#its the knife game if that wasn’t clear

[cruucigerglobus]

testing the limits

[wosoamazing]

Abandoned?

Warnings: Injury, serious chest injury, ambulance, hospitals, parental abandonment, mentions of death. A/N: In this fic the most recent international break was friendlies… This was a request from someone on wattpad.

It was the 25th minute when Fox kicked a ball, unfortunately for you it came hurtling towards you and before you could move out of the way it crash into your chest, the sound of the ball connecting with your upper torso reverberated through the stadium as you collapsed to the ground from the force, you immediately grabbed your chest as you rolled around the pitch clearly in agony, medics from both teams were on the pitch before the game was paused, there was no time to waste. 

Your chest felt tight, it felt like someone squeezed your heart every time it beat, you could almost feel bubbles ‘pop’ in your chest, and your chest heaved with every breath as you struggled to get air in, whilst also feeling incredible pain every time you sucked in the slightest bit of air.

The stadium was dead silent, it was like there wasn’t a single soul there. And when the ref finally blew the whistle after what felt like hours, the ambo cart immediately raced its way across the pitch to where you laid, surrounded by medics. Sheets were quickly brought onto the pitch and held up around you by various training staff of both teams to provide some protection against the various cameras that surrounded you, an announcement was made informing all media to seize action of cameras however that wouldn’t have stopped the public from trying to get photos.

-

Leah felt time slow down when you hit the pitch, she felt her body freeze, she was standing there staring at the spot you laid surrounding my medics, and paramedics, she didn’t know what to feel, it was almost like her body had forgotten to feel. All your fellow teammates stood there watching her, not knowing whether they should go over to her or not, however when they saw the sheets being brought out they knew it was bad, it basically never happened. Lucy started to make her way over to their Skipper, Kiera and Georgia followed behind her, knowing Leah needed support in this moment. They watched her fall to her knees as announcement was made, leaning forward, burying her face into the grass, her shoulders shook harshly as sobs wracked her body. A circle was formed around them by the USWNT as they tried to comfort Leah. Leah had absolutely broken down, she didn't know how to feel, she was just hoping, praying for dear life that they weren't resuscitating you behind those sheets. You lived with Leah, spending almost every second of every day with her, she didn't know what would happen, how she would cope if you left her.

Diagonally across the pitch from the circle, stood Lotte, who had her arms around Fox, the American cried into her shoulder, he body shook as her fellow arsenal teammates tried to comfort her, reassuring her that this wasn't her fault and that it would be okay.

-

A paramedic was running over to the crowd and waved a man down who was brought onto the pitch, he was one of the Trauma Doctors at St Mary’s and just happened to watching the game with his family on his day off, “Update us” he said as he made his way through the sheets with the paramedic, “pulse is thready, bpm of 163, clear respiratory distress, muffled chest sounds, GCS score unattainable,” “c-spine collar,” you were placed into a neck brace, “prep for an on field thoracostomy,” someone said, before your jersey was cut off and the cold air hit your skin as they disinfected the area, “this is going to hurt, stabilise her,” you felt a knife cut into you and you moaned out in pain, before something was stuck in your chest, and an oxygen mask was placed over your face, you felt a pair of hands leave your body, and heard the sound of heavy boots crunch in the wet cool grass, indicating someone was running somewhere. 

—

“Ready for transfer,” there was a silence, “on my count, 1,2,3,” your body was held straight as you were tipped on your side, the movement causing you to feel slightly dizzy and you could almost hear bugs in your ears, something hard and cold was placed against your back “and 1,2,3,” you were tipped onto your back again, now lying on the backboard, as the foam blocks were placed next to your head and secured your world started to go a little hazy, as someone readjusted the tube that was stuck in your chest.

“Stay with us y/n,” you tried to open your eyes further but you couldn’t and suddenly everything went black.

________

“And the parents are on their way? Or so I’ve heard,” you faintly heard someone say as they stood outside your room. You had just woken up, and everything was still slightly hazy.

You quickly came to at those words, you eyes widened, and you felt your chest start to get tight again, your heart pounded, you were shaking, your breath was ragged, “I-I don’t want to see them,” you stammered out as you shook your head, and tears started to fall from your eyes, Leah didn’t know ones heart could break so many times in one day but here she was, feeling her heart break for at least the second time. She quickly got up so she could be closer to you, taking your hands in hers, “No baby,” she shook her head, face etched with pain, no matter how much you hated your parents, she knew this was going to hurt. “It’s not them anymore, they, they,” she let out a heavy sigh, “they gave you up, they signed away their rights. When they got the call, they said that it wasn’t their duty to make the decisions or to take care of you, they, they said they didn’t want to be associated with you, they came to the hospital, purely to sign the papers to give away their guardianship,” Leah watched as a range of emotions crossed your face, you couldn’t believe it, yes they had already kicked you out and you barely spoke. But this was different. This was something else. This was complete abandonment, they didn’t want anything to do with you anymore. “I’m sorry baby, I’m so so sorry, I-” Leah was cut off my the loud alarm sounding on the monitor, your panic had caused your heart rate to get to high and your oxygen levels too low, your chest heaved with every breath again, and you could feel it burn as oxygen entered your lungs, but that pain was nothing, nothing could ever compare to the feeling of being disowned legally by your parents. Knowing they travelled all the way to the hospital, just to sign a piece of paper to say they didn't love you anymore.

You had just finished facetiming Kyra, Steph and Caitlin, when you turned your head to face Leah, who was sitting in the chair near your bed, her face seemed serious as she read something on her phone.

“We aren’t playing Bristol City,” she suddenly announced “well obviously,” you rolled your eyes at her, “no like the club isn’t, they forfeited,” “oh,” you paused for a minute, “I want to see Emily,” you blurted out, the thought having been circling your mind for the last however long.

“I don’t think that is the best idea, B-” “But why? It’s not her fault, she did nothing wrong,” “That’s not the reason why bubs, Emily is struggling at the moment, she knows it wasn’t her fault, but she feels like it is, because she kicked the ball, she didn't mean to hit you, but she does feel guilty, she feels like she just shouldn’t have kicked the ball.” You nodded your head, and picked up your phone, scrolling through instagram, when you came across statements from both Arsenal and England.

An update from the England Lionesses: Y/N is in a stable condition, she is awake and talking. Her recovery will be in the hands of her club and we wish her all the best. We ask that out of respect for the players and those involved that no photos or videos taken during/after the incident are shared, these players are people too and deserve privacy. We are thankful for all our fans' support and apologise for the abandonment of the match, all tickets will be refunded. 

Arsenal WFC have released a statement: After discussions with our players, staff, Bristol City and the FA we have come to the decision that we will be forfeiting our next fixture in the WSL against Bristol City, we understand what this decision means and how it affects our position in the table however we must keep our players wellbeing at the forefront during this time period and in no way would it be fair or right of us to ask any of our players to play a match in the coming days. The incident involving y/n has affected every single one of our players deeply and we want to be able to take the next few days to focus on their wellbeing and health, something we could not do if we were to have a game. We would like to reassure the public that y/n is in safe hands and is in a stable condition. 

As you finished reading the statement from Arsenal you felt your bottom lip start to quiver, you looked over to Leah who was once again looking at her phone,  “I’m sorry,” “for what?” she softly asked, “for scaring everyone, I-I didn’t mean to,” you quietly spoke as soft tears fell from your eyes, “hey, hey, none of that, it wasn’t anyone's fault okay, we all just care about you and want to make sure you’re okay,” she reassured you as she moved to sit with you in the bed, “okay” you said as you moved to lean your head back on her shoulder, “I love you so much, we all do, never forget that,”

[azul-marie]

ada. (enamour)

fem. reader. love rivalry including ada/reader/leon. (focus on reader)

something cold digs in between your shoulder blades, sending shivers up tense muscles.

it’s a sudden sensation. catches you off guard you forget to call out to leon, whose back is turned to you whilst sifting through paper files laying across an abandoned wooden desk. the latest room you’ve snuck into seemed abandoned enough — save for its open window rocking back and forth on screeching bolts. they must’ve entered through there mere seconds before the two of you did.

warm, sweet breath tickles your earlobe. another round of shivers overtake your senses. this time, through, you recover quickly enough to react.

your hand flies to your pocketed blade and in an instant is pressed up to their throat. it is then you realize, recognize who your company is. she smiles serenely at you, acting like the knife at her neck isn’t sharp enough to slice through bone. she bears her pistol with all the grace of someone who’s caught you in her web, not the other way around.

“long time no see, kitten.”

her deadpan voice practically echoes through the silence of the night. finally surprising your partner into turning around. what surprises him further is the way ada gazes at you, almost identical to the way she did at him all those years ago.

“ada.” leon says plainly, hand hovering over his own pistol. his eyes flicker between the two of you, to the way your hand fumbles with your blade, to how she smiles a little too suggestively for someone being threatened. he’s certain you’re about to push her down, or for her to knock the knife away from your obviously loosened grip — neither happen.

instead, you carefully tuck your blade away and greet her with a coy smile of your own.

“i wasn’t expecting you here, red.” your arms cross, a guard of sorts. you knew full well of the games she liked to play. she holds your eyes as she slips her pistol back in its holster, searching for something you refuse to show. it’s been a long time, indeed, but you still remember how to compose yourself around her. it’s all rather flattering.

ada circles you, trailing her fingertips over your shoulders. her silky touch is the only weapon in her grasp, but it is perhaps her most dangerous. she takes pleasure in the way you shift beneath her watch, how your pretty face fights to remain mild. she’s no fool. she sees the smile playing at those luscious lips of yours — why bother hiding it? she’s all sultry eyes just for you, now that she’s finally managed to separate your stuffy partner’s hip from yours. seems he hadn’t changed after all. he really was the clingy type.

it was cute. once. not when he happened to be clingy with you of all people.

“once i heard you were around, i just couldn’t help myself.” her arm comes to rest around the curve of your waist. her fingers press into the flesh of your hip, easing you closer. her lips hover over the soft of your neck, almost kissing a path up to your ear. your breathing stutters, and she purrs, “wanted to stop by and catch up with my favorite girl, is all.”

you scoff, but there’s no stopping the heat rising up and over your face. those pretty lips of yours finally turn up in a smile, bashful like a schoolgirl crush. the temptation to run her thumb over your bottom lip runs strong — until an awkward, intentional clear of a throat interrupts the thought.

“i’d appreciate if you left my partner alone.” leon interjects, striding to stand tall besides you. in a swift motion he interweaves your elbows together and pulls you towards him, at once halting the hold she had on you. it’s a comfortable, possessive sort of touch. how quaint. cute little leon, still wearing his heart on his sleeve.

given the way his hand clamps around yours, he must really have it bad. what a shame. for him.

ada is slow to drag her eyes away from you. she even runs them up, down, over your lovely body for good measure. she can’t have leon thinking she isn’t willing to compete — two can play at that game. his fuming glower tells her he’s gotten the message loud and clear. as he should. she zeros in on the way his grip tightens around yours, again, cozily touching you as if you were his.

a quirk of her brow suggests ire. “glad to see you, leon. to think, after all this time, you’re still such a lucky man. who would’ve thought she’d end up being your partner?”

the two of them stare each other down with such intensity you wonder what other history they share aside from you. tension seeps into the chill of the nighttime air. leon’s coiled up so tightly it raises worry, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his bicep to placate him. for all you know, the mysterious plagas infecting him could thrive off stress, and he’s already had plenty of that so far.

almost immediately does your touch have him redirecting his notice towards you. his intense gaze softens at your pretty eyes studying him. his broad shoulders gradually relax in your embrace. he’s visibly calmed by the simple act, much to ada’s amusement — and her vexation. her fingertips dig into her palms, wishing it was your hands beneath them instead.

“ada, why are you really here?” you inquire, and she’s pleased when you finally set sights back on her. she’s not fond of the questioning, however. she purses her lips. her expression morphs into a cautious neutral. you’re aware you won’t be getting a direct answer, no matter how much she likes you.

ada sighs, “oh, sweetheart. you know i don’t work and tell.”

guarded, she saunters to the opposite end of the room to the very window she slithered in through, overlooking the bleak scenery with little interest. you slip past leon to follow after her, grasping her fingers to keep her from going any further. pleasant warmth seeps through from your fingertips to hers. there’s no time to relish it, although she longs to feel more. calculating eyes regard you and you alone.

“leave the girl,” demands ada. “she’s lost no matter what. you walk away now…and who knows? maybe you’ll live to meet me again.”

keeping her eyes locked on yours, she brings your hand to her lips, and presses a languid kiss across your knuckles. a stain of red now marks you as hers. play glimmers in her irises. “…maybe i’ll even take you on that date i promised.”

“you think we’re gonna give up that easy?” leon’s voice cuts in, weighed with barely contained venom.

“right.” ada exhales a laugh. how true. the two of you really are perfect for one another. hearts of gold, heads full of dreams. she turns towards a silently seething leon, whose eyes pierce her every move. he does a poor job at hiding his envious glare towards your entwined hands. “how about we continue this discussion another time?”

she drops your hand unceremoniously, in favor of pressing a kiss to your cheek. the pulse of your racing heart is nearly tangible. such a sweet girl, flustered by a simple kiss. longing parts her lips in their journey up to your ear to whisper, “stay safe, beautiful.” she pulls away with an air of nonchalance, committing to memory the clear look of shock she’s frozen you into. it takes all she has not to go back in for another kiss, for there’s no knowing where her lips will land if she does.

“keep her safe for me, will you, leon? she’s really quite precious, you know.”

and just like that, she’s gone.

you nearly stumble towards the creaking window for a vain glimpse into the night she’s disappeared through. half shocked, half mortified of your audience still gaping at you, you could only hope he wasn’t put off by the instance of his flirty adversary. or the fact you had no quarrels in encouraging her.

a hand wraps around yours, warm and tight.

“careful. leaning out a little too far there, don’t you think?”

leon sounds rather relieved now that it’s back to being the two of you. ada must’ve been a sore sight for whatever reasons he’s held within. you avoid his eyes to recollect yourself, murmuring apologies beneath your breath.

then, a touch upon your cheek, the very one she’d kissed, puts a stop to all thoughts. your eyes flutter up towards leon’s. his usually somber expression has turned sour, scowling and scorned in a way you’re unfamiliar with. his hand cups your face, thumb frantically rubbing off what must be a lipstick stain ada’s left behind. the intensity of his eyes only adds to your embarrassment, makes you wish he hadn’t seen her in the first place. maybe then he wouldn’t be upset, angry with the ghost of her presence.

“here i thought luis would be my only problem.” leon mutters, so softly you’d mistaken he’d spoken at all. when he notices the shift in your pretty eyes, the sweetsoft concern that struck him weak, his gaze mellows instantly, and he blinks rapidly as if coming out of a daze. rose pink springs across his face in a blooming blush, a bigger surprise than his supposed anger. he rips his hand away upon realizing himself, leaving you curious.

“i mean—i meant, she’s the last person i expected to run into here. it’s—it’s a long story. won’t bore you with it. just know she’s probably not worth trusting completely. it’s best you’re careful around her. i’d hate…i wouldn’t want you hurt.”

his voice goes quiet at the end. his head is turned away, body tight and tense, hands fiddling with the holsters of his weapons. it isn’t like leon to speak so personally. so openly about his emotions. and you know it isn’t because of ada’s mere presence, what must be a recollection of the past.

you touch your cheek, still warm from his skin.

“you’re the one i trust, leon. we came here together, and we’re leaving together. i’m with you until the end.”

courage overtakes bashful notions. you close in beside him, reach up to push a lock of his hair behind his ear. cup his shying face, a tender encouragement to share his vulnerability with you. leon’s eyes fall back on yours too easily, too swiftly for a simple friendship. you see it; he is incapable of masking it.

it’s somewhat of an honor he’s so fond of you. it’s a reminder to be gentle with his feelings, though you yourself may not have yours sorted out just yet. but it is ascertained that you care immensely for him, perhaps in the way he’d like you to. perhaps not. there’s plenty of time to work things out.

“i’m with you, ace.” you smile, tugging his cheek until he returns one of his own. “there’s no one else i’d rather have beside me. got it?”

leon nods, convinced. “yeah. thanks.”

you pay a playful pat to his cheek, satisfied with his answer. “good, good. now, why don’t we get moving? we wouldn’t want to keep miss ashley waiting. what were we even looking for in the first place? some kind of key?”

the mention of the mission reinvigorates him. “yeah, exactly. should be somewhere around here, if you can help me look.”

“sure! let’s just hope we can get by without someone interrupting again.”

“wouldn’t that be nice.” scoffs leon, slipping his fingers through yours to lead you back towards the other half of the room. this habit of wanting you close was really too cute. willingly do you allow him to take your hand as he pleases.

all the while you will your heart not to flutter at the lipstick still staining the other, red on red alike.

[dabisbratz]

PENITENCE — leon s. kennedy x male reader

w.c: ~5.3k

warning: sub bottom reader, thigh fucking, spit, standing doggy style, dirty talk, leon’s weak pullout game x2, mixed praise/degradation, oral, choking, sexualizing las plagas, breeding mentions, sir kink, finger hooking, drool, infected leon is a lil mean, dumbification, accidental creampie

a/n: got a loooot of requests for a sequel to this!! so here it is! i hope you enjoy! ૮꒰ ´͈ ˙̫ `͈ Ꮚ꒱ა this fic had a mind of its own!! didn get to write leon as feral as i wanted to but… that’s okay!

You’ve never been shot before. Punched, sure, clean in the jaw in the midst of a training session. It caught you so off guard you nearly swallowed your teeth, and the blood gushing from your nose and coating the pearls tasted like rusty gunmetal. But it really didn’t hurt that bad, you felt more congested than anything.

You've never been shot before. Stabbed, sure, right through the hand until thick blood poured straight out your palm like nature’s greatest waterfall. It wasn’t as sharp as you’d think, not some sort of pinch akin to getting a piercing. No, it was panic first, your eyes trailed down to meet the handle of a hunting knife that cut clean through your palm. Then came the realization, Scorching heat beaming through your hand until it began to tremble. But hand wounds heal fast, you barely remember it.

You’ve never been shot before. Grazed, sure, blasted with the shells of a silver shotgun bullet so hard it seared your skin and left an open-mouthed gash. Your bullet ricocheted off an unknown surface, all because you’d taken it upon yourself to practice your aim alone. But it was just a graze, and so long ago the scar had begun to fade.

So the first time it happens, you’re taken for a loop.

Your legs burn, aching as you trudge beside Leon in his hasty motion up a particularly slippery hill. It’s like you’ve been walking in circles, deeper and deeper into the village but somehow passing the same bloodstained tree. For a man who was over a hundred fifty pounds of sheer force and willpower, he sure was light on his toes. Had there not been moisture from previous nights’ rain still lingering in the air you're sure it’d be easier— no mud to slip on, no pockets of rainwater that looked much more shallow than they actually were— but it lingers.

And it’s not just that, there’s an everlasting tremor in your thighs as you walk, you can barely take a few steps without your movements stuttering. You can’t excuse it as a pulled muscle, not when Leon’s been forcing you to sit back and observe. Though it’s partially his fault, you deduce, because you can see the growing pride in his stride as he listens to your trip over your own feet. Almost like it was a mission, fuck the rookie until he cries and let him walk for himself.

Asshole.

You can’t stop talking, not when your brain is working overtime and you have so many questions. Though it’s not entirely clear if he’s listening, Leon’s body subconsciously teeters in your direction, almost like he’s trying to collect your body heat. He’s certainly done that, that and much more. He’s stolen the air from your lungs with a heavy kiss, he’s collected the sounds of your moans and sealed them in a jar.

You spare him a heavy glance, watching the muscles in his back ripple as he marches through the thickening mud. You wish you’d gotten the chance to see him without it, to card your fingers through the strong fabric as he pulls his shirt over his head and balls it up in his veiny fists. To watch his hair fall, golden bundles framing his face and falling back into place like magic, nearly swept over his eye and so unabashedly Leon.

“Would you stop staring at me?” There’s a playful edge to his voice, teetering around the edges as he blows a bullet straight through the frail neck of an infected resident. You’re too focused on the nape of his neck to watch it explode, an amalgamation of blood and arteries and fat splattering onto the ground and surrounding houses. “I mean, if you want a picture all you have to do is ask.”

You can tell he’s somehow watching you through the corner of his gunmetal gray eyes, with your blatant staring, but he doesn’t seem to have much on the tip of his tongue besides a few smartmouthed remarks. Maybe he has eyes behind his full head of hair.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” You purse your lips, tightening your grip around the flashlight paving the way forward.

