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gyuswhore · 1 year ago

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Remembrance of Ice

"Fear does anything but land with precision."

PAIRING: ice king!xu minghao x fem spy!reader

SYNOPSIS: Xu Minghao rules over a land where the sun never rises and crops never grow, shunned by the world for their nature so ruthless it has them caged within their borders.

That is, until you land straight into the dragon's den to find the story untold.

CONTAINS: angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, kinda lore heavy, reader and minghao are in a perpetual spat, talks of military and political power, manipulation (not by minghao), ft. chan

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

masterlist

[AN]: MIKA DAY MIKA DAY MIKA DAY except im a day late bc I don't know how to time manage ANYWAY mika my love I hope you enjoy this you mentioned villain hao that one time and I stuck to it praying this is good ksjgnvrkjgn @toruro

id love to turn this into a longer, more detailed fic in the future, I really like this concept and theres loads more I could do with it. lmk if you'd like to see it hehe

edit: had to repost a couple times cuz it wasn't showing in the tags. it still isn't but idc anymore if this only reaches mika then so be it sgnkrtjg

The cold was the worst.

Your iced pride had been swallowed down to accept the flimsy cloth the guards that pushed you into this stone dungeon had given you. Not that it was doing much to help you, the thin fabric acting as more of a permeable layer than your gear.

Huddling into yourself, you breathe out warm exhales in the hopes that it’d do something about the face you couldn’t feel anymore. With the sight of your discolouring fingernails, you hope the people in this wretched place would decide what they wanted to do with you before you succumbed to the cold. There’s a bad taste in your mouth at the thought of dying a death like this – that the cold would become your ultimate demise.

The croning of the metal doors of your prison wrench open in what feels like a deafening sound, the screech having you throw the flimsy blanket off your body in haste. You would not be seen taking advantage of their supposed kindness.

The two guards that trudge in are quick to tell you to stand. You nearly laugh at the prospect of doing anything they ask.

“What do you want?” your voice has eroded to a brassy sound.

“Stand up,” the guard repeats, his face covered in the black balaclava that wraps around everything but spares his eyes. Cold, dark, soulless.

Your pride screamed to refute. But you were at a dead end, and perhaps it was time to accept it. Eyeing the weapons strapped to both their waists, moreso the lack thereof of your own, you make the first attempt to pull yourself up. It’s difficult, you find, needing a moment to regain your senses before pushing up completely. You tried not to show it, not wanting to look weak in front of the very people you need to show strength.

“Hands,” the other guard gruffs out.

You hesitate before bringing your shivering wrists forward, cursing yourself for not being able to control your own body. The cuffs they bind to your wrists are somehow even colder, and you have to consciously bite back a cursed wince.

Your resolve begins to truly thin when you struggle to simply take a few steps forward, the muscles in your legs frozen like everything else in the room. You manage to not fall. A commendable feat when your goals went from overtaking a couple of (very armed) guards to simply not falling over like a newborn fawn.

You feel them lightly shove you out the gates, something you should not have struggled to recover from from, but alas, you can only grit your already ground teeth as you try to not tip over entirely. The halls of the dungeons are made of the same gray concrete as your cell, the tight corridor leading you out into an only slightly larger hall with a single door at the seemingly dead end.

The large brass handle with the distinct reptile circling its expanse stares at you. You are forced to consider the idea that these may be your final breaths.

One of the guards squeezes out into the hall and approaches the door, three sharp knocks to the wood before you hear a muffled “come in.”

Your feet remain planted to the floor as you feel another push of the guard that remains behind you, urging you forward as the other one stands at the door, expecting you to walk inside. Perhaps some would classify this as a moment of weakness, especially when all you’ve been taught is to face death with anything but fear. But it seeps into your bones regardless.

You wonder if all those stories you were told of fearless soldiers and sheilds of humans were as lionhearted in their final moments as the storytellers claimed, as brave as the legends that followed.

You considered yourself one of the best in your field, most of your peers agreed. And yet, that moment of hesitancy in the face of potential death caged you in an unimaginable retaliance. What on Earth was wrong with you?

And so you moved forward, one foot in front of the other with resilience fueled by pure outrage at your own feeble mind. You would do as you were taught, you would march into the mouth of the dragon because you were not allowed to fear death. You refused to meet your end as a coward.

The cuffs that encase your wrists burn at the skin as you walk into the room. It’s small, small enough to force you and the two guards to shift closer to keep from the man that stands across the room.

You almost don’t notice him, which alarms you immensely. Regardless of the stark black attire that matches the dark, gloomy atmosphere of the tiny room, the man seems to blend into the shadows, becoming part of the walls. His back faces you as he looks out the window, like he’s invigorated with the snow that drifts to the earth.

It’s nighttime. It’s always night time here.

“The prisoner, sire,” the one in your left gruffs out.

The man at the window turns to face you, the sight of his face causing you to bite back a gasp.

His skin is the same colour as the snowflakes that fall behind him, near glistening white. It seems to make every other feature of his face stand out in earnest; the black of his eyes, the crimson of his lips, the dark of his hair.

He’s gorgeous, you decide, but you also decide that you may be about to die at his hands.

There’s also the matter of how he was addressed by the goons that flank you. Unless sire means something else in this godforsaken land, you should have realized who this is by now.

Xu Minghao’s expression remains unchanged, the mild disinterest evident as he barely glances at you before taking a seat at the makeshift office area in the middle of the room. He leans back against the plush, finally regarding the other people in the room with words.

“You can leave.”

You hear the guards begin to file out the room.

“Ah—take off the restraints before you go. And shut the door.”

You want to describe what his voice sounds like, and while indifferent to another, it’s like a million icicles plunging into your eardrums. It isn’t until the guard blocks your view to unlock you that you realize how strained your eyes were, like it was draining to simply look at him.

When both guards have left the vicinity, doors closed with a deep thud, you set yourself in steel. Just because he was about to kill you didn't mean you were about to make it easy for him.

You wonder why a king was meddling to discard a mere enemy officer, but if you knew anything of their bloodthirst, this was a form of amusement.

“Well?” you say, your voice still bare-there.

“Take a seat.” He means the lone chair that stands on your side of the table.

“No,”

His eyebrows shoot up, “No?”

You stare at him, and it's the first time he’s looked at you for more than three seconds.

“No,” you reiterate. “If you’d like to eliminate me, I’d suggest we cut to the chase. I don’t want your bleak hospitality.”

“Are you offering your head?”

“I’m asking you to quit the niceties. We know what you are.”

He studies you for a moment before continuing quietly, “Who is we?”

Your jaw is set as you calm yourself down, “The people who keep coming into your barren lands, only to never return. My people.”

“Your people that keep invading this barren land, only to find out that actions have consequences?”

“The mere thought of us is a consequence for you vermin,” you spit.

“Your people, you had said?” There’s a strange hint of jest in his voice, and it only infuriates you even more.

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“Your people who have not once attempted to negotiate your release from us vermin, I thought your people were known for your camaraderie. Especially for such an important soldier, do they truly consider you that disposable? ”

The low fester of embers had now ignited into a full flame, the rage becoming near indescribable. Aside from how heinous, you had underestimated how infuriating his kind could be.

“You know nothing of me!” your voice is loud, your own shade of venom that laces your tongue.

And then he says your name.

You falter.

He shouldn’t know that. You don’t have a nametag, nothing to identify you on any record, anywhere. And yet, you know what you’ve heard is your name that fell from his lips, undeniably so.

He continues with the faintest sneer, “Captain of the SUN team, first in line from your peers for a promotion, and of course, right hand of your idiotic General of the Army.”

You can't be sure if you’re shivering from the cold or the rage that courses through every vein in your body. Perhaps it was the latter as you feel your mind shortcircuit at the sight of his smug face.

And, of course, with the way you lunge.

It takes barely a second for your numb fingers to reach his pristine throat, curling with the need to rupture his airways beyond measure. It also takes him barely a second to step out of the way, causing you to thud into the table, fingers faltering as they grasp onto nothing.

The air is knocked out of your chest, and you don’t realize what’s happened. He’s quick, and you’re out of shape. He’s on the other side of the table, hands in his pockets as he stares at your weak attempts at regaining your bearings.

“This is the problem with your people. Why must your first response to any confrontation be to fight to the death?”

Leaping over the table, you attempt to corner him against the wall, only to find him leap over to the other side of the table when you advance, switching your initial spots. It might have even been laughable if you weren’t so heated, like children running around in circles in a lethal game of tag.

He takes advantage of yet another moment of weakness you’ve shown, pushing the separating table directly into you, forcing you back as you stumble to hit the window. The opening is just enough to fit your waist, with no room for your legs to leap back over, locked in at the sides of the table that effectively cages your body between wood and glass.

Your first instinct is to push the wretched thing back, but you realize very quickly that you can’t. It shouldn’t explain how he was able to cage you in a place like this, especially with his scrawny build. Unless he’s locked it in place somehow, you wouldn’t put it past him.

“What the fuck?” you gasp out to mostly yourself.

“You’ve weakened, little soldier. I heard you were better than this.”

“Let me go so I can prove it to you then,” you spit, still fruitlessly struggling against your prison.

“Had your chance,” he states, hands in his pockets, an eyebrow cocked. “Of course, fear does anything but land with precision. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“What makes you think I’m scared of you?”

“Oh, you are such a simpleton,” he narrows his eyes.

“You haven’t been talking about anything of substance for someone who doesn’t claim to be scared. What’s holding you?” you gruff.

He stares for a moment like he’s studying you. For some reason, your struggling falters, his piercing gaze leaving you wondering what he had up his sleeve.

“You know you are weak. Your strength isn’t nearly where it had been when you arrived. I’ve also been told you’ve been starving yourself.”

“I said I don’t want your hospitality!”

“You were supposedly indifferent to everyone in the room, including the guards, but you kept your eyes on me like a hawk. The first mention out your mouth was of death.”

“Was I supposed to expect compassion?” you mock, but the desperation lingers in your voice.

“Can’t be helping knowing nobody is looking for you,” he finishes.

“Because you would’ve sent me on my way home if they were? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Quite right, yes.”

“Like you did with the other soldiers that seemingly disappear in your lands?”

“Nobody asked, so we did not deliver.”

“Lies!” It comes out as a near scream.

You think of all the stretched months that turned into inevitable years trying to retrieve your lost manpower. Of course, your higher-ups asked for hostage negotiations, did everything in their power to bring them home.

Fitting for the man in front of you to deny it, but infuriating nonetheless.

“And you’re wildly defensive,” he sighs. “You’re scared. Of being in enemy territory, of dying, of being alone. One or the other, that’s for you to decide.”

You want to scream again.

“They lied to you, soldier. And I may be a villain in your self-written history books, but you will come to know of the harsh truth, from me or anybody else. You should know what exactly it is that you’re fighting for.”

“What are you yapping about?”

He turns back around, moving to the door before rapping a knock. The guards re-enter the room.

“Take her to base.”

“Chan?”

He stands at the entrance of the tent, speaking to somebody in armor with a solemn expression. He turns around at the sound of his name, catching sight of you walking up.

He breaks out into a smile at the sight of you, eyes going wide as he excuses himself to sprint over. You’re not quite sure if the fatigue is causing you to hallucinate, but with the way his face becomes clearer with every step he takes, you have to convince yourself that you’re not.

As appropriate as it is to slam into him in a hug, considering you thought he was dead mere seconds ago, you can’t see yourself caring.

“They told me it was you that arrived,” he says.

“Oh my god, I thought you were dead. Everybody thought you were dead. How are you here?” you breathe into his ear.

He pulls away slowly, and you note how he doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Chan?”

“There’s a lot to unpack here. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

A lot to unpack there was, you realize, as the guards leave you with Chan when said to. The questions doubled when you entered the significantly warmer tent to find it swarming with familiar faces, busy working on tables littered with charts and papers, military symbols drifting overhead.

Chan is quick to let you know that none of the ‘fallen’ soldiers were missing at all. In fact, were stationed here at this military base.

Your gaping mouth renders no response as he fishes you both through the hustle and bustle of the industrial canopies, destination unknown. As much as you’d kick yourself for your lack of vigilance, you find yourself trusting him to take you wherever, your mind preoccupied with trying to absorb every detail of your environment.

If this was what sensory overload was, you’re not sure you like it blocking your thinking capabilities this much.

He lets you into another tent, littered with trunks and equipment, lit with a couple hardworking oil lamps. He goes to rummaging in random trunks as you watch.

“What is this place?”

“Inventory. Clothes and a bunch of other stuff,” he says as he throws you a pile of fabric. “Here, change into this, it’s warmer.”

He leaves you alone in the tent to change, which you do quickly to meet him again outside. Moving the flap of the tent away, you find him out in the snow waiting.

It isn’t until you’ve adequately cornered him that you can ask. “Chan, are being held here against your will? Is everybody here—”

“Wait, hold,” he holds a hand up to silence you. “Just—let me explain.”

You’re rendered silent in a corner of this base camp, albeit a little warmer than when you came in with the effective coat you’re now shrouded in. Other than being lost in a mine of confusion, you notice the calculated expression on Chan’s face when you bring it up. Like he didn’t know how you’d react.

“There’s been a lot of lies our entire life. One’s that we didn’t realize till we landed here,” he starts, facing the endless plane of snow to the East.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” you ask, keeping your eyes steady on him.

“These people aren’t cruel, nor are they the animals we’ve been told they are,”

“Chan, what is wrong with you?” you take a step back in mild exasperation.

“Listen, this sounds insane, but it’s only because we’ve been brought up to believe anything the government told us, anything our superiors drilled into our heads. I’d started having doubts while we were still home—”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Nobody wanted to tell you anything. You were more loyal to the General than you were to yourself!”

“I—because…” you falter. He was right.

“They’ve taken advantage of the way this land refuses to retaliate. We’ve been in the wrong this whole time.”

“I don’t know what it is that they’ve been feeding you for so long, but this isn’t the Chan that left home all those months ago.”

“You’re right,” you hear, but it’s not Chan.

Whipping your head around, you find the overlord himself walking to where you were.

“Apologies for interrupting, but I think you’re needed back there, Chan,” Minghao informs him as he regards him.

You whip back around to Chan, “Wait, you can’t just—”

“Listen, it’s going to take you a little bit, but I promise you’ll see what I mean,” he reiterates.

“This is absurd—” you start again but are cut off by him again. He lurches forward, grasping both your wrists in his, forcing you to pay attention to him.

“Do you trust me?”

“W-what?”

“Answer the question. Do you trust me?”

You stare at him, stumped for a moment. Did you trust him? Five months ago, before he left, you would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. Yet, now you find yourself hesitating.

“Yes. I trust you,” you decide out loud.

“Then give it time. You’re shaken, you’re exhausted, you’re confused. You’ll make your decision yourself when you see for yourself.”

He watches your shoulders droop ever so slightly, a clear sign of your surrender. “Fine.”

“Good.”

You turn back to find the other man long gone, the vast expanse of snow and darkness engulfing the plane that leads to the congregation of tents. Chan begins to lead you back, mumbling about how he needs to get back inside.

It’s during your trudge that you realize there’s something that still bugs you, supposing you’d get your answer if you asked him.

“What’s the king doing meddling in military bases and war prisoners?” you begrudgingly ask.

“He’s very… hands-on, I guess. He cares about what happens around here, his land, his people.”

“Like a normal ruler?” you mumble in annoyance.

“When was the last time you saw the General leave his office?”

You haven’t.

A month. That’s how long you’ve been at this base camp.

Enlightenment may be an understatement to what this place is giving you, absurdities that they call the truth. Absurdities, as you may have called them a moon ago.

This barren country did not have a military, you were told. These makeshift headquarters were made to keep up with the endless external aggressions from the other side.

“They’re all people given the choice to stay. We needed the manpower. Military precision was never our forte,” Minghao explains.

You hate how he has an answer to every critical question of yours, how you’ve gone past thinking this was some elaborate, well-thought-out story to put your guard down, to put everyone’s guard down.

Sitting at this wooden table with maps and charts littering the surface, he looks you down from the other end. Chan remains silent next to you, knowing that if you asked, he would’ve given you the same response.

“So you’re trying to build an army? To what, retaliate?” Your arms remain crossed over your middle.

“We cannot retaliate,” Chan says.

“The difference in military power is too much, anyway. We can’t fight something that fights us in different ways,” Minghao finishes. He looks stressed, pinching the bridge of his nose. You watch him drag a chair to sit down.

The majority of camp was resting for the day, leaving the base relatively empty save for the three of you.

“Different ways?” you question.

You watch him close his eyes, running a hand over his face. “Chan, you told me she was smart.”

“She’s having a harder time adjusting than I thought she would,” he chuckles humourlessly in response.

“Are you gonna tell me, or do I have to take another month to figure it out on my own?” you snap.

“What have you been told about our borders? Why is this land the way that it is,” Minghao starts.

You don’t have an answer because you’ve never been told. The general was forever adamant that a land and its people were interconnected, that Minghao’s nation was as ruthless as the land itself was.

“What about what you thought?” he tries again.

“Nature’s weird, I don’t know,” you huff.

“You were so loyal to a man that had no rhyme to his reason. How blind did you have to be—”

“Keep to the question,” you monotone.

He exhales before continuing. “This land is the incarnation of balance. It might not look like it, but we play the most important role in making sure your nations remain stable.”

“Regular communities cannot survive in this weather, the livestock perishes, and crops cannot grow. Everything that makes humanity thrive remains absent here.” Minghao places his elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “But it remains like this here so the rest of the world can foster humanity; that’s the purpose of this land.”

“A sacrifice of sorts,” Chan adds quietly.

“My land remains lifeless so others may thrive,” Minghao finishes.

“Why…why this land?” you question after a few beats.

He leans back against his chair, “I don’t know. Perhaps my ancestors were cursed. Perhaps this is just what this land was made to do. All I know is that my mother and father left me the job of ensuring this place is protected, as their mother and father taught them. All for the sake of keeping balance.”

It was wildly ironic that a place that was the definition of extreme was seemingly also harboring the balance to this world, but you found no jest in his words. You had also learned that it was the more unbelievable things here that would turn out to be most true, so you let yourself believe in whatever lore you had just unlocked.

“So you can’t retaliate,” you echo.

“Not if we wish to keep the peace, no.”

Chan chimes in this time, “This is all really just a misunderstanding that’s fallen into the wrong hands. The General’s a bloodthirsty fuck; this is just an excuse for him to retain power and satisfy all his sick fantasies.”

“How do we fix this then?” you dare to ask.

“We can’t,” Minghao says. “Not right now, at least. If we want to make a move, we have to grow as an entity. What your General doesn’t understand is how he’s feeding his own enemy whenever he sends some poor soldier our way.”

“That’s what everyone’s been working on. The SUN team is nearly complete with you here. We need to equip everyone here with skills more than anything,” Chan says.

“And then?”

“And then we let the General know who’s side we’re really on.”

Xu Minghao had a very peculiar way as King.

Other than remaining in the same bunkers as the rest of the population, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone besides the guards address him as sovereign. He sat with everyone during mealtimes, spoke to everyone like a friend, yet remained the one in charge.

Over the months, you remained the last newcomer of the bunch, learning slowly but surely of your new truth. That was, until your sixth month.

It happened during breakfast, walking out into the dark sky to greet the person Minghao had told you was the newest aggravated prisoner. You knew her from headquarters, having seen her multiple times as she trained, but never learned her name. Her brows unfurrow slightly at the sight of you, recognizing you immediately.

You try to stay as others who remain familiar to the newcomer speak to her, adding where your credibility was due. You underestimated how difficult it would be, not because she was being frustrating, but because she was frustrated.

With every surge of exasperation she showed, every snarky remark to words of reason, you saw yourself. A strange, heavy feeling sets itself in your chest, making it difficult to speak, difficult to simply stand there as you watch her ideologies rendered as lies.

So you excuse yourself, moving out of the way into the snow you’d learned to make a confidant instead of an irritation. It wasn’t strange to find somebody contemplating alone in the snow, the constant darkness ready to keep everyone company.

You aren’t sure what it is that you want to contemplate, but simply sitting in the snow helps, allowing you to remain unstimulated. The weird feeling remained, but what also remained was your brain's inability to distinguish one from the other.

You don’t know how long you had been sitting there, but are aware of the lighter sheen of blue that the sky has turned into when you hear trudging behind you. You turn to find Minghao approaching, halting a foot away.

“Did you see the newcomer?” he asks.

“Yeah. They’re handling it, she’ll be fine.”

It falls silent once more. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t warmed up to the man in the past months, perhaps even enough to call yourself friends. Chan had quite the role to play in that.

He invites himself to sit next to you in the snow, letting out a deep exhale that fogs the air. “I wanted to ask if you were okay.”

You’re stumped. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well…” he chortles. “You’ve been sitting here for a good three hours, so I only thought it was natural to assume.”

“It’s not good to assume.”

“And that you can’t be doing too well seeing the newcomer.”

“...Got me,” you whisper, still gazing into the far-off mountains.

“You can talk about it if you want,” he offers.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you sigh.

“Or is there too much to talk about?” he raises a brow.

You’ve turned to look at him at this point, making out his facial features with the low light of the lamps that burn in the distance.

“How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Know what I’m thinking about.”

“You’re easier to read than you think,” he chuckles. “Why? D’you think I’m reading your mind?”

“Seems like it sometimes.”

“Do you miss home?” he asks, albeit a little cautiously.

“I do. I miss what it meant to me. I don’t think I could go back and feel the same way, though,” you answer. If he was trying to get you to open up, he was succeeding.

“Why’s that?”

You snort, “Obvious, isn’t it? Can’t call a place full of lies home. I can’t believe I let them manipulate me to that extent.”

You think of the mental turmoil on the girl's face.

“It wasn’t your fault. You were doing what you taught.”

“Other people found holes in the story, though. They saw the beginnings of what was really happening. I was so blind, they couldn’t even try to talk me out of it.”

“You can’t keep blaming yourself. It was the General’s job to be conniving. What use if his right hand could see through it. With how long it took you to come around, it only shows how dangerous he is.”

You remain silent as you absorb his words. There was truth to them, but you find it hard to dissolve it into your mindset.

“What matters is you're here now, that you chose the truth despite what you’d grown to learn.” He’s staring right at you when he says it, something you find as you look up to do the same.

There’s a lurch in your stomach, one that has your cheeks burning despite the temperature.

“How do you not hate any of these people? How do you not hate me? We’re the reason your people are so detested,” your voice comes out shaky, yet thick with a weird mix of emotions.

“I hate the ones that choose to be like this despite knowing what the truth is.”

“Like the General?”

“Like the General.”

It’s silent as you watch him gaze into your soul, an uncomfortable feeling yet one that stops you from looking away.

You want to kiss him.

The thought alone has you jumping in place, shaking off the way your body seems to have seized up. You move your knees away in blatant ignorance, looking at anything but his face.

“What?” he asks at your sudden change in behavior.

“Nothing!” you say, a little too loud to be considered casual.

