard.

People often said the graveyard was haunted, cursed.

There were ghost walks and spirit tours that brought groups of people to this very cemetery so they could “Oooo” and “Aahhh” and romanticize about all the horrific deeds that had taken place here. They would return home or to their inns or their taverns and tell the stories they had heard over a beer with a friend, or sitting in front of their fireplace, or tucked into a cool bed on a winter night.

The locals all knew this cemetery was bad news, nothing good ever came of it except for the endless revenue of the ghost tours that the cemetery enticed.

I planned to continue on down the block, straight past the graveyard, but a harsh streak of lightning cut through the sky overhead and thunder cracked so loudly I could feel it deep within my very bones.

Though I cringed at the thought, I knew that if I cut through the graveyard I would be home in half the time.

I gulped and with a look of harsh determination on my face, I ran into the graveyard, pushing my body through the gate.

It closed behind me with a harsh clang, but I continued.

I wasn’t interested in taking my time like some of the tourists do when they come here to meander and ponder while they look at the ancient graves, too old to even have names or dates on them, or too overgrown with tangled foliage for anything to be made out.

There was a worn path beneath my feet, and the rainwater had caused it to be treacherously slick with red clay mud. It threatened to be surpassed and covered in its entirety by tall and leggy green weeds. They slapped relentlessly at my calves and thighs as I ran through.

The weeds made me run blindly. I thought if I stayed on the path it was safest, but I was wrong.

My foot caught on a thick, twisting root that lay horizontally before me. It snaked from one set of graves to another, likely gaining nourishment from the rotting corpses underneath the ground.

I fell, catching myself on the heels of my hands. My pants leg was ripped open and a sharp, sudden pain could be felt above my knee.

I sat up, thoroughly covered in mud and grime from the cemetery, my hair completely soaked through, my clothes stuck against my skin and inspected the gaping wound above my knee. It wouldn’t need stitches, but as soon as I got home I would have to place some butterfly bandages on the wound, or it was sure to leave an ugly scar.

A wet warmth spread along the skin of my knee as my pants soaked up the blood that was pouring forth.

Just then the wind gushed maddeningly, causing the trees in the graveyard to sway and the grey Spanish moss to dance. The trees creaked and groaned with their movement.

Nearby I heard a clicking noise and I couldn’t place it to anything natural. I shifted, sitting up straight, remaining still so I could hear whatever the noise belonged to.

A shadow crossed my periphery and I turned my head towards the movement.

Whatever it was, was using the headstones to hide and shifting between them, manipulating the shadows of the graves to appear “natural”.

But the feeling of dread I had that I often associated with the shadow beings from my past was all too familiar.

My hands fumbled around for my purse. I would grab the enchanted draw-string satchel and would put an end to this shadow thing coming after me.

It was then, I realized my mistake. I had left my purse at work.

“Shit!”

The clicking grew louder and before me, the shadow began to take form.

I knew I couldn’t turn around. All I could do now was keep moving forward, towards home-- towards safety.

The shadow-being before me darkened, swirling and shifting menacingly, and I rose to my feet charging through it.

When I passed through its still collecting form, I felt a cold that seeped into my bones and gripped with a deadly claw around the deepest parts of my being. It was as if, in doing that it knew me. Everything about me.

My darkest desires, my deepest fears, my hopes and my failures.

I ran from the storm.

I ran from the graveyard.

I ran from the shadow that threatened to abolish me.

Things have been a nightmare since and the depression I was treated for long ago with the help of the spiritual healer is slowly lurking back.

I am certain the shadow beast followed me home, and what I am most uncertain of is how to get rid of it.

**** Hope you all enjoyed chapter 1! Please get this fic out into the tumblr verse by reblogging, commenting, and even sending asks if you feel like it! If you would like to support me head on over to my Patreon where you will get access to my fics before anywhere else and much more! Or fuel me with Ko-fi! Until next time! Peace, Loki’s Pet Tiger

[desiraypark]

Staring...