Truthfully, you’d underestimated just how much cardio and legwork it took to navigate this village— sure, the implication of missing hikers in the area meant there’d be a trail to hike, but in your head it was much more akin to training. Controlled, steep hills that didn’t continue on as far as the eye can see, an obstacle course that had an obtainable goal— it feels like you’re wandering aimlessly.

But Leon’s with you, so surely that can’t be right.

You wonder how much preparation and time he took into this, how many nights of sparring turned into considering your presence under the same blanket of stars, how often he made things with you in mind. Even if it’s just for a mission.

Quite frankly, it was all the time. Thinking of you put an indescribable amount of weight on his chest, it capsized his shoulders, so feathery light, and yet somehow still managed to put strain on his posture. He was always so laid back, cracking jokes and likable by definition. Yet there he stood, second guessing his abilities in protecting you, having you, wooing you. Ashley is his priority. . . but you’re his partner.

And he wants more.

“Leon?” Apprehension builds in your voice, Leon’s steady stride suddenly broken as he looks down at his hands. You bump right into him, colliding face-first into his body. His back is just as sturdy as it looks, barely jolting as you peek around to look at his handsome face.

His veins are turning black, coiling up his wrists from his hands, inky black streaks that branch off up his forearm and disappear under his shirt. Even the thicker veins decorating his bicep— they’ve become an ugly charcoal that looks entirely too unnatural. Painful. As if leeches have burrowed themselves under his skin, the intrusion crawls further into his bloodstream as small, deep grunts escape from his lips.

You still have yet to ask what happened during your separation— after you ran. But, in a way, you’ve got your answer.

“You with me, Lee?” You search his face for something, anything, under the furrowed brows and clenched teeth. His jaw sets, characteristically rigid, which is a generous start. Somewhere beneath the icy blue of his eyes you see recognition, like he’s not exactly looking at you, but he knows you’re there. Lucid enough. Good.

But without Leon leaving a path of bodies for you to walk over, you have to take over and pave the way.

“I’m gonna take your gun, okay?” It’s rhetorical, whether he likes it or not, because he took your gun away before you truly had the chance to use it— and it’s not entirely like he’s in the position to be making demands. You wish you could laugh about it, let a boyish smile wiggle its way across your face, but without Leon there to laugh with you… there’s no point.

And, like most instances, you find yourself jumping into action before you can think, dragging every pound of steel Leon has to offer through the village until you can find somewhere safe. It happens all too fast. One moment, you’re holding onto the pistol while wrapping an arm around Leon’s waist, blowing holes through the infected like you were made for it, watching their bodies topple to the ground in a lifeless display. Then. . .

“Fuck, oh fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” Your heart plummets into your stomach, you can’t help but think you’ve swallowed a bomb. Your blood is cold on your slick skin, flowing down your bicep like sort of fucked up waterfall. It’s thick and sticky, a rich shade of red that only seems to get darker and darker as it pours from your arm. You can’t help but call for your partner, tightening your grip on his waist. “Leon…”

Getting grazed is not the same.

There’s a similar burn, but this time it’s from the outside-in and back out again. Like you’ve been stung by a swarm bees, all at the same time, and in the same exact spot.

It happened so fast, threw you for a loop, the metal of an axe bounced your bullet right back at you, and landed right through your arm.

Your eyes widen, jittery as Leon parts his legs, planting his boots into the mud in a futile attempt at staying upright. Selfless as ever, the blond just can’t seem to sit still when he knows someone he cares about is in danger.

His dusty pink lips are curled into a snarl, one of his veiny hands clasped over your own; fisting at the bunched up fabric by his waist. His eyes, previously clenched shut, are no longer a brilliant shade of blue— they’ve turned yellow, bright like a citrusy candy. His face, still as handsome as before, is adorned with streaky, black veins that cluster near his left cheekbone and disappear into his cheeks. Instinctively, you raise your arm to swipe away his hair in a half-assed attempt at consolation, but the movement burns before you can put away your pistol.

Leon’s eyes flicker to your bicep, watching the red ooze from the inflamed bullet-shaped hole. His gaze darkens, something you can’t quite grasp flashing in his eyes as he takes the gun from your hand and pushes you behind him.

“Leon—”

“Move! Now!” His voice is much deeper than before— still buttery smooth, just dropping in octaves as he yells into the night air. You don’t have to be told twice, stumbling in the mud as he pushes you in the general direction of an abandoned house. In a perfect world you’d use your knife to help, but something tells you sticking around would just worsen the situation for everyone.

So you rush into the house, bursting through the creaky door as gunshots ring behind you. Almost as loud as the static in your ears, buzzing as you search for a closed off room.

The house is empty, fairly sized— equipped with a staircase that leads upstairs. Bedrooms, you presume, since there are only bathrooms and living spaces on the first floor. The floorboards whine and groan under your weight, tracking mud as you keep your hand clasped over your bicep. It probably won’t make much of a difference now, but the bleeding has subsided into thick clots, which momentarily lightens your mood.

You don’t have much on you, it’s best to travel light when you have places to be— heavy backpacks can weigh you down. But you do have a few bandages and travel-sized disinfectant wipes. You can only help Leon effectively if you help yourself first— you’re dead weight if you go back out there dipped in blood— so you get to work.

It’s hasty, messy, and unorganized, but you get it done. Your bicep is wrapped snug, with enough pressure to support your arm without cutting off any circulation. It’s the best you can do for now, with the panic and anxiety blooming in your throat. It burns like bile, attacking your senses until all you can think of is Leon. The look on his face, the sounds of his pained grunts, the veins darkening beneath his skin.

As if he’s heard you, your silent prayers for his presence in its entirety, he crashes through the door. It squeals on its hinges, slamming shut behind him as his heavy boots collide with the wooden floorboards. You can’t quite make out anything else, just the sound of his shoes as he walks through the hall, and into the bathroom.

Maybe it’s just a hunch, an inference, but there’s irritation floating between his steps. You can feel it radiating off him despite not exactly being near him. The sound of poorly running water emits from the small room, muffled through the door, along with a steadier stream of swears.

“Leon?” You ask, pushing yourself off the wooden diningroom chair with the support of your unwounded arm. Would it be best to give him some space? But that’s not really an option, not with what you witnessed. Not with that intrusion trying to take over his body. “I’m coming in.”

Nearly tripping over the red rug decorating the hallway between the bathroom and living spaces, you clumsily open the bathroom door. Just Leon— sitting on the wide ledge of the bathroom’s squat toilet, his gun discarded on the opposing mantel. You can’t see his face, not with his hair casting silky shadows along the expanse of it, but you can picture his tight lipped expression just fine.

The thought makes heat burst through your skin. Nowhere near as painful as a gunshot wound. This time it’s comforting and sweet, it makes your legs feel like jelly and your heart like jam.

“Ocupado,” He sounds rather proud of himself for that one, readjusting his spot on the ledge. The blond lifts his gaze, shades of blue overcasting the previous yellow hues that once clouded his vision. “How do you feel..Your arm..?”

You should be asking him that.

“I’m good,” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, the strain of your shoulders dissipating into the air the longer you look at him. “You know me. Are you…okay?”

Perhaps ‘okay’ isn’t the word for it. You want to ask if he feels weird, if the deepening of his veins bothers him. What it felt like when he was rendered unconscious. When you felt it— tied to that damned cross— it wasn’t nearly as bad as Leon. In fact, it didn't hurt you at all. You didn’t even notice until the entirety of your arms were decorated in pure, black branches.

“Yeah,” He blinks, not once removing his gaze from the curl of your lips. Still so shiny and wet, soft as they curl with every vowel and syllable that leaves them. He swallows hard, audible as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat. Your eyes trace the small mole just below it, the way his throat bulges. “I’m okay. For the most part.”

He doesn’t seem entirely there, lifting himself up wordlessly until he’s crashing into you, his large, gloved hand finding a place around your neck as he pulls you into a kiss.

The bathroom isn’t an ideal place to do it, though you suppose you two don’t have a clean track record of kissing in the best places. He swallows the air from your lungs, deep and gentle as his lips melt into yours. He tastes just like he did a few hours, just slightly saltier. He tastes like you, you’re still heavy on his tongue and it seems he’s hooked on your flavor.

His tongue is silky, messy in your mouth as you try your hardest to absorb his heat. His mouth is so warm, so wet, and you can’t help but whimper when he pulls away. You want to chase it, that heat, so you can’t help yourself when you follow after his lips.

Oh.

Leon’s eyes— they’re red, and the impossibly dark streaks under his skin are somehow darker.

“Your—”

“I wanna fuck you so bad,” It leaves his lips before the both of you have time to process it. He’s much more surprised than you, pink roses blooming on the apples of his cheeks despite the clear obstruction of his body. You appreciate the honesty, clearing your throat to mask the laugh bubbling in your chest. Leon’s okay, and he’s not just saying it. “…Sorry.”

Leon’s red-eyed gaze is casted to the side, but even in his efforts to avoid looking at you, he can’t help himself. It’s cute, really, charming enough to have your heart doing somersaults in your chest.

“Then do it.”

Blue embers sparkle in his eyes, and suddenly you’re being pulled out the cramped bathroom. Whatever he’s infected with, it’s heightened his abilities, because his grip on your wrist feels just as strong as the rusty chains in the cathedral. He’s holding onto you like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t, an iron grip that feels more comfortable than painful. And through it all, he’s cautious of your injury.

It doesn’t stop him from slapping you against the wall, your back colliding with the old, peeling wallpaper with a loud thud.

“You’re sure—” You start, the words catching in your throat when Leon’s strong hands tear your shirt apart, straight through the middle. The cold air hits you instantly, sending shivers up your spine as you whine in protest. “I only have one shirt!”

“I have a jacket.” His answer is barely audible, as he’s too busy watching the rise and fall of your chest with hungry, predatory eyes. You’re looking at Leon, who has every feature of the man. . . But he feels different. He feels bigger, in every sense of the word, towering over you as his red eyes study you like a bloodthirsty shark.

Next are your pants, you take the liberty of unbuckling your utility belt, keeping your gaze on Leon as he watches your hands pull them down. A considerate patch of sticky wetness decorates the front of your boxers, darkening and dampening the fabric. Leon’s pink tongue slides over his equally pink lips, whatever restraint he’s using slowly slipping away. You expect him to follow suit, but his hands are on you and he’s guiding you down to your knees.

Your face nuzzles against the fabric of his pants, thick but nowhere near as thick as his cock, which has a prominent, twitching outline.Your mouth waters, saliva pooling between your lips as your eyes flutter shut and he presses your cheek against his dick, firm and rough. His hands are so big, cupping the back of your head as he releases a small, hushed groan.

Leon watches you unzip his pants with parted lips and a baited breath. You look so damn pretty, eyes glazed over within the matter of a few seconds and a stupid look in your eye the second you see his dick again. Like you’ve missed it, when it was only just a few hours ago when he was buried deep inside you. He lets you push his pants down to his ankles, your eyes roaming along the skin of his toned thighs, which black vines slowly creep down.

You press a pretty, openmouthed kiss against the head of his cock, watching precum bead at the tip and smear across your lips. Such a sweet boy, kissing his cock as a greeting.

“Goddamn, you’re so cute,” His grip travels down your face to the top of your neck, where your throat meets your jaw. Your gaze is forced upward, straight into Leon’s vermillion irises as he offers a small squeeze. “Just a little slut. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Mhm, yeah,” You pant against his skin, shimmying forward to grind your front against the leather of his boot. “For you— just for you, Sir.”

Yeah, you could get used to this. The girth of his cock, the vein that disappears beneath the pretty head of his dick, the way his balls weigh heavily against your chin. His pubes are a deeper shade of brown, slightly curly and enough that makes you want to bury your nose in it. He’s so sticky, slick and wet like he’s been thinking about this for a while. The thought of Leon gripping himself through his pants is just so hot, the way he’d buck up into his fist and imagine it’s you instead. The way he’d groan and moan into the air, chasing after some artificial tightness that could only simulate you. Your mouth, your hole.

“Think you can be a good boy for me?” You chase after his cock as he pulls it away, gripping it by the base with a gloved hand. You can only imagine how good the leather of his fingerless gloves feel against it. He coos at your attempts to follow along, meanly slapping the weight of his dick against your cheek until you’re messy with precum. “Hm? Yeah?”

You nod frantically, opening your mouth and covering your bottom row of teeth with your tongue. You can be good, you can be good for Leon.

Tears spring in your eyes the second he’s pushing into your mouth, groaning at the sound of your gags as his cock slides in and out, deeper and deeper without warning. He can’t help it, not when you’re drooling all over his pants and whining for it. Not when you’d look so cute hazy eyed and stained with tears as he fucks your throat. Not when your throat bulges around his cock, letting out wet squelches as you struggle to keep your eyes open and watch his hips snap against you.

“That’s it,” Leon sighs, shaky and content as he holds you in place. His good boy. “Just like that, you take it so—f-hucking—good.”

You lurch back, tears blurry in your eyes as you sputter and gag. His precum is salty and warm, coating your throat as you flutter your eyes and hold onto the swell of Leon’s strong, thick thighs. Heat ripples through your body in waves as a low growl rumbles in his throat, bouncing into your ears.

“Shh, I know, I know. Don’t run from me, let me in,” He coos, sliding his long cock from your mouth to watch a long trail of your spit thin out the further he pulls away. “It’s just too big for you, is that right? Hard to focus on anything when all you can think of is dick.”

You’re breathing heavily, panting loud as you slowly register the mess on your face, your chin. Your lips feel swollen, but your mouth feels empty. You must have a particularly dumb look on your face because it pulls a laugh out of the man in front of you, rich and hearty as he lifts you up with an authoritative hand around your throat.

“C’mere.” He mumbles, pulling you in to pepper messy kisses along your jaw. He’s more impulsive, you gather, with whatever’s coursing through his veins. Rougher too, with the way his hand tightens around your throat when he’s throwing commands at you. You don’t mind it, not at all. In fact, it’s made you all hazy, you feel like you’re traveling through a thick layer of fog as you nod along. You want to be good, to earn his praise.

Leon’s hands travel to your waist, dipping into the plush skin until your thighs are spread just far enough for his cock to fit between them. You’ve never felt so exposed, whining high in your throat no matter how pathetic it sounds, and pressing your body against his firm chest.

His cock feels as big as it looks, long and curved as he slides it between your thighs. You can feel every twitch and pulse, you’re sure he can feel you too— with how he’s grunting and groaning against your neck. He fucks into your thighs like he’s chasing after something, trying to satiate it. His grip is punishing, the pads of his fingertips digging into your skin until it hurts.

“I can’t,” You whine, shaking your head as you watch his cock disappear between your thighs. “S’not— I wanna—”

“You can,” Leon growls, making a low warning of a noise in his throat as he tuts in disapproval. It goes straight to your stomach, tingles shocking your body as you clench around nothing. “And you will.”

Instead of keeping you upright by the throat, Leon’s hands leave you to fend for yourself as he slides them down your supple skin, down every dip and curve and slope, until he’s playing with the leftover stickiness of your hole.

You’re certain there’s nowhere near as comfortable as Leon’s arms. They’re big and strong, plush and warm against your skin, and firm in your hand when he’s flexing. They keep you secure and safe, protected from whatever monstrosities are in this godforsaken place, you’re sure he’d hold you till you both fell asleep, and you’d be enveloped in his warmth.

He smells just as warm too, faintly of vanilla underneath all that sex and remnants of polluted air.

“Christ, you’re so… Warm around my fingers. Give it to me, baby, let me fuck you with my fingers.”

You love his warmth, it spreads across your body and travels down your chest, your stomach, your thighs, until he’s taking you apart with it. His fingers are so warm, so thick and perfect as they fuck into you. Even when you’re sloppy like this, sucking his fingers back in like you’d never wanted to be left empty again in the first place, working your hips back to chase after his knuckles. The warmth of his arms as he flips you around, pushes your weight into his own by the base of your neck, maneuvers you just right, keeps you open and vulnerable for him. All for him.

Yeah, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

“Hey, you with me?” It’s his turn to ask, and you wonder if he felt the same butterflies you did.

“Yeah, I’m,” You’re breathlessly spreading your legs and pulling yourself apart with the warmth of your palms to reveal the puffiness of your hole, fucked out and shiny from earlier’s abuse. Leon wonders how easy it’d be to slip back in, to inch his cock deeper and deeper inside as you flutter around him and keen with oversensitivity. “M’with you, Sir.”

“Atta boy,” The smile he flashes is all teeth, dangerous and sharp as his canines glint in the dim lighting. You have half the heart to be a bit scared, but it doesn’t mean much when he’s working you open when you’re already so sensitive. Your hips jitter, twitching both toward and away from his fingers as he presses against that same bundle of nerves from earlier— it’s too much. This time you really mean it, because the second he hits it, tears spring in your eyes and you’re fisting remnants of the peeling wallpaper like a lifeline. “Greedy little hole. Didn’t you just take me?”

“Ohh, oh, God! Leon,” He hums in acknowledgement, as if he’s actually listening to your mindless babbling, nodding with lidded eyes as he uses your hips to pull you down onto his fingers. He’s using you like some kind of toy, moving you with one hand as you sit there and take it. You’re melting into the wall, drool slipping through the seam of your lips and trailing down your exposed chest. “You— your fingers, feel so good.”

“I know, baby.”

The way you’re convulsing around his fingers is telling, crying and sobbing and squealing into the wallpaper while he angles your back down. His large palm presses into the small of your back, strong and firm as he pushes and pushes until you’re arching just right and exposed.

“Let me fuck you till I cum, be my toy,” You can barely hear him over your own sobs, shifting your weight between legs as you steady yourself. His cock slips in easy, smooth and wet and perfect. You missed this feeling the second it left, the fullness of his dick inside you. The curve of his long cock as it inches inside, the feeling of that one particular vein pulsing deep inside. “Gonna fuck you over and over. Yeah? Got that? Because you’re all mine.”

“Uh-huh, mhm,” You gasp, every inhale making you sputter and choke on your tears. “Yes, Sir.”

If you weren’t crying before you surely are now, with the sharp thrusts Leon’s pistoning into your hole, loud and sloppy and squelching as he backs you up on his cock. It’s like he’s mounted you, shoving your face into the wall as he slams into you. In and out, in and out, in and out…With every slap of his balls against your thighs you whine, small pitiful sounds escaping your lips until your voice goes hoarse and all you can do is weakly claw at the wall.

But you’ve been good, save for a few whiny noises and indiscreet pouting, you’ve been so good. So Leon lets your uninjured hand wander, even guides it down to your front as he fucks you from behind so hard it feels like you’re going stupid. You can’t see him like this, but you’d bet there’s a feral look on his face. Pupils blown wide as his red eyes focus on the view of his cock disappearing inside you, his brain short circuiting as it repeats the same code over and over.

Breed, breed, breed.

“Wanna breed you,” He rasps, strong arms pulling you the second he’s pulling out. No matter what, you’re full of him. You’re full of him even as his cock slides away, a trail of precum connecting the two of you as it froths between your thighs and his balls. “Can I fuck my cum into your sloppy little hole? Hm?”

“Course, f’course,” It’s all out the window, every possible thought you’d ever had about how uncomfortable it could be to be…preoccupied while on a mission. Because you want it, you want to be full. You want him to give it to you, deeper and harder and messier and… More. “..Please..”

“Nice of you to say, but,” He groans high in his throat, voice tight and heavy as his hips grow sloppy and weak. Yet, his cock still feels so heavy in your hole, makes you feel like you’re ready to burst apart at the seams. Leon’s fingers pull at your cheeks, slipping in your mouth and pulling at the skin until your mouth is forced wide, your tongue slipping from your mouth as you drool and cry. “I wasn’t really asking. You’d let me cum wherever I wanted, wouldn’t you? It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re cute when you go dumb on my dick.”

You can’t do this.

You tried, really. You tried your hardest, held it for as long as you could. But you’re already there, almost screaming on his dick as you flutter and clamp down on it, light beaming in your stomach as your body grows sensitive and weak. You’re cumming. And Leon’s hand around your throat doesn’t do anything besides aid it, the way you gush and whine around his cock despite his insistent thrusts. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, and it feels so fucking good.

“Jesus fuck, you take that cock so well. Such a good boy, my pretty slut,” Leon pulls you into him, pressing his chest against your back as he sinks his teeth into the base of your neck. Not enough to draw blood, no, just enough to leave a Leon S. Kennedy sized bite mark along your skin. “Tell me you love this cock, pretty baby. I know you can.”