“Why’d you move away?”

“I didn’t!” Of course, you realize how stupid you sound. You huff as you continue, “Just—I don’t know!”

“You don’t know what?”

“Goodness, you need to learn to drop things.”

“Not when it involves me,” he says.

“Who says it involves you?”

“Do we need to go over this again?”

You look at him in question, only to realize he could read you just as well as he could at any other instance.

“You’re not gonna like it,” you finally say.

“Try me.”

“Would you hate me if I said I wanted to kiss you?”

He pauses for an agonizing few moments, ones that make you feel like erupting into a ball of fire that could melt all the snow in the land. Your numb fingers fidget with each other, hating yourself as soon as the words come out of your mouth.

Minghao uses his mouth in ways other than words when you feel it against your lips. It takes you a moment to realize what’s happening and another to let your body take control.

He’s kissing you so painfully slow it has you wondering if you’re imagining it, the feeling of his surprisingly warm lips on your frozen ones. You pull away for a moment, a question ringing in your mind.

“I’m not making a mistake, am I?” you breathe into his mouth.

“Absolutely not,” he says, diving back in with a force not present before.

You throw your arms around him in instinct to keep yourself from falling back onto the snow in his newfound enthusiasm. Not that you can find yourself complaining, especially not when his tongue prods against your bottom lip, urging you to open up for him.

You let him pull you closer, let him explore your mouth, let him hold you as you give yourself up to the feelings that now, after so long, have finally boiled over.

You’re both breathless when you pull away, remaining in each other’s arms as you gain your bearings.

“Figured it out, did you?” he asks with the slightest smirk.

Of course, with every passing instance that he’s reminded you of the mental walls you don’t seem to have with him, this was perhaps his end goal. You want to ask when he figured out you liked him before, wondering if he had known before you had in the first place.

He doesn’t let you, though, as his smiling lips meet yours again, chasing the feeling that's come forth after months of waiting.

You’ll find out the run down soon enough. For now, you give into him, believing in your ice-cold heart that Xu Minghao would never lie to you.

Taglist: @weird-bookworm @rubyreduji @vampirexlotita @simqly-yunjin @tomodachiii

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #minghao #minghao fluff #minghao angst #minghao imagines #minghao x reader #the8 #em.writes

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cagesofgold · 1 year ago

Text

plant dad

leaves that are green - simon and garfunkel 🎧

when you were concerned about your boyfriend's loneliness levels whilst put on a placement for your job out of town, you had no idea your efforts would have this effect.

He had become completely and irrevocably consumed. There were woven baskets with dahlias suspended from the doorways, money trees with thick healthy stems sprouting from rusted pots, and the shadow of a bird of paradise's leaves shrouding the bathroom in a peaceful level of dusk.

Jean had never expressed an interest in nature before. He had a few compositions he'd done for class featuring a clan of withering roses, yet even then he found it less interesting than drawing a card board box.

So, when you came home with a small fairy castle cactus, Jean didn't bat an eyelid, he simply commented on the warm yellow of the flowers standing proudly against the towers of green, and then continued stirring the pot of bubbling pasta.

This is what you had expected of course, but in truth, you knew Jean didn't cope well with being alone, having had the comfort of his mother's gentle humming his entire childhood, and Connie's less comforting humming before he moved in with you.

Although only for three weeks, this would be the longest amount of time you had spent away from Jean, and the longest amount of time he had been by himself. Of course you knew he'd be fine, perhaps just a little bit more clingy after your return, yet still you wanted to leave him a little company when things grew quiet. Of course since your apartment didn't allow pets, you had to settle for a less disruptive method of discreet company.

So you left the cactus, its plain white pot adjacent to the silver tap in the kitchen, with a little sheet of instructions of when to water it.

While away, you texted Jean a handful of times to ensure he was watering it, to which he replied with rather mundane responses like, "Yep." or, "Did it before class."

These responses didn't fill you with confidence, so instead you automatically assumed that your plan had failed, as any individual would.

Except the next day, whilst you sat with your shoulders hunched and body sandwiched between two business men on the subway, you recieved a picture, lighting up your face and making the austere man beside you squint.

It was a picture of the cactus, appearing even more healthy than when you first purchased it from the local market, yet it was the larger figure looming next to it that caught your eye. It was a small moon cactus, stretching upwards with a slight limp, a blood red flower enabling it to appear slightly top heavy. This cactus resided in a black pot, a deep contrast to its lighter counterpart.

"Got her a friend, think they're getting along well. :)"

A smile instantly painted itself onto your face, surprise filling every crevice within you as you typed back,

"Looks like they are :)"

A few days came and went and by now you'd spent about a week and a half at your internship, with only half to go. As you sat at your desk, leafing through a booklet of fabrics for an upcoming collection, your phone buzzed against the desk. Your lock-screen of a picture of Jean filled your view, his tan back facing the camera as he gently pulled his paintbrush across the canvas, a rainbow of paint stains littering his thick forearms. Below this sat a notification, with an attachment from Jean.

You opened the file curiously, waiting a few hesitant moments for it to load, a small circle spiraling around itself before it opened into a web page.

In pink bold letters at the top it read,

MOON AND PRINCESS'S WEDDING

the ecstatic couple would simply be over the, moon, if you could attend the day of which they profess their undying love for each other. Please contact the father of the bride, Jean Kirstein, if you are able to attend.

As you read over the file in confusion, a second text message from Jean came through, bearing a photo of the two cactus standing side by side. The princess castle's previously blank white pot had been transformed into a glittering wedding gown, with a tissue over her head as a makeshift veil, making you giggle. The moon cactus' black pot had become a luxorious tux, with a yellow bow tie to match princess' yellow flowers.

You erupted into laughter, your fingers tapping against the keyboard as you said,

"Tell moon and princess i can't wait."

Over the next week and a half you received copious photos of the new additions to the house, and photographic evidence of Jean's newfound watering can collection that was growing at a concerningly rapid rate.

Part of you was pleased that your plan ended in success, yet you somewhat feared the house you may return to, not fully prepared to weave your way through the newly established jungle.

Yet as you stood in the center of the apartment, surrounded by the loamy smell of soil and the fresh aroma of newly budding flowers, you couldn't help but feel a sense of joy at the tranquil breath of life around you, a rainbow of watering cans of differing sizes running along the top of the kitchen cabinets, with spiky ivy nestled into the chipping windowsills.

"Too much?" Jean asked hesitantly, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind slowly, the hands of which he had tenderly loved the nature around him the past three weeks touching you just as gently.

"It's beautiful, Jean." You smiled.

As you and jean lay in bed that night, tangled up in each other having just ate about as many chicken wings as it would take to feed an army, you felt an immense amount of peace within the fresh air and Jean's loving disposition.

And when Jean suddenly shot up in the middle of the night, the sheets bundling around his carved abdomen, his words didn't surprise you in the slightest, rushing out of the room as he yelled,

"Sorry, babe, i forgot to water the orchids!"

#jean x y/n #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #jean x reader #jean x you #jean imagine #jean kirschtein imagine #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtien #aot x you #aot fanfics #aot fluff #aot imagines #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #aot #attack on titan

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venerablemonk27 · 10 months ago

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Last weekend I was planning to drive out to the west side to pick up a load of birdseed. My coworker had told me that he was out at Tiedeman's Pond the other day, and I said to myself, "I bet there's ducks on that pond. I better go check." So I grabbed my camera bag on the way out the door. And folks? There were ducks.

[ID: A male Wood Duck swims on a pond of rippling blue water from left to right. The duck is presenting his entire profile to the camera, from glossy green head to dark tail tip. He has a brown body, more burgundy at the breast, with finely scaled tan and gray flanks and just a hint of teal peeking through on the wing. Each color patch is bordered with a brilliant white stripe, including a lovely pattern on the face and head. His head feathers are swept back in a longish crest that looks black except for the iridescent green where the sun has caught it. This contrasts with a striking bill in orange gradients with a white patch on top and black tip. His eye is a bold fire engine red. End ID]

I was surprised to find multiple pairs of Wood Ducks very close to the edge of the pond, because these guys will usually fly at the first sign of a human in the area. I can only assume they were desensitized by the frequent groups of walkers out with their kids and their dogs.

There were lots of other ducks to be seen: Lesser Scaups, Hooded Mergansers, Buffleheads, Ruddy Ducks, Mallards. But most of these were way out at the center of the pond and not interested in being photographed. The only exception being a small group of Ring-necked Ducks that were diving for food near the cattails.

[ID: A male Ring-necked Duck swims from right to left on the pond. It is glossy black, with light gray flanks fading to white towards the front. His bill is medium gray in the middle, black on the tip, with a bright white border around the edges, circling the nostrils, and separating gray from black. His eye is yellow orange. His feathers are beaded with water droplets from diving for food. End ID]

But it wasn't just ducks on offer that day! Spring means birds migrating back from the south and hungry from the long flight. I got to watch a pair of Great Blue Herons show up and immediately begin hunting.

[ID: A Great Blue Heron is standing in a pond, with a freshly-caught goldfish in its bill. The Heron is standing with its legs completely submerged in the water, with its long neck coiled back as it pulls up the large goldfish. The Heron is several feet tall, mostly gray, with white on their head and a dark blue cap with long trailing feathers at the back. The goldfish is at least eight inches long, and the Heron appears to have speared it on their long upper mandible, which glows orange from the bright sunlight filtering through from behind. End ID]

I was very happy to see that the Herons were doing their part to control the non-native fish population. This one had speared a very large goldfish, and had to think a minute about how to eat it. They dropped the goldfish back in the water only to recapture it for swallowing head-first. Their partner looked on from a short distance away, not having found anything while I was there.

[ID: A second Great Blue Heron slowly wades by, hunting in the shallow part of the pond. This one shows a flash of dark-blue tail feathers, and the direct sunlight offers a nice view of their bright yellow dagger of a bill and their pale yellow eye rimmed in baby blue skin. End ID]

And it wasn't just water birds that were attracted to the awakening pond. This American Crow flew down to the edge to see what small morsels might be crawling around in the mud.

[ID: An American Crow stands at the edge of the pond. The Crow is facing away from the camera, with the sunlight glinting off their glossy black feathers. They are looking toward the camera in profile, showing one brown eye and a chunky black bill. End ID]

The Black-capped Chickadees were out too. This pair had found a nice little tree cavity, and they may have been excavating it further to use as a nest.

[ID: A Black-capped Chickadee peeks out from a tree hollow, holding a small bit of something in their bill. They are just a couple inches tall, with a gray and tan body, and a predominantly black head. They have white cheeks that start at the small black bill and extend back to the neck. They are staring inquisitively at the camera, with little bits of what looks like wood stuck to their face. End ID]

The two Chickadees seemed to be working in shifts, one keeping watch outside while the other one went in to prep the house. I wonder how many generations of birds have grown up in that little knothole...

[ID: A second Black-capped Chickadee perches on a thin branch with delicate feet. They are sitting very still, keeping watch while their partner works in a nearby tree cavity. There are a few tiny flecks of what might be wood on their face. End ID]

Though, the bird that gave me the most excitement on this walk was a new one. My partner teases me, saying that I have to check every seagull to see whether they're a Herring or a Ring-billed. But on this day I had found a Bonaparte's Gull!

[ID: A Bonaparte's Gull floats out in the middle of the pond. The Gull is white with light gray wings and black wingtips. Their head is mostly gray with patches of white, possibly because they're in the middle of molting to grow their breeding plumage. End ID]

The Gull was hanging out with a nice flock of Lesser Scaups, and I knew I had a lifer in my binoculars as soon as I saw that gray head. Every so often it would take off and fly around the pond, looking for tasty fish to snatch from the surface. They never wandered all that close to me, but I got a few nice shots of those wings.

[ID: The Bonaparte's Gull flies low over the pond, on the hunt for small fish. With wings fully extended, it is apparent that the black wingtips are just a thin crescent at the tip of each primary flight feathers. The Gull is in the middle of a down stroke, head forward, orange feet tucked neatly beneath fanned gray tail. End ID]

For only visiting on a whim, this was a very productive walk. I saw 35 bird species, seven for the first time this year, and one for the first time ever. I suppose that's why birders wait all year for spring migration to start.

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rotworld · 1 year ago

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25: Roadside Attraction

(previous)

the road to anchor takes you to stranger and stranger places. but here, at least, you will find some answers.

->sexually explicit. contains terato, non-human genitalia.

The convoy stops at nightfall, filling the parking lot where a rest stop used to be. Only the ghost of a building remains, an inverted mirage surrounded by scorched grass. A pair of vending machines flicker like dying bulbs, translucent, their contents changing each time they wink in and out of existence; snack crackers. Carbonated drinks. Dead butterflies. Jamie warns everyone to keep their distance. The Verlindans pace restlessly. Malachi comes over to check on you as you stretch your legs, leaning against the crumpled hood of your car.

“How is everyone?” Jamie asks him.

“Anxious,” he says, “but morale is high.”

You study the frostbite on your fingers. They’re almost completely numb now, dried and dead to the second joint. “We’re not going to make it to Anchor tonight,” you say quietly. “We’ll be in trouble if a shift hits.”

“Could try sheltering on the Verlindan backroads,” Jamie suggests. “I’m sure they won’t love us driving back there, but given the circumstances, maybe they’ll make an exception.” You nod, unconvinced. Even if you survive the shift, you might be spat back out on the other end of the Drift. Even if you aren’t, you still have to get through Anchor’s gates. It feels more and more hopeless the further you get.

But you look across the parking lot. The people of Nelton gather in small conversational circles, talking and laughing, singing songs. The Verlindans are restless but their eyes are on the horizon. Hopeful—that’s the feeling you get. Everyone is here, following your lead, because they believe it’s worth trying. So you stow your worries and think about tomorrow instead; a house for couriers. A place with fresh eggs, warm beds, and homemade tea.

You’re on the road again soon. An hour more, the convoy agreed. If you don’t find a town, the Verlindans will begrudgingly allow you to use their paths as campgrounds for the night. It’s still dangerous, but better than being caught out on the open road during a shift. Curiosity keeps your mind occupied for a while—you’ve never seen the Verlindan backroads before, and you’ve always wondered how a place stays in one piece without anchorware—but something else captures your attention soon enough.

The salty smell you remember from Aliquando Island suddenly pricks your senses. That’s brine, you know now, a whisper of ocean. But this isn’t the narrow isthmus road. Jamie suddenly stiffens, warning you that a shift’s coming, but you don’t stop. Anchor is still far away, but something else—something familiar—is very close. The road curves. Your headlights glance over dark, churning water. A river? A lake? Through the fog and the dark, you can’t glimpse the far shore or gauge its size, but you never find a bridge to get across.

What do you find is an old wooden sign pitched at the roadside, three painted planks stacked one atop the other reading, “FERRY AHEAD.” The road curves once more, veering off over the water. It’s not a bridge but a fenced ramp, asphalt transitioning to a metal loading dock. The ferry is old and precarious-looking, a steamboat with twin chimneys and a worn, barnacle-peppered hull. Its glittering, golden light ripples on the surface of the water like drowning stars. You’ve never seen such a thing before. There is no ferry service in the Drift, no body of water large enough to warrant it.

And yet, here it sits. A man sits hunched on the ramp’s brittle fencing, standing slowly when your headlights reach him. He saunters over to your window, hands buried in the pockets of a black peacoat. His eyes are hidden in the shadows cast by the black brim of a vintage captain’s hat. You see him tilt his head, glancing through the window at you. His smile is small and bemused, like he’s seen something pleasant he didn’t expect to see. “Evening,” he says, his voice low and rough like gravel. “Headed west?”

“Is there another way across?” you ask. “We’d like to stick together and I don’t think you can take all of us in one trip.”

He chuckles. “Nah, you’ll fit just fine. The Proteus is bigger than she looks. There might be a bridge if you keep going, but there might not be. Depends on the Drift’s mood. Either way, it’s safer to go by boat. Shift’ll pass right over us on the water, you won’t get displaced.”

You can feel Jamie staring in disbelief. They must be thinking the same thing; you’ve found a place that shouldn’t exist and this sounds too good to be true. “How much?” you ask.

The man’s smile widens. You think at first he has a Verlindan’s teeth, curved and wolf-like, but where the Verlindan’s have a pair of prominent canines, he has a mouthful of daggers. “Not a thing. It’s free for kith and kin.”

It takes some coordination, a few insistent reassurances, but you’re moving again soon. You slowly ascend the ramp, your car rattling over the metal loading bay and into a darkened lower deck. The man was right; it’s much larger on the inside, cavernous and echoing like a parking garage.

“Are you sure about this?” Jamie mutters.

You are. Maybe you shouldn’t be. Maybe you should be wary and afraid. But this is your best bet to reach Anchor, and more importantly, it feels right. The hint of sea salt in the air soothes you. You get a feeling you haven’t had since Aliquando Island—that you know this place in a distant way.

The man had grinned at you with his monstrous teeth and you didn’t even feel a twinge of fear, only a sense of muted recognition.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: THE DEEP BY PHILDEL]

There’s a trembling sensation as the metal loading bay slides away from the asphalt ramp and shutters closed. The ferry blares its horn and then you’re moving. Water churns and laps at the hull. Those who came from Nelton have started settling in for the night, sharing blankets and pillows, reclining across their seats. Jamie is restless, eager to go above deck where they can at least keep an eye on the captain. You’re inclined to follow, though not out of suspicion.

The Verlindans are unsettled. They pace the length of the lower deck back and forth, whispering to one another. There’s a curving walkway with a gentle slope that carries the smell of salt and soft night wind from above. They stand guard there, as though expecting trouble, but they let you and Jamie through without a few cautious glances to one another.

“Want some fresh air?” you ask them.

“Rather not,” Glenn says. The worried expression on your face makes him chuckle and shake his head. “We’re alright, courier. Just out of our element. Not used to being on someone else’s territory.”

Jamie frowns. “What does that mean? Whose territory is this?”

“I’m not sure. Just know it’s not ours.” He looks you up and down with a contemplative expression, smiling gently as though confirming something he long suspected. “Free for kith and kin, he said? I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

You take the curved walkway above deck and a cold breeze skims the water, kissing your cheeks. It doesn’t look like the same vessel. It’s too small, too tightly compact, no room beneath your feet for half a town to park. There’s little to see—guard rails, unmarked cargo boxes stacked haphazardly, fog as far as the eye can see. The captain is sequestered away in the bridge, a silhouette behind the darkened windows. The lights are off inside, you notice, and dimmed along the sides of the ferry. Jamie walks back and forth across the deck several times before returning to you, looking perturbed.

“No anchorware,” they say. “There’s some kind of spatial anomaly at work here, but it seems stable.”

They join you at the railing, resting their arms over it. You can’t be too far from the shore you just left, but you can’t see it anymore. The water is black like ink and rippling in the ferry’s wake, dyed a dim, sunset shade of orange by the lights. It’s easy to see things in the strange, liquid motion, shapes that aren’t really there. It’s quiet; nothing but wind and waves. The smell of brine is stronger now.

“You look happy,” they note.

You shrug. “I like how the water sounds. It’s easy to relax.”

“You liked Aliquando Island, too. So…how about that beach house?” Jamie grins when they manage to get a smile out of you, draping an arm around your shoulder.

“I don’t think the Drift has all that many beaches.”

“Fine, be evasive again. I didn’t think the Drift had islands, or a ferry,” they say, gesturing at the glassy shimmer of cresting waves. “But here we are. And here you are, looking all misty-eyed and nostalgic. You should always hang onto the things that make you happy, courier.” You nod. You’re going to try. Jamie leans their head against your shoulder and you spend a long, comfortable moment like that, standing on the deck in tranquil silence. Eventually, your eyelids start to droop and you go back below deck together, Jamie’s fingers laced with yours.

Gentle snores echo on the parking level. Jamie tilts their seat back and curls up with a sweatshirt balled up under their head as a pillow. They offer you a spare, soft knit and cream-colored, as a blanket. You drift off watching them stubbornly try to stay awake longer, lashes fluttering, nuzzling against the touch of your hand to their cheek like an affectionate cat.

Someone is singing.

You jolt awake, disoriented. You can’t remember falling asleep and don’t know how long you’ve been out. A fog of exhaustion gives everything a surreal, slightly muted feeling. Jamie is still fast asleep, shoulders rising and falling with soft breaths. The Verlindans have fallen asleep in a heap of bodies, nestled close to each other over each other with what looks like a crumpled mess of picnic blankets piled beneath them. Everything is silence and stillness around you, not a soul awake except for you.

And someone is singing. You don’t know how you recognize it as song—it’s deeper than a human voice could go, lower than guttural, slow and powerful like the grinding of glaciers. But there’s a clear melody, a gradual rising and falling. There’s a message trying to be heard. You’re getting out of the car before you’re fully aware of yourself moving, drawn to the walkway that takes you above deck.

The sound is neither clearer nor closer. You pace in frustration, trying to locate the source, but nothing helps. Gripping the railing, you peer into the waves and ripples. You think you see a phantom shape in the motion, a wave that is softer, more rounded, breaching the surface before it slips beneath again. Water mists across your face. Your neck feels strange. Those sensitive patches along the sides are throbbing.

“Can you hear it?”

You didn’t notice the captain standing there, leaning with his back against the railing not far away. He’s watching you. You can feel it, even if you can’t make out his face or much of anything in the weak dusk-light of the dimmed ferry lights. His silhouette is large and intimidating, filling out his coat with a wide chest and broad shoulders, and he easily towers over you. His hands are in his pockets again.

“What is that?” you ask.

“What, indeed.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Something old and lonely.” He pushes away from the railing and starts to walk away. You follow without hesitation, falling into step with his brisk, heavy pace. “I should ask you, shouldn’t I? Where you’re from, where you’re going. Feels redundant at this stage.”

Your heart races. Your lungs burn. There’s so much you want to ask him but you can’t get the words past a lump in your throat, a suffocating pressure like a choking hand.

“Deep breaths. Don’t thrash and panic. You know how to breathe.” He pushes a door open. You expect an ascending staircase up to the bridge, but the steps go down in a winding spiral. There are no lights lining the cramped, dizzying corridor. You can’t see how far down it goes. The captain steps past you and begins descending. He pauses when he sees you aren’t following, half-swallowed by darkness.

The song is coming from below. It echoes up from the darkened staircase, low and haunting. The captain holds out his hand and it’s much larger than yours, ridges of tendon prominent beneath the skin. Thin, translucent membranes stretch across the space between his fingers. When you touch him, his skin feels slightly damp.

He leads you down. The air gets colder. The steps shriek and clatter beneath your combined weight. Eventually, you can’t even see that far ahead, the dark too deep and the surface too far away. You should have reached the bottom by now, you think, should have found yourself on the lower deck ages ago. The song grows steadily closer, louder, more defined, notes that ebb and flow with the steady slowness of the tide. You can hear the captain humming the same melody, his voice dipping into the same rumbling pitch.

