#knows words wont be enough to dig that pain free

[s0fter-sin]

thinking about ghost protecting tommy from their father just for tommy to scare him with the skull mask. how much it must have messed him up to be tormented by someone he’s protecting, someone he loves, just for him to keep protecting him anyway

[abinghospital]

there’s a violence that preys in the lurid silence, its hunting claws piercing through my skin in a vicious attempt to hurt. its brutal grip mars my delicate bones, shattering the joints that hold my useless body. my tears flow without intent as if a machine run only by the pain that throbs behind my ribcage. all this, in the dead silence. an ear-shattering pin-drop of soundless screams. darkness engulfs as i unlit the lights in desperate hopes that the shadows would form a familiar glint of my childhood refuge. where every face is a friendly ghost. where pavements are painted with blooming delight and the scent of home endures.

outside the still blackness of my dying prison, where the rot cant reach flesh, where the gloom cant pale the souls that wander, the city roars in wild movement. vehicles sifting through the wind, light dancing in gleaming colors, streets shrouded with people holding purpose in their pockets and dreams in their eyes. the world is perpetually in motion, a cycle of never-ending toil. bones grinding against inertia, bodies forced to function for modest coins, rigid calluses taking shape on gentle hands. when did existence turn into a need to survive rather than the desire to experience? are we ever allowed to take time if only to muse at the beauty of the stars when even in solitude, there’s a war that wont dissipate? and the uproar never ends, not to nurture the wounds from my hounding thoughts brought by the prick of existential woe, not to tender the ache of the sick loneliness that has long plagued my wounded spirit. in my somber seclusion, as if to mock my trivial being, i was humbled by the absolute truth that tomorrow is promised, even without me. 

i’ve learned of life’s hostility in the way it has punished me for crimes i have yet to discern. it lights a raging ember to my fading hope, only to take it back leaving not even a flicker but a fear in my throat that knows only of consuming. luck i was told, was the rarest of lightnings i had the privilege to catch. i’ve lived my youth not with the greatest luxuries but one free of deprivation and contempt. there was always food on the table, warm clothes to wear, and enough love to fill an ocean. yet this did not come without its share of penance, for in my moments of perish, there was no embrace to fall back to. a penalty im still paying for even at present. when anguish, like poison, trickles its way through my veins, but distance, with its powerful expanse, holds me back from the antidote. luck it turns out was a chance at ease priced with a hefty bargain. 

life at its most hostile, is an esoteric irony, a drop of bliss followed by an outpour of ceaseless dread. 

life is a spineless joke, one i was dying to hear only to uncover that i am the eventual punchline. 

life is a striking serpent, rearing its venomous head with only the intent to maim. 

what am i supposed to defend myself with when all i have are meager words, scattered sentences, and fervent pleas for clemency, all addressed to a god im uncertain is even there?

there’s cruelty in digging a grave once you’re already dying. in my most tragic days, i still seek for ways to sink deeper into uncharted depths even my demons fear to tread. insanity, according to einstein, is a mindless repetition expecting different results. is there a map to flee the downward loop of this inescapable madhouse? madness, in experience, is an endless free fall. the ultimate torture is the absence of landing with the constant concern knowing despite the burn, a hotter hell awaits. and there’s no ceasing this continuous collapse for i intentionally elude all attempts at salvation. there is sadness in my refusal to expose my need for comfort as much as there’s merit for my fake resonance of strength. how does one bring back the will to withdraw his walls when ridicule laces his every oversight and his worries are reduced to meaningless whims? in my pondering, i discovered how to fold my bleeding chaos into tiny caricatures, tuck them in the cracks of my ruptured heart, and corrupt me in secrecy. 

life, at its most hostile, is a crashing trajectory. and the endless wonder if there is a way out. 

[witchersgoldenbard]

After the battle is over and an unsettling silence has returned into the walls of Kaer Morhen, Jaskier is standing in the great hall, staring unseeingly at the remnants of destruction and battle. Life happens around him, like it always does, but he just stands there and breathes.

His hands twitch by his sides, calling attention to their wounds, newly scraped open on the stone floors, tiny shards of wood and glass and stone digging into his skin. But he doesn’t focus on that, because the grand door has opened to reveal Geralt, Yennefer and Cirilla, and for the first time since that prison cell, golden eyes meet his and the rest of the world falls away.

Geralt seems no better than him, rooted to the spot right there, only his eyes are allowed to wander. The catch Jaskier’s hands, burnt and scarred and bloodied and scalding as they are. A frown appears between those brows and finally Geralt moves. But not away from him like Jaskier feared he would. Not to Cirilla and Yennefer, not to his brothers, no. Geralt’s eyes stay on Jaskier’s hands as he approaches, and still it is too intense for him to watch, so Jaskier swallows and looks away, words already on the tip of his tongue to distract Geralt. To stop him from frowning, from worrying, from coming ever closer because once he is here, once he is close enough, once he sees what’s there to be seen in the way Jaskier sways into him, there’s no turning back.

And for years, all they have both managed to do is to turn back, away from each other, and get caught in miscommunication and misunderstandings. But still Jaskier loves him. Still Jaskier sways, longs, aches. Still he cannot hold his eyes without revealing an unspeakable truth.

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes when he is close enough, and he reaches for his wrists in a hold so tender that it might just be what breaks him.

He chokes on his breath, looks down to the ground and hopes to evade the truth for just a while longer.

“You’re hurt. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Jaskier chokes, and he wants to free his hands from Geralt’s hold, but the witcher doesn’t let him. He never really tried anyway, only sways forward before he can stop himself. “Don’t apologise.”

Geralt shakes his head, still frowning down at where he’s starting to rub circles into Jaskier’s wrists. “I should have noticed. I should have asked. It’s my fault you’re hurt, Jaskier, and—“

“Bullshit,” he says, but it doesn’t come with as much vigour as he would like. Instead there’s only pain, only badly concealed honesty and affection. “It’s not your fault, Geralt. Not everything bad ever is your fault, and it’s about time you get that into this thick skull of yours.”

“Jask. You’re hurt because of me.”

He huffs, and finally dares to meet Geralt’s eyes because maybe the witcher needs this as much as he does. “No. I know you would love for that to be true, because it’s easier to just blame yourself than to try and understand that people out there are ready and willing to love you and to keep loving you, and to take that love to very dangerous places. It’s always easier to be blamed than to be loved and be fought for, but this? This is not on you. This isn’t on me either, nor is it on your darling child. The only one at fault for this is the fucker who burnt my hands, Geralt, and nobody else.”

He’s shaking, and Geralt’s grip on his wrist tightens just a fraction, but it’s getting harder and harder to breathe, especially if Geralt plans to keep looking at him like this.

“You don’t get to blame yourself for this, you hear me? You don’t. I wont let you.”

He’s crying now, tears running down his face but he doesn’t wipe them away, doesn’t try to free himself from Geralt’s hold again because he’s afraid that in a heartbeat, he’s going to lose it anyway. And he’d rather exist in this moment for just a heartbeat longer, bruised hands held with such care that feels foreign now.

“I know I was a burden to you, and I am deeply sorry for that, I know I should have listened to you more. But that’s in the past and we can’t change that, so let me have this, yeah? Let me choose you, let me keep choosing you because it might just be the only thing I have left to do.”

His voice breaks then, caught on a choked sob, but that is just as well because it has served him well and revealed his soul to the one person who will refuse to take it. His voice is lost and so is his heart, and both of them to Geralt. All he has left to do is close his eyes and wait for those warm hands to leave his life once more.

But that’s not what happens.

Instead of dropping his wrists and with them his fragile composure, Geralt lifts them slowly, gently, as though he’s worried he might hurt him. He lifts them and brushes a lingering kiss to the inside, and Jaskier’s world starts spinning, tethered only by Geralt’s lips on his skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers then, and his voice is no better off than Jaskier’s. “I’m sorry it took me so long to choose you, too. Jask, I—“

Whatever he wanted to say gets lost because Jaskier sways into the gentle touch and the gentler words of desperation and hope and honesty. He sways and falls, falls for Geralt again like he has so many times already, but this time he’s caught by strong arms and the sound of a choked off laugh, lost somewhere between relief and disbelief. This time when he falls, Geralt catches him. And he catches Geralt in turn, and they let the weight of the world fall of their shoulders and replace it with a lover’s touch.

~

tagging: @horsedadgeralt @luteandsword @wherethewordsare @natilieal

[thesolotomyhan]

narcos: jealousy hc poison

a/n: yall im so sorry this took so long but its here and i hope its not bad pls love me:(( on another note i finished my finals so let’s hope my energy matches my free time now to get requests rolling out for you amores :) anyways lets get into it,, 

Tags: @fandomnerd16 @visintaes @sheeshgivemeabreak @artemiseamoon @fleurfatale89

let me know if you want to be tagged!

Warnings: NSFW! you know the drill + its longgg

alright, so i get a feeling this would happen in the beginnings of your relationship with poison

like when no one actually knew that you two were dating-

every one of the guys just kinda think youre his friend since they’ve never seen you before and they dont expect poison being someone to be in a relationship you feel???

but either way, i imagine this would happen in the club with all the sicarios because the v i b e sss im feeling are coming from here,,

and also the fact that his ass would come up with some shit like “she’s just a friend, nada mas”

especially once quica gives him that shit eating smile when he sees poison pull out a chair out for you,, holding your hand- just acting like this gentlemen all of a sudden,,

omg- you would probably give poison this subtle look like really?? a friend? but,, just him giving you this nod like just go with it please

and honestly i can see this going smoothly like no problem whatsoever, youre both having a good time ya know,,,

like at this point he has his arm slung around the back of your chair,, everyones laughing and living the night and just- comfortable that he has you by his side and getting along with everyone,,,

but here we fucking go-

i would bet money that quica would be that mf to sweep in next to poison as soon as you get up to go to the bathroom or get some more drinks or something,,

just- this smiling dumbass telling poison he’s going to dance with you once you come back,, just so he can provoke poison because i know he fucking would,,

like i can imagine quica was already trying to get a rise out of poison throughout the night by making sure to direct his fucking jokes to you,, make you laugh and talk with him more than poisons dry ass-

and just before poison can even shut that idea down, quica’s already over here saying something like “what? pense que ella era solo una amiga? i want to dance with your friend, acabo se ve que a ella le caigo mejor que vos”

and omg- the way poison would just glare as he watches quica get up and walk up to you before you reach the table

and you wanting to be social,, honestly dont think much about it,, like its just a quick innocent dance with poisons friend,, nothing could go wrong-

but yall i JUST KNOW once quica has you bien pegadito with him

his ass would be looking over your shoulder at poison, making sure to get his reaction everytime he pulls your body closer with his, or every time he leans in to your ear making you laugh at something he said-

and poison’s over here not paying a single attention to what sure shots telling him,, like his whole attention is on you and quica-

cursing under his breath as he watches the way youre dancing with quica instead of him

and the way youre letting him pull your body closer into his with his hand on the small of your back-

just,, bouncing his leg impatiently every time he sees you laugh and just his eyes becoming darker everytime he makes eyecontact with quicas smirking ass-

wOW just poison having this tense posture,, lips sealed so tight that his hand is itching to reach into his back pocket to pull his gun out,,

and its not until hes had enough once he catches quica’s hand getting too close to his liking near your ass

and like a switch was FLIPPED because all i can imagine is pissed off poison, abruptly getting up that it knocks his chair over,, his jaw clenched as he strides over to the two of you so quick,,,

and just ripping quica off of you, almost making him fall and poison is just heated as hes ready to knock the shit out of him at any second as he stands in between the two of you - “hijo de puta, que te pasa, no la toques aSI”

god,, the intense ass stare off between the both of them, the red lighting of the club and bumping of the music only stirring more emotions in poison wanting nothing more than to wipe quicas smug smile off his face-

but then just,, poison snatching your arm when he turns around, not about to make an even bigger scene already as he drags you out,,

he wont utter a single word to you throughout the car ride, b/c im just imagining him having this death grip on the steering wheel,,, scowl on his face not wanting to hear a single word from you either right now,,

ohh fuck,, ok and once you both get home you would just head straight to the bedroom because at this point you just think he needs a moment to himself,, get some space b/c the atmosphere is fucking t h i c k

bUT then him GraBbing the back of your neck before you walk away,, roughly pulling you back into him and kissing you, not giving you a minute to even think

his hands would be roaming your body,, pushing you back to the bedroom, as youre desperately moving to take his clothes off as he tears off yours, not caring if they ripped or not in the process,,

wow- him dropping you on the bed as he stands at the end,, watching as you come up to him on your knees, your hands coming to unbuckle his pants as you feel his hands grip your ass

and the innocent look your giving him only makes him harder than he already is even tho he wants so badly to be mad at you-

“perdoname papi, no quise hacerte enojar” omg

and then him just giving you these abrupt rough spanks that you know are going to leave marks as he pulls you closer into him,, moving to knead your ass,,, your faces almost touching-

and before you can say anything else,, hes already turning you around and pushing you down onto the bed with your ass up, massaging you to alleviate the pain-

WOW ok,, this is leading into doggy style where he would have you almost ripping the pillows under you as you feel his bruising grip continuously tighten on your hips while he thrusts into you from behind,

just- having you to the point where when he looks down,,, your wobbling knees are about to give out,, your cum dripping down your legs onto the sheets,, and your muffled screams of his name being drowned out by your face in the pillow,,

and him pulling your body up to his by your hair, never once slowing down his thrusts as he places one of his hands on top of yours encouraging you to lick your fingers and touch yourself for him,, beg for him to make you cum- im sorry

i wow, just him holding your body up when you almost collapse,, his movements not once stopping even when youve moved your hand away from your clit,, just getting you until your pleading moans turn incoherent,,  

-turning you around on your back,, and moving to hold both of your arms above your head,, driving his hips roughly into you again not giving you a second to breathe,, 

forcing your legs to stay open with his body when he feels you start to squeeze them around him because you want to so badly close your legs,,

god- his hand coming to grasp your neck,, moving one of your legs over his shoulder as he moves his other hand down to play with your throbbing clit-

“de quien eres, mamacita? tu crees que ese malparido te puede chingar asi?”

and dear god,, you cant even make his name sound coherent because your brain is solely focused on the snapping of his hips, his cock so deeply buried inside of you,, his fingers overdriving your stimulation and the feeling of his other hand increasingly adding pressure to your neck-

and the only thing coming out of your mouth is loud whimpers as you throw your head back,,, the feeling of his teeth sinking into your jaw has you feeling so many emotions as you dig your nails into his shoulders- 

just- him constantly reminding you that hes the only one able to make you feel like this,, making you stutter parts of his name out- i

making a mess out of you ok,, silencing you when you try to tell him you cant do another orgasm but telling you that you made him do this to you so you better take it to remind you that no eres de nadie mas,, 

holding your trembling legs open as he watches you still take him in by the way you let out moans of his name and the rise of your hips when he bottoms out- im not ok

wow just- by the time he’s done with you,, your whole body is jolting and covered in marks, your soreness starting to show,, and no words coming out of you as he ghosts his hand over you,,

[shoot-the-oneshot]

Counting the days: day 2

Series summary. You go to a friends bachelorette party in Italy and meet the man of your dreams, NOT, you didn’t see the part where you get kidnapped by a gangster on your friends itinerary. How will you handle being thrown into a life of guns and mafias.

Massimo Torricelli x Reader

Series masterlist

Run, that was the only word repeating in your head, run. So that’s what you did, while his back was turned you took off your now bare feet not making a sound. But as he said he would, he caught you before you even made it to the hallway. His large body pressing you into the column his hand gripping your throat.

“What did I just say? Maybe you do want me to chain you to bed.”

With him as close as he was you could feel a gun he had in his waistband digging painfully into your back. Oh how you wanted to grab it.

It would only take one shot and you could get away from him. But you knew how many men he had outside, they would be a bit harder to get through, so you kept still.

He kept you there as two people walked in. The older of the two speaking to your captor in Italian, you’ll keep the fact that you speak it hidden, could come in handy. So his name is Massimo, or at least that’s what the man called him.

“I have to go, Domenico will help you with anything you need.”

Massimo informs, pushing off you while you stayed against the bricks until the younger of the three men that you assume is Domenico, tells you to follow him back to your room.

For someone that didn’t want you escaping he gave you plenty of opportunities. You could definitely take Domenico, plus boss man was busy handling whatever he was doing. Or you could easily climb out the window. Just as you were about to do just that a gunshot made you freeze. It wasn’t aimed at you but you know what it meant when you deal with these kind of people.