“I love— ohhh — love your cock, Sir. M’so full.” Your twitching doesn’t cease, instead egging him on as your pretty little hole sucks him in deeper, holding him like a vice. Warm and slick, he can’t help but moan into your neck as his balls tighten and he cums.

“That’s it,” You watch him pant through the corner of your eyes, weighed down by fatigue, sex, and the entirety of today's ordeals. But at least the richness of his veins are beginning to clear up, and his pretty, arctic blue eyes are starting to resurface. You smile around a hearty moan, feeling your insides flood with warmth as his eyes flutter shut and his body shudders. “I could really get used to this.”

It’s hard and fast, much too fast for him to have pulled out to shoot across your back— no, he’s partially shot a thick, creamy rope inside you. His veins pulse at the thought, satiated with the sight of your fucked-out hole drooling with his cum.

“Oh… Fuck.”

He’s hard again.

[purpleknighty]

Do I Wanna Know?

Pairing: Agent!Haerin x Agent!Fem!Reader

Summary: Now a rouge spy, fleeing from the old agency you once worked for, you find yourself at a familiar doorstep you never thought you’d see again.

Warnings/tags: violence, mentions of blood and injuries, small angst, enemies to lovers(?), reader and haerin are off and on, heavy emphasis on communication, misunderstandings(?), tell me if I missed anything else

Tonight has been shit, nothing has worked out in your favor, everything keeps getting worse and worse.

At first, you assumed it was very badly timed coincidences. You walk into a bar for starters, college students being the loudest customers there. 20 minutes into enjoying your drink, a suspicious group of men walk in, eyeing you up and down.

They whisper among each other, stealing glances at your seated frame, but you feel their eyes on the back of your head.

You keep calm, waiting to see who makes the first move. The men do, and as they itch closer, you realize they look like agents that you use to work with.

Fuck that.

You pay for the two drinks you had, a gin tonic and a strawberry sunset, bolting out the doors with the group falling after you.

It becomes an annoying game of cat and mouse, the racing after your car, the unnecessary shooting, the rookie mistakes they keep making, it was all just headache inducing.

That same group purposely took a different route to corner you, five guys in black suits coming out to bring you back to headquarters.

You denied their request upon getting out the car, not caring about how wanted you are within the agency, how much of a target is on your back or how much money the higher uppers are offering these stupid rookies to bring you back.

You could give two shits about it.

Your refusal results in an all-out-brawl, which was very unfair in your case, five guys all jumping one person? Now that’s just plain dirty. You win through experience but you don’t leave the battlefield unscathed, one of those bastard had slashed you with his knife, adding another wound that needs to heal.

At this point, wounded, bleeding and tired and the clock passing midnight. It was best to go home and clean up before resting.

But somehow, your body goes on autopilot. Foot pressing on the gas, hands turning the steering wheel into a familiar place, onto a familiar road and oops, now you’re standing at a familiar doorstep.

This is a bad idea. You should turn back around. It’s all the blood loss getting to your head.

Despite the voices telling you to not follow through, you do it anyways. Knocking with your free hand as the other presses a flimsy cloth over your cut to stop the bleeding.

You wait a few seconds before doing it again, ignoring how slowly you’re starting to become dizzy and lightheaded. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all.

Passing out in front of your enemy’s(?) doorstep isn’t a good look on you or anyone.

As you’re about to give up, grumbling curses under your breath, the door opens. A set of cat eyes stare through the cracked door, suspicious but upon seeing your silhouette, the door flys open.

There, she stands in all her sleepy glory. Hair slightly disheveled, sleep shorts with a tank top on adores her body and cat eyes that still make your heart flutter and chest tighten.

Yup, it’s definitely the blood loss now.

“What happened?” She breaks the silence, dark eyes sinking in your injured frame. White shirt now stained red from your blood and others, dark jeans covered in dirt from all the times you were thrown into the ground of that god-awful alleyway.

A dry chuckle leaves your lips, causing you to cough up. “You know,” A half-smile finds its way onto your face. “Being hunted all night, the fun stuff.”

Haerin huffs, making sure the coast is clear by looking down her hallway. Seeing no one but you and her awake at this hour, she gently pulls you in.

“Let’s..” She pauses, eyes lingering on you. “Let’s get you cleaned up so you can get out of my house.”

Wow, such a friendly welcoming.

You hiss at the pain, hands gripping the armrest at your sides. You can never get use to this, snitches. No matter how many wounds you have received as your time as an agent, you will never get use to getting snitches.

Your head falls back to lay on the headrest of the office chair, a sigh of relief can be heard, aware this painful procedure is done and over with.

“How did this happen?” Haerin speaks softly, fingertip lightly circling and messaging around the wound as to not hurt you.

You ignore the groan that threatens to spill from your throat, ignoring the feeling of desire everytime you look at Haerin.

You know you can’t have her but that’s what keeps pulling you in, what keeps making you come back.

You run a hand through your hair, utterly exhausted. “Rookie agents were sent after me. Found my ass in a bar downtown.”

You watch Haerin’s brows frown, almost like she’s lost in thought before collecting herself and standing up from her kneeling position.

“Why are you here? You are a target, coming here makes me an enemy as well, you know?” The cat-eyed girl looks back over her shoulder, only to shake her head at seeing you once again, this time bruised and wounded.

“I work for the same agency that’s after you, Y/n. A hefty amount of money is being offered to whoever can successfully bring you back, dead or alive.”

The raven haired traces her pointer finger over the barrel of your pistol that lays unsupervised on her desk, petite fingers are quick to grab the gun, now your own weapon is being pointed at you.

“I could kill you right now. You’re tired, open, and vulnerable. I could end this nuisance and bring you back to headquarters myself.”

She’s right, Haerin could kill you right now and you wouldn’t have the energy to fight back. Your knife is too on her desk but she stands right next to it which puts you at an disadvantage, and she knows you have a big slash on the side of your stomach, another disadvantage to you.

Your life on the line, the barrel to your gun in point blank range to your face, you should be scared.. but you’re not.

You can’t stop thinking about how the moonlight makes Haerin the most beautiful woman alive, even more than she already is. Cat eyes that keep you hooked, a smile or grin or smirk that makes you weak in the knees, or a laugh that makes you wish things were different.

You wished you and Haerin met under different circumstances.

Maybe then things could’ve worked out better between you two.

“Then kill me. You have the opportunity, Haerin. Take it.”

She sighs, arms dropping, a small smile graces her pretty lips.

“You’re so stupid, dingus.”

God, you love when she calls you that.

Miss it even.

A dorky smile breaks out before you can stop it, eyes filled with so much emotion for the cat-eyed woman. You just hope the dimmed moonlight doesn’t expose too much.

Then a harsh jolt of pain flashes up your spine from a simple gesture, reminding you of the real reason why you’re here, why you’re sitting in Haerin’s apartment to begin with.

It ruins the mood greatly.

You go to stand up, abruptly becoming lightheaded and close to losing your balance. Haerin’s eyes widen in worry, rushing to your side as you try to re-focus your vision.

“Sorry,” You murmur, seeing the slight mess you made. “Stood up too quickly.” Haerin frowns, eyes glancing up to your face then back down to your cut.

She bites her lip before speaking, “Stay.” She says it so softly that it scratches your brain in a way that just feels right. “You’re injured.. stay for the night.”

She shyly finishes, not sure if her hands on your arms are there to keep you or her steady, you don’t mind the warmth though.

The request feels tempting, is this how Eve felt when the snake whispered for her to eat the forbidden fruit?

Inner conflict arose, your heart tells you to do it, take her up on her offer. Once in a lifetime opportunity, but your mind says no. It’ll feel good in the moment, but will it help you in the long run?

Haerin is already breaking protocols, giving aid to someone the higher ups deem to be an enemy. If they catch wind of this.. Haerin might be outcasted, thrown out of the agency and ending up in the same situation you’re in.

A wanted agent, a criminal who’s on the run from an organization that’s wants you dead.

Yeah, this was a bad idea after all.

You forcefully have to pull yourself away Haerin’s grasp, choosing to ignore the look of disappointment that comes across her face.

“Where you going?” She breaks the silence, voice quiet, watching your back muscles flex as you reach out for your ruined shirt.

“Leaving.”

Cat eyes stare daggers into you, brows now stuck in a permanent frown.

“Why? I said you can stay for the night.” The feeling of annoyance seeps into your veins, wondering why Haerin’s starting this now.

“No reason. I’m just getting myself out of your hair.”

She stops you from grabbing your gun, the small puddle of annoyance expanding from the action. A sigh of frustration slips pass your lips, running a hand through your hair.

“Haerin.”

“Stay, Y/n. You’re injured.”

“That hasn’t stopped me before.”

“Well, I’m stopping you now.”

Your eye twitches, why won’t she let you leave? She’s let you walked out on multiple occasions, but why now? Why stop you now?

You scoff, now isn’t the time for your emotions to get in the way. You shove past her, grabbing what belongs to you from her desk and making your way through her bedroom door.

But Haerin isn’t one to give up easily (one of many traits that you love about her) and forcefully grabs onto your forearm, halting you for putting your shoes on.

“Haerin- I swear to god—“ But you stop upon looking back at her. Now there’s a clear look of sadness, dark brown eyes are slightly teary and her grip tightens on your skin.

She looks so small and fragile, so vulnerable and soft. Even through your shoving and pushing, Haerin has always been gentle and patient.

Never one to swear, even when upset or angry. Always polite and quiet.

You still can’t fathom why she chose to become an agent with her shy and timid demeanor.

“Please..”

Her voice cracks, trying to push back the sniffles and tears that threaten to fall.

“Stay.. please..”

Her pleads and begs get muffled and drowned out by your lips. Her broken voice echoing through the empty walls of her apartment, almost as if it’s haunting and taunting your very existence.

Your hand finds way to the back of her head, burying itself in her silky locks. The other placed on her waist to pull her closer, needing her scent to linger on your skin.

This kiss feels different, like there’s a hidden message behind it. A message Haerin can’t express with words but can convey with body language.

You pull back when oxygen becomes a problem, your warm breath fanning over her lips and your heat engulfing her into a comforting embrace.

“I’ve missed you..” She whispers, finally spilling. Her palms rest above your chest before scrunching the ruined fabric in her grasp.

“I’ve been worried after everything happened.. I got even more worried when Headquarter started sending agents after you..”

She pauses, observing you quietly as she continues to talk.

It’s one of those rare moments when Haerin talks and never stops.

“Was it really that bad?”

You shrug, not wanting to think about how chaotic your life has been since and focus more on the woman in your arms.

“I broke protocol, and I mean a bunch of them too when I was working. The higher ups have always been strict about their rules.”

She nuzzles into your neck, the act resembling a cat. Your heart speeds up, pumping and butterflies forming.

“You went MIA for months..” You crack a small smile at her voice.

“Had to keep a low profile. Didn’t wanna die so early into my retirement.”

You go to move, which prompts the brunette to cling on to you tighter. God, she’s gonna be the death of you.

“Relax, kitty.” You press a reassuring kiss to her temple, the brief smell of her shampoo easily evaporates any worries you might’ve had for the night.

“Just going to take my shoes off, I’m not going anywhere.”

She smiles into your neck, looking up at you through her lashes, cat eyes instantly turning you smitten. A faint blush creeps over her cheeks and up to the tips of her ears.

Attractive, ethereal, magnificent, beautiful.

Kang Haerin makes you feel alive.

You let your emotions win once again that night, choosing to bask in what it would feel like to fall in love with Haerin without death knocking at your front door.

And honestly.. now you don’t wanna know.

[gogobootz1]

The Mentor Pt. 6

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: Five more years of victordom have passed, but the Capitol is still throwing surprises at you.

Part Five | Part Seven

A/N: SURPRISE! This is coming back because I felt like it and some lovely folks left comments recently ♥️ we can blame my absence on this semester, but thank putting off a 14 page final paper for this bout of productivity! (Also I was going for a ranch vibe with this pic? I'll start putting his face back on these soon lol)

Warnings: description of blood

Tears welled in your eyes as you finished dicing yellow onions, and you wiped your face with the back of your arm as you turned to scrape them into the pot. Caesar Flickerman’s voice floated in from your living room, the TV playing in the background so you could keep an eye on the quarter quell special. Count on Caesar to draw the whole thing out, emphasizing the significance of the anniversary and whatnot. You couldn’t help but be curious, though. The last quarter quell had fifty tributes, and you weren’t even alive to see it. You had, however, seen its effects on your occasional drinking buddy, so you were certain this year would be a doozy. 

It seemed Caesar was finally getting to the point as you began chopping a red pepper. He introduced the President, and your hand tightened around the knife as Snow began his address. That voice haunted your dreams, and hearing it at home was far more unpleasant than anywhere else. You did your best to tune him out. That was, until he announced it. 

“As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, on this, the third quarter quell games, the male and female tribute are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.” 

Your ears began to ring, and suddenly, you couldn’t hear the rest. Existing pool of victors. Existing pool of victors. Sharp pain brought your vision back into focus, and you blinked to find blood from the backs of your knuckles spilling over your pepper. Though your brain stopped moving, your hands hadn’t. 

You took a silent step back from the counter, staring at the ruined cutting board. Tearing your gaze away, you started rifling through cupboards trying to find a towel. The ironclad grip your dominant hand kept on the knife wasn’t helping, but it certainly hadn’t occurred to you to let it go. Out of options, you shoved your hand under the faucet and watched water carry excess blood away.

Vaguely, you registered the pain in your hand as your water heater got to work, but your eyes stayed locked on the drain. A loud ring of the phone startled you out of your reverie, to the point where you’d launched your still-dirty kitchen knife into the wall next to it. But it pointed you in the direction of some towels, at least, and you snatched a clean one from the laundry basket on the stairs. 

Sat on the second to last stair, you hunched over to wrap your hand. The world felt surreal as you stared at your shoddily covered wound, only looking up when your door burst open. You weren’t surprised to see Darla. Her scraped knees, bloody nose, and breathlessness didn’t shock you either. She probably fell when running over, but you were sure you looked just as frazzled. Grabbing her a towel from the basket, you nudged her with it before she could sit. 

“Answer Finnick.” 

She picked the phone up from the receiver, doing a double take when she registered the kitchen knife. 

“Howdy,” she huffed, licking her top lip and clearing some blood. 

You could barely hear Finnick’s resigned tone from the other end. “Hey, D,” he breathed. “How’s…” he trailed off. 

“Well, there’s blood on the cabinets,” your head popped up when she said it. You hadn’t even noticed the trail you’d left in your wake, “Water on the floor, and a knife in the wall.”

The faucet was still on, too, and you definitely hadn’t turned off the stove. It was a relatively generous assessment from her. 

“Will you put her on?” 

Darla stuck the phone straight in your face. When you grabbed it she reached for another towel, and pushed it along the floor with her foot. 

“Finnick,” your tone was almost too even for the circumstance. 

“Don’t do it,” Finnick warned, knowing you far too well. 

“Save it,” you shot right back, “I know you’re thinking it too.” 

“I don’t have a choice,” he said firmly. "They all have kids. Who would I be if I didn’t?” 

Though Darla was busy cleaning up after your spell, you weren't stupid enough to think she wasn't listening. “You know I feel similarly,” you chose your words carefully. 

Finnick did know, he’d seen what you’d given up for Darla. How you’d put yourself through the wringer for years just to spare her. He had no doubt you’d act just the same now. Only he didn’t want you to. He would’ve hated seeing Darla in there, but he’d be a dead man if you were in the arena with him. Your stubbornness didn’t stop him from making a final plea. 

His soft call of your name cut your heart worse than you’d cut your hand. Suddenly, you could no longer bear speaking to the man who’d been your constant for the past five years. “I’ll talk to you soon. I’ll see you soon, Fin. Take care of yourself.” You stood and shoved the phone back on the receiver before he could say another word. Talking to him, thinking about him, neither would help you hold yourself together. 

You stepped away from the phone, but stopped in your tracks to look at the knife. Some of your blood still lingered. 

“Leave it,” Darla called from the kitchen, “it’s a bold new piece of decor.” She’d taken up interior design in the wake of her victory. You shook your head with a tiny smile tugging at the corner of your lip. 

Coming to her side, you both looked down into the pot she’d taken off the stove. Burnt onion wouldn’t make much of a base. “There’s leftover pasta in the fridge,” you offered, sadly. 

“Yes please,” she nodded quietly. You passed behind her to heat some up, and she settled onto one of the stools at your counter. It took you a minute one-handed, but Darla seemed too absorbed in quiet reflection to care. 

She dug in as soon as you slid her a bowl, but you stopped short before sitting down with your own. She raised a brow. 

“I’ll be back,” you shook your head, taking your dish and slipping on shoes. The wind whisked straight through your clothes as you crossed the street. 

Darby had never been close with you, nor Darla. He was there when she won, and you could tell he was somewhat relieved to only bring home one casket. But you weren’t close enough for him to tell you that, because he wasn’t your trainer.

He wasn’t even there when you’d won. The story was that Darby was too ill. It was true, only the illness was drug induced. District Ten had only one trainer that year. 

The woman who had trained Darby had trained you, and you were the last District Ten victor she’d lived to see. Sam was kind but incredibly sharp. Gentle, yet challenging. Observant and astute, she’d assessed you for all you were and marketed a more palatable version to the good citizens of the Capitol. Beyond helping you survive the games, she helped you navigate the aftermath. Without Sam and without your Nana, you wouldn’t have lasted a month outside the arena. She picked you up and dusted you off again and again like your mother had when you were a girl who thought she was invincible. No time had hurt as badly as losing your first tributes, though, but Sam saw you through that too. 

Before your second try at mentoring, however, she’d died. A horseback riding accident was the official story, but Sam had left the leather watch she loved at your house just before. She insisted on doing the dishes after you’d made dinner, and you later found it by the sink. Sometimes you swore you caught glimpses of her long silver braid. Each time it happened, you opened the drawer of your nightstand to stare at her watch.

Her death hit Darby hard, they’d been the only two Ten victors for a while. He hardly held it together during Darla’s games. Afterwards, he fell apart.

You’d been mentoring with Darla ever since, comforting her with each loss as Sam had with you. But you knew Darby had seen this announcement, and everyone in the district knew what it meant. 

You stood at his door a few minutes after knocking. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you felt compelled to come over anyway.  

A blue eye peaked from where the door had finally opened a crack. You held up the still-steaming bowl as an offering. Darby pulled the door fully open and stalked off into his house. Trailing after him, and closing the door behind you, you noticed how skinny he’d gotten since you’d last seen him. 

“Thanks,” he said, raspy, when he took the bowl from you finally. You could only nod. 

“I’m sorry,” you offered, knowing full-well how little it meant. Darby only sighed and shook his head. 

He shrugged, stabbing a fork firmly into the bowl. “I always had that feeling,” he shook his head. Your brows furrowed in confusion, and he went on, “that it wasn’t over. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. They own us, of course they’d want us back.” 

His passe tone rattled you. You nervously wiped your non-covered palm on your pants, “Right.” You looked around his dusty home awkwardly, “Well, see you soon.” Trying to leave him in peace and for your own, you made for the exit. 

“I’ll say hi to Sam for you,” he said from behind you, mouth full. It stopped you in your tracks. You couldn’t even look back at him. 

“Thanks.” 

————————

The months leading up to the reaping were hellish, with you and Darla trying to shed your rustiness. You insisted you both throw your all into prepping for this, but that was mostly a ruse. Volunteering for her had been your plan since the announcement. At the very least, you enjoyed your time at home with her. You hadn’t gotten any calls about trips to the Capitol, and Finnick told you he hadn’t either. At least they were letting you enjoy your last few months alive. 

As Winter went, and Spring too, the day had finally come. Off to die for the second time. 

You zipped the fly on a pair of jeans you hadn’t ever worn. Your stylists had shoved them in your closet a long time ago- since they looked exactly like the ones you’d won in. The head gamemaker your year had a background in fashion, and gave tributes plenty of chances to change dirty or worn clothes in for unique ones.  People loved the look so much that denim had been a brief Capitol fashion trend. You figured it’d send a message to anyone who knew. After all, you’d cheated death in these once, you could do it again. 

You were up early, and since you and Darla had agreed to arrive separately, you took a long walk around your home district. Your long lap, with sights you’d grown up loving and smells you’d always scrunched your nose at, was met with a few pitying glances. Eventually, it lead you to the Justice Building, and you took an extremely early seat. People took their places as the hours passed. 

"Remember, it’s just for show," Sam’s voice rang in your head. It was the last thing she said to you before you entered the arena. 

