#like I can’t stand a coward but to do slick shit as well ?

[whimsycore]

Guess who just told their mom they were moving out?

[negandarylsatisfaction]

[SUMMARY: Negan goes to Alexandria and comes across a feisty woman who stands up to him about taking the supplies. He decides to teach her a lesson for answering back.]

Rough smut

Negan and Ren.

Today was the first day Negan was coming to Alexandria for his first pick up of supplies. It angered you that this man thought he could just show up and take what you all worked hard to find. No one seemed brave enough to want to put this man in his place.

“Everyone remember the rules when he comes, no questions, no talking, just do as he asks and he’ll leave.” Rick instructed making you suck your teeth.

“Ren, don’t mess this up. This man is not easy to deal with-“

“Yeah cause y’all let him get away with whatever the hell he wants.”

“Ren, just chill.” Rosita looked over at you with a warning glare making you roll your eyes. Before you knew it Negan had arrived, he bought an army of men and a shit load of weapons. It was the first time you had seen the man, he looked like an arrogant asshole. He stared everyone down with a taunting look before he began his speech. His speech came with threats and warnings making you chuckle to yourself, loud enough that Negan heard you. His eyes turned right to you and raised a brow at you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Did I miss something? Cause last time I checked I’m speaking and shit, I fucking hate being interrupted.” Rick looked over at you worriedly knowing you would not stay shut.

“And I hate being robbed of our hard earned supplies by some douchebag, but I guess we can’t all be happy can we?”

“Ren!” Rosita whispered beside you, your response making Negan frown with a look of interest. He walked over to you slowly, stopping a foot away from you. The man was a whole foot taller than you, but his size didn’t frighten you.

“Well aren’t you a ballsy little one.”

You looked him straight in the eye, arrogantly raising a brow to him making him snicker.

“Probably have more balls than you.” You shot back.

“Ren, please.” Rick spoke desperately.

“No no no, Rick. Let the lady say what she wants to say. I kinda fucking like it.” He got closer to your face with a grin.

“Ren is it? Hi, I’m Negan. You must not of heard about me-“

“I don’t care to.”

“Oh you are being one naughty girl.” He responded with a laugh.

“I think I’m gonna need to fix that. Simon, take her to the storage room.”

“Negan wait!” Rick called out as you scoffed being taken by Simon.

“The rest of you assholes, stay put. Looks like I need to teach someone a lesson.” Negan walked off to where you were, Simon leaving you alone in the room.

In walked Negan while you stood with your hands on your hips.

“So sassy.” He looked down at your body, not being able to ignore the sight of your cleavage as he walked towards you.

“What the hell do you want? What you’re gonna kill me? Go ahead and take all the stupid little guns you want once you’re finished.” Negan looked amused as he stood face to face with you, his eyes once again drifting down to your breasts.

“My eyes are up here, asshole.”

“God, I could use a woman like you at the sanctuary. I gotta admit, this whole ‘take no Shit’ attitude is pretty sexy.”

“Yeah could use a woman like me to put you in that shitty place you belong.” You responded with much attitude.

“That mouth just doesn’t stop, what else does it do?” He teased.

“More than a coward like you will ever be able to handle-“

“Easy-“ Negan suddenly grabbed your face roughly making you look directly at him.

“Easy with the words that came out of that pretty little mouth, sweetheart.” His voice deep yet smooth.

“Or what?” He squeezed your face harder in return.

“Go ahead I like it rough anyways.” You looked up at him with a look that aroused him making him look down at your lips.

“Maybe that’s what you need. A nice rough fuck and maybe you wouldn’t be such a god damn bitch.” You shook your face out of his hand.

“Fuck you.”

“When right now?” He smirked, you had to admit as much as you disliked this man he some how was turning you on.

“I would never touch you.”

“Oh yeah?” He raised his eye brows amused.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t want me to fuck you raw right now.” He teased you with his words, his face so close to yours he saw the look in your eyes change.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. Tell me you wouldn’t want me to make you cum all over my cock.”

“Screw you!” You went to push him away but he grabbed your arms pulling you close and began to kiss you. You screamed trying to push him away but he held your arms down until you finally let your body do what you wanted. Relaxing in his arms, Negan released yours, you wrapped your arms around his neck, his tongue swirling with yours until you pulled back.

“You’re an asshole.” You whispered, he grinned with excitement holding you against him.

“Oh now you’re gonna get it.” Negan suddenly turned you around and forced you to bend over the table.

“You like it rough? I’ll give it to you rough.” Negan pulled your pants down quickly as you squealed with how aggressively he moved you around. He held your arms behind your back before spitting on his hand and lubricating his cock, without warning he pushed himself inside you. You screamed making him spank your ass hard.

“Negan!” You gasped as he pulled you up against him by your arms, using his other hand to grab a hand full of hair. He fucked you hard looking down at your ass shake with each hard thrust. He moved fast, grunting with how much force he used. Negan had been needing a woman like you to fuck for a while now, he loved it when a woman allowed him to get rough with them. All his stress was released sexually and it showed.

“Oh my god!” You screamed before he pulled out and quickly turned you around.

“Wait-“ you gasped, he moved to quickly for you it was hard to keep up.

“Get up here.” His voice was dominant, his moves were dominant and it only made you more wet for him. He picked you up on the table as you kicked off the rest of your pants, Negan wasted no time in shoving himself right back inside you. You moaned as he looked right at you, after all the feisty attitude you gave him, he took pleasure in knowing he made you lose control. The look in your eyes of helplessness with him doing whatever the hell he wanted to you.

“Is this what you wanted, sweetheart? To get fucked like this?” He smacked you lightly in the face before taking a hard hold of it. He forced you to look at him while he fucked you. Never had you been smacked during sex but you actually liked it.

“Tell me this what you fucking wanted, say it-“

“Yes....yes..” you panted.

“Just like that Negan, please.” You moaned as he continued to fuck you. The man looked like he had been more sexually frustrated than you were.

“Yeah, you better fucking take it. I’m gonna make you swallow my fucking cum.” He moaned as he thrusted a few more times before he quickly pulled out. Negan grabbed you by your hair making you rush to your knees, opening your mouth you took his whole cock in. Negan held your head against him making you take every inch before you felt his hot cum fill up your mouth.

“Oh fuck yeah..” He moaned roughly as your eyes began to tear. Finally pulling away you gasped for air as some of his cum dripped onto your chin.

“Look at you, got fucked like the dirty girl you are.” You wiped the cum from your chin and sucked it off your finger making him laugh out of breath. You stood up and grabbed your pants turning away from him.

“Shit, I don’t get a thank you?” You turned to him with an amused expression.

“You look like you needed that more than I did.” You responded playfully.

“I’m always game for pussy, especially one I get to fuck rough.” You laughed shaking your head.

“Look at you, looking a bit more cheerful now. Told you that’s what you needed.”

“Listen, don’t get to your head. And do me a favor, don’t tell anyone out there what just happened.” You squinted your eyes at him as you buttoned your pants.

“Are you telling me this our little secret?” Negan lifted up his pants with a slick smile.

“Does that mean I get to get more of you every time I visit?” He teased.

“Don’t push it. Just go and act like nothing please.”

“Don’t worry, I’m just gonna tell them I had to teach you a little lesson. Just so ya know, I don’t mind teaching you a few more.” Negan winked before walking out of the room making you sigh. Why did that have to be so damn satisfying? You knew damn well it wouldn’t be the last time you’d let him fuck you.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: So Close Yet So Far Away

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Frankie Morales x Jay 'Lady' Ray

Warnings: Language, talk of sex, throwback to sex, Pope is a crude asshole. Yearnnniinnngggg.

Summary: Lady and Pope get into an argument and Frankie sorts her out. Cue some elite level yearning.

A/N: HAHAHA I wasn't even meant to write this today but I woke up with this on my mind and I just had to because they're my BABIES. This is an instalment in the Frankie x Lady series and takes place back when Lady was in Frankie's squad, before they were an item.

Jay should have known better than to ask about everyone’s weekend. She just wanted to make small talk while they got prepped for a field exercise. She wasn’t ready to hear about their night out on Saturday, how Santi, Frankie, and Benny all scored some willing chicks, Will only missing out because he had a girlfriend, not because he didn’t pull.

All the while Jay was stuck with her family, listening to her mother go on about how she was too good for the army, she should leave while she was still alive, get a normal job, marry, have kids… She could have been out with the guys, maybe get lucky herself and if not, at least have a fun night. Get drunk instead of sad.

And now she finds herself listening to Santi talk about his one night stand, not giving Benny a chance to talk about his, while Frankie, quite characteristically, clammed up about personal stuff.

“Nutted her so fucking hard and all she did was beg for more,” Santi brags, “best fuck I had in ages…”

Jay’s been in the military since she was 18. She knows how soldiers talk, she’s heard it all, she’s participated in the crude joking, she’s not put off by it. But on this Monday morning, while the squad is assembling their equipment, she doesn’t want to hear it.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Pope, do you fucking have to talk like that?” she barks, unable to hear one more word about his sexual conquests. The rest of them cease their activities in wait for Pope’s reply. Working so closely together, sometimes spending weeks cramped up on assignments builds close bonds but also breeds discord. It’s normal to be at each other’s throats from time to time but it’s rarely Jay who flies off the handle.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, My Lady,” Santi replies with a smirk, his voice at its most velvety. “I meant I made passionate love to her all night – “

“You are so fucking disgusting, you know that?” Jay hisses. “Just shut the fuck up about the whole thing, nobody wants to hear about it.”

“Clearly not you,” Pope drawls, quick to anger. In the corner of her eye, Jay notices Will shake his head at him. Don’t engage, bro, just drop it. But Santiago Garcia is someone who doesn’t let things slide when he’s in gear.

“When was the last time you got laid, Ray? You need to get those pipes cleared out. Get some d.”

When was the last time? Too long ago. She does have an itch but last time she scratched it, it just didn’t feel right. She had the same feeling of detachment as she experienced just now when she heard about last Saturday night, particularly the fact that Frankie got laid.

It’s not that she’s jealous. She’s just more comfortable with the idea that Frankie doesn’t sleep around with anyone.

“A dick isn’t going to solve my problems, Santi, unless it’s a big one up your sorry ass,” she snaps, a rude laugh from Benny telling her she scored a point. Staring hard at Pope, whose ridiculously handsome features show an obnoxious amount of amusement, she knows that he won’t budge until he’s drawn metaphorical blood.

“Just name the time and the place, Ray, I’ll be there. Will you?”

“Okay, knock it off.” It’s Frankie, of course. The voice of reason. “Redfly’s gonna be here any minute and I don’t want to do extra laps just because you two can’t play nice.”

Frankie always has that calming effect on her, even now when she’s inexplicably mad at him for having fooled around with some random girl he picked up at their usual dive. Is there a possibility of her being there again in the future? Jay doesn’t want to think about it. Right now, she focuses on the sense that Frankie’s words make. It’s not worth it. Santi’s not worth it.

“Just stay away from me, asshole,” she warns Santi before going back to her kit. The tension in the room eases and Benny, who’s closest to Jay, gives her a brief pat on the back and a nod that says Good call. She hears Frankie murmur something to Santi behind her back, then Santi’s mutter: “She on the rag or something?”

That does it. Jay throws down her backpack and spins around.

“You say that to my face, you piece of shit,” she growls, taking a step forward. Her body is quivering with pent up rage in need of an outlet and knocking Pope on his ass would serve as an adequate one.

“Jay, he’s not worth it,” Benny tries to placate her but she barely hears him. Her whole focus is directed at Pope and his shit-eating grin. He says one more thing…

“Got your panties in a twist?”

She lunges forward but doesn’t make it to Pope as several hands grab her and hold her back.

“Hey, hey, hey!”

“Calm the fuck down, Ray!”

“Crazy bitch – “

“You’re on really thin ice, too, Pope! Shut that motherfucking mouth of yours!”

Benny is physically restraining her as she practically vibrates with desire to beat the crap out of Santi, who’s held back by Frankie.

“Ray, he’s not worth it,” Benny tells her. “Take a walk. Smoke. Calm down. He’s an asshole.”

He’s right and Jay knows it. Mustering up all of her willpower, Jay rolls back onto her heels, straightens her back, and squares her shoulders. Without looking at anyone, she turns around and stomps out.

Frankie finds her by the vehicles, in the backseat of a Humvee. Her fore and middle fingers are rubbing against her thumb: she’s quit smoking but is clearly wishing she had a cigarette right now. Frankie climbs into the backseat from the other side and pulls up a pack from his pocket, offering it to her without words. Jay hesitates but eventually takes one and leans closer to him when he flicks open his lighter. Frankie can smell the anger on her, a sweaty tightness that radiates from her muscles. She sits back, inhaling deeply before exhaling in a frustrated puff of smoke.

“Fuck,” she mutters, “I don’t wanna die because of these.”

“I thought you quit?”

“I did.” She throws him a glance and a grimace before flicking the cigarette out through the open door. “I thought you quit as well?”

“I keep them around for emergencies like this,” he shrugs. Jay looks pointedly at him.

“Then you haven’t truly quit, have you?”

He loves it how she puts him on the spot like this, provokes him, forces him to reconsider, change his way of thinking. She always does it with such ease, sometimes with a teasing glint in her eye. She just makes him want to be a better person.

“I guess not.” He throws her a small smile that goes unreciprocated. She stares into the back of the seat in front of her, lips tight. Frankie would love to just sit here in silence and let her lead, let her open up in due time, but he knows that if they don’t join the others soon, Tom is going to make a scene.

“Pope’s an asshole,” he states. Jay scoffs but says nothing. “But what’s up with you? You usually don’t let shit like that get to you.”

Her nostrils flare and he sees the muscles of her throat flex. Eventually, she parts her lips to speak, her voice strained.

“I spent the weekend with my dear mother, my brother, and his family. And you know what mom’s like.”

Frankie nods. Yes, he’s heard about Jay’s mother and the dislike the woman has for her daughter’s career choice. The older brother is married with one kid and another on the way and he, of course, is a saint, a pinnacle of human achievement, his children the very essence of what makes a successful life, his wife the perfect picture of Woman.

Jay suddenly twitches, then kicks at the seat in front of her.

“Fuck!I hate this fucking shit!”

Frankie refrains from putting a hand on her shoulder, no matter how much he would like to. He might end up with a broken nose.

“I cut her off,” Jay says tonelessly. “Completely.”

“About fucking time, Jay.” He’s been waiting for this to happen and he wants to tell her that he’s proud of her but it’s not his prerogative, no matter how much he would like it to be.

“Yeah,” she agrees, still not looking at him. “I kept hoping that she’d get her shit together but…” Her voice trails off and she swallows hard. “Fuck. I miss my dad.”

“He’d be proud of you,” Frankie assures her, biting off the endearment that threatened to escape him. Mi amor. Querida. He wants to be able to call her that, wants to be the one she’d come to with her sadness. Wants to be the one to call her mother and tell her to go suck an egg.

“You should’ve called,” he tells her but she only shakes her head. Stubborn as a mule.

“You were out. I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

It had been ruined the moment Santi laid eyes on the company of three young women by the bar. He had zoned in on the curvy brunette and Benny had picked the fiery redhead, leaving Frankie with the blonde. He didn’t want her, didn’t want any of the others, but he had fallen for the peer pressure and for every drink, he figured it could be a good idea to get laid. The girl was pretty, funny, nice. She had a hot body and was clearly willing. They had gone to her place and he had treated her like he would treat every woman he slept with: he ate her out, giving her several orgasms with his tongue before even thinking about putting his dick in her.

She had insisted on riding him. Frankie didn’t mind but as she bounced on his cock, her round, heavy tits jiggling in front of him, he didn’t see her face anymore. No, it was Jay all along, Jay’s long, lean body on top of him, Jay sinking down on him, her slick, hot pussy swallowing his cock while he swallowed her moan. The fantasy had become so real that he had to wrangle the woman off of him and take her from behind instead.

He left in silence once she was asleep, crept out like an asshole, a coward. He usually asked a woman if she wanted him to stay, he had once upon a time enjoyed having breakfast the next morning, sharing kisses when he finally left. But now, it all felt like cheating.

“You wouldn’t have ruined the night,” he tells her quietly. “It wasn’t that good.”

“The night or the sex?”

“The latter.” His ears are burning and he refuses to look at her.

“Too much to drink?” There it is: that sweet, amiable little taunt she saves for him only – or at least he hopes she does. He’s never heard her speak like that to any of the other guys.

“Wrong girl.”

Jay turns her head and looks at him. The distance between them in the backseat seems to shrink and grow at the same time when he returns her gaze. The hairs at the nape of his neck rise when he loses himself in the fathomless ocean-blue of her eyes.

He has to kiss her. He mustn’t kiss her.

“Are you two done with your fucking therapy session?”

Both of them startle when Tom shows up by the open door on Frankie’s side.

“I have an exercise op to run and I don’t have time to wait for you to feel quite ready, Ray,” he adds before slapping his hand to the roof of the Humvee. “Get your asses in gear.”

He leaves without having noticed anything. Frankie wonders how it’s even possible. Didn’t Tom feel the air crackle with electricity? Didn’t he hear how hard his heart was beating?

Jay gets out of the vehicle and slams the door shut, and Frankie follows suit. As they walk back, keeping a distance of two feet between them, Jay murmurs a Thank you, Morales to him.

“Sure,” he replies easily, forcing himself to sound neutral. “I got you, Ray.”

[serpentinesarang]

falling for you

pairing: baekhyun (byun baekhyun) x fem reader | part 2

genre: non-idol!au, angel!baekhyun, fluff, slow burn, split-perspective, first- and second-person writing styles, LOTS of plot buildup and dialogue, mild smut mixed in, part of a series

word count: 3831

content warnings: alcohol, swearing, theme of angels, virgin reader, strong theme of voyeurism, reader has gender-neutral best friend, vibrator masturbation

summary: baekhyun, your guardian angel watching over since the day you were conceived, has fallen in love with you and can’t bear to just watch you anymore. he needs so much more.

a/n: partly inspired by the teen romance-fantasy series hush, hush by becca fitzpatrick. #17 on my prompt list ♡

korean key:

⦿ none this time

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

You

It’s your 21st birthday, and a beautiful, late-spring day awaits you. You turn off your alarm, roll out of bed, and drag yourself to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. 

Once you flick on the vanity lights above the sink, you stop in your tracks. You know what... today’s my big day. I’m gonna do shit MY way today, you think while eyeing yourself in the mirror.

You exit the bathroom for a moment and retrieve the unopened bottle of Fireball [American cinnamon whiskey] atop your dresser. Your dad had sent you the bottle along with your favorite brand of chocolate and a sweet card, and you’d accidentally received the package one day early (oh well!). Unscrewing the cap, you take a hearty gulp and wince at the delicious burning sensation in your chest.

“Fuck yeah,” you grumble aloud as you replace the bottle and amble back to the bathroom.

You turn the knobs of your glass-encased shower and strip off your pajamas while the water heats up.

Baekhyun

Good gracious. I will never tire of her waking up and taking morning showers. She looks the most ethereal after she sleeps and the most serene with water cascading down every bit of her curvaceous body. The way her nipples grow erect from the pressure of the water and the occasional chills when she reaches out to change the background music playing... her hair slicked back, drawing all my attention to her stunning face... 

My darling human has at last become what they call an adult. She is now able to legally enjoy spirits and be merry with friends. 

I remember the moment she was conceived and I was assigned as her guardian. I made sure her mother was never in harm’s way during her pregnancy with my darling, and ever since then, she has been my reason for existence. No other human soul before her had ever latched itself so deeply into my being, and I can’t stand the distance anymore.

I sit on her long bathroom counter with my wings comforting my back against the wall and my legs hitched upward, just watching her wake up to another day. The glass walls of the shower have fogged up, but I can easily discern her silhouette swaying side-to-side with the music. She seems to be in an unusually happy mood today, and I plan to make her even happier tonight.

You

You step out and dry yourself off, twisting your hair into a towel turban. You tiptoe in front of the mirror and wipe off the condensation with your forearm. Just then, your cell phone on the counter launches into a FaceTime call, the screen showing your best friend’s name.

Accepting the call audio-only, you greet them cheerily, “Good morning, sexy bitch!”

They chuckle. “Show me your face, coward! I wanna see what my 21-year-old best friend looks like on her birthday!”

You dramatically sigh and oblige your friend, keeping your phone facing the ceiling as you tap your camera on. You tower over the screen at a comical angle that only shows your towel-wrapped head and exposed neck. “Here she is!”

“A knockout as always. I hope you know that,” they reply.

Smiling, you ask, “What’s up?”

“We still good to go out to Fire & Ice tonight? I’m not gonna let you leave until you’re so sloshed that I have to carry you out!”

You laugh at your friend’s excitement. “Yes, I took the whole weekend off, so let the debauchery begin, my friend.”

You talk about your club plans a little more before your friend goes on a long diatribe about their evil stepmother—not really fresh territory at this point. So you carry your phone around while you dress in jeans and a college t-shirt, eventually returning to the bathroom for a quick round of makeup.

Your bestie is still regaling you with their convoluted family drama when you feel yourself zoning out into the mirror. It’s as if all other noises around you have slowly faded away, and the only thing you hear is a voice, seemingly right next to you, whispering with a velvety softness, “You’re beautiful as you are.”

Mesmerized by the voice, you unconsciously sigh out of deep contentedness, and your friend asks if you’re still keeping up. You assure them all is well, except for the fact that you’ve been hearing a comforting voice for the past three years now.

A voice you obey by only putting on mascara.

Baekhyun

I’ve been speaking to her since she turned 18. I always wanted her to know she’s never truly alone, but the problem with my method is that she never fully processes me. She’s always so captivated when I speak to her that it never occurs to her something extraordinary—someone extraordinary—is connecting with her, guiding her, encouraging her. And it doesn’t help that I can’t read her thoughts or impede her free will by planting thoughts. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the wide-looked look of bliss that overcomes her every time she hears me.

She goes about her morning as she usually does on the weekends: sitting on her balcony with a plate of toast, a cup of coffee, and whichever book she borrowed from the public library. This time, it’s Dante’s Divine Comedy. 

I love the irony.

You

Two hours of reading pass before you grow restless and retreat back to your room. Flopping in bed, you let your mind wander. You’ve been single for as long as you can remember, and you’ve taken a liking to the clearly male voice you hear every once in a while. If you’re honest with yourself, you’re scared deep down of the reality of such a circumstance, but because the voice has always cared about you, what’s the harm in believing in it?

Remember, you tell yourself, it’s all about you today.

Without any more hesitation, you yank open the drawer of your nightstand and pull out a black wand vibrator. You may be a virgin, but you’re not an idiot who doesn’t know what pleasure is.

Wiggling out of your panties and jeans, you throw them to the floor and spread your legs across the mattress as comfortably as possible.

“Come back to me,” you whisper almost inaudibly.

Baekhyun

Absolutely nothing else on this planet makes me happier than watching my darling pleasure herself. She obtained that vibrating device last year as a gift from her friend, and ever since she discovered this realm of physical pleasure, I’ve fallen harder and faster for her. The salacious things I’ve watched her do to herself, the phenomenal sounds she emits, the positions she lazes into, the glistening of that little slice of heaven on her body... It drives me mad that I have no senses of smell, taste, and touch because I want to experience what she does. And with her.

Today is different. She’s never spoken aloud like that, and the yearning in her voice makes me believe it’s for me.

I rest on my stomach with my chin atop my hands, peering at the slit between her supple legs and how it’s slowly begun to flood as she drags the device up and down, stopping to rub slow circles at the very top. I don’t hear the thing humming, so she must be preparing herself.

She has one arm bent behind her head, her neck angled to watch herself move the device. Her mouth is ajar, and the rising of her chest fascinates me because it falls in tune with the device.

Then she pushes a button, and I hear it buzzing lowly. Not a millisecond later does her breath catch as her hips dig downward, and she closes her eyes. She holds the black thing at the top, over the little mountain of bulbous, pink flesh.

You

Whoever he is, you wish he’d speak to you now as you press the wand against your hardened clit. It’s only set to level one, but you feel your orgasm beginning to build up.

So beautiful like this, you imagine him saying. Keep going. I’m right here, and you’re driving me crazy...

You let out a breathy moan as you activate the wand’s level two vibration intensity, and your thighs shake uncontrollably at the heightened pleasure.

Shake for me, beautiful. Take me to your heaven, your imagination continues. It’s right then, though, that his voice sounds beside your ear for real in a soft tone: Yes, darling, you did it.

After hearing this voice long enough to be able to conjure it in your mind with any array of sinful words, today is the first time it brings you to a time-stopping orgasm.

Baekhyun

Out of nowhere, her hips fly off the bed and surge in random, up and down motions, and I watch the small opening of her slit pulsate in time with her hips as it erupts with a lovely, transluscent essence. I wish I could feel her arousal on my fingertips instead of just watching.

Her voice comes out in broken utterances and ragged moans: “UH-uh-huhhh-ugghhhh... ffffff-UH-uh-uuuck.”

The vibration ceases, and she tosses the device beside her with a heavy exhale, evidently spent. Her legs are still spread, and I can’t help but inch myself closer to observe the way her soaked flesh speaks to me in its language of spontaneous throbbing.

You

The rest of the day passes you by. After you came, you made lunch, went to the gym for a workout, went to the DMV to change your driver’s license, came home and read some more, answered a few work emails, perused social media, ate dinner, and even watched a movie. A typical Saturday for you, nothing particularly special by any means. The real fun would be at 9 PM when your bestie promised to pick you up.

...

You glance at the time on your phone: 8:56 PM. Perfect, a few more minutes to double-check everything.

Phone case on a crossbody chain with your new license and credit card stored inside? Check. House key attached to the chain on a carabiner clip? Check. Hair flat-ironed with minimal frizz and ultimate shine? Check. Makeup? Eh, all you did was pat on some cheekbone highlighter. Check. Outfit? Sleeveless, burgundy top with an open, laced up backside, faux leather miniskirt, and basic black Converse for comfort. Check.

You smile at yourself in the full-body mirror in your apartment’s foyer. “Effortless.”

Yes, the voice agrees.