Just play along is what you kept reminding yourself. He a tricked your family, your friends. He was obviously smart, but you hold his one weakness, you.

Everyone thinks the man is the one with the power, but the man answers to a woman.

We could rule the world once we realized that.

Making use of the gigantic shower, you’re sure your old bedroom would fit in here alone. When you turned off the shower head, and wrapped a towel around yourself stopping in your tracks when your eyes land on the fresh clothes set out. You can only hope it was a maid or something whoever it was got a very clear view of you.

Rubbing the soft fabric between your fingers, obviously it was one of Massimos dress shirts that probably cost more than your rent. Choosing that over your dress that was still dripping wet from your swim earlier you slide on the shirt. You’ll admit the man has good taste, it felt like silk flowing against your skin as you button it up, the bright white looking amazing with your new tan. You don’t even try to look for your phone, you know it’s not here. And you’d say you have been through enough today that you’ve earned a few hours sleep.

Waking up, forgetting where you were for a moment until you rolled over and saw the large shirtless italian shaped figure blocking the sunlight streaming through the window. slowly sitting up, holding the blankets closer to your body to act as a barrier betwen you both, not that a blanket would stop him.

''Would it kill you to put a shirt on?"

Your head is saying 'stop sassing him and play along' but your personality is saying 'make him so crazy he lets you go' so you'll do both. sass him when possible, go along when he gets to close to the edge. Should work perfectly.

Raising a thick eyebrow that you're almost jealous of at your words, if he thought you were going to wish him good morning and jump into his arms. his muscular, tan, tattooed dream worthy, No, stop thinking like that. No. but he was wrong if that's how he planned this going.

"Would it kill you to be polite to me for once?"

"It might."

Huffing out what almost sounded like a laugh he stood, easily towering over you. his dark eyes focused only on you. its easy to see why he could be intimidating, if you didn't have the cocky attitude going on you're sure you would be one of those people.

"Get dressed we need to buy some things before we depart."

pretty mafia boy say what? Quickly standing in a poor atempt to match his height only coming up mid chest, not exactly what you were going for and judging by the amused look in his eyes he knew that fact to.

"I'm not going anywhere unless its back to the hotel."

"It wasn't a request. It was an order."

Litterly staring death in the face you think back to last night, when you acted out before he sent you back to the room, maybe this time will be the same. putting both hands on his chest and pushing as strongly as you could. only moving him back an inch, he grabs your wrist tightly, throwing you onto the bed following after you, wrestling your hand free landing a solid punch to his cheek. freezing as his head snaps to the side with the force of the hit. slowly meeting your eyes once again his lip pulled up in a snarl, showing his disaproval at the action. roughly pinning your hands to the bed, hovering above you.

"Just as i think you wont do anything stupid you prove me wrong."

"I'll prove you wrong again if you think i'm going anywhere with you!"

Staring hard he abruptly pushes off you and a few feet away, taking a deep breath as to calm himself.

"We are leaving in an hour, ready or not you're coming"

When he left is when you noticed your luggage stacked against the wall. Looking through your clothes, if you didn’t go shopping you would be very underdressed next to him who dresses to the nines all the time. So you throw on the most appealing outfit glad that you decided to bring something fancy if for no other reason just for a photoshoot at the resort.

Walking the steet of Italy again felt amazing, if only you weren’t shadowed by a mafia boss and two huge bodyguards. But not having to pay for the ridiculously priced clothes or carry your bags was nice. Part of you was happy he wasn’t watching you, just tapping away on his phone, but on the other hand, you looked amazing and was hoping to flaunt what he was so desperate to have.

But of course the second you went to the lingerie store the phone was in his pocket. You knew it was him the second the changing room door opened.

“Oh that’s why there’s a lock.”

You sarcastically drawl, which he ignored choosing to scan your body clad in red.

“Get out!”

“Or what?”

Oh, so he’s playing cocky now. Licking his lips with his arms crossed looking way to relaxed while you were almost naked.

Strutting up to him, playing with his shirt collar.

“Or I’ll walk out like this where your back up out there can see.”

You might not have seen Massimo looking at you before, but you definitely saw the guards eyes on you a few times. And that was the right thing to say to piss him off because the next thing you know you’re backed against a mirror with an angry mobster holding your throat.

“This body is mine, I’m the only one to see it!”

Snarling in your face before leaving without letting you bark back at him. Oh if he though you were going to leave it at that then he wasn’t as smart as you thought.

Storming after him, throwing your clothes at his chest, he definitely wasn’t expecting that given his wide eyes which give you enough of a distraction that you can make it outside still wearing the red lingerie. Gaining mixed reactions, girls are shocked while men drool.

A large hand around your arm pulls you to a stop. Ruining your runway strut along the brick road like you were a Victoria secret model.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s my body I choose who sees it.”

Flashing an innocent smile while stepping back waving at your body. Successfully getting the twitch in his eye to go off, wrapping a large blazer around you pulling you behind him mumbling while you struggle to keep up in your heels. Bumping into his back when he suddenly stops.

“This will go a lot easier if you stop fighting me every chance you get.”

“I didn’t want this! Why would I make it easy for you?”

Sighing deep from his chest looking genuinely in pain and tired so you’ll give him a break and a chance.

“I want something normal to eat tonight make it French, we’ll start there.”

Hope you guys like this and the series! Me requested are still open.

Series tag list: @calirindo

[jusananimehoe]

Play with Me?

Here kiddies, have 2000 words at 3am of Chronostasis, the man is just so sexy, I can’t help but write him, especially in situations where reader is meant to be with Kai, woops, xx

“Catch me if you can”. Your giggles clearly weren’t amusing him, if the angry growl that rumbled through his mask was anything to judge by, but you laughed it off and went bolting through the corridors, breathing ragged, pulse racing as you pushed yourself faster, he’d catch you eventually of course, he always did, but until then, you’d have you fun. This side of the base was mostly empty, no Kai to terrorize you for just having fun, just fun to be had with your favorite babysitter, even if he was ready to murder you right now.

You leapt up onto the railing of a stairway, before jumping up into the rafters, grip tight on the pipes lining the roof to hold you carefully in place, eyes glimmering playfully at the annoyed man below you, you could practically feel his frustration, could see his scowl even through the mask. He gripped the railing tightly, gazing up at you, “You aren’t going to like what happens if you make me come up there”. His voice was ice cold, it sent enjoyable chills through you, shivers down your spine, all the way to your toes, it made you bite your lip, head tilting playfully to the side, outwardly flirting. Not that he’d ever notice, Kurono might as well have been blind to your affections for him, but then you were supposed to belong to Kai after all. Not that he’d ever touched you. Or ever would.

“Oh come on Hari”, you called back to him, smile widening as he sniffed unhappily at the use of his given name, it was an act and you knew it, he’d never of told you it if he hadn’t wanted you to use it, but god forbid he ever admitted any such thing to you. “You never play with me, just one game, please”, your heartbroken pout did little to persuade the yakuza below you, who was starting to lift himself up the railing, time to fly. You leapt off the roof, landing safely on the edge of a couch that lined the wall, and just as you straightened up to leap, you were trapped against it.

You squeaked in surprise and shoved Hari’s shoulder playfully, giggling as he pressed you back harder, he was always surprising you, so much stronger than that lean body would suggest. Your eyes dragged down it, tying to imagine what he might be hiding under that raincoat of his, the plain white pants could defintley fuel a fantasy or two when they were wet though. You chewed on your lip, eyes raking his lower half, before you snapped your gaze back up, unable to tell if he’d noticed your appraisal with his mask on. Let’s fix that.

You lunged forwards at him, and he reeled back, keeping a careful balance to prevent the two of you from falling, which ultimately led to you gaining an upper hand, pulling the mask from his face and throwing it before he could grab it, the glare he turned on you in return was so fucking worth it. Even furious with you, Hari Kurono was crafted from perfection. Silver hair falling just slightly across his face, you resisted the urge to carefully push a needle back behind his ear, losing yourself in those lovely, silver eyes of his even as he growled at you, leaning forwards again. Most people would have run from his rage, you giggled and rolled the two of you.

You wrestled half-heartedly with him, trying to win, to no avail, as he pinned you down below him. Maybe this is a win then? Your eyes flickered up to his pretty face, observing the flush in his cheeks from chasing you down, the disarray his hair was in, the annoyed glint in his eyes, accompanied by another emotion you couldn’t place, couldn’t hope for. You beamed at him, even as he frowned unhappily and then burst into laughter at his indignation. “Oh Hari, I just don’t get why you never want to play”.

He rolled his eyes but let you roll the two of you, allowing you to pretend, at least, that you’d gained the upper hand on him, straddling his waist, pressing him down, even as his grip on your wrists clamped tighter. No escape, not that you’d want to. He clearly didn’t realise how sexy he looked like that, pinned beneath you, hair shoved back, god you wanted to touch it. “You never specify a game”.

You were so distracted in your appraisal of him that you nearly missed his response, eyes snapping to his in surprise when your brain caught up to his words, raising a brow at him in a silent question. “You complain constantly that I never entertain your ‘playing’, and yet, you’ve never once specified what game we’re meant to be playing”. His voice was cool, bored, aloof, but there was a hint of genuine curiosity hidden in there, you just had to be familiar enough with him to dig it out. You should just go for it, what’s the worst he could do, tell Kai? It wouldn’t end with a great result, but did you care? No, not really.

You blinked down at him, biting your lip slowly as you dragged your hand slowly from the tops of his thighs, steadily up and over his chest, eyes glued to his expression the whole time, watching his chest contract in surprise as he drew a sharp breath in, grip on your wrists becoming painful as he jerked your hands off his body. “Silly Hari, we’re playing right now”, you whispered softly, head lowering as you lowered your body to his, wanting to feel more of him against you. “We’ve been playing all along, you see”? You whispered the words against his throat, nuzzling the skin there softly as he flinched and shoved you back, eyes hardening like jewels again. Here we go.

“No”. The word was sharp, commanding, it was his ‘this is final’ tone and you dropped your face instantly, shame settling deep in your gut. How pathetic, to throw yourself at him, seriously? You leaned back, hips rubbing unintentionally against his, drawing a soft gasp from you at the hardness you felt there. Hari, to his credit, barely blinked, but he did blink. You squirmed slightly again, feeling it rub against the growing heat of your core, watching in amazement as Hari’s eyes fluttered even as he growled at you. “No, we’re not playing this game”.

He sat up sharply, clearly intending to push you off, but you pulled your hands free instead, looping them tightly around his neck even as his head dropped back in exasperation, glaring at you. “Just tell me you don’t want me then, not one bit, you don’t want me at all, and I’ll leave you be”. Your soft murmur against his lips had you shivering again, and yet Hari seemed barely affected, cold, silver eyes boring into yours. He didn’t respond though, he didn’t say it, he didn’t say he didn’t want you but he didn’t say he did either. You ran a finger carefully over the needle of hair that had fallen in his face, brushing it back carefully and nearly flinching when he sighed softly. Sensitive, are they?

You pressed closer, chasing the heat of his mouth, panting softly against him. “One little game Hari, what’s one little game going to matter?” You licked softly at the corner of his mouth, feeling him arch underneath you sharply at the motion, eyes flickering up to yours, pupils dilated wildly, half in lust, half in panic. “Play with me Hari, please”, you whimpered softly, hips rocking against the growing tent in his pants as his eyes fluttered, only semi-hard but it felt huge.

“He’ll kill you”, whispered softly against your throat, warm breathing leaving goose-bumps on your skin as he breathed raggedly against you. Wet mouth sending shivers up and down your spine, wanting him to kiss you so badly. He lipped very gently at your jawline as you stretched into him, motion a silent plea for more. “He’ll kill you and then me as well, that’s what your little game will get us, and you know it”, his voice was breathy, snarky, but breathy, he wanted it too, you could tell. You leaned closer then, licking softly at the shell of his ear, smirking softly as his hips jerked forward against you, fingers tangling angrily in your hair, ripping your head back so he could face you, eyes glittering as you panted desperately against his mouth.

“So desperate, and I’ve barely touched you”, were the last words whispered softly against your lips before his lips slotted slowly against yours, testing, careful, even as you moaned softly into his mouth, hands tightening in his hair as his came to dig into your hips, pulling you flush against him. “Stupid, stupid little girl”, he spat, and then he licked into your mouth, tongue tasting the insides of your mouth in detail, exploring every little crevice, leaving you shaking and trembling in his lap as you rubbed slowly against his clothed erection, grinding down carefully to try and give him better friction, rewarded with a soft hum of pleasure against your mouth. You needed more.

His fingers dug into your waist tighter, but careful enough that it wouldn’t bruise before he pulled away to carefully nip at your jawline. You gasped and moaned softly at his ministrations, fingers pulling his hair, desperate for more of him. “He wont even care”, you moaned softly as he mouthed sloppily over the column of your throat, always careful with the hints of teeth. “He’s never wanted me, not really, and I’ve never wanted him”, you continued softly as his hands wandered up to cup your breasts through your shirt, drawing a deep, throaty groan from you. “Only-oh yes-only ever you”, you gasped out eventually, listening to his answering groan, as he dragged you closer, lifting your shirt carefully.

“Hari, please”, you whispered softly, dragging a soft groan from him as his name fell so haggardly from your lips, the desperation, the longing in it had him pressing closer instantly, tongue lapping slowly up your throat as he gradually pulled up your shirt, desperate to get his mouth around those perky buds.

“Chronostasis, where are you, did you find her?”

You’d never moved faster in your life, leaping from his lap like it had burned you, even though you desperately wanted to climb back into it and stay there forever. Hari had somehow got to his feet, pushed his erection down, and shoved his mask back on, and all before Kai came round the corner. He leaned over, grabbed you by the elbow, expression shifting back to annoyance, and strode forward to meet the yakuza boss even as you stared at the ground miserably.

“She just went for a little run, up to mischief, the usual, it was no hassle boss”, the words hurt, though you knew he had to say them or risk both of you being killed. You finally looked up, gaze meeting Kai’s before dropping it swiftly again, the disgust there drowned Hari’s annoyance right out.

“Excellent work Chronostasis, I must say, you caught her in record time. See to it that you don’t have to catch her at all in future, simply put, teach the little beast how to behave”. The ice in his voice made you tremble and shake even as Hari nodded and affirmed his agreement, twisting the knife even deeper, but at least Kai was turning away, he wasn’t glaring at you anymore, probably a good thing, he’d just hurt you more if he saw the single tear slip from your eye, might even slap it away, just to prove a point.

You walked forward in Hari’s grip, eyes downcast, flinching slightly when a warm hand brushed your tear away, you blinked in shock and turned to glance at him but his mask stayed pointed firmly forward, not a single look in your direction, even as his thumb began to stroke soothing circles around your elbow, a small smile tugging at the corner or your lips before you shoved it away.

Maybe he’d play more next time round.

[mirror-juliet]

Fix Us {San X Reader X Wooyoung} Vampite AU

Part one is Pet, please read that before you read this part.

Warnings: Angst, Toxic relationship, Blood, Yelling, Just a bunch of hate and angst.

Tagging: @hongjoongs-hoe @atotheteeny @youneedapiratekink @vocalyunho No pressure to read at all!!

Special mention: Echo (hongjoongs-hoe tagged above) is my inspiration for this AU please go check out their works❤

*****

The ride home was excruciatingly slow. You and Yeosang sharing awkward eye contact as you were squeezed between your two masters. Yeosang wouldn't even be in this predicament but San had insisted there was no reason to find a second driver when the current car was big enough to fit all of them.

It wasn't.

Well, it wasn't big enough for the tension built up between the three of you. Now you're in the predicament of sitting on the couch while your hot headed master glares at you. "I thought i told you to stay away from him." San speaks through gritted teeth, pacing back and forth.

"Hangwoong is my friend. My only one, i don't see what you're so upset about." San shuts you up by glaring at you with his familiar red eyes.

"You have no use for friends. You have everything you need here." Your hands ball into fists, trying to keep your anger at bay. "All i have here is two people that live in the same house as me, they tell me what to do and when to do it and what i can't do. So forgive me if i look for some emotion rather than anger from someone." You cross your arms and sit back against the couch.

"We have these rules to keep you safe." Wooyoung speaks up. Poor Wooyoung, he's always caught up between you and San fighting "Do you remember what your life was like before San took you in?" Those words boil your blood, because it was hell before San came along. You were starved, beaten, used, and tortured to exhaustion nearly every day. Your blood was drained dangerously low several times. If San hadn't came along....