“Hey,” your head snapped to your right where Darla took her seat. She looked tense. You took her hand and squeezed it, a silent reassurance. It’s not you. You’ll be ok. I’ll miss you. 

The district filed in for the ceremony, unusually unorganized. The only people the Peacemakers were concerned about policing, however, were already on stage. 

Your annoyingly vibrant district escort began the ceremony, and you ignored her for as long as you could bear it. “Ladies first,” you blinked to attention, head held high. This was it. Dug your nails into your palm to stop your hands from shaking. You swallowed. I volunteer as tribute. You willed the words to the front of your brain, hopefully convincing your mouth to form them when the time came. 

But you didn’t have to. She had called your name. You willed your face to remain impassive as you squared your shoulders. You forced yourself to take a proud step forward. Perception was everything here. You couldn’t look weak, not to the capitol, and not to your fellow tributes. 

“I volunteer as tribute!” 

Your well-crafted mask fell with the words. Shoulders sank as you turned to her in shock. Not once did you think she’d volunteer for you. But you could almost hear Finnick’s voice reminding you how similar you were. It was why you got along like a house on fire. Only, this time you had been so recklessly loyal to her you’d miscalculated. And it would almost certainly cost your tribute her life. 

“Darla,” you breathed, quiet enough for only her to heard, and sharp enough for it to come across as scolding. 

She didn’t even turn your way. 

You were escorted straight to the train before Darby could even be picked by default. The new (old) District Ten tributes were escorted straight to the train as well. Only then could you confront your mentee. 

“What the fuck was that?!” You stood in a rage. She walked right past you toward the couches, but you caught her wrist.  

“You don’t get to scold me for saving your life,” she shook her head, and tugged her wrist free.

“Sure I do, when you’ve acted like a fool! It was random, D! We agreed to let it be random!” 

“Oh, that’s rich!” She scoffed. 

“Excuse me?!” 

“You’re still lying! You really think I didn’t know you were going to volunteer for me?” Darla asked, throwing her hands up in frustration. She fell back onto the couch. 

You stepped back, anger fully dissipated. “What?” 

“You hung up on Finnick nearly every time I’d walk in,” she shrugged, “you’re brave not subtle.”

Your shoulders sagged, and you lowered yourself onto the luxurious Capitol sofa next to her. For a second, you let your head fall into your hands. 

“Still,” you persisted, looking straight ahead, “it was going to be me. You didn’t have to-“ 

“I know what all you’ve done for me,” she said simply. You sat straight up, finding her face with wide eyes. No.

“Finnick?” He wouldn’t. 

“Johanna,” she shook her head. Your shoulders sagged. It made sense that Johanna knew, she was almost in the same situation. And you wouldn’t have expected them to keep things from each other, not before they broke up at least. 

“Darla,” you started. Why hadn’t she confronted you when she found out? How long had she been holding on to this knowledge? Did she think differently of you? 

“You’ve been falling on your sword for me for five years,” Darla said solemnly, “it’s high time I took it away from you.” 

Your stomach ached, and tears blurred your vision, “D.” 

She pulled you in for a hug when your voice broke. “You gave me my life back,” she whispered, “I’m only doing the same.” 

You pulled away from her, wiping vigorously at your face. “I won’t watch you lose.” 

She sniffled a wry laugh, “then make me win. Maybe this time it'll stick.” 

————————————————————

taglist: @emerald-09 @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @daixylie @fandomhopped

@axelinchen

@whens-naptime

@avoxrising

@erindiggory

@commanderfreethatdust

@blackdxggr

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@iheartspderman

@slytherinfolk25

@cassiecasluciluce

Sorry if you no longer want to be tagged and sorry for this formatting (Tumblr is confusing and it's the only way the tags would work?) ! Let me know and I'll remove you from (or add anyone who wants to be on) the list

[breadbrobin]

the bet

part three

cedric diggory x reader — harry potter

[fem!best friend reader]

summary: for once, losing a bet might be a good thing.

warnings: kissing, quite a lot of swearing, betting/gambling, mentions of underage drinking, minor suggestive content, GOD they’re so in love it’s stupid, i think i’m a comedian (i’m not), switched from an x oc story so might have a few mistakes oops, mediocre writing (again i wrote this years ago and this is the worst part i think)

word count: 1.7k

(let’s not talk ab how long it took me to put this up and instead i’ll tell you about how i went away with my friends and may or may not have completely forgotten about this lil series oopssss anyways this is the last part and it’s my favourite i love it so muchhhh enjoy 😘)

part one

part two

——————————————

The Rainy Days

Neither you or Cedric had brought up what he’d said that night, but it hung in the air between you, stagnant and stiff, leaving awkwardness to rest in the growing distance.

It was odd, you realised. One moment, you were closer than ever before, hugging for a second too long, soft touches as hands brushed, then the next, you were sitting at opposite ends of a metaphorical couch, shooting furtive glances at each other when you thought the other wasn’t looking.

It was confusing, and you were conflicted.

You almost wanted to bring it up. You knew he remembered, that much was clear. It was obvious in the subtlest of looks, the gentlest of touches, the softest of smiles. But sometimes, it would leap to the forefront of his mind and, cheeks red, eyes downcast, he would retreat into himself.

And so, neither you or Cedric brought it up.

No matter how much you may have wanted to.

The days passed in almost comfortable normalcy.

There were no trips to the lake or the town, just sitting and enjoying each other’s company.

You and Cordelia taught him how to play Last Card on a thundery Tuesday, all pouting out the window at the storm.

“I hate thunder,” Cedric shuddered. “It’s the worst to play Quidditch in too.”

“I don’t think it’s safe to play in thunder,” you huffed, collecting the cards after he won again. “I mean, lightning strikes the highest object, right? And look what happened to Harry last season.”

“Yeah, that was horrible,” he cringed, taking the cards from her and shuffling them. “Although that was the Dementors too.”

You pulled a face. “Still not an excuse. It really isn’t safe.”

Cordelia looked between you in confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You remember Quidditch, right?” Cedric asked. “On the broomsticks.”

She nodded slowly. “Did you know that witches riding broomsticks used to be a euphemism for riding the devil’s—”

“—Oh-kay, that’s enough cards for today!” You cut in. “Cords, why don’t you go grab a board game, yeah?”

“Okay!” she chirped, dancing off upstairs.

You breathed a sigh of relief and slumped in your chair.

Cedric shot you an amused look.

“Shut up,” you muttered.

When you saw a person running towards your house without an umbrella in the pouring rain, you assumed they were an idiot.

Then the figure got closer and you realised that it was your idiot.

“God, Cedric, you dipshit,” you whispered, dropping the knife you was using to butter your toast on the bench and running to the door, grabbing a towel from a clean pile on the way.

You opened the door just as he reached the front steps, having to grip onto the handle tight so that the wind didn’t rip it from its hinges.

“What are you doing?” you asked over the downpour, letting him inside and handing him the towel.

“I swear it didn’t start raining until I was halfway here.” His teeth were chattering. “Gotta love English weather.”

You shook your head in defeat. “Shut up and go take a hot shower. I’ll bring you something to wear.”

He didn’t even move to object, shuffling towards the bathroom instantly.

You left a bundle of warm clothes outside the door and sat on the couch with your toast to wait.

Thankfully, you weren’t alone with your thoughts for very long.

Cedric padded into the room with his hair wet and messy and in a hoodie and sweatpants that he’d left at your house a few weeks before. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“Are you okay?” you handed him a blanket and a piece of warm toast as he sat down next to you.

He nodded. He looked significantly less cold than before. “Merlin, the last time I was this cold was when you pushed me into the Black Lake.”

“I didn’t push you, you slipped.”

“Yeah, right,” he huddled closer to you, making her tense up briefly. The last time you were this close on the couch…

“Hey, Y/N…” he said quietly after a few beats.

“Hm?”

“About that night—”

“It’s okay, we don’t have to—”

“No, I think we should—”

“Cedric,” you said firmly. “Don’t worry about it. We were drunk. It’s okay.”

He paused, studying you like he was committing all of your features to memory. You knew you were doing that for him. “Okay.”

You sat in silence, watching the rain stream down the window.

The Confession

You had a confession to make.

First, to yourself: you liked Cedric—No. You were in love with Cedric.

It was the way he said your name like it was made of porcelain, fragile, delicate. It was the way your bodies fit perfectly together when you hugged, your bodies and hands made for holding each other. It was the way he looked at you, that night and every day since; like you’d hung the moon and the stars in the sky. It was the way he made you feel safe.

Was that so difficult?

Yes, a nagging voice in the back of your mind muttered. You’re going to be twenty galleons more broke because of your stupid feelings.

Maybe, you countered it. But I don’t even care anymore.

Your next confession would be to Cedric. That was slightly more difficult.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have the opportunity; you were almost always at each other’s houses. It was more to do with the issue of you being too scared. You shied away from admitting it every time you thought you were ready, pushing your feelings down and down until they were compressed under a pile of anxiety.

So, the confession was going well. Really well.

You stole another glance at him across the room, peering over your book to find him already staring at you. You withheld a squeak and looked back down, sinking lower into your end of the couch.

“Alright, what is it?” he asked, slipping a bookmark between the pages and setting his book on the end table.

“What is what?” You didn’t take her eyes off your book, pretending to read with your eyes locked on one phrase: ‘I love you.’

Is it that easy? You asked yourself. I just say it?

Cedric leaned forward and pushed your book down. “Well, either that page is very interesting or you suddenly can’t read, because you haven’t turned the page in about twenty minutes.”

“I’m absorbing it properly,” you lifted it back up but he pushed it down again.

“Absorbing it, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Well, my other thought was that you were so distracted staring at me every five seconds that you forgot to actually read.”

You dropped your book, struggling to catch it and sending it careening onto the floor. Your eyes were wide as you stared at him. “No.”

He was smiling, that soft, almost smug smile that you’d fallen in love with. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Uh-huh, because from here, it looked like you were staring at me.”

You sat up straight. “Really? How odd.”

“Hmm…” he smiled a bit brighter. God, you wanted to kiss him. “Alright, I’ll take your word for it.”

You breathed an inaudible sigh of relief as he leaned back.

“Shame, because I was actually quite flattered.”

“Oh, I bet you were,” you scoffed.

He leaned back into the couch, opening his book agonisingly slow.

You stared at him, legs crossed and brows furrowed. Your head was swirling with thoughts, all repeating, Cedric, Cedric, Cedric. You’d never wanted to kiss someone so bad, to just hold someone. You’d never, ever in your life, wanted to lose a bet.

His grey eyes flickered up to you once, then twice, then again. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, what the fuck,” you muttered, pushing yourself forward and pressing your lips to his.

He dropped his book, the hardback thudding dully on the floor right next to yours, but neither of you cared. His hands found their place on your waist as you leaned over him, one arm supporting you on the wall behind him, the other entangled in his brown hair.

Butterflies danced in your stomach, your heart racing wildly as your lips melded together. It was like they were made to kiss each other; the way they fit so perfectly, the curve of your cheek and the straight line of his nose. All of your swirling thoughts subsided, leaving only one: Cedric.

God, you never wanted to stop kissing him. He was like sugar; tantalising, sweet, addictive.

He pulled away first, thumb digging subtly into your hip, lips parted and gasping for air. “Y/N…”

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, unable to find your voice. “But I couldn’t wait another—”

He kissed you again, more passionate; noses knocking, hearts pounding, hair standing on end. You wondered how you got so lucky. God, you were lucky.

This kiss was more intense, all those weeks of pent up emotion, released in that moment.

You never wanted it to end.

But, as your lungs gasped for air and your head began to swim, you pulled away. He chased your lips, pressing a final, sweet kiss to them, before resting his head back again.

“Never apologise for that,” he breathed. “Never.”

“Got it,” you whispered, eyes tracing a pattern in his faint freckles. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

“Amazing at kissing?” he tilted his head.

“Just amazing in general.” You kissed him again. And if you stayed on that couch all afternoon? Well that was no one’s business but your own.

The Pay-Up

You had twenty galleons ready the second you set foot on the Hogwarts Train only a few weeks later. Cedric was holding your free hand as you wove past loitering students and nervous first years until you found Lizzie and Camila.

“Hey, Morgan, Cedric,” Lizzie raised her eyebrow at you.

Camila saw your connected hands and started prodding her arm.

“Hey, guys,” you smiled brightly. “Just paying up.”

You tossed Lizzie the bag of galleons and turned to Camila. “Sorry, I made the first move.”

“Liar,” she pointed at you. “Cedric, please tell me she’s lying.”

“Nope,” he let your hand go and wrapped it around your waist instead. “She kissed me first.”

Camila groaned, digging through her bag. “Fuck.”

As Lizzie danced in victory and Camila complained about you finding your balls, you had to admit, you had never been happier to lose a bet.

cedric taglist:

@sunburnhurts

[sanjoongie]

𝖛𝖊𝖗ä𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖓

Verändern: the German word for change, modify, vary, transform

Pairing: Fae! Yunho x Changling! Reader (f)

Genre: smut

Au: fae, changling, modern fantasy

Trope: s2l, bonded mate

Word Count: 2,358

Warnings: public sex, slight fear kink, restraints, dom! Yunho, sub! Reader, brat! Reader, oral (f), breast play, penetrative sex with no barrier, finger sucking (f), tummy bulge, gag (hand, fingers), pull out game, jerking off on stomach?

Rated: 18+ MDNI

Summary: one night, during the autumn solstice celebration, you're whisked away by a hooded man, dropping a bomb to your life. Except you kind of believe him. It wasn't the first time someone accused you of being different.

Author’s Note: @flurrys-creativity to my champion, the one who will fight for me when I cannot. My tag for you is ironic considering how much I depend on you. You may make me wanna tear my hair out but at the end of the day, who else would validate my logic? Also i really hope i didn't butcher the title *pained seonghwa emoji*. Happy belated birthday flurrs, I hope you had a good one

Branches pulled at your hair and clothes, almost as if they were trying to hold you back. You would have leaned into their help if not for the tall, Fae man dragging you through said dark and menacing forest.

“Don’t ever enter the Darkling Forest, sweet,” your mother always told you. “You’ll get trapped and never return.”

Was it a different situation if you were forced into said forest?

Rewind to perhaps a couple hours earlier, where you were celebrating the autumn equinox. You had a solo cup full of a neon green liquid that burned down your esophagus every time you chugged it. You might have gone for some beer if not for the rowdy crowd of people permanently stuck to the keg. 

Not that you were one to turn down a good time with some alcohol but you weren’t starting to feel like you shouldn’t have come to the gathering. Your social battery was already at an all-time low from your job and your family. You were starting to want to kick your past self in the but for agreeing to go to this, despite your busy schedule.

Taking another sip from your cup, your eyes skirted around the blazing bonfire near the dark edge of the forest, and your eyes settled on a figure near the edge. The shadows seem to cling to their lanky form. Unlike the rest of the people around you, bundled up in puffy jackets and fuzzy sweaters, this person had a thin cloak that fluttered in the moonlight. You saw peeks of red and gold. You weren’t one to judge someone on what they chose to wear to a party, but this seemed extremely out of whack. 

Then, the person cocked their head towards the forest and then disappeared into its depths. 

Now, you weren’t a stupid person to simply follow a stranger into the woods. You were more likely to end up on a crime documentary as the killer rather than the victim. But there was something in your chest that was pulling you to follow them. 

You threw your solo cup in a can after downing the rest of the contents, of course, and took long strides to meet the edge of the forest.

Fuck it, the party wasn’t that fun anyways. 

Bathed in the moonlight in a clearing was the person you had been following. The light from the moon seemed to only highlight his light-colored hair that had to be dyed because no one had hair that natural color. His dark eyes under his fringe, however, were solidly locked on you.

“I didn’t think you’d come. Perhaps they are right,” the man murmured to himself.

You sighed tiredly. “Look, if this is a ruse to kill me, I’ve got a knife in my bag, and I know exactly where to dump a body.”

The man smiled, sharp with amusement. “Quite the opposite, in fact. My name is Jeong Yunho.”

You rubbed your chest. You had felt a zing of something in your heart. What had that been? Heartburn from the neon drink?

“ ‘kay, well Yunho, I’m going to need you to be a hell of a lot less cryptic if you think this is gonna be a thing right now,” you said boldly.

Yunho cocked his head at you curiously. “It’s clear you were brought up amongst them, but you’re going to need to find a way to be less blunt if I bring you back.”

“You know, you may be really hot, but you’re not making a whole lot of sense right now. If you’re selling drugs, I’m not interested.” With that, you walked backward, not giving him the benefit of your back or seeing your ass, if you’re being honest.

The black bindings that ran down his left arm snaked out from his body as he stretched his arm out towards you. They raced along the sticks and leaves on the bare ground and finally wound around your ankles, anchoring you in your spot. 

“Leaving is not an option,” Yunho mused. “I’m afraid I can not let you have that much power over your life right now.”

You should have been scared. You knew that objectively. It wasn’t every day that a man controlling shadows wrapped you up in a forest. But you felt something slowly curling inside your chest as Yunho moved closer to you. You didn’t know exactly what it was, but something in you was telling you that Yunho would never hurt you.

Then the moonlight flashed against Yunho’s eyes, much like when a cat’s eyes reflected light and suddenly everything clicked together. The warnings your mother had told you every day that tied in with never going into the Darkling Forest.

“You’re one of them!” You exclaimed. “One of the Fae.”

“And so are you.”

You scoffed at the statement. “Please, if I was a fairy princess, I--”

“Do you have a habit of winding words and working around the truth, or spinning something into how you would like it to sound?” Yunho cut you off.

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, but--”

“A darkness inside of you assuring you of your survival. A sharp mind that can thirst for blood?” Yunho continued, stepping closer and closer. 

“In my defense, that tree had it coming!”

“If you believe I’m Fae, then you know I can’t lie.”

Your mouth shut audibly. Well, he had you there. “Wouldn’t I know if I was a--”

“A changeling?” Yunho’s eyes glinted with mystery. “Haven’t you always felt like you didn’t belong?”

That one hit a little too close to home. “Why now?”

Yunho’s eyes flitted around to the darkness behind you. “They’re coming for you. We have no King or Queen. They’re worried you’ll claim the throne. They want you dead.”

It was your turn to cock your head curiously. “Then why are you here?”

Yunho pressed his lips together, looking at you, then looking at the ground. “You’re mine.”

“Excuse you?!” You shouted in surprise.

“Don’t you feel it? Our bond? They handfasted us as babies. We’re mates.”

Your hand rubbed your chest with an odd sense of warmth at Yunho’s words. “We’re mates?”

Yunho snatched your free hand. “We have to go.”

That’s how you found yourself currently, running through the dark forest with Yunho. You couldn't lie. It was very thrilling; your heart was beating out of your chest and your legs attempting to keep up with the long-legged man dragging you along. 

Then, something zoomed past your cheek, and you cried out. Yunho halted immediately but steadied you with two hands on your shoulders. Your free hand, not currently entangled with Yunho’s, rose to your cheek and came back red. 

“He’s here,” Yunho said, eyes flitting about behind you. 

“My killer? If I’m a Fae, shouldn’t I have cool powers like you? Let me help. Surely, two against one is bet--”

Yunho clamped a hand against your mouth and pushed you up against a tree. “Quiet. We have to blend into the shadows right now. It’s the only way he won’t find us.”

You watched as the shadows seemed to rise from the ground, encompassing the two of you in a bubble of opaque darkness. 

Who was the one pursuing you? You couldn't ask, of course, due to Yunho’s hand on your mouth. So you stuck your tongue out and ran it up and down his palm. Yunho sucked in some breath hard at your moist tongue, licking him, but he didn’t look down at you. That was annoying.

You dropped your jaw so you could draw some of the skin between your teeth. Yunho’s jaw clenched, but still no eye contact. 

You were about to push your hands onto his chest when a twig snapped in earshot. 

A man with long black hair, a red thread making a braid down one shoulder, and a bandolier criss-crossing his chest. He held two knives between his fingers, flipping them there as he stalked through the forest. Was that your pursuer, because if so, he was really fucking hot.

A low growl emitted from Yunho’s chest. You could feel it because of how close he was, pinning you up against the tree. His eyes were finally on you again, and they were burning with anger. 

You smirked against Yunho’s hand. Was he jealous?

Seconds ticked by as hours, but eventually, Yunho lowered his shadows and his hand on your mouth when the other man rushed off in another direction. 

“Don’t you ever look at another man like you want to fuck him in front of me ever again,” Yunho commanded.