“He was stranded here by a shift a very, very long time ago,” the captain says. “Where he comes from, the water is endless. It helps to have a voice that carries. That’s why our dreams are what they are, you understand? We speak while we sleep.”

Shimmering light curls at the edge of your vision. It’s gone when you turn to look at it properly. Another comes, closer this time, a luminous body that wriggles by like a floating serpent. Your eyes are adjusting. You start to notice the dark moving; flitting shapes and rippling silhouettes. Bulbous, undulating things that drift along soundlessly, tapered cones of flesh with bulging eyes and tendril-curtained mouths, gently swaying things pulsing gently with colorful light. Is this an aquarium? Some kind of submerged observation deck? The thought is dispelled as a small, darting thing flits right in front of your face and you feel it moving, the wake of its rapid escape like wind on your face.

No. Not wind. Water, you think. It’s all around you. You’re not descending a staircase but sinking slowly. That smattering of white specks like a congested night sky—those aren’t stars. It’s marine snow. The auroras are bioluminescence. All this time, you were looking in the wrong direction, thinking of an alien place impossibly far away. The captain’s coat and hat drift by and you look back to the hand gently holding yours.

He is a glimmering silhouette, twinkling dots outlining a humanoid shape. He takes your hands and presses them to his chest, urging you to touch, to feel and explore. You feel the rough, bumpy texture of his skin and powerful muscle rippling just underneath. You feel fins, both soft, short ruffles and firm, trailing flaps like sails. Sharp spines protrude from his hips like jutting bone. What you initially mistake for a wound—ripped, fluttering flesh—are actually gills, a row of them along his sides. When your fingertips graze over them, he shudders.

“Be careful where you touch,” he says. You don’t think his mouth moves, but you hear him in your head, an echoing, velvet purr. “It’s sensitive. You’re showing interest. You’re very much wanted, I assure you, but do you want?”

He lifts one of his webbed hands to your neck, stroking his thumb along the side, and heat fills your body. You press against the touch more insistently and that rumbling purr grows louder. Suddenly his hands are on your hips and he’s between your legs, giving a slow grind that makes you aware of something unusual. He’s hard, you can feel it—you’re naked and can’t remember when you got undressed, but you feel him, engorged and twitching against your inner thigh.

And he has two, you realize.

“You move too quickly, Lorne. You have only just spoken.”

That’s not his voice. That’s a whisper so powerful it fills your head, all you can hear. The song has stopped, you realize, and the darkness beside you is stirring.

Seeing the thing in the dark is dizzying and difficult to comprehend now. He is not a beast of the cosmos but of deep waters. An abyssal giant of staggering, nearly incomprehensible size, you are smaller than the one silver eye staring down at you. When he moves, you move with him, stirred by the water swirling in his wake. He is trailing fins and floating tendrils, aglow in brilliant gemstone hues. You have never seen him properly because he is glassy and delicate like a cnidarian polyp, great swaths of flesh and flowing membranes partially translucent. You can see winding internal structures, serpents of intestines and descending coils of bone.

“You move too slow,” the captain, Lorne, shoots back. He brings your legs up to wrap around his waist and rocks against you, rumbling in approval at the shiver it draws out of you. “It isn’t fair, the way you’ve been keeping them all to yourself lately. If the rest of us did courtship at your pace, we’d die of old age before we got anywhere.” He tilts your chin and mouths at the sensitive spots on your neck, the scrape of his teeth making you dig your nails into his shoulders. He sucks on a spot that pries a whimper from your throat and you’re embarrassed, painfully aware of how intently you’re being watched.

But the thing in the dark encourages you with the press of a soft tendril, pushing you further into Lorne’s embrace. “This is true. I have been selfish. And they have been hurting and afraid.”

“Not tonight,” Lorne says. He drags you back and forth over the heads of his cocks, teasing you with quick, hard rutting against your sex. “Tonight you’re safe. Nothing will hurt you.”

You want more than he gives you. The friction is good, mind-numbing, easy to lose yourself to. His cocks rub against your sex and you can feel just how large they are nestled against your stomach like that, full, throbbing lengths giving off milky puffs of milt into the water. His grip shifts and he’s clutching your ass, kneading your flesh as he pulls you into the harsh, breathtaking rhythm of his grinding, and you’re imagining how it’d feel for him to fuck you like this. Hard and merciless, pounding your insides with one or both of his cocks, feeling the slap of full balls slapping against your ass.

“God, I will,” he moans, nipping at your neck again. “Come back to me and I will. Get you nice and stretched so you can take all of me, stuff you with so much fucking cum I’ll be dripping out of you for days.” You want it now but he hushes you, cuts off your desperate, choked sounds with his lips on yours. The kiss is razor sharp and you cut your lip on his teeth but it just makes you hotter, raking your nails down his back until you’re sure you feel blood bubbling up around your fingers. It makes him groan into your mouth and grind even harder, every thrust a jerking, violent motion that oozes a cloud of milt.

“Lorne,” the thing in the dark whispers, chiding.

“No.” Lorne sinks his claws into the meat of your ass possessively. You barely notice the sting, too focused on how good it feels to be here, sharing body heat in the cold of the abyss, nearly mating. “No, I don’t—don’t wanna let go.”

There’s a fluttering sensation; warmth and comfort, a blanket against your back. The thing in the dark’s shimmering, auroral appendages throb faintly, filled with a slow heartbeat. “We cannot follow where you are going. But we will do all that we can.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to go. You cling tightly to Lorne but the thing is insistent. It tugs you apart.

“Wake,” it whispers. You feel the weight of its sadness bearing down on you, an ocean of grief—and the smallest, most hesitant spark of hope. “And…return to us safely.”

Your eyes open. It’s dark, but not the way you remember. This is soft darkness; simple shadows. The parking lot of the ferry. Jamie is sitting next to you, trying and failing to conceal a smile. “Good dream, huh?” they say, leering at you. You have no idea how to answer. Your indecision must come across as embarrassment because they laugh and give you a quick kiss, rubbing your shoulder. “It’s morning. I just poked my head out above deck. Captain says we’ll be there soon.”

“Oh. Good,” you say, sounding about as groggy and confused as you feel. You rub your eyes and stretch your legs the best you can.

“Shift was just about over when I woke up. Was he right about that? We didn’t get shoved halfway across the Drift, did we?”

You shake your head. You’re right where you should be. Anchor is west and the gap is smaller now. There’s just enough space for a town on the way but you’ll be there by tonight easily, likely sooner. “We’re really going to reach it,” you say, quietly awed. Fear creeps in soon after, followed by doubt. You’ll be there soon, and then what? Do you really stand a chance?

Some time later, the ferry docks. Metal shrieks and rattles as the ramp lowers and you’re greeted by foggy daylight, the road stretching onward. The Verlindans are the first to leave, rushing for solid ground. Lorne ambles down to shore, bidding you farewell with a curt nod. He looks fully human, you think, no sign of his bioluminescent patches. “Safe travels,” he says. “And sweet dreams.”

It’s only as you’re driving away that you see him move in the rearview mirror, lifting a webbed hand out of his pocket. He lifts his head and waves briefly. Then he touches his thumb and fingers to the sides of his neck in a gesture that looks innocent if not vaguely threatening, not nearly as obscene as it makes you feel. His smile is sharp and jagged. His eyes are the same stark, metallic shade as any other animal adapted to darkness.

(next)

#rotpeach writes #goretober #the drift

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atvace · 1 year ago

Text

Lady Dior and the Seven Dilfs

Chapter 2: Fuck the military (litteraly)

masterlist

[shooting range]

"Jesus fuckin Christ this place look like Nevada in Madness Combat." you tried your best to not step on the most suspicious-looking ground substance. "it's a range, (Y/N)." Gaz opened the shed full of armory crates whilst Soap set up the dummy target and then to the workhouse.

"didn't you take worser training environment to get in the FBI top class?" Soap came back with a few handguns, wiping it with a cloth. "No, I fucked my way up to the top." you sarcastically place your hands on your hip. you're wearing stylish grey Bershka cargo pants and a Zara Dark Green Knit crop top, gaslighting Gaz and Soap by saying this is what they gave you as a uniform.

"Okay princess, pick your poison." Gaz came back with a few stacks of crates, opening them one by one.

revealing a matte black XM4, HDR, and a Gallo SA12. you frowned at the availability of the big guns because you usually have your personalized Dragunov.

"Are you gatekeeping the good guns..?" you slowly turn to them with a disturbing glare. their faces dropped and looked at each other in unison. Soap broke the gaze and cleared his throat.

"(y/n)- I think its best for you to use the basics just this time-"

"you're judging me."

"no, but-"

"you're judging me."

"I just-"

"you're judging me."

Gaz separated the two of you, "OKAY OKAY how about we use the handguns before getting into the primary weapon? Cool?" he said, spreading the handguns across the wooden table. Soap shrugged and picked his signature m1911, clucking it and released the safety lock while on the other hand, you picked your good old revolver.

you both looked at Gaz who didn't pick anything. he showed his slightly swollen palm, "I still have a sore hand from last mission's accident, I want to let it rest for a few days." you raised your eyebrow in approval, "Fair." you cluck in your revolver to your side.

"woah okay, cowgirl. playing dangerous?" Soap chuckled at your weapon of choice. you open the barrel and load it with bullets.

"Underestimate me one more time," you rolled the barrel creating a clicking metal sound, and swiftly flipped your hand to get the barrel in again. "I'll Russian roulette your ass." you stare at him.

"since the pretty mohawk boy here seemed to know what he's doing, what about you go first?" you look at the dummy targets that Soap placed. an imprinted person with a few circles in the color red could be seen in the distance.

"okay, sure." Soap exclaimed and got into his position. he shot three times, the sound of bullets clanking rang in the air. you squinted your eyes a little to see what part he hit. he shot the right chest, cheek, and neck of the dummy.

"Huh. blud got smoker throat and a hole in the lung. Are you aware of the fact that the human heart is on the left side of the chest?" you look up at Soap and he looks back at you. "my hand trembled a little, it's the coffee." you scoffed at his none sense.

"don't blame them beverage." you walk up to the stance, "you train here often?" Soap raised his eyebrow at the question. "yeah, duh?" in front of the line you raised your pistol eye level. "..and that's the best you can shoot?" you cluck your revolver's hammer. 'BANG'

the light smoke come out of your revolver's muzzle. Soap was a little startled at the sudden gunshot but when he looked at the target, you hit right in the middle of the head. complete bullseye.

you giggled at Soap's dumbfounded face and jumped in front of him, waving the back of your hand to him. "and that with pretty nails" you wiggled your colorful acrylic nails that Soap's bright blue orbs reflected.

the three of you practiced a few other guns, Gaz was actually impressed by the amount of skills you have. except for a shotgun. when you tried using one, it flew right under your armpit hitting Gaz in the balls.

Half of the time you made fun of Soap, but to your liking he didn't get offended. you guys are like two dads with a chaotic daughter. the window welcomed the shifting color of the sky from yellow to orangeish. and you three decided it's time to go inside and clean up.

[ indoor, living room ]

"Uno, motherfucker." (Y/N) threw her last +4 Uno card down to the stash of previous cards. She stood up and celebrated her own winning to the invisible cheering people. the sound of the men groaning in defeat lingers around the room. "Gaz, what you got there?" Soap tried to find hope as he's the only one that has 2 cards. the British just chuckled and handed another +4 to the stash. "damn it." Soap slams down his leftover cards.

Price has called Soap, telling him that The task forces had approximately 2 weeks day off, due to... well nobody been actin up so they got none to investigate. On days off like these, the 141 are just teenagers with graying hair.

like usual, Ghost is nowhere to be found, Price is doing his endless paperwork in the headquarter, Gaz and Soap would be either out in the pub, feeding the pigeons, or going out fishing like the average guy in their late 20s. but since you're here, they take their time to have a good bonding time with you indoors. and also lectured you a few things.

Gaz taught you how to use the dryer in the laundry machine since you always have your clothes stored and cleaned nicely by a personal nanny who came over to your apartment a few times a week so cleaning duties aren't your thing. Gaz was terrified when he found out you were chewing a tide pod whilst hes not looking.

You have no idea how laundry works. you're a nepo baby but your mom is dead from cancer and your dad.. cheated on your mom. This what made you had attachment issue and abandonment issue. even when your mom was dying in the hospital bed, her last words were "Men ain't shit. I'd rather you end my bloodline than getting cheated on. also, you should outlive Trump." you took it to heart, you took it serious.

Soap, he was lecturing you about the people you might going to see. You have to know who you talking to so you won't mess up your career or get demoted lower again for being a petty bitch. He said that Gaz, him, and you are sergeants. above that, it's Lieutenant Ghost. Above the five of them, it's General Sheperd and Kate Laswell. Soap told you about Colonel König from Kortac which kind of scares you about how Soap described his appearance. Soap showed you König's Korean partner, Horangi.

"wait I know this guy," you said to Soap, looking at Horangi's picture. "(y/n), you're...not supposed to 'know' this guy." Soap gave you a puzzled look. "this motherfucker got rejected from SM Entertainment because he got caught fucking the director's daughter in his own office." you huffed and place your hand on your chin inspecting his present appearance, "let me guess, gambler?" you snapped your finger. Soap's jaw dropped in appalled hearing your accurate remark

moving on, he told you about Ghost's old recruit, Keegan. the picture Soap showed you is him holding 3 bottles of Vodka with a wide toothy smile and red flushed drunken cheeks. he looks tall about 6'1 with a fluffy hair and a cold icy iris.

As an American-(your nationality), you find Europe men quite attractive. back when you were 10, you found an article talking about European being home to men with large penises. since then, you are intrigued to find a (rich) European husband. this man's picture in front of you is definitely your long-lost puzzle.

you have to fuck him.

I mean like, you don't need to marry him. You just want to feel what a real dick feels like because the men you had sex with in the past barely lasted 3 minutes. Live fast die young, try new things even though its nasty.

"He's like.. in his beekeeping age, you know what I'm saying?" you said to Soap giggling, still staring at Keegan's picture. "What was that supposed to mean?" he slowly pull the picture away from your grasp. "Nothing!... can I keep his picture?" "NO."

back to present time, you three decided to play Uno cards. which Soap was deliberately beaten twice. "How are you so good at this?" Soap gathered the cards and pack them back into the box. "skill issue." you smirked down at him, which he rolled his eyes and place back the box of cards to the shelf.

Gaz looked up at the clock that was hung on the wall, it shows that its 5 pm. he thought about something for a second before having a go-out idea."(Y/N), you drink?" Gaz typed something down to his phone. he swore he could hear her bone crack from tilting her head too fast. "yes." you smiled menacingly, waiting for him to say the words.

"Okay so lets go-" "YESS I'LL BE READY IN 5 MINUTES" You sprinted away from the two towards your assigned room, Soap chuckled while fixing his belt strap. "She is so..energized don't you think?" he leaned to the wall, watching you slam the door behind. "I think shes very charming. but I hope that doesn't apply on missions." Gaz shrugged, sinking his phone to his pocket. "Why?" Soap turned to him.

"profesionalism above personality."

You haven't done some adjustments to your room. rather than a barrack. the whole room was painted in industrial dark green. it's built like a fucking mental asylum but in green. you started to think there's a ratatouille going on inside the walls. the floors are dusty white textile flooring. in the side of the room, your whole stuff is neatly placed. and it's the only thing that is in fresh pink, white, and baby blue colors.

you dug through your duffle bag and pull out a short black cut-out body con dress that reveal the side of your hips. it was your best buys from the Euphoria series franchise Maddy Perez inspired. you swift to the mirror holding your make-up bag, diving your hand inside it and pull out a primer spray. after spraying the cold substance through your face, you quickly put on concealer in several spots of your face and blend it away with a beauty sponge. you just put on blush on, smeared a smoked eyeshadow, then lined a sharp eyeliner to her eyes. it was uneven but nobody can tell. you slipped on your Saint Laurent Opyum 110mm heel sandal. giving your pedicured black painted nails a show to the outside air. lastly, you smeared your lips with lip tint.

you clutched your black Prada shoulder bag and walk out of your room towards the men. you saw three figures by the cafeteria, one catches your attention, it was Ghost. your gaze caught his eyes, and he stared at you with his cold orbs. which also caught Soap and Gaz's attention and they both turned to you in unison.

"(Y/N), You're-" "dressing too much." Ghost cut him off and crosses his arms again. you feel your mouth fall slightly agape. "change, now." he demanded. "I think she looks great." Soap flustered at his own words, Soap looked at Gaz whose frozen in his place "Gaz?". "you look beautiful, (Y/N)" he lend out his hand which you accepted. you had a smug grin toward Ghost when Gaz pulled you softly to his side. "come on, princess. let's go to the bar." "Oh, you are such a gentleman." you said in a Spanish accent, blowing a kiss to his cheek and giggled. Ghost was left flabbergasted as you pulled away Gaz's grasp and walk in front of him.

Ghost got irritated and looked at Soap in a 'Are you seeing this shit right now' stare. "we're off duty, I don't see a problem dressing up neatly. maybe she wants a good first impression." he said, following the two. "Fucking hell." groaning in annoyance, Ghost followed the others from behind.

Gaz opened the shotgun door for you, gesturing for you to be in control of the car radio. as you elegantly sat, he closes the door and slid to the driver. which made Ghost stops in his tracks. "Oy fucking hell?" Gaz raised his eyebrow and shrugged.

"you DIYed your driver's license from an empty Froot Loops cardboard, Ghost. I'm not risking it again." Gaz shook his head in disapproval and got into the driver's seat. defeatedly, the skull face silently sits in the backseat with Soap whose trying to turn on the radio which resulted in Ghost facing his round ass.

you looked out of the window with your chin resting on your hand, gazing through the trees and sands outside the car. thinking about your past mistakes while the sound of Gaz and Soap chattering because of the radio jagging. you know you're a confident woman, you are mesmerizing, a sight for sore eyes, you love yourself and you always live your life to the fullest. but something about Ghost's words. maybe he's right, you're dressing too much. but how much is too much anyways? are you really that arrogant? why are you suddenly scared they wouldn't like you as a person?

'SMACK' "-welcome to Radio Love Life FM." Soap bonked the radio changing the buzzing noises to finally catching a signal to the public radio station. "fucking finally. let's go Gaz." you were slightly startled but the two didn't notice. you rub the back of your neck and chuckle. "is it always like that? you should get it fixed." Soap sat back down and nodded. "I'll tell Price to put it on the list." Gaz drove out of the base's gate while somebody doesn't seem to be able to stop staring at you the whole time.

Fantasy - Mariah Carey

there was a traffic jam unfortunately but the car ride was rather lively. it's just you, Gaz, and Soap singing along while Ghost leaned comfortably with earplugs, a huge noise-canceling Sony headphones, and put his hood on to cover his protection from the other's voice. he doesn't listen to music particularly he just wants to shut his ear the whole ride. "oHH I'm so into you! darling if you only knew, all the things that flow through my mind YEAHH" the three of you sang along, each holding an invisible microphone.

(5 minutes in, Bad Romance - Lady Gaga)

Soap dramatically run his hand down from his chest. "I want it bad, bad romance" "I WANT YOUR LOVE I WANT YOUR REVENGE YOU AND ME COULD WRITE A BAD ROMANCE" you sang loudly to Gaz, as Soap sang the 'Ooh' part. "I WANT YOUR LOVE AND ALL YOUR LOVER'S REVENGE YOU AND ME COULD WRITE A BAD ROMANCE" Gaz fisted his chest dramatically. the three of you sang the 'Ooh' part in chorus. receiving an irritated grunt from Ghost.

(10 minutes in, Collide - Justine Skye, Tyga)

"oh my God this is my favorite song." you cooed excitedly, repeating the lyrics with Soap. you also whimpered slightly at the naughty lyric which caused Gaz dazzled a little but he doesn't judge. you have a melodious voice that he is secretly a new fan of. he slightly grew a warm spot for you, even though you two just knew each other by today. You just slipped into his mind like a puzzle piece. "when you put your body on mine and collideeee, collideee" You look at Gaz and rubbed his forearm in a flirtatious way. his cheeks got warm.

(15 minutes in, Simon Says - YC Banks, B. Smyth)

"wait I know this song, it's popular in LA" you giggled and patted Gaz's shoulders. "really? What's it called?" he's unfamiliar with the song, so does Soap.

"Simon Says!" you whistled excitedly. Soap and Gaz's faces went pale as Ghost jolt his body and bloodily stared at you from the back. "approach the bed imma get it wet!!" you cooed to the lyrics. Gaz and Soap looked at each other with their jaws down in disbelief. Soap was about to reach for your shoulder but Ghost stops him by shaking his head, letting you sing the song.

"SIMON SAYSS SPREAD OPEN YOUR LEGS-" you sang. not noticing the guys went dead silent.

"And put yo hands behind yo head~" you took out your phone to snap a quick picture of yourself, still not noticing the sudden silence.

"Simon saaayss take a deep breath"

"Um, (y/n)"

"CAUSE TONIGHT WE GON MAKE A MESS BABYYY"

"(y/n)-"

"IMMA DIVE IN THAT PUSSY LIKE MIKE PHELPS"

"(Y/N)!" Gaz gripped your shoulder, you looked at him with your smile drops.

"What?! you wanna kill my vibe uh?" you hissed at his touch, but he took a deep breath then looks at you softly.

"(Y/N), were here." Gaz reassured as Soap and Ghost stared at her in amusement. Soap was holding back a laughter, his face is just as red.

'Oh." you looked around, it seemed like you were in a parking lot. there weren't that many cars around, but it was not too empty either. "Okay, thank-" You were about to open the door but Gaz held your arm again, gesturing you to sit. you didn't like it when anyone touches you but upon realizing, he's not letting you open doors by yourself. he finally opened the door for you and lend out his hand.

You'd be lying if you weren't flustered. he was being extremely nice to you since in the base. but you don't take it to heart, because his mama probably raised him right. he walked you towards the back door of the pub, pushing the door and letting you enter first. As you were inside, you could see an antler head hung behind the bartender with a few beer machines and a shotgun resting below it.

It was a Scottish pub, and the song that plays at the moment you entered was Killshot by Magdalena Bay which you hummed to the beat. there are not-so-many women in the pub but they were in the same dress code as you are.

But the ones they're wearing are probably rip-offs. "I like the song you sang back in the Car." Ghost said coldly, walking past you. "I know." you shrugged your shoulders smiling.

you found yourself sitting on the bar stool between Soap and Gaz. Ghost is in the corner of Soap's left. "Open bill? it'll be $120 for 4 people with free 2 bottles of vodka." the bartender cooed with a portable EDC machine in his hand. "Yes please" Soap gave him his card, which he scanned in his machine. "I'm sorry, your credit card declined." Soap flushed in embarrassment as he got his card back. "you know what, take this." you slid your platinum card across the table towards the bartender. "thank you," he scanned it and the light turned green. "any drinks?"

"Kentucky Bourbon" Ghost rested his chin to his hand.