"She would have died." San finishes your thought while looking out the window. "I'm the reason she's living-"

"Living?!" You interrupt. "What about this is living?! I'm just your information bunny and sex toy. Living would be able to have my own free will!" You stand from the couch, chest heaving and nails digging into your palms. San winces in pain, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You have free will Y/n." San glares at you. Wooyoung stands beside him, rubbing his arm to calm him down. "Oh right. i'm so sorry that i forgot about stalking people to get your gossip fetish." You make sure to use your sarcastic voice that always manages to piss San off.

"Stop it Y/n." San gives you a warning glare.

"Do you need me so sit and look pretty for you to show off?"

Wooyoung speaks up. "Y/n..."

"Or how about you send me to a dangerous place to have sex with someone because you don't have the balls to do it you-"

"DOWN!" San's voice echos through the room, forcing gravity to sit you upright on the couch.

Something washes over Wooyoung, fear or even maybe disgust. Either way it prompts him to back away from San several steps.

"San...."Wooyoung tries softly.

"You commanded me, You promised...." Tears well up in your eyes, your hands begin to shake as they struggle to unhinge from his vampire powers. "Master." They fall over your cheeks, you hate yourself for crying in front of them. True tears hurt worse than fake ones, to let others see them.

"That's enough San." Yeosang calmly says, entering the room with his arms crossed. "Let her go. Now." His tone is firm, glaring at San with dark Golden eyes, San glares back with the same color. Moments pass before San's eyes flinch away from his elder

"Y/n, upstairs." San rubs his eyes as Yeosang wins the fight-He always wins against San.

In your room you lock the door, shanking down your dress and hair pins. You go to your vanity and pull out one of the drawers, a packet of cigarettes lay there. You light one in the candle flame, you look strange in the mirror. Your hair was wavy-makeup still afoot on your face, White lingerie making your eyes hurt. But through the somber look on your face you still found yourself beautiful. Why is that? Why do you think sadness is pretty?

'CRASSK'

"It isn't fun being pretty when you have no one to show." Blood trickles down your arm from where you just smashed in the mirror, showing you the bight on your skin growing up your arm. 'I just want to leave here.' You think to yourself as you take another puff from your cancer stick.

"Y/n." It's Wooyoung on the other side of the door. "Are you okay?" Smoke begins to fill the air around you. You walk over to the large glass doors, opening them to the balcony where you lean onto the railing. The overlook on the forest used to comfort you when you first moved to the mansion and Yeosang would scare the living daylights out of you. Now it just reminds you of how far away from your freedom you are. The expand of the forest so far you see nothing but. Maybe if you stand out here long enough the scent of your blood will draw in a hungry vampire to kill you. At least it would give you an out from all this mess. The blood you remember. That's probably the reason Wooyoung came to check on you in the first place.

"I thought i told you no smoking." The stick between your fingers is plucked from you, making the ivory of your railing smudge as Wooyoung puts it out. "How did you get in here?" He grabs ahold of your arm, the arm San had claimed. "I broke the lock." Looking over your shouler, the door is in fact kicked in by the lock. "You know hurting yourself wont hurt him. Not like he hurts you." Wooyoung begins to lick at the fresh blood, stinging the cuts on your hand.

"I like to think it does." He grabs your face to look at him, he's sad, so very sad. "But it doesn't. You know it doesn't. So please.....Stop hurting yourself." He presses your foreheads together. "For me." He gently slides your lips together, waiting to see if you would pull back. Once you don't he moves your lips with his.

You pull back as you feel his hot tears fall onto your cheeks. "Wooyoung. Help me fix us, please i love you both so much. But i'm so close to loosing San."

"Oh sweet.....You've already lost him."

A/N: Hi this is kinda shitty but i tried to write on other things, and i just didn't have the energy to. This quarantine is taking it's toll on me and i'm slowly loosing my mind lol. But i put this little short out to help progress this little AU onward. Even though nothing really happened this part i promise it helps move the story along.

[vampirrediaries]

This Isn’t You : The Vampire Diaries Imagine {Part 3}

The effects of the vervain in your system were slowly wearing off as you regained consciousness, your vision adjusting to the sight of Stefan and Damon hovering over you.

“I think she’s starting to wake up,” Stefan said with relief as you failed to get up, weakness still prevailent. You saw Damon standing by the door looking distressed as ever at the sight.

You croak out a laugh as you lay helplessly on the cellar floor, where they had put you to avoid trouble with the bloodlust. “Locking me in the cellar, seriously? You two are pathetic” You weakly say with a smirk.

“That was desperate,” Stefan shoots back “Don’t you think that we can see right through you?”

“All i think is how the pair of you could be so stupid ” You chuckle humourlessly “I’m assuming you didn’t kill Katherine, meaning she’ll come after you when she wakes up”

“We’ll deal with her,” Damon says in a low voice to his brother, who solemnly nods in response. You feel your strength slowly return, but you made sure not to let them know.

“All i’m worried about is that pesky humanity switch, Y/N,” Damon says tauntingly “All the ways we get to torture it out of you, fun!”

Now, Damon hated the idea of hurting you in the slightest but he had to put on a show to make sure you knew what was in store for you. He was trying to trigger fear, rage. Anything at all.

You scoff at this, rolling your eyes at the dark haired vampire “You wouldn’t,”

“You think we want to do this?,” Stefan says with distress “We hate the thought of hurting you, Y/N. Just turn it on and we won’t have to!”

“Even if you manage to make me turn it on, i’ll remember all of this and i’ll hate you both for it,”

Damon shrugs at this, turning to his brother with an unbothered look on his face. “It’s worth the risk”

The vervain had weaned its way out of your system at this point, and you felt strong enough. With Damon and Stefan turning around to leave you in solitary, you gathered all of your strength and picked yourself up.

“You should’ve vervained me more” You hiss as the brothers look at you with surprise. You suddenly use your inhumane speed to flash towards the cellar door, away to your freedom, but instead you’re pushed back when you do manage to reach the door. Stefan had acted quickly by taking the syringe he had kept with him for this very reason, and jamming the poisonous substance in you once more.

“Now, that must hurt,” Damon says nonchalantly as you fall down in pain. You look at him incredulously as Stefan painfully shuts the cellar door on you. They were going to dry you out to weaken you before the whole ‘humanity switch flip’ process as Damon had put it.

You had no choice but to lay in solitary with your weakened state, waiting for the brothers to either take you out or a certain curly haired vampire to break you free. Katherine should’ve woken up by now, and she was probably furious. The Petrova vampire was ruthless when she didn’t get what she wanted.

You feel the effects of the vervain shortly after, slowly drag you into darkness once again. you close your eyes as you fall unconscious on the cellar floor.

—————

“Wake up, little Y/N”

You groggily open your eyes after what seemed like forever. Damon and Stefan looked at you with determination as you slowly look around to assess your surroundings. The brothers had tied you to a chair, with your arms up in chains.

“This the best you got?” You manage to let out with a breathy laugh “I didn’t think the pair of you were this amateur”

Damon’s infamous smirk appears as he approaches you “Oh, we’re just getting started Y/N. You of all people should know how creative i can be when i want something”

“Let me guess,” You groan “For me to turn on my humanity again?”

“And we have a winner,” He grins “The real question is if you’re gonna comply this time,”

You roll your eyes in response, not capable of feeling anything and not wanting to. Damon had gotten his answer when he gives his brother a solemn nod. Stefan grimly walks towards the large curtains in the living room which were drawn.

Stefan slightly parts the drawn fabric, allowing a little sunlight to almost reach you. You look confused when Damon glances at your hand with furrowed brows.

“You know the rules, bad girls don’t get nice jewellery”

You realise they had taken your daylight ring, meaning you could burn in the obvious sunlight that was shielded.

“You took my ring, i’m devastated” You say dryly “And bored. Can I go back to solitary now?”

“No, I kinda like you in the hot seat,” Damon shrugs as he looks at Stefan “Whenever you’re ready, brother”

“Am i supposed to be scared? You wouldn’t burn me, Stef” You say, still as emotionless as ever.

“You will be,” He says grimly “And when you are, focus on that fear Y/N. It’s the key to getting your humanity back”

With that being said, Stefan pulls back the curtain, allowing the light to escape and touch the skin of your arm which was still trapped in chains. You feel the searing pain of your flesh burning instantly, screaming in agony as it catches fire.

Damon quickly grabs the fire extinguisher, spraying your arm as Stefan quickly closes the curtains. He looked as disturbed as you’d ever seen him. Damon on the other hand, was determined as ever to see if he’d brought some emotion out of you.

You had felt rage, anger slowly building up at the sight of your arm slowly healing itself.

“I’m gonna kill you” You mumble under your breath. Damon throws his hands in the air “See? There’s a little rage. I should’ve known that would be the first emotion to get out of you.”

You were about to fire back with another angry comment when the door to the salvatore house suddenly flies open. Damon and Stefan quickly turn their heads.

“Now, the pair of you honestly didn’t think this would be the last time you’d see me now did you?”

Katherine Pierce looked as done as ever, with her hair all messed up and clothes dirty. She had a look on her face which screamed ‘Revenge’, and you couldn’t be happier for a vampire with no emotions.

“Katherine,” Damon hisses. The curly haired vampire glances at the sight of poor, tortured you.

“It’s funny, actually. I never thought you would hurt Y/N in a million years,” She says with malice. Stefan and Damon instantly flash in front of you, to prevent Katherine from freeing you. She chuckles humourlessly, stepping in front of the Salvatore boys.

“Give me Y/N, and I wont kill you for snapping my neck. Deal?”

“Like hell,” Stefan hisses protectively “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

You roll your eyes at the inability for the brothers to let go of you. “It’s pathetic how the pair of you can’t leave me be,” You spit out “I’m gone and i’m not coming back, and if you can’t accept that, it’s not my problem.”

Damon rolls his eyes at this, knowing better than to believe anything that comes out of an emotionless vampire’s mouth. Stefan however, looks hurt at your words. You couldn’t care less at this point, and all you wanted was to be free of these chains.

“See?,” Katherine counters “Free her before someone dies”

“I have a better idea,” Damon says with hostility “How about we don’t free her, and you can go rot in hell”

You suddenly hear a familiar voice as the doors of the mansion open once again, footsteps approaching the living room slowly where all of you resided. “Hello?”

You instantly knew who it was, a wide grin forming on your face as Elena Gilbert strolls in, as clueless as ever. Her calm features turn horrified quickly at the sight of the lot of you. Damon and Stefan match her expression.

“Y/N-” Elena begins saying, but Damon knew better than to wait another second with Katherine free to hurt her. It happened fast after that.

He quickly flashes towards the hostile Doppelgänger, holding a stake to her heart before she could make any other moves. You hear Stefan screaming for Elena to run in the midst of this, but you had other plans. With the Salvatore boys being distracted with the situation, you quickly took advantage by using the strength you had left, pulling hard on the chains and surely, they had broke you free.

You quickly pull yourself up, and catch Elena helplessly trying to get out of the house. You flash towards her before she could run towards safety, swiftly grabbing hold of her arm as you drag her back towards the living room following the screams of help. Damon had only just started to dig the stake deeper into Katherine, who only gave out sounds of pure agony when you stood in front of the vampires with your old friend struggling against your grip.

“I wouldn’t,” You spit out mercilessly, referencing towards Katherine “Unless you want the human blood bag to die along with the rest of you”

“You wouldn’t,” Damon breathes out, clearly scared for Elena’s life “You wouldn’t kill her”

You swiftly pull Elena towards you, holding her head sideways so her neck is exposed to you. Elena cries out in pain, but you were far from feeling anything at this point, with your eyes turning red and fangs growing out.

“Oh, I promise you I would,” You hiss “Let Katherine go and I won’t rip into her throat in front of you.” Stefan couldn’t move, since you had Elena. Damon couldn’t move because he had Katherine. They knew they had to let you go at this point.

Damon reluctantly takes the stake out of The Petrova, letting her heal before she could join you. Elena didn’t stop struggling against your grip until Katherine was next to you. You roughly push her towards the Salvatore brothers, who protectively stand in front of her.

You glare at the trio as they look at you with horrified expressions. They hadn’t seen a vampire so ruthless with their emotions turned off until you did it. Truth was, you loved it. You loved not feeling anything, and damn it if Stefan and Damon made you go back to the way you were.

“I expect you to not follow me this time” You finally say with a smirk before you flash out of the house with Katherine following. The pair of you get into her car, driving away to god knows where before the brothers had any second guesses. “We’ll find her again,” Damon says solemnly when you leave. Stefan nods grimly in response, his arms around a shivering Elena. “That wasn’t her, that was a monster,” She shakily says.

“You need to get her back, both of you”

“We will,”

————

“Thank you for saving me, Cupcake” Katherine grins at you from the drivers seat. “I owed you one,” You reply with a smile “Besides, i like my partner in crime”

“So, where were you thinking of going next? Preferably somewhere far from here,”

A sly smirk appears on your face, a city coming to mind where you know you’d have fun.

“I was thinking New Orleans”

masterlist

[cosmicbash]

This was something I wrote in chat to my best friend earlier today then spruced up in docs. Because I thought yall might enjoy it too 😉

No proper ending of course cuz I'm lazy af

Concept

Em just straight up buying Kelly from Diddy. Like real world AU. He just buys Kells time for a month, just to prove he can and make the brat squirm when his label manager suddenly comes and tells him he needs to go be Marshall's (slave)  assistant for a full month and if he doesn't then they can't produce his new album

Just Diddy not giving two fucks about his artists except for the money they can earn him and Em rubbing it in Kells face that he's practically a for hire whore if he wants him to be;

Marshall barely acknowledges the blonde for little more than to give him his coffee or fast food order the first few days, just to make him sweat. See how he will react to repeatedly being ignored and treated no better than some random kid hired off the street.

By the 4th day Colson just snaps, and slams the coffee none too politely down on a meeting table to snarl at the older rapper about how he's not some goddamn coffee boy. All because he expected Colson to sit there and stir his cream and sugar in it for him in front of a group of people. 

Of course all that does is lead to everyone staring and Marshall ordering them out of the office. Eyes finally meeting the blondes dead on, glueing his feet to the floor and leaving him terrified.

By the time the brunette has slid the door lock over with a loud click and turned back around to start storming towards him Colson is near shaking in his designer boots. Marshall's stride and face unflinching like a predator closing in on its prey.

The poor boy doesnt know whether his fight or flight wants to kick in because yeah while he's sure he might be able to take the older rapper in a fight solely due to their size difference alone he also doesn't think hitting the guy will bode well for him and his bands careers. So instead he just tenses up and braces for impact. Expecting a fist to the jaw, or gut, hell maybe even a shoe.

The impact he's waiting for never comes, instead the rapper diverts his path last minute and instead settles back into the large cushiony office chair that rests at the head of the table.

The squeak and hiss of air when his weight lands makes Colson's hearing perk up. Focus zeroing in on the man's every movement while his body turns to face him once more.

Then comes the order, a finger crooking itself in a come hither motion that has Colson's feet moving despite himself. "Here. Now."

And before the blonde knows it he's in reaching distance of his rap god and suddenly a hand is fisting itself in his tank top, yanking him down. Forcing him awkwardly across the other man's lap, while another grabs the belt loops of his jeans. Leaving his hands to fly out and press shaking finger tips against the carpeted floor when he finds himself horizontal. And his legs to flail in the air for a moment before they also find purchase. Shoe tips finding zero traction.

The arm of the chair is digging into his chest and thighs painfully, and the fingers Marshall has fisted in the belt loops of his jeans to hoist his ass up and across has electricity radiating out from where a knuckle brushes against bare skin

"If you want to throw a fit and slam things around like a child I can treat you like a child-"

One hard yank later and Colson's whole face lights up like the fourth of july. Cold air conditioned office air tickling his now bare ass, jeans pulled down just enough to flash both cheeks and rest snug beneath the curve.

He knows what's coming before it happens but a startled yelp still escapes his mouth when the first open palm slaps down. A stinging pain shooting up his back from the impact. And em doesn't give him any time to recover, another succession of slaps follow within seconds to the same cheek. Until the skin feels hot and Colson's fingers have dug their way into the thin carpet in front of him.

Gasped grunts and jerks of his legs are all the reaction he's capable of giving. The humiliation of it all placing a tight knot in his throat.

Just when Colson thinks it's over, the older rapper switches his smacking to the opposite cheek. The palm that had been clapping down shifting over to tightly grip his hip, fingers digging in so tightly they inspire a curse.