You raised your eyebrows. “Or?”

Yunho’s shadows wrapped around your wrists and pinned them over your head against the tree. “I know you feel the bond. Do not play with me, Changeling.”

“Me? Play with you? But I’m just human raised, aren’t I? What’s that to a Fae grown up in.. the courts, I’m assuming? Do tell me how I’m besting you,” you purred.

This was fun. Maybe being a Changeling wasn’t half bad. 

Yunho’s eyes were getting darker. With what, you had a sneaky suspicion you knew. For within your bond, darkness crept through. Darkness of the way Yunho clearly wanted to possess you. His want seeped through the bond. And you wanted to provoke that. 

“Show me.”

Yunho’s nimble fingers ran along your jaw. “You want to cement this? In the middle of a forest, with a man pursuing to kill you?”

You couldn't help but grin. “Wouldn’t that go to show I’m Fae after all? Yes.”

That was all Yunho needed to flip the switch. His fingers dug into your jaw, holding your face in place, as he slanted his lips against yours. You found yourself kissing him back with equal ferocity, a hunger pushing you to be closer to him. 

Yunho grumbled angrily, fumbling at your unfamiliar clothes. Eventually, he managed to push up your sweater and bra above your boobs and was currently sucking on one nipple while massaging your other breast. 

You let out a low whine when his fingers tickled down your ribs, leaving your breast and moving to wriggle under your pants. Your hips bucked forward, looking for that friction that you were craving. 

Yunho grunted, pulling his hand from your pants.

“Wh-why?” You couldn't help but demand. 

“These offend me. They need to be out of the way.” Yunho slipped his thumbs on either side of your hips and yanked down both your pants and your underwear down to your knees. 

Knelt, his face level with your cunt, he spread your pussy lips and started to hearteningly lick at your clit. He had you mewling with the sensation, making your climax built with his skilled tongue. 

“Please, Yunho,” you moaned. “Put your fingers in me.”

This Fae was beyond frustrating. He left your cunt and stood up. You pouted that you weren’t going to feel those wonderful fingers inside of you. 

“I must claim you,” Yunho murmured under his breath. 

His hands moved to his pants and pulled them down under his balls. Your eyes widened in surprise and delight to see that he was long. Fully hard, he bounced against his stomach, and you licked your lips. The weight of him on your tongue would be wonderful, you thought to yourself. 

Yunho bent to scoop your legs from under your knees, effectively bending you in half, your back still against the tree, and your arms still wrapped in Yunho’s shadows above your head. It made it easy for him to slip along your wet folds to aid in pushing into you.

“Oh fuck,” You moaned loudly as Yunho’s cockhead pushed into your clenching hole.

Yunho slapped his hand over your mouth again. His eyes were hooded and looking down at you as he slid into you fully. “You are…so warm.” His lips pressed together, and he closed his eyes like he was taking in the moment. “So tight.”

You found yourself enjoying the domineering man melting for your pussy. You clenched down on him and elicited a moan from his beautiful lips. “Fuck me, Yunho,” You whispered. 

His eyes snapped open, dark and glittering. “It would be my pleasure.”

The tall, Fae man jackhammered into you, hips moving at a speed that was sure to split you apart. You made muffled noises of pleasure against Yunho’s hand. 

And when you sneakily licked his palm again, he pulled his hand away, if only to push his fingers into your mouth. The pads of his tongue pressed firmly down on your tongue, effectively silencing you in a different way. 

Yunho’s other hand pressed down on your stomach, and you found your bonded mate smiling at the bulge there. You only moaned again, sucking down eagerly on his fingers. The same hand pressed against your abdomen moved lower until his thumb began thrum against your clit. 

In no time, you were seeing stars. You screamed with Yunho’s fingers in your mouth. It was that good. Your heart felt so full, so complete. A string of gold showed that both your hearts were connected now, permanently with this action done in the Darkling Forest. 

Yunho pulled out and jerked himself off. He bent your body sideways and sent strings of come onto your bare stomach. He cried out with his orgasm, those pretty fingers of his making himself feel good. Yunho coming was a feast for the senses. 

“I’m…I come from…” Yunho panted as he came down from his climax. “My family is fertile. I can’t afford to come inside of you. I don’t want to share with you anyone.”

You grinned, still bent in half. “You do love me!”

Yunho’s ears turned pink at your claim. His eyes wouldn’t meet yours as he let go of your legs and released your wrists. “I…”

You patted Yunho’s cheek fondly. “That’s okay, if I’m a Fae, I’m sure we’ve got plenty of time for you to admit this to me. Now, are you going to tell me the name of the man trying to kill me?”

Yunho’s eyes darkened and giggled. This immortal life was about to become really fun.

[samwinchesterswifu]

Exile on Main Street (Dean Winchester x Reader) Angst

Requested: No

Season 6 x Episode 1

Warnings: slow burn, deeply setted angst if youre ready to cry.

Song Inspiration: "Every Rose Has Its Thorns" by Poison, "Faithfully" by Journey

MINORS DNI

A/N: Oofta. This one got me a little emotional.

Word Count: 1386

Summary: Dean returns to ask her back in the game. Broken and destroyed by the memory of him leaving her for Lisa, she's unsure whether or not that would be a good idea, but these Winchester boys are known for their apologizes.

She sighs, entering her apartment late one evening. Kicking off her shoes, she strides over to the kitchen. Turning on the water she begins to handwash the few dishes left over from last nights dinner. Flashbacks replaying in her head of the brothers, of her past lover, of what her life used to be like before Sam jumped in the pit.

She turns over to her radio that sat on the counter, tuning into the classic rock station that Dean had consistently on. ‘Every Rose Has It’s Thorn’ by Poison turns on and she goes back to cleaning the dishes while humming along. A small tear seeps through her eyes thinking about Dean. Before Sammy jumped in the pit, they had gotten into a deep argument that lead to their break up. Dean had disappeared and she assumed it was to be with Lisa.

She always felt second best to Lisa after finding out about her. She just felt like a toy for Dean, something to hold and to have sex if there were no other options. She knew deep down it wasn’t the case, but after leaving her the way he did, that’s all that ran through her brain.

Wrapping up from dishes, she is completely unaware of the fact of someone breaking into her apartment. The last verse of the song begins to play from the radio and she turns up the sound. Grabbing a whisky glass from her cabinet, and the bottle from the counter, pouring herself one extra large shot. As the song ends, she slams the whisky glass onto her counter, accidentally shattering it in the process.

Another sigh left her lips as her hand began to bleed from the smashed glass. Sneering at picking out pieces from her hand she takes a moment to look up at the window. Seeing a shadow of a man behind her. She stops, quickly turning around to find none other than Dean. Her eyes darts between Dean and her gun that was on the table.

Dean holds up his hands and moves towards her, giving her just a split second to dive towards the table. She’s getting to pulling the trigger when suddenly the gun is knocked out of her hand and her arm is twisted behind her back. Looking up she’s met with Sam’s eyes. She tries to wiggle free of Sam’s grip, getting desperate with tears rolling down her face.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Dean speaks up from behind her now.

“It’s us, see?” Dean takes out the demon knife, and slices on his bicep.

Still trying to wiggle free, Dean also looks for salt in her cabinet, doing the whole routine.

Taking a deep breath, she finally calms down enough to warrant Sam letting go of his grip. Rubbing her wrist to ease the pain she looks between both brothers. Utterly confused.

“You wanna explain whats going here before I beat your ass until you see stars Winchester?” She says through gritter teeth looking directly at Dean.

Dean clears his throat and shifted on his shoes.

“Can you give us a minute Sammy?” Dean voice sounding shaky, almost nervous to be in the same room as her.

“Sure, I’ll be in the car.” Sammy says giving her a look that almost said to hear them out.

Sammy leaves her apartment shutting close the door that they lock picked.

“So?” She says, standing in her kitchen with arms crossed over her chest. Sending daggers towards the man she thought she lost forever in the woes of a woman he loved more.

Dean mentions to sit at her table. She shrugs, moving for him to do so. But she felt comfortable standing. Giving her an advantage to move if she still felt like beating his ass. Dean coughs at the awkwardness.

“You got 5 minutes Winchester,” She states sternly.

Dean takes a deep breath and begins to explain everything. How he got poisoned and how Sam saved him, everything happening with Sam and their family. It was a lot to take in, and time seemed to fly by getting later in the night.

“…So we came to see if you wanted to be back in the game.” He asks, eyes looking towards her in the same old puppy dog look he used to give after a bad hunt.

She was about to say something when she realized the radio was still on. ‘Faithfully’ by Journey started to play through the crappy speakers. Tearing at her heart strings as another flashback occurs of when they were younger, dancing to this outside of the impala.

“Why now Dean? What about Lisa? Ben? All that apple pie life? What do you what me to come back?” She says, choking as she tried to hold back tears.

Another deep sigh left Deans lips.

“I miss you, Y/N, what I did was totally wrong and I’m so sorry I never fixed anything after Sam jumped. I abandoned you and I  acknowledge that I made that action,” Dean takes a pause. She turns back towards her cabinets, grabbing a glass to pour another drink of whisky.

Dean studies her from the table and she can feel his eyes burning into the side of her cheek. She pauses for a second, trying to console herself before speaking to him. However, she breaks, tears start streaming down her face. She grips onto the counter, white knuckling, allowing emotions she pushed down to resurface after a year.

She hears the chair Dean was sitting in scraping against the hardwood floor as he stood up. Crying harder, she was engulfed in a large bear hug. She let it all go. All the memories of their times together whether that was romantically, after a good hunt, or a bad one flood her brain. The memories of her doing everything she did to make sure Dean didn’t jump the gun to say Yes to Michael. The love they made after he returned from the trip of the future and finding out she got bit from Croatian virus and he had to kill her. It was too much to keep down anymore.

Dean consoled her with quietly voiced shh’s. Petting her hair while laying his head onto of hers. One arm was still wrapped around her waisted tightly. To afraid to let go.

She finally calms down after a good while. Checking the clock it was way past midnight at this point. Certain that Sam had probably left the two to chat.

They stand in silence for a little while longer. Letting her bask in the feeling of Dean’s body weight against her after all this time. Taking a deep breath, she signals to Dean to let her take a step back. Which he does reluctantly, still holding on to her arms at arm’s length.

“If I come back, what’s gunna happen Dean? Between us?” She asks, voice hoarse from the crying.

“Whatever you want. We can start over, take our time. If you want nothing to do with me, then I would understand.” He takes a moment to pause before continuing.

“I can’t continue on like this. I need you here with me, with Sam. Hunting or figuring out whatever the hell is going on does feel right without you sweetheart.” Dean says, tucking a strand of hair that fell out her ponytail behind her ear.

“Okay.” She whispers.

“Okay?” Dean asks, heart pound against his chest.

She nods, and Dean lets go of the breath he didn’t even realizing he was holding. He leans down to give her a small kiss on her forehead, hovering for just a moment.

“I have so much to take care of before we leave, this apartment, my job, so I can pack up tomorrow.” She says looking around the place she had gotten used to calling home.

“Yep, nope, totally understand, whatever you need Sam’s and I’s help in we will.” Dean says, letting go of her arms.

“Thank you,” She whispers. Receiving a nod in return.

“I’ll uh, text Sam to come get me, I think he may have left.” Dean says looking out the window assuming he’s  trying to find the Impala.

“Stay for tonight,” She asks. Dean looks towards her longingly.

“Okay.” He speaks out. “Whatever you want.”

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

a/n: chapters 9 & 10 are queued for thursday and friday aaaahhhhh

part 8: a talk over whiskey

word count: 2,232

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill her, Tommy," John grunted with his fist clamped tightly at his side.

Tommy watched as his brother paced around the room. Arthur managed to find something unsettling about you, a night months ago when you reported police movements to a quiet rival that led to John laying bloodied on the street. The moment John learned it was you, his face turned with rage, demanding Tommy speak to you about what else you'd done to damage the Blinders through your dealings.

Tommy remained stoic. Polly sat with her cigarette softly burning between her fingers, unamused and unphased by John's anger. Arthur watched, unwilling to admit he was entertained by the sight.

"Call her in here, and we're going to have a chat—"

"Settle down, John boy." Arthur tried to place his hands on John's shoulders but was pushed away.

"Tommy, those fucks nearly gutted me!" John pushed further, "and I'm going to return the favor."

"We already put an end to those boys, John," Tommy sighed, lighting his cigarette to numb the tension in his head. "Nothing more to be done, so let's move on."

John grabbed a letter opener from a nearby desk and gripped it until his knuckles turned white. "Call her here, Tommy. I swear to God. Just one fucking cut, and I'll avoid her face for your sake."

Tommy blew smoke towards John's face, and it encased him in fog. He grabbed the edge of the opener and pulled John close. "I said, enough. You're not going to touch her. With a dull knife or your cock—no one touches y/n. Am I clear?"

Polly chuckled from her quiet corner. She held her cigarette to her lips with a sigh, entertained yet annoyed with a man's ability to hold a grudge. "Maybe it's time you have a serious talk with your ghost, Tommy."

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The room cleared, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Tommy stood by the window, his silhouette outlined by the soft light of the streetlamp outside. You could feel the tension in the air between you thicken with each passing second. The door clicked shut behind Polly, John, and Arthur, leaving you two alone in the quiet of the room. Tommy turned slowly.

“We need to talk,” Tommy said, his voice measured, though you could hear the edge in it. He wasn’t angry—not yet—but there was something sharp, something raw in the way he spoke. “And if we don't settle this now, then my brothers will resort to much less graceful methods.”

You didn’t respond. You let the silence drag on, allowing the weight of his words to hang in the air.

"We know about Cheltenham. And the blueprints."

Without a single shift in your expression, you spoke, your voice cold and steady, every word calculated.

“Were you expecting an apology or did you want me to skip ahead?” You watched him closely, your gaze unwavering. “Maybe get on my knees and beg for forgiveness?”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed as he took a step closer. “And we know that you sold out John to a dealer. Not that the aftermath is something you'd care to look into, however,” he muttered, low and dark, like he was trying to find something in you that would make sense of this entire mess. “You need to tell me how many fucking times you've put me in a compromising position.”

You allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to tug at the corner of your lips. “So, I suppose we're past apologies, and we're going straight for the begging.” You took a slow step forward, closing the distance between you both. “Is that what you want?”

Tommy stiffened, his eyes darkening as he leaned in. “This is not about what I want,” he shot back. “I need to know who I let in my fucking house and who I'm trusting with my business. Now, I have kept John at bay. He's ready to jam a knife in that pretty little neck of yours, and if you don't give me an explanation, I might let him.”

You held his gaze, your eyes unflinching.

“Well?” he asked, the single word hanging in the air.

You took another step closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating off him. The air crackled with tension, the weight of his anger threatening to spill over.

“Yes,” you said, your voice dropping lower, teeming with mild intimidation. “I did sell the blueprints. Yes, I did tell men when not to place their bets. Yes, a man came to me and asked where the police would be that night. And yes, I told him where John Shelby would be. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Tommy thought, at the very least, you'd sound remorseful, but you didn't. You didn't sound scared at all. You were confident in your words, and you didn't grace him with any of the details. He took the folder from his desk and placed it in your hands.

"Only took Arthur a few days to find all of this."

You laughed, a sound that never failed to leave him unnerved. You threw the folder back on his desk, then crossed your arms across your chest with a deep sigh. "Tommy Shelby, you are... Far more predictable than I thought you were.

"I wanted to see how far you’d go to unwind something you couldn’t control. And I wanted to see if you’d ever truly confront me about it. The real question, Tommy, is whether you’re going to let me walk away now or if you’re going to keep pushing—because I’ll give you what you’re looking for, but I need to know how far you’re willing to take it. What are you willing to risk?”

Tommy didn’t answer. His gaze locked with yours, and it was almost as if time slowed, the two of you measuring each other in that space. There was no fear in your eyes—only cold certainty. But there was something else in Tommy’s. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak. His jaw worked for a moment as if he were deciding whether to challenge you, to press further, or to let the conversation drop.

You lifted your heel and pressed down onto the scattered papers, twisting your ankle like you were stomping out a dying cigarette. "Everything in here... Never asked yourself once why it was so easy to find. Didn't consider even for one fucking second that it was left in the open because I put it there for you. Practically handed it to you on a platter with tea."

You held your head high, not once giving him the room to tear his eyes away from yours.

"Sokolov never leaves that office on the edge of Birmingham. Him, yes? And Caddell, the man who bets every Sunday. Probably at the Irish pub because he's there most nights. You wouldn't have found Bedlam, no, because you and Arthur chased him out of town with your razorblades in tow. So, that means, you found his former bookie, Kennedy."

Fuck, he continuously swore under his breath as you used all of your knowledge against him like a pistol slowly pressing into an open wound, ready to fire with the twitch of your finger.

"It is not in my nature to be vengeful. It's the vengeful who come to me if only to ease the burden someone else placed on their heads. They paid. I delivered. You've made a lot of enemies, Tommy, and many of them were willing to pay me to dwindle you down until you were nothing. Now, I gave them what they wanted," you explained with the subtle shake of your head, "and here you stand. Alive. So that means that regardless of what I sold, none of it was enough to take down the great Thomas Shelby."

The faint twitches in Tommy's fingers stayed hidden at his side as he listened to every word, each pushing on the back of his neck with a force only you could remove.

"You are one flame that no amount of truths and lies can snuff out." You let out a slow breath, your posture unchanging. “It was never anything personal. Just business.”

He looked at you for a long, lingering moment. For the first time, he seemed to hesitate. Then, with a slight shift of his expression, he finally answered, voice quiet but firm.

“No more games, y/n.”

You didn’t smile. You didn’t give any hint of satisfaction. You merely gave him a long, knowing look.

“That's not for you to decide.”

You turned to leave without another word, but the weight of Tommy’s gaze followed you as you walked out.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

That evening at the Garrison, the usual bustle settled into a calm that felt almost too peaceful. Following your less-than-pleasant conversation, Tommy left to tend to other business, but Arthur and John were restless, pacing around the bar. Assuming Tommy told them what transpired between the two of you, it seemed as if Arthur was weary, and John was irate, his anger towards you spilling out until you felt it from the other side of the room.

You kept to your own corner, nursing a tepid glass of whiskey while the Blinders jeered over nonsense that you didn't bother to try to understand. The muscle in your neck was tense. It didn't happen often that you felt like you overstepped, but backing Tommy into a corner felt much different than you were used to. He listened without argument, but the twisting of his nerves left you uneasy. Perhaps it was too much.

The other side of your thoughts slowly overshadowed the doubts though, reminding you, once again, that he started this. He looked into you. And while you knew that would happen eventually, the scene was much more poetic when you imagined it in your head.

The undercurrent of eyes watching you attempted to pull you from your moment of solitude, but they knew, underneath the face of indifference, you were studying them, too. For the first time, they could feel it: you weren't just a cold, calculating ally. You were watching over them—closely.

With a heavy sigh, you pulled a cigarette from its box and held the match to its tip. It burned, and within seconds, your lungs filled with the crackling numb sensation you needed.

It happened quickly—the subtle shift.

John stumbled by the bar, his head turned down with drunken laughter as Arthur commanded the room with a story from another night. A stranger approached him slowly, a glass in one hand while the other was pinned to his thigh. You narrowed your eyes, the faint glimmer of silver catching your attention.

In that moment, it wasn't instinct that took over. It was cold, calm, controlled fury.

You pushed your seat back, grabbing the neck of the open bottle of whiskey as your cigarette fell to the floor. With a single swing, the sound of glass shattering broke the noise, and the inevitable silence fell soon after. You barely made a sound as the man's head knocked against the bar. Pieces of glass protruded from his cheek, blood trickling down his neck in a scarlet ribbon.

John and Arthur watched you. Your chest heaved, and your eyes were squared on the man who only moments earlier held a knife at his side. The dagger lay in a pool of whiskey, staring back at you from the floor.

John's eyes narrowed, flickering to you then to the men who arrived at the Garrison with the stranger. He picked up the knife slowly, toying with the tip against his palm with a gentle chuckle.

The men, seeing that you weren't just another patron, hesitated. They looked at each other, then back at you, not knowing who was the bigger threat—John, who played with the knife, and you, silent and still. It wasn't fury, not blind rage. It was control, and somehow, that made you all the more terrifying.

They didn't bother with words as John walked towards them with a face that said he just needed to give the word. One word, and the Blinders would tear them apart. They left quickly, one of them muttering something about this not being worth the fight. Your gaze never wavered from them as they retreated.

