#like still feed the fuck out of any teenager you know

[eyeofnewtblog]

Things that happen at work:

So, first and foremost, AutoZone is ALWAYS hiring. Don’t even bother going into the store closest to you to ask; fill out the online application first and THEN go into the store like a week later and be like, hey there general manager, did you have a chance to look over my application? I filled it out a week ago and haven’t heard anything so I just wanted to check if you were still hiring. Absolutely the best way to get an impromptu interview and autozone freaking loves hiring teenagers or people who already work a 9-5 because they need extra bodies for the evening or weekend.

That being said.

I work with a LOT of freaking teenagers.

Which, honestly, is kinda fun for me personally, because 90% of the time they like goofing around, they play back when I’m fucking around, and it’s fun to make them use common sense.

So tonight I had to help one last customer before I went to go clean the bathrooms, but this particular customer wanted a battery change, so I’m getting the cart set up to go out and actually change the battery in the parking lot, when the manager for the night comes up and says,

“Hey, let one of the kids do the battery thing, I trust you more with cleaning than I do any of them,” which, fine, not necessarily fair because at this point we all know how to do a quick scrub down and batteries are literally three bolts and some heaving, but whatever.

So, in comes Bryan. Bryan is an absolute sweetheart, but he’s been driving me nuts all night because, since we are right next to each other in registers, he’s been asking me every single question that ever even filters through his brain. Again, Bryan is a sweetheart, but his common sense is…lacking. Kiddo is 17, I’m not expecting nuclear physics here, but basic paying attention to his surroundings is semi expectant. Even I don’t remember exactly where everything is, all the time, I know that I rely on muscle memory to find parts. But I’ve spent all night telling poor Bryan things like “okay you know where the belts are? You know how the belt section only goes up to about your forehead? Directly ABOVE the belts is belt tensioners, that’s where this pulley will be.” Or “okay you know how there’s two entire isles of disc brakes? It starts exactly here, watch how the numbers change if you look at each side. See how the numbers go up one way and down the other?” Or, “ok, you looked at the pog and the sequence number, and didn’t find it, so that means you have to find it by part number, and luckily it’s a spark plug, so, we’re looking for xp5464. Where do you see only xp as a starting of part numbers? Great, where is there an xp54? There you go! Ok, great job, what’s the next step?”

All of this, just to circle back to the battery. So, I ring the customer up with the appropriate battery, as well as the battery kit (anti corrosion grease and terminal protection sleeves) and a pair of free gloves, throw the tools on the cart while I’m at it. Like, I’m setting this cart up for a full customer battery charge, before the manager comes over and is all “I trust you to know how to clean the bathrooms more than I want this customer to have their battery changed”

Which, again, fine. Whatever.

Until poor Bryan holds up the grease and terminal protectors and says, loud as fuck, in front of the customer, “What’s this for?”

So I take the package from him, hold it directly over the battery, and ask him.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna need you to use your common sense here. Look at the battery, and then look at these two different rings. Which color goes where.”

Poor Bryan, honestly completely oblivious to my mood but at least picking up what I’m throwing down: the red ring goes over the red nipple thing and the green ring goes over the black nipple thing.”

The customer, who has honestly been shoving Twix in his mouth for no possible reason I can see: Well, that’s the best 30 second battery install explanation I’ve Ever Seen. (He said it like he personally thought it was funny but I’m unclear if he was actually joking or sarcastic and quite frankly don’t care)

Me, to Bryan: let me ring him up and get you the sticker for the core, then it should just be a standard battery install.

Customer: *proceeded to have extreme difficulty with payment methods, eventually gets it figured out*

Bryan, forty minutes later, his pretty Latin curls shoved around haphazardly from sweat and his face covered in grease: That was not a normal battery change! I had to undo like ten bolts!

Me:…honey, the store policy is that if you have to remove more than the terminals and a locking bar or clamp, you are allowed to refuse service. You can stand there and monitor the tools while the customer does whatever they need to, but you can refuse service if it’s beyond your skill set.

Poor Bryan: *the look of realization on his face, like he clearly didn’t mind doing the battery change but the option to make it the customer’s problem instead of the store’s liability? Never crossed his mind until that moment…*

Anyway, working with teenagers is legit great because you get to teach them problem solving skills (all the little short cuts you know) and how to think AROUND the problem instead of getting confrontational with customers, with the bonus entertainment value of watching them play out real but low stakes consequences (make sure you’re setting your teenagers up for actual success though, otherwise you’ll just be laughing at your own failure to teach…)

[elladreams]

Echoes of the Past // MV1

summary: An unexpected reunion with her high school bully reignites old wounds and unresolved feelings.

trigger warnings: she/her Y/N, mentions of bullying, smut (18+), dom!max, dub!con if you squint, size kink.

words: 5.4K

The warm Mediterranean sun cast a golden glow on the elegant terrace of La Villa Belle Époque, overlooking the turquoise waters of the Côte d'Azur. Y/N took a sip of a Mimosa, her eyes casually scanning the crowd of impeccably dressed guests. Her breath hitched when her gaze unexpectedly landed on a face she had desperately hoped to forget—Max fucking Verstappen.