Now using his right hand to smack. The blonde can't help but literally whimper at the sting added from cold metal rings present. 

"Is this what Diddy needs to be doing to keep you in line? Hm? Should I use our time together to train you into a good little bitch?" 

Colson's whole lower half feels like it's on fire, but somehow his face manages to feel hotter. He wants to retort, curse and scream and tell the older rapper off. All he needs to do is give a good push of his long legs or his arms and he knows he could knock himself free. But his body refuses to listen to him.

Between his legs his cock is steadily filling, thickening up against his thigh where its trapped between tight briefs and the lowered hem of his jeans.

The embarrassment coiling in his stomach triples, shame and arousal joining the cocktail of mixed emotions.

The stinging slaps finally end, even if his quivering doesn't. 

Now the warm palm resting against his ass just smoothes over the sensitive flesh, pressing down and giving almost comforting rubs . "Cat got your tongue Kelly? Or was it really that easy for me to break you?"

Swallowing down the tight lump still present Colson manages to at least shake his head. By now his fingers have turned white against the gray of the carpet and his lip feels swollen from the bite of his own teeth but he does finally get words to leave his mouth.

"F-fuck you."

Far from eloquent. Or the multitude of things rattling around inside his head that he wants to say. But he wont let the asshole assume he's some weak willed little bitch.

Marshall hums thoughtfully above him, the circles being rubbed against his raw ass widening, the press harder. Until it's got him wincing.

"Is that what I should do? Want me to reward you for taking your punishment so patiently by filling your tight little hole?"

A spread to his cheeks is what finally gets Colson's legs kicking back to life. His whole body tumbling to the floor in a heavy heap, ass catching the carpet wrong while he crawls backwards forcing tears to spring up in his eyes. 

Marshall looks amused, head cocked sideways now resting on one palm while he watches him.

Meanwhile Colson's heart is racing in his chest, his own gaze locked on the older rappers. Too afraid to look away while he blindly tries to pull his jeans back up. "D-dont touch me you fucking pervert!"

The smirk on bearded cheeks just grows wider. Until the man is smiling almost shark like at him, a twinkle present behind blue eyes. "Suit yourself-" another hissing squeak of the chair and the brunette is standing back up. Looming over the younger rapper spawled across the carpet while he fishes a couple bills out of his pocket. "The coffees all cold by now anyway, get your clothes back on and go replace the order."

Cash rains down over Colson's lap and he feels like a cheap whore. But the blonde still grits his teeth and crumbles the bills up between his fingers before pushing through the pain and dragging his pants back up over his throbbing ass. 

Counting it up Colson finds double what it cost earlier "This is too much-"

"Your reward. Get one of those too sweet iced coffees for yourself, and a fucking muffin or two." Fingers suddenly thread through his hair, catching him off guard. "Ass is too bony for my taste. Need to fatten you up over the next few weeks." 

[fcntasmas-archive]

SKAM | Even/Isak (TMTTS) | 780 words

Thank you so much to @isisisak for tipping me on my Ko-Fi! Your support means the absolute world to me. The prompt is as follows:

“id love a hc with evak (tmtts verse bc im a sucker for it) with evens niece and nephew - i just feel like isak digs even being cute and silly with them as much as i do”

Your prompt is under the cut, and I thank you once again for your support. My prompts are currently closed, but if you’d like to support me at all feel free to buy me a coffee and let me know what I can do to make your day a little brighter! Enjoy!

Isak doesn’t mean to walk in on Even — they’re just so used to walking into each other’s rooms like they’re their own that it didn’t occur to him that knocking, this time, might have been a good idea.

He’d heard voices behind the door, yes, but Even has a tendency to talk out loud to himself sometimes, so it wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary — and Isak was ready to tease him about it again, as he usually does, but it’s — not just him.

Or, rather, it is just him, but he’s on FaceTime, talking to someone. Isak’s smile fades a little, and he can feel his expression turn a little sheepish as he motions towards the door, asking Even silently if he needs him to step out.

Even shakes his head and gestures silently towards his computer chair, then makes a motion with his hand that Isak interprets to mean he won’t be much longer. Isak hesitates momentarily, but then takes Even at his word, as he is wont to do nowadays, and closes the door behind him. He walks to the computer chair and takes a seat, idly picking at some of the photographs Even’s left on his desk, so as to not seem like he’s blatantly listening to the conversation he’s having.

There are two voices talking over each other through the speaker, and Even finally huffs in amusement and holds up a hand towards his phone screen. “Okay, kiddos, that’s enough,” he laughs. “I have to go, alright? A friend just came over and I’ve gotta make sure I tend to him.”

Both of the small voices on the other end of the phone whine in protest, but the octave of their whine seems defeated, in any case.

“Stop it,” Isak watches as Even raises a challenging eyebrow at the phone through his peripheral, and he feels a small smile tug at the corner of his lips at the visual. “We’ve talked about this. When someone says they have to go, we don’t whine about it.”

“But we miss you.” A small, female voice emits, and Isak can gather now Even’s talking to Nina and Gunnar. Isak knows he talks to them often, but he’s never been around when he does, so this — this is new. And it’s strange, because lately, nothing is new. They pretty much know everything about each other, so “new” is — interesting.

“I miss you guys, too,” Even replies, sitting up a little more on his bed. “Alright, let’s do the thing.”

There’s a collective sigh between all three of them, and then they start…rhyming?

Isak’s too shocked to catch the whole thing, but it’s still fucking with him when they finish this small, almost rhythmic-like nursery rhyme Isak’s never heard of before. Both Nina and Gunnar have dissolved into giggles on the other line, and Even’s just looking fondly on, glancing over at Isak with an apologetic smile.

Isak’s heart doesn’t know what to do with any of this, so it just retreats. Completely. It feels like it’s trying to squeeze through a hollow so vast it’s painful.

“Tell Isak I said hi,” Nina says, and Even promises he will. He blows them a kiss, and before Isak knows it, he’s hanging up.

Isak looks at Even quizzically. “Did they know I was the one here?”

Even laughs, standing from his bed and walking over to Isak, squeezing his shoulder in a small, acceptable gesture of greeting before he begins organizing the photos on his desk. “No,” he says. “Nina always asks me to say hi to you.”

Isak is even more bemused now. “Why?”

Even raises an eyebrow and shoots a glance at Isak. “She likes you?” He flicks at Isak’s hair. “You cannot be surprised every time someone actually likes you, Isak.”

Isak pauses. “She’s never met me, though.”

Even yawns, scratching idly at his cheek as he opens a drawer on his desk. “I talk about you,” he says, placing all the pictures inside the drawer. “She’s decided she likes you.”

Isak refuses to blush; instead, he pretends to be distracted by a spot on his jeans. “Neither of you are a good judge of character.”

Even sighs dramatically. “We all have our faults,” he teases, and Isak looks up at him. He can tell. He can tell Even doesn’t mean it, and behind the soft, teasing expression, Isak can tell Even is worried.

But they keep that between themselves, for now.

“Maybe I’ll be here when they FaceTime you next,” Isak offers tentatively, and Even’s grin is bright and excited.

“Yeah,” he replies softly. “I’d like that.”

[sebbytrash]

Through His Eyes - Part Thirteen

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Bucky x Reader

Warnings - Angst (Is there every not?), flashbacks, nightmares, sexual content

A/N -  Sorry its been forever, again. Pregnancy has kicked my ass. This may be a tiny bit self indulgent, I’m sure you wont mind.  Feedback loved and appreciated.

Through His Eyes Masterlist

It’s quiet when you get back, the day turned into night somewhere along those streets as you sped past, taking the time to quietly pack away your feelings from the day. Getting your house in order before you can face anyone. Bucky stays silent, even after the bike is safely stowed and your walking the corridors back to your room. He hovers close by though, like he expects your legs to stop working at any point. (You’re OK with that.)

Steve is on the couch, takes one look at you both and opens his mouth to ask, his back instantly tight but you interrupt before he can. Quickly and quietly explain where you were and he just looks for a few seconds, eyes flicking between you and Bucky close behind you, says nothing except stretches out an arm and lets you curl up beside him. Bucky follows, that invisible rope that ties him to you pulled tight and sinks in beside you, sinks heavy like the moments of the day are strung from him like boulders. He pulls a blanket from somewhere and tucks it over you. Warm, safe.

You stay like that for a long time, watching episode after episode of Brooklyn Nine Nine because Steve knows it’ your favorite letting the rough edges of the day get forcibly smoothed by the laughter and lightness. The others join after a while, not knowing what’s wrong but knowing enough and knowing that company cures like nothing else. Sat here on this couch, surrounded by your friends, your family, you couldn’t feel further from that girl in the room. Their smiles, their hugs, their love… and even those fingers that grip yours under the blanket like he might disappear without them, they all remind you of how far you’ve come. It’s with your fingers still gripped in his that you wake some time later, head tucked against him with the blanket under your chin. The T.V is off and the room is empty, the air still enough that you know the others have been gone for a while, no doubt unwilling to disturb you, knowing how precious sleep is to you, to him. You stay there for minutes, longer, just listening to his breathing, in, out, deep, steady.

It’s wonderful.

It’s terrifying.

You feel as much as you hear the shift in his breathing when he wakes, the stillness that sweeps from those fingertips to his toes like he is all too aware of how close his face is to yours. You know he hears the shift in your own breathing when his fingers twitch against yours, grip just a little tighter before relaxing again, the only betrayal of thought or feeling. Perhaps it’s intentional, given his usual mastery over his reactions, his expressions. Showing only what he’s willing, an offered glimpse between his fingers.

That familiar tightness arrives, the sharp edged wire pushing at your skin. Pleading.

Even though today (yesterday?) was cleansing, healing, it was still painful and you were still so raw, exposed. Emotions laid bare, heightened, and so it’s that knowledge that forces you to fake a yawn and a stretch, a cartoon version of yourself waking up even though you know he knows you were awake the whole time. He lets you play it out unchallenged, accepts your smile with one of his own, his face shows no trace of whatever passed between those fingertips. Just that quiet, easy smile.

There are words poised on your tongue, waiting and willing to be said. It takes a lions worth of will to master it and let loose only those you choose to.

“I didn’t say it earlier, but thank you Bucky. For coming to get me.” He does a half sort of shrug like its no big deal and that action alone makes you want to clarify that you know, that you understand what it must have cost him, “I know it wouldn’t have been easy for you either.”

He stills at that, swallows loudly, or maybe just swallows but the sound reverberates into the silence of the room.

“I wasn’t afraid to go back there,” He says, and then adds “I’ve been back there.” The admission doesn't surprise you the way it should. Of course he has, hell bent on punishing himself for actions he was an unwilling party to. You wonder how many other places he’s forced himself to relive. How many wounds he has picked at.

His jaw twitches and he glances away like he’s unsure or working up the nerve, “I was afraid... that when I got there, you would hate me again.”

The ground shifts as the words cleave you in two, shower those pieces in such conflicting emotions that you feel both weighted and weightless. You cling desperately to those fractured pieces, having already lost too much of you and so unwilling to lose anymore.

You stand, probably too quickly to be casual and force yourself to look back to him. “I won’t,” you say, so that he knows and then thoughtlessly add, “I can’t.” Not even if I wanted to, the unsaid words hang in the air. You leave him there, between one blink and the next.

Copper. Salt. Dirt.

I’m sorry

I’m so sorry

Please

Please wake up

The dream voice stays long after you gasp awake, the desperation follows you as you shift and turn and try to find sleep again. The haunting echo that you know originates from deep inside a suppressed memory rather than something conjured by your sleep deprived brain. It’s minutes, hours later and it still won’t leave. That desperate plea, like nails on the already worn chalkboard of your skull.

You pace. And pace some more.

It won’t leave. He won’t leave. Your skin vibrates with all that tension from the last few days, rolls like the feeling is alive and you might see the waves across it, scattering and crashing against each other down your arms and across your chest. You drag your fingers down your arms, wishing, hoping that it might ease it.

It doesn’t.

The tension morphs and fights, coils down your gut like you absorbed all the energy of the sun and now its fighting its way out, demanding a release. Like you might boil alive with the effort to contain it. You bow over with it, the force of that energy, feel the blood rush and then finally, you unleash and throw your fist into the wall with a sickening thud. The pain lances through your knuckles, pieces of wall falling away as your free them and the familiar warmth of blood drips down your fingers. The energy roars its victory, like a Lion offered a pound of flesh to sate its hunger. It’s barely taken the edge off, barely scratched the surface.

You know then what you have to do, what it’s going to take to release all the energy, feeling.

A mountain of force.

Your feet move without thought, carrying you swiftly down halls and past doors until you reach it. The other door that altered your life irrevocably. A small part of you urges, begs you not to do this. Begs you to walk away, that this is not the answer.

The lion prowls, barely contained enough for you to knock on the door and to wait those two precious seconds it takes for him to open it. He’s not surprised to see you there, you can tell in his eyes he expected it. There’s no wariness in him, nothing tentative like something has changed, shifted between you. He’s not afraid.

He should be.

You consider briefly what you must look like to him, standing in a tank top and shorts, chest heaving like you’ve run the length of the earth to get there, fist clenched and still dripping blood, that ferocious energy burning you from inside out.

He eyes that fist, clenched so hard your nails were making half-moon indents in your palm, the skin threatening to break  and takes a step forward, then another until his chest was touching yours. The energy absorbs him, swallows him up until your both thrumming with it. Slowly, so slowly, he reaches out and wraps his hand around your fist, brings it up so he can see as he smoothes out your fingers and runs his own across those indents. He watches you, not your joined hands, as he brings broken knuckles to his mouth and places the softest kiss across them, eyes burning like frozen flames.

Its fire, and fury, and everything you know it shouldn't be for something so tame and yet more intimate than anything else before. You silence the voice in your head and let go of that wire you carefully walk, consequences be damned.

A step, yours or his or maybe both, and then his lips find yours and the hard edges start to blurr. Your palms meet his chest and spread whilst you kiss him with a fervor you have no right to feel. He kisses you back with a twin intensity that terrifies you and yet thrills you. You urge him backward just as his fingers pull you forward, the door to his room shut swiftly behind as you clear the threshold. His fingers dance under the hem of your tank, betraying his struggle for control as they dig and release into your skin. His mouth, his skin, it chases everything else away, there’s only this feeling and nothing else. Its intoxicating. Except this time, you ignore the voice that says stop, you throw yourself into that feeling entirely and let your fingers slip up his neck and into his hair, search and find that low groan you’ve wondered about ever since that night in the gym. Marvel at how it sounds even better than before, at how the sound itself pulls a matching one of your own.

You slip a hand down and give a gentle tug on the collar of his t-shirt, unwilling to break contact to convey your meaning. He hesitates for a second and you wonder if he’s going to be the one who stops this when he pulls back but only so he can pull the t-shirt off and let it drop to the floor. When you meet his eyes, you see the quiet apprehension and you realise the reason for his hesitation, that you’ll see him, that’ll you’ll see what they did to him.

Without pause, you bridge the space between you and kiss him again, softer this time but with no less intensity and let your fingertips glide down his neck, smooth along the hard scar tissue across his shoulder and then let your lips follow the same path. Slowly, you kiss the worst of the scars, Bucky’s breath hitching with each one and the, bring your lips back to his only to find him eagerly waiting, his mouth on yours with such force that you sway backwards with the movement but he catches you, uses that momentum to lift you at the same time he backs you both towards his bed. He sits with you, letting your thighs tuck tight against his as his hands slide up your back. You wonder if it’s deliberate, how you are seated, if somehow he’s giving you control even when you don’t need it. You ignore the pang in your heart at that thought and throw yourself further into the feeling, hips grinding down as Bucky kisses and nips his way down your neck.

His hand climbs your back and gently push the strap of your tank to the side, the metal fingers hot against your already heated skin and his lips like a brand as they follow those same fingers. You head tips back and a soft moan escapes as his teeth graze along your collarbone, he hums in agreement, his other fingers sliding up your ribcage till his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. It’s too much and yet still not enough, you grip his head and tilt him back to you so you can press your lips to his again, biting down on his lip just enough to have his fingers inch higher, press and circle and pull low, aching moans from you. You get lost in the feel of him, his hands and lips, the tank stripped from you in one fluid motion that you would never have managed on your own, his mouth working your skin as your own fingers grip his hair and neck. Holding on as this broken man makes you feel like his lips and tongue might be the thing that puts you back together after they take you apart completely.