...

It’s just after 9:15 when you arrive at the Fire & Ice club downtown. The bouncers stamp both of your left hands with purple stars for the bartenders to serve you the goods before you’re pushed along with the crowd further into the expansive club. 

Lights of every color strobe all over with red-tinged string lights on the perimeter of the whole place, and a massive blue-tinged spotlight on the DJ and his setup. The dancefloor in the middle is decently crowded with people around your age, a few 40-something couples sticking out adorably. 

“No chasers for you, missy,” your friend reminds you with glittering eyes and a loving squeeze on your upper arm.

You nod, feeling thrilled to be out on the town for once. You raise your index finger to the ceiling with a victory screech: “To the bar!”

Over an hour later, the overhead lights go out, the DJ’s spotlight turns red, and the entire bar gets lit up from the see-through floor with bright, pale-blue lights. Even though you’re definitely tipsy now, you finally notice the mirrored wall panels surrounding the club, and all the spotlights bouncing off of them combined with the bar’s own futuristic lighting makes you realize how truly fire and ice this place is.

Not surprisingly, your friend had slid into their drunk phase a little faster than you, and they’d disappared somewhere with a girl they’d met at the bar. They’d sent you a text 20 minutes ago reading, “Met a spicy lil thang at the bar. I’ll find u later! Keep ordering!!!”

Were you bothered? Nah, you really weren’t. This has happened a few times before elsewhere, and you were still intent on enjoying this day your way, even if that meant dancing like an idiot by yourself.

Were you wondering where the voice was? Yes. He hadn’t spoken to you since you got picked up.

Gulping down the rest of your Captain and Coke, you return the glass to the bar and catch somebody to order a Vegas Bomb shot. Feeling yourself finally dipping into your drunk mode, you down the shot with ease, not so much as wincing at the burn of the alcohol before heading straight back to the center of the dancefloor where a group of girls had left a pocket for you to slip in.

The DJ blends the ending of the current song with the beginning of a new one, “All That” by Emotional Oranges, and the vibes you get from this one are sensual. You’re in your own world of alcoholic delight, and you’re erotically body-rolling with yourself before you feel a pair of hands gently grasp your waist.

You feel the person press their chest against your shoulders, their breath icy cold beside your ear. “Effortless, my darling.”

Every fiber of your being comes to a screetching halt when you hear it. 

It’s him.  

You spin around—a little too quickly considering your current state—and brace your hands against his chest. He responds by wrapping his arms around your back. 

Looking back at you with big, almost black-colored eyes is a man with platinum blonde hair and ridiculously full lips. He’s wearing a white button-up shirt tucked into black pants, a look more fitting for a business-casual luncheon or something.

But who cares about the clothes when he has a face like that? With the most flawlessly radiant, olive skin and hands so warm on your exposed back that he feels like a personal heater?

You could feel the surrounding people’s presence melting away the longer you gazed at him, the more it dawned on you with a certainty you didn’t dare doubt that this was truly the voice you’d been hearing.

You blurt the words without any more hesitation: “Say ‘beautiful.’”

Unphased, he fulfills your request with a melodic purposefulness in his voice, keeping his eyes trained on yours.

With relief washing over you, you drop your jaw in a loud exhale. “It’s you!” You bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, desperate to etch his breathtaking face onto your brain.

“It’s me,” he answers with a sheepish smile, hugging your body tighter against his. He feels as firm as Michelangelo’s David sculpture.

Then you faint in his arms.

Baekhyun

I can’t tell if she fainted from the shock of finally meeting me or from her obvious imbibement. I was actually able to smell it on her warm breath, and if I knew what literally anything on Earth smelled like, I’d be able to describe it. 

I was more beside myself being able to finally touch her, though, to finally exist with her in the same dimension of reality. Her skin felt supremely smooth, and I could practically feel the love beaming from her face.

She knew it was me because she asked me to say beautiful, something I’d spoken to her earlier in the morning. She didn’t want to test me, but she also didn’t want to test her sanity or sobriety. 

I carried her home, glancing down at her with a kind of all-encompassing happiness I’d never felt before as an angel.

You

At last, you rouse from your fainting spell, and the first thing you see is your apartment ceiling. A dull headache is knocking at the back of your head, and thankfully the only light source is the lamp on your nightstand.

You look to your side and are reminded of the night’s events.

“I’m sorryyy,” you murmur, frowning cutely at the platinum-haired man lying beside you with his head propped up in his hand. He moves his free hand from your hip to your jaw, tenderly grasping it and swiping his thumb side to side. 

“Please don’t be,” he replies softly. “I’d do anything for you.”

You look at him for a moment, examining his features. “Do you know my name?”

He grins ear to ear, as if enjoying a private joke. “I think you know I do.”

Although you’d slept off the alcohol, you’re still a little lost. How do you explain meeting the man whose voice you’d heard in your head for three years?

You turn to face him, entwining your lower legs with his under the sheets. He seems almost caught off guard by the touch, but he quickly calms himself.

“I don’t know yours, though. Please help me,” you plead, and he picks up on your subtle allusion to the bigger picture, not just his name.

He sighs quietly, ceasing his thumb strokes and taking your hand in his. “I am—was the angel Baekhyun.” He pauses, gently squeezing your hand as he brings it to his white shirt. “I’ve watched over you for the past 21 years and nine months.” 

He pauses again, letting this sit with you. You take a moment to process before speaking. “Why hadn’t I heard your voice earlier?”

He nods once, taking in a breath. “I didn’t want to scare you in your younger years, nor did I want others to think you’d developed an imaginary friend. And for obvious reasons, you couldn’t see me before I fell.”

Before I fell.

The words run you over like a semi-truck, and Baekhyun sees it on your face. “Yes, darling, I fell to Earth.”

You furrow your brow, caught between confusion and wanting to cry. “Why?” you whisper.

“I broke the law,” he says before kissing your knuckles. “I fell in love with a human.”

You can’t help but stare at him, speechless.

“And I want you to know that every time you ever heard my voice,” he continues, “I was speaking to you and only you when I felt you needed me. Most angels deliberately avoid speaking to their humans and instead conjure some sort of earthly sign for them to stumble across. But I couldn’t do that with you. I watched you become such an incredibly strong, self-sufficient woman that I worried you’d never get anything in return from anyone. I wanted you to know you have never been alone.” 

Tears well in your eyes at Baekhyun’s sincerity, and you struggle to find any words to string together.

He kisses your hand again. “Before this, my only senses were hearing and seeing. I don’t think I can take my hands off you now.”

You burst into a toothy smile. “So that means you’ve watched me do literally everything...”

Baekhyun notices the streak of seduction coloring your eyes. Glancing toward your nightstand quickly, he says under his breath, “That thing drives you wild.”

You smirk, pulling your intertwined hands forward so you can kiss his knuckles this time. “Do you know how wild your voice has driven me? Still?”

“I kind of always suspected it,” he admits with a smirk. “Nevertheless, we are together, and I don’t know how to adequately express how deeply happy I am, much less how happy I want to make you.”

Moving your legs from his, you kick back the sheets. He’d left you both fully clothed, that gentleman. 

“What time is it?” you say as you twist around to check your phone. Your home screen reads just past 3 AM, and there’s even a new text from your bestie: “Glad u found someone!! Text me tomorrow and happy bday again <3″

You turn back to Baekhyun, propping yourself up on your elbow like him. “You texted my friend?”

He nods earnestly. “I’ve seen you do that enough times to understand the courtesy of letting them know.”

You smile in response, deciding to push his shoulder until he’s lying on his back and you’re straddling him. He responds by placing his warm hands on your hips.

You throw your hair to one side before leaning over him with an outstretched arm. “Baekhyun,” you whisper.

“Yes, my darling?” he hums, his eyes eagerly drinking you in.

“I want you.”

His eyes widen enough for you to notice, and he unknowingly digs his fingers into your sides.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he says above a whisper.

You lean back and unzip your miniskirt, then you tug at your top’s ribboning to undo it enough for you to pull it off. You take in a deep breath as Baekhyun feverishly assesses you, and your nipples grow hard at his unfettered attention.

“Haven’t you seen this enough?” you ask him softly.

He shakes his head. “Never enough. And now I can feel you, smell you, and taste you.”

You carefully stand above him and brace a hand against the wall as you yank the skirt off, one of his hands tenderly holding your ankle. You straddle him again and sit a little bit lower so you can unbutton his shirt, open his pants and pull out the ends of his shirt.

Spreading the shirt fully open, his chiseled torso knocks the breath out of you. You bring your hands to his abs but hesitate for a second.

“Please keep going,” he begs quietly. 

With his approval, you bring your hands down and gingerly run them over the indentations of his abs and the plains of his defined pecs. You trace your index finger from his chin over his Adam’s apple all the way down to his navel.

“Darling?”

“Yes, Baekhyun?”

“What am I feeling in my pelvis? Is something wrong with me?”

You look down and find his very human, very pink, very swollen erection poking out of his underwear. Taking his questions seriously, you answer him: “You have an erection, a boner. That means you’re turned on.”

“’Turned on?’”

“Aroused, excited, in the mood. This is how human men show it,” you reply, keeping your voice sincere. He deserves the truth as it is, not through jokes and teasing. “You’ll have to learn how to control it in public.”

He quickly infers your hidden meaning, nodding. “I trust you.”

Chuckling at his random admission, you say, “I trust you too. I’d like to help you with being a human as you have helped me.”

He beams at you. “I welcome your guidance wholeheartedly.”

You smile and spend the next minute removing your panties and the rest of his clothing.

Baekhyun, in your eyes, is literally the definition of perfection. Covered in bulging muscles and gleaming skin with an unusual heat that almost radiates off his body, you fell speechless again. 

You’re on all fours above him now, hovering your face above his. “You make a fine human, Baekhyun.”

“Thank you,” he smiles, his hands back on your hips.

“Stop me whenever,” you say firmly. He nods softly, patiently waiting for your move.

[spice-chan]

A Christmas Present

Hitoshi Shinsou x reader

It’s time for Shinsou to get his feelings across, what better time then Christmas, the day of blessings and magic ?

Soulmate au, coffee shop au.

Word count: 3200

This is written for the secret santa event, for @what-the-censored-xd I hope you enjoy this and merry Christmas!!

warnings - misunderstandings and a teeny bit of angst

.....................................................

A soulmate. A gift all the quirky individuals of this world have been gifted with. 

With a mark on your wrist indicating who the individual is, the circumstances, perhaps the time. It’s pretty ambiguous, and the thought of missing the fated person is an ever present fear on most people’s mind. At least yours. 

It’s rather plain, sweet, but plain. Easy to be overshadowed by the more gaudy, exquisite, or creative soul marks. It's a dark brown, a darker shade than the earth, but lighter than a macchiato, and its heart shaped. A tiny heart, like the one that often adorns the textbook of bored teens who opted to doodle in class. Still, looking at it never failed to bring a smile to your face. 

It’s almost as if you have a premonition that it’s going to bring you something magical. 

With those thoughts in mind, you entered the coffee shop, the red ribboned bell at the door making a semi loud jingling sound that alerted the workers of your presence, causing smiles to plaster across their faces. Some looked easy, as real and carefree as breathing, some looking more stiff, almost unnatural on the beholders face. However, one stood out in particular. 

Purple, and appearing like cotton candy in softness, hair, with equally gorgeous lavender eyes that sported bluish semi circles underneath. And a face devoid of a smile, his lips set in a straight line. Bored, uninterested, even sad. 

“What would you like to order ?” You were startled for a second, taken aback when his lips parted for his monotone tone to slip out from between the cracks. Your cheeks felt hot, realising that you’d walked all the way to the cashier without realising. 

“Latte, please. With cream on top. Thanks” You replied nonchalantly, pretending that you weren’t ogling him. You definitely weren’t. 

He hummed, his lavender eyes zeroing in on you, making you gulp nervously. Is he ok ?

“Umm..” you cringed nervously. His eyes widened a fraction, and if you weren’t mistaken, a red hue tinted his cheeks. He nervously started putting in your order, his fingers shaking a fraction while his heart thudded in excitement. Your words rang in his head, but instead of the usual robotic monotony that usually accompanied them, they were laced with your unique, bashful voice, accentuated with your embarrassed, cute face. 

“Latte, with cream on top ?” He asked again, as if consciousness only streamed back to him. Holy shit he thought. He should ask for your number. 

He should, the words formulated in his head, made the movements of his fingers slower, they went to the tip of his tongue- 

“That’ll be 2.99, thank you for your purchase.” 

But he did nothing. 

His shoulders deflated, the movement noticeable to the perceptive eye, especially when he saw your figure move away and take a seat on one of the tables while he prepared your drink. His hand instinctively went to tangle in his soft purple locks, however, the stupid christmas hat he was forced to wear prevented him from doing even that. Frustration towards himself willed up in his chest, the feeling akin to a burn that refused to go away. 

It’s fine. You’re not gone yet. He still has time. 

Those were the thoughts he kept repeating in his head as he prepared your latte, the words on his wrist feeling tingly, as if stroked by the softest of feathers. 

All too soon, he finished and had to call out your drink, anticipation coursing through him. He saw you stand up, bright eyes seeking him out, only to abruptly look away upon finding his gaze rooted on you. 

He grabbed the cup, intent on handing it to you, but his fingers shook at the last second when your pretty gaze met his, and he nearly spilt the drink, but he saw a droplet escape, landing on your sleeve. He didn’t comment on it, he didn’t have the chance to. 

“Are you ok ?” You questioned him, you didn’t think he was the ditzy type, then again you don’t really know him. But even this knowledge didn’t stop the concern for the handsome stranger to bubble through you. Caring about him felt as natural as breathing. 

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” His previously monotone voice seemed just a bit more breathy, just a bit more deep, but enough to have you swooning even more then before. 

You smiled at him- and gosh wasn’t it the prettiest sight he’d see— and grabbed your drink from his seemingly clumsy hands and settled back on your table. If only the turmoil within his heart could be settled as well. 

………...…

You walked out, the bell once again jingling, but this time to signal your exit. The taste of the best latte that ever graced your mouth was still present on your tongue, the remnants reminding you of the handsome stranger who made it. 

You goofily smiled, happiness gushing out of you without rhyme or reason, however, when your hand went to cover your mouth, you saw it. A coffee stain on your white shirt. A heart shaped, coffee stain where your soul mark is. 

.……………

The bell jingled, signaling your arrival once again. It’s been a habit that you made to frequent the coffee shop at least three times a week, in hopes of seeing your soulmate. 

On instinct, your eyes sought the lackadaisical male, and they were blessed, for you saw him, in the same place as usual, sporting the Christmas hat that he always seems to have on. The hat that failed to do hide the soft purple locks that your hand ached to run through- 

“Latte ? With cream on top ?” 

“Yes” you should be flattered that he memorised your order, but then again, you have been coming here more then a devout Catholic frequents the church. You really just hoped he’d say something else. Everytime. 

He should know you’re his soulmate, shouldn’t he ? 

“That’ll be 2.99” Maybe he just doesn’t want you. 

“Thank you.” 

Dammit. Shinsou thought. Disappointment filled his chest when he saw your downtrodden face move away and sit at your regular table, leaving him to his own devices. It’s been about a month since he’s met you. A month since he discovered who his soulmate is. A month since you began to frequent the place he works at. A month since he failed to act on it. 

The aroma of coffee that surrounded him, while aromatic, filled him with an innate sense of bitterness as he acknowledged his cowardice. No amount of pep talk could get him to ask for your number, and everyday, he felt you slip further and further away from him. 

Coward. He repeated that over and over in his head as he added the whipped cream and called out your order . 

You’re going to be alone forever.

A few seconds pass by while he stared scornfully at the wall, ticking by painfully slowly, or so he thought, until he realised a few minutes had flown and you hadn’t come to take your drink. 

He glanced towards your table, eyebrows furrowed in concern. However, what met him didn’t manage to ease this. 

A purple eyed guy sat on your table, a shade lighter than Shinso’s, but enough to make him seem more livelier at a glance. His hair was golden and slicked, giving the stereotypical facade of a prince charming. He held your delicate palm in his own, even his hand played into the princely impression he gave off, not incredibly massive and impossibly smooth-even more so than your own. Shinsou hated him already. 

Shinsou lowered his head, his hair covering his eyes slightly, perhaps to shield him from this wretched sight. Is this what he gets from not acting sooner ? Are you on a date with him ? Oh God, he hopes not. But his hair couldn’t protect him from the blood curling sight of the jerk bringing your hand up to his crooked lips and lying a kiss on them. 

Shinso looked at you this time, and he can’t tell relief from happiness as both emotions flowed predominantly in his chest at the sight of your indignant features. Your lips were pulled down, the frown not taking a tiny ounce of your beauty, and you pulled your hand away from him. 

That’s when Shinsou decided that no, it’s not too late to act. It’s not too late to try to be the one who sits opposite to you in cafes, the one who can hold your hands and shower them with kisses, and the one who brings a smile to your face. Just as he was always meant to be. 

He grabbed your still steaming latte, walking up to your table calmly, nothing in his relaxed posture indicated the turmoil happening within him. 

“Monoma, I told you, I’m not going anywhere with you. Not again.” Shinsou heard you utter now that he was closer to your table, and the jer-Monoma, didn’t seem deterred in the slightest.

“Come on, (y/n). Let’s try this again-“ 

Shinsou halted him in his speech, putting your drink in front of you loudly enough to overpower the absolute gibberish spewing out of Monoma’s mouth. After doing do, he grabbed the hand that was previously held captive in Monoma’s own, and brought it up to his lips, lying a lingering kiss on it that had your face feeling warmer and heart palpitating at the turn of events. Shinsou fleetingly  glanced towards Monoma, and found all traces of self assurance wiped out. 

“Is he bothering you kitten ?” Asked Shinsou, kissing your forehead, making any cohesive response cooking in your brain a victim to burning, no, charring. 

“Um-uh, no ? It’s fine…” kitten ?! What the-did he just ? 

Why ? 

That question resonated in your head, among all the scattered thoughts and chaos. Because the soulmate that you thought didn’t want you was suddenly here, ‘rescuing’ you, calling you kitten and kissing you as if that’s all he’s ever known. 

You didn’t realise that you zoned out until Monoma was calling your name. 

“(Y/n), is it true ?” He asked, sounding somewhat betrayed. 

“What ?” You seemed like such a ditz right right now. 

“Are you dating this gloomy guy ? I didn’t know you found a replacement so quick.” You’re dating who now ? 

“Yeah.” Monoma quirked an eyebrow at your response, unimpressed, distrustful. He got a hold of the drink that Shinsou obsessed over, worried that he wouldn’t impress you, and took a sip. A sip of the drink that Shinsou prepared especially for you, with your bright, eye crinkling smile in mind and sincere thank you. Now Shinsou was certain he hated him. All smug smiles and shitty attitude. 

Monoma remained silent for a moment. His eyes hard and steely, alternating between you and Shinsou, until they brightened once again, almost as if a veil that had previously been placed over them had been lifted. He smiled his princely smile, his teeth making a brief appearance to dazzle their beholders with their brightness. 

“I don’t believe you. And I won’t stop pursuing (y/n) .” Shinsou ground his teeth at the audacity. How dare this assh- 

“But, I will if you show up to my Christmas ball and convince me. I’ll leave it up to you as to how. I want you to remind me of every moment we had together and make it feel meaningless in comparison to what I’m seeing before me.” He maintained his crooked smile while he spoke, but reached out into his pant pocket and pulled out a card with a location on it. The card was of medium thickness too. Even that screamed rich. 

Shinsou wasn’t sure what the appropriate response should be, it could be a solid ‘no, we don’t need to prove anything’ or a solid ‘yes, I’ll show you that whatever you had with her was nothing more than elementary crushing. At least to her.’ Shinsou was flooded with so many opportunities, that for a moment, he forgot what situation he placed himself in. 

What is he proving ? He isn’t dating you. He was a coward who hid behind a cashier because he couldn’t acknowledge that the one meant for him was right in front of him. 

“Monoma. Leave, you’ve said enough.” Your voice shattered the fake amiability that somehow built in the atmosphere. Shinsou and Monoma glared at each other openly, one with more hostility than the other. If Shinsou looked in the mirror right now, chance is he wouldn't recognize himself. Monoma gave Shinsou one last meaningful look before standing up and taking his leave. 

He was shorter than Shinsou, and he grasped into the fleeting feel of superiority the knowledge gave him. He could probably squash him like a pest too. 

“What was that about ?” Your gaze was directed at him now, icy and expectant, Shinsou gulped, not having expected the sheer amount of seriousness pooling in your irises. 

“I saw how uncomfortable you looked, I just wanted to help you out.” You sighed at his answer. It was stupid of you to expect anything from him. Maybe you are wrong though. You held on to the fleeting hope, a thread to thin to keep you afloat. 

“You know I’m your soulmate, right ?” Shinsou nodded, guilt written across his face. 

“Yeah, the first thing you said to me is written on my wrist.” 

And the thread of hope snapped. It’s just as you thought. He knew before you, all those days that you came, desperate for his acknowledgment but to no avail and it was true. The dark thoughts that you tried to keep at bay festered, tangling together producing something ugly. 

You stood up abruptly, shocking Shinsou. 

“Thanks for trying to help. I think you only made things worse.” His face became ridden with guilt, he didn’t want to cause you inconvenience. He only ever wanted to help you out— but why didn’t he think this through ? 

“I’m sorry-I don’t know why I did this.” He was desperately trying to salvage this, knowing that the moment you left, you would be gone, for good, no more chances. 

“Yeah, I don’t know why either.” You hissed angry, grabbing your coat and leaving.

…..………………

Shinsou laid on his bed, face mushed against the pillows and eyes bloodshot. He single handedly messed up everything. Then again, he has a knack for doing that. 

It’s Christmas day, and Shinsou rejected all invites to dinners made by friends and family alike, opting to instead wallow in misery. He hasn’t seen you since that day. He probably lost you forever, and he didn’t even get the chance to properly get to know you. He glanced at his wrist, the sentence written on it something he fantasised about as a child many times. It’s what led him to working in a coffee shop, aside from his love for coffee. He knew one day, his soulmate would come along, and say the re-enact the writing on his wrist, be the sugar to his bitter self. 

He finally stood up from his bed, stretching his weary limbs. It felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. His eyes caught the card Monojerk gave him though. 

His last chance to be with you…. 

………………

Shinsou stood at the entrance of the huge mansion that Monoma is the owner of, apparently. He’d been standing there for two hours, after coming an hour early to make sure he didn’t miss you in case you did come. People continuously flooded inside, their laughter and smiles a clear contrast to Shinsou’s straight face. 

All of it merged together, making a meaningless sound that didn’t resonate within Shinsou, the only thing he registered was the icy wind biting his skin-he opted out of wearing a coat, and the anxiety reigning within him, making his palms clammy despite the weather. He’s here to make things right. This is his last chance. He can feel it in his very bones. 

He only hopes you'll come. 

But all thoughts flew out of his head when his ears picked up the angelic sound of your laughter, surrounded by friends on either side of you, but they dulled in comparison to you, only side characters while you owned the spotlight. His heart thudded in his chest. 

He’ll make things right. 

………

Contradictory to what you thought, when your soulmate approached you, your friends didn’t tell him to shove it and to leave you alone. No, oh no, they pushed you towards him and patted him on the back with encouraging smiles. They really just want the best for you. You didn’t think your night would be playing out like this, but here you are, dancing with him. 

“Why are you here ?” You questioned, not irritated, but your shoulders were slumped as if you’d given up. 

“I’m here because I—I want to finally talk to you. Something I should have done the moment you spoke to me.” He answered, his deep voice ringing clearly in your ear despite the ruckus around you, sending tingles down your spine. You’d never heard such a calming voice. 

“And why didn’t you ? I came everyday, hoping you’d mention something. I guess I could’ve as well but, when I discovered who you are to me, the moment was over and gone. But why didn’t you ?” Your emotions were pouring out, tumbling clumsily. You couldn’t get a hold of them. 

His hand felt warm on your waist, and you were enshrouded with his warmth, and even his virile scent made you feel safe. You wanted to be as nonchalant as he seemed to be, but you couldn’t, you could never when it comes to the mysterious man who’s so good at making lattes and making your heart pound. 

“I’m sorry. I wanted to. Every single time you came. But I don’t know. I guess I was scared. When I saw you, you always seemed to be glowing, as if you made the world your star while you shined like the sun. I knew I could never compare to that, and I knew you were too good for me. But, if there’s a chance that you’d have me, I’ll fight tooth and nail for it.” You listened intently to every word that came out of his mouth, shocked. You remained silent for a few seconds, not knowing how to respond to this newfound discovery. You ? Too good for him ? 

Instead of responding, however, you stilled your movement and grabbed  his face, bringing him down for a kiss, much to the shock of everyone around you and the man himself. It didn’t take long for Shinsou to respond, while everyone around who were rendered to side characters. 

Shinsou doesn’t really need presents, entertainment, or food on Christmas, the biggest blessing is right here in his arms. It’s all he could ever ask for. 

…………

Bonus

Monoma looked on, scrunching his face in disgust at seeing his ex kiss the gloomy bastard. He had wanted to talk to you since you came in, but everytime he tried to approach you, someone would come to him and distract him. And well, it was in his nature to revel in attention and adoration. He was surprised that you didn’t run back to him, but he could see it now. Monoma had never seen you do something so bold with so many people around, but love does bring you to new heights.

[trashbunnywrites]

Fix you hisoka x reader

Tw: hisoka

Many people wanted a part 2 so here it is ^^

Part one

:readmore:

When you try your best, but you don't succeed

When you get what you want but not what you need

When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep

Stuck in reverse

The smell of bleach and blood covered your nose. The empty white walls glared at you. Something woke you, what was it again ? Putting your hand on your baby in confusion trying to remember why you were here in the first place. The feel of the rough sheets and empty stomach made you jump.

“MY BABY”

You screamed in a hopeless cry. You’re alone here , does that mean you lost your baby ?

Your body screamed in pain , but the pain your chest was stronger. Pulling all the cords off of you as you jumped , looking for you baby.