John placed the knife on the counter and turned to you, his head tilted like he was processing what you'd just done.

Arthur was the first to speak, his usual cocky demeanor a little more subdued than normal. “That was... Interesting.”

John nodded, suddenly sober and all too aware. “We could’ve handled it.”

You scoffed softly, shaking your head with a low chuckle. "I'll remember that next time."

Arthur and John exchanged glances, both unsure of what to say. Arthur cleared his throat as he pulled a cigarette from behind the bar. He reached forward to give it to you, but John held up his hand. He pulled out his own box of cigarettes from his pocket and held it out.

“I guess, we're even.”

You didn’t respond at first, instead stoically pulling one from its box. John held the match for you, and in the silence as the cigarette burned, his lips turned upward in a smirk. He watched as you blew the smoke into the air.

"Arthur," you sighed, holding up your hand as the whiskey dried against your fingers. "I'm going to need another drink."

[softagenda]

call the hounds (leander)

leander x reader(f)

au - leander takes care of a pest (possessive behavior)

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Preview

Leander stood at the entrance of the alley, one hand braced on his hip. Green, faintly glowing eyes surveyed the scene, taking in the knife, the merc with his hand out, and undoubtedly the ire writ large on your face. With a clap of his hands, he approached and smiled charmingly. To you, he asked, “What seems to be the problem?”

“Tomcat here can’t take a fight nor a hint, apparently.”

_____________________________________________

“There’s a pub in Lowtown - the Dregs and Pegs - stocks a perfect ale for an evening like this. Let me buy you a drink.”

You swerved through the crowd and headed toward the Wick, one hand hovering by the dagger strapped to your hip. “Not interested.”

“C’mon, I promise it’ll be worth your while! Who can turn down a free drink?”

“Me.” Especially when you’re literally heading toward one right now. Leander typically plied you with drinks every night just to keep you from retreating to your room and passing out for the night.

Stumbling along at your heels, the would-be mercenary laughed. “Playing hard to get, I like it.”

The dagger’s handle slipped into your hand without thinking, your thumb rubbing the pommel. “Not playing.” 

“Hey, straight shooter, I like that too.” 

Patience thinning underneath the muggy heat of the night, you spun into an alley and upped the pace of your strides, close enough to the Wick that you’d rather lose him in the pub than on the street. Though the Wick was far from choosy with its clientele, mercenaries not affiliated with the Bloodhounds tended to steer clear. 

“So you’re not interested in the Dregs - you will find me more than accommodating to your tastes. Shall we head to your usual haunt?” 

Fuck this. At the next corner, you turned on your heel and forced him against the wall, dagger out and pressed to his throat. His adam’s apple bobbed against the blade. “How about you be ‘more than accommodating’ to my knife and choke on it?”

The mercenary - Foland something, you couldn’t be bothered to remember - grinned winsomely, his hands raised in surrender. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, and perhaps that was the root of the problem. Curly blond hair, brown eyes, full mouth. In decent shape with quality armor, even if that pack of wildewolves had nearly made a particularly meaty dog treat out of him in the wastes.

You’d think twice before saving a random merc’s ass in the future.

“I know I should be frightened right now, and I am, but I must admit,” the merc said under his breath, leering down at you, “but I find this very attractive. Whatever will you do with me?” His head tipped back, pushing his neck closer to the edge of the blade.

He thought this was a fucking game. You pictured it for a moment, but ultimately decided lugging his corpse out of the city would be more hassle than it was worth. 

“I can cut this neck or the other one. Take your pick.” 

“The other - “ He froze, his flirty smile falling. An entire conversation seemed to play out across his face, and you couldn’t imagine how he’d managed in Eridia with a face that easy to read and that irresistible to a fist. Then the smirk returned. “Oh, I see.”

“You really don’t.”

“You’re into knife play, yes?” He reached up as if to grab your arm.

“For fuck’s sake - “

“Need a hand?”

Both of you froze at the new voice, accompanied by a long shadow at the mouth of the alley. You turned to look and felt a mixture of relief and exhaustion. 

Leander stood at the entrance of the alley, one hand braced on his hip. Green, faintly glowing eyes surveyed the scene, taking in the knife, the merc with his hand out, and undoubtedly the ire writ large on your face. With a clap of his hands, he approached and smiled charmingly. To you, he asked, “What seems to be the problem?”

“Tomcat here can’t take a fight nor a hint, apparently.”

“That’s - there were three of them, beautiful, I’m only one man - “

“My childhood sword cut down wildewolves.”

The merc flushed around the collar but changed tact at top speed. “You have trained since childhood? That would explain it. As I said on our way back to town, your swordsmanship is stunning - practically a work of art, when considering your attractive physique.” 

You shared a weary look with Leander, shoulders sagging a little. 

It’d been a long day. You’d ventured out to the wastes in the first place for a job - deliver the corpse of the yellow-crowned serpent to the apothecary. Rumors of the creature terrorizing travelers arriving in the eastern gate had enticed the apothecary enough to put out a sizable bounty. 

You’d arrived, waited in the blistering sun until the serpent had left its cave, only to discover that the serpent was, in fact, a naga. It had taken you nearly an hour to finish off the ferocious creature and another hour to drag the body and your own back to the city before the mists returned. 

On the way, you’d rescued this cheerful asshole from his well-deserved mauling by wolf, who had promptly followed you through the city, to the apothecary, and now to the doorstep of the Wet Wick.

Leander held your gaze for a moment, completely ignoring the idiot chattering away against your knife at his throat. A shiver slipped down your back, your stomach tightening. “Well, I can’t hold that against him,” he finally said, his eyes still lingering on your face. “You’re gorgeous in the storm of battle. Breathtaking.”

You glanced away, cheeks burning. “... enough of that.”

“Never,” he said.

A moment of silence passed, hanging strangely heavy in the air. 

Then Leander stepped closer, his hand brushing against the small of your back. He leaned down to your ear and said, so close you felt his words across the rim of your ear, “I’ll take care of this. Meet me at our usual booth?”

Goosebumps spiraled down your neck. Heart thumping faster, you answered with a quick jerk of your head. Fighting to ignore the heat stirring in your blood at his proximity, you withdrew the dagger and returned it to the holster at your hip. 

“Are we heading in for that drink now?” The merc asked, beaming as though he had won a prize.

“Not you.” Brushing past Leander, your stomach flipping when his hand pressed against your back until the final moment you stepped out of reach, you added, “But I’m sure Leander will be ‘more than accommodating to your tastes.””

“That’s what I’m known for!” Leander echoed cheerfully. There’s a scuffle of boots on stone and a thud. When you glanced over your shoulder, the merc was pinned to the alley wall with a companionable hand on his shoulder. “Hold on there, stranger. Let’s get acquainted, shall we?”

You met his gaze one last time before turning the corner. Dark promises echoed back to you under the sweep of lashes.

Then the Wick welcomed you in a clamor of music and laughter, a shroud of beer and bodies pressed together, and the cozy feel of firelight.

_____________________________________________

Once she had turned the corner, Leander released a long, slow breath. He dropped the man’s shoulder and stepped back, his arms crossing over his chest. Holding the smile in place, he asked, “New to Eridia?”

Now that she was out of sight (and out of reach), the other man shrugged and said, “Three days in town. Almost thought it was a wasted journey, but….” his gaze lingered on the mouth of the alley. “Perhaps I’ve just found a reason to say, give the famous city another chance, eh?”

Leander’s hands curled into fists. “Well, Eridia’s not the easiest place to live nor to travel to. Did you come by caravan, or with family?”

“Grain merchant gave me a ride for most of the trip. You wouldn’t believe the places I had to pull straw out of,” he joked, holding out his hand. “Foland, lone merc looking for work.”

Alone. Leander twisted the ring on his middle finger before shaking his hand. The metal warmed on contact. No magic to speak of, nothing latent. “Lone merc, huh? I remember those days. Not easy getting a start here in Eridia.” Thinking back to your words, he asked, “That wildewolves contract - you get that at the guild?”

“Yes. You seem well-informed,” the merc mused. “Are you a merc as well?”

Doesn’t recognize me. Fresh as a babe, then. “No,” he said, checking the position of the sun. 

Night had fallen, cloaking the streets in shadow, illuminated in the pockets of light shed by windows and street lamps. Few people passed by on the street, and those who did kept their eyes focused on the road ahead, knowing better than to cast their gazes wandering.

They stood in the middle of the alley. The path to the right let out at the market if you were lucky - if not, one could spend days lost in the labyrinth of slums and abandoned houses lurking at the hill of the district. People got lost all the time. 

“From the sounds of that conversation, you struggled with the wildewolves until she arrived. Did you split the profits?”

“I intend to - I’m a man of honor, after all” the merc glanced back to the street, his brow furrowing, before he suddenly beamed. “I’ll pick up the reward from the guild and then - well, that’ll give me a good reason to contact her again, for a beer or maybe even a date.”

Wildewolves extermination, small money job, hasn’t collected. Guild officer’s unlikely to remember, and easily paid off regardless.

“No. I don’t think so,” Leander replied. His hand plucked the gold brooch from his vest and raised it to his mouth. He blew into the point, eliciting a high, hollow whistle. The emerald glowed, illuminating his face.

“Hm? What did you say?” The merc turned toward him. He stiffened, frowning. “Your eyes…what’s happening?”

Leander leaned his back against the opposite wall, pinning the brooch to its proper place. “Had we met under different circumstances, there might have been a place for you in my crew, but,” he paused, his gaze sweeping over the other man, “tomcats don’t heel easily, do they. Not like my hounds. Significant effort, little reward.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Months ago, I could’ve stomached another drooling over her. I had more patience then. After all, she’s… something special. Beautiful. Deadly. Genuine. My knife in the dark.” His thumb stroked the inside of his palm, remembering her touch. Soon, he would be holding her hand in that corner booth, tucked away from the world. He’d have her all to himself, however brief. 

Footsteps echoed softly through the alley, the sound reverberating up the stone walls. Shadows appeared at the north and southern exit, cutting off the light from outside. 

His hounds had arrived.

“No longer,” he finished. 

The merc finally seemed aware that something was not right about his situation. His face paled at the men gathering in the alley, dressed in leather vambraces, armed to the teeth. He looked around toward the opposite end and found more approaching, their shadows looming on the walls, magnified into the silhouette of a great beast.

“Hold on a minute. Just, hold on,” he was saying, sweat forming at his brow as he raised his arms, palms out.

Leander stared at the right hand. Recalled that hand hovering in the air, grasping, seeking to touch what was not his to touch. The fury building inside him from that moment crested inside his chest. 

His dagger punctured the skin and cut through the palm as smooth as butter. The blade notched into the stone behind the merc, pinning him in place. Leander held him there, staring hard into his face, the glow of his own eyes painting the merc’s face a sickly green.

Then, before the man could do so much as scream, he yanked the blade out with a twist of his wrist and stepped back as blood gushed from the wound. 

Now, the merc screamed. He held his hand, face purpling under the force of his scream, eyes bulging, his whole body shaking. His knees crumpled and sent him to the ground. He huddled there, curled in on himself, whimpering and gasping.

One of his hounds glanced over his shoulder to the street corner before relaxing upon spotting the thin, green veil that shimmered in the air. 

“What the fuck,” the merc shrieked, scrambling to ball up a cloth from his pocket to stem the bleeding. “My hand, you son of a bitch!”

Crouching on his heels, Leander mused, “Still yours, though. Had you touched her, I would have cut it off.” He watched the man scramble back from him, writhing on the ground like a worm. “Others haven’t been so lucky.”

“You’re crazy. You’re fuckin’ crazy.” The merc crawled toward the wall and pulled himself to his feet, tears flowing down his face. Those pretty blue eyes bulged in terror, his golden curls smeared in dirt and blood. “I’ll have you in chains before dawn for this. The city guardsmen, the Senobium - they will lock you up for the next century.”

At the mention of the citadel, a rumble passed through the surrounding men. 

Leander rose to his feet and returned to the wall as his men inched closer and closer, teeth bared, their eyes shedding an eerie green light.

“Even angels are barred from their lofty tower,” he said, amused at the threat,“If you’re so sure of your welcome, how about a wager? If you can make it to the Senobium’s gates and convince them to let you inside before dawn, you live another day.”

The merc swallowed, his lips pinched together.

“We’ll even give you a head start. Aren’t I generous,” Leander said, his voice low, “tomcat?”

He watched, silent, as the merc shuffled toward the back of the alley where the cluster of men was thinnest, his gaze darting around fearfully. After a moment’s indecision, he shoved the closest man out of his way and sprinted down the alley, footsteps pounding the stone, panting. 

A dozen eyes turned on him. Bodies tensed, knees bending, bracing.

Leander smirked. 

“Hounds. Hunt.”

That night, as she dozed against his shoulder after three pints of beer, his thumb stroking the back of her hand, Leander closed his eyes and let his magic surge through the hounds, singing in their blood. He grinned under the weight of their euphoria - hearts pounding as they chased the cat through the city, their bloodlust pulsing, teeth sharpening with every nip at his heels.

Through the eyes of his hound, he watched as the merc stumbled and bled through the city, increasingly desperate, bleeding through a thousand wounds with every brush of tooth and claw. He watched as the man shook the gates of the Senobium, begging, pleading to be let in.

He watched as the guards ignored him. He watched as the man grew manic in his fear and despair, wailing and beating the iron bars, until an arrow pierced his shoulder.

He watched as the merc gave up and sprinted back toward the city walls, seeking the watchmen and finding his hounds at every corner, lurking in every shadow.

By the time he lifted her into his arms and carried her toward her room at the back of the Wick, another unfortunate soul was lost to the perils of the city. 

Leander returned to the bar after resting her head on the pillow and bribed the bartender into opening up the kitchens and rousing the cooks in spite of the late hour.

His hounds had worked up an appetite.

_________________________________________

a/n: comments and likes are appreciated! thank you for reading!

[katze-thief]

five days for love confession

pairing: Ren Amamiya/Akira Kurusu x fem!reader

summary: Shujin Academy is holding its annual cultural festival, and it seems that five days of preparation is all it takes to make your crush fall in love with you.

chapter one: prologue

"five days for love confession" series' masterlist

It was a fact that Ren Amamiya did not have the best reputation at Shujin Academy.

Of course, this was due to his criminal record status, but it was more about the implications of it. He couldn’t say anything when a student treated him badly, or delivered lies in form of hot gossips around the student body. Ren heard it all — that, supposedly, he carried a knife around, that he committed audacious crimes frequently and even more. All lies, surely, however, due to the student body being formed of high-profile students, a single complain about his conduct towards other student could mean the end of probation for him. For the worse.

Because of his reputation (and uttermost lack of capacity of deniability), teachers felt that they could basically use Ren as a fix-it man in the organization of Shujin’s events. After all, why bother convincing students to participate and form a minimum quorum, if you can just place the same one? And it wasn’t different with the annual cultural festival of Shujin’s Academy. When he squished himself in between of the crowd of students to see the lists, his name was in almost every single one. Shocking news.

At the end of that evening, Ren, the rest of the Phantom Thieves, and you, were reunited at the attic of LeBlanc, a.k.a. Ren’s bedroom. After you all ate cookies, cake and drank coffee downstairs, now you were trying to figure out in which activities each one was, to assure he wouldn’t go through this utterly traumatizing experience of being at Shujin all day alone (as in the words of Ryuji). The cozy smell of coffee embalmed the place, as well as the woody scent, both so familiar for you.

“I’m in the dancing and musical arts’ front, doing ‘Legally Blonde’” Ann chuckled. She was sitting beside Makoto on the floor, as they made matching bracelets with beads. “It’s the first time Shujin does musicals, right?”

Makoto nodded, reorganizing the beads. “I’m responsible for the festival’s haunted house. Indeed, we only have me, the student council and Ren at this one.” Ren winced at the reminder of work. “You all should subscribe for this one. It’s still open.” She said, stern.

You played chess with Ren on the other side of the bedroom, while they talked and scribbled on paper. Both of you were sitting on his bed, as the checkered board stood on a pillow. Ren didn’t want them to take on more work just for his wellbeing, in fact, he made it clear that was against this whole commotion on LeBlanc. You, however, already expected the school counsellor to put him in every activity, so you secretly sent him a letter asking to be in the same activities as Ren, so he wouldn’t be alone (which may or may not be because of your, also secret, crush for him).

Ren moved the bishop and grinned “Checkmate.”

“How?” you said surprised, not even paying attention to the entire mess of a discussion that your friends were having over the schedule.

The fact was that Ren was terribly bad at chess, at least in comparison to you. He never win, so it was a small joke in between you two ever since you met. It was always the ‘It’ll probably happen when you win me on chess’ for impossible things. However, today’s Earth decided to debunk your saying.

Ren adjusted his glasses, proudly, and redid the sequence of movements of the game, but you could only notice the flicker of his bright eyes, how his wavy hair moved as he explained his thought behind his actions with his throaty voice and—

“Guys!” Ryuji yelled, which made all of you stop and stare at him. He was holding a sheet of paper, one from the pile of lists’ copies, and in his face was the pure look of horror. “I’m gonna cook curry. Cook curry. Wha’ the f-??”

“Let me guess, that’s another one for Ren too?” Yusuke joked, making everyone (except Ren) laugh.

“At least is one thing he actually can cook.” Morgana added, intensifying the laughs.

After that, everyone chatted for a while, before going away. You knew all of them were the Phantom Thieves, so when they stood up to leave, scary looking at the clock, you got it why too. The ‘We need to rest to enter another palace this weekend’ was always there, implicit, even though they didn’t share their plans as thieves with you. It was like those unreachable places in the dreams — you knew the Metaverse existed and knew that your friends frequented it and was behind all those events on the news, but it wasn’t tangible for you. You could never experience it with them, see by yourself. And in those times, you felt less of a part of the group than them.

On the ride home, as you reminisced the memories from the day, you almost gagged when you remembered what you did. “I’m going to work endlessly all week, all day, at Shujin, because of a boy??” you thought to yourself. And oddly, that thought didn’t even scare you.

Because it was Ren Amamiya the boy you were going to spend the longest week of your junior year of high school with.

[manias-wordcount]

hello :) can you write a black butler oneshot w/ sebastian michaelis x fem reader?

reader is a succubus demon and she and seb are ex lovers of some sort then one day seb is surprised to see reader working as a servant in the manor. ciel accepted her without seb's knowledge but ciel also did not know about their history. seb is a bit skeptical of reader cause he does not know her motives so he acts a bit cold towards her but reader actually did it just cause missed seb (but not that she'll admit it cause she is too proud for that. also maybe seb feels the same who knows lol) reader is the teasing and provocative type if thats ok. pls ignore this request if ever its complicated to understand, i just based this on some random imagination i had hehe. anyway thank you :>

What You Couldn't Do (Sebastian Michaelis x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗼!! 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗶𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗱 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗮 𝘀𝗮𝗱 𝗹𝗼𝗹

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝘅𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

The door to the kitchen shuts behind you with no fanfare. That is to say, there’s no light-hearted, half-shouted greeting from one of the other quirky members of staff. Nor was there a harsh, barked order from the young master of the household. There wasn’t even a small, near silent yet warm grunt of acknowledgment from your favorite tea-sipping house steward. 

  So naturally…

  “Oh, Sebastian!”

  …you knew who it was…

  “To what to owe the pleasure of this-”

  …and all that it entailed.

  In an instant, you find yourself cutting off your own words with the swiftest of tongues. You suppose it truly is the smartest choice. You had only been working at the Phantomhive Manor for a mere couple of days. You were still in all sense of the word. You didn’t yet have the young master’s good favor. Nor did you think you could ever be on the receiving end of any sort of sympathy from a boy such as him. So it’s only right you learn your place and you learn it well. Because while such a feeling make be odd and discomforting, you imagine it’s still better than the feeling of the knife being held between Sebastian’s gloved hand plunge itself into your throat.

  “What is your aim.” His low murmur comes from behind as he traps your body from behind between himself and the counter. Despite his words, you know to take everything as a demand rather than a question purely based on the dull pressure of the boning knife pressed lightly against your jugular. That, among other things of course. “Why are you here.”

  You pursue your lips, fully aware of the way his eyes would follow your every action through your faint reflection in the mirror. His voice is as cold as you remember it to be. Unfeeling and so very cruel. The unspoken threat to you is loud and clear. His utter disdain for you? Even louder and even clearer. Yet, you find that it’s terribly hard to hide your excitement. The arm that crosses over your chest to hold the knife to your throat brings up so many memories. The way his body presses and molds into yours reminds you so much of the past. When the two of you weren’t so-called co-workers serving under the most irritating of charges. When the two of you weren’t so-called enemies who spent your days and nights, far, far apart. When the two of you weren’t anything to each other. 