Source: Prompt #171 from this post  Characters: Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Female Reader  Also features a best friend named Tima (rhymes with Tina) Content (I’m still learning terminology and proper tagging): N*FW Freak-Nastiness; Inappropriate use of the force; mind-probing; m*sturbation; possibly dub-con?  Word Count: 1,917 “So. What’s it like?” “What’s, what like?” You’d found that the only way to get a break from your boss was when he was sleep. Knowing that, you escaped your room one night and rushed to your best friend, Tima’s, room. The two of you found some snacks and retreated to the secretarial pool room. It wasn’t a large space—only five desks—two for correspondence duties, two for archiving, and one for administrative duties. You were the administrative secretary: you checked people in, took their photos, all that important stuff. Unfortunately, you were so good at it, that all eyes fell on you when the new Supreme Leader, Kylo Ren suddenly needed a personal assistant. You’d been Kylo Ren’s personal assistant for almost three months now and he’d run you ragged. You pumped him with whatever he wanted to wake up, whatever he needed to go to sleep; you made his grooming appointments, took care of his laundry—all the stuff that personal assistants do, you supposed. The Supreme Leader was famous for his temper, but he’d yet to direct his venom toward you. But of course, you were good at your job. The most he’d ever done was huff when you asked him to repeat something, but that was just Final Order attitude. “You know! Working for the Supreme Leader…” Tima pushed. She bit into her honey bun with a grin and large eyes. “Has he force choked you yet?” “Blast, Tima. Don’t speak it into existence!” you said rolling your eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But I have to say, I’ve been worried sick for you. I suppose I have nothing to worry about, though…” “Well…” you started. You took a bite off your sour gum rope. “You might have something to worry about…” “What do you mean?”