Its minutes, hours, seconds later and he grips you and turns, placing you with more care than he should on the bed and settling his weight over you, eyes searching yours for the fear you don’t own anymore, looking at you in a way that has you pulling him down to you so you don’t have to think about it, urging him with your hips and relishing the way he shudders with each roll. He tugs you with him as he moves to the side, hiking you leg up over his hip and gripping your ass under those shorts, moaning his appreciation into your mouth. Those fingers move closer and suddenly still, a tenseness in him that has you pulling back to look at him, a question in your eyes that your afraid to voice.

He presses his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, swallows once before whispering, “Maybe I should...change sides.”

It takes a second to understand his meaning, that he was once again worried about you, about how you might react to him and the fact that it's his metal hand inched under your shorts. You ache at his fear, that you put it there, that he put yours there too. Ache for what they took from you both. In answer, you cup his jaw and watch as his eyes open, hesitant but steady, ready to do whatever to make you comfortable, “Your right where I want you to be.”

His eyes dart between yours and whatever he sees is the confirmation he needs, the fire back in his veins as he kisses you with that force again, fingers reaching under and moving against you in a way that has you wondering if it had ever felt this good, if anyone had ever known exactly how to touch you. You let your hands wander over his chest, losing minutes in the feel of that solid, gritty muscle under your fingertips, your nails. He brings you higher, tongue and teeth and those ever proficient fingers, pushing you to places where shadows didn’t exist and demons have no power. The world tilts as you break, nails digging in like you might lose gravity and float off on the feeling alone. Forehead touches and nose nudges, lips hovering and taking, the world realligning underneath you. He looks at you that way again and your pretty sure you are looking back just the same.

It’s no more than a minute before the heady feeling has your hands wandering, urging him to rid himself of the sweatpants he’s still wearing and following the movement with your eyes, taking all his lines and solidness, the ache coiling down your spine with the way you want him, need him. He makes quick work of your own shorts, settling over you and gathering up your hips and thighs with such care at the odds with the way he nuzzles into your neck, teeth grazing and owning. He gathers himself up onto his forearms till he’s eye level and watches as he pushes into you, groans when your breath hitches and watches you fight against the urge to close your eyes and revel in the feeling. He rolls forward and up, taking all thoughts with him, carries the same momentum into a rhythm that matches the hunger in his eyes. He forces low, greedy sounds from your throat, seals his mouth over your like he’s trying to keep them, breathing turned harsh in the shared space between. This. This is the feeling you needed, the leftover energy disappearing with each delicious roll of his hips, with each nip of his teeth and growl from between. His flesh hand is swallowed up by your hair, his metal one sliding up your arm till his fingers are linked with yours, pressing your joined hands into the mattress above your head. Your free hand grips his waist as your hips match his, pushing together to work that fire over your body and into your bones, any resemblance of control slipping away beneath the sweat on your skin. Your legs begin to tremble as you near that edge, you feel his hips falter in response and then grind deeper, following that feeling like he's desperate, like you are too. The edge crumbles beneath you, falling further than you thought was possible, consumed by it, the fire, letting it take your harshness and your fury with it. It takes only a look from you before Bucky is tumbling down after you, shoulders hunching up close to your head as you feel every bit of him melt, feel his muscles settle against yours like thats where they’re meant to be.

He leans his forehead against yours, again, and you try not to notice how good it feels, trying to reclaim some of that control you so freely gave up. He kisses you, soft, enduring, the kind that has your heart beating erratically in your chest but still, you let him. Let him tuck you into his side and draw lazy circles on your back, let him place a kiss to your forehead with an intimacy you have no right sharing. You know you shouldn’t, but you let him anyway, because maybe, just maybe, you need it too.

The thought terrifies you. It thrills you.

Forever Tags:  @manawhaat @captainrogerss  @theashhole @a-little-hell-to-raise  @peculiar-persephone  @captain-rogers-beard @chrisevansnco @howlingbarnes @poealsobucky @samingtonwilson @vintagevalentinexx @abovethesmokestacks @imhereforbvcky @buckthegrump @avengerofyourheart  @carriefish-er @stormy-thomas @danijimenezv   @angelicthor   @betheboo55 @palaiasaurus64 @raxacoricofallapatoriuspotter @johnmurphys-sass @katbird787    @sexyvixen7 @jobean12-blog  @justreadingfics @justareader @smoothdogsgirl @theliarone @aikibriarrose @timeladylaurel @badassbakers @earinafae @crushed-pink-petals @tardis-is-mine @httpmcrvel @bucky2-0 @mocking-rain @sociallyimpairedme @jezzula @bless-my-demons @ign-is @indominusregina @-supernatural-coffee-llama @alwayshave-faith @itsonlysarah @superwholocknda @shifutheshihtzu @mizzzpink @yknott81 @haven-in-writing @xtina2191 @reniescarlett @notsoprettykitty @wickedwerewolf @ayeputita @tori-medusa-belongs-to-bucky  @tatalopes23 @pineapplebooboo @mizzezm @thefridgeismybestie @memory-of-a-goldfish @supernatural-girl97 @standing-onthe-edge @ruinerofcheese @rosescentedblood @mysweetcookie99

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Even If the Waters Rise 1/3

Talked myself into Mermay. But it’s Shadowrun based mermay with (something that resembles) plot. Mermaids are now metahuman, and, boy, do I have the issues with Sea Dragon’s design. It got 6k words on the first chapter.

Also, warnings for the whole planned thing: blood, gore, and violence; cannibalism (human on metahuman); questionable jokes and questionable totem choices; ambiguous relationships; referenced limb loss/cybernetics/etc; mating cycles.

(...)

Later, the deep throbbing bites on his back, shoulders, and neck almost manage to take his mind off the itching under the sleeves, the kind anything but scratching the skin off whole does nothing for. The bites, they should bother him more but feel only right, as does the thumb following the line of his spine, up and down each bump, ceaseless, building the pressure up and then letting go. Jack has to wonder as he drifts off if it's one of those times Gabriel will stay until he wakes.

He does. Looking with the usual neutral expression when Jack gulps for the air, the lingering vague memory of drowning but not sinking while something gorges itself on his flesh with little bites tearing him apart fading slowly.

(...)

Coming off the sedation after being cut was always a mixed bag. This time, though, the bustle of the street outside filters in slowly, rising like a wave over the ocean of static and breaking when the stims start doing their job.

The first breath is always the hardest, some kink in the lungs that kicks them into filtration mode each time the loss of consciousness occurs and demands focus from Jack to consciously switch back into the atmospheric intake.

"With us again?"

"You tell me, you're in my brain."

"Being obstinate will net you no points," Sombra mentally scoffs. "The pain?"

"No worse than usual."

"Arms up. Good, neural's working with no lag. And thank you very much for that kick, the legs are doing fine too."

"All?" Jack looks over the utilitarian metal surfaces of his limbs, the make and the model different from anything else he has seen on the market.

"Now, yeah," Sombra winces, pulling the plug out. She doesn’t need it but had told him once there were times she felt safer working with one. "For final calibrations, I need more data, so let's slap synthskin on those."

"What are they, anyway?"

"Scrubbed milspec, last year's model, or so I'd been told."

Sombra directs the assistant. Each applied sheet of layered synthskin gives Jack a lurch of unpleasant sensations before settling into annoyance, tension, and oversensitivity. A dance he's familiar with - a day or two before the brain puts a dampener on the sensory input when it integrates properly.

"I know why you're doing this for free, but why is he spending so much on this?"

Sombra flinches.

"The last batch you got rid of was worth more than those."

"It won't stop the demand, only the price of the meat went up."

"And the ability to process it for consumption went down. You know what's my take on it," she signs something on her pad. "Anyway, have fun tonight. I'll get in touch with you tomorrow to finish the calibrations."

"Not seeing much of a difference now," Jack pulls on his clothes, mindful of the temporary sleeves making sure the skin stays in place. "Tell me I won’t control and crush anyone."

"Implemented mental blocks. No limiters, so they can over-perform and get bricked, too."

"Taking bets on when I brick them?"

"Honestly!" Sombra throws the pad at him and Jack deflects it into the wall - looking back to her with a sheepish grin as it falls to the ground. "Too slow. Also, I don't want to see you in the professional capacity for at least half a year, but I'm giving you a month."

"Not very generous, and you're making me think you don't like it in my head."

"I don't, it's a jumble there since..." She stops herself, glaring daggers at the assistant who, granted with the rare ability to read the room, makes himself scarce - finding something urgent to do in the back.

"Since the glorified accident at work I don't even remember, seriously, five years, it's enough to stop treating me like I'm going to break about it." Jack pulls up the hood. Sombra's thinking about something, her brows drawn together in a worried frown.

"Aren't you curious?"

"Not really. Nightmares are a clue enough that something took out a lot of bites, and really, can't blame them, can I?"

"That's enough." She sends him a slightly nauseated look. "Scram now, have fun."

"Do you think he will tell me where he got milspec from?"

"He didn't tell me, so he's not going to tell you."

"But you've got an inkling how he got it."

"Maybe." She waves him off and Jack rolls his eyes, shrugging. Needling her for information has never worked before, anyway, and probably never will.

"See you when I wreck those."

"Fuck off!"

In less than an hour, there will be no trace left of her inside - and of Jack himself - the room is already being stripped down as he makes his way out of the basement up the concrete stairs with walls covered with dangerous amounts of mildew. Pushing past a corner stall encroaching on the doorway, he picks up a wrapped piece of barely seared meat waiting for him and waves his bracelet at the chit reader.

The air is wet and salty, like waves on the harbor, not even the smells of the market drown it out. The corners of his lips curl up at the thought tomorrow, or the day after, he'll be back out there, out on the sea, taking a dive into its depths, water everywhere, below and above, invisible current carrying him on its whims. Jack hails down the cab, the smile still on his face.

It remains there even twenty minutes later as he gets off by the hotel, both far too expensive and far too cheap at the same time. Too expensive for his own tastes, too cheap for Gabe to rent a room in it. Alas, here they are - and he sends a quick text.

'I'm coming up.'

Almost to the top, feeling vaguely claustrophobic in the humming elevator thankfully bereft of the usual muzak (apparently some taste did come with the money, but not enough for the interior to keep consistent style), he gets the customary message back. 'Open.'

Jack lets out the breath he's been inadvertently holding in when the doors open and he's left in the corridor, looking for the right entrance. A suite, of course, worth a chuckle as he walks inside, the only source of light the city's glow coming in through the windows.

And Gabriel, of course - again - standing with his back to the window, the only discernible features of his in the dim the almost glowing red irises and the white markings creating a vague outline of some animal face. Dramatic asshole, as usual.

"Show me."

The tone of authority and ownership demanding obedience - the order itself - coming from anyone else but the man who one way or another did own everything that made him, would have Jack snarling and pouncing whoever dared to speak to him like that. Hearing it from Gabe, though...

"Not even 'hi, how are you' or 'greetings, mortal'?"

Jack rolls his eyes, stripping down completely out of his clothes, leaving them lying on the plush carpet as Gabriel comes closer. Always smelling faintly of the deep ocean, or rather, of how Jack would imagine it to smell if it did.

Fingers dig around the edges of the sleeves on his shoulders, feeling the joints underneath, moving down to repeat the same around his hips. Synthskin sends confusing signals, not quite the pain yet, and a pinch of irritation.

"Looks fine."

"Will you tell me how you got your hands on last generation's milspec?" Gabriel ignores the question - no acknowledgment of it being asked even - as he's wont to do. Instead, he picks up a pillbox from the dresser. "I still got them."

"I know. You're dosing too low."

"Orgasm in a pill seems a bit too convenient." Jack massages the joint of his shoulder, moving to the bedroom. The carpet, probably soft on any other occasion, scratches his soles. "And a bit awkward."

"A fortunate coincidence of it interacting with your physiology."

"Yeah, coincidence. You're sure it's not another leash to keep me on?"

"If it were, you wouldn't be able to skip a dose. I'd make sure of it."

"I'm pulling your leg. I rather suspect you wouldn't do that, or would you?" Jack climbs the bed and props himself on the pillows - eyes focused on the single pill held between Gabriel's fingers, tracking it as he puts it in his mouth advancing - crawling over the covers, and Jack himself, with the grace of a predator playfully stalking a prey he knows cannot flee, the kill only a formality decided beforehand.

Drowning, always drowning in those eyes, black sclera and red irises blurring together into one, always looking too deep into him until he feels they don’t see him at all, his tongue brushing against sharp pointed teeth in an open-mouthed kiss, electricity traveling back and forth the nerves of phantom limbs with the speed of light coming to stop in a single burst leaving him breathless and shaking under Gabriel.

"Dutiful boy. You deserve a prize."

Jack chuckles at the first trace of any emotion in Gabriel's voice. The possessiveness is never truly gone, it's as much an integral part of him as are his looks, but there's a note of fondness giving Jack the incontestable impulse to almost preen: lower his lashes and incline back his head, hand sliding along dark red lines on Gabriel's arm.

"She's going to touch up off this."

"Are you worried about your privacy?"

"I'm used to having none with her. That was," he inhales sharply, feeling the bite on his collarbone, "for your benefit. I can see now you don't mind."

"I do not."

Jack merely snorts, rolling over and promising himself again to figure out Gabriel's trick with the clothes, there one moment and gone in the next, probably magic, but if he ever had any spark himself it was long lost with all the work done on him since the accident. Blunt as a troll's fist, this one.

Not that he has the ability to dwell on it while getting drilled into the mattress.

Later, the deep throbbing bites on his back, shoulders, and neck almost manage to take his mind off the itching under the sleeves, the kind anything but scratching the skin off whole does nothing for. The bites, they should bother him more but feel only right, as does the thumb following the line of his spine, up and down each bump, ceaseless, building the pressure and then letting go. Jack has to wonder as he drifts off if it's one of those times Gabriel will stay until he wakes.

He does. Looking with the usual neutral expression when Jack gulps for the air, the lingering vague memory of drowning but not sinking while something gorges itself on his flesh with little bites tearing him apart fading slowly.

"Lungs are still giving you problems."

Bathed in the sunlight, Gabriel looks as striking as in the darkness - minutely less dangerous now, however surface and not representative of his true nature the impression is. Regal. Focused on the multitude of holoscreens floating in the air before him.

"No. Not really."

"You were choking."

"Only a bit." Jack stretches, still feeling relatively boneless and exhausted, sticky with perspiration, too tired yet to consider the shower to be a genuine need right now. He slips off the bed only to retrieve the wrapped meat from the pile of discarded clothes in the other room and climbs right back into it.

"It's almost raw," Gabriel mentions when Jack's well into a third of his snack.

"Yeah. I'm finding it's not that bad at all, all things considered. Are you going to comment on my obviously poor dietary choices?"

"No. I'm rather curious about why would you consume it raw." A note of amusement, rare as it is, floats in Gabriel's voice. Jack shrugs.

"Started as a fucked up way to get closer and understand them better, and it grew on me. Not like I'm doing it a lot, wanted to treat myself tonight. Want some?"

To his astonishment, it does take Gabriel's attention away from the screens, as if he's considering the offer seriously - not that Jack would mind - and he leans in, hand trailing on Jack's shoulder for a moment and coming away with blood on the fingertips. Which he licks off.

One of the bites must’ve opened.

"No."

"Shit," Jack chuckles, pulling knees closer to his chest, resting his arms on them, just looking. "Could you just tell me what you are?"

"No. Probably never will."

"Suit yourself then, Knife-ears."

Soon afterward, Gabriel disappears in the bathroom and emerges back fully clothed, the suit so plain and unassuming it has to be worth its weight in diamonds, at least - and leaves without a word. Nothing about it bothers Jack, really, that's the only way he has ever known him to be: someone who's either rich or influential enough to never have had to conform to any social standards so they're like an alien concept to him. If anything, it tickles Jack's ego, the fact Gabriel spends both money and time on him regardless of his inscrutable reasons for it. And even if the time is scarce, the money comes in sums so high Jack’s not going to bother trying to figure the specific amounts out.

With a sigh, Jack plugs into his own pad, trying to ignore momentary vertigo any kind of connection, even the shallow one, gives him - waiting for Sombra to get to him. If she wanted anything from him, she always found him the second he jacked in.

The mental equivalent of a giggle has him rolling his eyes.

"You can say it."

"Boy, did you get screwed silly."

"I feel like I got some of my brain matter fucked out, that one's a freebie."

"What the hell are you eating now? Feedback from your tastebuds is giving me shivers."

"You too?" He bites off another chunk.