Your legs screamed in protest as you collapsed, how long have you been here ?

“MY BABY. GIVE ME MY BABY”

Screamed of grief echoed as running was heard. You were a sobbing mess. What happened while you were out ? The baby was early but they have to be okay.

“Ma’am please calm down your baby is fine.”

A gentle yet firm hand tried holding you up from the floor. You were inconsolable, if the baby was fine then where are they ?

Being pulled up by firm hands like a princess. They tears blur your vision. Being lowered to the bed as your carrier held your face firmly facing him. Wait , you know him ?

“She’s okay , you have a healthy baby girl and she’s near the nurse went to get her”

“..... k …. kastro?”

And the tears come streaming down your face

When you lose something, you can't replace

When you love someone, but it goes to waste

Could it be worse?

You’ve never thought you’ll be the happiest you ever were by hearing a child cry. Breaking eye contact with him and landing your eyes on the small bundle in the nurse’s arms.

Once placed in your arms , you hugged her close as your tears slowly returned. Her crying stupid as her golden eyes looked at you in curiosity.

You felt yourself giggle as you touched her with your thumb. She looked like him , but she was yours. That curious loving look. She’s perfect.

“I couldn’t believe it when I heard the strongest female fighter was carrying that bastards child”

“Hmmmm”

You were too focused on the Angel in your hands to actually care about what he was saying. Her sweet precious face. Smiling at her , her chubby cheeks raised as she smiled back at you. Kissing her face feeling an intense love for this little creature.

“I’m guessing he doesn’t know about her , if he did he would’ve been here wanting to train her so he can fight and kill her later.”

Every single cell in your body froze. Looking up at him in wide eyes as you hugged your little princess close to you. Activating your aura as a warning.

“Calm down , I didn’t mean anything by it.”

He quickly dismissed waving his hand.

“I want to kill that pretentious bastard and I need your help. I’m assuming you’d want him dead as well”

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

Rehabilitation was hard , everything in your body screamed in rejection but you didn’t stop. When you returned home , all you wanted to do was lay down and sleep but you didn’t.

Everything in you wanted to protect your baby girl. Your new purpose in life. She made your day brighter , her sweet smile , musically laugh , and even her loud cries.

Magie was her name , which means magic in German. Hisoka called himself the magician and magie was his best work to ever exist.

On weekends you and kastro train over and over again. You were rusty and he needed someone he can trust to perfect his new hatsu. One he’s sure to take down hisoka. He was strong but needed help on other aspects like conjuring.

You weren’t sure he’d succeed so you practiced your own new hatsu. You know kastro wants to take down hisoka , but you can’t trust him with this. As much as you wanted to , you couldn’t. It’s your own way of protecting yourself and magie from him. You’re not taking chances.

Even if he was warming his way into your heart , magie will always be your number 1.

And high up above or down below

When you're too in love to let it go

But if you never try, you'll never know

Just what you're worth

Returning to your former glory and even beyond that , was the result of all the training you did. The months of hard work and sparring with kastro made the time move quick. He was a stable in your life now.

Training and returning home together , spending time since you both live in heaven’s arena. Him helping with magie and cuddling after exhausting yourselves. it was perfect.

Your status was unknown and you were too much of a coward to ask. You liked this , you were happy.

Standing near kastro as he was preparing to finally have his fight with hisoka , your hand clinched at his robes as his name was called. He looked at you Questionably.

“Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Your eyes cashed down as you heard him chuckles. Fingers raising your face to his as soft lips pressed against your own in a chaste kiss.

“When I return let’s have dinner , my treat”

He winked as your cheeks felt warm. Walking away you had to stop yourself from dragging him back. What’s with this need to make him stay ?

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

Your screams got lost in the audience cheers. No no no no no no no ! This can’t be happening !

Seeing kastro lose his cool as hisoka exposed his trick and getting punched in the chin , made you run towards the front.

What can you do ? You had no idea but the needs to be closer to him was strong. To somehow help him. The audience were crowding the front but you fought your way.

Your heart erupted in anguish seeing the man you just had feelings for fall in front of your eyes.

“You’ll die in a frenzy dance”

The smug sultry voice of the redhead echoed in your mind. Why is he ruining your life again ?! He walked away as the medics went to carry your close to be lover body away.

Returning to your home was painful , the sight of magie made everything feel a little better. You’re not alone , you have your child. Your precious adorable baby girl.

carrying her and singing , as your tears fell and heart broke. She was everything you needed. Even if you lose anymore , as long as she’s with you you’re okay.

Tears stream down your face

When you lose something, you cannot replace

Tears stream down your face and I

Tears stream down your face

I promise you, I will learn from my mistakes

Tears stream down your face and I

Fighting was all you ever did. You were good at it. Thanks to kastro you became even better. Being known as someone who raised from the ashes made your story even more poetic.

Too many challengers came and went , as you stood on the top with other floor masters. It was exhausting and satisfying.

Walking away as the people cheered , you raised your head high. You’re a fighter , a survivor , and you refuse to lose anymore.

“Such a sweet tasty thing , how come we never talked before ❤️?”

The voice of your nightmare made you turn around. A similar face to your child yet so different. The face you used to love so much before and now you feel nothing.

“What do you want ?”

He walked towards you as you kept your ground and maintained eye contact. You refuse to bend again.

“My such a scary look ♦️ have we been together before ? You look so familiar ♠️ “

“Do you need anything ?”

“Dinner would be nice ❤️”

How dare he ? You were enraged. How dare he forgets about you after leaving you like that , kills your lover , and asks you out like nothing happened ?!

“You can always eat shit asshole”

You said between gritted teeths as you gave him your back. You felt him activating his aura as you did to yours. You felt him throwing his bungee gum at you.

“What the …? ♠️ “

You heard his confused voice , as his aura fell instead of sticking to you.

“You like it ? It’s my new hatsu I call it, stiff hate : saffola oil it has properties of water and oil”

Your voice was dripping with sarcasm and mocking as his face went through the five stages of grief in front of you.

Walking away laughing loudly as he unleashed his bloodlust. It felt so good you couldn’t help yourself. The amount of times you dreamt of this moment. You rendered his hatsu useless and he knew it.

He can attempt to fight you , but you refuse to accept anything to do with him. You have a child to protect and as much as you’d love to punch him you can’t.

Magie is your priority.

A shadowed figure appeared while you were enjoying your victory blocking your view.

Who ?

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

“Can you autograph my book?”

You looked at the gentleman in front of you. He was holding a suspicious looking book , with a hand imprint on it.

You felt a presence near when you talked to hisoka , was that him ?

Grabbing his pen and autographing the pages refusing to touch the cover. You saw his face as his brows knit trying to get you to hold the book , something is wrong with that book after all.

Handing back his pen you smiled at him as he looked at you with a fake smile of his own.

“You were really amazing out there ! I heard you can defeat hisoka’s special magic. Is that true ?”

“You saw me do it, stop pretending you’re a fan. Also , next time you want to act like a normal audience member dress as one”

You pointed at his black on black leather outfit that made you think of your teenage emo phase. His hair was slicked back and a weird tattoo on his face. Did he honestly think you’ll be fooled by his words when he looked like that ?

He chuckled as his grey eyes assisted you with intelligence.

“Many fell for it , but I guess you’re a lot smarter than them. I’m staying here for a fight soon , I hope it’s not the last time we run into each other. I’d hate to lose a chance with a pretty and smart lady like you”

You felt yourself laugh , wow is he hitting on you ? What’s with you and attracting all sorts of weirdos ?

“Kill that clown for me and I’ll gladly marry you if you want let alone seeing each other”

You said laughing. Something in his eyes darkened as he smiled wider.

“It’s a promise.”

[housewarningparty]

44. "I care about you"

“You can’t keep doing this,” Max says, surprised by how steady her voice comes out, even if she can’t say the same for her hands, trembling as they pressed wadded up paper towels into Chloe’s palms.

Chloe’s mouth (that beautiful, stubborn mouth) twists in annoyance, but she tips her head away from Max, petulant, eyes locked on some spot in the distance as if she never heard.

Another night, maybe earlier in their reunion, the display would have worked. Max would have shrunken back on herself, afraid to make the wrong move, to push Chloe too far and make things worse.

Tonight there’s too much blood already spilled, the headache that feels like it could crack her skull open is too sharp, and the memory of the horrible fate the last rewind had barely managed to spare Chloe from still crackling under Max’s skin like a livewire.

“I know you heard me,” Max says lowly, pressing down harder onto Chloe’s scraped palms and regretting it instantly when she catches the wince Chloe can’t quite hide behind her stoic act. She loosens her grip instantly, sliding her thumbs up to press against Chloe’s pulse, tugging Chloe’s hands into her warm lap.

Chloe sways into Max’s body, caught off guard, and Max finally catches her eyes through the curtain of blue hair fallen over her face. 

“Chloe,” Max tries again, frustration roughening her voice, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in her throat. “Promise me.”

“Promise you what?” Chloe sneers and there’s a flash of blood on her swollen bottom lip. Max doesn’t know if she hurt herself in the fall or if she’d bitten through it in the aftermath. Max takes a deep breath, focuses on the way Chloe’s sharp tongue flicks out the swipe the blood away. It’s something to distract her from the venom in Chloe’s glare, the winding tension in her own chest.

“Promise me you’ll stop and think for a second instead of doing whatever stupid, reckless thing pops into your head next time,” Max snaps, feeling herself only getting more annoyed when Chloe’s scowl deepens. “You could have died!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t,” Chloe snarls, like Max is the one being ridiculous, and tries tugs her hands out of Max’s lap, wraps her arms around herself and hunches down into herself. “I’m fine. I don’t get why you’re flipping out like this.”

“You’re not fine,” Max has to fight the urge to reach out and shake Chloe, balling her own hands up into fists over her knees. “You’re hurt.”

Chloe scoffs, twists her body further away from Max. “Please. This is nothing. I’ve had worse.”

The light’s too low but Max squints through it and imagines she can see the faded purple shadow over Chloe’s cheekbone. She feels a flush of shame and anger at the memory of cowering in Chloe’s closet, buffeted by old flannel shirts and a ragged denim jacket as David put his hands on her.

“That doesn’t make this better, Chloe,” Max tries to gentle her tone, but the tension cracks her words in the middle. “I’m worried about you.”

“You must be the only one,” Chloe says darkly. “And you’ll get over it pretty quick, Max. You did before.”

“Stop throwing that back in my face.”

“Stop treating me like I’m some dumb little kid that needs someone to protect her from herself!”

“Well then stop acting like one!”

"This was such a mistake,” Chloe groans, running a hand through her hair and immediately wincing and dropping her arm when her raw palms scrape her head. “Fuck!”

She balls her hands into fists, slamming them into her own thighs as she jolts off the tailgate of the truck to pace the slick ground in front of them.

There’s that impulse again that swells up in Max, a tide of rising apologies and platitudes. The instinct to make herself smaller, more conciliatory, to smooth things over. Chloe hadn’t been wrong: Max had been the one to leave. The second of many who’d gotten close to Chloe and walked away with a piece of her she couldn’t quite get back.

But there’s this streak of blood at Chloe’s hairline, smeared from her palms just moments ago and Max knows if she lets this one go, if she brushes it off, nothing will change. And maybe confronting Chloe won’t work after all, maybe all she’ll do is strain and break the fragile thing that hangs between them now, but if she doesn’t try and Chloe gets hurt or worse again she’ll never be able to forgive herself for being such a coward.

“Chloe, stop,” Max says, sliding off the tailgate and stalking back up to Chloe again. “Please. I can’t keep doing this.”

Chloe’s whole body flinches but she finally stops pacing. “Doing what?”

Saving you, Max almost gives voice to her darkest fears. Afraid she’ll be too late, too overwhelmed, too slow or stupid or exhausted to protect Chloe - that she’ll end up paying for Max’s weakness with her life.

Instead she takes a ragged breath and says, “Watching you get hurt.”

“Then don’t,” Chloe says, voice flat and cold. She stands there in the dark, perfectly still and looking hard and unreachable, even as Max watches the tears gather at the corners of her eyes. “Just go, Max. Just leave me alone. Again.”

“No, Chloe,” Max says, steady even as the tears in Chloe’s eyes finally break free, trailing down her cheeks. She wants to step closer, to pull Chloe into her arms and hold onto her until the panicked look in her eyes melts away, but she’s afraid if she moves now Chloe will bolt. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why not? You did before,” Chloe chokes, finally, swiping angrily at her wet cheeks with the back of her knuckles. “Rachel did. No one ever stays and why would they? Look at me.”

She laughs bitter and throws her arms out, bloody palms open to the glow of the parking lot lights. “That’s the worst part of all the shit David spouts at me. That he’s right. That no one can stand to be around me. Not for long.”

“No, Chloe, he’s wrong,” Max says and inches closer. Chloe shudders, swallows a sob, but doesn’t back away when Max settles a tentative hand on her hip. “He shouldn’t say those things to you.”

It’s Chloe who crumples forward, wrapping her body around Max, leaning into her hard. Max can feel Chloe’s heartbeat racing against her ear, can feel very jerk of her lean body as she struggles to hold in her tears. “You’ll leave.”

“Maybe,” Max says and Chloe stiffens, tries to jerk away, but Max tightens her grip and shushes her. “Wait. Calm down. You have to trust me.”

“You’ll leave,” Chloe whimpers into Max’s hair.

“Not without you,” Max says. “Not again. I promise.”

“You don’t mean it,” Chloe sniffs.

“I do,” Max realizes she’s crying too and decides not to hide it. She pulls back takes Chloe’s head between her hands and tips it backwards until they’re face to face. “Look at me. Chloe, I care about you.”

Chloe’s face breaks open, grief and need and fear and awe pouring off of her in waves.

“I love--”

Chloe’s mouth swallows the rest of Max’s declaration. The kiss is frantic, hard enough at the start to hurt. It tastes like copper from the blood on Chloe’s tongue, like salt from the tears on her lips. Her fingers scrabble roughly in Max’s sweater, one creeping up to tangle in her hair. She holds on like if lets go for even a moment she’ll fly off the ground, up into the sky.

Max has never been kissed like this, with so much intensity it scares her a little. Chloe has never seemed so fragile than she is in this moment, trembling against Max’s frame, panting into Max’s mouth, begging with her whole body for someone to hold onto her.

Max breaks the kiss, keeping Chloe close with a guiding hand on the back of her head and takes a few desperate gulps of cool autumn air.

Chloe’s still frenzied, half-crazed, tries to kiss Max like she’d fall all the way through her if she could. Her panic, jagged and icy and sharp, melts in the warmth of Max’s kiss.

I mean it, she tries to say in the gentle, tentative brush of her tongue past Chloe’s parted lips.

I mean it, she tries to say with the gentle scrape of her nails against Chloe’s scalp.

I mean it, she tries to say, pressing her palm down over the back of Chloe’s hand, splayed over Max’s heart so she can feel its wild beat and know she’s not alone.

Maybe it should be scarier than it is, to finally take this step, to let things between them change this much, this suddenly.

But Max can’t feel fear anywhere in her body, not anymore. Not about this.

Everything else? These powers? The terrifying dreams she’s been having? The headaches and the dark secrets of the bay and mysteries of Blackwell?

But pulling back to brush the hair out of Chloe’s eyes, tracing Chloe’s bottom lip with the pad of her thumb, pulling her into another kiss, even slower and sweeter than the last?

There’s no fear in this at all. She is only coming home.

angst/fluff writing prompts

[justthehiddleswrites]

Forever Hold Your Peace | Tom Hiddleston x Cumberbatch!Reader  | Chapter 3 | The Bachelor Party

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Cumberbatch!Reader

Summary:  Tom Hiddleston dated Benedict's little sister (reader) back at Cambridge, after a bad breakup Tom and Benedict are now friends. The reader is now engaged to an American who Benedict does not trust. Ben turns to his good friend Tom to help break up the wedding and win back the girl he never truly got over.

This Chapter:  Tom keeps running into you as wedding preparations kick into high gear. An incident at the bachelor party resolves Tom to join Benedict of this plan of wedding ruin.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, slapping, cursing.

-

The wedding preparations moved fast over the next two weeks. You had time no to stay mad at Ben. You needed the help.

“Why isn’t what’s his face here to pick out a cake?” Ben grumbled as he took a bite of white cake.

“He needed to take care of some things at work, but he is meeting me at the florist at 3 to pick out the flowers.”

“How convenient.”

“I thought you would be nice.” you snapped as crumbs fell from your mouth.

“This is me being nice. Pardon me for thinking the groom should take part in the details of his own wedding.” Ben rolled his eyes.

You pushed away from the table. “This visa thing has stressed him out. And I would expect my family to be supportive!” You stormed off to get some fresh air. As you pushed the door open, you ran into the gentleman entering the shop.

“So sorry.” you muttered.

“My apologies.”

“Tom?” you asked as you spied familiar blue eyes staring at you.

“It’s nice to see you. You look fantastic.“ He pulled you into a hug. You held him just a second too long.

“You too. Why are you… My brother called you, didn’t he?”

Tom laughed. “He asked me to meet him here to go out for a drink. But it looks like I am a bit early.”

“Nonsense. We were wrapping up.” You fidgeted with your hair, flustered.

You opened the door and the two of you stepped back in. Ben’s face lit up when he noticed Tom walking with you. Now there was a brother-in-law he could live with.

Tom hugged Benedict. “Dirty pool at giving me the wrong time, mate.” Tom whispered.

Ben smiled wide. “Just reminding her of the options.”

“I’m not an option.“ Tom turned to you. “Where is your fiancé? I was hoping to meet him before the bachelor party this weekend.”

You swallowed. “You’re going to that?!”

“At your brother’s request. Now where is the man who swept the most beautiful girl I ever dated off her feet?” Tom winked at Ben. You didn’t notice because you were too busy hiding your embarrassment.

“He had work stuff. Something to do with his visa.” You made excuses. “He’s stressed what with the wedding and all.”

Tom gave a soft smile and kissed your temple. “Of course. I can only imagine. Well, let me take your brother off your hands and let you get back to planning the big day.” Tom saw the worry on your face. “I would suggest a simple vanilla cake, if it were me.”

You nodded and gave both of them quick hugs, but your eyes filled with sadness as they left you alone in the bakery.

Once Tom and Ben walked out of sight, Tom punched Benedict hard in the shoulder. “Next time give me a little warning.”

“And where would be the fun in that?” Ben laughed. “It is so rare I catch you off guard. And if it must come at my sister’s expense…”

Tom scowled. “Speaking of your sister, where is the infamous Billy Bob?”

Ben groaned. “Working, but I have my suspicions he is othwersie occupied.”

Tom furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“He is never around. All the big events of this wedding he has missed. No one works that much. Not even you.”

Tom frowned. “Have you talked to her about it?”

“She doesn’t take me seriously. I’m just the annoying big brother. Now if you…” Ben looked at Tom with hopeful eyes.

“Oh no,” Tom backed away as they reached the pub. “Absolutely not. I will not ruin your sister’s wedding based on your paranoid suspicions.”

“I thought we were friends.”

“We are but I am not willing to die for that friendship. And your sister would kill me.”

“Coward.” They sat down in a booth.

“To want to continue living. Yes I am a coward.”

Tom’s look said to drop the subject, which Benedict obliged and they enjoyed the rest of the meal. They parted making plans to meet for the dreaded bachelor party that weekend.

“Please don’t leave alone during this horrid affair.” Ben pleaded.

“I promise I would come didn’t I?

“True but…”

“Then I will come.” Tom assured him. “And I will get to meet the infamous Billy Bob.”

“Indeed. And you will then understand why this wedding must never happen.” Tom raised an eyebrow and Ben held his hands up. “Apologies.”

“Goodbye Benedict. Good luck on your hairbrained scheme. Try not to make your sister cry.”

“That’s your job, Tom.”

Tom laughed it off as they parted, but Ben’s words stung his heart. He hoped to never make you cry ever again.

-

You answered the door of your brother’s home to find Tom standing in jeans and t-shirt. His blond hair tousled in curls.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” He winked at you.

You bit your lip. “We do. Although…” you glanced over your shoulder. “… I suspect my brother may have something to do with that.”

Tom laughed. “I suspect you’re right.” He shuffled his feet out of nerves. “Listen… I know it’s been years but I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders slumped. “It’s fine. I’m over it.” You stepped outside to leave. Tom grabbed your hand.

“No, it’s not fine. I behaved like a right bastard and no one deserves to be treated less than.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “Thank you, Tom.”

“And look at you now, successful and getting married in two days to the man of your dreams! I wish I could be there to see it.”

You nodded as his words hit your heart. Was William the man of your dreams or just the man you said yes to? You pushed the troubling thought aside.

“I’m sure Ben will share pictures.” You wanted to get out of there. Away from Tom’s charm. You stepped down the stairs.

Tom gave a killer smile to hide his heartache. “I won’t keep you any longer. You must have lots to do.”

You nodded. “It was good to see you, Tom.” You lied.

“You too.” He kissed your cheek. “Good luck tomorrow.”

You hustled away before you cried in front of him. Ben came to the door just as you disappeared from view.

“Still hitting it off with the ladies, I see.” Benedict teased.

“Weren’t you the one who forbade me to date a member of your family?” He raised an eyebrow as they got into the car.

“A position I am reconsidering. Thank you for accompanying me to this thing.”

“Why did you invite me, anyway?”

“You mean I can’t enjoy the company of one of my best friends for an evening?”

“No.”

“You’re right. I need a second opinion on William. And a second pair of eyes—”

“— to spy—”

“—to observe.” Benedict shot daggers at Tom.

“Another word for spying.”

“Are you going to help?”

“I intend on enjoying myself tonight.”

“Then we agree.”

“Not at all.”

This continued until they pulled up to the club. It was the sort of place Tom and Benedict would never frequent of their own accord. Too trendy, too loud, too bright.

It’s the “classic bachelor party” William explained to Benedict who later relayed that to Tom.

“In other words, too much booze and too much boobs.” Tom commented.

“It’s that rather crass. On second thought, that’s probably what he thought.” Benedict quipped. They grabbed drinks at the bar. “Oh shit, here he comes.”

Benedict hooked his chin towards a sweaty and smiling man.

“Holy fuck! It’s Loki!” William screamed over the loud club music.

Tom nearly spit out his drink. He hated him already. “In the flesh.” he choked out as William took his hand into his meaty paw and shook it hard, squeezing.

William punched Ben in the shoulder. “Bro, you never told me you knew Loki!”

Tom giggled behind William’s back at Ben’s discomfort. “You never asked.” Ben scoffed.

William spun to speak to Tom and Benedict pulled faces behind, mouthing “wanker” at Tom.

“Dude, do you know Arnold Schwarzenegger? He is my favorite.”

Benedict rolled his eyes.

“I’m afraid not, William.” Tom gave a tight smile. “But Ben you were at that BAFTA event last week…”

That was all it took to send William talking a mile a minute. Tom smiled at Benedict as he walked away to leave Benedict to fend for himself for a bit.

“Serves him right.” Tom muttered to himself as he went off to find a dark corner.

Ben didn’t resurface until 30 minutes later.

“You’ll pay for that.” Benedict cursed as he sidled up Tom at the bar.

“Fair is fair.” Tom smiled. “How is Billy Bob?”

“On his third cocktail and even more insufferable than usual with his mates by his side.” Benedict’s voice dripped with disdain.

“Shame. Here’s to getting out of here unaccosted.” Tom raised his glass.

A heavy hand hit Benedict’s shoulder.

“Onto our second stop for the night.”

Tom and Benedict furrowed their brows.

“I beg your pardon?” Benedict questioned.

“This was just the appetizer, bro. Onto the entrée. Zander will give you the address.” He walked away but not before shooting his fingers at the two men.

A tall thin man with slicked down black hair, who was Zander, gave them the address to a private residence. Benedict called the car.

“Do you have any idea where we are going?” Tom asked.

“I wasn’t consulted on the party plans. It’s probably a stripper popping out of a cake, judging by this crowd.”

Tom buried his head in his hand. “God, I hope not.”

The private residence was the rental for the groomsman. Everyone else headed to the parlor while Tom and Benedict wandered to the kitchen to see if there was anything edible in this house. They found only beer in the fridge.

“William! We are going to grab some food and be right back.” Tom yelled.

“Whatever, dude.” William yelled, his voice coming from the crowd of his friends.

Curious, they took a step into the parlor. The men hooted and hollered as rock music played from an unseen sound system.

“I’m afraid you were right.” Tom pointed towards the center of the room. All he saw was a buxom woman wearing little more than a thong and pasties.

Both of them moved out of the room after getting an eyeful of flesh. They sighed as they stepped out into the cool London air.

“That was awkward.” Tom commented.

The two laughed at the absurdity of their situation as they walked towards the nearest store.

-

They returned thirty minutes later to a very different scene. The rock music still blasted throughout the house. However, most of the guys were passed out on the furniture or playing video games.

“Where’s William?” Benedict asked a guy name Ashton.

The blond guy just shrugged his shoulders.

“What do you think?” Tom questioned. “Do you want to take the food home?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Tom handed the bags to Benedict. “I am going to the loo first.” He turned to Ashton. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Upstairs, second door on the left.”

“Thanks.”

Tom shuffled off.

“I mean right!” Ashton yelled after Tom.

Tom headed upstairs and opened the second door on the left, which led to a bedroom. A bedroom occupied by the stripper and one gentleman from the party, in a state of undress.

“Terribly sorry to interrupt,” Tom apologized. “I was looking for the restroom?”

“Second door on the right, dude.” a familiar voice answered.

“William?” Tom squinted at the man whose neck was being sucked on by a nearly naked woman.

“Loki?”

Tom’s vision flashed white as his hand balled into a fist and it connected with William’s face.

“The name’s Thomas, Billy Bob.” Tom shook his hand out as William laid sprawled unconscious on the bed. He pointed at the stripper.

“He said he was one of the groomsman!” she screamed.

“Your name?”

“Diamond.”

“Diamond.” Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Party’s over. Get dressed and get out.”

She nodded, too scared to ask questions.

Tom stomped down the stairs and found Ben leaning against a wall.