Kylo tossed and turned in his bed. He was never a good sleeper. Always thinking about the yesterday’s events. Tomorrow’s events. Next year’s events. There was so much that he wanted to accomplish as the Supreme Leader—and both excitement and frustration would keep him awake. Tonight, was a frustrating night. He flipped back his blankets and planted his feet into night shoes. They weren’t soft slippers, like normal people wore, but velvety loafers with the Final Order’s logo on them. He glided across his room, through his quarters and out the of door, to your room beside his. He pressed the buzzer, and without waiting for your response, he keyed in your pass-code and stepped into your room. “I need tea,” he demanded to an empty room. He walked to your bed and saw no one there. Then, he looked around. “Y/N?” he called. When he got no response, he huffed and soared out of the room. He marched the empty corridors, past lively droids and scared night-staff in search of you. Then, he heard mumbling from the secretarial room. “It’s the strangest thing,” he heard you say. He stopped walking and lingered outside of the door. “When he wore the helmet, it was scary. Now, that I’ve seen him outside of the helmet and I know what he looks like, the force choking turns me on.” “You are a hot mess!” Tima giggled. “I don’t disagree.” “What do you do about it? Surely, you never have a moment to yourself.” “I wait until he’s asleep and take care of myself,” you responded with a smirk. Tima covered her mouth and laughed. “To make matters worse,” you continued, “My cycle is starting soon. And you know arousal levels are on ten during that time.” “You’re going to implode!” “I don’t know. I’m sure I can get some sexual gratification just from staring at him, if I try hard enough.” A hearty laugh shot from Tima’s mouth and she quickly covered it. But suddenly, your fun was interrupted when you noticed Tima’s eyes widen. She shot up, and you looked over your shoulder. A towering silhouette stood in the doorway and flicked the light switch on. You rose to your feet. “Supreme Leader,” you both said. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said with a monotone voice. “I’m sorry, Sir. I thought you’d gone to bed,” you responded. “I did. Now I’m awake and I can’t go back to sleep. Come make that herbal tea of yours,” he demanded. Then, he disappeared. You swallowed. “See how much trouble you get me into,” you joked with Tima. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Well, that was a nice ten-minute visit.” You walked around the desk to hug your best friend. “Y/N!” the Supreme Leader shouted from down the hallway. You jumped, gave Tima and big hug, then flew out the door. The Supreme Leader stood at the end of the hallway with balled fists, and you sped up your walk. “I’m sorry, sir,” you said when you caught up to him. You twiddled your thumbs as you followed him down the hallway and back to his quarters. Suddenly, you felt a twitch in your stomach. Stars…I hope he didn’t hear what I said to Tima, you thought to yourself. He keyed in a passcode and his blast doors flew open. You followed him inside, and the doors shut behind you. Okay, I guess he didn’t hear. “Make it strong,” he demanded. He went into his bedroom. “Yes, Sir.” You went into his kitchenette, grabbed his electric kettle, filled it with water, and put it on the stove to boil. Then, you reached up into his cabinet. You’d taken it upon yourself to stock the Supreme Leader’s kitchen with basic supplies and provisions—including labeled jars of herbs. Every tea you made, he’d down it in just a few gulps, and depending on what it was for, he’d either become a human BB8 unit—moving nonstop, or he’d be ripping the paint of the walls with his snoring. You grabbed a jar of Lavenia herb and a mug, and just when you sat the items down, you felt a sudden prodding between your thighs. It made you freeze—damned PMS symptoms. You opened the jar, pulled a spoon from a cup on the counter, and dipped it into the jar, scooping out—a trace against your clit. You let out a soft moan, then covered your mouth. What the heck? You retrieved the herb and dropped a spoonful into the mug, then, a second, and—pressure on your clit. The spoon fell out of your hand with a CLINK onto the counter and your knees weakened. You grabbed the counter for leverage and glanced over your shoulder with wide eyes, making sure the Supreme Leader wasn’t seeing you li—…Fuck!…No…It can’t be… But nothing else happened. Just some pre-cycle pangs, you were sure. You stared at the kettle, waiting for it to whistle. Two more minutes—that felt like two hours—finally passed and the kettle began to whistle. You quickly pulled it off the stove and poured water into the mug. Then, you stirred the herbs around and walked to the Supreme Leader’s room.    Before stepping in, you noticed his bed was empty. You walked inside to put the mug on his nightstand but looked to the left at the figure in your peripheral. Your Supreme Leader was sitting in a velvet black chair, fisting a large, meaty dick. You froze, closed your eyes, and turned your face.    “I’m sorry, Sir,” you said. “Put it on the nightstand,” he demanded. You opened your eyes and rushed to the nightstand—as fast as you could without spilling hot liquid over your hands. You placed the mug on the nightstand. “Sit on the bed.” “Excuse me, Sir?” you asked without turning around. Suddenly, invisible hands pushed you onto the bed. “Turn around,” he said. You used your hands to lift yourself, then turned to face your Supreme Leader. His face was stoic as his fist massaged his pulsing dick. You looked away, but without touching you, he turned your face back to him. “You said you could get sexual gratification if you stared hard enough. Were you referring to someone else when you said that?” he asked. You swallowed. “Uh…” “Think twice before you lie…” You swallowed again. Blast, Y/N. You talk too much. “You think too much, too,” he said. You cringed.    “Don’t be ashamed,” he said with a kinder voice. He looked down at his dick and rubbed the pre-cum over his head. “I’d need ten hands to count how many times I’ve resisted bending you over…” he returned to stroking his dick. “Over the conference room desk…over tables…over my throne…” Heat started to radiate throughout your chest. You could feel the pulse pounding in your clit, and it made you squirm. “I’ve resisted probing into your brain. You play the role of disinterest very well…” You grabbed hold of your boss’s sheets. He noticed this and smirked.    “Now, I know that the feelings aren’t one-sided,” he added. His stroke slowed and he bit his lip. “So. You like watching me Force choke people?”A firm, invisible grip pressed down on your neck. You grabbed the sheets again—this time, out of fear.    “Relax…” he mumbled. Your legs began to spread open on their own. “Do you like being choked?” “I wouldn’t know, Sir…” you strained.    “Have you ever been with a man before?” Your wet tunnel started to expand, and you managed to push a squeal from your throat. “No, Sir…” “A woman?” “No, Sir…” you closed your eyes and bit your lip as Supreme Leader Ren massaged your walls with the Force. “Hmm…” he said with a smile. “You’re telling me that only those little hands of yours have had the pleasure of feeling your pussy?” “Yes. Just me,” you answered. The Force released its grip on your neck, but the energy that was fingering you moved up toward your G-spot. You let out a lusty scream and threw your head back. “Look at me!” he growled, pumping his dick harder. You dropped your head on your own and watched Ren with hazy vision. Then, you pushed your hips forward, aching for your Supreme Leader’s actual hands on your skin.    “No. No touching. You said you could be gratified by staring. Now stare. Watch me. Watch your Supreme Leader jerk himself off…” You yelped and humped the air again.    “Does it look good?” he asked. “Mm-hmm…” you whimpered through pursed lips. “Would you like to do things with it?” he asked. “Yes!” you shouted. “Yes, what?” “Yes, Sir…” As Ren stroked his dick harder, he fingered inside of you harder and faster. You squealed and moaned, and ground against the firm mattress, until you came apart at your seams. You threw your head back amid your orgasm, but it was yanked forward by the Force. Ren growled and lifted his shirt. He leaned back in his chair and let his milk squirt over his abdomen. You bit your lip and blushed at the naughty sight. When he came down from his orgasm, he released the Force pressure from your lower body. You got up from the bed and cleared your throat. “Will that be all, Sir?” you asked nonchalantly, as if you didn’t just have your legs sprawled across the edge of his bed. “That will be all for tonight…” he answered. You walked to the door and felt tightening around your throat again. It made you stop and grab the door frame.    “I look forward to hearing the rest of your disgusting thoughts tomorrow,” he said.    You blushed again and he released your throat. Then, you sped out of his quarters.