"What are you eating?" Sombra repeats, the tone akin to the one used towards a pet that definitely got into trash or picked up something suspect on the way.

"Almost raw meat."

"Interesting," she says after a pause. "Anyway, I'm done."

Jack flexes the free hand, clenching and unclenching his fist a few times.

"Not seeing any difference."

"You shouldn't because I know how to do my job. Also uploaded keys to the blocks, the data on the job, and you've got incoming charter on the roof in five hours."

"So I do have time for a bath then," he hums, smiling.

"Knock yourself out, I'm leaving you alone, you get weird in water."

"Thanks, Som."

"No biggie." Her presence warms up before blinking out, leaving Jack to sort through everything she's left behind both in, and on the pad. Processing plant, the floor plans from several flybys, one drone shot down by a spirit, two points of entrance, Genji on the spot, Jesse and him coming from the water with a few hours to spare, full carnage.

Jack smirks, pulling out the plug. Just how he likes it. He moves to the bathroom, the alarm set for two hours.

The bathtub is nothing spectacular, at best a tight fit for more than two people - still a fancy one with an array of controls barely anyone bothers to use. He picks the temperature and plays a bit with oxygenation and flow. Jack lowers himself into the water slowly, the cold playing havoc on the still sensitive synthskin. The nonexistent heat regulation of milspec freezes his joints with pain. All par for the course as he exhales before submerging in full.

And then, he breathes the water in.

The surface breaks with the remnants of the air pushed from his lungs. It's a poor man's substitute for the real thing but the pressure and the dampened hum of the surroundings, however dissimilar to a swim in the ocean, bring his mind some respite.

Running down the pier barefooted with the warmth of the sun on his back - jumping - the whiplash of the impact - diving deep, to look back from below at the light glimmering on the waves, the rays reaching for him - the hands reaching for him from the depths and pulling down.

With the sound of the alarm, Jack jolts up to a sitting position, coughing out the water. Another bout gets rid of the rest of it from the lungs, and he changes the temperature. The bath heats almost immediately.

The dream changes, but the ending remains always the same.

Head leaning against the rim of the tub, before properly washing, he spends minutes motionless except for the occasional shiver until his core warms up. Remaining two hours Jack idles away eating a late breakfast and not really watching some show on the holo while sprawled in the bed still smelling of sex.

Moving to the pad grants him some suspicious looks he can't fault people for because he does stick out here in his clothes like a sore thumb - and then surprise as his bracelet lets him pass through the gate and into the waiting Osprey with rotors running hot. A waste to use the craft fitted for carrying almost forty personnel merely for him, but he's not the one paying. At least, there's room enough to stretch his legs and to think very hard on how much he's unafraid of flying, his stomach doing backflips as it takes off.

The fact the crash might have been involved had occurred to him long ago.

Fifteen minutes in, Jack gives up and reaches out to Sombra, for which she ridicules him mercilessly but keeps him company. Getting angry helps to take his mind off of how fucking terrified he is. Even if he could run fucking laps inside the cabin, the changing tilt reminds him he's in the air, and the moment Osprey touches down three hours later, Jack's out like there's a pack of devil rats on his heels, relieved to have solid ground back under his feet.

Jesse, holding his hat down against the draft waves at him. The coyote stitched on his serape seems to stretch and yawn with the fabric moving, probably does so in truth, but Jack can never tell.

"Lúcio's finishing on the sub, we're going to drink tonight, coming too?"

Jack looks to the harbor and shakes his head.

"Not this time. I'll check the gear and maybe go for the swim."

"Dude, no, not in this water, trust me. Too much industrial, and many critters out here. Best case, you'd break out in boils after a dip."

"Can't be that bad."

"Well, Lúcio says that a pyramid had been hit hard some months back, there's been some runoff and an uptick in critters. Really want to chance it with whatever's in the water now?"

"Guess not." Jack shrugs, walking away from the powered down craft towards the only building on the pier.

"So how's about that drink?" The coyote on the red cloth sits down and scratches its ear. If he were to associate Jesse with any other spirit than it, he would be hard-pressed to find anything fitting.

"Pass. Just don't get in trouble with the locals. Or old pals."

"Hey, don't bring up my stalker vampire ex, the next time I see 'er, I have a stake with her name on it." Jesse throws his hands into the air, pausing in the doorway, letting Jack pass him.

"You know it doesn't work on her."

"It will slow her down."

"If you manage to stake anything vital."

"Oh, I will, because this," Jesse points to himself with a wide smile, "is absolutely irresistible to her."

Jack laughs, eyeing the crates set up inside.

"Yeah, there's no accounting for taste."

"Dude, harsh. Anyway, that's yours."

"Everything's in here?"

"I wouldn't know, I try not to touch your shit," Jesse gives an exasperated sigh while digging in his pockets for a cigar, the coyote snapping at it as he puts it between his lips. "Well, see you in the morning, dude," he adds before turning around. Jack nods, moving his attention to the boxes and working his way through their contents.

The story behind the coyote Jesse tells is as outlandish as the man himself, and a question for the ages of how he wasn't rad-insane or sporting another head. Yet.

In the German wasteland (the only place on earth one could be a real cowboy anymore, Jesse insisted), drunk off two shit beers because his ex fed off him earlier, and high on some local shrooms, staring at the dying campfire, the coyote came to him and took him on the trip. Jack would gladly chalk it up to alcohol, hallucinogenics, radiation, and exsanguination, all working in synergy - if not for the hard fact the coyote itself was very real, and as helpful as it turned out to be an impediment, or a bother, the other half of the time.

Methodically, Jack picks out the gear - the rest going back to their crates - and then he double-checks the selection, looking for any identifiable problems and defects. When he's finished and satisfied, it's well into the wee morning hours. He drags a random deck chair to the end of the pier and lays down in it. The city, as small as it is comparable to the majority on the coast, doesn't sleep - there is no escaping the lights and the sounds - but in his chosen spot overlooking more water than the land he can doze off.

If either Jesse or Lúcio notices him gasping for breath as they finish loading the sub, they don't mention it.

"I'm not hauling your shit," Jesse gestures to the container Jack left outside, by his chair.

"Hi, man," Lúcio smiles. "Also, I dig your new set, what's the specs?"

"You'd have to ask Sombra for technicalities, I'm only using them." Jack stretches, there's a kink below his left shoulder blade he tries to work out by rolling it. Almost manages to, too.

"Cool, will do. By the way, he tried to throw hands only once."

"Dude. Squeal much?"

"It's called being the responsible one," Lúcio shrugs and Jesse groans in response, muttering something sounding suspiciously like 'don't need a chaperone'.

"Sub's all ready?"

"She's right up purring now, the lady she is." Lúcio's eyes light up. "Nothing left to squeeze out."

"I'll hold you up to it." Jack gets up and drags the container to the sub, the box grating on the concrete, and brings it into the cabin, pushing it behind the seats.

"Oh, man, do that, love to see the data after you push her."

"Will do on the way back. Jesse, inside."

"That wasn't me sleeping when me and Lúcio were breaking our backs," Jesse snarks sliding into the pilot's seat, knowing well Jack's impatience and what they will use the spare time for. He doesn't mind, usually.

"Good hunting, guys." Lúcio mock-salutes as the hatch seals.

Before they're out of the harbor and submerged completely, Jack's out of his clothes, save for the boxers. Despite the sub being state-of-the art, with two people in it gets hot inside in less than an hour.

He starts on the sleeves, peeling them off slowly.

The synthskin underneath is still oversensitive, but no longer tries to overload his brain with conflicting or extreme stimuli. It just feels like blanched with boiling water and any negligible otherwise touch almost painfully tickles.

"Kinda creepy, like a snake's molt."

"Note to self, I look better with my skin falling off my frame."

"Hey, I'm just stating the bare facts. Fuck, ew!" Jesse leans away to evade the sleeve Jack waves in his direction. "Dude. No. That's uncalled for. I'm driving, I could crash us."

"Into what?"

"I'd find something!" It's either a threat, a promise, or a commentary on the nature of Karma.

"Out of the two of us, I'm the one who can breathe underwater, so..." Jack lets his voice hang as he reaches for the pillbox he left on the shelf earlier. It's a short debate if he should take one because even if he could take them as he felt like otherwise, risking going into implant rejection on the job was far from reasonable. As soon as the aftershocks fade, Jack leans back into the seat, lazily watching the water on the screen.

"And that's also creepy as fuck," Jesse comments, sounding a bit more somber. "You look like you just got your dick sucked off, every time."

"Honestly? Feels like it, every time."

"And you know what makes it even fucking creepier?"

"You're going to tell me and I can't stop it."

"Because this shit looks goddamn miraculous and I may have helped myself to some," Jesse begins, waving one arm in the air and Jack mutters that of course Jesse fucking did, "and they fucking don't work. And you know what's in them?"

"Not that interested as long as they work."

"It's people, dude."

Jack sends him a blase look.

"And you ate it."

"Yeah, but I didn't go looking like I creamed my pants after that."

"It's for implant rejection, so it only makes sense it has reconfigured genetic material in it. Also, do not eat my drugs, it's people."

Jesse grimaces.

"Dude, you made it sound weird."

"I made you getting into my stash of pharmaceutical drugs you personally can't get high off sound weird?"

"Dude, it's even weirder now. How do you do it?"

"What?" Jack chuckles. "You mean, use my brain, sometimes?"

Jesse mutters some expletive under his breath and Jack closes his eyes leaving it without comment as the whole chat makes him revisit more or less cloudy memories of the first months he's spent either half-conscious because of pain, or half-conscious because of drugs and pain.

At least, until the pill, and the moment when the pain finally went below the...

"Amida Bongo Christ Almighty!" Jack turns immediately at the sound of the genuine panic in the voice to see Jesse try to become one with his seat, pushing back with his feet against the floor, pointing at the screen where a shadow in the water comes into focus, massive, gliding with deliberation. "Of all the fucking things to run into, the Sea-Fucking-Dragon... we're all gonna die."

Jack kills the engine in his stead and swipes at the screen, focusing the image. He can't deny his own heart is hammering in his chest when he lets out the sigh of slight relief while trying to ignore Jesse's doom-saying.

"It's not her."

"What?"

"It's not her. Doesn't look like her, and it's much bigger."

"That's supposed to help us exactly how!?"

"Take her five hundred to the left," Jack, already climbing over the back of his seat and almost falling in a hapless heap on the container in the process, barks at him. "I'm going out."

"Are you fucking serious, dude? Of-fucking-course, you are!"

"Chance like this isn't going to repeat itself!"

"A chance to get fucking eaten by a dragon?"

"That too!" Jack locks the airlock behind himself and fits the propulsion module as it fills with water. There's no time to wait for the slow pressurization. When there's no air left inside, he forces the emergency release, pulling himself to the outside, and pushes away from the body of the sub.

"Dude." Jesse, switched to the comms, sounds appalled compared to the earlier panic, which is considerably better for the situation. "Did you just lewd a dragon?"

"Maybe possibly." Jack smiles, cutting across at an angle. "Remember, five hundred, match speed, if I do get eaten, go silent and wait, rendezvous with Genji, do the site rep, and then decide what you do."

"You're literally the last person who should give orders."

"Next to last. You're even less qualified."

"True what they say, the truth hurts."

The dragon is massive, its form much more suited to the open ocean than what footage of Sea Dragon there is shows of her. He's yet too far to discern if it has limbs or only the fins. It moves with a misleading slow grace, the powerful twists of the wide tail propelling it forward. Getting caught in the vortex of the currents pushed with each beat could be - is - deathly dangerous.

Smaller shapes swim with it, congregating around the middle part of its body.

At first, Jack takes them for merrows, they're known to attach themselves to big predators and form codependent relationships, but it's the perspective lying to him. They're bigger, more agile, gleam occasionally with reflective scales. A brood of young, maybe? If yes, the endeavor is even more foolish than in the beginning, but even that won’t deter him from undertaking it.

Two of the smaller creatures break away from the formation as he gets closer and approach, their tails swishing wildly in the water. Mermaids. Mermaids traveling in a pack with a dragon. Not something he had expected.

They're coming both from the above and the below, a male and an older female, judging by the scars and veils, still colorful but ripped and missing pieces. It's hard to keep up with their rapid movements. Jack curls his hands and legs to his body as they circle him.

"Please, don't bite," he tells them. "There's almost no meat and you will probably break your teeth on me."

The mermaids observe him warily. The female chirps once and turns back, the male following in her tow. She's green and yellow, the pattern reminiscent of the stripes on a perch or other fish known to thrive in greenery. When no light catches on her scales she blends with the deep green agate hue of the water, but Jack wonders if she's maybe better suited to sargassum forests. Her partner, on the other hand, with his solid canary yellow, stands out like a sore thumb - at least until both of them gain distance and rejoin the group amid some agitation from the closest mermaids, the reactions playing out like a change of direction in a school of fish.

It's his first close encounter with live mermaids since the accident, and he has been judged as neither a threat nor a meal. In this moment, Jack feels some of the rush bleed away, allowing him to slip into simple sensations, focus on them, and appreciate them: the steady pressure of water against every inch of his skin, the additional tension in his scalp when his hair, however short, drag with each movement, the cold seeping into him from the inside, the weightlessness - even if he knows his limbs would pull him much further down.

The ocean is far from silent - never silent - full of sounds he can hear with his ears, and the ones he cannot - he hears with his whole body - the symphony of the dulled hum of static and single notes played on different instruments, not unlike the sounds of traffic in its structure.

His eyes drift back to the dragon.

It's foolish. It's not borderline suicidal, it's just plain old suicidal. And he won't let a moment like this slip like air between his fingers.

Hand on the controls of the drive, Jack resumes the approach.

The dragon looms closer, its body at least thirty meters long from the tip to the tail, probably more. He can now see its limbs tucked close to the underbelly - the fins reminiscent of underdeveloped wings.

He swims parallel to its head, advancing.

Bone-like white crest covers its front. The black scales, even if they seem to have an inner shine to them, appear to consume the light voraciously. The dark red lines streaking along the sides twist and mold with each move of the powerful muscles hidden underneath.

Jack's heart does not fit into his chest, so hard it hammers against his ribs from the inside - with fear, with excitement, with awe - and that's before the low rumble resonates within him as the dragon opens its eyes, one after another, five of them on the side he's facing - each an abyss of darkness ringed with glowing red slowly focusing on him: an insignificant speck in comparison.

"God. You're beautiful."

No. It was a worthless descriptor when applied to the apex predator wrought with raw power both physical and not.

Sublime.

The dragon disregards him - its eyes swivel to look forward - he cannot fathom expecting to keep such creature's interest for longer than this. But it's also an invitation, he's considered to be harmless, hence nothing to bother with, and Jack slows slightly while swimming up. Above its bulk, he notices some mermaids just clinging to the body, clawed fingers curled around the edges of the scales. Stupid, again, but he is going to try the same: hitch a ride on a dragon.

The thought is intoxicating, sends his mind reeling with unsuppressed glee.

He dives forward, his fingertips brush the hard surface - with caution he digs his fingers underneath the scale - the other palm he lays flat against it as the propulsion module switches off.

Jack pulls himself closer against the current, that rush of underwater wind. Never has he wished for his limbs back more than now, to touch and feel with his real skin, not even when the bones that aren't his anymore burn with that deep ache that sends all the thoughts skittering away with no control. Instead, he pulls flush against its body, forehead pressed into the scales, each contraction of the muscle below them felt intimately.

At the moment, he doesn't count time, not until another rumble, one he feels against his skin, makes him realize almost two hours have passed.

He looks back to see the mermaids otherwise swimming try to grab onto scales as it continues. In the front, what he took for vestigial wings - the fins - slowly unfold to reveal skeletal-like frame filled in with dark ethereal filigree straining on the currents.

It's a profound kind of sadness Jack feels loosening his grip. Drifting - falling - sinking - away.

The wings spread and angle. The dragon's back winds up like a spring.

Then it soars underwater, deep in the ocean, each beat of the wings carrying it further away into darkness.

The rush of water pushed by the dragon sends him spinning. Jack instinctively curls his limbs to his core to wait it out, losing all sense of direction in resulting vertigo. When it stops, it takes him a while to orient himself, the leviathan nowhere to be seen anymore.

"Jesse, it's safe to approach. Can you get to my signal because I'm fucking lost?"

"I see you," the response comes with a delay. "Coming from your general six. Dude, do you know how much is the footage worth?"

"It's worthless." Jack turns around with a few kicks.

"All would kill..."