“I’m in.” Tom grabbed his arm. “I’ll explain in the car. Just tell me when this wedding is.”

Benedict couldn’t help but smile.

[unsteadygalaxy]

all is soft inside chapter 10

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on Ao3; my username is the same there!

previous | next

10. feet won’t fail you now

CW: blood, match violence

Elliott lands hard, the impact sending shockwaves through his feet and legs. His heart immediately starts to pound- three sets of footsteps echo around him and he dives into the nearest building. He scoops up a Prowler, inserts a nearby HCOG scope, and just as he’s finishing up, the door in front of him flies open.

He breathes, steadying his aim, and pulls the trigger five times, sending an entire clip directly into a Legend hopeful’s head. The poor man’s face turns white and he immediately drops to the ground. Mirage lets out a whoosh of breath, and finishes him off. He’s got two heavy ammo boxes and a level one backpack, which he quickly takes. Another set of footsteps quickly approaches, and Mirage reloads the Prowler. 

The other door bangs open, and just as Mirage turns around, Revenant fires an Eva-8 right at him. Two rounds of double-fire pellets rip into Elliott’s chest and neck, and to his horror, he falls to the ground, bleeding and gasping. Shit! No! It can’t end like this! 

“Hey, uh, need help,” he gags into his earpiece, blood pouring from his mouth. Revenant picks up a crate of shotgun ammo and leaves, reloading his Eva-8 as he goes.

“Damn, Witt, lose that winning energy so quick?” Octane teases over the comms, and Elliott can hear more gunfire in the background. 

“Oh, you know,” he chokes, “it’s kind of hard to win when you immediately get downed by a goddamn murderbot!” His hands are slick with red and he’s fading fast, and he wants to throw up.

A giant smoke grenade comes careening through the door, and Elliott’s vision is immediately obscured. He presses his hands to his wounds, trying desperately to keep the pressure on so he doesn’t bleed out. “Williams, coming to my rescue? You shouldn’t have,” he says, and he coughs up a glob of blood that splatters across the floor. 

“Shut up and let me focus, Witt!!” Anita’s voice is commanding and harsh over the earpiece, and it shuts Elliott right up.

Just as his vision starts to go fuzzy, he hears a percussive beat of bullets close by, and Revenant screams, his modulated voice garbled with rage. “Get back here, you coward!” Anita yells. “Damn you!” Elliott loses track of how much time passes, but just before he passes out, something sharp plunges directly into his heart. “Fuck!” he yells, and his body jolts painfully, sending his arms and legs flailing. Adrenaline and heat surge through his veins, painfully clotting and repairing his wounds. A rush wallops his head and Anita drags him to his feet.

“Come on, Witt, get off your ass and give us a hand, would you?” She’s panting hard as she sticks a syringe into her wrist. Elliott grabs the wall for support as a wave of nausea flows through him, threatening to overturn his stomach.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks, Williams,” he chokes out, spitting out the last of the blood. “How many are left?”

“Two, by my count. Revenant got away, and he’s still got a teammate somewhere. Looks like you took care of their third.” She nods over at him, seemingly satisfied with his work. Anita had consistently been the toughest to crack- Elliott had not yet made her laugh to this day- so he would take what he could get.

“Yep, wasn’t a problem,” he says flippantly, shrugging as picks up a nearby shield cell. “Poor guy went down faster than- faster than… uh, poor guy went down fast.” His cheeks burn at his failed attempt at some sort of joke, and Anita’s deadpan expression tells him she’s not amused, either. 

She tosses him a Phoenix Kit, and he fumbles it a little before shoving his arm into it. “Not the time. Joke around later. He’ll be coming back for us any second now.” Her voice is short, and it stings Elliott’s ego a little. 

The Kit depletes with a hissing noise, and Elliott is good to go. He reloads his Prowler with shaking fingers. “Hey, let me get Revenant,” Elliott says, readjusting his backpack against his shoulders. “Gotta pay the son-of-a-bitch back. You go help Octane with… whatever he’s doing.” “Sure you can handle yourself?” Anita sounds skeptical, and her eyebrows are raised as she reloads her weapons. “Me?” He forces an incredulous laugh. “Of course I can! Didn’t you see how well I kicked his ass the other day? This’ll be a walk in the park.” He hops up and down on the balls of his feet, still feeling a little faint from being brought back from the brink. 

“All right.” Anita shrugs and gives her weapon one last check, and she’s out the door before he knows it. She probably just wants to see me get my ass handed to me, he thinks, but it’s not a big deal. He wants to prove her wrong.

Sure enough, the sound of robotic footsteps pounds ominously against the pavement outside. Elliott casts a decoy and stations it next to the door, hoping to buy him a few more seconds. Shnk! An arc star slams into the already fragile door and begins to whine. Elliott throws himself backwards, deeper into the building, and shields his face against the explosion. The door disintegrates into bits, and the sound is deafening in his ears. An orange silencer hits the ground with a sinister whoosh, and Elliott backs up more, leveling his Prowler as his decoy dissipates into the air. 

Revenant charges through the open door and through his silencer, hefting his Eva-8 once more. Elliott fires the Prowler, and the bullets smatter against the simulacrum’s shoulders, barely missing his head. Elliott curses under his breath and dodges out of the way as a volley of pellets exits Revenant’s gun. The bullets connect with his shoulder and arm and Elliott cries out in pain. He casts a decoy and sends it running right at Revenant to give himself more time to reload. Revenant grunts in frustration and nearly pulls the trigger again just as Elliott takes aim. 

A full magazine of ammo assaults Revenant’s head and chest, and he goes down immediately, his shields melting into nothingness. “Damn you, skinsuit!” Revenant screams, trying to crawl away. But it’s no use- Elliott finishes Revenant off, sending another magazine of ammo right into his metal head.

“Murderbot down!” he shouts over the comms, heaving a sigh of relief. “What’s happening out there?” He loots Revenant’s backpack and heals up while he waits for an answer.

“Two squads down!” Octane crows, sounding extremely proud of himself. “You’re really missing all the fun out here, amigo!”

“Hey, I took care of Revenant, didn’t I?” Elliott replies indignantly as he plunges another syringe into his wrist. “You all should be thanking me.” He’s being cocky and he knows it, but it’s so much easier than admitting he fucked up in the heat of the moment.

“Sounds like you’re two for two with him, Witt,” Anita calls, breathing hard from her and Octane’s fight. “Good work. Keep it up.”

Elliott raises an eyebrow, somewhat surprised by Bangalore’s open praise. “Wow, thanks, Anita! I’m touched, really. You do have a heart.” “Don’t make me regret it, kid.”

“All right, all right, fine.” He smiles and zips up his backpack, and then realizes that Bangalore really isn’t that much older than him. “Hey!”

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

kzzzhhhCRACK!

Shit.

A Sentinel bullet just barely misses Elliott’s nose, and he dives back under the scaffolding. His heart is racing and his pulse is pounding; this match has barely given him and his team time to breathe. They’ve just finished a ridiculous fight in which four different squads had piled up on each other, and he’s absolutely covered in blood and gunpowder. The only perk of continually fighting so many people is that he and Octane and Bangalore are fully kitted with every item they could need. Bangalore is taking a Phoenix kit and Octane is still for once, just getting finished with charging his shields. The banners report that there is only one other squad besides them, and Elliott is grateful. He’s had about enough of being third partied.  

Elliott reloads his Prowler with shaking fingers and checks his Triple Take. After making sure the digital sight is correctly slotted, he takes a deep breath and aims up towards Cage. Through the sights, he can see Wattson’s fences crackling around each of the entrances to the upper part of the tower. Caustic’s intimidating form glows red for a moment and then disappears behind the railings. Dammit, Elliott thinks. Wattson’s fences plus Caustic’s gas make for a deadly combination, and an annoying one at that. The only thing that made that duo worse was Bloodhound being on their team, and if that charged Sentinel shot was any indication, Elliott and his team had a miniscule chance of winning if they rushed the tower. 

“Who’s up there, amigo?” Octane asks, clearly ready to go. He’s literally vibrating with anticipation, and he makes Elliott exhausted just by looking at him. 

“Caustic, Natalie, and Bloodhound,” he sighs, and ducks back into cover. “They’re set up in there like it’s a goddamn fort. Gonna be impossible to charge up in there.” He wipes sweat from his forehead and leans back against one of the posts.

“Well, where’s the next Ring at?” Bangalore questions, pulling out her holomap. She pinches her fingers and zooms in on their location, squinting hard. “Damn,” she swears, and dread fills Elliott’s chest. “The top of Cage is just barely inside the next Ring.” She snaps the map shut angrily and stuffs it back into her pockets.

Octane swears under his breath. “Looks like today’s just not our day,” he says, itching at his cap. He stands and peeks up above their hiding spot, just barely poking out of cover. kzzzhhhCRACK! His body flies backwards, his helmet blinking out of existence, and he scrambles back down to them, sheepishly pulling out a shield battery.

Elliott groans, amused and frustrated. The chances of them feasibly winning this match are fading fast. There’s no way they’ll be able to get up there undetected, and the thought of fighting upwards made Elliott exhausted. He’s so tempted to just recklessly run in, but something stops him. 

Bloodhound wouldn’t give up, and neither should you.

He sighs, knowing it’s true. Bloodhound would find any way they could to dominate the situation and reshape it to their will. He’s jealous for the millionth time, and has to remind himself that Bloodhound is human and fallible too, even if he still doesn’t really believe it.

“All right, we’ve got a couple options,” Mirage says, rubbing his chin. “Either we wait them out, or we can charge up there head on before the Ring closes. Personally, I’d vote for smoking them out, but I’m not the one with the missiles.” He inclines his head towards Bangalore.

Anita considers this, then shakes her head. “Neither of them are ideal options. Waiting them out would give us the upper hand, but we could also take them by surprise by charging them now. We’d have to take out all the traps though.” She breaks off, still thinking intensely. “But if we wait for them to charge, we’ll have to deal with Bloodhound’s Ultimate plus Caustic’s gas. The next Ring is small enough that that’ll make the battlefield hard to navigate. Plus, my smoke will be pretty much useless. Bloodhound’s Eye will make sure of that.”

Elliott has to agree with that. He’s been trying to avoid thinking about them all day, but of course they’re on the last enemy squad. The way they had run out of the bar the night before made him extremely concerned, and his stomach churns when he thinks of how stiff and cold they had become. Elliott doesn’t completely know what he did wrong, but he knows he must have brought up something painful for them to leave as abruptly as they had. 

But the memory of holding their hands in his makes his cheeks burn a little. He remembers how their grief had rolled off of them in waves, and how he’d felt so utterly helpless. Still, he’d felt closer to them than ever before, even though they were separated across the bar. Their openness had intimidated him a little bit- they were so naturally talented at making him feel better, and reciprocating definitely wasn’t his forte. But most of all, he had been stunned to the core by what he had told them. He would never be able to look at Epicenter the same way again.

“Witt!” Anita barks, and the way she says it tells Elliott that it’s definitely not the first time she has called to him.

“Sorry, what?”

“Ring’s closing in 30,” she warns. “We’re charging up the tower. How many times do I have to tell you to get your head out of your ass?”

“At least a few times more,” he fires back, rolling his eyes. He’s frustrated, but mostly at himself for getting distracted. “Sorry. I’m good to go.”

Anita does not look convinced, but she just sighs and turns back to her map. “All right. I’ll call in my missiles. Ring should be small enough to cover the whole area. Silva, try to get behind them. Witt, you throw us some clones whenever you’ve got them. I’ll toss in some smoke to keep them blinded. We’ve all got at least one digital scope, so that should give us an edge once we get up top.” 

“Sounds good, amiga,” Octane agrees. “They won’t know what hit them!” He’s fidgeting with his butterfly knife, and Elliott is one hundred percent positive that Ajay is going to have to deal with his sliced fingers sooner or later.

Elliott nods as he flips on the full-auto mode on his Prowler. His limbs are aching and he’s drenched in sweat, but he’s determined to see this through. Anita’s plan is pretty solid, and he’s got few qualms with it. Her expertise on the battlefield is something he’s always been grateful for. Careful planning and meticulous strategy were certainly her strengths, and she regularly put his on-the-fly ideas to shame. 

She checks over her weapons and then pulls out her Ultimate grenade, just as a warning horn blares over the loudspeakers. “Let’s give them a show.”

The Ring moves swiftly, advancing across the plains of green grass with an ominous humming noise. Elliott only has a few seconds, but he peeks back through his sniper sights to see what’s happening in the tower. Bloodhound is still crouched next to the steel fences, and he’s sure they have an easy shot on him. But they don’t fire. They look away from their sights and shrug at him, as if to say, Show me what you are made of. A peculiar heat drops into his stomach.

He looks back through the sights for a split second, but his heart drops into his gut when he realizes they had forgotten something absolutely essential. “Anita, wait! Wattson’s py-”

But it’s too late- Bangalore cocks her arm back and lobs the canister forwards, a shower of red sparks whizzing through the air. Missiles crash into the ground, and Elliott groans out loud. “Shit,” he hisses, punching the ground next to him. As the missiles advance forward, brilliant sparks of blue arc out into the sky over a limited radius, zapping the rockets away like they’re nothing more than flies. 

Bangalore groans, immediately popping to her feet. “Come on, we’ve got to go!” She takes off running towards Cage, just barely ahead of the rockets as they begin to detonate. 

The ground starts to heave beneath his feet, and Elliott stumbles as he starts to run. Bangalore is much more accustomed to sprinting across the roiling earth, and she does so with ease and grace. Octane weaves in and out of the explosions at an inhuman pace, pulling out his jump pad as he goes. “Vamonos!” he cries gleefully, laughing as he soars into the air.

Elliott can barely keep up, and he can feel the heat at his back as he goes. He nearly trips and falls, but recovers at the last possible second. His entire body is killing him, and he can feel sweat running down his spine as he runs. God, this whole thing is starting to feel hopeless again. He can see it now- they’ll run up to Cage and Caustic will drop gas canisters everywhere, leaving them a minefield of fumes. Wattson will fence up all the entrances and neutralize their grenades, and Bloodhound will weave across the battlefield, taking Elliott’s team out without a second thought. He figures that Bangalore and Octane can easily hold their own for at least a while, but there is no plausible victory for him today. 

He’s never felt this hopeless, this reluctant to try and win a match, and it scares him a little. Elliott tries shoving the thoughts away- he doesn’t have time for his self-deprecating tendencies. But the doubt creeps into his veins and stubbornly sinks in its claws, making it really hard to think without immediately assuming the worst. He feels antsy, anxious to just get this over with and go back to his apartment above the bar to sulk for the rest of the day.

Show me what you are made of.

He swears he hears Bloodhound’s voice in his head, and the thought suddenly bolsters his confidence tenfold. Mirage throws a decoy out through the smoke ahead of him, hoping that Bloodhound takes notice of it and not him. Shifting the Prowler in his hands, he winces as the rockets nearest to him detonate, throwing him off balance again. They’re almost to Cage, and he starts to sprint towards the stairs on his left. G7 and Triple Take shots ring out towards him, narrowly missing his running form. He makes it to the steel tunnel and scrambles inside, holding his breath as the last few rockets explode. He hears the horrible screech of shredding metal, and takes bizarre comfort in knowing that the enemy team is that much more exposed up in the tower as the doors explode. A high pitched noise plays over the speakers, and he knows that the final Ring will soon begin to close.

I’ll show you.

“Where’s everyone at?” he hisses through the comms, his pulse roaring in his ears. He’s going to win this game if it kills him, dammit. 

“Ground floor,” Anita answers, and he hears her breathing hard. “Got hit by a couple bullets, but I’m healing up.”

“Second floor,” Octane says, not sounding tired in the slightest. “The rockets busted through a couple fences, so we’ve got an opening, but we gotta go fast.”

“Got it,” Elliott says, his mind whirring. “Williams, got any ideas?”

“Always,” she replies steadily. “Send out some decoys and try to join us down here. The zipline on the south side is still in the Ring, so we’ve got our point of entry. If we try to make it around to the other one, we’ll be toast. Only Silva has any chance of running in and out of the Ring and making it out alive.”

“Hell yeah, chica!” Octane laughs, ridiculously upbeat and much too excited for this. “I’ll be faster que un conejo!” 

Elliott’s minimal Spanish comes in clutch, and he rolls his eyes. “Sure, buddy. Just don’t get yourself killed up there. There’s a hunter waiting for you.” He checks over his weapons, and after considering it for a moment, he takes the digital threat sniper optics off of his Triple Take. He’s not going to need it now- they’ll be fighting in too close of quarters for him to be effective with it. Best shotgun in the Games, he thinks, laughing at his own joke.

“All right, coming for you guys in three, two, one!” Elliott sprints out of the tunnels, sending all of his decoys spiraling in different directions. As expected, bullets begin to pepper the ground around him as he runs towards an entrance. The Ring is blocking off the two low slats at the bottom of Cage, so he makes his way to the west side door. kzzzhhhCRACK! A Sentinel bullet collides with the top of his head, and he screams in pain, launching himself into the double doors. They give way, and he stumbles inside, slinging off his backpack as he goes. 

“S-shit,” he stutters, rooting through his bag for a Phoenix Kit. He locates one and stuffs his arm into it, his whole body shaking. Anita is there in an instant, tossing down a cover of smoke just in case any of the enemy team had decided to drop down to try and finish Elliott off. No such footsteps are heard, and Elliott breathes a sigh of relief.

Time is quickly running out, and the three of them really need to move. “Okay, we’ve gotta get up there fast. This is gonna suck, but I’d rather go down fighting,” he pants as the Kit finishes healing him. 

“Already on it!” Octane is somewhere above them, and Elliott hears the whirring noise of a zipline. He looks to Anita, who runs up the ramp and disappears out of sight. Elliott clambers to his feet and follows, willing his hands to stop shaking. 

“I’m gonna take out the doors!” Octane announces, and Elliott hears a frag grenade skip across the metal above him. There’s a huge boom, and the doors shred into bits, the noise of it wrenching through his ears. Gas hisses and spews just as Elliott clambers to the open third floor, and Octane begins to cough. “Dammit!”

The smaller man drops down to them via the zipline and immediately pops a shield cell. “I busted the traps, but Señor Apestoso just sent down more.” 

“It’s fine,” Anita replies shortly. “Is the pylon still up?”

“Yeah, but it’s out of the Ring, so the circle barely reaches them.” 

“Can you shoot it down?”

“No, it’s in a really weird spot. Kind of hiding up there. You gotta be in the middle of the room to shoot it down, and that’s a no go.”

Anita swears, but Elliott smiles, a fantastic idea popping into his head. “Not a problem. Let’s get back up there and send in some distractions,” he says. He hopes to God that things work in their favor, and he readies his Prowler before jumping to the zipline. 

His jump pack carries him up, and as he lands he dives to the right, dangerously close to the wall of the Ring. Both doors have indeed been demolished, and so has Wattson’s fence. One post still sits next to the opening, barely blocked by two of Caustic’s gas traps. Elliott shoots the traps down, but a third one comes flying down to take its place. He’s too close to it, and it goes off, releasing fumes everywhere. Gas clouds his vision and chokes his lungs, and he tries desperately to back up enough to be out of it, but the Ring is too close. Sticking a syringe into his wrist, he dips out of the Ring for just a moment. The orange energy field bites into his skin, and he groans in pain, every nerve on fire. Damn, Natalie, way to go, he thinks wildly. Even in the middle of a match, he can still admire his friends’ expertise and genius, and Wattson’s engineering of the Ring is no exception.

The gas cloud dissipates and Anita and Octavio zip up, landing beside him. She shoots in a canister of smoke, and Elliott acts immediately. A decoy sprints through the busted doors, stopping just short of the edge of the Ring. Octane dashes into the room after sticking a stim into his veins, a green blur of activity that Elliott can’t quite follow. He skirts the edge of the Ring and throws a frag up onto the top floor, but it’s zapped away by Wattson’s pylon. A tattoo of bullets beats down onto the metal, and Elliott cringes, willing Octane to get out of there as his decoy disappears in a shower of blue sparks.

“Octavio, come on!” he yells. But Octane is fast, of course- he weaves through the barrage of fire with ease and comes skidding to a stop just outside the doors.

“Told you, amigo!”

“Not the time!” Elliott says, his heart pounding. Anita shoots in another canister and Elliott puts his plan into motion.

Another decoy runs lazily across the floor with a snap of Elliott’s fingers, and pretends to check the pouches in its belt. The three enemies upstairs do not shoot, having caught on to Mirage’s tricks. Anita sneaks in behind it, examines the radius of Wattson’s pylon, and makes a calculated throw with an arc star. To Elliott’s delight, it slips up above them and connects with Caustic’s foot before spectacularly exploding in a wave of dizzying energy. Elliott feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he takes advantage of the distraction.

He aims his Prowler up and fires, and the pylon crumples to the ground in a series of deafening crackling noises. His decoy hadn’t been a decoy at all, and the adrenaline of his plan actually working floods into his chest like a rush of water. His celebration is short-lived though- the sting of bullets begins to slam across his shoulders, and he releases all of his decoys. The cloaking does its job, and he takes a brief moment to hurl a thermite grenade up above him before sprinting out the doors. Wattson’s fences putter out, roasted by the flames, and Elliott breathes a sigh of relief. 

He cheers out loud as he heals up, his body shaking in delight and shock. It had actually worked! But the job was not over yet- even though he can hear the other team groaning in pain up above him, he knows they still have to finish them off. 

“Let’s go!” Anita calls, and she ascends the zipline, closely followed by Octane. Elliott rounds the corner, reloading his Prowler. Just as he makes it to the zipline,  Caustic throws down another trap, which Elliott narrowly avoids before shooting down. 

The steady chak-chak-chak of a hopped up P2020 rings through the air, and a collection of bullets from Octane’s gun collides with Caustic’s face and chest. Octavio moves to reload, but Nox catches him with a deadly Mastiff shot straight to the head, shattering the smaller man’s shields. Elliott ascends the zipline and unleashes a full clip of ammo into Caustic’s arms and neck, finishing him off quickly, but Octane takes a bullet from Wattson across the way, and he falls to the floor, unconscious. 

Anita fires a full clip of ammo into Wattson’s chest, and the engineer falls to the ground, wincing and gasping. She finishes her off, but the older woman breathes hard, clearly having taken a considerable amount of bullets from somewhere as Elliott was helping Octavio. Sure enough, the percussive barrage of an R-99 shatters the brief silence, and Anita falls to the ground, swearing. 

Bloodhound emerges from the opposite corner of the room, and Elliott does not hesitate. The warning horn of the closing Ring roars out, and Elliott leaps down from the upper level, knowing there’s absolutely zero chance of reviving Anita. A few quick bullets follow him, but Bloodhound is smart enough to not completely track his erratic movement. Elliott sprints across the floor and out the doors, throwing himself off the tower and onto the grass below.

He hits the ground running, ankles and knees screaming in protest, and he thanks his lucky stars that Bloodhound can’t keep the high ground. He hears them roar in that deep, otherworldly fashion, and his stomach drops straight into his toes. The Triple Take slides into his hands as he turns, and he watches in awe as Bloodhound leaps off the tower far more gracefully than he had, surrounded by crackling red energy. He backs up, takes aim, and fires twice, but the spread of bullets is too wide and each bullet whizzes past their glowing form. He has to remind himself not to stare- it’s not the time to dwell on how powerful and majestic they look, nor is it time to listen to how heavy they’re breathing and worry if they’re okay. Elliott fires again, and the shot connects, but a torrent of bullets smashes into his chest. He swears, fumbling the Prowler back into his hands. In a panic, he sends a decoy running straight at them to give him more time, but Bloodhound shoots it down. They bob and weave, taking a second to reload. 

Elliott takes his chance. He breathes deeply, centering himself, and aims the Prowler right at their head. Time seems to slow, just like it had with Revenant, and he applies the slightest bit of pressure to his trigger finger. The bullets fly out of the gun, and he doesn’t feel the recoil at all. Every bullet finds its mark on Bloodhound’s head, obliterating their golden helmet and sinking into their mask.

Bloodhound drops to the ground and convulses for a moment before going horribly, eerily still.

Shock washes through his stomach, and he drops the Prowler. A buzzing fills Elliott’s ears. He… he actually did it? He… beat Bloodhound?

He approaches Bloodhound’s unconscious form slowly, feeling like he’s in a dream, and stares at them. They look so peaceful, even though blood is leaking from their helmet down into the grass. He picks up their R-99, weighing it in his hands. A flash of memory and feeling comes to him from a few days before- Bloodhound picking up his gun and placing it over his sternum…

Mirage settles the R-99 across their chest gently. As he falls to his knees, a flash of pain crosses his chest. He knows he should feel triumphant- ecstatic, even- but the only thing he feels is sorrow. 

Elliott picks up their arm, crosses it across their stomach, and murmurs, “forgive me” as victory music roars over the loudspeakers.

[dat-town]

Busan drift

Characters: racer!Felix & racer!You

Setting : street racing au (all I know is coming from the Fast & Furious franchise so excuse my shitty knowledge about cars and races)

Summary: A new face around the races in your beloved seaside town always means trouble, especially if he’s as cocky and arrogant as that mysterious silver-haired guy seems.

Warning: nothing really apart from good ol’ competitiveness

Words: 4.7k

For the one and only @lily-blue​! Love ya, dear! ♥

There's a smug smile playing on your lips the moment you cross the finish line, tires screeching against the asphalt as you step on the break and take a perfect U-turn to park your car in the middle of the impressed crowd. Adrenalin still rushes through your veins just as the car's engine still rumbles under you and fingers warm against the wheel, you let the satisfying feeling of winning hype you up before opening your door.

"That's my girl!" Chan welcomes you with a proud smile stretching over his lips, big palm patting you on the blade bones in congratulations before anyone else could. You grin at the brunette and reciprocate Changbin's half hug within the circle of your friends and admirers.

"Today's on me," you holler in the air followed by loud cheers and you know you gotta claim your prize for today's race before the sore losers would ruin your fun with their bitterness. A race is a race, there are no rules, so they cannot even call you out on cheating because technically there's nothing you could have done wrong. And well, everybody would laugh at them if they had to turn to such techniques against a girl.