[kissthegogo-goat-witch]

Misery of the Vampire: Chapter two.

I'm posting chapters of my novel on tumblr, an autobiography of a vampire. You can find chapter one here: https://kissthegogo-goat-witch.tumblr.com/post/655648021868134400/misery-of-the-vampire-chapter-one

Now it is not entirely a myth that vampires sleep in coffins, for they did up until the end of the Victorian era. Now it is seen as obsolete. Being described as sleeping in coffins is also quite offensive to a few. My first time in a coffin was horrid. I felt claustrophobic as my body was trapped. I could feel its rough wooden surface create splinters as I struggled. If that wasn't bad enough, the two cysts were my sire had bit, finally burst. The horrid stench of puss filled the confined space. I released a cry of agony which was met with his fist pounding against the lid. I suddenly realized that my life would be dictated by this lunatic. How did I know? It was a feeling deep within my own body that I could not explain.

 My fate than was determined as I heard a piano play softly. Every single key he had stroked pounded inside my head. When you are reborn as a vampire, your own hearing becomes painfully sensitive. The faintest of sounds could cause you to cringe in pain. Even after weeks, months of being turned, you will not stand even a pin dropping.  He knew this. He knew my condition, the pain I was in, and how I was forced to feast on corpses. My sire had placed me in so much peril, and the reason why you may ask? Well, like I said before. I myself have no answer, but I believe that he was lonely. Soon the music had stopped and I could feel my body grow weak. 

My whole being screamed at me to shut down, hibernate for the sun was rising. But I was too frightened. As I laid inside my prison, it begins to shake. His body, I could hear, sprawled across the coffin. Heavy breaths caused me to grimace. Never have I felt so humiliated in my long, wretched life. Finally, I surrendered and succumbed to the darkness swallowing me up. my sire's obsession with myself was evident. Never could I have been alone with his constant presence. This was a burden for when I was deprived of my own dignity.  I admit that he had dressed me such as the wealthy, and our living was a far cry from those in the streets such as I was. But I was a prisoner. 

Leaving was out of the question, for I had none of the skills that a vampire needed. Cliche it sounds, for it had been overused for centuries, but the bloodlust created a danger to mortal men. My very own morals won over my freedom. I suppose he wouldn't have allowed me to leave. One night we were both on his balcony, overlooking the ocean as waves crashed below us. The moon was full as she had shone down upon the both of us. Our bodies were entangled with one another, bare skin against the cold stone. It was a sin in this time and age, but why would we care? Haven't we already fallen from the Lord's grace? 

"How many times must I tell you, why must I repeat?"

 He asked softly. His fingers entwined into my hair, yanking softly so that my neck would be exposed. I knew what was to come next, and deep inside I shuddered. The feedings were forceful, painful, and degrading. I had no rights in our relationship, slave and master so to speak. Or at least that is what I thought. Suddenly, I had felt the same pain, the pain that was expected but yet I was still of no use to. To this day I still shudder when my neck is touched. He was rough, vile with how he fed. And there was nothing I could do about it. 