  But when the two of you were lovers.

  “Knife play, Sebastian? That’s a new one…” And fueled by those resurfaced memories, you respond to him. It’s obvious in the way that his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits through the window’s reflection, you know you’re not exactly giving him what he wants. But you hope- no, you don’t hope, you know- he’ll play along with your typical game. Just for a little longer. Just one last time. “You certainly seem like a much different man than from what I remember…I wonder how that little brat managed to whip you into-!”

  Once again, you found yourself cutting your words short in favor of a long life. Your murmured words were meant to be heard. Meant to rock the boat. Meant to get yourself in trouble. They always were. But you know when enough is enough. Even when your entire life is about toeing the line and saying the things that men and women wish they could say- you when it’s not your turn to speak. At least, not your turn for the moment. 

  Though you can’t help but feel pleasantly surprised now that the threat you’re faced with is being phrased a little differently than before. No, the knife is not being pressed further into your skin. It still sits where it was originally- relaxed in a comfortable grip as it delivers the lightest of kisses against your skin. Rather, it’s Sebastian himself who has changed. It seemed that with your bold words, he was no longer content with just trapping you with weight. The arm that had now snaked against your lower waist and was holding onto your hip with a vice-like grip tells you as if the action was words itself. 

  “I won’t ask you again.” He bites out behind you in a harsh whisper and it’s almost shameful how your body instantly reacts to the feeling of his breath just dancing over your ear. “Why have you followed me here.”

  The way you just shivered at his words? The way you just gasped at his tone? You’re worse than you thought. God, what are you doing? Chasing a man like you weren’t the one who should be chased in the first place? All while trying to play coy as if you weren’t practically shaking with excitement at the thought of seeing him again. All while trying to play powerful as if the first thing you wanted to do when you saw him after all this time was to get on your knees and listen to his every command. 

  You’re not going to last like this. You’re not, you’re not, you’re not. So with one last selfish act for yourself, you decide that you won’t That you had come all this way. That you had pulled all these strings to get here. And the very least you could do for yourself after all this time running and running and running after a man you know doesn’t deserve you was to be kind to yourself. That’s all you could do. Be kind to yourself. Because if not today? Because if not now? Then when?

  “I missed you…Sebastian.”

  As if you could ever be kind to yourself at all…

  “What…” For once, he sounded stunned. This great and powerful demon that you knew so well sounded like he was taken by surprise. But even then, you couldn’t enjoy the feeling. Even then you couldn't look in the eyes- even as he released you from his hold and stepped away. You couldn’t. Not with your heart beating so fast you could have sworn you were alive in this moment. Not with your throat shaking so much you could have sworn that you were truly the blushing virgin you tried to appear as. “No. No, that cannot be true.”

  Not with the way he denies you after all this time.

  “Oh, but it is, Sebastian. Even after all this time…” You murmur softly, a sad smile crossing taking over your beautiful face. Words left unsaid. Memories left on repeat. And heartbreak that begins to take shape. You couldn’t look him in the eyes now that your life has been spared. You couldn’t look him in the eyes now that the two of you are no longer close. You couldn’t look him in the eyes when you feel like this. “Even after all this time, I…I continue to miss you.”

  And you certainly couldn’t look him in the eyes right now.

  Because how could you stand to see such a handsome face through the blurry mess of tears?

  You just couldn’t. 

  You just couldn’t.

[paingoes]

Crash Out

Mercy

(Content: whumper turned whumpee, ex royal whumpee, sadistic whumper, female whumper, alcohol, physical abuse, choking, guns, blood, begging, broken bones)

game (noun) /ɡām/ 1. a form of play or sport, especially a competitive one played according to rules and decided by skill, strength, or luck. 2. a person's performance in a game; a person's standard or method of play. 3. a secret and clever plan or trick 4. wild mammals or birds hunted for sport or food.

game (verb) /ɡām/ 1. manipulate (a situation), typically in a way that is unfair or unscrupulous.

Thales Courtyard. Seven years old.

Paris sat on the steps, a mess of sharp angles. It was a bright summer. Thales’ children grouped in bunches across the lawn.

“You’ve never played?” One of the boys asked him. 

Paris shook his head. The boy got closer. He took both of Paris’s hands in his own and intertwined their fingers. For a brief moment, it felt intimate. He’d been too young to feel repulsed by that yet.

“It’s easy. The first one to say ‘mercy’ loses,” the boy explained, waiting to see Paris’s reaction. He wasn’t afraid; he nodded his assent.

In a swift motion, their hands rotated outward. The boy pressed Paris’s wrists back up against the sockets, bending back the fingers. 

“Mercy!” Paris yelped.

The boy let go instantly. Paris shook his hands out to relieve the ache. He had hissed at first, but he quickly broke back into a smile.

“Let me try again,” he said.

House party. Sixteen years old.

Paris leaned down to light his cigarette on the stovetop burner. He’d been drinking a lot that year. The novelty had yet to wear off. All the kids that orbited him clattered around in the kitchen, seeing who could make the worst cocktail from the pre and the sugar and all the alcohol they’d stolen from the host’s parents. The ones who weren’t busy with the concoction were playing stupid games.

“You go.” One of them tapped his shoulder. He swatted the touch away on instinct, but he straightened up. The boy he played against was younger — shorter hair, shorter stature.

It wasn’t even a competition. Years of fencing had strengthened his grip to an obscene degree.

“Mercy!” the boy cried out, “Fuck, dude, stop!”

The alcohol had slowed his reaction time. It took Paris a few seconds to process the words; he’d kept pressing in the meanwhile. By the time boy pulled his hands back, there were rings of bruises around each of his fingers.

“What the hell, man?” He rubbed at the marks, shooting the prince an accusatory look.

“Baby.” Paris rolled his eyes, “Let’s play the knife game.”

The Thorn. Eighteen years old.

Paris bent Delta’s wrist back at an odd angle, pushing threateningly against the bone of his middle finger. Delta stared back with half-lidded eyes. His expression was placid — and unmistakably bored.

He did not ask for mercy. Delta never asked for anything. It was no use. Paris let go. Delta fell limply at his feet without the grip holding him up. It took longer than usual for him to get back into the kneel.

Paris kicked him roughly in the chest, forcing him back onto the floor just as soon as he’d steadied.

Wildflower patch. Nineteen years old.

Her knee pressed directly in between his shoulder blades. She was putting her full weight on it; she had to if she wanted to keep him there. Her left hand gripped the nape of his neck. Her right forced his arm back, threatening to pop out of its socket. 

It was a good pin. Paris cursed himself for having been surprised. Johanna always fought like she was feral, but there were moments it was clear just how thoroughly she must have been trained. 

He pushed up with his free arm, which only made the pain in the other worse. Johanna’s grip tightened around his neck, readjusting herself in anticipation of struggle.

“Say mercy.” Her smile was audible. She said it like she was joking. She was joking. He knew that if he had said nothing, she would’ve just let it go.

“Get the fuck off of me, you crazy bitch.” Paris’s voice was venomous. She could still hear the panic infusing it. Her heart swelled.

“Say it,” she insisted now, her voice still light. She levered his arm further up. It was slow, but without signs of stopping. Paris could tell it was about to snap. He knew her well enough by now to know she’d do it without a second though.

“Mercy,” he blurted out.

Johanna laughed, releasing him.

Nettle’s Campsite. Nineteen years old.

Once she learnt she could get it out of him, she wanted to do it every time. 

She didn’t always accomplished it. Paris wasn’t helpless, especially not if Lorelai was close. Sometimes he won. Most times, he just got away.

Not now. She twirled the length of the chain around like it was a lasso. The gesture was eerily similar to one Lorelai would’ve made. He wondered if she was making fun of them. 

Paris knew he couldn’t win. Today was one of the bad days. His breath was short. His spine wasn’t listening. He held the sword out in front of him, knowing exactly how bad it was about to be.

The chain caught on the blade, an attack he still hadn’t found a good defense against. He swore it was magnetic. With a flick of her wrist, the saber landed several meters away, totally useless. The other end of the chain came down again across his chest. It hit the sensitive skin of the scar. Johanna moved quickly, toppling him into the ground. 

Paris elbowed her in the face, starting to scramble back. She moved the chain deftly, managing to fix it around his neck. Victory was certain. She could enjoy it now. She pulled tight, pressing the metal flush against his skin.

“Say mercy!” she smiled.

His mouth only opened to gasp for air. Speech was impossible. He tapped limply at her hand. Her eyes widened in recognition. Tap out. She loosened the chain.

“Say it.” Johanna encouraged.

“Fuck you,” Paris managed through ragged breaths. She started to lift her arms up again. The chain rattled. He held a hand up. Stop.

“Mercy,” he choked.

She only got to enjoy it for a second. She had just heard the brushes being pushed aside before Lorelai’s bullet passed cleanly through her skull. Her not-quite-dead body collapsed on top of him, temporarily deprived of its motor skills. His mouth had been open when the blood splattered. It tasted like aspirin and battery acid.

Johanna’s Ship. Nineteen years old.

She really fucking had him this time. The chains were tight against his torso and around his wrists. She barely needed them. His body had entirely given out on him, no fight left at all. 

She was running out of positions to try, points to poke at, joints to press. He’d endured all of it, hoping the stupid fucking game would end like last time, that she might finally get satisfied after she’d made him repeat it twenty fucking times. There was no part of him now that didn’t hurt.

Irritation showed on her face just as easily as it did on his. She grabbed his wrist again, pushing it back. The same one she had started with. Hard and fast.

“Mercy.” His breathing picked up, the pain radiating throughout his arm. She let go, a little slower on the release this time around. 

“Jo, stop. You made your point.”

She moved her hand up to his palm, intertwining her fingers with his own. Pushing it back again. Starting over.

“Fucking stop.” He tugged his hand back as best he could with the chain binding it. His best was not much. She didn’t let up. “Mercy.”

She released the tension in his wrist, but she did not get off of him. With a slight smile, she brought her other hand up. One gripped his palm tightly, trapping the thumb. The other wrapped around his index finger. Pushing it back again. Paris let out a small sound of frustration. The chains rattled when he thrashed.

“God, stop, I’m not even fighting you anyone, I’m not even fucking fighting, can you stop, what the fuck, fucking stop stop-“

Crack.

He shuddered as the torn sound escaped his throat, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. Johanna giggled, slipping her fist off of the broken digit. She moved it a single space over, around his middle finger. The pressure started slower this time. She wanted him to catch his breath. 

“Did you forget how to play or something?” Johanna smiled at him crookedly. His eyes were shut tight. She patted his cheek lightly, trying to coax them back open. She waited until he was looking.

“You are terrible at this game."

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[xuchiya]

"undercover!" || choi jongho

| genre: fluff. a little bit of angst. investigator! jongho. | mentions: guns. knife. drugs. missing people.

When Jongho said about wanting to give him a much more challenging case, he was not expecting himself to be in a car chase so immediately. his right hand was gripping the hand grip on top of the passenger seat as the other held on to his seat, scared it might flew out of the window as you steered away from the other vehicles.

"can you just ... call the police instead?!" Hunter yelped, putting each seatbelts he sees on the backseat around him as he watches the car glide so fast that it's nauseous each time he stares outside. As the car drifted to the right causing the car to tilt to its side before banging as it gained its momentum.

You gave him a quick glance, a small smirk on your cherry red lips, "sweetheart ... We are the police."

Just an hour before, heck jongho is panicking internally how everything unfolds so quickly in just 60 minutes. From entering what supposed to be an ambush to take down the ex-mafia to being rescued by the ex-mafia. Jongho had declared that he had been working in the investigatory department for 4 years and the cases he had closed were easy (though to which he received much hate from his other colleagues for being “arrogant”) and wanted more challenging cases.

To which his higher-ups felt like they were answered by heaven and gave them the case that it is not easy to solve but dangerous. Jongho is quite unbaffled by the thought of giving him the dangerous case, they called, to which he did not find it that … perilous.

That is until he drops himself off to a hazard zone warehouse. It used to be a factory of children’s toys but due to the hazard chemicals mixed or materials used in creating it, it was shut down and now being used by gang members or mafias to do trading.

“Uhm~ hyung are you sure we're supposed to be here? I mean that is written in the paper but we can’t just go here and—” Hunter, one of his dongsaeng in work, flinches from the loud clang of the bolt cutter and the chains dropping to the ground. He spoke shakily as they stood in front of a rusty warehouse. Jongho glanced at him, giving him the bolt cutter. 

Jongo lets out an airy laugh, opening one button of his coat before shaking his head, “Hunter it will be okay besides, if we want to know what is happening in this case, we have to start from the very beginning.” When Jongho opened the doors of the warehouse, they were greeted by not only one.

Not two. Nor three.

But ten armed men, pointing their guns on them. Hunter would be fainting any second if it wasn’t for his senior to wake him up by snatching his own gun and pointing at them. Hunter takes his own armed gun and points it at these men.

“This is the Seoul police department, put the guns down!” Jongho yelled. Hunter stuck his back to him as they were being surrounded each second, “You all are trespassing on private property!” Hunter shouted, trying to keep his voice steady despite the tension happening. “Drop your weapons and surrender peacefully!”

One of the armed men, clearly the leader, stepped forward with a sneer. “Enough games ! No one knows about this place so drop the act and call your boss.”

Jongho and Hunter side glance one another, not picking up the point of the armed man. “We don’t want this to end in bloodshed. Just put down your weapons, and we can resolve this without anyone getting hurt.”

“You’re outnumbered and outgunned. You really think you stand a chance?”

Just then, a voice— a female voice crackled through the entire warehouse, “They do.” a small dark green grenade rolled between the legs of the armed men. Jongho saw it and went to cover Hunter as the entire place blasted but in smoke. Jongho coughs, covering his mouth and nose with his arm, not being able to see well with the thickness of the smoke. 

But even amidst it, Jongho heard the thump of boots and moaned in pain. When the coast cleared, all ten armed men lay on the floor bruised, passed out and some were groaning, clenching their stab wounds. 

What they heard earlier was a woman. Black long coat with thick boots, short gelled hair pushed back that looks like a sleek woman. Her presence looks so elegant and dangerous. She was holding the man's head before punching him on the nose.

“Boss will find you.” You chuckle, taking your red Dior lipstick out, applying on your lips before trudging outside, heels thumping inside the warehouse, you chuckle looking over your shoulders, “Not until he catches me first, toddles Joe~!”

Jongho was slightly overwhelmed with the sudden turn of the situation. He blinks, glancing at the fallen armed men before turning to the woman walking; chasing after her with his gun pointing at her, “Freeze! This is the Seoul Police—”

You spun around, raising your eyebrow at Jongho. Your presence surprised Jongho, he was not expecting a woman— heck more than a woman, you look so powerful, elegant and independent with your hair pushed back like that. Your red cherry lips made you fierce.

“The SPD, I know sweetheart, you got’ta make it more easy to say than blubbering. It ruins the vibe.” Jongho didn’t flinch, kept pointing the gun to her, you rolled your eyes, leaning on one hip, “I just did your job. I’m not your enemy here.”

“But you trespass this property and that makes you also a person of interest in this scene!” 

“What? Missing people? Kidnapped since September 2022? I know all of them, they did that, not me.” Jongho felt as if he was being played right now. Who is this woman? How did she know? Why was she here in the first place?

“Look here—” It was your sharp eyes that saw his name on the badge inside his coat, “—Officer Choi, as much as I am still “helping” you with this case, might as well try to arrest one of them before your fellow got hurt.” Right on queue, you and Jongho heard gunshots inside the warehouse. 

Jongho’s breath hitch, eyes shrinking in horror, dropping his gun, inserting it back in his holster, “Hunter!” 

You were contemplating chasing after them but then, who are they anyway? Just another investigator snooping in the case to which you find it annoying as your tip never went on the right person or if it does, it is dumb enough to understand.

So with a sharp exhale, you spun on your heel, walking away from the scene.

“Hunter!” The warehouse becomes a bloodshed place, shocking Jongho to the core. His head whipped to the side, “Hunter! Gahd dammit!” 

“Hyung!” His head went almost 180 when he heard his cries, Jongho rushed towards one of the boxes and saw Hunter holding a man down, bleeding on his side. Hunter his breath shakes as he looks up to his senior, “T-There was a new group, killing all of them. It probably meant for them to be cleaned up since we caught them.”

Jongho squats down, removing his hand on the man’s bleeding side to which Hunter exclaims, “No hyung! We-We can still save him– Please he must have a family—”

“Hunter, he’s dead.” Looking down, Hunter exhales seeing the man’s eyes were drained of life. His body had turned cold and much more blood had run out. 

“Even if we take him to the hospital, he will die from blood loss. And if he did live, it would still be in vain since he will meet the same fate as the others.” Jongho spoke softly. Hunter shakes his head, “This is such a cruel world.”

Jongho sighs, giving him a handkerchief, “This is the real world, Hunt. You have to accept this is what has become and this is why we are here. To bring justice to them, even if they did the opposite.”

You were honestly not yourself after seeing the investigator. His chubby cheeks that made him look like a cute grizzly bear pulled you close to him that even if it wasn’t your place to be in their case, you found yourself pulling up when the mafia leader came in bursting through the doors after he found out that you were still there and saw the two investigators inside the warehouse.

As planned by the mafia leader, “Leave traces.” His men chased after them. And here they were, inside your car being chased down by a mafia leader. 

“I think I’m gonna puke.” Jongho turned to Hunter, horrified, “Hunter dude, please.”

“Not kidding hyung!” 

“Here!” You threw him a plastic bag to which he immediately opens it and hurls. Jongho exhales, cheek puffed as he apologizes to you, “He doesn’t take on roller coaster rides.”

You threw him a playful gaze, “Figures.”

It was when your car pulled up to an alleyway, your car fitting perfectly on the small shallow space of the two apartments. You shut down the engine, turning off everything before rolling down the window, turning to them both, “I know you’re both curious but I can always serve you guys some tea.”

Hunter and Jongho once again, glance at one another. Meeting an ex-mafia is like meeting the second lead in a drama. Jongho was not expecting them to be the main in your messed up life either. As you poured tea in his cup while Hunter had his eyes roaming the shabby space. The small table that had a few chairs while you sat down on your worn out bed, on the foot was just a table and a radio. It is a studio apartment after all.

Jongho eyed Hunter, “Dude, behave.” Hunter heard yet it went past the other ear, “Yeah .. Yeah I won’t.” You chuckle, “Sweetheart there’s nothing much here.”

You sigh, returning your gaze on Jongo who is waiting for you to say, “I retired from the mafia world 4 months ago.” You started, your coat hanging on the rack revealing you in a corset vest and flare black pants, showing off your curves. Sitting down, you threw one leg onto the other, “Those men chasing you? They were my old buddies.”

Hunter gulps down the tea, feeling his entire organs calming down, “If they were, why were they trying to kill you?”

You shrug, not really knowing about their intentions, “Someone said I tip them off to the police after I resigned since I left with a total of 500 of them working with illegal drugs and then when I received from my old assistant, there were at least 300 of them and lower and lower everyday.”

“Total? You mean there were many of them in that place?” Jongho asks, hands on the cup, shaking his head, “Total means that I have calculated that there were hundreds of them working in different places.”

“Like?”

“In Jeju, at least 100?, In Busan about 50 above but the majority of it is here in Seoul, at least 250 were active but since I have resigned, many must have fled.”

Hunter glances at you then around the place. Jongho picks up Hunter's aura and his body language, looking at you, “You spoke about that man being your buddy? Is he still selling drugs?”

“I guess but I haven’t tried many ways to contact my assistant without compromising them.”

“Because their technology advances each time they trade drugs and earn money to buy equipment.” Hunter spoke. You glance at him, his eyes still roaming your shabby apartment, nodding slowly. “Yeah, that would answer his question … how did you know?” Hunter finished his exhibition in the room, “You’re an undercover agent.”

You frowned, slightly taken back before turning to Hunter, who is looking at you, head tilted to the side. You set a breathy laugh, “Sweetheart, finish your tea and you can take a rest there—”

“Your secretary is the receptionist downstairs. She spoke about your room being cleaned by one of the staff and encrypted those words saying that you are safe and that those guys are no longer following us and had lost sight of our car. Your car? It went from a small beetle to a Mercedes 300i, it was sleek when you turned the corner, when I said I’m getting sick and looked at the side mirrors to see it was different.”