It took you some time and definitely some nerve and thick skin to earn yourself a reputation and a title but by now, the Busan streets are like your playground and everybody who matters in this scene knows your name. You're the first girl who has ever won the local annual street race after all. Of course, you couldn't have done it alone. If it wasn't for your friends then you would have been nowhere near your current place. A lot of things had lead you to where you are now starting from your long friendship with Jisung who was your classmate in middle school. He introduced you to his friends, Changbin and Chan with whom you hit it off quite quickly. The eldest boy already had an interest in cars then and he was the one who taught you the most about how to pick a vehicle apart and then put it together thanks to his accurate technical knowledge. Changbin has been out on the streets for quite a while too, while Jisung mainly deals with the competitions: he gets the info about them, gathers maps about the routes and handles the prize money to make the most out of the cars.

But a bit of celebration never hurts, so you're off to go to your usual favourite place with the nice amount of cash in your hands when somebody steps in front of your and you have to halt your action. Annoyed, you look up at the tall guy in front of you and first, you think he must be one of those racers whom you left behind during the latest race. However, you are quite surprised when you see an unfamiliar face.

Busan might be a big city but the street racing scene isn't so big that you wouldn't know your competitors. It actually makes your job even easier because every driver has their signature type of driving and knowing them enables you to use this knowledge against them without them knowing.

"Impressive race," the stranger comments with a twitch in the corner of his mouth and you're once again taken aback but this time, it's because of the depth of his voice. He spoke up quietly but the deep rumbling resonated through the area.

"Thanks," you hum, not knowing why he has to stand in your way but at least, the guy doesn't waste your time and goes straight to the point:

"I can beat you, though," he claims confidently and he had some guts, you have to give him that but you laugh at his claim nevertheless. Not because you are that full of yourself that you think nobody can be better than you but taken the current circumstances it seems highly unlikely since you know the route well and newbie amateurs aren't competitors to you anyway.

"Ooooh do we have a Seoul boy here?" you raise a brow checking him out from head to toe not too impressed. He has slick, perfectly styled silver hair, showing off his undercut and dangling silver ear piercings. His facial features are defined by his high cheekbones, well-defined eyebrows and jaw as sharp as a knife. His dark eyes are like the night filled with fierce passion instead of stars.

Everybody can tell easily that he didn't belong here. It isn't just the expensive watch on his wrist or his weird dialect but the way he carries himself. There's some arrogance in it, as if he had some kind of privilege over countryside folks like you. But pity for him, whoever treats him as if he was a little prince, nobody here cares. He could have been the son of the president and nobody would have given a shit about his family background. On the Streets, nothing else matters just raw talent and what you have built for yourself. He couldn't just walk in him acting like he owned the place. That's very far from the truth and you take it upon yourself, enlightening him.

"You don't know how things work around here, do you? You can't just challenge someone like that," you tell him firmly and the crowd around you provides the sounds effects, gasping as if the guy just got burnt. He, however, doesn't seem too bothered. He merely raises an eyebrow back at you.

"Why? Are you afraid?" he mocks you, deep voice reminding you of deep waters. You wonder briefly whether it is possible to drown in a voice.

"Of course not," you snort since that's a ridiculous guess. Why would you have been afraid? Statistically he has like 1 to 100 chance to win against you. Busan is a maze made of beach strolls, mountain roads and tricky underpasses. Unlike him, you know these all too well, not used to the straight and wide roads of the capital city. "But I don't have to explain myself to someone who don't know or respect our rules. Educate yourself first." 

You don't do it on purpose but the crowd around you seems to enjoy your remarks. However, the guy doesn't seem to take it to heart. 

"Oh I know you have this open popup competition thing going on," he shrugs nonchalantly speaking so ignorantly talking about how your races are held that it rubs you off the wrong way. Doesn't he get that randomly getting notified of where and when the races are held meant that you have to be ready all the time? 

" I was just wondering whether you were up for an off-competition race. Think of it like a challenge. I will be here same time tomorrow," he said and flashed you a smirk before turning on his heels and leaving the scenes while being watched by numerous baffled eyes including yours.

"So… drinks?" Jisung broke the silence with his hopeful question and everybody seemed to share the sentiment.

Originally, you didn’t want to care about arrogant guys’ any random challenge because you knew that if you agreed to one, then more would come after him and each of them would call you a coward if you turned any down. However, as Changbin reminded you that stranger boy with his ridiculous undercut called you out in front of a crowd, letting everyone know about the time and place, so you could be pretty sure there would be quite an audience there later that day with or even without you. You hated to give in like that, but you pretty much have no choice but to go there and teach that brat a lesson. That things weren’t played like this on your streets.

"Yah yah yah, guys! You won't believe this!" Jisung runs to the garage where you're currently trying to start the engine when Chan, the one working on the gears, tells you, too. Jisung looks dishevelled and a bit panicked, so it should be something important. Keyword is should because he tends to act so dramatic even because of stuff like a slightly burnt toast. 

"What?" you turn towards him, having the urge to ruffle his already messy hair. Since you have a pretty casual brother-sister-like relationship with each guy on your team, it wouldn’t be something weird or out of line. However, you stay in place and turn the keys as Chan taps on the car hood, getting the engine finally fumbling under his handyman hands.

"The guy, you know, from yesterday… I found out who he is!" Jisung tells you all too proudly but he seems to jittery over such information. You guessed he must be a nobody from Seoul thinking car races on the streets of Busan are similar to the ones he had back at home, you even played with the idea, he only knew stuff like a wheel and gears from arcade games. However, when you shoot an uninterested look at Jisung, he whips out his phone and shoves a website into your face with the guy's unimpressed face on it.

He looks somewhat younger in the picture and his hair is wavy blonde instead of the short-cut silver like now but it really is him. That arrogant look in his eyes rubs you off the wrong way just by looking at his image with the description calling him Felix Lee.

"He's a legit car racer! The youngest one in the Australian national team!" Jisung basically shouts and your attention drifts to the headline of the article claiming that the boy abruptly moved to Korea.

Maybe you should be intimidated but you just snort. He acted so almighty just because he used to play with those super expensive toy cars within the set route of an arena? Hah, he would fail badly on the roads, especially if he isn't used to being done dirty by other racers. It wasn't some Formula 1 here, you have no such rules. 

"And? I can still beat his ass," you claimed confidently, knowing your skills. Winning against a newbie in street racing would be easy as a pie. 

"Still, keep it in mind that he isn't as clueless as we thought. He knows cars and is probably good under pressure," Chan a.k.a the voice of reason reminded you. You know that it's important to not underestimate your enemy but you're too annoyed by this prick and his arrogant attitude. 

"Sure, but we know that area better than anyone. I have raced there multiple times, I know the shortcuts and the dangerous turns. There's no way he could do better on first try," you claim fairly sure of yourself and you glance at the time, seeing you have a few more hours until you have to be there, at the bay, behind that warehouse with Hyundai written on its side.

"Don't be like that, guys, no need to get stressed, she will show him how it's done in Busan. He'll get the authentic taste of losing," Changbin speaks up waking from his nap and you grin at him, giving him a high five in gratitude for his support. You know that the others worry for your sake too but you don't need that, there's nothing to be anxious about.

Or so you thought. 

You start to get second thoughts when arriving to the venue you see Lee I Think I'm The Best Felix's car. A beautiful white Toyota Supra 2020. The paint on the sides seems brand new, the red strikes powerful and the smoke effect makes it aesthetic. But too bad, pretty cars are worth nothing if the engine is cheap and weak. But the thing is, you know this car. Or at least the type and you have been meaning to get your hands on one for literal years! It's just super rare and hella expensive. All your savings from competitions wouldn't be enough to get one. And now you're not only annoyed by the guy's behaviour but also envious of him. Huh, such a showoff though. Or rather a coward, you would like to think. Coming to race against you with a car that's being said to have one of the best acceleration speed. Compared to that, your baby is a veteran Nissan, having been used years and fixed up by Chan numerous times. But it's still running on high speed and you're familiar with every little thing, how to drift or how to use your nitro smartly, because of course, you have upgraded it over the years, even hand painted the 4RACHA sign onto its side.

"So… you came," the guy pushes himself away from his car, arms crossed against his chest and you don't like his content, bright smile. He seems genuinely glad to see you and seeing how much the crowd fawns over his fancy car, you're sure he came here to show off. 

"Can't have you think you can just walk into Busan so mighty," you roll your eyes, adding internally: can't have him think you were a coward. 

"Well, you can show me my place then," he chuckles all too amused and you press your lips together disapproving. You don't like how relaxed he is. As if he's already won regardless the result of the race.

"Hey guys, I'm gonna let you know about today's race to keep it fair and unbiased," atall, blonde haired guy from the Streets community walked up to you. Hyunjin is one of the organizers of the weekly and annual events too. They decide the routes, the prizes, the time and they invite everyone involved. They are pretty much the center of the Busan street race competition.

"I will be the one drawing the flag, you will receive the GPS coordinate you have to reach, there's no advised route. We will monitor where you are and see if you reach the point. The first one who makes it back will be the winner. Is it clear?" he asks looking from the new guy to you and when your eyes meet, you see his mouth turn slightly upward.

His smile has gotten you into trouble before and stupidly you still feel that nostalgic fondness towards your ex-boyfriend. It's been a while since you broke up due to the rumours that him giving out info helped you win so many races but you still care about him to a certain extent. You would have liked to stay friends but in this competitive world it's better not to keep too close attachments between organizers and racer. Too many people badmouth those.

"Sure thing," the newbie grins and you just nod. You have already known this after all.

"Alright, then get ready," Hyunjin tells you, a wavy blonde lock falling ahead into his eyes from his manbun. 

You shot one last look at the silver-haired guy and his shining dark orbs before turning on your heels you sit back into your car after receiving encouragement from your friends and some regular viewers.

Sitting behind the wheels you already see the red dot lighting up on your integrated GPS map and already know you will go along the shore to go there instead of across the town. Less distractions and obstacles.

Once Hyunjin and some others you know through the races send the crowd a bit farther, giving the two lined up cars enough space around the starting line. Your ex takes the black flag and white you use for such purposes and stands in front of you, between the black Nissan and the white Toyota. You start your engine, running it, warming it up while he waves the flag above his head. You hear the counting down, the echoes in the back of your mind and when Hyunjin suddenly brings the sign down, you step on the gas, car shooting ahead next to the guy's.

He speeds up quickly too, even getting a meter or two ahead of your car and when you reach a one small alley between two containers, you have no other choice but to step on the break to get behind him and not run into that metal monstrum. But you grin nevertheless because this way, you can watch him take a right turn going into the suburbs not knowing about the tricky little streets and the business of that area around these hours. On the other hand, you take the empty road alongside the beach, going at a high speed already.

It makes you slightly anxious that you don’t see him and don’t know how he’s keeping up but then Changbin basically screams into your earpiece you usually wear during races in case you can get insights from the guys.

“You gotta speed up, honey, because that kid is crazy. He’s going at a breakneck speed even in traffic,” he tells you sounding astonished himself while monitoring the GPS signals of the two cars.

“What the hell,” you murmur under your nose and step on the gas even more, paying extra attention at that 90° turn at the end of the road before you’d end up in the sea. You cannot lose to that arrogant bastard, you tell yourself and pass by a few cars as you got into the port area driving towards the assigned point.

Your Nissan Silvia slides out to the main road just before the white Toyota and your grit your teeth that he’s so freaking close to you. The two of you race towards the crossroad that seems to be the point that the organizers appointed as your first goal. However, going ahead is too big of a detour, so you know that you have the best chance to take a U-turn which is kind of crazy at the speed you’re going. But good for you, your car was basically made for drifting and you’re pretty good at taking well-aimed sharp turns.

So just before reaching the crossroad you keep accelerating, only to take your footing off the gas and you pull the handbrake in when you hear the GPS exclaim that ‘You’ve reached your destination’. The sudden stop makes the back wheels lose grip and you feel the force weight shift, the seatbelt keeping your body still despite the car’s yanking and when you see the road you’ve just taken now you let go off the brakes, stepping onto the gas hard. Leaving nothing but screeching sound and your traces on the concrete behind, you speed up again.

Your heart still beats overdrive when you take a quick look in the rear mirror checking on the guy and you’re quite annoyed to see him not too much behind. He’s keeping up well, you have to admit and you hate that. You’re used to being able to predict the result at this point of a race.

“You’re doing great, just keep that distance between you,” Changbin tries to soothe your nerves, knowing you all too well and you bite your tongue to not make a repost at such a useful advice.

Instead, you take the turn back to the beach but this time, the Australian guy follows you and no matter how hard you try, you can’t get rid of him. The closer you get to the finishing line, the more nervous you get wondering what he’s planning, whether he wants to pull a dirty trick on you but in the end, it’s your car that crosses the line first, his a few meters behind and the most annoying thing is that you aren’t sure he wouldn’t have been able to pass you by if he really tried.

So why? Why did he challenge you only to lose? You just can’t wrap your mind around it.

Maybe that’s why when you walk around with two beers in your hands and you approach him when you spot him in the midst of talking and dancing people at this impromptu party someone’s high quality loudspeakers and the music coming from them causes with the amount of alcohol present.

“Here,” you hold a beer out for him to take. You try to sound nonchalant but you aren’t so sure that you managed to do that based on the look he gives you.

Felix or how the hell he likes to be cold, looks up at you with pure surprise written over his features. He has shred off his black leather jacket since the last time you have seen him get out of his car and in the plain white shirt beneath he looks somewhat softer than before. Or it might be because of his expression as well because there’s nothing arrogant about him as he takes the can from your hand.

“Thanks,” he murmurs in his deep voice although he stares at you so doubtful as if he was expecting for a long scolding or at least a prank pulled on him. You want to laugh at that thought because you really aren’t that scary or intimidating .But okay, maybe you have those deadly glares like Jisung likes to state. (But maybe if he learned not to put your stuff away then you wouldn’t look at him like that.)

You don’t even ask, you just plop down next to the guy, sitting in front of the Toyota and watching the starry night above the Busan beach. He doesn’t ask why you do so when a few hours before you were so keen on proving him wrong and then celebrating with your friends that you indeed did. He doesn’t question you but you can feel his eyes on you even when he speaks up.

“That drift was pretty sick. You almost lost me there for a minute or so.”

He doesn’t say it like ‘wow you are a girl but you can drive’ which would have been kind of offensive but he seems truly impressed by your skills and that feels nice. You being a girl does not limit you in anything and it’s nice to hear others admit it as well. Bad for him, you’re not that good of letting go of your grunge even if it’s that baseless like the one you had against him for being rich show off kid with no talent. Although you would only take back the last part.

“Thanks. You weren’t that bad either, I guess,” you mumble out though and that’s already something from you! Changbin could tell him about it. You’re too competitive to admit something like that so carelessly.

“You guess,” he laughs at that, genuine and carefree. He has a nice laugh. It goes surprisingly high-pitch compared to his deep voice.

He doesn’t seem too stiff or distant, so you decide to break the ice and not beat around the bush. You have always been straightforward in your own way. And maybe that can of beer you have already drowned after the race helps your tongue to get loose too. 

“I heard you were a professional car racer. Why did you stop?” you ask, turning your head towards him, eyeing the pretty freckles over his cheeks and the way those silver strands sometimes get into his forehead. The thought of him messy haired and unstyled makes him younger in your eyes, more like his age. As someone who had been competing on the big screen from the age of sixteen. Like Chan said, that must have been quite the pressure and you wonder whether he ever felt so threatened like you did when he challenged you the day before.

“Oh so you did your research…” The boy turns around you, raising an eyebrow with a smug smile tugging on his lips and you want to smack him because of the teasing in his voice.

“I did not! Don’t get ahead of yourself!” You snort instead, rolling your eyes at him. You really did not, but if he doesn’t believe the truth like this, you won’t waste more time trying to convince him otherwise. Then, your comment is followed by silence and for a minute you think that he wouldn’t answer which you would understand. You’re a stranger after all. But in the end he shrugs, but his voice is sad.

“It’s just the typical sad reason. I don’t need your pity,” he says turning his gaze onto the floow, fingers intertwined in front of him and there’s a certain tenseness in his bones and moves.

“Oh I’m the last person who would pity someone who walked into my playground as if he was about to take it over,” you bite there, a bit playfully though and the racer laughs at that again, ruffling his silver locks casually in the meantime.

“My grandmother fell ill and someone has to be there for her, so I came back to Korea. I love being here though and grandma is the sweetest, I just miss racing,” he tells you in the end, words slurring together from the speed he’s talking but you guess he just wanted to get over with it quickly, like tearing off a plaster.

You can tell that he���s being sincere about his words, both about his love and caree towards his ill grandmother and his craving to race again. You can understand that, missing the feeling of the engine starting up under you, radiating through your body, missing the adrenaline and excitement of drifts and jumps, feeling like you're flying. That’s the only thing you’re really good at and you’re so invested that you don’t know what you would do if suddenly it wasn’t in your life. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. Maybe he’s just the same and he called you out only to feel that rush again. That’s why winning didn’t matter to him.

“You can always come and compete here,” so you tell him, letting him know that he’s welcomed to come back, to join the Streets and before he would think you have become sentimental, you gently tap the hood of the Toyota behind you. “It would be a pity to waste the potential of this beautiful car of yours.”

A soft smile appears on the boy’s face that only widens once he comes up with something equally teasing. 

“You can drive it if you want,” he offers as if he didn’t care about the millions he spent on this car. He really must have grown up in a rich household.

“So generous,” you snort playfully. Although, if he’s being serious then holy shit, really? It would be a dream to drive such a car. 

But the racer just chuckles, not getting offended by your remark. Then, out of blue, he adds: “I’m Felix by the way.”

“I know,” you hum, uninterested. At least you pretended to be seemingly. Once word got around that he came back to Korea, apparently everybody has been talking about him. 

“I never caught your name though,” You raise a brow at that. “Everybody calls you on all sorts of nicknames.”

You let out a chuckle at that, it's true though, you're the girl of the Streets. Obviously not the only one but the best racer of them for sure, so the guys here treat you like their sister. 

“Well, you can always ask. I’m pretty sure my friends would be happy to tell you,” you sigh, knowing your friends all too well. Sure, they wouldn't give out your contacts to every random stranger but Felix seems harmless. You're pretty sure Jisung would accidentally spill your name anyway. 

“Nah. Too easy. I’m considering to ask for another race to earn it,” the silver-haired guy remarks with an elegant raise of his brow and it makes you laugh. He's surprisingly fun to be around if he's willing to go to extremes such as racing to get your name.

“Well, good luck with that,” you snort but without malice this time and clink your can of beer with his for a toast. You barely know him but giving him a chance, you have a good feeling about him with all his giggles. It might be a good start of something new. 

[dashielldeveron]

Viper IX: Compos Mentis

Summary: You have one brain cell left, and by God, she’s going to have a good time tonight.

Warnings: swears, the law. Injury. Claustrophobia?

“Are you actually wearing that out?”

Clenching your jaw, you glanced at him in the mirror. Tom leaned against the doorframe while he pulled the knot in his tie, smoothing it down. “I am not speaking to you,” you said, fiddling to clasp your necklace.

With a flash of his eyebrows, Tom darted his eyes to the side. “You can’t wear red out in public. Especially if it’s a formal event. Just saying.”

“I don’t give a shit about your personal tastes.”

He bit back a comment, trudging closer to you. “When you’re with the mob, wearing red means you’re a ho. It’s mostly why everyone hates the girlfriend at the beginning of The Godfather. Do you want everyone to think you’re not a woman of honour? Put on something green, or something.”

You got the little lever underneath your fingernail, but it slipped out before you could connect it. “Should I slip on a maid outfit for you, master?”

Tom gripped the back of your chair, ducking his head in a grimace. “You can’t act like this when we get to the gala.”

“I don’t plan to,” you said, pulling the chain as far out in front of you as possible to get a look at what you’re dealing with, “but I won’t play the part perfectly. I’m not scared of you anymore.”

“You should be,” he said under his breath, and his hand came around your shoulders to slap away your own hands away from the necklace. “You’ve been a smart-mouthed snake to me. You’re on thin fucking ice.” He fastened it for you before sliding the clasp to the back of your neck.

***

After Harrison handed over your invitations to the suspiciously over-enthusiastic front-of-house staff, the three of you were ushered to what was functioning as a coat room before being loosed in the Natural History Museum.

You’d spent days upon days in the place for work, so you fidgeted while Tom and Haz greeted the positively sexy dinosaur skeletons in the foyer. Yes, yes, good, good. One of the best fossil collections in the world. But let’s go to the weird stuff, okay?

Not okay.

Though you took Tom’s arm as fucking instructed, he still had the gall to spit “Shut up, or I’ll kick your ass” at you when the first group of suits approached.

They didn’t like your snarky joke about carbon dating.

“I thought I told you to shut up,” Tom hissed in your ear, and you, simpering, playfully swatted him away, your eyes completely dead.

They worked their way through a couple of groups of people and exhibits—a good portion of these wealthy attendees had recently been freed from small gang rule; the Fratelli family had absorbed them about a month ago, and if Tom could persuade those near boundary lines, they might come over to your side.

You didn’t mind too much, because you knew more about everyone, generally, particularly if they were female-led (that kind of pissed you off, though, because hasn’t he unlearned his biases yet?). You had to remind him who some people were as they drew near, but you did it on impulse to obey (that kind of pissed you off, too).

What made you fume, though, was that Tom straight up didn’t introduce you to anyone. Harrison and himself, yes, along with establishing connections with other people already spoken to, but you? Not even the cover story that you were his lawyer for Osseous. Just…living up to their expectations, you supposed, that women were accessories.

When Tom had withdrawn his arm so that he could write something down for some lousy, old dudes who wouldn’t fucking leave, you took the opportunity to dig out your phone (your dress had pockets! The women you’d met had shared in your joy, showing off their own pockets if they had any).

You shot off a text to Adrien, letting him know you were there (he wanted you to see the lights at the front of the gem hall before they opened it up; he’d redone them while you were under house arrest)—and, you supposed, you could reply to the twenty-one texts Glory Pham had sent you, badgering you for your presence.

“Who are you texting?” Tom looked over your shoulder. “I thought I just saw a heart emoji.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, lowering your phone, “It’s noth—what is the fuck?”

Glory Pham primly snatched your phone out of your hands, pinching it between her thumb and index finger. “I’m confiscating this.”

“Oh,” you said, your shoulders heaving, “You startled me, Ms. Pham.”

Glory slipped your phone into a hidden, deep pocket in her Ao Dai. “Constant vigilance. You, too, Mr. Holland. And associate,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Harrison.

“Ms. Pham,” you said as they fumbled for their phones in their suit jackets, “I am a grown-ass woman. I can function at this fundraiser with my phone on my person.”

“As an ass-woman, you can’t if you want to catch every. Minute. Detail.” Glory glared up at you. “I want your undivided attention. If something goes wrong, I want you to notice. Pack away your little outside life and live in this moment. If you do well enough to ensure tonight goes smoothly, I may even associate with you in the future.”

You sighed as she ferreted away the other phones. It’d be nice if you could command Tom and Haz like that, but what do you, the consigliere, have that compares with a museum curator? “How will I find you if there’s something I can’t fix?”

“You’ll be able to. We open the gem hall in an hour. I want you there in fifty minutes.”

Your eyes glazed over as she strode away, and you swayed slightly. Oh, don’t have an episode now. That wouldn’t be ideal.

“Good evening, Mr. Holland,” came a voice from behind you, and Tom turned, guiding you with his hand on the small of your back. You let your vision blur for a moment before focusing on some guy you didn’t recognise. “I represent the D’Aleos. I have someone in the Hall of Amphibians and Reptiles wanting to discuss something with you.”

Tom quirked an eyebrow, a shine to his eyes that hadn’t been there for anyone he’d spoken to so far. “What about?”

“He wants to hire someone as a neutral mediator for a boundary squabble. One of your men—well, actually, the Viper.”

“Oh?” Tom’s hand slid from the small of your back to press into your waist. “I’m sure she’ll be interested to hear that. I’ll have to call her after the negotiation, if we can all be cordial. Lead the way.”

What in the do-huh? Bitch?

He led the three of you through the Egyptology section while you held Tom at the back to hiss at him.

“The fuck are you on? I’ll have to call her afterwards?” You clutched at his arm, curling your fingers in to make it hurt. “Who am I, then? Are you gonna introduce me as your whore?”

Tom bent his head towards you with an easy smile that wasn’t directed at you. “If you keep being so cheeky, they’ll think that, anyway.” He gave a little wave to a passer-by and lowered his voice. “You’re the one who wanted to wear red.”

This is dumb. I just want to hear John Mulaney.

The D’Aleo guy led you into the Hall of Amphibians and Reptiles and gestured towards a tank with a heavily labelled, taxidermy komodo dragon, and when you rounded it, Tom broke into a genuine grin.

“Jacob,” he said, shaking his hand, followed by Harrison. “Where have you been? How’d you get hooked with the D’Aleos?”

“Good to see you, too. They hired me to plan an operation, and I wasn’t doing anything besides coding for my regular client—normal work stuff. So, I agreed. What have you been up to?”

“Eh, this and that. Mostly the bomb threat,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets. “Sneaky little buggers, those. What’s this with the Viper?”

“Oh,” said Jacob, his eyes bulging momentarily, “So, I’ve planned their fucking thing, but there’s this old money family right on the boundary of where we’re crossing, and they’ve pulled some shit lately that won’t stand.” He ran his fingers through his heavily slicked back hair. “Me, I’m just the guy in the chair. I don’t deal with people. Your Viper, though—I know she can wrap them around her finger.” He jerked his head to the side. “The don wanted her, too. Once the idea got planted in his head, it wouldn’t leave. He doesn’t want to upset the old money. They have a bit of a legacy in the police force, and, well, you know what’s going on with them.”

“Coward,” said Harrison, lifting and doling out flutes of champagne from a passing server (you almost dropped yours due to the condensation, and Harrison had to grip your hands and the flute to keep it from falling—the conversation lulled while this happened, Tom quietly watching). “The don must really need the operation to go well.”