Feeding on another vampire without their consent is the equivalent of sexual assault. With each day I was violated. His act was finished, and the pain was over. He carried me back to our shared coffin. I could not look into his face as he did so. For this man was not only insane, but a true monster. We laid there that night with dried blood between us, stained against our skin and stained on my soul. 

I shall spare you from the worst of details, for some things that went on between us should never be spoken about. It is the least of dignity I have left. For many years I was trapped with Giovanni, learning and growing stronger, but not strong enough to be independent of him. Our relationship had grown to be more intimate, even if society did not allow it. 

The night I escaped from Giovanni, was a night I shall never forget. The feeling of being finally free, like a bird released from its cage for the first time in all its life. I felt the ecstasy, the rush, and fear of being on my own. It started as a spark of rage from my sire. Having been lit as he accused me of wandering out into the night without him. For when he opened my coffin, I was not inside. Of course, I wanted a taste of freedom, for the many years were miserable enough. I have thought of myself grown enough as a vampire to be able to see our own world. But it was met by his own form punishment which turned into a fight for my own life.

Upon my return I found him on the balcony, still and silent as his figure loomed over. His face was stoic, no expression, empty of emotion. Like a ticking time bomb, he did not go off until the very last second. Upon reaching for him, he snapped. His fangs baring with a low hiss escaping. A gloved hand grabbed my wrist and snapped the bone as he jerked it over. I cried out in pain but was only silenced. I had not realized his intentions until there was a murderous gleam in Giovanni's eyes.

 They turned black upon his attack. It was too late to avoid his wrath, for half of my face was torn off by his claws. I still remember the searing pain of my own skin being ripped off. The flesh underneath exposed. In a blind side of rage, I lashed out back at him with my free hand digging into his eyes. They were torn out of his skull with the stolen blood of mortals pouring out of its socket. 

This was my liberation, my freedom which had been granted. But I took it with reaching into the fireplace, pulling out a burning piece of kindling like a torch and setting my blinded sire on fire. But alas, he survived. I would not have known this until the trial. Giovanni was sure to have been destroyed as the flames consumed our once, plush, home. I took my leave upon running with madness into the night. Smeared in blood with only half of a face, twas glorious. For people now feared me, instead of I fearing them and living as a house pet. I have caused a group of men on the streets to scream in terror. Their high pitched shrills gave me a thrill that I couldn't have imagined was ever possible. I feasted upon their fresh blood until I could no more. That very night I took on a metamorphosis and transformed into a true monster. 

[that1girloverthere]

Burning Sunflowers

Chapter 4

part one part two part three

For a moment there's a shocked silence. Then the room explodes.

Dauntless rise to their feet, cheering louder than any noise I've ever heard. I feel the boom of their claps and stomps in my chest, the excitement making me come alive. My feet automatically push me to my new people, my new home.

Home.

I stare back at my parents, easy to spot even through the commotion. Tears stain their faces, looks of outrage and concern uncharacteristic of the faction on the faces of those seated near them. My heart breaks as I see more than hear the racking of sobs from my mother, hands being placed on her in condolence.

"Silence, everyone!" Marcus calls from the front, but even then my past and present factions only waver slightly. "Quiet!" He yells with the most emotion I've seen from an Abnegation in all my years. A few people in the crowd flinch, the noise ending all except for muffled cries.

"Thank you, we will now proceed."

At this, I finally turn my gaze from my family to the people I am now to live with. To fight beside. I take an open seat, getting clapped on the shoulder quietly, some going as far as to tussle my hair. I give them all hesitant smiles.

"Quite an entrance." A boy next to me whispers, a smirk playing on his lips. His hair a deep brown, matching the color of his skin.

"Yeah, I know," I reply, cringing when a twinge of embarrassment hits me. "Think anyone will remember this tomorrow?" I let sarcasm play in my words, allowing myself to use it freely for the first time in my life. Amity find it to be a rude mock to the other person in conversation.

A chuckle escapes him, and though it is louder than it should be, granting us a few looks, it makes my chest warm. "No, I think this will all blow over."

"-od luck in your futures." Marcus closes off his speech I was unaware he was even making, the choosing ceremony coming to a close.