“You are an undercover agent. You already gave yourself off when you met us in the warehouse.” You crossed your arm, “And how?”

“Your lipstick. It had the SPD’s logo on the cover.” Jongho pulled out the lipstick and it clattered on the table. Jongho smirks, finishing the rest of his tea before leaning backwards on his chair. “Great job Hunter.” 

Hunter chuckles, “No problem hyung ~” 

You were not expecting this at all, your true identity being revealed so easily with just a simple examination of your room and you were dumb at the thought of your lipstick falling off your jacket. 

Since they have revealed your identity and intention, you no longer have to pretend. You sigh, uncrossing your arms as you stand up. Taking the lipstick in your hand, pocketing them. 

“I like you.” You spoke, ruffling his hair before turning to Jongho, raising an eyebrow, “He’s brains and you?”

Jongho pokes his tongue on the inside of his cheek, “You’ll know if you agree to help us.” 

You set off a chuckle, “Am I not?” You pushed a button underneath your table, the table shifted causing Jongho and Hunter to hold on to them. The floor opened like a mouth but in circular motion. You sat on top of the table, “The man called Fred. He has been a mafia leader for the past 8 years. He had kidnapped at least 150 people a year.” The table went down like an elevator, engulfed in small lights before they were met in a much different room.

It is very elegant and smells like an expensive living room. The table changes from a wooden table to a matte looking square table while being enshroud with a mini stairs. The small kitchen turned into a bar with few stools. A projector came out showing a map of Seoul. Standing up, you marched towards the island of Jeju, “Like I mentioned, this place was active when I resigned.”

Jongho stands up as well, “Our department had already shut down this place.” You nodded, “I heard but it is still active after mingling with your chief. It may look close but there are still people inside.”

“Missing people?”

“They’re victims, kidnapped people.” Jongho nodded. Hunter exhales, “But why is the paper said otherwise.”

You turn to him, “What papers?”

Jongho sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose, “The reports. Now we know why they can’t finish this case. They’re involved after all!” 

You hum, looking at the map before someone enters the room. Mingi, your personal bodyguard, burst into the room when he halted and stared at the two new figures inside your room.

Jongho stared at Mingi up and down, “What? Mingi-hyung?” You gaze at Jongho then towards Mingi who you beckon to give you the reports you requested, “He’s been in my care.”

Jongho stared at the tall man, who flinched under his blazing eyes, “Man! I thought you resigned because you were being abused by our chief and you just resigned because you work here all along?! We have been doing cases for so long and you never mention anything! I thought we're brothers!” 

“He-Hey man, we are…” Mingi raised his hand up like in 'surrender' before turning to you. Mingi gave you the report. You skimmed the first page, your frown deepens. The more you flip, the more worrisome it becomes. Jongho glances at you, crossing his arms, "It better hope to be good news because we're losing each second and these people are either being tortured, or they are being kidnapped right now."

You scoffed, not liking how his attitude had drastically changed over the moments you have been investigating about the case. Hunter stares at the map, taking a step closer. The projector zoomed in and showed the buildings. It showed a lot of missing people, and some were found dead, others were not. He frowns, staring at the map.

There are only a few who were reported about the missing cases of these people plus the bank transfers. You stare at the name of the paper and the dates when the missing people were last seen and the transactions. Some were found in the same building and others were not. But something catches your eye, something that the other investigators might have missed. Hunter turns his attention on the map, squinting his eyes. He turns to you, pointing at the map, "This is the location."

You nodded, "But this could also mean that Joe— his new boss probably must have tracked down my last scene and is on the act.”

“They must still be active.” Mingi intervenes, clearing his throat, “If I may interrupt but from what Kia had tracked down but apparently Sebastian— the new boss.” Mingi turned to you to which you nodded, crossing your arms, “He is apparently holding a grand ball to expand more of their “business” and they invited your chiefs too.” 

Mingi said, pointing at Jongho and Hunter. He then looked at you, “Kia can go further but her IP has been blocked but thankfully it's a burner one and no one is able to locate her.” You nodded, throwing the report on the table. It had been a while since you were on act. 

“You should go for the grand ball.” Everyone’s eyes darted to Hunter. Jongho turned to Hunter with a furrowed brow, "Are you serious? These people are dangerous, and we’re already walking on thin ice.”

Hunter met Jongho's gaze, his determination unwavering. "Yes, hyung. It's our best shot to get inside and gather intel without raising too many suspicions." You leaned back, crossing your arms as you observed the exchange. "He's right. This grand ball could be our chance to find out more about their operations and who's really pulling the strings."

Jongho huffed, rubbing his temples. "Fine, but this doesn't mean I'm thrilled about this plan."

"Good," you interjected, "because you'll need to be sharp. Sebastian won't let just anyone into his circle, so you'll need to play your roles perfectly." You groan, walking towards the bar, pulling out your all-nighter drink and pouring yourself on a shot glass, “Sebastian is one tight man. He grips his reign and it won’t be easy to push him off his ride.”

The room fell into a tense silence as everyone processed the gravity of the situation. Mingi shifted uncomfortably, sensing the growing tension between Jongho and you.

Jongho’s frustration bubbled to the surface. "Why should we trust you? An ex-mafia? Are you kidding me? You were part of them, and now you're suddenly helping us? What's your angle?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, feeling your own temper rise, your head tilting to the side. Mingi notices your change of attitude, he walks towards you to which you raise your hand to halt in his step. Placing your shot glass down with a loud thud, almost breaking the glass.

 "I was. I was a mafia because I took down my father’s business after he resigned. Being next in line I have to be part of the throne. And because of the overflowing illegal, my higher-ups were soon seeing the limelight and I was scared!”

You didn’t notice you were face to face with him, breathing heavily as the thought of multiple gunshots echoing your ears just to take down a few leaders “And I have to take care of it. I've risked my life to gather this information and help you. If you can't see that, then maybe you're not cut out for this case after all."

Jongho slammed his hand on the table, startling Hunter and Mingi. "Don't question my dedication! I've been in this department for years, closing cases and putting criminals behind bars. I don't need a lecture from someone who couldn't even decide which side they're on."

Hunter stood between you two, trying to diffuse the situation. "Hyung, we need to stay focused. This is bigger than any of us individually."

You took a deep breath, reigning in your anger. "Hunter’s right. We need to work together if we want to bring down Sebastian and his entire operation."

Jongho's jaw tightened, but he nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But if you pull anything, I won't hesitate to take you down."

You smirked, the tension easing slightly. "I wouldn't expect anything less, officer."

You were still agitated with Jongho’s sudden burst of accusations at you. You were offended, yes you would be because you were a mafia— ex mafia but you deserve the position you have right now and been serving justice to those who needed it after being used and abused during the era of your father. You despised his business, so you took advantage of what you have in your hands.  

After hours of preparation, you were able to snatch an invitation card and sneak in. Hunter and the rest of the team sit in a dimly lit surveillance van, eyes glued to the multiple screens in front of them, Mingi on standby outside the van casually looking around. Each screen displayed a different angle of the grand ball, the opulent event filled with Seoul’s elite and underworld figures alike. Hunter's fingers flew across the keyboard, keeping tabs on your location through a small camera hidden in your earring.

"You got this," Hunter muttered under his breath, adjusting his earpiece. "Keep calm and follow the plan." 

Inside the grand ballroom, you made your entrance. Your dress was a masterpiece of design—a floor-length, deep emerald gown that shimmered with every step you took. The fabric clung to your curves before flowing out in a graceful train. The neckline was elegant, plunging just enough to be daring but not overly revealing. Your hair was styled in loose waves, cascading down your back, and a pair of diamond earrings completed the ensemble.

Jongho, stationed discreetly near the entrance, caught sight of you. For a moment, he was speechless, his usual professional demeanour faltering. You look beautiful. Stunning, even. He keeps reminding himself that you were the undercover agent everyone is talking about back inside the office yet he didn’t give any attention as he is busy getting himself more cases and cases to prove himself worth and to give him a better work or harder cases.

 He felt a strange mixture of admiration and protectiveness wash over him, a sensation he wasn’t used to in his line of work. 

And the guilt inside stirring like a pot of hot soup inside his stomach. He grimaced the look that keeps flashing in his head on how awful he felt when he accused you when all you are doing is your job.

As you glided through the room, you made small talk with various guests, your eyes always scanning for Sebastian. The atmosphere was filled with the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the soft strains of classical music.

“Stay focused,” Hunter’s voice came through your earpiece, grounding you. “Sebsatian is in the VIP section with the rest of the party, it’s on the east side of the bar.”

You hum, smiling at the man that you were talking to before walking away. You followed what Hunter said and let yourself walk in like you were part of the VIP. Just as you were nearing the VIP section where Sebastian was likely holding court, you noticed a few men in dark suits moving in your direction. They were too coordinated, too intent on their target—you.

Your heart began to race. Panic started to creep in, but you kept your face composed, trying to maintain your cover. You quickened your pace, hoping to lose them in the crowd.

Suddenly, you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, pulling you into an alcove. A coat covering the two of you as you notice a couple of feet fleeing away from the two of you. Instinctively, you prepared to defend yourself, your fist ready to strike.

“Easy, it’s me,” Jongho whispered urgently, his grip firm yet reassuring. You relaxed slightly, recognizing his voice. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the chaos around you faded. Jongho’s gaze was intense, a mix of concern and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

You nodded, your pulse gradually slowing. “I thought they had me.”

“They have to pass through me first then.” He spoke, while keeping eyes on you. Your breath hitch in the back of your throat, not recognizing the feeling inside your stomach but something Jongho is really familiar with. He had never admitted to anyone about what he feels but right now, he is ready to explode with the right words to you.

“Jongho– we have to get moving.” The grand ball continued in a whirl of elegance and deceit, but your focus remained sharp. With Jongho by your side, you both maneuvered through the crowd towards the VIP section, where Sebastian and his entourage were gathered.

"Target in sight," Hunter's voice crackled in your earpiece. "Proceed with caution. We're monitoring everything from here."

As you approached the VIP area, Sebastian's men tried to block your way. Jongho was quick to act, disarming one of the guards with a swift movement and knocking him out with a well-placed punch. You followed suit, using a combination of martial arts and agility to take down another guard.

Sebastian, realizing the commotion, attempted to flee. You and Jongho exchanged a glance, wordlessly agreeing to split up and cut off his escape routes. Jongho took the right flank, while you moved left, weaving through the panicked guests.

In a swift, coordinated effort, you cornered Sebastian near an emergency exit. He was surrounded by his remaining guards, but they were no match for your combined skills. Jongho incapacitated two of them with precise strikes, while you used a concealed taser to neutralize another.

Sebastian, now desperate, pulled out a gun. But before he could even aim, you disarmed him with a quick kick to his wrist, sending the weapon skidding across the floor. Jongho tackled him to the ground, pinning him with a knee to his back.

"You’re under arrest," Jongho stated, securing Sebastian's hands with a pair of cuffs.

The rest of the VIPs, seeing their leader subdued, tried to make a break for it but were swiftly apprehended by the undercover officers who had been strategically positioned around the ballroom. The operation was a resounding success.

Back in the surveillance van, Hunter and the rest of the team cheered, their relief palpable. "Great job, everyone," Hunter said, his voice filled with pride. Looking at Jongho, “You did amazing hyung.”

As the chaos settled and the authorities began processing the arrested criminals, you and Jongho found a moment of quiet outside the grand hall. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the heated action of moments before. You were talking to one of the chiefs of the undercover department when you noticed him approaching you, you spoke something to the chief before they thanked you and left to speak to other officers.

You sigh, crossing your arms. Jongho chuckles, rubbing the back of his head in awkwardness. Jongho turned to you, his expression sincere. "Look, I was a dick and accusing you when you meant good is really a huge dick move.”

You raised an eyebrow, exhaling sharply, “It is.”

 Jongho grimaced, observing how the hairs of your skin stood up as you were exposed in the air with your dress not being able to provide you warmth. Jongho shrugs off his blazer and places it on top of your shoulders, “I owe you an apology. For doubting you and for my behavior earlier. I was wrong."

You gave him a playful smile, easing the tension. "Well, I might forgive you... if you take me on a date first." Jongho chuckled, relief and amusement mingling in his eyes. "Deal. How about dinner tomorrow night?"

"It's a date," you replied, feeling a sense of accomplishment and anticipation.

[chrispywhispy]

First Kiss

I felt like writing for some reason and decided to write about one of my oldest ships, NoiCle from DMMD. Yes, a DRAMAtical Murder fanfic in 2024. There’s not much involved in here except for some kissing. Anyway, I just wanted to share these two 💚💛

Electronics has always been Noiz’s forte.

Whether it was hacking, fixing AI, or participating in Rhyme, he could do just about anything as long as it involved technology. It wasn’t a surprise when he saw a discarded and half damaged android while passing by a dingy alley. He’s fixed robotic pets before, but most definitely not a full scale model of what looked like a human, with half of its face torn off to reveal mechanical innards. Noiz was eager to explore new territory, and maybe even stave off some boredom, so he took the damaged robot and began working on it for the next few months. 

His hard work of staying up every night to monitor and run diagnostics was rewarded by a chipper voice as the android introduced himself by the name of “Clear,” now fully functional and repaired of missing skin and wires. The robot was a lot more expressive than he ever could, which made him equally amazed and jealous of his bubbly personality. Seriously, the guy was so lifelike, you’d never think he was all gears inside from all the programming behind the scenes. 

And speaking of personality, Noiz wasn’t sure if following him around his messy apartment was also part of it, but he didn’t seem to care either way. Clear just liked to observe him playing games on the hologram or fixing something on screen. He would also ask multiple questions a day, almost akin to a toddler with a mind of his own. Well, he did fix him. It’d be natural for the robot to be curious about anything and everything from someone who fixed him. 

Noiz also taught Clear the wonders of food, (not that he needed to eat but whatever,) things he enjoyed, testing out his features and whatnot. He had to admit, he was slowly falling more and more interested in Clear. He would deliberately insist on cooking for him instead of ordering take out pizza, and would even drag him outside for some fresh air. The industrial district wasn’t really as fresh from where he lived, but walking beside Clear’s unusual cheerfulness made the atmosphere ten times more enjoyable than being alone like he always was.

Today Noiz felt particularly lazy and stayed inside, laying back on his worn couch to click the TV’s channels on with a swipe of his thumb on the remote. Clear joined him soon after, just a comfortable distance of half a meter. Not that he was calculating. He just felt the shift of the couch move from Clear’s weight, who was inching closer by the second. 

“Noiz-san?”

Noiz mumbled a short hum of acknowledgment to let Clear know that he was listening, anticipating whatever he wanted to ask this time. He admired that Clear was respectful with his ‘-san’ but it was technically unnecessary given that he was younger than most mechanics out there.

“Why do you have piercings on your face?” 

“I just think they’re cool.” Not exactly a lie. He once saw a piercing shop and returned every few weeks or so to get more wherever part of his body could reach.

“Do they hurt?” 

Well that was a new one. The blond turned to face Clear’s ever so curious gaze, finding nothing but pink shiny eyes full of wonder. It’s not like they ever hurt on the day he got them. He couldn’t even feel an ounce of pain no matter how many injuries he got. 

“Not really. Why?“

“It just sort of looks like it does since it goes through your skin and all.” Clear points to one of them, his head tilted slightly to the side.

Eh, it wasn’t the most gruesome one. Probably even tamer. Worst case scenario would be a knife to the skull. That’d be a great piercing for sure. 

“Y’get used to it after a while. It makes for a nice permanent accessory so you don’t have to remove and put it on all the time.”

This time the android tilted his head back to its original position and put a hand on his chin in a classic thinking pose. What could he be thinking about anyway? Staring at his piercings so much… Actually, on second thought;

“If you’re so curious about them how about I show you what they can do?” 

Clear breaks his pose, only to be followed by wide beaming eyes. It was almost sparkling. He was sparkling. “Really? Please show me, Noiz-san!” 

Noiz sighed and stifled a smile of his own. He’s already got him hooked on, might as well play along right? To start, he points at the ring piercings on  one of his brows.

“You see, these make me look more expressive. I don’t express as much emotion as you so I got them.” He received a fascinated nod by Clear, to which the other replied; “That’s true. It makes up for the rest of your eyebrows. They’re very short.” 

He raised said pierced brow. “Hey, just because it’s short doesn’t mean they make up for it, idiot.” 

So what if his brows were short? They’ve always grown that way. He felt weirdly offended and pinched Clear’s cheek out of impulse. 

“O-Ow…!” Noiz allowed himself to grin this time as Clear scrunched his face up with a pout. “What was that for!” 

“Making fun of my brows.” He didn’t mean it in the slightest, but he enjoyed Clear’s reactions. Their banters always came as naturally as the wind. 

“Now these,” The blond pointed to the studs horizontally across his nose bridge. “They help me sneeze.” He glanced down Clear’s hand, prying one off his lap to replace his own. “Go on, try and pinch them.” 

As hesitant as he was just after being pinched playfully, Clear placed his index and thumb on the cold metal and waited. Noiz faked himself a sneeze as soon as Clear’s fingers touched the studs, eliciting a small gasp from the android. “See?“ He pointed to the last piercings on his face just below his lips. “Finally, these help me speak when I’m kicking ass. Cool, isn’t it?”

Today was probably the most he’s ever spoke in his life playing for a simple prank. Of course, whatever he said was total bullshit, but the way Clear attentively listened and observed with such focus, taking in every fact like some newfound discovery, made it hard to break the truth to him. 

“Wow… that’s amazing, Noiz-san!”

The android cheerily clapped his hands with a bright smile, almost as blinding as the sun. “Do you have more?” Clear’s lashes fluttered with eagerness, face inches away from his. 

Oh he does alright. 

“Well… I have this one right here.” 

Noiz stuck his tongue out to show the piercing embedded there, drawing out a look of astonishment and a hint of pink of the android’s face. That gave him an idea. 

“Wanna test it out? You did help me sneeze.” 

That seemed to make Clear blink, eyes glued to his tongue as he drew out a slow, “What will it… do?” 

“You’ll see.” At this point the distance between them was almost nonexistent, and If he was going to hell for this, Noiz will make sure it’ll be heaven for him and Clear. So Noiz leans in for their first kiss. It wasn’t any different than a human’s, and Clear’s adorable squeak to intimacy pleased something in him he never thought he had. 

The blond also takes the opportunity to study Clear’s features up close. He’s worked on him for months but the robot never failed to mesmerize him with how human he looked. His hair, albeit synthetic, was silky smooth to the touch. His porcelain skin soft and pale with two moles adorning his chin. His pastel pink eyes crowned with long snow white lashes carefully laced with precision. This unit was a work of art. His cheeks were now flushed the same color as his eyes at the contact of Noiz’s warmth. He was even able to react to sensations and temperature. 

Noiz began to test the waters by running his pierced tongue against Clear’s soft lips. The android made a sound of surprise and tentatively parted his lips to let Noiz enter, tasting and feeling the piercings he was oh so curious about. Truth be told, the only sensation he could feel was his tongue, and he hadn’t expected Clear to taste oddly sweet. Did he eat candy or was he just naturally tasty? Either way, Noiz wasted no time exploring what Clear had to offer, enjoying this manmade masterpiece letting out soft hums and pants. 

He pulled the android closer by the cheek, while the other hand snaked around his waist. They would’ve gone hours making out if it weren’t for the need to breathe. Noiz had to pull away much to Clear’s dismay.

“How’s that?” 

Clear almost wanted to go for a second round but decided to lick his lips instead, missing the taste of Noiz already. The cold metallic dud on his sensors made the experience strangely addicting.

“It was… good.” Good enough for him to bashfully turn away, making the blond snicker. “You have the nerve to look away from our first kiss.”

“E-Eh?!” 

Clear’s blush had already darkened into a nice shade of tomato red since they locked lips, now impossibly redder than ever. Noiz found it fun to tease this little white rabbit. 

“This really is my first kiss with Noiz-san… hazukashii~!” The android now fully covered his face with his hands, ears bright red complimenting his silver hair. 

“You just noticed that now?” Noiz found himself smiling at the flustered mess that was Clear, bringing his hands down despite Clear’s shy protests. 

“Let’s make that a second kiss then.”

Clear’s complaints soon died out once Noiz took his lips for another session, melting in his embrace. Although Noiz had other plans to spicen up whatever they had going on, he didn’t want to rush Clear into something he wouldn’t want. Like the ones on his… you know what. And so they shared kisses throughout the day onwards, teasing Clear and Clear teasing him back. 

It was a good time, and not once has Noiz regretted fixing Clear since the day he found him.