“Oh, man, he really fucking does,” said Jacob before tossing back some champagne. “He’s been through a lot of personal shit lately, with his wife and son, and shit, and he’s been—you know, work stuff.” He gave a dismissive wave. “And now he’s in super hot water because he got exposed this morning for rigging the last mayoral election. He’s a mess.”

Harrison frowned. “What, he got exposed?”

“He was practically etherised upon a table for something he didn’t deserve. Well,” said Jacob, “That’s his opinion.”

“What happened?”

Jacob shot a look at Tom and over to Haz (who were you?). “You mean you—you’re involved in it, too. I was relieved you even showed up tonight. I thought you’d be MIA.”

Tom clenched his hands into fists. “What happened?”

“I should’ve brought a copy, but who thinks to brings a newspaper to a fundraiser? It’s this morning’s Times. The Epiales article lays out all of us for our shit in local politics.”

Tom’s face went blank.

“Compares us to Italian mob control in the sixties and seventies and then to the Irish mob. Explains that there’s still mafia involvement in America in spite of the RICO Act. Then he goes back and puts us against mob rule in history. Focuses on the Roman Empire and the French Revolution.”

Harrison swallowed champagne thickly, sticking his tongue in his cheek. “Which French Revolution?”

“The one in 1789, dumbass,” said Jacob, and he winced. “Though he goes on to delineate the Hundred Days, the July Revolution, and the June Rebellion.”

“The fuck are those? Are they even real?”

“I looked them up after. They’re real.”

Tom finally spoke (his fingertips were just barely trembling around his champagne flute). “What exactly does it say about us?”

“It’s rough, Tom. The D’Aleos definitely have it worse, but.”

“Spit it.”

Jacob scrunched up his face. “He doesn’t mention the Hollands by name. You’re good there. But he does mention by name people you’re not even one degree of separation from, like Judge Le and that Bauman guy in Brooklyn, along with a bunch of guys you have on payroll with the police. They’re out, Tom, and if they talk, you are, too.”

Tom closed his eyes and slowly raised his finger to his mouth to bite his knuckle. “Anything else?”

“Your gentrification process for the heights for the last two years was laid out. Roman Empire shit, apparently.”

It took a bit for Tom to open his eyes. When he did, he drained his champagne flute and reached for yours, taking a large gulp from your still-full flute. He cleared his throat. “I’m gonna find Epiales and choke him with my own two hands.”

You took a moment to consider if you were into that.

“Someone’s—oh, my God,” said Tom, leaning on the komodo dragon tank (he really shouldn’t be doing that!), “I have to kill a traitor on the inside. Last time we had to do that, my dad was in charge.”

Harrison shook his head. “Do we let anyone else in rank know?”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. “Um, no. No. That’ll give them time to panic and maybe escape. Oh, my God.”

Did you know that the Komodo dragon (Varanus komodoensis) are the heaviest lizards on Earth, reaching over 300 pounds and up to ten feet in length? They live only on Indonesia’s Lesser Sunda Islands, preferring the tropical forests and the valleys in which they were hatched. They are capable of walking up to seven miles per day and running at speeds up to twelve miles per hour.

Haz pinched his lip. “C’mon, we’ve got newspaper people on the payroll. Someone’s bound to know at least where Epiales’s IP address is, right?”

“Not at the Times. God, I don’t even know who to go to,” said Tom, and he turned to you, his forehead glistening under the yellow lights. “Isn’t this where you chime in with something helpful?”

The Komodo dragon has venom glands laced with toxins that induce shock, lower blood pressure, prevent clotting, and cause bleeding. When the Komodo dragon sinks its serrated teeth and yanks with its strong neck muscles, it leaves massive, gaping wounds in its prey, and it’s close to what you’re about to do to Tom.

“How can I help,” you asked flatly, “I’m just a smart-mouthed snake. Why don’t you set that Viper lady on them? I bet she’d know what to do.”

“Yes, I bet she would,” said Tom through clenched teeth.

“I just don’t understand all this man stuff,” you said, smiling vaguely as Jacob noticed you for the first time, “I think I should let you big boys discuss it alone. My head is starting to hurt with all these words I don’t know. Find me before the night’s over, though, because we have to fit in that blow job you paid me for.” You gave his bicep a squeeze and left their group to stand like the Blair Witch facing the front wall of the exhibit hall.

You counted to ten before turning around and patting your thigh. “Hot boy! Useless, hot boy! Come here and make yourself useful! Hot boy! You simply have to learn this fun fact about the American alligator!”

Through the tanks of taxidermy, you made out a scowling Tom shaking his head and handing the champagne glasses to Harrison. “Oh? Did you think I was talking to you? I meant Harrison!”

So, Tom held three, empty champagne flutes next to Jacob while Haz jogged to the front of the hall towards you, where you grinned as you leant against the alligator exhibit. “Seen any good movies lately?”

“Yeah, I saw one earlier today called What the Fuck Are You Doing? I would ask you if you were drunk,” Harrison said, jovially crossing his arms and joining you in propping his weight against the tank, “but I know better.”

“I read all of the information on the Komodo dragon and wanted to learn about other reptiles.”

“Are you gonna let him stew?”

“Yeah.” You shifted to cross one ankle over the other. “You’ve seen the way he’s been talking about me tonight, right?”

“I don’t know what else you’ve argued about recently,” said Harrison, nudging you with his shoulder, “and don’t think I can’t tell, but yeah, even just tonight would piss me off, if it were me. Not sure it excuses your behaviour.”

“So, what,” you said, clicking your tongue, “I couldn’t say, Say hello to your raging erection for me, since he didn’t have one, so I whipped out an equivalent. Jacob knows him, anyhow, so there’s no real harm done. Be grateful I’m not acting out in a way that matters.”

“Viper,” said Haz, facing you full on and away from Tom and Jacob, “What’s going on between you and him? He doesn’t even mention you when he comes in to work nowadays. Someone does, and he goes stony. Goes on to ignore you. What’s happening?”

You sighed, biting your lip and fiddling with your necklace. “Harrison, tell me I’m pretty.”

“Were I not mourning my girlfriend,” he said, crossing his heart with his index finger, “I would be trying to fuck you in the closest bathroom.”

“Thank you,” you said, “Even though that’s not what I was going for.”

“I think you’re absolutely gorgeous,” came a voice from the entrance—oh, Adrien? He took a hesitant step towards Harrison and you. “Thought it was as good a time as any to budge in. Am I interrupting?”

“Nor really. Harrison, I don’t think you met Adrien. He’s been working with Ms. Pham and me on the gem exhibit,” you said, smiling while they shook hands, “He’s the master electrician; he does the lights. Makes sure every facet of the diamond is flaunted. Adrien, this is my co, Harrison.”

“Thought I wouldn’t find you, since Glory’s taken my phone,” said Adrien.

Harrison cocked his head. “Yours, too? What’s with that woman?”

“Something about technology removing you from the moment.” Adrien shrugged, twisting the bottom of his champagne flute and popping it off. “To be fair, it works.”

“Is Glory looking for me?” you asked, wincing.

“No,” said Adrien, but he cringed after your sigh of relief as he went on. “But I’ve just been told she wants us to help catering strike when this is all over.”

“Fuck,” you said, “That is nowhere in my job description.”

Harrison placed a hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just pissed,” you said, frowning. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Tom waving off Jacob and striding your way. “Hey, why don’t we skive off together? It’s the end of the job. It’s not like she can get rid of us, and we can act like we don’t know—”

Tom swiped Harrison’s hand off your shoulder to stand between you. The conversation stopped completely while you glared at the spot he touched, but you didn’t acknowledge Tom himself.

“Anyway,” you said, edging closer to Haz and Adrien, trying to close the circle, “We could skip strike together, go get cheesecake somewhere while we’re in formalwear, and chill. You in?”

Adrien’s toothy smile lit up his whole face, but Harrison was fighting with difficulty to conceal his own. “Absolutely,” said Adrien, brushing his blond hair out of his eyes, “The closest place is Bones, but we could probably get to Milly’s without much trouble.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you said, “And if we can’t get out of it, we should blare our music throughout the museum; the acoustics are so good here.”

Tom clamped his free hand on your shoulder, and you looked down at it. “Hey, you can’t just ignore me.”

“Don’t touch me,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

He squeezed your shoulder. “Then behave, goddammit,” said Tom, “You’re being outrageous. Can’t you pay attention to me?”

You knocked the champagne flutes out of his hand, and they clattered to the floor. You opened your mouth in Haz’s and Adrien’s direction as if nothing happened, but Tom grumbled from the floor before you could speak.

“Stop being so childish. You’re like a goddamn cat,” he said, standing.

“Oh, so I’m a cat, now? Is it because cats are held in binary comparison to dogs which are seen as inherently masculine whereas cats are seen as inherently feminine and therefore bad, crazy, and more easily sexualized? Or is it because snakes do not have fat stores and thus can’t have tiddies?”

Harrison had to bite down on his fist.

“V, when we get out of here,” Tom began.

You raised an eyebrow. “What you gonna do, fire me?”

“I have half a mind to.”

“I wonder where the other half wandered? Adrien,” you said, rubbing his arm, “Do you think catering has apple juice anywhere?”

“Maybe in the downstairs kitchen, near where they do the kids’ demonstrations.” Adrien shifted his weight to his other foot, his eyes flicking between the three of you.

“Good, I’m going. It was nice to catch you before Glory wears us out. You,” you said, jabbing Tom in the chest with an entirely different demeanor, “Don’t follow me. I don’t care what you have to say to me. Leave me alone for three whole minutes.”

Adrien laughed nervously while you strode off towards the staircases, and your heart throbbed at leaving him in such a tense situation.

But holy shit. What are you doing, Tom Holland?

Apple juice. Right. The closest staircases led to mammals, but the ones nearest the Kids’ Korner would have you doubling back through Egyptology. Since reading about Nefertiti or some other woman pharaoh would give you a real lift, you retraced your steps to that section.

You came to a halt at the entrance to Egyptology and bit the inside of your cheek. The main lights had been turned off, leaving only the exhibit spotlights. Sure, the big-ass pyramid recreation was lit but not the sarcophagi, tools, statues, or any of that stuff. Huh. You had to go in a booth sectioned off from the public to mess with the lights, so it couldn’t have been some clueless shit. Adrien would have mentioned if he’d altered anything, not that Glory would have let him.

Yeah, okay.

You scanned the hall as you wove your way through it, not noticing anything out of place, really, though the mould of this particular pharaoh’s open sarcophagus appeared oddly angular compared to what you traditionally pictured as a death mask—

“Viper,” a garbled, altered voice spat in your ear; a glove slapped over your eyes—as a short blade sank into your lower back. “You seem eager to be eaten alive.” Shoving in the knife to the hilt, he twisted it. “I can provide you with some opportunities.”

You—hunched, jaw dropped—

“Now,” he said, breath hot on your skin, “take a walk off my knife.”

“Viper! Hey, the fuck are you doing?” Tom’s voice echoed in the hall as he footsteps rushed nearer; your assailant’s shoulder pressed between yours as his head whipped around, his control on the knife slipping while it ripped up through your dress, leaving a thin cut up your back—which you didn’t even register before he’d bolted.

Tom was speaking, lifting you up from the floor (when had you fallen?). “And this is why you can’t go wandering off like that.” When you staggered, he gripped your hands. “Wait, are you hurt?”

“Wow,” you said, exhaling slowly while you pulled the neckline of your dress up, “Am I hurt—” You were interrupted this time not by your dumbass boss but by your assailant fucking ramming Tom in the back, shoving both of you into the angular sarcophagus that leant against the wall, and he slammed the lid closed.

You tilted your head, listening. “Okay, four clicks in succession, that means this is probably one of the refitted-re-hinged sarcophagi archaeologists did in the 50s,” you said, while Tom scrambled to pry it open. “It’s not gonna work. These were designed to stay shut travelling on ships.” Sighing, you closed your eyes, bending your head enough to graze Tom’s nose in the dark, but then your eyes flew open. “Holy shit, I’m bleeding on a mummy; oh, my God, fuck.”

Through the light of the slim crack, you could make out that Tom had furrowed his brow. “You’re bleeding?”

“I’m on a mummy,” you said, your chest heaving, grabbing the front of Tom’s suit to try to lift yourself from the body, but it still grazed you. “I’m getting my own DNA on a millennia-old body, holy fuck, holy fuck. I need to get out right now.” You wrapped your arms under his, sliding up his back to grip his shoulders—that worked a little better, but that thing’s crossed hands still touched you. “Oh, my fuck.”

“Hold on. Where are you bleeding?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—I got stabbed. I got fucking stabbed,” you said, slipping one of your legs between his while he braced himself against the sarcophagus sides. “I am ruining a goddamn mummy. I’m going to archaeology jail. Possibly real jail. Bonk.”

“Slow down. Where were you stabbed?”

“Slow down? I am lying on a mummy, Tom. Holy shit,” you said, “Get me the fuck off.”

Tom took a moment, his eyelashes illuminated by the scant light as he blinked twice, and he mumbled, “Right, then. C’mon, let’s swop places.”

“Huh? Is there room?”

“We’re going to try,” he said, and after a stretch of struggling, he shifted you as delicately as he could. In the end, you lay on top of him, lying atop the mummy.

You bent to bury your face in his chest so that you wouldn’t be snorting straight mummy dust, but he cupped your cheek to partially raise it.

“Now, V,” he said evenly, “Can you tell me where you were stabbed?”

“Lower back. Practically my ass.”

After some contorting in the cramped space, Tom snaked his arm around you, feeling around for the spot and pressing down hard once he found it. “Gotta keep pressure on it. The fabric around it feels pretty soaked. Do you feel lightheaded?”

“No. Adrenaline is probably shielding me from immediate pain,” you said, putting your face on his neck, since he insisted on hearing you (Wait, holy shit! Your face is in his neck! How romantic?). “I feel like I’m on the edge of a panic attack. But the dress is fucked; he sliced through it. Bunch it up to stifle the bleeding, if you have to. Fuuuuuck.” You licked your lips, the tip grazing his skin—a happy accident. “I’ve been reliably told that being stabbed is more painful than being shot. Fuck, how far up my back does it go?”

You squirmed to try to reach it, but Tom gripped your hand. “Don’t touch it, V. Just focus on me. You’re gonna be fine. Did you see who did it?”

“I’m not happy about you having to constantly touch me…bitch,” you said, reveling in how his hand basically pressed into the swell of your ass. “No, I didn’t, but the vocoder sounded the same as—God! I’m such an idiot. I should have said something, something about Epiales or some shit, but I clamped up! Goddammit.”

“That’s logical. You were stabbed. It’s fine,” said Tom. He strained to see your face, but you shuffled to hide yourself. He settled for pressing his lips near your hairline (!!!!). “I,” he said, pausing to breathe in slowly, “I can feel your pulse in your wound. Are you okay?”

“Am I okay—”

“Relatively, I mean.”

You shuddered into his neck, gripping both his hand and the lapel of his blazer. “Shut up.”

Tom sighed and kissed your hair, letting his lips linger. “If it makes you feel any better about any of this, you look beautiful tonight. Just—just focus on breathing steadily and staying awake, and let me hold you, all right?”

“Yeah, whatever,” you said, and you tried to change your position slightly, but the lid of the sarcophagus kept you still. “Don’t tell anyone I died because I got stabbed in the ass.”

“You’re not gonna die.”

“Well, last time I checked, I don’t eat fucking ambrosia and nectar, so I’m not fucking immortal, but go off, I guess.”

“An amendment: you’re not gonna die because of this,” he said, “We’ll call Haz—”

“If we had our phones.”

“God—” Tom scrunched up his face. “Damn it.”

The two of you simmered in silence for a while, with Tom eventually resting his other hand high on your back after pushing at the lid some more, and from the way he initially rubbed his fingers together, you were bleeding up there, too. Your heart rate had slowed with the adrenaline wearing off, and a stiff pang spread throughout your back. Honestly, if you tried to take your mind away to distract yourself from the pain, you could fall asleep, what with Tom’s body heat and the no-longer-being-directly-on-a-mummy, and all. You let your eyes close.

Tom cleared his throat. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your eyes shot open.

“I think you need to be honest about how you feel about me.”

You jerked away from his chest with such force that you railed it into the lid, but you couldn’t focus on that pain. “Do we have to do this now?”

He pressed down on your wound. “Would you like to consider damages we’ll have to pay to the museum instead?”

“Yes!”

With the new space between you, Tom reached out to graze your cheek with the back of his fingers. “C’mon, love. What am I to you?” He slid them to your chin to grip it. “Are you simply using me to get ahead?”

You scoffed. “Where would I go?”

He lowered his hand down your neck, traced your collarbone, and moved it to the nape of your neck to pull you towards him again (you got a face full of whatever Old Spice he’s wearing). “What do you want?”

You, bitch.

But you’re not going to say that.

And also the liberty to be my own person apart from you (maybe one day eventually)? Please?

That, either.

Tom clearly meant to stroke your back, but he couldn’t move his hand much and resigned himself to rubbing the bare skin at the back of your neck. “Come on. Tell the truth for once in your damn life.”

“I wanna see John Mulaney tonight.”

Tom groaned and bent to place his forehead against yours, and he swore under his breath. “Please,” he said, “Please. I’ll do anything for you. Anything. And you know it.” Tom kissed the tip of your nose before moving onto your cheek, keeping it dry and kissing down your face to your jawline; he slid his knee between your thighs, and with his hand stifling your blood, he guided you to grind gently against him.

I want all this to be over.

Frozen, you held your breath (both from Tom and from mummy), your fingers spread wide and you trembled. Lightning surged up your spine from your stab wound, concentrating in your neck. You gasped.

Tom was misinterpreting it; he was tipping your head to the side to make his way to just below your ear—he traced his tongue around the shell of your ear.

And if it’s going to end, Tom has to have all of the information.

He bit down when your legs clamped around his upper thigh, and he was warm—no. No, he was burning, and you remained frozen.

Which means letting him in.

“You dumb fuck,” you said, striking his chest once with your fist, “I’m Epiales. I’m the one writing all that shit.”

Tom’s lips halted at their spot on your jaw. “What.”

“It’s me. It’s my website. My work. I’m not on the twitter. I wasn’t lying when I said that was fake,” you said, “but the website and the Times column are mine.”

Tom pulled back from you, but you couldn’t read his expression in the dark. “What?”

Before you could elaborate, you were blinded by the influx of light and stumbled backwards out of the sarcophagus and onto the floor, sucking into through your teeth. Tom had caught himself and stood over you, and he opened his mouth to thank—

“You can’t just fucking shut yourselves in a fucking exhibit because you want to make out.” Glory Pham fumed. “You’re going to fucking ruin my—”

“Ms. Pham,” said Tom, “She’s been stabbed.”

“Get real, you little shit.” Glory gritted her teeth, and she kicked at you with her pointed shoes. “Where in the goddamn hell is it?”

“Holy fuck,” said Tom, swooping to block her foot, “It’s on her back. Can’t you see the bleed—”

“I don’t give a damn about your injury. The diamond, you fucker. Where’s the goddamn diamond?”

“Oh, my God,” you said from the ground, struggling to push yourself up on your elbows. “Oh, my God? Ms. Pham, what’s—”

“It’s missing, and I saw you sneak off by yourself. You’re the hired outsider; you’re the one always miffed with me; I know you have it on you, and I’ll scrape it out of your cunt if I have to—”

“Ms. Pham, holy shit. Why would I stick something sharp and a ten on the Mohs scale up myself when I have access to perfectly mediocre dick?” You pointed up at Tom, hard from—from what he—holy shit, you almost made out with him in a fucking sarcophagus. In a damn coffin.

Tom stepped to your side so that he wouldn’t be directly over you. “Ladies, why don’t you check the security cameras?”

Something pricked Glory at that, and she deflated. Her mouth twitched. “I may have been jumping to conclusions too soon.” She glowered down at you. “Why were you going off by yourself?”

Blood seeped down between your asscheeks. “Ms. Pham, I went to get apple juice from the kitchen near the Kids’ Korner.”

She sneered. “Why would you be going to get—”

“I can’t drink, Ms. Pham, and I got stabbed when I went to get some.”

“I came in as she was stabbed,” said Tom, holding out his hand towards Glory as if she were an untamed animal. Steady. “Her assailant escaped after locking us in the sarcophagus.”

Glory pinched the bridge of her nose and, you assumed, swore loudly in Vietnamese.

“Has it been an hour? Have we opened the hall yet?” You grunted as you stood, accepting Tom’s help (returning his hand to apply pressure to your wound and taking your hand, though his movements were stiff). “We can still salvage this somehow. We can say we had a—”

“Enough,” said Glory, and she waved you off. “No. In. Credible. I have to back out of a year’s worth of work.”

You ran your tongue over your lower lip, staggering a bit. “We don’t have to. I can say something to—”

She shook her head. “No. Get out.”

“Pardon?” you asked in a small voice.

“Leave me alone. I don’t want to hear from you,” said Glory, turning her back on you to walk away. She stopped herself. “If I want to contact you, I will. Don’t expect anything.”

And she was gone.

You barely had time to slump before Tom yanked you along. “C’mon, you fucking snake,” said Tom, jerking your arm forward, “You got any last words?”

You dry-heaved and stumbled over your own feet past Egyptian relics. “Yeah,” you said, “Say hello to your raging erection for me.”

***

compos mentis: of sound mind

***

taglist: @hollandroos @madmadmilk @parkerroos @parsleysbaby @z-ukos @pparkerwrites @lunamyangel @stealth-spiderr @presidentbttrflyfreak @paradoxparker @bi-writes @astronomyparkers @infamous-webhead @laurfangirl424 @softspideys @gryffinpuffs @plethoraofpuppies @laucontrerasv @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven @spiderboytotherescue @cassiopeiaskies

[rockscanfly]

Fear Itself (TMA/YJ Crossover)

Moments later Kaldur was confronted with the sight of Wally reclining lazily on the deck of his boat. 

The lanky ginger was dressed for the beach, freckled nose smeared in sunscreen and oversized aviators perched high atop the mop of his red hair. Wally had procured a neon pink deck chair from somewhere and was throwing birdseed to a pair of seagulls leashed to the chair’s arm.

Wally toasted Kaldur with a frozen, dubiously fruity drink as he climbed fully from the hold, bright purple umbrella shaking gently in the cold Atlantic breeze. “Aloha, amigo! Pina colada?”

Kaldur suppressed a smile. “It’s two degrees Celsius out here,” he said, eyeing the reddening tips of Wally’s fingers. “And it looks like you took your time preparing your entrance.”

“What’s an eldritch abomination without a good entrance?”

Kaldur’s hiding out from his greatest fear: himself. Wally swings by to knock some sense into his old friend.

Kaldur awoke in hold of his small ship to the sound of seagulls. 

Quietly, he stepped onto the first rung of the ladder to the deck. He grit his teeth as he imagined emerging into the open air, nausea rolling in his gut. It had been weeks since he first forced himself back onto the open waters he once loved, but exposure therapy was apparently only so effective. Agoraphobia was an unfortunate affliction for a climate scientist conducting deep ocean sampling. 

Kaldur tightened his grip on the ladder and hauled himself upwards. Seagulls.

Which was alarming, because when Kaldur had allowed exhaustion and anxiety to drive him below deck for the night, he’d been in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Too far from shore, by a far margin, for seagulls.   

Or do you mean a Vast margin? The smug, playful voice of Wally West sing-songed in Kaldur’s head. 

Moments later he was confronted with the sight of the man himself reclining lazily on the deck of his boat. The lanky ginger was dressed for the beach, freckled nose smeared in sunscreen and oversized aviators perched high atop the mop of his red hair. Wally had procured a neon pink deck chair from somewhere and was throwing birdseed to a pair of seagulls leashed to the chair’s arm.

Wally toasted Kaldur with a frozen, dubiously fruity drink as he climbed fully from the hold, bright purple umbrella shaking gently in the cold Atlantic breeze. “Aloha, amigo! Pina colada?” 

Kaldur crossed his arms pointedly, raising a brow. “We’re on the Atlantic, not the Pacific. Hawaii is further from here than the Arctic.” 

Wally shrugged, failing to hide a shiver as another crisp gust blew across the deck. “Tomato, tomato. It’s all impossibly large stretches of empty water to me, my man.”

Kaldur suppressed a smile. “It’s two degrees Celsius out here,” he said, eyeing the reddening tips of Wally’s fingers. “And it looks like you took your time preparing your entrance.”

“What’s an eldritch abomination without a good entrance?” Wally dismissed, sipping from his drink through a frankly excessive silly straw. Its bright twists and turns reminded Kaldur of another redhead. 

Wally grimaced as the cold drink went down his throat. “It’s a little chilly,” he said brightly, nonchalantly attempting to tip the rest of the frozen drink over the side rail. A spray of cold saltwater splashed up over the deck, soaking Kaldur’s fellow scientist’s brightly patterned shirt. 

“Ah!” Wally exclaimed, flushing brightly when Kaldur cocked his hip, blonde eyebrow climbing to new heights. Wally not so subtly eyed the entrance to the hold that Kaldur had emerged from, fingers and toes curling tight as the wind blew fresh chill through his wet clothes. “If you’re cold though,” Wally said, shameless, “I don’t see why we can’t do this below deck.” 

Kaldur shrugged, arms flexing underneath his thick sweater and windbreaker. “I’m quite comfortable, actually.” Kaldur strode over to the side of the deck nearest Wally, studying a few apparatuses secured to the side railing. “We can talk while I collect my samples, and then you can leave.”

A pale hand shot out, just barely stopping short of gripping Kaldur’s wrist. “Kal,” Wally whined, giving up all pretext of not being absolutely freezing. “Below deck, please.” 

Kaldur sighed, turning to climb back into the bowels of his boat. Wally followed close behind him, muttering incomprehensibly about Kaldur’s poor taste in oceans. With most other people on the planet, Kaldur would have banished any intruder on his self-imposed solitude to somewhere Away. Nowhere dangerous, mind. At least not intentionally.