As one, the Dauntless around me rise, as if set in motion by an unheard alarm. Cheers yet again erupt from the group, wild smiles racing past me as I'm pushed around by bodies. A hand grabs my arm lightly and I'm met again by the boy's smirk. With a gesture of his head, he speaks, "Come on!"

I find my place amongst the crowd, rushing downstairs and into the streets. Concrete slaps against my feet, my thin sandals doing me no favors, but I couldn’t care less about the pain. For the first time in my life, I feel alive.

My hair flows behind me, and I let my arms spread wide, open to the world. Random cheers ring out around me and I let one out myself.

"Come on, Amity" I hear someone yell from above me.

Above me?

People begin to climb the rungs of the train platform and I grin. I let my body do its job, maneuvering myself up to where a group of dauntless stand.

I'm the first transfer to make it to the top and I thank my childhood spent climbing trees.

The group stares at me, clearly surprised at my entrance.

"You should start running." One of them says to me as the rest of the dauntless and transfers make their way to the platform on which we stand. Before I can respond he's gone and a loud train horn fills the air around me.

I push my body forward faster than I have in all my life, my mind shutting out any pain that I may feel as I watch the Dauntless before me easily grab the handles and throw themselves in.

Okay. Okay. I can do this.

Lurching forward I don't give myself time to think as I grip the hard metal in my hand, my arms burning slightly. Wind rips at my ankle length skirt and for a second I pause, enjoying the feeling. As I turn my head to look out at the city a hand roughly grips my arm and waist, pulling me into the train.

My heart beat pounds so hard in my ears that it takes me a moment to realize that someone is speaking to me. It's the boy from the ceremony.

"Huh?" I ask, a wide grin on my face.

"Did you get stuck out there? What happened?" He has a look of concern and confusion in his eyes as he speaks.

I laugh. "No," my head shakes with my reply, brown strands of hair falling into my vision. "I was just admiring the feeling of it all."

At this a few more heads turn, each of them belonging to people clad in black as well. They all look shocked and I can't help but feel my face warm slightly at the attention.

"What do you guys not do that?"

One of the confused faces in the crowd speaks up. A girl, at least 4 inches taller than me with enough piercing in her ears that it looks painful, says, "You just might be more of a daredevil than all of us, Amity."

Before I can respond I hear a person from the front of the cart yell, "They're jumping!"

"It's our time, Amity," the boys speaks again, his grin back. "If you liked that you're going to love this." Then I see it. Bodies flying from the train onto a rooftop feet away. My hands shake but it's not from fear, no, it's from excitement.

"Care to join me?" he says, offering a hand to me as he positions himself farther back in the cart in preparation for the jump.

I grip his fingers tightly and take a deep breath.

"On three?" I ask.

"One." 

I bounce on my toes and bend, getting ready to run.

"Two."

I see the rooftop in front of me and feel my heart beat faster.

"Three."

We run full force, hand in hand from the train and I'm free. Wind surrounds me and for a split second I feel like I'm flying.

It doesn't last long.

We crash to the ground in a heap together and I laugh despite the pain.

"That was the best feeling I've ever had." I rise to my feet, dusting off the stray pieces of gravel from my arms, mentally cursing myself for wearing a tank top.

"You're insane, Amity." The boy says, but he doesn't say it with malice, instead he grins at me like he feels the same.

"Alright group up, we don't have all day." A deep, commanding voice beckons from in front of me. And as I look at him I feel my body go to puddy.

God he's hot.

His hair is blond, shaved on the sides and slicked back in the middle. Down his neck run solid black blocks and he has eyebrow piercings to complement it. But this isn't just this that makes him so attractive, rather it's all that paired with the tight black shirt that clings to his every muscle. And boy does he have a lot of them. My eyes rack over his body, coming up to look him in the face.

My cheeks burn as I see him staring back at me.

+++

thank you so much to everyone who’s been following along, i appreciate all your support.

you can also find this story on my Wattpad! (thedauntlessinblack)

Tag List: @slytherinintj13 @buried-in-books @marvelmenappreciation @insecureunicornn @katlinwrites @tazzclegane @kgurew @nohemi2500 @beenthroughalot @tobiasbebrave

(let me know if you wanted added or removed)