"Whiskey," Soap followed. "same here" Gaz followed as the bartender nodded. "and you miss?"

"Brut." you didn't bother looking, you were just scrolling through Instagram. everyone around you looked at you awkwardly because of your drink choice. but the Bartender just nodded and scooted away to get the drinks.

"Your card is made out of metal?!" Soap turned to you while sliding his card down to the ragged leather wallet. which you were...slightly squick at the sight. "personal adjustment." you gave him a half smile.

"Soo, (y/n)." you turned to Gaz and shut your phone. "tell us about yourself, I don't think we heard a lot from you since we've been just introducing you to a new place this whole time." Gaz cast a smile. you look at him then down to your nails.

As you were about to speak, Ghost and Soap was also invested in what you were about to say. this caused you to look at them funny. "the fuck you guys interested in my life lore or something," you chuckled. "oh come on, everyone has something cool to say." Soap cracked his knuckles and rest his chin down.

"should I show you a minecraft parkour video below me talking or play Time Back - Bad Style music in the background?" Soap and Gaz snorted at the reference. you chuckled at their response and layed your eyes to your arcylic nails.

"Well, my mom was a billionaire which that makes me a nepo baby. I got into a private military school and Laswell used to be my mentor actually," you slid a strand of your hair behind your ear, revealing your Kate Spade Heritage Bloom Ear Crawler and feel their gaze at you. "that was when I'm...around 15 I think? I got lost track of time because I wasn't a phone type of girl." the bartender served the drinks.

"My childhood is full of horse riding, violin, and shopping. I admit, I'm a total baby. by the time my mom knew shes going to die, she sign me up for military so I can survive and all," you chuckled to yourself. "..here I am."

"what about your father?" Gaz picked up his glass to his mouth. Soap notices your sudden change of expression, "Oh, my dad? Well I uh- Umm.." you feel yourself shrunk. "That is completely fine, (Y/N). we'd understand." he places his hand on your bare back. you shrugged and weakly laughed, "Alright I get it now, you're all without fathers, right?-" "I'm not." Gaz cut you off. "fucking love my dad" he showed you a picture of him and Price catching a huge fish. "Price's fuckin awsome." he proudly said.

Your mouth falls slightly agape as Soap wheezes at the sight of the picture. "Captain Price is your dad?" you tilt your head to the side. "No, but I like to pretend he is." he put the picture back to his phone case. "Oh. good then." you took a sip of your drink, closing your eyes, feeling the alcohol explore your tongue. "Why is that a good thing?" he shifts his pupils, watching you holding your glass close to your lips. "Because I was about to say that he probably adopted you." Soap and Ghost turned to you in disbelief.

Lights Down Low - Maejor, Wake Flocka Flame

After chattering for a good half an hour, the night becomes more effervescent. your glasses dried up, people using the jukebox, the disco ball got down and some people are actually from the military that Soap and Gaz knows. they came over to your table to say hi and you got to know the other sergeants.

"This is 141's new recruit, Lady Dior." Gaz introduced you to one of his deputies. "Shes a mid-range support," Soap exclaimed about you to his friends "Say hi, Dior". at this point, it feels like you are a kid at an uncle's party. the men been introducing you to their friends, joked around and laugh it off. Ghost in the other hand, only nodded and observed his surroundings.

some of the soldiers introduced to you are from Shadow Company, you overheard. there's a few names you caught upon talking. there was Kevin, Graves, Christ, and a few average white dude's name. and you don't really take them so serious because their ranks are a little far below you. Apparently, Shadow Company is a private elite unit of military contractors. lead by an unreachable individual. you pin this at the back of your head, you want to dive more into this.

General Sheperd is a man with many secrets. back when you were first deployed with a human trafficking case, Sheperd is the kind of man who would slow down operations intentionally. he said it was an operator and intel error but you were so dead suspicious of him. you have a personal hatred towards him, it grew into a loathe of grudges you can't help but keep. upon working in the field investigation sector, you never knew why would Laswell trust Sheperd. demoted to the 141, you finally knew why. because Captain Price, Laswell, and Sheperd had a task force they retained. this is it, where you are.

"Vodka?" the bartender offered you your free bottle of it. you took it from him forcefully, yanking it from his grasp. you took a butter knife from Soap's empty sandwich plate, clicking the bottle twice in the bottom side and twice in the rear then yanked the cap off resulting a smoke to come out of it. the bartender, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap watched you religiously. you jerk your head back, deepthroating the liquid down your throat and slams the empty bottle to the table. wiping your lips with the back of your hand, you jump down the stool. "Hold this." pushing your purse to Gaz's chest.

you went down to the crowd of people feeling your friend's piercing gaze at your figure, you didn't care. you swayed your move to the girls who eventually got along with you. the vodka started its job intoxicating your veins.

a bottle of vodka consists around 17 shots. you knew you're going to die anytime sooner for being deployed as a sergeant, dying from alcohol poisoning is cooler than getting shot and buried in a dirt.

LoveGame - Lady Gaga

Its been a while since the last time you put yourself in such a situation. you feel yourself living the night away, letting go your demotion stress out with the vodka taking over you. the lub music nuzzles into your muscles, making you whirl your hips in circles with your hands above your head.

you feel a presence on your back, rather a tall one. your eyes drowned from the smell of grapes and sugarcane from the vodka lingering in your tongue. but you don't mind to turn around and see the uninvited guest.

Men.

you sighed in frustration, still swaying your hips side by side in a pretty rhythm. the guy in front of you seemed to smile at your moves but that turned into a frown when you feel someone sandwiched you from behind. another unknown person drunkenly tried to press into you. irritated, the taller guy swiftly wraps your waist with his hands and pulls you to a dark hallway of the pub. he softly presses you against the wall behind you.

"You...are one new bunny," His gruffled voice mixed with his musk-scented perfume. "Are you a civilian?" He leveled his nose to the crook of your neck, his deep Irish accent made your stomach knot. "..You smell like sterling."

You run your finger, trailing slowly from his arm up to his flexed biceps. you tilt your head a little, brushing your lips to his red drunken ears. "That depends on how you treat me tonight," you put your thumb to his chin, making him face you. but the alley was too dark for you to see his eyes. "Maybe I'll consider giving you a good swallow." you slurred words, feeling completely influenced.

His nose brushed against yours, feeling his breathing harder. As your lips nearly interlinked, a flash from the dance floor bounces to his iris.

it's the exact same eyes you saw from the picture Soap showed you.

#task force 141 #mw2 #keegan x reader #keegan x you #modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley x you #soap mactavish x you #gaz garrick x you

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maliby · 4 years ago

Text

Dare | Johnny Suh (+18)

↬ Pairing: Johnny x F. Reader

↬ Story Genre: smut, fluff

↬ Warnings: mature language, explicit sex scene

↬ Word count: 5.6K

↬ Summary: You and your friend Johnny have this ongoing string of wild dares. There’s just one thing: you’re never allowed to say no.

“Good morning class, today we’re going to start learning all about the matrix!” Your Algebra professor happily announced, completely unaware of the horror that swept over his students.

“Wait, is he talking about the movies?” Your friend Taeyong leaned in as soon as Professor Weaver turned his back to write on the board. The rest of the class groaned, having heard tales of horror from their seniors about the subject.

“No, you dufus! Remember last year when Taeil was having a mental breakdown?”

“Oh,” realization dawned over his beautiful face, his big eyes widening even more.

You had had a crush on Taeyong from the first moment you had seen him (just like everybody in your year), but that soon went away as you got to know him and found that you connected better as friends.

“Yup. Matrices…” You sighed in terror while you rested your chin on the palm of your hand. “Maybe Taeil has some notes he can give us-” At that moment, the phone in the back pocket of your jeans buzzed, breaking you out of your conversation. You fished the device from your pocket and looked at the shiny notification bar - it was a message from your roommate, Johnny Suh.

You looked to your left where said roommate was, sat just a few tables from you, and felt a feeling of dread creep up on you at the sight of his stupid grin. You didn’t have to read the message, you already knew what he wanted.

“Is it Johnny?” Taeyong asked as his eyes followed yours straight to the roommate you both had in common.

“Yes…” you mumbled through gritted teeth, quickly placing your finger on your phone’s Touch ID to unlock it and read the message.

Heeere’s Johnny 🔪 (10:35 AM): dare u to scream “fuck” as loud as you can

“Motherfucker…” you muttered with your eyes closed.

“What did he dare you to do this time?” You turned your phone to him as you noticed him trying to take a peek at it. “Oh no…”

It all started this one night at a frat house party. Back then, you were still crushing over Taeyong and, in a game of truth or dare, Johnny dared you to pick your nose and eat your own booger. Of course, any sane person would have said ‘no’ but, the tequila shots you had downed half an hour earlier made you anything but that. After that, not only did you not look at Taeyong for 2 weeks straight, but also dared Johnny to pick his crush’s nose. You thought he would never agree to it, but as soon as you saw the deed being performed right in the middle of the cafeteria, you knew you had just entered a game with no end.

“Y/N, you can’t do this! You’ll be in trouble!” Taeyong tried to reason with you, already knowing his words would fall on deaf ears.

“More trouble than I was in when I had to write a love poem to Professor Stevens on one of the questions of the Calculus exam?” You flinched as you remembered the talk down you got when Professor Stevens thought you were trying to have sex with him to get a better grade.

“Yeah...that was bad. But still-”

The buzzing of your phone interrupted Taeyong. You looked down at it and read Johnny’s second message out loud to your friend.

Heeere’s Johnny 🔪 (10:38 AM): are u scared? 🐔

You looked back at the sender of the message and felt annoyance grow as you saw him flap his arms around like a chicken and laugh straight in your face.

5 seconds. That was how long it took for you to completely lose your cool, flip Johnny off and yell from the back of the class: “Fuck!”

You were expecting a couple of things to happen, but nothing could prepare you for the general reaction you got: laughter. Everyone was laughing, from your classmates to your professor. Everyone except Johnny, that is.

“Don’t worry Miss Y/L/N,” Mr Weaver said from the front of the class, breaking your stare down with Johnny. “Matrices aren’t as scary as they seem,” Mr Weaver fondly smiled at you before turning back to the board to write something down, leaving you completely perplexed.

You looked back at Johnny who had his face in a frown and stuck your tongue out to him - it felt good to see his evil plans backfire.

“That was lucky,” Taeyong commented with a little chuckle.

“Tell me about it, feels like the Universe has finally compensated me for all the stupid shit Johnny has made me do.”

“You’ve made Johnny do some pretty stupid shit too.”

“Shhh,” you turned to your friend with your finger in front of your lips, making the universal gesture for silence. “Let’s not talk about that,” you patted him in the back and picked up your pen to start taking notes.

“I’m back!” You announced as put your keys on the glass bowl right by the entrance of your shared apartment.

“Taeyong, they were all out of your favourite yoghurt.” You heard noise coming from the kitchen so you moved your way there, but as you went inside you crossed paths with Johnny who was just leaving the kitchen. He was on the phone, and by the expression on his face, you figured that something bad must have happened.

“What happened?” You asked Taeyong who was leaning on the balcony eating the last of his yoghurt.

“I don’t know, it’s his mother.”

“Oh no, are his parents fighting again?”

Taeyong nodded as he licked his spoon and threw the yoghurt cup in the trash.

It was then that you both jumped up at the noise of the door slamming shut - Johnny had stormed out of the house.

Both you and Taeyong had called him loads of times but Johnny never answered, worry consuming you and your best friend. Eventually, you both decided to split up and go looking for him - Taeyong on his scooter and you on your bicycle.

After half an hour of looking for Johnny in the most obvious places, you started to get desperate. You were starting to run low on ideas of where he could be, but as you passed by a bus stop and saw an ad for a sunscreen with a girl on the beach you suddenly remembered something: Johnny once had told you that when he was feeling down he liked to go to the beach and listen to the waves because it really calmed him down.

“Why didn’t I think of that earlier?” You questioned yourself (earning a few weird looks from the people at the bus stop) before you changed directions and started to peddle your way to the beach.

The beach was mostly deserted (being that it was December and it was cold), but a brown-haired guy could be seen sitting alone in the sand.

You parked your bike in the empty bicycle spot, locked it and walked straight to the lonely boy. As you got closer to him and confirmed his identity you couldn’t help but sigh in relief - he sure as hell didn’t look good mentally, but at least he was physically okay. You fished your phone from the pocket of your jacket and sent a quick text to Taeyong before sitting right down beside one of your best friends.

“It’s a little cold for a swim, don’t you think?”

He smiled at you, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“My parents are getting a divorce,” he deadpanned before looking back at the sea, your instant reaction being to hug him.

“I’m so sorry Johnny.”

“I begged them to just talk it over. I begged them to try but...they won’t.”

“Johnny…” you started in a warning tone. You wanted to tell him that his parents have the right to be happy, but you completely understood where he was coming from - nobody wants their parents to split up. You just wish you could take away this bad feeling from him.

“I know, I know…” he answered, picking up what you were about to tell him. “It’s just...hard.”

You studied his face for a while and noticed his eyes were puffy from crying and your heart completely broke. You and Johnny liked to tease each other a lot, but the truth was that you really cared about each other, more than you’d probably like to admit.

You placed your hand on his back and started rubbing soothing circles. He probably could barely feel them over his bulky black leather jacket, but you couldn’t help but do it. “We’re here for you. Me and Taeyong. You know that, don’t you?”

Johnny turned to look at you and for a brief moment, his eyes held an emotion you had never seen on him. Something you were sure you had misunderstood. Something that, weirdly, made your heart pound.

“I know.”

Johnny kissed the top of your head and wrapped his long arm around you, snuggling you closer to him and his body heat. You placed your head on his shoulder and just sat there, hearing a mix of his breathing and the waves.

Suddenly your heart started pounding again - something about this felt way too intimate. Replaying the last few minutes in your head made you realize that all of this, somehow, felt like more than a friendship, and that, scared the crap out of you.

Your own body acted on its own, and when you came to it, you were already backing away from him and saying something to deflect the situation.

“You know there’s a frat party tonight don’t you?”

“Y/N... I’m not in the mood.”

“Johnny Suh, you are going to that damn party, and you are going to have a good time!” You knew he was stubborn and that you probably had no chance of convincing him but then, something crossed your mind; something that would dead sure make him go. “...I dare you!”

He chuckled. “That’s a low blow, using the dares against me.”

“Isn’t that the purpose of a dare though?” You smiled mischievously, making him smile in return.

“Touché.”

“Woo-hoo! Look at you!” Taeyong whistled as soon as you left your room, all dolled up and ready to go party. “Who are you trying to bang?”

You sneakily took a peek at Johnny who was sitting on the couch and felt a shiver run up your spine as you saw his eyes completely locked on your form. “Mmm, no one,” you lied in a playful tone.

The truth was you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that little moment with Johnny on the beach and, as you looked through all your clothes when deciding on what to wear, you couldn’t help but pick your most revealing dress with his reaction in mind.

“Yeah, I don’t believe you,” Taeyong said.

“Well tough luck! Now come on guys, the cab is waiting downstairs.”

When you were grabbing your bag to make your way out the door you felt a tall presence right behind you. He placed his big hand on the small of your back and whispered to your hair: “damn Y/N, didn’t know you cleaned up like that.”

You smiled to yourself and then turned to look at him. “Well, obviously you haven’t been paying attention.” You winked at him and turned back around, leaving to follow Taeyong to the cab while being fully aware of Johnny’s eyes on your back.

When both you and Johnny arrived downstairs, Taeyong had already sat in the front, making you both sit in the back.

The ride was a short one - only 10 to 15 minutes - but, nonetheless, it was full of tension. Taeyong was on his phone the whole time, and the driver kept quiet so, if it wasn’t for the radio the silence would be a deafening one.

Both you and Johnny didn’t take out your phones, as it would be usual. He just leaned his head on the window and watched the city lights pass by, probably still thinking about his parents. You felt bad. You didn’t want him to feel this way. You wanted him to be his usual funny self and dare you to do stupid shit, but seeing him like this just broke your heart.

You couldn’t help but stare at his side profile - he was handsome. Of course, you knew he was handsome, you were not blind, but this was the first time his handsomeness was affecting you. You couldn’t help but stare: stare at the way his styled hair brushed upon his eyes, stare at his straight nose and stare at his perky lips.

Suddenly, an undeniable urge to lean in and kiss him emerged within you. An urge so immense that you caught yourself actually moving towards him, only to be stopped by him turning to look back at you with a charged expression.

You shared a look for a few seconds. A look that made your insides tingle and your legs press harder against each other. What was happening to you?

Johnny’s hand was reaching over to yours, which was pressed on the seat between the both of you, and you could feel your heart start to beat faster. Suddenly, it felt like time had slowed down and all your focus was on that one hand. That hand that looked strong and delicate at the same time. That hand that looked like it had the power to not only be rough but also gentle. That hand that could grope you, touch you and fuck you so good until you cried for more. That hand that was so close that made you gasp in anticipation.

“We’re here,” the cab driver announced, breaking you from whatever spell Johnny had you on.

“Thanks. Keep the change.” Taeyong paid the driver and left the cab, immediately moving to open up your door.

“Milady,” he bowed, acting as your personal chauffeur.

“Why thank you,” you awkwardly bowed back, still feeling shaken up by the events of the car.

“Okay, let’s move!” Your group started walking towards the house as soon as Johnny joined both of you from the other side of the cab, Taeyong still completely unaware of what had just happened. “I promised Yuta we’d play beer pong with him.”

“But Taeyong, you know I suck at beer pong!” You protested.

“I do. And that’s why you’re not on my team.”

“What?! That means I’m stuck with her!” Johnny whined from right next to you, making you turn and hit him in his chest, his hard pecks not going unnoticed by you.

“Hey!”

“Shut up Suh, you know as well as I do that you could use a drink,” Taeyong said before he spotted his friend near the entrance. “Yuta ma’ man! What’s up?”

“TY! I was beginning to wonder if you’ve gotten lost!”

“Sorry, Miss Y/N here took 3 hours to get ready,” he pointed back at you, making you hit him in his shoulder.

“Shut up Taeyong!”

“Come on man, did you get a good look at her? I’d wait an eternity if it meant I could look at an angel like her,” he winked at you before getting a sip out of his red plastic cup.

It was public knowledge that you and Yuta had fucked a couple of times. He was pretty hot, and the things he could make you feel with that tongue piercing of his were out of this fucking world. But tonight, you weren’t feeling him all that much - the tiny voice in your head telling you that that’s because you wanted to be railed by Johnny instead.

“Do you really think those cheesy lines are going to work?” Johnny asked out of nowhere with a hint of annoyance to his voice.

Johnny and Yuta were friends and him, more than anyone, knew that Yuta was a nice guy. Sure, he really liked to flirt, but he was also very respectful. So, his reaction made you wonder if he perhaps was feeling jealous. Secretly, you hoped he was.

“It already did man,” Yuta winked at you once again, catching you a little off-guard.

“Now, TY told me we’re not going to be on the same team for the beer pong. I’m usually a perfect gentleman, but I’m sorry angel, I can’t let you win.” Yuta came one step closer and picked up your hand and you swore you felt Johnny tense up beside you. “Maybe afterwards you could save me a dance?” He kissed the back of your hand and gave you a look that left little to no imagination of his true intentions - he wanted sex.

“Dream on, Nakamoto,” Johnny interrupted, coming right between you two and breaking your contact. “Stop stalling and let’s go.”

Johnny grabbed your arm and pulled you inside and away from Yuta and his advances. The look of bewilderment on your other roommate’s face didn’t go by unnoticed by you, but you forcibly chose to act like you hadn’t seen it. You didn’t know what it was, but you were liking this jealous side of Johnny and you were certainly curious for more.

“Alright, game on,” you heard Yuta comment before the loud music from inside overwhelmed you and your ears.

The game went on for a while. You lost, just as Taeyong had predicted. You didn’t mind, really. You just wanted to have a good time and the alcohol from the game was helping you do just that: you were currently in the middle of the dance floor dancing by yourself without a care in the world. You had lost your friends when you went to the bathroom and decided to go to the dancefloor when WAP started playing.

You were enjoying yourself. You were at that fine line where you were feeling the effects of the alcohol but you could still make your own decisions and you loved it.

Suddenly, as you were shaking your ass, you felt a pair of hands on your hips and a crotch on your ass. You wished it was Johnny, but as you opened your eyes and saw him sitting on a couch not far from you, you felt your fantasy crumbling. You turned around to see who you had just ground on and weren’t surprised when your eyes landed on Yuta.

“Hello angel, I’ve been looking for you.”

“Really?” You tried to put a little distance between you, but Yuta just pulled you right back in, your bodies now in full contact with each other.

“The way you look tonight...you’re driving me fucking crazy. I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed in your ear, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the small of your back. “All I wanted to do, was ditch Taeyong and the game and do that thing with my tongue that you like so much.”

Usually, that would be enough to make you lose your shit and pull him to the closest available bedroom, but tonight your mind was elsewhere. “Yuta...I’m sorry but tonight I’m not feeling it.”

His face fell in disappointment and he looked like a lost puppy, which partially made you feel bad for rejecting him, but you had to be honest.

“You sure?” He asked you.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I’m sorry then...”

He was about to let you go; you could feel his grip loosening when someone yanked him back and away from you, leaving you confused.

“Leave her alone Nakamoto,” Johnny’s voice sounded right from beside you, making your heart jump.

“What the-? What is wrong with you Johnny? Why are you acting so- Oh…” Yuta looked back at you and you could literally see him putting all the puzzle pieces together in his mind. “I get it now.”

“Get what?” Johnny asked.

“Nothing,” you intercepted Yuta before he could say anything. “Yuta, don’t you have to go meet up with that girl?”

You made some weird faces at Yuta so he could understand what you were doing and, thankfully, he did.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Have fun!” He winked at you and turned to leave, making you sigh in relief that that whole situation was over.

“That was weird,” your roommate commented. “Was he bothering you? I know he sometimes can be a little...persistent.”

You felt a warmth spread throughout your chest. You knew Yuta could never harm you, but the fact that Johnny was so worried about you made you swoon. Then a thought popped in your head that made the warm fuzzy feeling turn sour: was he worried because he liked you or just as a friend?

“No, it’s okay. He did nothing wrong. Thank you…”

“You’re welcome…”

The mood got awkward for a minute, with none of you saying a word until Johnny broke your shared silence. “I’m gonna go.”

“What?”

“Yeah...I’m sorry, I’m just not really feeling it.”

He looked mentally down and you felt bad for him. Johnny was always the one cracking up a joke - wherever there was laughter, he was always present. He loved to dance and to have a good time, and it broke you to see him like this.

“Hey, come on, dance with me.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, I’m really not feeling it…”

“Come oooon…” You didn’t know how you could convince him, but then an idea popped in your head. “I dare you.”

He chuckled and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of at least making him laugh. “Playing dirty again Y/N?”

“Well, you aren’t giving me much of a choice now are you Johnny?”