Barbara has picked well by sending Wally West to fetch him. Kaldur had been foolish for attempting to hide out in the middle of the ocean. He was alone, to be sure. But he was alone in the Vast, and at its mercy.

That mercy, in the form of a pre-hypothermic physicist shivering under three of Kaldur’s warmest blankets, accepted the cup of coffee that Kaldur passed him gratefully. “Roy misses you.” 

Kaldur sipped his coffee. “And I him. That is very much the point.”

Wally reached behind him, rummaging in Kaldur’s cabinets. “No creamer? Sugar?”

Kaldur shook his head, smirking gently against the rim of his mug.  

Wally grimaced. “Gross. But also, hey? I thought you came out to conduct climate research.” 

“If I can help save the planet while avoiding hurting those I love, I see no reason not to do both.” 

“You’re not though,” Wally said, pumping his fist when he found a small jar of honey. “I mean, I’m sure you’re helping with the planet saving bit,” he amended, stirring what must have been half of the jar into his mug, sipping it gingerly as it overfilled. “You’re pretty garbage at the other half, though. What if I told you you could do both if you came back?” 

Kaldur resisted the urge to ask why Wally bothered with coffee when what he really wanted was just hot sugar. “I fail to see how inevitably feeding off the innocent and sacrificing their souls to The Lonely will help with either.” 

“Not being around people won't make you less lonely. That’s fucking stupid,” Wally pointed his dripping spoon at Kaldur emphatically, flicking droplets of sticky sweet coffee all over Kaldur’s clean table. “And you’re not stupid. Just kind of a coward,” Wally added, slurping on the spoon. “Sometimes. About people, mostly. Roy, specifically. It’s okay, he’s useless too. But also, we need your help to stop the apocalypse.”

Kaldur subtly stole the honey jar back, securing it before the redhead could dip his saliva covered spoon back into the jar. “I’ve assisted in stopping numerous.”

“Not like this one.”

Kaldur sat quietly, hands folded before his face in contemplation as Wally finished explaining how the world was going to end, ‘for realzies, bro’, if the fears didn’t work together to stop it. 

“So,” Wally pressed after the silence stretched out into minutes. “You ready to come back, or what?”

“I still cannot see where I fit in this picture.”

“Bitch me too, what the fuck,” Wally laughed, then sobered. “But actually. We don’t have, like, a plan-plan yet. Dick and Babs are piecing what they can together, but meanwhile it can’t hurt to have as much manpower as possible on board. They need peeps to do like, missions and shit,” Wally waved his hand dismissively. “Intel gathering, etcetera.”

Kaldur frowned. “And I assume that your current mission would be classified as recruitment. No.”

Wally took a long sip of coffee, fixing Kaldur with an indulgent look. “And why, pray tell, the fuck not?”

Kaldur took a sip of his own coffee. “I will not risk bringing harm to others while Barbara is still without a plan, Wallace.”

Wally set his mug down, leaning forward on his elbow. “First off,” he said, raising a finger, “Don’t call me Wallace. Second off, hey dude? We’re all dangerous. You’re not special.”

Kaldur sat back in his own chair, prim. “And how many souls have you fed your god?”

Wally grimaced. “Not my point.”

Kaldur crossed his legs. “And it remains mine. Leave.”

Wally glared, standing. “God, I forgot how annoying your self-righteous schtick can be. Don’t know how Roy puts up with you. No, dude,” Wally slicked his hair back, fixing on a winning smile. He extended his hand to Kaldur, beckoning. “Not unless you’re ready to come with, drama queen.”

“It appears I wasn’t clear. My apologies,” Kaldur sighed, setting his cup down with a firm clink. He fixed Wally with a cold green stare. “Leave me alone.”

The Vast’s avatar had enough time to scowl. “Oh fuck y—” 

And then he was gone. 

Kaldur uncrossed his legs, balancing shaky elbows on braced knees as he buried his head in his hands. Sweat prickled his brow. Banishing another Avatar was always difficult, but Kaldur was amongst the strongest of their generation. And he’d been doing this for a longer time than most people his age. Certainly much longer than Wally West. 

Kaldur had just enough time to mull over the greater implications of Wally’s words before something landed with a loud thud on the deck.

Loud, wet footsteps stomped rapidly down the stairs. Wally, looking like a soaked ginger cat in his waterlogged Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, flung out a shaking finger to point accusingly at Kaldur. He was missing a sandal. “That was fucking cold.”

Kaldur raised a brow. “Then go somewhere warm.” With a decisive flick of his wrist, Wally was gone. Again. 

Kaldur had just enough time to catch his breath before another resounding thud came from overhead. This time Wally launched himself down the stairs, eyes furious as he reached for Kaldur. Kaldur made another sharp gesture, vanishing the redhead moments before his shaking fingers could close on Kaldur’s collar. 

This sequence of events more or less repeated for a half hour. Kaldur amassed a barricade between himself and the stairs to keep the increasingly furious physicist at bay. They were both trembling, Kaldur’s sweater having soaked through with sweat. Wally, increasingly pale and drenched from his plunges into the freezing oceans, limped down the stairs after their tenth round. 

“You. Are. Ridiculous,” Wally panted, clinging shakily to the stair railing. 

“If you continue this foolishness, you’re going to drown in the Atlantic,” Kaldur shot back breathlessly from where he’d collapsed back onto his bunk in the far corner of the cabin. “Conserve your energy. Go home.”

“Stop being a bitch and come with me,” Wally hissed. “You can’t out stubborn me, Kal.”

“Goodbye, Wally.” With a grunt of effort, Kaldur sat up and waved his hand, banishing the ginger again. Alone, he collapsed back against the thin mattress, gasping for breath. 

No thud sounded overhead. The screams of seagulls and the slap of waves against the small boat were the only sounds that greeted him. 

Kaldur caught his breath, allowing his eyes to close as he listened to the screech of the gulls. After a few long seconds, he hauled himself up, snagging an inflatable emergency raft on his way up the stairs. Quickly throwing a survival kit and two life jackets over one shoulder, Kaldur grabbed Wally’s discarded drink, squeezing his eyes shut as he focused on the younger man’s presence. Finding was never Kaldur’s forte, and as an avatar of The Vast Wally would be especially difficult to find in the ocean. 

But Kaldur, for all his youthful best intentions, was a fully realized avatar of The Forsaken. Wally was drowning, terrified, and alone. And that fear sung to Kaldur’s god like blood to a shark. 

Quickly, Kaldur inflated the raft, lashing the life jackets and emergency kits to the inside. He removed his boots and coat, then grabbed hold of the outer rope. 

Squeezing his eyes tight, Kaldur allowed himself something he’d starved himself of for months. He pictured Wally, visualized his exhausted arms failing, slowing in the water. That wild head of red hair sinking beneath the freezing waves into the empty black. 

Kaldur pictured his drowning friend’s loneliness and allowed himself to feed. 

The icy water punched the breath from Kaldur’s lungs. Luckily he had always been a powerful swimmer, and more immune to the cold than most. He ducked under the water, kicking down into the depths. It was too dark to see, so he allowed the addictive fear of Wally’s mind to guide him. Seconds, hours later, Kaldur’s laid hand on a flailing limb. Quickly he grasped Wally around the middle, kicking them both up to the dim light.

They broke the surface seconds later, gasping. Kaldur managed to tow Wally along to the raft, unhooking one of the lifejackets from the side and wrestling Wally into it. That accomplished, he pushed himself into the raft, reaching down into the water to haul Wally after him. 

Kaldur accomplished the next steps of rescue silently. Shaking, Wally could barely help strip himself of his soaked clothes, teeth chattering around rasping coughs. Once Wally was bare, save the lifejacket, Kaldur swiftly wrapped him in a blanket 

Kaldur stripped next, wrapping himself in another emergency blanket as he set up the emergency heater to boil water for cocoa. Hot, sugary liquids were the best thing for someone coming out of hypothermia. Once the water was done Kaldur pressed a tin mug full of the stale, lumpy hot chocolate into Wally’s shaking hands. Then he settled next to the shivering ginger on the raft, rearranging their blankets so Wally could leach some of Kaldur’s body heat. 

After spilling a good third of the mug, Wally finally got some cocoa down. His shivering died off gradually, going from wracking tremors to normal teeth chattering. 

Kaldur finished his own mug of cocoa, gagging at the taste. He’d never been a fan of sugar. “Please don’t do that again.”

Wally’s teeth chattered. He stared at Kaldur, squinting peevishly. “Think that's my line, dude.”

Kaldur took one of Wally’s hands in his own, rubbing it rapidly to bring warmth back into the pallid skin. “You’re not going to stop, are you?”

“Not a fucking chance,” Wally grinned, pressing closer under the emergency blanket. “Promised I’d bring you back. There’s some very dangerous people who will kick my ass if I break that promise. Who miss you, by the way, asshole.” 

Kaldur set down one hand, taking the other. He kept his eyes set studiously on Wally’s hands, watching pink rush back into the pallid skin. “I’m not worth this.”

“Dude, you just handed me my ass on the closest thing I have to a home turf inside the atmosphere.” Wally tugged his hand from Kaldur’s, setting both on the other man’s tattooed shoulders. He shook Kaldur gently until the other man looked up at him. 

Wally smiled, teeth still gently chattering together. “You’re stupid strong. I know it's like, the opposite of what you’re comfortable with? But we need you. And not just for your cheery disposition.” 

Kaldur colored, dark cheeks flushing. He shrugged off Wally’s hands, instead pressing closer and tugging the emergency blankets tighter around the both of them. Silence sat heavy between them as they watched the little camp stove bring more water to a steaming boil. “How many will die, if Barbara is right?”

Wally scrubbed his hands through his wet hair, shaking red curls out like a dog. “Everyone, man.”

Kaldur held his breath. Let it go, gradually. Remembered a different time in his life, huddled with a different redhead under the serene peace of the night stars. It wasn’t that long ago. His agoraphobia had been getting better before the hospital ward. 

Before, out of his depth and panicking, Kaldur had taken fifty Corruption infected victims and fed them to The Lonely. “I don’t want to return to what I was.”

Wally shifted closer, bumping his knee against Kaldur’s own. “You’ve got people this time. We’ll keep you in check.” The human warmth of him was comforting, especially as the adrenalin of rescue wore off. Kaldur could feel the crushing anxiety of the open sky and ocean creep back up his spine. His agoraphobia was always worse when he was tired. Wally continued, “I mean, we’ve figured out fixes for the rest of us. Just. Trust us.”

“You know it is different for me,” Kaldur said slowly. “There is a reason I am what I am, Wally.”

Wally laughed. “Dramatic? Insufferable self effacing? Kind of a cold fish?” When Kaldur didn’t reply, Wally shrugged, throwing an arm over Kaldur’s shoulder and pulling him close. “Nah, man, I get it. You weren’t a random pick.” Wally gripped Kaldur’s shoulder, shaking him a little. “What you don’t get is that we’re all like that. If you don’t jive with your entity, it just eats you.”

Kaldur raised a brow. “Jive.”

“Shut up, I’m hypothermic,” Wally shot back. A few seconds passed. “When can we get out of here?”

“I’d like to retrieve my boat. And some clothes.”

“So no popping back into the manor, bare-ass naked and entangled in one another’s arms?” Wally waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Kaldur thought he might be attempting a wink, but it just looked like something had gotten into the physicist’s eye. 

Kaldur still smiled, despite himself. Barbara really had chosen well, sending Wally to retrieve him. And not just because of the other man’s entity-granted power set. Wally had a talent for making it difficult for people to take themselves too seriously. And, being somewhat self-aware, Kaldur could appreciate that he was, at times, a little ‘dramatic’. “I think Roy’s suffered enough on my behalf without having to witness that.”

 Wally grinned. “Spoilsport.” 

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

A/N: One part of a WIP The Magnus Archives/Young Justice cross over I’ve been mulling over for over a year now. Kaldur is an Avatar of The Lonely because, well, DUH, and Wally is an Avatar of the Vast because of lightning imagery and the fear of being insignificant (a major fear in his season 1 incarnation, it seemed). Let me know what y’all think! 

[alfred-braginsky]

Prompt request from an ask that was sent sosososo long ago, I apologize for the delay, but I filled both of them! 

"The food looks great but.. There’s something much more delicious i’d like to eat right now. ” & “Shut up and kiss me already. ” It took a long time to finish this up, but with the quarantine I have a lot more time since my job is having me work from home. I reblogged a series of prompts , pls feel free to shoot me an ask!

Summary: [N] // [s] // [F] // [w]  

Prompt request from tumblr. Takes place during the Yalta Conference and Alfred can't help but think about how good Ivan looks in his uniform.

|| Ao3 Link ||

+++++

The meeting dragged. It was all formality, well, for the nations at least. Arthur, Alfred, and Ivan were standing behind their seated bosses on an elevated stage with simple chairs. The world had their eyes on them. Victors of the second World War was no simple feat. The nations present on stage were dressed in their complete uniform and standing more as representatives of their nation than to have any say of what happens now.

Churchill was on the far left with Arthur standing stiff and upright behind him. Alfred resisted the urge to roll his eyes, the guy always took this shit too seriously.

‘You’d think after a few centuries he’d stop giving a shit.’

Alfred was in the middle behind Eisenhower, and to the right Stalin with Ivan towering from behind. He always liked Ivan. The man was difficult to get along with, but the two have found a mutual respect for one another. The sun was setting on the former empires that formerly ran the world; Arthur was losing his speed along with Francis and Antonio. Their legacy was starting to become overshadowed by the superpowers Alfred and Ivan were growing into.

Alfred tried so hard not to fall asleep at all the questions and discussions. He looked for anything that could possibly entertain and distract him.

"Pstt, hey, Artie."

"Piss off, Alfred. We're at a very important conference and I will not let you drag me into whatever embarrassing antics you have planned." Arthur had gritted out at him quietly beside him. Alfred huffed. Gentleman his ass, this guy has always been a prick with a stick up his ass.

Fuck, he was so bored. His eyes roamed over the audience. Boring diplomats and hungry journalist. Whatever. His eyes land on the other nation on the stage with him. Ivan. Specifically, his uniform. The way it clung to his body, those strong thighs and broad shoulders. Ivan had his eyes closed with the typical off-putting smile on his lips. He was sure that he could stare witho-

"Is there something wrong with your eyes or do you need me to help you fix them?"

Hot damn and that attitude. Ivan was practically one of the few people who could stand up to him and actually have the brawn to go toe-to-toe with him. Probably pin him against the wall, gloved hand pressed tightly against his throat. Literally breathtaking.

"Nah, just looking is all."

Almost immediately, Ivan replies.

"Looking for what?"  

Alfred wonders how far he could push the taller man. He wants to know what makes him tick, what pisses him off, what brings him to the breaking point. He wants to see those gorgeous violet eyes lit with rage.

"None of your business." there's a sly grin that curls onto his lips.

Ivan's eyes crack open his smile never faltering, his stance perfectly still as if nothing was wrong. Alfred felt the chill down his spine and the twitch of his dick. Holy shit. Excitement bubbling in his stomach. The flash of the cameras brought him back to reality, his grin dying down to a neutral expression.

Ivan added nothing more to the conversation, and once again Alfred was bored and left to his own thoughts.

+++

“The food looks great but.. there’s something much more delicious I’d like to eat right now.” Alfred grinned deviously at the man next to him his voice low enough so that only the two of them could hear the lewd comments he made.

"People often forget Francis had a hand in your development, but at moments like these it's hard to miss." Ivan stopped mid bite at Alfred's statement.

"He speaks." cracking a satisfied grin at finally being able to catch Ivan's attention.

"Merely responding to your childish methods of seduction."

"I think you find it amusing, otherwise you wouldn't have said anything."

Their conversation was once again cut short as they remembered they are in the public eye, and their conversations were being closely monitored by anyone sitting nearby. However, that's what made this little game fun. Danger was part of their foreplay. The thought of someone finding them made their release that much sweeter.

Dinner had ended on a positive note and they were free to enjoy the band playing. People got up to dance and socialize in the same boring fashion Alfred’s seen them do it for centuries. Alfred's eyes always ended up back on Ivan. Their eyes lock through the crowd. That was it. They didn't need any other indication of what it is they both wanted in that moment.

Alfred got up from his seat, politely excusing himself to the others at the table. He headed into the crowd of people mingling with one another and dipped into a hallway, away from the noise of people with more power than they know what to do with. He's been in this building before, if he recalls correctly, he knew exactly which room Ivan took him to last time.

He waited about 20 minutes before he heard a knock on the door. Alfred continued to lean against the windows towards the end of the room. This room is a meeting hall, with a large wooden table, windows that spanned half the wall, and paintings of people he's only ever met once.

Ivan entered the dimly lit room and spotted Alfred leaning against the windowsill. Ivan’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the moonlight hit Alfred’s skin.  

"I did not think you were capable of simply sitting here and doing nothing."

"I wasn't just doing nothing; my imagination was running pretty wild."

"I won't ask about what because I truly do not wish to know."

"I wasn't gonna tell you anyways."

"Childish response, as always."

"If you're so annoyed, the door is right there."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Ivan had a hint of annoyance in his voice. The man irritated him so, but he adored that about him. He wasn’t afraid of Ivan even when the rest of the world coward. With each step he could see more and more of his features. It’s been so long. He didn’t bother to lock the door.

"Nope. But you know how to shut me up for awhile."

Ivan rolled his eyes; he and Alfred were practically inches away from one another. The moonlight shined against his eyes making them appear like those stars they used to gaze at so many years ago.

"Why must I always take initiative?"

Alfred simply stared at him.

"This an unfair amount of power imbalanc---

"Shut up and kiss me already!" Alfred cut Ivan off yanking him closer by the lapels of his coat. Alfred becoming more and more impatient, a firm look taking hold in his eyes.

Ivan held Alfred’s face in his gloved hands and roughly pulled him to an aggressive kiss as he slammed him against the wall behind them. Alfred let out a growl that released from the back of his throat and quickly ran his hand through Ivan’s silver locks, gripping tight.

Their kisses were not tender or soft, they held a roughness they knew either could endure. Their grunts, teeth, harsh sucking and shuffling of their uniforms were the only sounds in the large room. They couldn't take their time, and so Alfred made quick work of their belts as their mouths locked together. Alfred was fully erect, while Ivan semi-hard against his thigh. Ivan’s uniform really did things to him.

"Been wanting you to touch me since this thing started."  Alfred panted out breathlessly between each harsh kiss.

Ivan broke their series of kisses as he took both of their exposed cocks and pressed them together, causing them both to let out a noise of pleasure.

"You need to do better to hide your desires."

Alfred bucked his hips as Ivan stroked their slicked cocks. Alfred's breath hitched as he heard Ivan's sharp intake of air. The man was trying hard to be quiet because of where they were, but he was clearly having trouble doing so.

The shorter of the two was also having trouble keeping quiet with each firm stroke to his cock. He bit down into Ivan's shoulder and let out muffled moans into the fabric of his dark blue uniform. The fingers of his free hand dug into Ivan’s scalp while rolling his hips to the movements of the other man’s hand.

Ivan thumbs Alfred's slick slit making the other man shudder. White teeth bit into the tip of Ivan's glove as Alfred slid it off his hand. Blue eyes never let the violet ones across from him. Nothing but the sounds of pants and slick squelches. Nothing but hot breath dancing on their sensitive skin.

Alfred was the first to cum and finished Ivan off with his mouth. Sliding onto his knees and between Ivan’s thighs, Alfred licked the precum off the other man’s cock taking him completely into his mouth. The tip of his cock hit the back of his throat as he breathed in the familiar scent through his nostrils. Bobbing his head back and forth Ivan held tight onto Alfred’s hair to keep himself from bucking into his mouth.

Alfred pulled Ivan’s cock from his warm mouth, flicking his eyes up at Ivan, who looked flushed and like he was in utter bliss.

“Fuck my mouth.” His tone dropping to show the seriousness of his request. Ivan didn’t argue. He knew what the other man could take. Taking him back in Ivan slammed into Alfred’s mouth and down his throat. Alfred gurgled out a moan as Ivan sighed in pleasure. He moved Alfred head up and down and meeting them halfway with thrusts of his hips. Tears welled in Alfred’s eyes as with each thrust but the way he grabbed hold of Ivan’s ass meant he was having a good time. His thrusts sped up as the want to cum increased. Letting out a low growl, Ivan arched his back as he came deep inside Alfred’s throat. He pulled out once he caught his breath and joined Alfred on the floor.

“Are you alright?” concern lacing his voice as he brought out a handkerchief to wipe up Alfred’s mouth.

“Yeah.” His voice hoarse, but the slight smile on his lips convinced Ivan of his words taking the small gesture and wiping his lips.

“You go out first, I’ll see you there.”

“Of course.”

Both went their separate ways, and Alfred was smiling like a cat who got the cream. He’ll been feeling Ivan’s cock in the back of his throat for a while, just enough to satisfy him for the next meeting.

[artlessictoan]

this time it’s an ao3 req, for inosaku running into each other after years apart when butch!sakura has grown into herself more! y’know my original plan was like a silly ‘childhood friend moves away but comes back Hot’ bit of fluff, but then Shower Thoughts hit me like a fucking sledgehammer and now there are more emotions than i'm fit to deal with tbqh. canon-verse, except sak left konoha sometime after the chunin exams and she also has wood release bc unlike kishi I’m not a coward

(requests open)

(ao3 mirror)

---

Shit, shit, shit!

Ino’s breathing was ragged as she launched herself off the wet, muddy ground and up into the trees. The chakra coating her feet kept her steady on slick bark, but her reserves were dwindling and her concentration was split between tracking her enemy and formulating a plan on the fly.

This was supposed to be a simple mission; she was going to murder Shikamaru when she got back to Konoha.

But thoughts of home could wait, right now she had an S-rank fugitive to lead as far away from her terrified genin team as her battered body would allow. They were safe enough for now – Yui was injured, but she at least remained conscious and she had Haru and Risa with her to care for her, Ino could only pray that they’d followed her orders to head for the nearest village and gotten there safely – but Ino herself was running out of air and energy, her broken arm jolting painfully in its crude sling with every jump she made.

The sound of snapping branches behind her was growing closer. She kept her gaze on the path ahead, but had to bite her lip tightly to keep her head clear.

She could recall most of the vital information from the man’s entry in Konoha’s Bingo Book; a former Kiri-nin, fled his country over twenty years ago, known to use lightning jutsu and experiment with chakra amplifying techniques, something of a lone wolf, suspected of multiple counts of kidnapping and human experimentation.

On any other day, she could easily take this guy, but they’d stumbled into an ambush and she’d had three young, unprepared students to protect. He got off a lucky shot and she had been forced to flee long enough to get her team out of harm’s way, before doubling back to lead him far, far away from them. No way was she letting some filthy low-life get a hold of her kids, nor did she intend to let him get away and hurt anyone else.

Now she just had to make a plan to beat him.

She didn’t get long to plan however, when a bolt of lightning streaked past her and severed the branch she had just been readying to land on before she could get there. Too late to change course, she could only brace herself for a rough landing.

Her broken arm screamed as she hit the ground, even her best attempts to shield it not doing anything to stop the tremor that spread through her entire body when she landed heavily on her back. No time to waste thinking about pain though; she sprang to her feet just in time to dodge his follow-up attack. He landed behind her and threw a jutsu-enhanced punch at the back of her head, she ducked, leg spinning out to cut his out from under him, he jumped, flipping over her to land at her back again, growling, she rolled forward and – with a chakra boost – launched herself forwards, darting between trees and trying to gain some distance.

Maybe she could create a few clones, send him on a chase while she hid and prepared one of her family’s techniques, she didn’t want to take the risk of mind-body switch in this scenario, but maybe mind distur-

She just barely dodged the fist of lighting aimed at her already-injured arm, her breathing ragged as she ducked away from his constant attacks, never giving her the chance to counter.

Her foot caught a root as she backed away and she could feel herself falling. Fuck.

A shrill, ear-splitting screech cut through the air, leaving Ino both jittery and dazed as she tried to work out what the hell he’d just done. But, when her eyes landed on him, he was already leaping away from her, dodging out of the way of the tree crashing down where he had just been standing, his own eyes wide as saucers as he wildly looked around.

Less than a second after he landed, another tree began to scream its descent.

Someone else is after him? She barely had time to act on that thought – instinctually searching out for chakra signatures nearby – when, in a flurry of leaves and petals, her opponent was ensnared in twisting branches of a sapling cherry tree.

Her stomach twisted violently. His vain struggling against the chakra-strengthened branches went completely ignored by her, as the third party finally stepped out of the forest.

Ino didn’t need to see her to know; the painfully familiar touch of her chakra was more than enough.

Pink hair – the same shade as the tiny flowers dotting the wooden prison – was cut close to her head, arms as thick as tree trunks and darkened by sunlight were left bare, as were the well-muscled legs clad only in plain, practical shorts. The years had been good to her, she looked stronger, and not just physically.

She didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to draw the woman’s attention, didn’t want to discover that she had been forgotten.

The word escaped her lips regardless.

“S-Sakura?”

Those eyes, older, a little tired perhaps, but still sparkling in the dappled light filtering through the leaves high above them. “Ino!”

Before she could formulate a single coherent thought, she was lifted in crushing arms and spun wildly around. Under different circumstances, she might’ve found pleasure in being held tightly in warm, sturdy arms, but as it was, she had a broken arm trapped between their bodies.

Her sharp hiss quickly stopped the exuberant greeting and she was carefully dropped.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just got so excited,” Sakura said, hands flapping vaguely near her injured arm as though it might drop off any second, “here, let me-”

Fighting every aching desire within her, Ino jerked away, glancing over her shoulder to check on the criminal still trapped within Sakura’s jutsu – and the bombshell that the girl, no, she was a woman now, had somehow learned Wood Release in the years they’d been apart was something she would just have to unpack later – examining his chakra to ensure he was truly unconscious and not just faking it, before turning her back to her oldest and dearest friend.

“Ino?”

She withheld a shudder, concealing the motion as she stepped forwards. “I can’t exactly stop and catch up; I’ve got to find my students.”

“Oh, I think I met them already,” Sakura said, jogging ahead to cut her off, “three kids, the tall girl had a wounded leg and the boy was wearing a hat? They’re the ones who told me their sensei still needed help.” 