"You can't put a price on it, it will put a price on your life." He can see the incoming lights blinking for his benefit as they draw near. "And you want to put out there a proof of a dragon that had remained away from the public knowledge until now?"

"Fair, even I'm not that stupid. I think. With the way you put it."

Jack swims towards the sub and grabs one of the railings, pulling himself towards the airlock. Minutes later, he climbs into his seat, dripping water everywhere.

"Got what you wanted outta that one? Besides getting eaten?"

"I think I've found god," Jack smiles, genuinely. It's a memory he's going to treasure, one unlikely to be eclipsed by any other in the foreseeable future.

"You going to be one of them dragon-worshipping freaks? I've heard things, and none good, I say."

"Not like that."

"So," Jesse turns his head to look at him. "You want to dick down a dragon."

"When you get down to it," Jack starts carefully, eyeing Jesse with a certain degree of suspicion, "yeah, basically."

"Heard about that one club you can meet one, violet eyes and..."

"I don't want to dick down a dragon, I want to dick down this one."

"Okay. It's important to have goals in one's life. I'm not judging."

It's at this point that something about a much earlier conversation occurs to Jack and he stills before covering his eyes with his palm.

"Jesse?"

"Mhm?"

"When you said you have a stake with her name on it... Did you mean your dick?"

Jesse raises his eyebrows, makes finger-guns with his hands, and goes for a pithy imitation of 'badum-tss' sound.

"You fucking moron." And Jack can only laugh.

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

When Love Must Die (Aziraphale/Crowley; chapter 7)

Link to chapter 1 (masterlist)

Tagging  @armaggedidnt @oh-hamlet @foxyfoe-reblog @s3dgy @butttteeerrrrrr @swanheart69 @giulisetta  @tonystark5ever @agentlokii @tardisoftheshire

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Chapter 7

“What is the meaning of this?” the demon growls, slapping his hands angrily against the invisible barrier that surrounds him.  

 The barrier holds, undisturbed, and Aziraphale’s lips twitch in minute triumph.  “I need information,” he begins, fighting the urge to clasp his fingers in front of him as is his wont.  He’s channeling Michael now, and Michael stands tall, confident, doesn’t fidget with her hands.  Which means, Aziraphale can’t afford to either.

 Hastur glares at him sullenly, fists pressed against the wall of power that entraps him.  “And you couldn’t just go down to Hell like you normally do?  You decided to opt for this… this… travesty instead?”

 Aziraphale thinks back to his less than pleasant stint in the bowels of Hell when he was dragged down there disguised as Crowley, digs deep for the scowl of disdain he’s seen often enough on Michael’s face.  “What makes you think I’d want to go back down to that overcrowded sewer any time soon?” He makes a show of brushing invisible dirt off the snow-white sleeve of his borrowed coat.  “No, thank you.”

 Hastur’s lip curls into a snarl.  “Didn’t seem to bother you much when you came to us looking for that poison to take care of your ‘angel problem’,” the demon throws up his hands in a mockery of air quotes.

 It takes all of his willpower for Aziraphale to keep the disguise from slipping.

 Michael, his mind spins feverishly, it was Michael.  Oh dear God…. The knowledge, the very thought that an angel, an archangel, was responsible for this!  That an archangel would stoop so low – to literally go down to Hell – just for the sake of settling an old score with him! It rattled him, hard – a violent electric shock deep through his very core.  How could she?  How could any of them?

 “So what is it now?” the demon’s voice cuts through the churn of his distressed thoughts, bringing him back to the here and now.  He needs to focus, dammit.  Crowley’s life’s at stake!  “Did the poison not work?”

 “No, no,” he manages, forcing a grimace of a smile onto thin, gold-speckled lips.  “It did wonders on that traitorous angel.  He’s no longer a problem for us.”

 “What is then?” Hastur barks out, impatient.

 “Crowley,” the angel states, fighting to keep his expression neutral. Because as desperately as he needs to know where his demon is, he can’t afford to slip up now, can’t let Hastur catch even a whiff of his desperation.  “I was hoping to use the rest of that cursed potion on the demon – two birds, one stone kinda thing – but I can’t seem to find him anywhere,” he continues, aiming for somewhere between bored indifference and mild annoyance. “I was hoping maybe you, lot, knew something of his whereabouts?”

 Hastur glares at him silently for a long moment, black eye unblinking behind the thick transparent wall, and then suddenly, inexplicably begins to laugh.

 “Care to let me in on the joke?” Aziraphale snaps, the demon’s laughter grating on his already too-too frayed nerves.

The slightly hysterical, high-pitched laughter ceases as abruptly as it starts, but the demon doesn’t speak for a long moment, observing the disguised angel before him with an unsettlingly triumphant looking snarl.

 “Some of us have been making bets Down Below if you, white-feathered freaks, knew anything about it,” he drawls out finally, the snarl growing wider, and impossibly more smug. “Guess Dagon owes me a month of sewage cleanup.”

 “You’re trying my patience, demon!” Aziraphale steps flush to the barrier, one hand raised in warning. “Explain yourself. Now.”

 The unequivocal threat works like a bucket of cold water poured over the head.  The demon stiffens, his grin fading as pitch-black eyes flash nervously to the raised appendage.  “Alright, alright,” he grumbles with feigned annoyance, “don’t get your feathers in a twist.” His mouth twists as if he had just swallowed something entirely too bitter, and he spits out a reluctant, “He’s Downstairs, the Serpent. We have him.” Promises, his face morphing into a cruel, bloodthirsty moue, “And he won’t be getting out this time either.  Not with everything his Brother has planned for him.”  

 Aziraphale huffs out a breath – relief mixed with worry.  Crowley is alive, he knows that much for certain now.  But how bad are his injuries? What exactly have the demons done to him? How will Aziraphale be able to find him in that mildew and sewage smelling maze.

 And then his mind catches up to the last bit of what Hastur has said.  

 And grinds to a halt.

 “I’m sorry…,” he blinks at the demon, too stunned to try and hide his confusion, “his… what?”

 Hastur’s grin is back, as smug as ever, if a bit tempered by the obvious unease at the angel’s closeness. “That’s right,” he murmurs, almost crowing with delight, “you, lot, don’t know.” A blackened tongue flicks out to run with perverted pleasure over the thin lips. “He ain’t a demon anymore.  Don’t know how it happened, don’t really care, but his demonic essence…,” Hastur makes a poof! gesture with his hands, “gone! He’s one of yours now. An arch-angel.  Ra-pha-el,” he adds mockingly, “according to our Master, at least.  And our Master is never wrong.”

 “A demon can’t… that’s… that’s not possible….,” the quiet gasp leaves Aziraphale’s mouth unbidden, his composure faltering.  Because… because… it’s crazy is what it is.  There’s no way that–

 “Should have been, yeah,” Hastur agrees, smiling wider now, emboldened by the angel’s obvious fluster. “Whatever did that to his essence, should have destroyed him completely, but the bastard must have been clinging to his past self harder than any of us, so that… that…,” the demon’s mouth twists with disgust, “angelic… core was still buried underneath.”  His cheek twitches, an expression of open revulsion crawling onto his face.  “Always knew that snake was a traitor!”  He spits – a gooey black glob landing at his feet.  Huffs out something close to a laugh, winking conspiratorially at Aziraphale, “But at least now we know why holy water didn’t harm the bastard, eh, Michael?  Not that it’s been any help to him now.”  

 The unconcealed glee in the demon’s voice is the last straw.  

 Aziraphale doesn’t realize he’s moved until he finds himself with a fistful of a squealing and wildly struggling demon, slightly singed for having been unceremoniously dragged through the active (and resisting) barrier.  

 “You’re lying!” he growls out, shaking the demon as if he were a sack of potatoes, his free hand manifesting the flaming sword without conscious thought.  “You’re lying, and I’m–”

 “I’m not! I’m not, I swear!” Hastur yowls in fear and pain, squirming in the angel’s grip as he tries to shy away from the holy flames that burn uncomfortably close to his face.  “Look… look in my memory!”

 Aziraphale stares at him a heartbeat longer, then shoves him down on his knees, releasing his grip on the demon’s clothes.  Lowers the flaming sword to point it at the demon’s neck.  “Don’t move!”  And presses the fingers of his left hand against Hastur’s forehead.

 Images flood into his mind in rapid succession: the vengeful, angry twist of Satan’s face as he holds Crowley in the air, his body twitching feebly, pierced through with a line of unnaturally long, razor-sharp claws; Crowley in a cell – beaten, stabbed, burned, the cycle repeating itself over and over like a broken record on a never-ending loop; Crowley with his skin flayed like a cut up paper garland; Crowley crying in pain as the hands Aziraphale recognizes as Hastur’s rip viciously into Crowley’s wings – white, so impossibly, so incredibly white – and twist and bend and break them beyond all recognition, Hastur’s voice mocking his pain from somewhere off-screen….

 He gasps, stumbling back a step, eyes wide with the horrors of what he had just seen.  A red haze descends upon his vision – a blinding, all-encompassing wave of righteous fury, the likes of which he has never felt before. He’s shaking, he realizes.  Trembling all over.  And he can’t breathe.  He can’t bloody breathe!

 “Well?” Hastur’s words reach him as through a thick wall of fog, and he blinks, forcing himself to focus on the leering, expectant face.  “You believe me now? You approve of how we’re handling your ‘second little problem’? Is it–”

 The hand holding the sword swings out, and the rest of Hastur’s words die out, choked off on a quiet, helpless gurgle.

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

TBC

[mysmedrabbles]

Broken - [Yoongi x BPD!Reader]

requested: by @edgythiccboi (request is pictured above)

a/n: long overdue and with about the most rough drafts ive ever written for something, its finally here! i hope you enjoy and it takes your mind off of some of the hurt from your past and present. know that the whole of the bpd/ptsd community knows what you're going through and supports you (even though we're all just a bunch of bamboozled and 3dgy kids)

warnings: quite realistic description of a bpd episode, tiny self harm mention, some splitting, self deprecation (it ends in fluff i promise)

-ghost mod alex

-hollowed lungs took struggling breaths in the condensed room, steam and water droplets covering every surface like a disease, a disease from which you could not get away from. you sat on the edge of the bathtub, wheezing into seemingly nothing, chest heaving as you strained against invisible bonds, tying you to the tub, restraining you in your own mind, a prisoner of war against your past.

-a familiar pounding in your head clouded your thoughts, and you could feel yourself spiraling through various personas, each personality you'd tailored for everyone in your life; it hurt too much, it felt like you were being pulled in a hundred different directions.

-who were you today? the bubbly friendly girl in the back of the class? the dark, almost suspiciously angry person, hiding in the shadows? maybe just a quick witted friend, always there with a funny rebuttal, making everyone laugh but yourself. what was the point of "being yourself," and "living life," when you didn't even know who that person was? that person you could have grown into died that day, the day,,, the day it happened. 

-you'd been lucky enough to have survived, to live to today, but what was the point of it all really? 

-you stared at your shaking hands, and for a second you see blood, draining you of your life as all you can do is sit there and watch; but you blink and its gone, only a thin white line serving as a memory. 

-you'd promised him you'd never hurt yourself again, and a part of you knew that you should call to him, for he was only in the other room, no doubt writing another extraordinary song. he was always so smart, so sure of himself and an absolute genius. it wasn't an exaggeration when people complimented him on his music, it came naturally to him, he had a passion and he pursued it. 

-unlike you.

-who were you but a stain on his life? he'd be better off without you anyway. 

-a wave of rage came over you, and all you could see was red, red red red. How dare he not notice how in pain you were, not be here to comfort you and take care? Did he not care? was it all just a joke to him? did he even...did he even love you?

-you felt yourself spiraling further, physically bending over to the point of pain, the muscles in your lower back stretched from the lack of support. tears had started to pool in your open hands, and staring at them blankly you were only vaguely aware of choked sobs reaching out the doorway, small whimpers mixed in with cries as you tried to feel anything beside the pain.

-a small knock distracts you, cautious and questioning, and you know immediately that its yoongi. yoongi your sweet angel, the one who always made you laugh when you were feeling down, played card games with you when you needed a distraction, sung to you when you couldn't sleep, kissed your tears away no matter how many times they fell. you didn't say anything, rather let him open the door himself to see you sitting there hunched over, looking up at him with puffy eyes. 

-he assessed the damage first, scanning the bathroom for anything sharp, any blood or a wad of suspiciously thick toilet paper shoved forcibly into the trash can. upon seeing nothing of the sort his eyes soften, seeing you in your fragile state. he never thought anything less of you, in fact he always thought you were so brave to be alive, to still be fighting after all you'd been through. you were a pair of survivors, people who bonded not only over trivial things like favourite band and your shared humor, but the experiences the two of you had gone through added an extra layer of understanding to the relationship.

-he sits next to you quietly, letting you take a breath before speaking, his voice softer than usual, and yet still with edges of his usual roughness, but he's kind. He looks at you, and you can tell it's taking him all of his energy to not to reach to your face, wiping away your tears and holding you in a tight embrace. he knew the drill, and his main priority was your comfort. 

- "can I hug you?" 

-it's a small thing, but it's enough to bring you back to tears as you nod shyly, too afraid to speak. you close your eyes and you can feel his arms wrap around you, holding you securely close to his chest, steady rhythm of his heart beating against your own chest like a metronome. steady, present, there. he's whispering tiny comforts to you, affirmations of his love and your worth, that everything was going to be okay. you lean into his touch, closing your eyes hesitantly as your head falls on his shoulder, hiding in the crook of his neck. 

-he smells fresh, faint smell of laundry detergent intermingled with his pine shampoo, and something else; he smells like home, the smooth cotton of his plain black shirt on his thin frame under your fingers just adding to the notion of comfort, and your own sobs cant help but die down, calming under his soothing presence. you start registering his voice, his hand tracing soothing circles on your upper back.

- "it's okay," you hear him say, "you're going to be okay. it's over now baby, nothing can hurt you.. i love you so much... i wont let anything bad happen to you.. it's okay... you're going to be okay..."

-his voice drills a hole in your chest, striking a cord and unable to get it out as you struggle to catch your breath. He pulls away, making sure you see where his hands are clearly before cupping your cheeks, stroking away any stray tears. he examines your face soundlessly, giving you a chance to speak if you so choose. you study him right back; he looks tired, like he hadn't slept in a while, soft hair a very definitely natural shade of silver. He saw you revisiting the dark circles under his eyes with your own, and as if reading your thoughts he replies, "work has been a bit long, nothing else princess."

-you open your mouth to make a counterclaim, but he cuts you off gently, "I promise," he says, and yet you struggle to believe him.

-a small pause settles over the two of you, and you could see his sincerity in his words, mirrored by the gaze that falls upon you. sweet kind yoongi with his easily irritable self and cutting humor, his stoic side and his adorable smile which you swear could light rooms.

-did you really deserve him? how could someone as amazing as him be in love with someone like you? Even as you began to speak, you could already feel the guilt washing over you, shame at the notion of manipulation as you asked, 

-“Why do you love me?”

-yoongi smiles, just the tiniest bit as he pulls you closer to him, kissing your forehead, taking your hand in his before responding, “why do i love you? ah well thats a complicated question with too many answers,” he looks at you, hoping to notice a change in your expression, but seeing no results he presses on, “I love you because you’re you, because you get up every morning and face the world even though its told you repeatedly to stand down,” he brushes a stray hair behind your ear as he goes on, carefully as to not set you off in some way, “I love you because even though you’re characterized by a mental illness thats seen as horrible and dark you constantly show up with your brightest smile and kindness in hand, and theres never been a day where being by your side hasn’t been a gift. I love you because of the way you’re attentive, how kind you are to complete strangers, your smile when you think no ones looking. the way you doodle in the corners of my lyrics sheet and fall asleep next to me at the studio when im up late working.”

-he shifts, fully facing you, tilting your chin up so you’re looking him directly in the eyes, piercing into your soul, trying to bring back any piece of hope you have to the surface, “I love you because theres that insatiable force pulling us together,” he playfully tugs on your arm, earning a teary chuckle from you as you look away, feeling the tears start up again. damn him and his talent with words.

-he’s just saying that because you asked him that

-your brain, a genius

-guilt courses through you at his words, a stab to the heart marred by the sweet tone of lies. this was manipulation. great. you’d manipulated your way to validation was an excellent girlfriend you were, truly inspiring. You feel the headache start up again, but yoongi catches you, placing his hands firmly where your shoulders connect to your neck, seriousness overcoming him as he cuts off your thoughts, sword at the ready, “I’m a logical person y/n, you know this, you say this to me all the time, and I wouldn’t have said any of this if it weren't true.”