“I don’t know…”

Before he could continue you started imitating a chicken, just like he had done to you in the Algebra class and you couldn’t help but smile at his laughter once again.

“Alright, alright!”

“Yes!” You chanted in victory, promptly grabbing his hands and making him dance with you.

The dance started out friendly, with a few spins here and there, but it wasn’t long before tension started rising up and his hands were on your hips, just where Yuta’s had been. In your head, you couldn’t help but compare the feeling of the 2. Yuta had nice hands, that had certainly made you feel good before, but Johnny’s somehow felt better. His hands felt like he cared for you on a much deeper level. Like they could hold you and never let go. Like they could protect you from anything and completely destroy you at the same time.

As your inner voice went on an entire monologue about the wonder of Johnny’s hands, you found yourself looking him dead in the eyes. The way he was looking at you was making you think wild things, and with the buzz from the alcohol, you couldn’t help but want to act on those thoughts.

Without an ounce of self-control, you let your head move forward and your mouth whisper in his ear: “I dare you to grab my ass.”

Without a second of hesitation, his hands were on your ass and you were exhaling on his ear. The way his big hands were fully grabbing you and massaging you was turning you on so much that you could feel yourself get wet. You wanted nothing more than to have him lift up your dress and finger you in the middle of everyone.

Johnny moved his head near your neck and you thought for a second he was about to kiss you there, but you were surprised when he spoke in your ear. “I dare you to grind that sexy ass of yours on my cock.”

“Fuck.”

Just as he had done with your dare, you promptly complied, turning around and rubbing yourself on his semi. You both were walking on some dangerous paths, but you didn’t think any one of you could go back now.

As you moved your ass to the music and felt him grow harder and harder you couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to fuck him. You wanted him to end you. You wanted him to fill you up so good that he’d ruin any other man for you. You wanted his hands all over your body. You wanted him to grab your tits and play with your nipples. Fuck.

You reached your head back and whispered your next dare to him: “I dare you to play with my boobs.”

“Gladly.”

And then those big hands that were previously on your ass were now caressing your breasts and you felt like you were completely done.

“Mmmh…” you moaned, not sure if he could hear you over the loud music.

The way he was pinching your nipples over your dress made you feel glad you decided on not wearing a bra tonight. He was making you feel so good just with his fingers on your nipples and his clothed cock on your ass that your mind once again thought about what it would feel like to have the real deal.

“I dare you to kiss me.”

The dare had caught you off guard. You had been so in a trance by the grinding that your mind went straight to the fucking and skipped the kissing, but now that he had requested it you couldn’t stop thinking about it. So, consumed by desire, you turned around and glued your lips to his.

You wrapped your right leg around his hip (his hand once again coming to the rescue and grabbing your thigh) and felt his cock rubbing you straight on your clit. The feeling was so pleasurable that you felt like you couldn’t take it anymore, you had to have him now. So you pulled back from the kiss and plead for the last dare: “I dare you to fuck me.”

Johnny didn’t waste any more seconds, he grabbed you by your hand and lead you up the stairs to the first spare bedroom he could find. He then pushed you to the bed, making you fall right on the mattress.

“When I saw you with Yuta I went fucking crazy.”

The way he was towering over you and looking down on you as he confessed his feelings to you was slowly driving you mad. You never imagined you would be where you were right now, but now that you were you could confidently say that you wanted nothing more than this.

“I turned him down because of you,” you also confessed, now suddenly feeling shy and not being able to look him in the eye.

He chuckled.

Suddenly the mattress dipped between your legs as he joined you on the bed, right on top of you.

“How the fuck did we end up here Y/N?” His fingers gently placed a misplaced lock of your hair behind your ear, catching your breath at his tenderness.

“I don’t know...but I think I don’t want to go back.”

“Good. ‘Cause me neither.”

His lips were back on yours and although the kiss felt different this time, it quickly evolved to something more. His hands ran down your body and went between your legs, his fingers rubbing you over your drenched panties.

“You’re so wet baby. Is this all from grinding against my cock?” His fingers slid under your underwear and easily entered you, making you moan.

“Fuck, yes. I can’t stop thinking about your cock, it’s driving me crazy. I want to fuck you so badly.”

“I want that too.” Something dark took over his eyes. Something that, in combination with his low and breathy voice was making your desire for him grow to even bigger levels.

“Lately I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” His free hand pulled down the upper part of your dress, exposing your breaths to his hungry mouth, as his other hand picked up its pace. “I lay awake at night just thinking about you: your smell, your hair, your smile, your eyes, your lips, your body…”

“Johnny…” you moaned his name as you felt that sweet pleasure building up from within you.

“Fuck, that sounded better than I imagined. Do that again, baby.”

Johnny’s other hand joined the one between your legs and began its assault on your little bundle of nerves, intensifying the amount of pleasure you were feeling. “Fuck Johnny, I can’t take it much longer…”

“Cum for me baby,” he instructed as he tried to alleviate himself by rubbing his cock against your leg.

“Ohshit-” you incoherently mumbled at the arrival of your orgasm, your walls spasming around his long fingers.

“You’re so beautiful,” Johnny mumbled against the skin of your belly as he pressed soothing kisses on it.

You smiled and took in a few more breaths so you could talk.

“Since when are you this romantic Suh?” You asked as you finger-combed his now messy hair.

“Since always. I just only show it to special girls.”

You looked away, suddenly feeling the blood rushing to your cheeks. Damn Johnny Suh and his smooth ass talking.

He chuckled before moving closer to your face and kissing you across your jaw. “Since when are you this shy Y/L/N?”

“Since-” You opened your mouth to answer him but came up short, ending up getting frustrated instead. “Shut up and take your clothes off!”

Your roommate laughed at your annoyance and immediately complied, removing his shirt and working on his pants. You couldn’t help but stare at his buff body: his bulging biceps, his washboard abs and his juicy pecks. You were so lost in desire that you didn’t even notice that Johnny was eyeing you up.

“Enjoying the view?” He teased, the stupid grin on his face driving you mad.

“Shut up,” you said once more, not enjoying the power he had over you.

“Take off your dress baby, I wanna see you too,” he requested as his hand caressed your naked thigh, sending shivers up your spine.

You obliged, quickly removing all your clothes and exposing your naked body to his hungry eyes.

Johnny didn’t say anything, but you could tell by the way his cock twitched that he was affected. So affected, in fact, that within seconds he was on top of you devouring your lips.

Both your hands wandered on each other’s body as he dry humped you between your legs.

“Do you have a condom?” You asked between ragged breaths.

“Fuck, no. But wait a minute,” Johnny reached for the bedside table and opened the first drawer, finding exactly what he was looking for. “Jackpot.”

“Did you know that was there?”

“No, but I figured. After all, this is a frat house,” he explained as he opened up the package and rolled down the latex condom on his cock.

“Are you ready, baby?”

“Fuck, yes. Just put it in.”

Johnny didn’t wait a second longer. He grabbed his cock, ran it up and down your slit a couple of times and slowly entered you, the feeling of fullness being completely indescribable.

“Oh Johnny, you feel so good.”

“Fuck, tell me when I can move.” Johnny was nuzzled up in your neck, leaving tiny love bites as you adjusted to his cock.

“You can go.”

He started moving slowly at first, a string of moans spilling out from both your mouths, but, soon after, his hips started thrusting faster and harder and you found yourself clawing at his back.

“Shit,” he hissed before glueing his lips back on yours.

For a moment you both lay there on your own little pleasure bubble, just fucking and swirling your tongues together, with moans and cusses being spilt left and right as you enjoyed each others’ bodies. For a moment, nothing else mattered - just you and Johnny.

“Baby, you’re taking me so well. You are so perfect,” he confessed as he kissed you all over, his words almost making your heart jump out of your chest.

“Johnny, baby, I’m so close.”

“Me too, fuck.”

Johnny was drilling into you so hard that the sound of skin slapping on skin was drowning out the music coming from outside. You were almost there, and as you felt that sweet feeling building up in your core you took a chance to really look at Johnny: the way he bit his lip, the way his brows frowned in pleasure, his dishevelled locks and the way his veins popped on his arms as he held himself up so as not to crush you. He was so fucking hot you couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed it sooner.

“Johnny, I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum for me, beautiful. I’m right there.”

That was all you needed. Just like that, you were crashing and burning around the man you had considered as ‘just a friend’ for years, your walls milking him dry and making him spill everything inside the borrowed condom.

You didn’t move for several minutes. Johnny fell right to your side and just lay there right beside you, your chests rising and falling in tandem.

What do you say in these situations? What were you supposed to say right after one of your best friends, and roommate, fucked the shit out of you? You had no idea, but thankfully, he took the lead.

“I dare you to fuck me again.”

The dare caught you completely off-guard, just like yours had caught him and you couldn’t help but laugh. For a good minute, that’s all you both did: laugh.

“Alright,” you reached for the drawer and grabbed another condom from the owner of the room. “But this time, I’m on top.”

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cellophanejpeg · 2 years ago

Text

two for one | levi ackerman; erwin smith #02

ao3 | read the full work here

Levi Ackerman x reader x Erwin Smith | chapter two

Summary: You’re in the brink of getting evicted. Your income barely pays for the monthly expenses. You’d do anything not to get back to your parents’s house. You’d do anything for a better life, for a little more money. Even if it means having an polygamous arrangement with not one, but two sugar daddies. But what happens if you get in the way of their relationship? Or worse, what happens if you fall in love with not one, but both of them? [Modern AU]

Warnings: mentions of loose hair, sex thoughts and self deprecation thoughts (read tags and notes for more warnings)

The dress I put on clings to my body, making me feel uncomfortable with it. My curves are prominent in it, as much as the black fabric makes the illusion of hiding them. I quickly undress and walk over my closet again.

Young, I need to look young.

How do young people dress like nowadays? My mind goes back to Krista and I wish I had gotten her contact information or something so I could ask for some advice. A small sigh escapes my lips as I pull another dress from my closet. The truth is that I don't have many clothes to go on fancy dates. Especially for a date on a very expensive restaurant.

The agency emailed me the location for the date and advised me not to share the information with anyone, except if it was for my safety. When I looked the place up, I found out it's a restaurant at one of the most expensive hotels in the city. So not only I'd have to dress to impress, but there's also a chance of them inviting me to a room.

Would they do that the first night they met? The last thing I want is to be compelled to have sex with them right away. But could they force me to do anything I don't want to?

“Our partner restaurants and hotels are required to intervene if they feel like something is not going well.” Hannah explained me when I questioned it out loud back at the interview. “You're free to signal them if something goes wrong, discreetly or not.”

It did little to simmer down my anxiety, though. Not only I'm going to a blind date, but I'm going to one with two men. Dates in general are scary, especially when you don't know the person you're meeting.

Sighing, I give up on trying to find a dress for tomorrow. Throwing myself on my messy bed, I think about how I'm one sleep away from meeting them. I'm curious to know what they look like, since the agency doesn't allow us to see pictures of the people we match, for privacy reasons. I wonder if they're curious to know about me as well. Knowing they agreed on meeting me is a start.

One more sleep to meet them. My stomach churns at the thought. Am I excited or just nervous?

…

I decide to go with a long grey plaid dress that went down below my knees. I try not to load my eyes with concealer to cover my dark circles from overworking plus not being able to sleep last night. I keep my make up light: simple brown shadow and eyeliner. I don’t want them to think badly of me.

Ugh. I hate first dates.

I let my hair loose, on its natural state, and complete the makeup with red lipstick. The spaghetti strap of my dress kept falling over one of my shoulders and showing more cleavage than I want to, so I dress a leather jacket on top and put on some elevated boots.

Giving the mirror one last look, I exhale a breath and nod at myself.

“It’s gonna be fine,” I say to no one in particular.

The drive’s free of charge, courtesy of Sugar Angels, and I’m extremely grateful I don’t have to take the train to get to the other side of the city. My heart hammers hard inside my chest and every turn and swerve makes me nauseous.

Will they like me enough to invite to a room or will they just reject me? I don’t even want to go to a room in the first night, but if they didn’t take me to one that would be worse, wouldn’t it?

Suddenly I feel like telling the driver to make a U turn and go back home. Anxiety fills me to the brim and I feel like I’m having a panic attack as the car arrives at the hotel. My legs take me out of the car, and walk to the reception. My mind is blank as I enter the fancy place, my body moves on my own as I say I have a reservation on Erwin Smith’s name.

The lack of confidence is loud on my small voice and hunch down posture, so as soon as I walk pass a mirror, I adjust it. A waiter leads me to a table far from the bar, in a more private part of the restaurant and I don’t know if I feel relieved or anxious about it. I surely don’t want people to see me in an awkward date, but to be with two men I don’t know makes me nervous.

The first thing I notice is blonde hair and blue eyes. Erwin stands up to greet me, a bright smile on his lips. He’s so tall, much taller than me, even with my elevated boots on. He’s wearing a light blue dress shirt and beige slacks. His energy makes my heart skip a beat, the soft look on his face giving me comfort somehow. For a moment I forget why I’m so nervous, for when I look at his face, I feel so calm and relaxed. I smile back at him and shake his hand, giving my name.

Then, there’s Levi. He’s also standing to greet me, but he looks like he had sucked a lemon dry with the expression on his face. His eyes are dark green, almost grey, as they stare into me, making me shrink again. He’s fairly smaller than Erwin, almost my height, although I look taller than him with my boots on. He’s wearing all black, dress shirt and jacket, a total opposite of his partner. I shake his hand too, feeling anxiety bubbling up in my throat again.

Read the full chapter on ao3

#levi ackerman x reader #erwin smith x reader #erwin smith x reader x levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader x erwin smith #erwin smith #levi ackerman #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #myfics

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mxlti-fand0m-imaginess · 4 years ago

Note

Can you do a smut where Kai kidnaps the reader? Ooo also can u add a part when the reader tries to run away but Kai catches her?

You’re Mine Now // Kai Anderson

request: yes

prompts: none

warnings: kidnapping, non consensual sex, blood, violence, crying, language, knife play, biting, blood consumption, oral sex, smut, degradation, unprotected sex, not proofread

a/n: this is a little intense, so if you’re squeamish i wouldn’t recommend reading this

You felt the bag being lifted off your head as you slowly came back to consciousness. You felt dizzy, and your head was throbbing as you slowly looked at your surroundings. Nothing was familiar. You had no idea where you were.

“Hello little lamb,” you heard a voice in front of you say.

He was tall and pale, with deep brown eyes, and slightly long blue hair. You could’ve found him attractive, given different circumstances. But since he kidnapped you, there was no chance of that happening.

You tried to ask him where you were, but your words were muffled by a piece of tape on your mouth. Your eyes went wide as you tried to escape. You wanted out.

“There’s no use trying to escape. You’re not going to get out. I’m recruiting you to join me. Become a loyal follower and do my bidding, and in return I will not harm you,” he said as he walked closer to you.

You tried to back away, failing, due to the chair. His hand neared your face, and you tensed up, not knowing what to except. Then you felt the tape being roughly removed from your mouth, ripping at the flesh.

“What the fuck? Where am I? Let me go?”

He sighed and walked in front of you, crouching to meet your eyes.

“Where you not paying attention? You’re not getting out of here. You’re mine now. Ok?”

“No!” you shouted, “I’m not yours! You can’t own me! And you’re fucking delusional if you think I’d ever follow you!”

His eyes grew darker. You could see the anger coursing through them. A few veins protruded from his neck as he clenched his jaw. His hand roughly met the side of your face. You gasped at the sting, a tear rolling down your face.

“You should watch your words around me little lamb,” he said, the tone of his words sharp enough to cut flesh.

Meekly you nodded, now feeling extremely terrified. However, your sudden submission did nothing to ease the anger coursing through him.

“I’ll be back later. Hopefully you’ll start to realize your place.”

He stood up and left the basement, shutting the lights off. The pitch blackness only being disturbed by the few moon beams poking through the small windows at the top of the walls.

A few silent tears rolled down your face. You pulled your hands against the bounds, tugging hard. After a few minutes you were about to give up, when you felt the ropes give way. You pulled your arms out, the ropes falling to the floor. You quickly untied your legs, standing up and heading towards the stairs, making sure it was quiet.

Once you were sure you didn’t hear anything, you slowly pushed the door open. The coast was clear. No one was there! You smiled to yourself, scurrying to the front door. Your hand went to reach for the doorknob when you heard someone clearing their throat.

You froze and slowly turned around, seeing the man from before standing in front of you.

“And where do you think you’re going, little lamb?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. You screamed and thrashing, trying to get out of his grip. But your attempts were futile, the man being much stronger than you.

He carried you back to the basement, throwing you onto the couch. He climbed on top of you, pinning you below him. You fearfully looked up at him, tears streaming down your face. But he smiled at your fear. Then you felt something poking you leg. You blood froze when you realized he was hard. He liking seeing you like this. He was fucking insane.

“Let me go, please,” you softly begged, trying to convince him to let him go.

He laughed darkly, his eyes filling with lust.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not getting out of here? And because you tried to escape, I think you need to be taught a lesson.”

He leaned down, roughly attaching his mouth to your neck, sucking and biting. Littering you in marks. Small whimpers of pain left your mouth as he continued bruising your neck.

When he detached his mouth, a sigh of relief left your lips. You relief was short lived when you saw him pull out a switchblade. He pressed it against you, cutting through your shirt and bra. He removed the shredded fabric, leaving you half bare.

You skin was covered in goosebumps from the cold air and the fear of what he was going to do you. He reached next to him and grabbed the discarded rope from before, tying your arms to the couch above you head, tighter this time. There was no way to get out this time.

Kai slid down, straddling your hips. His eyes burned into your skin as you looked away, not liking the feeling of being exposed like this.

He pushed the blade into your stomach, smiling sadistically at your cries of pain. You felt the knife drawing a circle into your stomach, blood pooling out. Tears started streaming down your face at the pain of the knife.

Once the circle was completed you thought he would be done. But you were wrong. You looked down and saw him carving a smiley face into you, with an interesting looking nose. The image was disturbing so you quickly away.

He ran his finger over the cuts, collecting blood on his fingers. He brought it to your mouth, shoving his fingers down your throat. You felt the metallic taste mix with the salt of your tears. Once he got all the blood off his fingers, he moved back again, this time slicing off your leggings and panties, leaving you complete bare and vulnerable.

You felt a stinging feeling on your thighs as you realized he was cutting you there too. Little knicks all over. You whined as he gently dragged the knife over your pussy, hitting your clit with blade, not hard enough to bleed, but it still hurt.

“Stop, please,” you begged looked at his with tears eyes.

“I could, but I don’t want to,” he said as he smiled wickedly.

He pushed your legs apart, lowering his head between them. You fought to pull them closed, but he wouldn’t let you. He dragged his tongue along the cuts he made. You hissed at the pain.

He sat up and unbuckled his pants, pulling his hard cock out. He leaned over you, untying you from the couch, but leaving your hands bound. He pulled you up, before shoving you down roughly on his cock. You felt the tip hit the back of your throat as you gagged around his length.

He grabbed a handful of your hair, holding you in place, before ruthlessly fucking your mouth.

“Oh- fuck that feels amazing,” he moaned.

Your tears were falling heavily now. You struggled to breathe as he pounded into your mouth. Groans spilling from his lips.

He let out a loud moan as you felt a bitter liquid hit your tongue.

“Swallow,” he said as he pulled your hair, making you look at him.

You did as he said, and he opened your mouth, checking to see that you did want he said. He then pushed back against the couch, holding you down with only his body.

One of his hands traveled down to your pussy as he ran his fingers up and down your slit.

“Already so wet for me, huh?” he said with a smirk.

Your eyes went wide as you realized you were soaked. Did you actually like this? No, that’s impossible, right? This was awful, he was forcing himself on you. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t the slightest bit attracted to him.

He lined his cock up with your entrance, running the tip along your folds. A small moan left your lips as you gasped.

“So you do like this? You dirty little slut. I bet you can’t wait for me to fill you up with my cock. You’d like that would you? To be completely filled with my cock, to be filled with my cum?”

You meekly nodded, ashamed that he was right. A sadistic smile took its place on his face once more as he started pounding into you, giving you no time to adjust. You moaned at the feeling.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” he said in a growl.

You let out another moan as he started rubbing circles on your clit. His lips attached to your neck once more, muffling the groans coming out of his mouth.

You felt that familiar knot begin to build up in the pit of your stomach. Your legs were shaking, and you’re moans faltering.

“I- I’m- I’m gonna-,” you tried to mumble out, being cut off by your moans.

“Cum for me little lamb,” he said next to your ear, sending shivers up your spine.

And you did, releasing all over his cock. He moaned at the feeling. You legs shook with overstimulation as he continued his quick pace.

Soon, his thrusts faltered, and you felt his load spill into you. He pulled out and watched his seed drip out of you. He smiling and leaned next to your ear.

“Like I said, you’re mine. Do you understand that know?” he asked.

You nodded and felt him slap your face. He grabbed your jaw and made you look him in the eyes.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” you trailed off, not knowing what to call him.

“Divine ruler,” he said, realizing he hadn’t told you his name.

“Yes divine ruler.”

“Good girl.”

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ancientwastedlores · 4 years ago

Text

Undone by “Darling”

REQUEST (from @november-solarstorms): Celebrating another year of this earth being braced by Tom Hiddleston's presence! Lol. Might I make a prompt request? I feel as though it would be interesting to read from Loki's POV to explore the dynamics between him and a human female who is just as intelligent as he. She has a sharp wit and even sharper tongue. Her sarcastic and clever nature enable her to out-banter Tony Stark, the king of snark himself (may he rest in peace). But she is also just as flirtatious and salacious. She never blushes, never falters, and is incredibly clever. You can decide the nature of their encounter. Really im just in it for a good game of cat and mouse.

A/N: Okay, I had SO MUCH FUN writing this!! And yeah, this will run a bit longer than my usual fics lol. Also, there IS a Loki POV, just keep reading thaaanks <3

WARNINGS: none.

WORD COUNT: 1,932

____________________________________________________________________

Undone by “Darling”

17 hours and 6 white chocolate mochas later, it was finally ready - an upgraded version of Corvus Glaive’s glaive, this one spec-ed out to your fancies and requirements. It was a beast, and definitely not something Nick Fury would ever let you play around with, even if you made it.

Satisfied with your work, you remove your safety goggles and grin at Stark, who is working on his own weapon he scavenged from the Black Order.

‘I’m done!’ you say triumphantly, causing him to look up and groan. ‘How did you finish before me!?’ he lowers his glasses and looks at your weapon. ‘I’m smarter’ you say. ‘I went to MIT’ ‘And I didn’t, yet here we are, both in the same lab’.

He shakes his head, not unlike a petulant child, causing you to laugh.

‘How far along are you?’ you ask. ‘Still running diagnostics’. ‘Still!?’ ‘Have you seen the size of his hammer?’ he gestures to Cull Obsidian’s chain hammer on his work table, but the innuendo doesn’t escape you and you grin at him. He facepalms. ‘Y/n, for god’s sake...’ ‘You’re just tired, or you’d appreciate the joke too’.