Her good hand flew to Sakura’s shirt, gripping tightly. “Where are they, tell me you didn’t just leave them alone-”

The low chuckle simultaneously made her want to punch the woman and swoon.

She settled for glaring.

“Relax, they’re with Tsunade-shishou and she’s already healed their wounds-” the relief must’ve been obvious on her face, because Sakura’s lips quirked up slightly “-it was actually a bit of a struggle getting them to stay behind.”

Sakura once again reached for her arm, Ino shrugged her off and turned away. “I should still go see them, make sure they’re alright.”

“Hey, stop worrying for a second and let me help you.” Placing her hand on Ino’s uninjured shoulder, Sakura slowly pushed her to sit on the spongy moss covering the ground, then, with the gentlest touch Ino had ever known, she pulled her broken arm out of its sling and set to work.

Ino stared at the expression of pure concentration on her old friend, the hard lines of her profile softened by the light green glow emanating from her hands. She had been ignoring the pain fairly well until now, but the sudden relief that flooded through her nerves left her feeling a little light-headed, which was perhaps why she decided to open her mouth.

“Since when can you do that?” She winced at how bitter she sounded. Shit, she really had intended to stay calm and civil, but her idiot brain was ignoring every pleading wail of her fool heart to just accept the gift and dig her fingers through that short, messy hair and kiss the beautiful, wonderful jerk already.

If Sakura noticed her tone, she didn’t say so and her eyes flicked over to meet hers for only a second before returning to her arm. “Not long after I left, I guess.”

“And… that?” she asked, glowering at the man held limp in his prison.

“That... was a more recent development, took me ages to figure it out, but it’s pretty cool though, right?” If she hadn’t been busy with her healing, Ino had the awful suspicion that she would’ve flexed her arms, or waggled her eyebrows as well.

She snapped her arm away from Sakura’s grasp the second the healing was complete, absently twisting her joints to regain some feeling in them. “That’s one word for it,” she muttered, pushing herself to her feet and staring into the forest. If she really stretched her senses, she could pick up the three familiar chakra signatures of her students; she started walking towards them, tossing a glance over her shoulder. “I assume you can take our friend there to the necessary authorities.”

“What?” Once more her path was blocked, this time by a rapidly sprouting sapling. “Ino, we haven’t seen each other in so long, why are you so desperate to get away?”

“Because I’ve got a team to take care of. I don’t have the luxury of shirking my responsibilities.”

Clearly Sakura was done ignoring her not-so-subtle cattiness, judging by the hint of frustration to her voice as she said, “Are you mad at me for something?”

Ino stared at the flowers blooming in front of her nose and hated the little part of her that got excited at seeing tiny purple buds mixed in with the pink. She immediately shut her eyes against the sight and tried desperately to hold on to the ball of anger deep in her chest, threatening to dissolve into shadows and slip through her fingers any second.

She had imagined this day for so long now, played out so many different scenarios and responses – anger, joy, grief, love – but now that Sakura was here, real and close, the potential she’d fallen for as a girl, finally realised, bolder and more beautiful than she ever could have dreamed…

“It’s been over fourteen years Sakura! You can't just show up out of nowhere and act like nothing’s wrong!” Ino was on the verge of tears and even she couldn’t tell whether she was aiming to sound furious or distressed, but she pushed on, refusing to open her eyes, or turn back around, because she just knew that the second she looked Sakura in the face, all would be forgiven. “Where the hell have you been? Why did you leave?”

The long silence that followed her outburst was crushing.

Something silky and soft brushed against her cheek and, if she wasn’t intimately familiar with the texture of petals and leaves from her work, she might’ve leapt out of her skin. Instead she just let the flower wipe away the tear that had slipped free of her eye.

When Sakura finally spoke again, her voice came from just a few inches behind her, low and calming, “It wasn’t a decision I made lightly and I can’t pretend I don’t have some regrets leaving the way I did… but I don’t regret leaving.” Gentle calm, quickly turned to barely restrained excitement and Ino smiled at the enthusiasm in her old friend’s voice despite herself. “There’s so much out in the world, so much I’ve learned, ways I’ve grown, if I’d stayed, I never would’ve had the opportunity to learn healing from Tsunade-shishou, or develop my own kind of Wood Style! Konoha… it held me back, maybe not deliberately, but now that I’ve been outside it for so long, I can see just how much it needs to change.”

Opening her eyes and slowly turning around to face the woman, Ino had to accept that she had lost whatever battle she was fighting with herself.

Really, she’d lost the second Sakura showed up, eyes and soul blazing.

“I guess I can understand that,” she said, rubbing at the damp tracks across her cheeks, “but you didn’t even explain it, when you told me you were going away to train for a while, I thought you meant for a few weeks, but I kept waiting and you never came back and I didn’t even know what was happening, if you were even still safe.”

Sakura at least had the grace to look ashamed. “Yeah, that was pretty shit of me, I probably should’ve at least written to you more, but I just… you were more than a best friend to me, you were my idol, everything I wanted to be. And I needed to become someone you could love.”

She scoffed before she could stop herself, before shaking her head. “You idiot, I always loved you.”

A soft blush settled on her cheeks, but Sakura’s smile held not a spec of embarrassment, just a soft, subtle kind of melancholy. “I know, but…” She looked down at herself, hands fidgeting with the fabric of her shirt before she continued, in a voice that shook, just a little, at the edges, “But, before I could love you – as a person, not an idea – I had to learn how to love myself.”

Ino bit her lip and hesitantly reached out, laying her hand gently over Sakura’s. “So, do you? Love yourself I mean?”

She glanced down at the hand encasing her own, before slowly following the line of her arm back up to her face. Her gaze was tender, but assured. “Yeah,” she said with a short laugh, every trace of sadness lifting from her face in the wake of her bright smile.

It was crooked and a bit too wide, showing off teeth that had probably been knocked loose more than once, and it was the most beautiful Ino had ever seen her.

“Yeah, I really do.”

“And-” she didn’t care that her hand was trembling against Sakura’s as she stepped closer; close enough to count the freckles dusted across her nose and marvel at the myriad shades of green in her eyes “-do you love me?”

Sakura stepped forward herself, tilting her neck slightly to look her in the eye. “You even have to ask?”

Before she could think of an adequate response to that, she was tugged down and warm lips were pressed against hers in a feather-light kiss. Ino pressed closer, sliding her free hand behind Sakura’s neck to hold her in place as they giggled into each other’s skin. They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, kissing chaste but oh-so-sweet, occasionally stopping to just lean their foreheads together and share in their equally wobbly smiles.

Eventually though, they had to wake up from their fantasy come to life, when the long-forgotten prisoner began to stir and immediately started cursing them both.

“C’mon, lets get back to your team before Tsunade starts teaching them gambling tricks,” Sakura said, pulling away to tear the jail from the ground and sling it – trunk, roots, criminal and all – over her shoulder.

Ino was not at all ashamed to admit that she swooned.

“And… maybe I could come back with you? I’ve been away from home for way too long.” The question was a little uncertain, as though Sakura was still worried that she might be rejected.

The hand Ino offered was taken without question and they both began walking toward home.

---

[johnnymundano]

Prom Night (2008)

Directed by Nelson McCormick Screenplay by J.S. Cardone Music by Paul Haslinger Country: Canada, United States Running time: 88 minutes CAST Brittany Snow as Donna Keppel Scott Porter as Bobby Jessica Stroup as Claire Davis Dana Davis as Lisa Hines Collins Pennie as Ronnie Heflin Kelly Blatz as Michael Allen James Ransone as Detective Nash Brianne Davis as Crissy Lynn Kellan Lutz as Rick Leland Mary Mara as Mrs. Waters Ming-Na Wen as Dr. Elisha Crowe Johnathon Schaech as Richard Fenton Idris Elba as Detective Winn Jessalyn Gilsig as Aunt Karen Linden Ashby as Uncle Jack

Theft Alert: All images from IMDB

Donna Keppel (Brittany Snow; working hard here, bless) is the only survivor of a family massacre perpetrated by Richard Fenton (Johnathon Schaech; looking very Sean William Scott), a creepy teacher with a boner for her. Tonight Donna’s Prom Night is being held at a swanky hotel,  but tonight is also the night Richard escapes from The Home For Creepy Teachers With Wayward Boners. Everything you expect to happen happens, just a lot less interestingly than you would expect for a slasher movie, certainly for one that cost $20 million. Prom Night (2008) is like an experiment see if it possible to make a slasher flick so inoffensive and dumb it could be screened at tea time on The Disney®©™ Channel. It turns out it is in fact possible to make such a thing, but unfortunately no one would want to watch it. It actually makes you hanker for Prom Night (1980), as low-budget and timeworn as that disco slasher may well be.  

For starters, Prom Night (2008) is not a remake of Prom Night (1980) despite what anyone says. Fuck that noise, someone obviously just wanted to use the title. End. Of. They are both slasher movies which take place on Prom Night, but that’s it. I know this because I watched Prom Night (1980) recently for the first time, and last night I watched Prom Night (2008) for the last time. Prom Night (1980) has a mystery surrounding the identity of the killer, which keeps you awake and which also has a surprisingly strong emotional pay off, whereas in Prom Night (2008) we know who the killer is from the off, which is boring and has no pay off at all. Essentially then, this is the difference between the two, one is a bit amateurish but very entertaining, while the other is slick as snot on a door handle and as dull as ditch water. 

Ultimately only one Prom Night successfully evokes the youthful exuberance of the night in question, which is important as I am 50 and English, so I have no personal experience whatsoever of a Prom Night. Also: get off my lawn! Prom Night (1980) makes it look like a fantastically enjoyable event at which hormonally crazed kids dance enthusiastically to fantastically simplistic disco. Apparently the movie was shot with the cast dancing to real, popular disco hits until the makers realised you have to actually pay to use other people’s music (?!who knew!?). Being a bit strapped for cash they had the soundtrack composer Carl Zittrer cook up some home-made disco beats at roughly the same tempo so the visuals and sound would still gel. Carl Zitterer did an excellent job.  A bit too excellent in fact, since the similarity was still so pronounced a $10 million lawsuit was brought against the movie (and settled for $50,000 – phew!). A small price to pay for one of the most cheerful and fun dance sequences I’ve ever seen, particularly as I didn’t pay it. Prom Night (1980) is a decent slasher flick but the dance floor sequence is just pure joy.  Prom Night (2008) makes Prom Night look like a shit night club where nobody knows anyone else there; seriously, the interaction of the core group with everyone else, who they apparently have known for years, is ridiculously minimal. And the songs are the kind of heatedly sexual nursery rhymes I am generationally disposed to dislike. I just don’t get it, basically. You crazy kids! “Who’s your daddy? And is he rich like me?” isn’t so much a song lyric to me as a reason to call the sex police. And while technically the dancing in Prom Night (2008) is smoother, the dancing in Prom Night (1980) is more realistically ramshackle and energetic. 

Also, in Prom Night (1980) the killer, whoever they are, is refreshingly human (they slip on the slippery floor at one point, etc) but in Prom Night (2008) the killer is a tediously efficient killer; which is odd because he’s just a school teacher with a creepy boner for one of his female students, which explains none of his killing efficacy. By rights he should just be crying while wanking over the school yearbook, as I imagine most creepy schoolteachers with boners for their female students do. Maybe creepy schoolteachers with boners for their female students find that reductive and a little offensive of me, and that’s a real crying shame there, because the last thing I want to do is offend creepy teachers with boners for their female students. Every school has that one teacher who dates his female students “secretly”, and as the female student ages out of school he replaces her with a new female student. Maybe you are that guy. In which case you need to hear this: Dude, you are creepy. No one is impressed; they are creeped out. Preying on children is not cool. And if they are in school they are children, I don’t care how developed their chest is. A light prison sentence or some intensive therapy are what you need, creepy teacher dude, not high fives and Budweiser with the bros. (I do apologise for the fact I went to school in the 1970s leading to my not acknowledging that creepy schoolteachers can also be female, and the students being creeped on can be both female and male; with any combination of gender being creeper and creeped upon. I guess everyone sex creeping on everyone else, well, that’s progress? Well done, everyone. Personally I would have tried to phase out the whole creepy-schoolteacher-with-a-boner-for-their-student thing but I guess expanding it across the gender spectrum is certainly one way to go.)

In terms of cast Prom Night (1980) only really has Jamie Lee Curtis and Leslie Nielsen as “names” but everyone is okay, and the characters are all quite quirky and sympathetic. Prom Night (2008) might not have many “names” but it has a far more professional level of acting, which is a win for it. But, alas, while there are real actors in Prom Night (2008) and they all try hard with what they are given, what they are given is so lacklustre and generic it is dismaying how much effort they probably had to put in just to make the characters seem as bland as they do. There’s the black couple; he’s good at sports, she’s a bit sassy. There’s the co-dependant bickering couple; he’s controlling and drinks too much, she’s whiny and, well, she’s just whiny. The gym teacher is sparky and enthusiastic like absolutely no gym teacher I’ve ever met in my half a decade existence, but very like every gym teacher in American high school set shows on Nickleodeon. The most interesting character is Detective Nash, and that’s only because James Ransone appears amusingly miscast; unless a cop who resembles Christian Bale if he was a candleblogger is your idea of a movie cop.  Obviously that’s nobody’s idea of a movie cop, luckily though Idris Elba knows what everyone expects from a Movie Cop and delivers it with lightly self-parodic gusto. Of course   Idris Elba is unarguably a charismatic screen presence; I know that because most of the things I’ve seen him in are godawful but he is always a pleasure. Maybe it’s just unfortunate choices on my part and I’m actually missing a string of entertainment pearls starring Idris Elba, even so Prom Night (2008) would come in on the poopy side of the mark sheet. But, again, even in something as poopy as Prom Night (2008) Idris Elba is fun. Here he’s The Big City Cop so he walks like he’s prolapsed and rasps his dialogue like he regularly gargles lava-hot cawfee. The enthusiasm Elba invests in playing this poorly written part makes up a bit for the utter idiocy of the character. Ultimately though nothing could distract from Detective Winn’s stupidity, so colossally boneheaded are his actions in the movie.

Prom Night (2008) seems to take place in an alternate universe where every authority figure is a moron. In a better slasher flick this might be a genuine attempt at a point, but here it’s just bad writing. Sure, you might think that everyone in authority in the universe we actually inhabit is a moron, and at this point in history you would have a strong case, counsellor. Exhibit one being our current lying coward of a Prime Minister (I write this in the year 2020). But the authority figures in Prom Night (2008) are actually more excessive in their cretinous obliviousness than even that lying shyster. Having (eventually) realised that the killer is loose Idris Elba visits Donna’s guardians, who decide not to bring her home immediately or have her placed in police custody for her own protection, because it might “embarrass her” in front of her friends and put a big downer on this magical night of awful dresses, terrible music and light fingerbanging. Idris Elba, a policeman remember, goes along with this, which is kind of epically dumb, but then he raises the dumbness stakes by going to the Hotel Swank to keep an eye on Donna. Literally. He actually stands by a bit of silver scaffold in the dance hall for hours, and stares at the back of her head, occasionally rubbing the top of his own head and pursing his lips. Incredibly this does nothing to locate and apprehend the killer, who is merrily killing staff and guest alike at his own convenience. Idris Elba even asks at the desk if they have seen the killer, even showing them a picture (which is some amazing police work for Prom Night (2008)). But when asked by the desk clerk if he should be concerned Idris Elba says ”no”. Later when the fact that the killer is in the hotel killing people can’t even be avoided by Idris Elba he pulls the fire alarm and the entire hotel decants chaotically onto the street. Because there’s absolutely no way the killer could get out unnoticed during that, right? Absolutely no way at all. Nu-uh! Essentially most of the people in Prom Night (2008) who die do so because Idris Elba’s character has all the brains of a shoe.

And a lot of people do die in Prom Night (2008), but don’t get too excited slasher flick fans, because it doesn’t really feel like it because the kills are largely inoffensive stuff; which in a slasher movie is kind of offensive in itself. Prom Night (2008)  tries to distract from the lack of splatter with sudden bursts of convulsive editing which just makes it look like the killer is over amorously cuddling people to the floor, or re-enacting his favourite Super Bowl tackles. The only clue that his victims are dead comes later when we get to see the body with some dainty little red marks on their clothes. So averse is Prom Night (2008) to actually getting bloody that one character has their throat slashed and so little claret splashes it’s preposterous. If you were asleep next to somebody with their throat cut you’d wake up sodden in the red stuff, you wouldn’t have to turn them over to discover they were dead. Maybe Prom Night (2008) should have invested some of that $20 million in a medical professional acting as a consultant to tell them that throat wounds tend to, you know, bleed profusely since it’s all the blood inside you coming out of that new hole that kills you. Okay, sometimes it’s the shock of blood loss that offs you but, whatever, there’s a lot of blood involved. There is, I admit, one artfully shot kill where an arc of blood spatters a sheet of plastic but mostly the effects in Prom Night (2008) are less Tom Savini and more Tom and Jerry.

Sadly then, when it comes to this particular Prom Night (2008) you’re better off staying at home and washing your hair.

[larissel]

Day 5: Monster

Fandom: Legend of Korra

Ship: Baavira

Words: 1908

Summary: Explicit. The big bad wolf has come for his claim.

A/N: I’m obligated to at least do one smut, also don’t hate me for what you’re about to read. Also this is my first time writing this sort of thing, so I hope it’s just okay at best.

[AO3]

Danger hides, danger lurks; stalking in every corner and concealing itself in the darkness, however Kuvira does not fear for what lies in the shadows—the beyond and unknown, she’s too old and having lived quite a life with more to come. Besides, it sure is a beautiful night out in the woods and it would be an offense if she were to ignore her very nature. After all, beauty can, too, be found in danger.

“Too bad no one is here to spend it with me!” she exclaimed to no one with her voice echoing loudly in the empty woods, saved for the faunas wandering around. If she hadn’t dressed up so nicely for the night she might've hunted them down, boredom makes her hungry sometime. “He’s late.” She grunted, crossing her together.

Baatar’s never late and he would’ve let her know by now if that’s the case, always the gentleman. Though, she asked herself whether or not she should be worry. ‘It’s quiet.’ She stood still, eyes scanning the area.

Too quiet, might she add with narrowed gaze, observing her surroundings. She finds it suspicious, seeing how still everything became, not even a single breeze blew by as if time itself freeze. And she’s alone, not even a wandering deer or a scurrying rabbit can’t be felt.

Something’s not right…at all…

“How…ominous,” she commented when a strong breeze suddenly came by with leaves flying everywhere. She shivered despite the fact she could no longer feel the cold, then her eyes turned wide; a howl coming from the distant. “Oh no…” She commented, turning her head to look up at the sky, the clouds had parted ways to reveal the moon was at its absolute brightest and fullest tonight.

“Shit,” Kuvira cursed, scowling up at the sky – specifically – at the moon. “This is just great, really fine and dandy.” Her arms gesticulated in a wild manner. Another howl can be heard, one that is closer prior to the first; the sound of the bushes rustling and leave breaking drew her back to sanity.

“Who’s there?” Her head whipped to the source of the noise. Nothing responded to her in return, going on ahead to investigate. “I said who’s there?!” She demanded to know, eyes glowing menacingly, and before she can take another step, a large and looming shadow towered over her. Frozen on her spot, she slowly turned to see a monstrous form, standing at least nine feet tall, growling at her face.

Instead of running in fear like what any mortal, or coward, would’ve done, Kuvira’s expression twisted into one of annoyance. “You’re late.” She uttered, glaring at him.

Baatar responded to her with another growl. His breath can be seen in the night’s cold air, panting heavily with his tongue lolled out, eyes dark and wild; the hair covering his body prickled up.

“Are you okay?” Kuvira’s brows furrowed when she took immediate note of his strange behavior. She took a step back, examining him closer from head to— “Oh!” If she was still a living human being, she would’ve been blushing.

What greeted her was his fully erected cock.

Looking back up, Kuvira’s breath hitched to suddenly see his face was inches away from hers, sniffing the air around her before she was instantly pounced and pinned down onto the ground, catching her off guard. He wasn’t done yet however, continuing to sniff around her before pressing his snout against the crook of her neck; a feeling that sent shivers down her spine. She knew what he was trying to look for, reaching up to the buttons of her top and undoing them to reveal a mark on top of her breast.

A low rumbled left Baatar’s chest when his mate’s scent overwhelmed his senses, licking the mark he had left on her body hundreds of years ago. He was hungry, a hunger no one but only she can satisfy.

Seeing the all too familiar look on his face, Kuvira shook her head then shouted, “Don’t even think—”

The sound of fabric being ripped in shreds filled the air, leaving Kuvira completely bare on the ground and disgruntled at what just occurred. After all, Baatar completely tore her – a mortal saying – vintage clothes. A resigned sigh left her lips, still looking up at him and pinned down by him. She’s can’t be too mad at him in his current state, and now, there’s more important things that calls to her.

“Well?” she started, raising a brow at him. “What are you waiting for?!” Her eyes were blazing, pooled with desire. She could feel the fire burning in his loins, the carnal lust that’s beating rapidly in his heart, and his cock already dripping with pre-cum, needing to fill his seeds in his mate.

As if he heeded to her words, Baatar didn’t waste any more time when he tightened his hold on her thighs, thrusting his cock into her pussy. He felt her body shuddering beneath his, how her body responded to his: open and wet, practically purring at him and ready to sate his appetite. And without further ado, he started to move.

His thrusting was anything but gentle or soft, as it is in his nature for a creature like him. It was rough, and even with her ability to withstand almost anything, it still hurt—thriving on it, as it is, too, in her nature for a creature like her. It’s no wonder they – creatures of the night – gravitate towards one another.

They’re perfect for each other despite the bitter rivalry between their kinds, spanning even before the start of humankind. Their kinds would never approve of such relation and they would both die a bloody death if word of their union ever got out, but lucky for them, their kin remains oblivious. They were safe for now.

“Is that the best you got?” Kuvira said, giving him a wicked look. “I know you can do better.”

Oh Baatar knew he can definitely do better, taking her challenge at heart, or rather, his heat. He started to move harder against her, her slick folds making it easier for him to move. It felt good to be joining together as one once more, especially after the night searching for his mate, guided only by her scent and her faint arousal. But her arousal was stronger now, almost overwhelming his senses.

“Harder.”

A growl was emitted from his throat as he, once again, moved harder. Hearing her sweet moans filled him with delight, shivering at how her hands ran through his fur and how she breathed heavily into his pointed ear. He leaned his face down to her chest, lapping his tongue across her mark. His mark.

“Harder.”

He relented. She was deliciously tight and her cunt felt so good around his cock, feeling her legs wrapped around his hips to pull him in closer, moving her hips along with his and jutting them upwards, rubbing up against him. Pride surged through the werewolf, continuing to ram his hips against hers with the sound of their flesh hitting against one another filling the air, but her cries were even louder with his growls and told him repeatedly never to stop. His cock hitting her in ways that left her wailing like a banshee, writhing and crying—

“Harder.”

Baatar nearly snapped her neck, looking down at her with a great annoyance, and yet, he still obeyed. He pulled out – a desperate moan leaving her lips at the sudden lost of contact – his shaft, glistening with her arousal under the moonlight. Without warning, he pulled her legs apart, rubbing the tip of his cock against her dripping pussy before thrusting back in—hard and fast. His claws digging deep into her thighs, leaving trails on the ground as he drove himself deeper into her body.

He picked her up, on his knees now. Kuvira started to move down on him, throwing her head back, letting out a cry. Her fangs protruded with her mouth, practically gleaming under the moon before her teeth sank deep into his neck, piercing through his skin. His blood flowed down into her throat, shuddering when she drank from him greedily, her belly filled and warm. And Baatar welcomed it wholeheartedly, pleasure was all he felt; a euphoric high for them both.

Kuvira continued to ride him, pulling her mouth away from his neck. Her nails were sharp, digging into his shoulders as she pushed down against him harder; her breathing turned into pants, quick and heavy. Her eyes shut, throwing her head back to let out one last cry when she finally came, shaking to her very core.

It wasn’t long until Baatar soon followed, pulling her body close against his when her walls clamped down on his cock when she finally came all over him. His cock pulsated inside her, howling loudly into the night when his seeds flooded inside her. Her body was cold against his hot one.

“Good boy…” Kuvira panted, catching her breath, “…my love.” She said, kissing his snout.

A deep rumbled emitted from his chest before he started to move again; he was hard, and judging by the smell of her sex, she wants it too. Just as badly as he does, it overwhelmed his senses once more. There is no shame to that and it matters not to these immortals. After all, the night is young and things have truly just begun.

xxx

Baatar fretted, making sure the curtains were drawn securely and the windows were covered, keeping the sunlight out. He turned his eyes back to Kuvira who was lying on the fur rug in front of the fireplace with a worried expression. As he should be, they barely made it in time; they were lucky the cabin has long been abandoned. “Are you all right?” He asked, afraid he didn’t make it on time.  

“For the hundredth time, yes, I’m fine,” Kuvira groaned. Her skin still felt hot however, a sensation that felt like her entire body has been set on fire, but she’ll live, just as long as she stays away from the sun for the rest of the day.

Baatar opened his mouth, but was interrupted by Kuvira who simply put a hand up in the air.

“Really, I’m fine,” she said, giving him a reassuring look. It’s fortunate he managed to find the cabin just in time before the sun fully came up. “Now stop worrying and get in here with me, you owe me.”

“I just saved your life,” he said, getting into the makeshift bed with her on the floor in front of the fireplace. “What do I even owe you?”

“Well, for starters, I was right all along: your heat was this month’s, not like you initially thought.” She gave him an “I told you so” look. “You also owe me a proper date…and some new clothes.” Her tone didn’t give him a chance to dare say his piece. She was too tired and – other than nearly getting burned by the sun –her body was still aching all in the right ways from last night.

Baatar opened his mouth once more before he slowly closed his mouth, bowing his head down in defeat. Best not argue with her on this one. “Yes, ma’am.” He said, kissing her shoulder blade, holding her close before it wasn’t long until they both fell into a deep slumber.