-he searches your expression for anything, a twitch or a change, and is surprised to have you curl up in his arms, burying your face in his chest as you breathe for seemingly the first time since the conversation started, letting a full sigh as you try to clear your head, willing to pay anything to just believe his words. yoongi pulls away, hand running softly through your hair as he admires you. he slowly leans in for a small kiss, not passionate, leading to nothing, but just a kiss to let you know he’s there, and he’s not going anywhere and for now, just knowing he’s here is enough

-after what seems like forever of him holding you, the rim of the tub digging into your thighs, he presses a gentle kiss on your temple, intertwining your fingers with his before he stands up, extending his free arm to help you up. “come on princess, lets go to sleep,” is all he says.

[exaltborne]

✧

muse spotlight! – always accepting! │ ʜᴇʀᴏ ᴏғ ᴛᴡɪʟɪɢʜᴛ.

⚜ ; —–  [ ᴠ ᴀ ʟ ᴏ ʀ  ʜ ᴇ ᴀ ʀ ᴛ ] —–     PRINCESS of the Twili most certainly had a knack for staying silent at the most desired of times; && was always out at the most unnecessary of situations. ( damn you midna ! ) Now, when he was in a bit of a bind, when beast forme was most recommended at moment, the imp was nowhere to be seen. ( what is the point of holding the light of wisdom if you wont come out and help me ? ) On own he was to handle the situation. He supposed that he did have Master Sword with him – well there was something he could rely on. Energy radiated from it, sword glowed, it whispered! , as if it held age-old secrets of past battles. All of which seemed to be wanting to come out in full force.

—– [ SIDE step to left, Shadow Beast missed him by a hair. Had to roll out of way to avoid secondary swing from it. Corrupted soul, once pure, had taken to Evil – send back to Twilight Realm or destroy it. Surely the one who possessed his shadow would prefer the latter, right? Was once her people, no now more. Only lived to serve false Lord && king of darkness. No way of returning back. But what if they could?

—– [ ANOTHER swipe from it spoke volumes to sentiments. No, this was no longer human – if it had been to begin with – hope was lost for it. Unfortunate as things were, Hero had to end it. Master Sword vibrated with vivacity. Again it sought for attention – speaking to him in strange tongue he could not understand. ( okay , okay . stop egging me ) Once more, young Champion paced himself as he faced dark foe. Perhaps larger in size, it was nothing like the Darknut. Even King Bulblin himself was more worthy than these mindless creatures. The fact that the Spirits of Light were overcome by these beasts only puzzled him. They are so dumb!

—– [ SWORD twirled in hand as he readied the next attack. Hero’s shade taught him well enough. Patience over anything else. Then, when foe opens himself up, strike. Wise words for Hero of Old. That Golden, One-Eyed Wolf was shrewd. THERE !  When claw struck down once more, he rolled over to behind. A clean && perfect Back Slice. Teacher could not be any more proud of him – form was stellar; it would fell any beast. Though… when demon met earth, there was no pop. Had it been alone, it would burst – pieces of Twili would dissipate and be sent off. Unless, of course, there was another. ( oh no . . )

—– [ SHRILL howls erupted in air, leaving Hero stunned. Bones rattled to very core at the sound. Gods, he abhorred such foul sounds…. ( ha ! maybe she will hear that ! ) Ears still ringing, Shadow Beast before him stood up. Newly invigorated for another fight. A sigh escaped him with exasperation. He couldn’t do this all day. Also, where was the other one? He had to defeat them at same the time. The moment he considered, though, Sword hummed. It took only single glance to catch sight of other. There, in the distance, another mindless demon. Crawling closer towards him briefly, yet stopped. Beside it, another rose. As if, something had taken that one down. Now who could have possible done that? This only left him more work.

—– [ TOO far for him, however, to draw simultaneous attacks on beasts. He would have to find another way to cast their attentions. As mere human, task would be proven dubious. As a beast himself, he would have more free reign – && Twilight Magic at his disposal.  —–     ❝ᴍɪᴅɴᴀ﹗❞

—–     ❛ ᵃˡʳᶤᵍʰᵗᵎ ᵠᵘᶤᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵉˡˡʸᵃᶜʰᶤᶰᵍˑ ᶤ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐˑ ❜      —–

—– [ IMP’S voice, he heard, yet nothing came from it. Still stood as Hylian, with no feeling of transformation. She really took things at her own pace / her own time. ( fine then . ) Canines bared, grip firmed on hilt of Sword. Take this one down, then race towards other two. He pray that whomever, whatever , took down one had been scared off by bloodcurdling scream.

—– [ WITHOUT hesitation, he stepped forward. He could use another Hidden Skill he had learned, though it could prove tedious. Especially for such a dimwitted creature – it wasn’t worthy of it now – there were three of them. Would have make do with crude slashes before dealing a blow that would keep it down while he ran off with two. Nothing so enthralling or spectacular; just enough to get job done as quickly as possible. He had better things to do than to entertain monsters of Dark.

—– [ ONE, two, three hits to beast, before he back flipped and drove Master Sword forward. A stab to hard, shadowy abdomen. (like hitting a wall ) Twas enough to cause foe to fall back &&once more found self to ground. One second / two; Hero didn’t need another moment longer. Sure that willowy brute was down, he turned to run towards others. If Twili’s Crown wouldn’t help him, he’d have to help himself. Somebody had to get it done – and he couldn’t leave until he took them out.

—– [ GLOW from Extension faltered. Something was amiss. Soft murmurs silenced from blade. ( what ? no , this isnt right . ) Champion of Courage stumbled, slowed. There, an overwhelming feeling took over him. The sense darkness enveloping him – Twilight Sorcery worked wonders. Sword of Light dropped, fell among tall grass where it hid – away from its polar opposite. Now, really now ! , of all times, Midna had decided to come out. Use of her magic, along with dark shard, to transform him. A strange feeling (always was ), that he had no words for it. It was addictive, almost like adrenaline that surged within him, && he always felt a strange, new power that he was not used to. As nice as it felt, it had also still always been so offsetting. Not so much painful, as it was uncomfortable those first few seconds.

—– [ WEIGHT on back, he turned to give disapproving glare at where she would be.     —–     ❛ᶰᵒʷ˒ ᶰᵒʷˑ ᵈᵒᶰ'ᵗ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵐᵉ ˡᶤᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗˑ ᶤ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵈᶤᵈᶰ'ᵗ ᶤˀ ❜      —–      Ear tugged just lightly, he pulled away. Heroic Beast was now grumpy. No time for it, however, as he still had task at hand. Fell the demons / get out of this cage. Though he stayed a moment more.  —–     🇹​🇭​🇪​ 🇸​🇼​🇴​🇷​🇩​ ﹐ 🇲​🇮​🇩​🇳​🇦​ . 🇼​🇪​ 🇨​🇦​🇳​🇳​🇴​🇹​ 🇱​🇪​🇦​🇻​🇪​ 🇮​🇹​ .     Sentiments were in vain, as audacious gasps came from her. As if he were playing a broken record ( she knows ! the sword is safely tucked away ). There was just simple desire wished to take care of things. Unlike she, he cared about resources; there wasn’t an unlimited supply of magic like her.

—– [ IN sudden turn of events / before she could complain or dig small feet in him, predatory body launched forward. Paws padding along dirt in a motion. He was faster now. Smaller, perhaps (not by much ), though frame stocky. Could do far more in new forme than previous. Could leap bounds, senses heightened in every way imaginable. Now with Twili Native, there was a new focus. Her charms with his power. This would be a short fight now. Twice the effort, half the time.

—– [ LEGS slowed to stop. There, before him, two Shadow Beasts were hobbling along. Backs towards him. Mindless creatures! Again, he wondered how in the world the Light Spirits were overwhelmed by such barbaric things. Sure, they were hardier than most, but that left no excuse. A deep growl came from him, hunched over preparing to strike. Cold, blue eyes calculating, two leaps – one if he could time it right && hit both in single line of attack. Already Midna’s magic circle forming around them, hair readying. One shot for this. If he messed up, he’d have to start over (all the way over ). He, for one, didn’t want to do this again for a third time. Too lazy / too tired. A dog-nap actually sounded good right about now. Curled up somewhere in the Sacred Grove? Oh that would be lovely. ( no , focus ! ) Naps could be for later. The Imp would tire if he continued the thought.

—– [ INCHING ever so slightly forward, Wolf moved into position. One shadow in, then the other ( NOW ! ) Immediately rear legs sprung self forward in hard, fast! , leap. Maw ready to snap down at foes, front paws led charge. They were done for.

[joon-bugs]

Unsatisfied

-Its been a while since I wrote a Yoongi fic- 

“I love you so much baby. So so much.” His words were muffled in your hair but you could still hear him. Sweat broke out onto your skin, mingling with the tears that had escaped your eyes. You sniffled, unaware that you were crying until it was too late. 

word count: 1,630

pairing: Yoongi/Reader

genre: smut/angst 

warnings: swearing, oral (male receiving), masturbation (if you squint), female domination 

It was quiet in the apartment. Almost too quiet. Usually the silence was accompanied by the subtle clack of a keyboard and the occasional yawn from your overworked boyfriend. But today it felt..off. Wrong.

        It had been a long day at the office, and you were just glad to be home. As you stepped out of your heels you groaned in relief, your aching toes sinking deep into the soft carpet. I should really invest in a pair of flats. You thought, placing your jacket and purse on the kitchen counter. You stretched slowly, the stress of the day evident in your limbs. You glanced around the living space, wondering where your missing half could be.

        The immediate lights had been off upon your arrival, but that didn't mean they all were. Your boyfriend could be found working  in many areas of the apartment, especially the bedroom. You smirked, licking your lips at the image.

       You treaded across the floor, peering into each room, anticipation rising within you.

    It wasn’t until you got to the last door at the end of the hall that you paused. It was closed,  but there was the dim reflection of light from under the door. Yoongi's studio. You don’t know why a feeling of dread washed over you at the sight. This was completely normal. Yoongi was just working. Wasn’t he? You put your hand on the doorknob and twisted it, the hinges silent as the apartment.

You could see nothing at first, the low lighting affecting your vision, casting the room in dark blurry shadows. Those shadows soon morphed into two distinctive ones however.

She was a redhead, although not naturally so. Her hair was long, spilling over her shoulders and down her naked back. Her head bobbed up and down, her moans low muffled. The roots of her dark hair contrasted sharply to the pale fingers twisted in her scalp and the figure above her.

Min Fucking Yoongi. He seemed to be enjoying himself if the noises he was making was anything to go by. He was gripping the woman tightly, pushing his hips into her mouth, groaning words of encouragement. His head was tilted back, eyes closed, so it was no wonder he hadn’t responded to your entrance.

“Mother..FUCKER!” You yelled, crossing your arms.

Yoongi’s eyes shot open and he gasped, noticing you in the doorway. He pushed the redhead to the floor before jumping up, tucking himself back in his pants.

“Babe..I wasn’t expecting you home so soon.” He said breathlessly, his cheeks tinged pink. His disheveled look only made you angrier and you raised a hand to slap his face. His head whipped to the side and you heard a small gasp from the girl he had thought to replace you with.  

“I’ve been working my ass off all day and this is what I come home too? You sticking your dick down some bitch’s throat?” Your breathing was heavier now, your eyes hot, a signal of tears to come.

“Y/N..it isn’t what you think. She means nothing to me. You’re the one I love.” He turned to look at you, his voice calm. The girl on the floor snorted and pulled herself up, putting her clothes back on and gathering up her other items. She walked past Yoongi but not before giving him a chaste kiss on his colored cheek.

“Same time next week? You know how to find me..” She slid her hand down his arm in a seductive manner before stepping around you, her hips swaying.

You wanted to rip the dye right out of her, but dealing with Yoongi was your biggest priority. You pushed his chest until he fell onto the couch and stood above him, glaring.

“Am I not good enough Yoongi? Am I so bad that you need to buy fucking prostitutes to be satisfied?” You spit, pleased to see you had his full attention. He looked as if he wouldn't answer but you weren’t going to accept his silence. You slammed your fist down on the armrest beside him.

“Answer me you bastard!”

“Baby..I have a problem I know. I just get so lonely, and you’re gone so much.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That’s such bullshit and you know it. I work too much? Only so you can pursue your dream of being a producer. You’re lonely? God, it's like you’re a child. I don’t deserve this shit.” You blinked against the wetness gathering in your eyes, clenching your fists at your side. Yoongi swallowed up at you, peering through the fringe of his bangs.

“Baby I need you. I promise it won’t happen again I swear. I love you.” He pleaded, bringing his hands to touch your hips. You flinched, your mouth turning down in a grimace.

“Don’t touch me.”

His hands stayed in position, but they began to rub into the fabric of your blouse. You thought back to earlier in the week when those hands had teased and fondled. He had taken his pleasure from you time and time again, and you had been happy to give into his desires. But now..now he owed you your own pleasure. Just this once.

“You love me? Then show me. Take off your clothes and lay back.” You ordered, slipping into your office manager role. Yoongi blinked owlishly for a moment, his eyes searching yours.

“Now, Min Yoongi.”  

Said man quickly shed his clothes and lowered his body to the leather couch, his mouth open. You glanced down, noticing his erection still remaining, hard and leaking at the tip. I guess he didn't get to finish. You grimaced, pulling your underwear down and off your legs, deciding to leave your skirt and blouse on. He didn't deserve to see you in your naked glory. Not anymore.

You swung your legs so that your thighs were on the outside of his. You looked at the length of him, before grasping it in a tight fist. Yoongi hissed, his hands coming up to grip yours.

“Don't touch me. Keep your hands off me or I'll rip this off.” You gave him a hard squeeze to show you were serious. He let out a noise of pain, but moved his hands to clench the couch. You positioned your heat over him and slowly sunk down, clenching your teeth in pain. Shit. You thought, the stretch uncomfortable. Yoongi was by no means small and you weren't wet enough to accommodate him easily.

“Ugh.” You bit out, wincing as he filled you. It felt too tight and much much too dry. You needed some sort of lubricant. You looked at Yoongi to see his lip pulled between his teeth. An idea came to mind. You put your fingers up near his mouth, holding your gaze with his.

“Suck them.”

A hot wet mouth engulfed your digits, coating them in saliva. The sucking noises he made helped create some dampness between your thighs though you knew you would need something a little more to get off. Once your fingers were thoroughly saturated, you lowered them to your clit, beginning to rub the area in a quick pace. You jerked against the intense sensation, finding a rhythm that suited you.

You rotated your hips, your free hand digging into Yoongi's abdomen. He let out a strangled noise, bucking his hips. You gave him a piercing stare, a warning for him to stay still. He was never one to follow the rules. Abruptly he lifted himself in a sitting position, pulling you into his chest. You gasped as this changed the angle and he hit your g spot over and over.

“You *huff* don't get to *huff* touch me!” You tried to push the boy back down but he held you in a death grip, pounding deep into you. You threw your head back, your body jiggling at the powerful force in Yoongi's movements.

“Tell me how much you love me.” You blurted, throwing your arms around his neck.

“I love you so much baby. So so much.” His words were muffled in your hair but you could still hear him. Sweat broke out onto your skin, mingling with the tears that had escaped your eyes. You sniffled, unaware that you were crying until it was too late.

Thick trails of the liquid marked your cheeks before coming to rest between your two pressed bodies. Yoongi grunted, biting into your collarbone. You cried out, too far gone to tell him to stop, to tell him how shitty of a boyfriend he was. In one more hard thrust you came, loudly crying out as your body lurched. Yoongi was close too you could tell, but you weren't about to let him finish. In a flash you rolled to the floor, taking Yoongi with you. The two of you separated, with him falling to hit his head on the table.

You stood on shaky legs, still feeling the aftershocks of the orgasm. You watched as he got to his knees, holding his skull. He was still hard, his dick looking as if it was begging for attention. But you were through. He had experienced your touch for the last time and would regret ever hurting you. You adjusted your mussed hair and turned to the door. You placed your hand on the knob, noticing your shaking hands. You paused, taking in a shaky breath.  

“You should probably call that whore to finish you off. Maybe she’ll be able to satisfy you where I couldn’t..” You sobbed, rushing out of the room. The world was suddenly too blurry for you to handle and you crumpled to the floor, holding yourself in trembling hands as your body tried to disappear into the carpet. 

Written by Rose