You stretch your weary body and let out a deep breath. You’d test the weapon out tomorrow, but for now, you need a nap.

‘Take a load off, Stark. Hammer’ll be there tomorrow’. ‘Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you...’ he puts his goggles back on and get to work.

Loki’s POV:

Humans are surprising, but I always knew that. I never thought them boring, even if my brother says I do. Humans are of so little power but such incredible resilience that it’s frankly astonishing. I am inclined to believe that sometimes resilience is just stupidity... in most cases, I am right. But that’s not to say I haven’t come across some truly brave people.

Take the Avengers Tower, for example.

Just in here, you have Y/n, a brave soldier with the mind of an intergalactic scavenger, and I do mean that as a compliment. She’s awfully clever, she can build better than Stark, and has a track record of finishing every mission to perfection and before time. And then you have the Super Soldier Steve Rogers, a big muscled, big hearted idiot who often mistakes challenging our enemies for bravery and morality.

The two couldn’t be more different, but they get along like siblings. Not siblings like Thor and I... better adjusted, perhaps.

They sit in front of me, talking about some mission while they play Chess. Her moves are quick but calculated, his take more time because he’s more interested in telling his story than playing the game.

‘...so there I am, no weapons, no shield, bang in the middle of the Serpent Citadel...’

He’s a good storyteller, I’ll give him that. But not as good as Y/n. She paints quite a picture, full of delicious gory details and horribly dark jokes.

‘Steve, you have to pay attention, you’re losing’ she says. ‘Yeah, I don’t actually know how to play chess, I just wanted you to listen to my story’.

She looks up at him, almost offended. ‘STEVE...’ ‘Cool, I’m gonna go wrap Stark into a game of Battleships and tell him about my fight with Copperhead’.

She laughs as he leaves the room, and she puts the chess pieces away.

‘We could play?’ I ask her. ‘Is the God in a mood to lose?’ ‘Over confidence isn’t attractive in anybody’. ‘Oh darling, neither is telling someone what is and isn’t attractive’.

She’s never called me that before, and in the context it should seem cutting, but it isn’t. ‘Darling?’ ‘Problem?’ ‘It’s quite a term of endearment to set someone straight’.

She says nothing.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ I tease her. She only smiles and continues putting the pieces away neatly. Stark’s chess set is gold and black, all individually carved pieces. The pawns are all Iron Man suits, but that’s to be expected. She handles them with the care Stark would.

‘I mean...’ I continue, ‘honestly, if someone heard, they’d never let you live it down’.

And she carries on, unbothered.

‘Y/n!’ ‘Oh dear, look at you come completely undone with just one term of endearment’ she comments, shutting the chess set. ‘Whatever would happen if I held your hand?’

The very thought of it seemed to drain my brain of blood. I unwillingly glanced at her hands, working the lock mechanism of the box, her blue veins prominent.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ she asked.

I stood up, the human emotion of embarrassment becoming too familiar for me. ‘I’ll have to see you at lunch’. ‘Sure, darling’.

Oh, I hate how she’s enjoying this.

----------

The next day, Y/n booked a training room to test out the Glaive, and Stark had a rusty but working chain hammer. Steve insists on trying it out anyway, and now our breakfast is being spent on discouraging him from doing that.

‘Guys... if nothing else, I’ll still have my shield. Let me test it out!’ ‘Y/n’s glaive cuts through Vibranium, you know that, right?’ Stark says. ‘Y/n wouldn’t do that’. ‘Oh yes she would’ Y/n says nonchalantly as she sinks her teeth into a bacon and egg sandwich.

As she does, the yolk runs down her fingers. She makes a sound at the inconvenience and sets the sandwich down, then grabs a napkin. I’m hardly ever crude, but the energy it took not to take her hand and lick off the yolk myself could burn every star in the galaxy.

Captain America scrunches his nose at her remark, severely offended.

‘In any case, that shield barely covers your giant body. It will force Stark to make you a new one’. ‘What do you care about his giant body’ Stark says. ‘It’s America’s ass, Tony’ she takes a sip of her iced coffee. Steve blushes, and Tony rolls his eyes.

----------

The training facility is magic, of course, somewhere between a mirror dimension and Wanda’s reality powers creating a safe cocoon inside the building so no one can be harmed. Y/n hardly trusted anybody to fight with her except Thor, but given the nature of Corvus’ Glaive, she knew magic would be required.

And so she called me.

After getting into my battle armour, I stepped into the facility, equipped with my sceptre and the teachings of the witches of Asgard.

She whistles as I walk in. ‘Trying to distract me from killing you?’ ‘Are you?’ I ask. She’s dressed in a black bodysuit, details of purple in her belt and weapon harnesses. ‘Why yes, I am. Glad you noticed’.

The glaive is on the floor, and she stomps her foot on one part of it so it swivels up and neatly places itself in her hand. She smiles.

‘Try to keep up. I’m not just looking for eye candy in a training partner, darling’ she says, getting into battle stance.

With nothing left to say for the second time this week, I aim the sceptre at her and the stone at the end glows.

She charges and I shoot at her, but she spins the glaive and creates a shield which absorbs the energy.

She continues to charge at me. I shoot again, and again the glaive takes the hit. Not a scratch on her.

Once she comes closer, she simply places the flat end of the weapon against my chest, sending me hurtling back into a wall.

She spins the glaive and laughs.

‘Compliments of Wakanda. It absorbs any hits and charges up with kinetic energy’.

I get up on my feet. This is far from over. I create multiple illusions to surround her, all of them brandishing knives, Chitauri tech, and sceptres.

‘Damn, suddenly my whole evening has opened up’ she says, looking around.

Even my clones look around at each other puzzled.

‘Come on then, who’s up?’ she spins the glaive around. ‘One at a time or all at once, baby’.

They charge at her, and I expected her to fight them off at once... instead she plants the staff on the ground and ducks, and a semi-circle shell grows from the top of the staff, down to the floor... like a mini fortress, completely impenetrable. It could, no doubt, continue to take hits and build up kinetic energy, so I call off the clones.

She gets up and retracts the shell. ‘Nanotech’ she grins at me. ‘The whole shell sits in a disk. It can withstand bombs and even a moon’. ‘Is there any tech you haven’t adopted?’ ‘I’m an intergalactic scavenger, aren’t I?’

I stare at her, horrified. Can she read minds?

‘Maybe I can. Or maybe I heard you tell Stark when he was complaining about me finishing my weapon first’.

Silence.

‘Also, darling, you’re awfully predictable in your fighting’.

She picks up every trick and tech she sees, so beating her is less about weapons and more about cunning.

No problem. Cunning is my specialty.

‘Ready now?’ she asks. ‘Mhm’.

She takes a deep breath to ready herself, her eyes shutting slightly. Once they open back up, she stares in shock.

In my Jotun form, I give her my most menacing smile.

She cocks her head to the side, studying my icy blue skin.

The illusion I cast of myself approaches behind her, dagger in hand. Once it’s close enough and I can almost taste my victory, she raises the glaive and in one swift motion, sticks it into its abdomen.

The illusion disappears into green light.

‘Cute’ she remarks. She points the glaive at me. ‘What else you got for me?’ I shift back to my Asgardian form and sigh. ‘You win’.

Y/n laughs and lowers her weapon. ‘Oh darling, I won the second you walked in wearing all that leather’. She winks at me, then walks out of the facility. I feel a blush creep to my face, much against my will.

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

‘Maybe you should stick to your guns, Tony’ Y/n says, ‘Fancy suits is it for you, chain hammers may be overshooting it’. ‘Is that what they taught you in the back alley you learnt ironmongery from?’ ‘Yes! Do you want their number, I’m sure they’ll have a spot on the waiting list for you’.

Ah. Y/n’s relationship with Stark seemed more like mine with Thor. While they banter, Steve and Natasha tear up from laughing. I wouldn’t go so far as to call this domestic, but it certainly is comfortable.

‘Come on, the glaive can’t be that good, right Loki?’ Stark asks.

The company looks at me expectantly. ‘To say her weapon isn’t good enough means to insult your own tech, Stark. Everything about it is founded on your theories’.

‘So technically, it’s my brain that made the glaive so cool’ he tells Y/n. ‘Yeah, you could say that. The glaive comes from the same mind that manufactured Captain America’s dinner plate’.

Steve doesn’t find that one funny, but Natasha does, sending her into peals of laughter.

‘Oh whatever’ Tony huffs. ‘I’m going back to the lab’.

He stands up and Y/n grabs his arm. ‘Aww Tony, I’m just kidding!’ she pats his hand, ‘Look, you’re a brilliant inventor, we all have our slow days’.

He sighs and nods, and holds her hand. ‘Thanks... I guess I’m just not in my element, you know?’ ‘Yeah...’ she keeps patting his hand.

And the feeling of domesticity creeps in. We really are all a family. Y/n smiles encouragingly at Tony, and Tony seems more relaxed.

‘So, you want me to get you the number of that ironmongery, or...?’ ‘OH FOR...’ he snatches his arm away and storms out of the room, with Steve and Nat losing it all over again.

___________________________________________________________

Ah this was so fun!!!!!!!! I hope you guys liked it <3

MASTERLIST HERE

ASK BOX OPEN FOR FIC REQUESTS. Find GUIDELINES HERE.

#loki x you #loki pov #loki x reader #loki marvel #Marvel Avengers #avengers tower #avengers fluff #tony stark #loki fanfic #loki fluff #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston birthday #fic prompts

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remys-lucky-franc · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Bringing Sexy Back (To Regency England) - Immortal Heart Society

So this happened because I referred to new series IHS’s baddie Lord Montague as ‘Lord Timberlake’ due to the coiffuring similarities and it made @aquagirl1978 LOL and she made me this:

See how alike they look though?! I’m not crazy.

Literally no one in the world wants this fic, and it’s just stupid, but I had a giggle writing it, so 😆 Also, I genuinely know nothing about JT, if any of you are superfans and I’m way off, it’s just a bit of fun, no ill intent or offence meant 💕

Also it’s just in time for all the good old memes... (At the end if anyone needs a ref point)

Word Count ~3500 (yeah, I’ve gone off)

[MORE] [[MORE]]

In the grandiose but soulless marble bathroom of the Boston penthouse, Justin squeezed his eyes tight-shut, splashing his face with frigid water. He inhaled sharply as the moisture hit his skin, opening his eyes and staring intently at the reflection mirrored back at him. It had been quite a night so far. He’d been courted by ‘The Society’ for a couple of months now and on receiving their latest invite, he had finally acquiesced. Over the course of the evening he’d exchanged pleasantries and mingled with a fusion of intriguing individuals - all very different, very separate people, but all who clearly had gotten the memo: convince him to join. Justin suspected before he arrived, from the exclusive address on the invite alone, the sort of members The Society would have on its roster and he wasn’t surprised - even if most of them were no more than masked silhouettes. Initially when he had exited the elevator and caught sight of all those shaded faces, Justin’s heart stuttered: had he inadvertently accepted an invite to some sort of sexy party? How would he explain this one? ‘Hey Honey - funny story...’ But it didn’t take long to deduce that the disguises were all part of the prestige and served as identity protection rather than a conduit to anyone having any real sort of fun.

The mixer itself had been entertaining enough, but the hushed secrets shared in the drawing room were what had piqued his interested and saw him hiding in the restroom searching his own soul for answers. He’d been trading anecdotes with a handful of members before he was interrupter by a well dressed blonde and ushered through a side door, where he was greeted with a firm handshake by one of the top men within the society (apparently), Richard - Something. Initially Justin had smiled but internally rolled his eyes as he considered how these shady types only ever give out their first names - and how that felt particularly unfair when everyone here knew fine well what his surname was... Richard was perfectly charming and charismatic - in the same faux-caring, calculating way politicians are as they try to snare floating voters. His smile was bright and his words were warm, but his eyes were a stark contrast. The Society’s hoi-polloi were obviously deemed to have played their part in warming him up and now Richard was here to give him the hard-sell: and sell he did.

And at first, it sounded relatively normal. At first. Until Richard started with tall tales of how society members held all of the power in the world through power stones. Initially Justin got to his feet and scoffed - weren’t crystals just for spa days and hippies? This had to be a set up. He scanned the room looking for any clue of a hidden camera, Ashton Kutcher’s sneakers showing from behind a curtain perhaps - but nothing. It all sounded truly ridiculous, but as Richard stood, laying a firm hand on Justin’s shoulder, directing him towards a plush chair, pouring him two fingers of whisky, something held him; fascinated him. Stopped him from barging straight out of the room. Justin observed in silence as Richard thumbed through various documents, showing him photographs, pulling up search data online... Explaining. Convincing. Persuading. Justin didn’t trust the suave smarmy suit as far as he could throw him, but the more Richard divulged of the spiderweb of societal involvement in major global events and current affairs, the more sense it made... And in spite of himself, Justin started to succumb to this strange reality. Every word out of Clever Dick’s mouth was revelational, peeling away one layer after another, after another, until Justin’s mind was blown; his brain hurt the same way it did the first time he watched Inception. He couldn’t bend his mind around why Richard was telling him all this, or why a collective more powerful than The Walt Disney Company would want a musician to join their ranks? Richard shrugged coolly as he continued to play for Justin’s buy in, simply smiling and saying that, as a big pop star, it would be quid pro quo - a very mutually beneficial arrangement. The society had access to the best labels, the best A&R departments, they could get Justin as much airplay, fame and publicity as he wanted.

Justin couldn’t deny it sounded appealing - but what did they want in return? So far it was all ‘quid’ and no ‘quo’. He had to ask. Even the easy, practiced grin on Richard’s face couldn’t offset the glint of ice in his dark eyes and menace in his voice that chilled Justin’s blood.

“Justin, come! Everyone knows that music is what shapes the youth of today! The influence wielded by artists, the loyalty inspired by them, their marketability, it’s simply insurmountable! Think about it, dear boy? If The Society control the music, they control the populace.”

Justin cleared his throat as he sized himself up, readjusting his skinny black tie and squaring his shoulders. Richard must be insane. The Society’s logic was fatally flawed: they couldn’t seriously think that it was possible control the entire world’s population through having a singer in their ranks? It was infeasible. Impossible. But what they were offering him in exchange? Now, that was a very attractive proposition indeed. If he agreed to join, and got all of that out of it, it would be worth it? The Society would surely realise at some point that they couldn’t rule the world through the power of song? Yes, the power of a one-line harmony had already been proven by McDonald’s to sell a shit-tonne of burgers - and while it was a pretty convincing argument, selling fast-food to hungry people was one thing - but full-scale global domination?? That was something else entirely. But if he could ride along on their coat-tails and reap all the benefits until they realised just how crazy that idea had been in the first place...

—- two years later —-

Cash carded his hand through his dark hair, exasperated as he listened to Alana’s latest report, “You all understand that Timberlake is completely out of control, yes?”

Emilio grunted flatly as his head fell into his crossed arms on the table like a five year old ready to play heads-down-thumbs-up, “Yeeeeees.”

Cash bristled further as he looked to Rafe and Kiran for their input, both simply nodding back at him as though to say, ‘yes, we know.’

Alana looked down at her phone, worrying her full bottom lip between her teeth, “It’s worse than you think though, Cash.”

He was instantly on his feet staring at her, Rafe and Kiran leaned forward and Emilio raised one weary brow from his slumped pose, concern evident on all their faces.

Kiran was first to speak, “Alana how can it be worse? Richard’s vanished off the face of the earth. Justin’s last billboard count had him go multi-platinum - again, and his lyrics are becoming...”

Rafe offered flatly, “Odd.” He stood, cracked his neck from side to side and headed towards the small stove, absentmindedly filling a saucepan with water and a packet of instant noodles.

Cash shook his head at Rafe then turned back to glower at the rest of the Inner Circle, “Thank you all for the recap. It’s bleak, we know. Alana?”

Green eyes fixed the room as Alana cleared her throat and mouthed, “One hundred and ninety-four.”

Dumbfounded silence filled the room; jaws hung slack. Until Kiran broke the spell, a spluttering cough turning into an uncomfortable laugh, “One hundred and ninety-four what? Because I know you definitely can’t mean stones. We know the exactly location of over fifty percent of them? They’re safe?”

Rafe, back at the table with his ramen by now, paled as Alana shook her head at a loss for words, red curls bouncing around her shoulders, “How is that possible?”

Alana threw her hands in the air, confessing “I honestly don’t know. But he has ones that we knew the location of, and more besides.”

Cash paced the room, clearly agitated as he cursed and barked,

“That’s every stone in existence, except ours and one other.”

Alana puffed out her cheeks before huffing out the breath sharply, “Correct. He has the lot, excepts ours - and the Garnet.”

Emilio’s hand slid under his shirt, a double-check to be sure his Alexandrite remained firmly on the chain hidden beneath the dark fabric, fiddling with it like a child with a comfort blanket as he spoke, “I- I just don’t understand. How? How did he get so many without us knowing?”

Rafe shrugged as he shovelled a spoonful of noodles into his mouth and chewed thoroughly before answering, “Richard’s protege. His pet project. Nothing surprises me when he’s involved. Everything he touches gets tarnished.”

Alana sighed sadly, “Justin seemed like such a sweet guy when he first joined. I really liked him. I thought he could have been part of our Inner Circle someday.”

Rafe shot her a rueful smile before looking down into the noodles, “Same. He changed. Fast.” Coiling his fork in a thick helping, he swung them into his mouth without ceremony.

Cash pinched the bridge of his nose, stopping pacing for long enough to stare and snap at Rafe,

“What is it with you and those blasted ramen noodles??”

Rafe shook his head silently as though to say, ‘I don’t know’: he wasn’t entirely sure why, but every time someone mentioned Timberlake, he couldn’t stop himself from carb-loading. All he wanted a big bowl of ramen in his belly and he couldn’t think about anything else until he was full of noodley-goodness. He’d eaten more instant ramen in the past couple of years than he did during college, and that was saying something.

Kiran cut through the atmosphere between the two men, venturing, “So how are we going to shut him down?”

—-

Richard had been missing for months, and although all trails had gone cold and no one was one hundred percent clear on what had happened to him, there was very strong suspicion within the group of five that Justin had something to do with it. How else had he managed to acquire almost every power stone in existence? He must have dispensed of Richard and taken them for himself - there really didn’t seem, to be any other explanation. The Inner Circle had been aware that Richard was hoarding stones, but his haul had escalated significantly and quickly with Justin by his side - at the Circle’s last count maybe six to eight months ago, Richard only had sixty-five stones in his custody. The dirty duo had been busy.

Emilio shuddered solemnly as he thought about what must have happened to the rightful owners of those stones. He was at the tower with the Inner Circle, minus Cash. Cash would arrive soon, bringing Justin to the table with him. Creating a rouse of support, and then double-crossing him to recover the power stones had been deemed the only feasible plan. Emilio watched the rest of the group: Rafe stirring at a saucepan at the small kitchen set up, Kiran flipping aimlessly though a fashion magazine and Alana tapping at her cellphone. They were all feeling nervous about this, the stakes had never been so high. He scrubbed his brow as he ran through the various scenarios of what could possibly happen with Cash and Justin arrived.

He didn’t have long to wait as the door opened and laughter reverberated around the room. Cash was manoeuvring Timberlake expertly, and Justin seemed to be lapping up everything he said. A round of smiles and handshakes later everyone sat around the table, eyes expectantly on Cash.

“Justin, firstly, thank you for joining the group here today. As you know, with Richard... Let’s say, elsewhere. I’ve been standing in as the ‘interim leader’. And I’ll be frank, Justin, I always thought it would be for me, but it’s not. And it takes a lot for me to admit that. I can do the decision-making, the negotiations, but what I cannot abide is dealing with attitudes and egos all day long.”

Rafe chortled, “He thinks he should be the only one allowed an attitude and an ego!”

Justin grinned and visibly relaxed within the larger group.

Clearing his throat irately, Cash gestured towards Rafe, “Exactly what I’m talking about. Justin, my calling doesn’t lie in leading The Society. I am more interested in having a less ’public facing position’ shall we say, where I can really put my true talents to use. And that’s why I invited you to sit with us today, Justin.’

Timberlake nodded enthusiastically, “ I see.”

Cash stood, wearing a trail in the carpet as he walked back and forth,

“What are your goals, Justin? We understand you must be distraught about Richard’s disappearance, you two seemed close. Do you have aspirations for The Society’s Leadership? We’ve been observing you for some time, and feel that we could all benefit each other within this little group, everyone here wants to progress and wants ‘more’. And we feel like you may have some ideas that could help us all to achieve just that.”

Justin leaned back in his chair observing the group sat around the table. Of course he knew what his goals were. He’d never really considered leadership of The Society until recently - his mind had been consumed with his plan for ultimate pop domination over the past two years. And he’d progressed so far that it was within his grasp - and that was when he and Richard had begun to clash. Badly. Richard’s vision was so- So limited. He couldn’t see Justin’s potential past being a Society tool used to control the public. Justin knew his worth, he was more than a tool for Richard to implement as he saw fit. He felt the anger bubble inside him as he recalled the final fight with Richard. They could have controlled the entire world together: why couldn’t Richard have seen that? Why couldn’t he have got on board with Justin’s plans? As he sized up the twelve eyes watching him, he thought about the dozens of power stones locked securely in the safe in his apartment: these people could see his strength. His power. His star ascending. He leaned forward, his decision made,

“I have acquired many power stones and my plan is, to use our time-travelling abilities to go back in time and wipe other pop stars from existence, so that I am the single biggest pop star in the world today. Then with my influence, The Society will control everything. We, friends, will control the world.”

Alana and Kiran eyeballed each other as the men nodded at Justin.

Kiran interjected,

“There’s no doubt that The Society would benefit from that sort of influence, but what about all of the damage that would be done to culture and humanity without artists?”

Justin looked confused as he stared at her, “But they’d still have me?”

Kiran chewed the statement over before asking, “And who are you going after? Are we talking about Elvis? The Beatles? Frank Sinatra?”

Justin waved a hand as though he’d practiced this very conversation in the mirror a hundred times, “No, no. Only today’s artists. I can’t disrupt anyone who directly or indirectly influenced my career. Butterfly Effect and all.”

The Inner Circle nodded sagely as Justin continued, “And when my plan is complete, who, I ask you, will be the biggest pop star in the world??”

Alana glanced up grimacing, “I don’t know Justin, I mean Lady Gaga is pretty huge? Iconic, even.”

Emilio shook his head, “Right now, Ariana Grande’s the biggest artist in the world, I read it somewhere.”

Justin fixed them both with an affronted stare, “But think about it, if none of them ever existed... Then who would be the biggest pop star in the world?”

Alana and Emilio exchanged a world-weary glance as Justin cackled, “Guess what? It’s gonna be me.”

Rafe scrunched his nose, confused, speaking through a mouthful of ramen, “May? What? Are the Emmy’s not always in September?”

Cash shotshim a withering glance before grinning at Justin, “You’ve thought a lot about his haven’t you?”

Justin, visibly flattered, shrugged off Cash’s praise, “Just a little.”

Cash leaned towards Justin conspiratorially, “So tell us, what more do you need to make your dreams a reality, and how could we, as a group, facilitate that?”

—-

Over the next few weeks the Inner Circle had planned for two consecutive missions. One intricate scheme with Justin, that involved him travelling back over two hundred years to Regency England to secure the Garnet power stone from a Lady Foxworthy. And their own private secondary mission that involved luring Justin back to Regency England where there was no power stone to be found.

When the day to venture back in time arrived, Justin paraded around the tower preening in the mirror at his era-appropriate garb. Kiran had stitched it to perfection, a beautifully embroidered waistcoat over his cravat, fitted cream pants and a midnight blue, velvet long-tailed coat that really made his eyes pop. Rafe let out a low whistle, winking at Justin’s reflection in the mirror, “Looking sharp! Nice work Kiran.” This look was a definitely a step up from double denim!

Kiran moved around Justin turning him, dusting down his shoulders, “Oh hold up, you have a thread. Let me just get that for you. Can’t have you looking less than perfect!” She reached for her scissors and touched the back of his jacket whilst swiftly clipping a tuft of hair from the back of his head.

The corners of Cash’s mouth quirked upwards at her almost imperceptibly as he spoke, “Very elegant, good Sir. You look quite the part.”

Justin gave Cash a delighted twirl to show off his new threads before performing a low, sweeping bow - completely unaware of his missing locks - speaking in a haughty-sounding English accent, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Tarkhan, I am Lord Timberlake.”

Alana had to swig at a cup of water to stop herself from bursting into peals of laughter, it was like the only English person he’d ever heard speak before was Queen Elizabeth herself! Cash raised an eyebrow in her direction before addressing Justin, “You’re definitely comfortable travelling back alone, because it would only take Alana here a few minutes to change into something suitable and accompany you?”

Justin waved a hand dismissing the suggestion, quite honestly he didn’t want anyone cramping his style. It wasn’t Justin’s first time in Regency England - when he and Richard had travelled there previously he’d had a ball. He had exactly eight hours to get there, get the Garnet, have some fun in a previous era and get back - and then. Then a whole new era would begin. His era... Leader of the most powerful Society in the world and the biggest pop star in history. Justin grinned as he stepped forward, placing his hands around the ornate pocket watch and beginning the arcane chant to begin his voyage through time. The rest of the Inner Circle joined the chant, turning back the clocks within the tower as Justin’s world started to blur at the edges, drifting backwards through two hundred years of history.

After Justin was gone, a series of stealthy grins were exchanged around the group. Emilio breathed a sigh of relief, “We did it.”

Kiran tossed the little velvet bag with Justin’s hair inside to Cash - their insurance policy, should he need to be dealt with ‘more permanently’ at a later date. Today’s plan didn’t involve the singer being turned into a surprised-looking statue, just giving him an extended stay in Regency England instead... The garnet wasn’t there - in fact, there were no stones left there. It was common knowledge within the Inner Circle where the garnet was: firmly on the finger of Richard’s blissfully unaware and estranged daughter - passed down by his long-missing wife. A point that Timberlake was sadly remiss of: they all had banked on Richard never disclosing a topic so sore as his failure as a father out of pure pride and vanity - and they’d been correct...

Now there was nothing more to do than wind all the clocks back to the correct time, then sit and wait until Justin would try to get back.

—-

Seven and three-quarter hours later, the group within the tower saw a blurry portal loom in the corner of the room. Suddenly alert, they listened intently as Justin’s voice crackled through,

“Rafe, Cash, guys! Are you there? Help me! I can’t... I can’t get back! Alana?? The ritual, it’s not working, I’m not fading back through??”

Cash drawled as he examined his fingernails, looking thoroughly bored,

“Ah, so our little ritual worked then. Good to know.”

The passage through time became narrower and narrow as a sickening realisation suckerpunched Justin, panic rising like bile in his throat, “You... You did this on purpose!! You screwed me over!! You bastards!!!!”

As the portal flickered and shrunk to no more than a pinhole, echoes of the roars of their names reverberated around the room, until the gap sealed itself trapping Lord Timberlake in Regency England for ever more. Silence settled over the tower for a few moments, until Rafe glanced up at the rest of the group thorough his sweeping fringe, a smirk slowly stretching from ear to ear as he shrugs,

“Cry me a river...”

#immortal heart society #lovestruck

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zerogate · 4 years ago

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The London Daily Telegraph of 6 August 1982 carried the news that “a woman walking down a street in Chicago burst into flames for no apparent reason and was burned to death yesterday.” The Chicago police logged the event as a case of spontaneous human combustion, adding it to the “several hundred” cases recorded in recent centuries. In spontaneous human combustion “a person’s body is reduced, sometimes within minutes, to a heap of cinders . . . unusual features are the speed and intensity of the process . . . and the way that it is selectively directed, for example, leaving the extremities of the body unharmed and sometimes not even damaging the clothes encasing the body.”

Unlike most of the phenomena discussed in this book, spontaneous human combustion is (albeit grudgingly) accepted by modern science. Science could hardly do otherwise than accept, in view of the police and medical photographic evidence presented at coroners’ inquests. Dr. Gavin Thurston, a London coroner and editor of the Medico-Legal Journal, writes (in 1961) that “there are undisputed instances where the body was burned in its own substance, without external fuel, and in which there has been a remarkable absence of damage to surrounding inflammable objects.”

[...]

Mrs. Reeser was the widow of a doctor and the mother of a doctor. On the evening of 1 July 1951 she was sixty-seven years of age, in apparent good health, and living in Florida, a few hundred yards from her doctor son. Her son left her at 8:30 that evening, and her landlady Mrs. Carpenter looked in on her at 9 p.m. Mrs. Reeser was then seated in an easy chair, undressed ready for bed. At 5 a.m. Mrs. Carpenter was roused by the smell of burning. She found the doorknob of Mrs. Reeser’s bedroom to be hot, frighteningly hot. When the door was subsequently opened, a blast of heated air rushed out. Mrs. Reeser was, apparently, not in the apartment, and the bed had not been slept in, but closer examination revealed the truth.

Within a blackened circle about four feet in diameter were a number of coiled seat springs, and the remains of a human body. The remains consisted of a charred liver attached to a piece of backbone, a skull shrunk to the size of a baseball, a foot encased in a black satin slipper but burned down to just above the ankle, and a small pile of blackened ashes.

Commenting on the case, Dr. W. M. Krogman, Professor of Physical Anthropology at the University of Pennsylvania, points out that only at the very high temperature of 3000° F do bones even begin to fuse or melt, let alone disappear altogether. He tells how he has observed a body burn for eight hours in a crematorium at over 2000° F, “yet at the end of that time there was scarcely a bone that was not present and completely recognizable as a human bone . . . they were not ashes and powder as in the case of Mrs. Reeser and numerous other deaths by spontaneous combustion.” He goes on: "Never have I seen a human skull shrunk by intense heat. The opposite has always been true. The skulls either have been abnormally swollen or have virtually exploded into many pieces. . . . I have experimented, using cadaver heads, and have never known an exception to this rule."

Dr. Gavin Thurston wholly supports these views: "To burn a body at an execution, for example, as much as two cart-loads of wood are required: and attempts by criminals to dispose of a body by fire are notoriously unsuccessful . . . this is a well-recognized medico-legal fact."

As Krogman hints, old-fashioned crematoria have to employ someone whose job it is to grind remaining bones to powder after a cremation. Even following industrial fires, let alone house fires, the remains of victims, though terribly charred, are still recognizable as human beings.

In another typical case, nineteen-year-old Maybelle Andrews was dancing with her boyfriend Billy Clifford . . . when flames suddenly burst from her back, chest and shoulders, igniting her hair. She died on the way to hospital. Her boyfriend, who was badly burnt trying to put her out, explained that “there were no open flames in the room—the flames seemed to come from the girl herself.”

In December 1966, in Pennsylvania, a local physician, Dr. John Bentley—or what was left of him—was found by a meter reader, who had his own key to the house. Leaning over a small blackened hole in the bathroom floor was the doctor’s walking aid. “Alongside it was the sole, macabre remains of Dr. Bentley: the lower part of his right leg, browned by the heat, the shoe still intact.” In the room below the hole was a small cone of fine ash, about 13 inches high.

-- Stan Gooch, The Origins of a Psychic Phenomena

Bonus content: A more recent case from Ireland (2011)

#quotes

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vivianrvergiou · 5 years ago

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Bad Luck~ Obey Me

After a particularly bad fight in the House of Lamentation, a series of unfortunate events unfold. Pairing: Mammon x Mc Warnings: slight bad language but other than that everything’s ok. Recommended song: 5SOS- Teeth This is my first time writing for the Obey Me fandom, especially for the Greedy Monmon, so I do hope you enjoy!

Normally, the House of Lamentation was always buzzing with voices and energy, as its restless demon residents and human one would go about their day, but today this was not the case. Today, everyone was gathered around the breakfast table, glaring daggers to one another but daring not to speak a single word. You and Beel were the only ones trying out the food, while the other ones were ready to slit each other throats.

‘No one will leave this table until the culprit confesses.’ Lucifer announced, resting his hands on the table with deceiving calmness, but all of you could see the vein of annoyance popping in his head.

‘Mammon just confess it is you and be done with it.’ Satan practically growled at the white-haired demon, who threw his hands up in surrender.

‘Oi, didn’ do it dude. How many times should I tell ya?’

Satan’s green eyes flash with rage and he clenched his fists in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. Right beside him, Levi is rocking himself back and forth, muttering under his breath about levels and assassins and music blasting at full volume. Asmodeus on the other hand, had folded his hands above his chest and refused to even acknowledge anyone around. Still, he pipes up.

‘I want the one who ruined my beautiful hair PAY!’ Asmo throws venomously ‘Do you know how hard it was to get my original colour back?!’

‘Who cares about your hair! That damn assassin keeps getting me on every level! I haven’t slept in two weeks!’

‘Try scratching yourself raw then Levi.’ Belphie muttered, throwing dagger glares to everyone on the table ‘With only exception (y/n) and Beel, any of you could’ve done it. Especially the scumbag, good-for-nothing, greedy bastard like Mammon.’

Lucifer nods ‘This is what we are here to find out. I can promise you that the one responsible will pay dearly. Torture, tied up and hung from the ceilin-’ He growls, and you almost choke with your cereal, cutting him off ‘Anything funny (y/n)?’

You shrug ‘Hard to take you seriously when your teeth are painted pitch black Lucifer. You should wash them every now and then.’

Your snarky remark earns you a murderous glare from the first-born, while Belphie, Satan and Mammon chuckle, with Mammon choking on his spit when Lucifer turns his gaze to him, red eyes dripping with a wild mixture of cruelty and raw anger eating away at the colour. Still, Lucifer is barely managing to contain his anger and not flog you all for your disobedience.

‘It has come to my attention (y/n) that you, Beel and Mammon are the only ones who haven’t fallen victims to this sort of… misfortunes. Care to explain why?’ his eyes never stray from your face, searching for the signs that would possibly betray you.

Alas, as you shrug your shoulders and munch down on a cupcake, your face remains innocently even ‘Maybe because we are next?’

‘No, noononono, don’t go sayin’ that (y/n). The Great Mammon is not up for this shit.’

‘While the rest of us where! So, spit it out already!’ Satan roars and hits the table with his fist, making everything on it bounce.

It had all started about a week ago, when you and Mammon decided to let the others know you were officially dating. Of course, both of you had been pinning after one another from the moment you stepped a single foot inside the house, but it was only a few months later that you had enough and confessed to the greedy demon who was elated, alas not the same could go for the rest of his brothers. A huge fight had broken out, the likes of which you had never seen; all the brothers -with only exception being Beel- were beyond themselves, with all sorts of insults being thrown at Mammon, who after a while simply stormed off to cool down (read cry) and you telling the rest of them off before following him.

Eventually, although reluctantly, the rest of the brothers cooled their heads down.

Alas, bad luck was about to rain down on them.

And first victim, was Levi only a day later.

Levi was kind of sore about the news, so the Otaku decided to just game his frustration and sadness away. The game he decided to give a go was an RPG game from the human world y/n had gifted him with the other day, called Assassin’s Creed, and no matter how much it hurt his heart to play it and his envious nature to rise within, it was still a good game he wanted to play.

One by one he scored the best scores on the levels and progressed, until he reached the tenth level, when a very strange assassin emerged through one of the narrow streets, wearing a bubble pink robe and before he even knew it, Levi’s character was shot dead.

‘What the absolute sh-‘

He loaded the game again and made his way through the streets but again the assassin appeared and shot him. Over and over and over again, at some point he lost track of how many times his avatar had been killed; shot, slashed, an arrow to the body, a kick to the head, a leap of faith on top of him, he was one step away from smashing his controller. He tried everything: going through a different street, avoiding the place, picking up another mission, playing the game from the start but every. single. time. the assassin would emerge and kill him. The Avatar of Envy was beyond himself with rage, until he decided to corner and kill it before it got him again.

‘Aha! Got you now!’ he screams victoriously as he points his arrow to him and shoots him clean through the head.

ICAMEINLIKEAWRECKINGBALL,INEVERHITSOHARDINLOVE,ALLIWANTEDWASTOBREAKYOURWALLSALLYOUEVERDIDWASWREAKME!!!!!YEAH,YOUWRECKME!!!!

It blazed through the speakers on full volume, making Levi fall out of his chair with a scream. It did not stop, it did not lower the volume, the whole computer turned unresponsive until he would wrench the cable off the wall, having a very angry Lucifer breathing down his neck along with the rest of the residents, since it was four in the morning. Every time he would load the game again, when he would find the assassin, the song would blare up all over again. He had triggered a virus but none of the commenters online could help him through it.

He was determined to win though, which left him screaming at the screen in frustration for the 400th time. As well as leaving him with no sleep for a good two weeks.

Yet Asmo, who was the second victim, would vehemently argue that he had it worse.

Nothing betrayed what was about to go down for him.

He had a good laugh with Levi’s punishment for blazing the song at such a wild hours in the morning -and good for Lucifer because none of them cave-demons knew how bad for the skin was to wake up at such ungodly hours- so to relax and pamper himself before going out the following night, he filled with bathtub will all sorts of bath salts and soaps. Making sure to apply his favourite skin and hair mask to chase away the tiredness.

‘~Hmmmm, hmmmm, all perfect!’ he mused to himself and relaxed back with a good glass of wine.

You were with Beel and Belphie in the kitchen preparing dinner when you heard it.

‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!’

A bloodcurdling scream rocked the house from its base and as you rushed to the hallway, all you saw was Asmo running around in circles with only a towel wrapped around his hips.

‘IT’S NOT COMING OFF! MY FACE! MY HAIR! IT WON’T COME OFF!!!’

His hair to your ultimate surprise had turned in all the colours of the rainbow, while the face mask he wore simply refused to come off, making the Avatar of Lust lose his shit. At some point, all you saw was the towel loosening but Belphie was quick to cover your eyes before you got flashed. Took them two hours and a very angry Satan to restrain Asmo and help him pull the mask off -thankfully with some alcohol it came straight out- but his hair was unsalvageable, which made Lucifer himself go to the shops in order to find hair dye.

Even with that though, the colour was as close to his original as it would get and no matter the fact he still rocked it, Asmo was very angry about the whole thing.

Yet none of them were suspicious, until bad luck hit Belphegor.

The Avatar of Sloth picked up his favourite cow pillow and made his way to the planetarium for some peace of mind and an opportunity to sleep peacefully and forget about everything. Cuddling to his pillow, he was asleep in no time but at some point, he felt a strange itch cover his body; nothing to worry about he could just scratch it.

Oh, dear Diavolo, no.

The more he scratched the more he would get itchy and the irritation of being pulled out of sleep was doubled when he woke up and every single inch of his body SCREAMED at him to scratch it, which he did until he started scratching himself raw. Beel found him completely turned onto his demon form, scratching away and cursing all the gods and demons he knew and didn’t know. Eventually, only a cold shower seemed to ease the itch and Beel made sure his covers were clean before going out to bring him some of his favourite orange juice; Belphie particularly liked it after a nap and there was a spare cup in the fridge.

Belphegor was thankful of his twin as he took it onto his hands and took a sip, but instead of the familiar fruity taste, the taste of ready-to-make macaroni and cheese flavour assaulted his mouth. Beel was very understanding when his twin spat it out all over him but Belphie was fuming.

Satan on the other hand, could agree that all these misfortunes were kind of strange, but nothing to worry about too much.

So after he laughed and enjoyed his brothers misfortunes over dinner, he returned to his room to read a new book y/n had gifted him and when he finally felt tired, he set his digital alarm on his nightstand -Asmo had bought it for him and he used it to wake up with some calm songs- and went to sleep. There was a thought twisting and turning in his mind as he slept, a gut feeling that something was amiss, but he couldn’t quite place it, instead slipping into unconsciousn-

WHOLETTHEDOGSOUT?!WOOFWOOFWOOFWOOFWOOF!WHOLETTHEDOGSOUT?!WOOFWOOFWOOF!WHOLETTHEDOGSOUT?!

To say Satan literally flew off his bed and turned into his demon form in a split second would be an understatement. The alarm blazed in full volume and would not stop for the world, until he Avatar of Wrath tossed it out of the window, sending it into orbit. Taking deep breaths to calm his nerves down, he made his way to his bathroom to get ready to slash that fucking a-hole who did this to his alarm.

He didn’t really notice his toilet seat being covered by a thin layer cellophane.

And he was barefoot.

Fucking hell.

Lucifer was not really worried at all.

Who in their right minds would prank the Avatar of Pride? No one was that masochistic and he prided himself in being terrifying on a good day, much less when you saw him angry. So, he privately enjoyed the little war raging around his brothers in silence, urging them not to do anything that would shame Diavolo in any way due to their rage. Of course, he was curious to see who was doing all this, but the culprit would rise eventually, nothing stays hidden for long.

That’s what he thought when he went about his chores on the seventh day. Placing his clothes to the washing machine and brewing a nice cup of human coffee Barbatos had given him, an exceedingly rare brew, he made his way to his office to start on the numerous papers he had today. Closing the door behind him, he sipped a bit from the liquid, finding it strangely salty; hm, maybe it was a new kind of coffee? It wasn’t unpleasant for his throat, just very very salty. Making a mental note to let Barbatos know it wasn’t too good, he pulled his chair out and leaned to sit down.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

Everything happened in a single moment.

As Lucifer’s butt sat on the chair, a piercing honking sound erupted through his entire study, making the demon jump up in surprise and his hands to shake, resulting into covering his clothes with his coffee- which was not coffee at all, but squid ink which had permanently made its way on his teeth, turning them pitch black.

‘MAMOOOOOOOON!’

To say he was beyond himself would be laughable. Thankfully, he had a spare change of clothes, which he would need because to the horror of the entire household, his clothes came out of the washing machine pure white with a few random black and pink spots on them. Someone had mixed bleach with the washing powder and none of them knew about it.

So now, Lucifer raises an eyebrow ‘Something tells me you know a lot more than you let on y/n. It is not hard to figure out all of the misfortunes started after our fight and you seem strangely calm.’

‘What do you want me to do? I helped Asmo with his hair and Belphie with the scratching. If you wanna, you can search my room. Search everything, turn it upside down, even go through my panties drawer.’ You challenge with a smirk.

Never missing the way Lucifer straightens back and his cheeks colour a faint pink, while the rest of the brothers riot in the proposition.

‘That would not do. But I do have my eyes on you.’

Pushing your chair back, you rise on your feet ‘Whatever you say Lucifer. Now, if we’re done here, we’ll be late for school. I’ll go grab my stuff.’

Leaving them to burn holes in your back before starting to argue with renewed vigour with one another, you exit the dinning room and make your way back to your room. Picking up your stuff and pulling your hair up in a ponytail, you are interrupted when your DDD goes off and you see Solomon’s name flashing over the screen.

‘Hey Sol. Good morning.’ You walk over to your panties drawer and pull a fresh pair of socks, ignoring the squid ink, itch powder, funky hair dye and the bleach, hidden in a small plastic bag under your panties ‘Yes, thank you for running this errant for me. I’ll tell you everything but for now let’s just say they got what they deserved for making fun of Mammoney.’ You flash an evil smile.

Solomon was very amused to hear the stories.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me x reader #mammon x mc #poor mammon #pranks #got it coming #obey me fandom #obey me fanfic

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everything-withered · 5 years ago

Note

Despite what other people might think, literature major Kurosaki Ichigo and law student Kuchiki Rukia were not dating . . . or were they? -- prompt: ichiruki through the eyes of nosy college classmates.

Okay. So. I tried to write them as students. But. They ended up being professors (in Ichigo's case) instead? Yikes. Outsider POV is really not my wheelhouse and I found it really hard to make college students care about each other's drama so I hope this is alright.

When classes have to be shifted online, students around the country who've witnessed their professors struggle with power point on a daily basis, collectively shudder.

But those under the tutelage of Professor Kurosaki are spared the dismay for his classes.

Professor Kurosaki Ichigo is not like other lecturers. He's young, he's good looking, and thank every god above, Professor Kurosaki is also good with technology.

With him, classes aren't all that different to real life lectures which is a relief, but some students bemoan the lack of his physical presence. Though that has less to do with the quality of education as much as it does the purveyor himself.

Professor Kurosaki has a bit of a reputation.

He's one of the youngest educators on campus, and practically inhuman given his meteoric rise to academic stardom especially since, as the rumors go, Professor Kurosaki isn't some prodigy, he's simply a workhorse who's too stubborn to quit.

It's a work ethic he pushes onto his students, and they shoulder it admirably.

Though, not for nothing.

Besides being the youngest professor, he also happens to be the most good looking, a feat that isn't just attributed to youth but also to pure magnetism. There's something very. Attractive. About Professor Kurosaki.

It's obvious even through a pixelated screen.

He's confident, but quiet about it. Serious, and sharp. He's always direct and doesn't dance around a topic, and he has a way of making you feel important when his attention is on you -- which is perhaps one of the best things about having lectures through a screen, it feels like you are.

Until, of course, you realize you aren't.

That day is today: pausing for a moment to take a sip of water, Professor Kurosaki glances just above the camera and smiles.

And the private group chat collectively loses its mind, and it spills out into the group chat accompanying the stream for the lecture itself.

Pausing to glance down at the screen again, Professor Kurosaki's eyes narrow, his expression shifting to his more familiar scowl as he dismissed the deluge of question marks (and some braver "What are you smiling at??") with "That's enough, you know better by now than to ask about my personal life."

Which is perhaps, the only caveat to Professor Kurosaki: him being intensely private that the only thing anyone in the student body knows about him that isn't shrouded in rumor is what's on his profile on the university website. The bare bones. The minimum. It's agonizing.

Not even the most advanced of internet stalkers among them can get anything more than that, and if not for an incredibly locked down Instagram account, they'd think their beloved professor simply appeared one day fully formed from the ether.

As it stands Professor Kurosaki is standing before the camera looking unimpressed, and the class' curiousity is punished with another load of essays due.

This doesn't stop the more persistent of the class from trying to gather intel from wherever they can get it: starting with what can be gleaned from Professor Kurosaki's home. While he usually shares his screen when he lectures, there's the in between moments when he's just sitting before the camera or pacing in front of it as he talks, or simply setting up or shutting down the stream. It's a goldmine of moments.

One person in the private group chat reports framed photographs on the shelf. The light always hits the glass so they can't make out the faces, but they're sure a later or earlier lecture could yield results if someone looks. It's on the left corner, is the instruction . If you've got a morning or late afternoon lecture, keep an eye out!

Another says, "I saw some kind of pet bed in the corner once too, when he was still setting up. Does Prof have a dog??"

Then, "I saw a lady's shoes on the ground when he was still setting up. Did you see them?? AM lecture yesterday??? Is Prof married???" which is followed by vehement denies because of course not and we would've noticed a ring by now and then, "women in the photographs are his sisters, maybe one of them is staying with him during quarantine?" And yes. Yes, that's feasible.

Except the next time, thanks to a student who'd read the time wrong and arrived too early to the stream, spends it listening to Professor Kurosaki set up for the lecture with the screen tilted onto the keys; they catch snatches of conversation between the professor and someone who very clearly isn't one of his sisters:

"You look tired."

"Thanks, that's exactly what a woman wants to hear," a female voice says, sarcastic and fond. And while there isn't much of a view, lacking in faces for one, the student can see the two bodies standing close enough to touch without actually doing any touching, a gravitational pull that's being resisted by sheer force of will. Then, voice softer than they've heard it ever, Professor Kurosaki tells her, "Go back to bed, the court documents can wait."

"My name's on the door," is the response that sounds like a whine which makes Professor Kurosaki chuckle. "It's Byakuya's too, he can sort it out. I'll make you breakfast when I'm done with class."

There's a sigh, dramatic and long suffering. "Promises, promises, Ichigo."

By then, there's more people in the stream logged in and listening, the private group chat is a mess of epic proportions: Professor Kurosaki has a woman in his life. He cooks her breakfast. She works with court documents, is she a lawyer? Who's Byakuya? We need answers people!

Whoever Byakuya is ends up being the key, though this is only realized later because the class is side tracked by the momentary affection on Professor Kurosaki's face, a tenderness so breathtaking no one says anything for awhile. Which is all well and good because Professor Kurosaki is not pleased with the direction of the conversation in the steam's chat. To the questions of "is that your wife?" He scowls and says, "That's none of your business."

And in his defense, it's not.

Until it is.

The quarantine is getting to everyone, Professor Kurosaki included. The woman doesn't appear again, though there have been reports of a woman's shoes in the background and a cardigan that looks too small to be Professor Kurosaki's, and if his class is disappointed, so must he. Except, "They must be in quarantine together...did they have a fight?"

Which thus begins the great advice giving of May 2020 wherein everyone throws in some casual dating wisdom about apologizing for whatever dumb thing you did, and how to compromise, and what to do to get out of the dog house and stop sleeping on your couch.

Professor Kurosaki must think it's some kind of late April fool's joke or something because he's kind of pissed about it for awhile.

Right until he forgets to end the stream, and few stragglers witness him resting his head on his arms and moaning as he mutters, "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

The audio picks up a growl, and Professor Kurosaki dismisses this with a, "I know, Kon, I know."

When he starts to bang his head on his desk, the students still on the stream start to worry, though thankfully the woman appears.

No one had really known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't her.

Where Professor Kurosaki has cut a famous figure in his jeans and a leather jacket, this woman is soft as a watercolour painting: she is a sunrise in a sweet, misty yellow sundress, what remains of the night sky clinging to her black hair and space blue eyes. Her voice is alarmed, but grounding, "Ichigo, what the hell?"

Professor Kurosaki is so startled he vaults up from his seat behind the desk, completely missing that the livestream is still on his screen. "What? No, I'm fine."

There's a scoff. "You've been acting weird for days, don't lie to me."

"Rukia..."

"Is this because of Saturday?" Is the question. "We were drunk, and ridiculous, and."

"Rukia -"

"Other people sleep together all the time" she says affecting a calm tone though there's a hint of desperation beneath it, "It doesn't have to mean anything."

The private group chat buzzes. The chat on the stream stays mercifully silent.

"We're not other people, at least not to each other," he finally says.

A sigh. "No, we're not."

Almost like a reflex, Professor Kurosaki absently reaches out to his laptop screen, and says quietly, just before they're all shut out, "And I want it to mean something so. What now, Rukia?"

The search for who Rukia is ends twenty minutes later: Kuchiki Rukia, lawyer, philanthropist and university alumni; she's the shining star of Sereitei's highest social circles, the only daughter of the Kuchiki family and the proud dog mom to a pitbull named Kon.

The intrigue continues.

By the time classes resume in person, Professor Kurosaki has revealed nothing. Rukia does not appear in the following streams.

There's a temptation to ask, but there's no doubt the professor will deny it.

Which is why when a student spots Rukia on campus, the group chat lights up.

A student still in Professor Kurosaki's lecture hall slows in packing away their things as Rukia enters, and it feels like Professor Kurosaki's entire class is holding their breathes.

Rukia and Professor Kurosaki, however, don't notice, and with an exchanged kiss in greeting as natural as a breath exhaled, the group chat lights up again.

The student is sufficiently embarrassed when, called forth by Professor Kurosaki about what they think they're doing, and show me your phone if it's nothing, then the last message insists: pics or it didn't happen!

Rukia laughs so hard, her happiness all but lights her up, and oh, the student can see how Professor Kurosaki could be in love. And from his expression to the one Rukia returns to him, amused and fond and tender in one, the student wonders why no one's seen it before at all.

#ichiruki #deathberry

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justasparkwritings · 4 years ago

Text

Codename Cupid: Chapter 24

Previous: Codename Black Panther Meets Codename Cupid

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x OFC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, Government AgentAU, Angst, Some Fluff

Rating: PG17

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Consensual Sex, Mentions of Rape (as in, wait, she raped him?)

Summary: Black Panther is onboard and Cricket & Bunny make an important decision regarding the trajectory of their relationship.

Penultimate Chapter

OT8

Present Day

The sunlight streaks through my window, blurring my vision with its shine. I’m fairly exhausted, and sore, and dare I say, happy? I’m pulled away from my restorative slumber as my phone rings, Earth, Wind & Fire blaring. I’ve had the same ringtone since I was 19, and I’m never going to change it.

“Fuck,” I whisper, taking it from the charger and rolling my eyes at the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Hey, did you get kidnapped?” C asks.

“Um, sort of? Why?” I slip out of the bedroom, tossing my robe over my barely clothed body and sit on the couch.

“It came across my desk and I was wondering if there was something you needed to tell me,” C informs me.

“Oh?”

“Is there?” She pushes.

“No, everything is fine,”

“Okay, are you sure?”

“Are you tapping my phone?” I ask.

“No,”

“Do you know someone who is?”

“Depends, do you?” Her words are delicate, leading without being forthcoming.

“Perhaps,” My voice pitches up at the last syllable, a hold over, a question that I refuse to ask.

“Hmm,” That’s her tell.

“You knew, this whole time?” I accuse.

“Well, sort of. I was clued in a bit ago,” She tells me.

“Did everyone know about this before me?”

“What have they told you?” She’s trying to toe the line.

“A little, I go back in today,” She probably knows this already.

“Keep Jungkook close, he’ll be helpful,” C advices.

“How did you –

“Your onboarding will you go smoothly if you don’t fight RM and Suga,”

“Seriously?” I snap.

“Seriously, trust me,” Her older sibling reeks, doling out advice I didn’t ask for.

“Fine,” I huff, how is it that everyone knows about this organization besides me?

“Love you,” She says.

“Mean it,” I respond before I hang up.

I look towards my bedroom, where Jungkook lays, and am beyond upset. How is it possible that everyone knew about OT7, that I was being followed, except me? My own sister? Jungkook is one thing, he works for them, but her? Why didn’t she say anything sooner? That’s truly what’s making me so upset and frustrated, that I was working 14-16 hour days, beating myself up for not finding Cupid answers sooner, and my fucking sister was sitting on all the information I needed. What’s worse? She didn’t let on that she knew. She didn’t drop a hint, a breadcrumb, a wink or knowing glance. All she wanted to ask about was Jungkook, in a year, all she ever asked… Fuck sisters.

“Cricks, do you want coffee?” Jungkook stands in the door frame to the bedroom, chest bare, ink spread across his arm and up his right peck. His hand tattoos, and the one on his upper shoulder, are my absolutely favorite. They’re sentimental, meaningful, powerful. Black with minimal color, they’re staggering against his honeyed skin. While his model status is never lost on me, it’s his thoughtfulness that gets me every time.

“Yes please,” I reply.

“You thinking about last night?” He moves with ease towards the small kitchen, pulling my favorite mugs from the cabinet.

“Which part?” I ask.

“Any part,” He shrugs, his muscles moving up and down seamlessly.

“Yeah, a little,” I tell him.

“What’s on your mind?” He turns, arms crossing, I swear he tries to look tough, but he just looks like a pissed off Thumper.

“My sister knows,”

“Knows?”

“About you, about OT7,” I clarify.

“How?”

“No fucking clue, she said not to piss off Namjoon and Yoongi, though.”

Jungkook snorts before nodding his head, “Watch out for Jimin and well, you saw Seokjin. He bottles it up and then explodes. Jimin’s just a hot head. Namjoon, is ruthless, but no one is as ruthless as Yoongi-hyung.”

“That leaves you and Tae? And Hoseok, I don’t know much about Hoseok,”

“You’ll really like him, you’ll like all of them. They aren’t as rough around the edges as they seem,” He pours the coffee into our mugs, reaching into the kitchen to grab the oat milk to pour into mine.

“Did you put caramel in it?” I question, sniffing the liquid.

“Mm, three pumps right?”

“Yeah, what, a 1/5 of what it took you last night?” I wink. Jungkook hates when I’m blatantly sexual, murmuring a simple ‘stop’ as his cheeks become a deep crimson.

“That’s really what you think of me?” He questions, moving to stand in front of me. I spread my legs to let him stand between, and he leans down, hands on my thighs. “After last night?”

“You know that’s not what I think, Bunny,” I reply. “You know how highly I think of you and your sexual prowess.”

“Then don’t fucking tease me about it,” Jungkook leans down to place a kiss on my cheek.

“Can I ask one work question?”

“Yes,” He grabs his cup and sits on the stool next to me.

“What happened between Taehyung and Cupid? She says it was a difference in opinion, a misunderstanding that led to an abortion? That’s not Taehyung though, and OT7 wouldn’t make her abort anything, would they?” I sip my coffee. Fuck me if he doesn’t make it better than I do.

“She wasn’t pregnant,” Jungkook answers.

“She wasn’t? Why did she lie?”

“She’s full of lies, Cricket,”

“Okay, then what actually happened?”

“She took advantage of him,” Jungkook’s eyes stare into his coffee, the blackness reflected in his irises.

I nearly choke on my coffee. “Of Tae?”

“Mm, of Tae, more than once,”

“Did you-

“We didn’t know, I didn’t know until I was onboarded fully. Tae went to Joon-hyung, and then it was handled.”

“Oh my god,” I whisper. “Oh my god.”

“Mm,” Jungkook’s signature sound is muttered, a delicate whisper against my raging anxiety.

“She raped him?” I question.

“Yes,” He refuses to look at me, but the clench of his jaw is unmistakable.

“But... wow,” Is all I can say.

“Wow?”

“I just, if I had known, I wouldn’t have worked with her,”

“You didn’t know,” Jungkook’s hand engulfs mine in that familiar embrace.

“Is Tae alright?”

“Yes, he went to a lot of therapy and was pulled from field work,”

“The mission was terminated, fuck that’s a loaded word, but he didn’t have to –

“No, the second Namjoon knew, he ended it. That’s one of our rules, no one engages in behavior they are not comfortable with,” He informs me, another piece of information I’m sure Namjoon will be telling me during onboarding. God, days spent listening to Namjoon go over rules? I’d rather suffer through another one of Cupid’s family dinners than sit through him. Is he like, fun? Now’s not the time to ask… but fuck me if I’m not curious.

“She, Cupid, she said he made her abort the baby, which didn’t match up with the Taehyung I was seeing or with any evidence but then again she never gave me any records to check it with and I wasn’t allowed to look into her health record at all,” I ramble.

“That tracks. There’s a lot you’ll find out about Cupid, and her family… there’s a lot you don’t know, Cricket. But, for right now, you need to know that there was no baby, she was never pregnant, just wanted to trick Taehyung into sticking around. It began with Yoongi, and just escalated.”

We sip our coffee in silence. The tension is dissipating, but I’m still nervous and scared. I consorted with a known rapist, worked months with her, took her money. What will Taehyung think of me now? Do I apologize? I should apologize, when I see him. Though, that’s not the responsibility of the victim to accept an apology. I didn’t know. Like I told Yoongi, I’m not Nixon, this isn’t Watergate. No one will ask what I know and when I knew it, no one will back date and check my sources to confirm. But I will always know that I engaged with her after she committed various offenses against someone I know I will care deeply for, someone who cares deeply for the one I love.

I know it’s not in my place to feel guilty, or maybe it is. Isn’t part of being an ally sitting in your own privilege, your own ability to feel grateful that it wasn’t you, and recognizing you have leaps and bounds in order to support those who have gone through whatever it is? I’m an ally to Jungkook, though I’m not Korean or first generation, and he’s an ally to me, though he isn’t biracial or a descendant of slaves. We both work towards the same cause though. Doesn’t sexual assault, rape, harassment, fall under the same umbrella?

“Cricket?” Jungkook’s hand has moved to rub circles on my back.

“Bunny?” I glance at him, bottom lip between my teeth again, though I’ve already gnawed off every dead skin cell.

“Hm?”

I always smile when he makes that sweet sound, or its derivative, mm.

“Do you still want to move in, or was last night an over correction for the fight?” I question.

“You’re really doubting me today, aren’t you?” His brows slope against his eyes, his ministrations against my back freeze. Those furrowed little lines on the flesh where the slope of his nose meets his forehead mark his deep concentration.

“I’m not doubting you. I just want to make sure. You know, we’re in our twenties. We are prone to fall for the cohabitation effect.”

“The what?”

“Couples who move in together as a reaction to fear their relationship will dissolve, often move in to preserve something. Then when they realize they aren’t compatible or don’t want to continue being together, they don’t break up because they live together,” I inform him.

“Is this one of your theories?”

“No, it’s Dr. Meg Jay, The Defining Decade. I have two copies, you should read it,”

“Okay, put it on my bedside table and I will,”

“Oh, so you’re, in?” I smile.

“Oh, I’m in, completely,” Jungkook kisses me soundly, hand creeping under my shirt to caress the bare skin.

“We have to get ready,” I tell him, tilting my head to grant him access to my neck, which has thoroughly missed his touch in the last eight hours.

“Fuck it,” He murmurs, the vibration of his tenor voice echoing through my skin.

“Bunny, they’re going to be so mad, and I know Namjoon already hates me,” My hands gently ghost down his chest, drawing shapes against his abs before resting on the hem of his boxer briefs. He’s so tempting, all skin and muscle, sweeping bleached locks and soulful eyes. I was right for driving into them.

“He doesn’t hate you,”

“Yoongi at least-

“They don’t hate you, we’re just a unit and you bring new energy to the entire group, that’s all it is.” He confirms.

Pulling the inner flesh of my lip between my teeth, I exhale. “What if they hate me?”

“They won’t,”

“Jungkook,”

“Y/N”

“Will that change your opinion of me?” I ask.

“Oh honey, of course not,” He assures. I don’t know what it is, blind faith and trust I guess, but I always believe him on the first go.

“Okay, do you want to shower before we go?”

“Together?” He asks. His hands are still under my shirt, gently palming my latte skin until it burns with desire. I hate how good he is, how seductive, sensual, misleading his bunny smile and endearing eyes are. I want him always.

“Why else would I’ve skipped the underwear?” I move his hand under the hem of my night shirt. He growls ever so softly at the feeling of my bare ass in is hand. “And to think, you thought I was kidding about your work last night! Sore or night, I think we’ve got enough time for me to prove you wrong.”

~~~~~

“Here’s my question,” I start, directing OT7’s focus to me. It’s been three hours of listening to Namjoon go over protocols and procedures. I haven’t smiled once, well, Jungkook did walk by and wink at me, which I’ll admit, made me blush. This is my second time in the large conference room, and together we’re discussing the case, my knowledge of the Lee’s, and where we stand now. It feels like a scene out of Be More Chill, but instead of data dumping everything I’ve learned, they’re painstakingly pulling it from me. Yoongi’s got my hard drives, all my notes, he’s cracked every password and firewall defense I set up. Of course he is, he’s Min Yoongi.

“Yoongi, how the fuck did you become so off the grid? I couldn’t find you, period.”

“That’s part of my job, Black Panther,” He smirks.

“Your work on Enterprises was under Park Yoongi, and you left no visible trace on the company. You don’t show up in alum magazines or columns, no birth certificate, anything of public record is gone. What the fuck did you do?”

“That’s for me to know,” Yoongi winks at me.

“And Namjoon, what the fuck happened when you turned 16?”

“What do you mean?” He asks, puzzled by the question.

“You are everywhere, every magazine, every scholarly article, on every universities formal lecture docket, and then poof. Like you didn’t exist,” I stare at him, he’s far less of a dick than I previously thought. We have some similarities too, actually, OT7 and I are far more alike than I realized.

“I did exist, I was just busy training,” He shrugs.

“You started training at 16?”

“A little before that, has JK not told you?”

“He’s hardly told me anything,”

“Even after you found out?” Jimin asks.

“Even then, what was it you said?”

“They’re not my stories to tell,” Jungkook shrugs. He’s across the table, in his designated spot next to Taehyung and I desperately wish I could hold his hand. Who. Have. I. Become?

“Mm,” Namjoon nods, “I was brought on from an early age, trained and then helped shape this group into what it is today.”

“Namjoon’s the reason we exist,” Hoseok says.

“He helped select all of us, leads us, makes the decisions,” Jungkook says.

“So your stunted upbringings trace back to him?” I ask.

“They trace back to the people above him, Black Panther,” Yoongi corrects.

“Right, the mythical beings above Namjoon. Do they exist? Have you seen them?”

“They exist, and they’re a little terrifying,” Seokjin adds.

“So Namjoon isn’t the end all be all? He’s not even the oldest!”

“True, he does have to listen to Seokjin,” Jimin laughs. “Sometimes, when hyung is mad, he just launches at Joonie, it’s so funny.”

“You have to listen to him too,” Yoongi’s glare cuts through him.

“So do you, Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin doesn’t back down.

“Anyway, Namjoon-hyung had to go through everything first, that’s why he disappeared from the worlds stage.” Seokjin finishes the tale, bringing us back together.

“Yoongi joined shortly after,” Namjoon continues, “The rest fell into place, well, except Golden Maknae,”

“Jungkook?” I turn to face my boyfriend, his nose is scrunched, and his hand is behind his head, scratching his neck.

“He nearly left, luckily, Joonie always knows what to say,” Taehyung says. “I was what, technically last?”

“Technically, yes,”

“Which is why we were in training together,” Jungkook reminds him.

“So you’re one big happy family?” I ask.

“We fight, but it’s been a decade, we know each other too well,” Yoongi speaks. “which is why when Jungkookie fell in love, we were caught off guard.”

“Mm,” I nod, mimicking his gesture. “Though you left him off my romantic partners,”

“Well, that was his request,” Namjoon says.

“We’ve all experienced heartbreak and fallen out of love. We all hoped that JK wouldn’t be stunted because of our work,” Seokjin explains.

“Can we not?” Jungkook asks his hyungs. They all turn to him, sensing his discomfort, and laugh.

“Fine, fine. Back to work,” Namjoon advises.

“What exactly is the next phase of the plan?” I wonder. “I mean, Cupid doesn’t want to work with me anymore, so what’s next?”

“Good you asked, Black Panther,” Namjoon changes the slide and passes me another file. “The next phase requires little work from you, aside from ensuring we have all your evidence. The case moves up the line to the Feds and the other countries who are indicting them.”

“Who all is getting indicted?” I ask.

“Hopefully the entire board, the entire Codename Valentine family, minus Cupid,”

“What will be left for her?”

“Depends on what they take,” Yoongi sips his coffee. He’s much easier to read in person, his features, however angelic, are deeply expressive.

“What about their investors?”

Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to respond, “Their money will be frozen for a while, then returned to them.”

“Do you find it deeply romantic that you’re citing their financial downfall when that’s how you met Cupid?” I ask him.

“I prefer a slight twist of fate,” Seokjin nods, the bob of his head accompanying the pout. “When will this go down?”

“The Feds and a few other groups move in on Lee Enterprises early next week,” Jungkook answers. I remain confused as to what he exactly does within this group, it seems like a little of everything but what is everything?

“So, that’s it? I did my part?”

“Yes, you did, exceptionally well,” Namjoon answers.

“You kept her snooping for over a year, all of which we used to nab the rest of her family,” Yoongi starts, “Sure, you were an unexpected parasite for a minute, but you’ve done good work.”

“First of all, rude, secondly, what will you do now?” I glance at each of their expressions, they’ve mastered the slightly inquisitive yet passively uninterested poker face. It’s impressive, their collective shift in attitude, the quiet “hmm” Yoongi hums, the eyes widening on Jimin, the unmistakable panic within Hoseok, all gone within seconds, like a musician losing an award in real time.

“What do you mean?” Hoseok asks.

“When this is over, what will you do? You’ve worked on this for nearly a decade? Who will OT7 be after this?”

“Wow, ask the horrifying existential questions,” Jimin attempts a chuckle, but it comes out as a strained cough.

“We’ll move onto our next mission,” Namjoon responds confidently.

“Which is?”

“You will not know unless we need your services,” He snips.

“Okay but why onboard me? Doesn’t that already make me like an honorary member? No longer OT7 but OT8?”

“No,” The unison chorus of voices that radiates off the glass is chilling. Accompanying the harsh put down, a chorus of laughs.

“Cult vibes,” I mutter.

“We’ll be fine, Black Panther. The question remains, what will you do?” Namjoon asks.

I don’t have an answer, I don’t have a response, all I have is the panicked look on my face. They know I haven’t got a fucking clue what my next career move is. Will I become a member of their team, or a part of the larger organization? Will I go back to aiding depraved housewives in their mission to defame their cheating husbands? I have enough money to hold me over for a month or two, but I guess the question isn’t whether or not I will go back to cheating husbands and slutty mistresses, but do I want to?

I don’t know.

Next: To Have Loved and Lost

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