The shock of seeing him for the first time since high school sent a jolt through her. Y/N had spent countless nights imagining this moment, rehearsing every possible scenario, crafting a mental script to prepare herself. Despite her preparations, now, standing on the brink of reality, she realized that no amount of overthinking could have braced her for the adrenaline surging through her veins. Years of therapy and thousands of Euros spent had not insulated her from the impact of his presence; she was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. That’s how much control he still had over her.

She hadn’t exactly been hiding under a rock these past years. His achievements were plastered all over the news, his smug face beamed from towering billboards and shop windows. No matter how many social media accounts she blocked, the gossip, the paparazzi photos—they always found a way to haunt her feed. Somehow, she had meticulously crafted a filtered reality where he didn’t exist in any way, shape, or form. 

She had worked tirelessly to erase that part of her teenage years, especially the memories of a particularly cruel boy who had tormented her during the most awkward phase of her life. Every day, he seemed to find new ways to humiliate her—cutting remarks about her appearance, mocking her every move, and ensuring she felt small whenever he was around. It was as if he took pleasure in targeting her insecurities, knowing exactly where to strike to leave lasting scars. 

Yet, despite the cruelty, her heart betrayed her; she couldn't help but admire him from afar, drawn to the charm he effortlessly wielded over everyone but her. The worst part was the way her love for him only deepened the pain, turning every insult into a twisted reminder of the affection she would never receive from him.

With him spending most of his time training and competing in Formula 3 races, school started offering her sweet relief from his torment. So imagine her shock when he showed up at the annual summer camp—a place she had always considered her safe haven, where she hoped to blend in and finally focus on building her social life. But even there, he found her, and the teasing that haunted her school days followed her to what was supposed to be her escape. 

They were paired together during a hike that led them deep into the woods. She had been quiet the whole time, trying to keep her distance, while he alternated between mocking her and ignoring her altogether. As the sun began to set and the group started heading back to camp, they somehow got separated from the others. It was just the two of them, walking through the trees, the air thick with the sounds of nature and an awkward silence between them.

She was nervous, her heart pounding for reasons she wanted to ignore. Then, out of nowhere, he stopped and turned to her, a strange look in his eyes. Before she could ask what he was doing, he stepped closer, his usual smirk replaced by something darker, more serious. She froze as he reached out, his hand brushing her arm, and without warning, he leaned in and slammed his lips to hers. It wasn’t the kiss she had dreamed of—it was quick, almost rough, and utterly unexpected. It felt more like a challenge than a romantic moment, like he was proving something to himself or to her. The kiss left her reeling, not because it was sweet or tender, but because it was him. The boy she had secretly loved, the same boy who had made her life a nightmare, had just stolen her first kiss in the middle of the woods, with no one around to witness it.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stop. Her lips tingled, her mind racing to make sense of what had just happened. But then he pulled back, his familiar smirk returning as if the kiss had meant nothing to him, just another way to mess with her head. He didn’t say anything, just turned and continued walking back to camp as if nothing had happened, leaving her standing there, stunned and conflicted. She touched her lips, feeling a mix of emotions she couldn’t untangle—anger, confusion, and a tiny, treacherous part of her that had wanted it to mean something more. But it didn’t. To him, it was just another game, another way to keep her under his thumb. And as she followed him back to camp, the weight of that realisation crushed the small spark of hope she hadn’t even known she’d been carrying. She had planned to confront him that very next day, the very day he announced he would be leaving school and joining a Formula 1 team.

Now here she was, dressed in her Sunday best, at this pretentious brunch party with a breathtaking view of the Côte d'Azur, clutching a second Mimosa like a lifeline. She silently hoped that drinking it on an empty stomach might actually give her the liquid courage she desperately needed. But there he was, the life of the fucking party, as always. His dark blonde hair, tousled by the August morning breeze, framed a face that could have belonged to a golden age movie star than an elite Formula 1 champion. His tall, lean frame, clad in a loose linen shirt, towered over an older woman he appeared deeply engaged with in conversation. His crystal blue eyes intermittently scanned the crowd, as he took measured sips from what seemed to be some type of hard liquor on the rocks. The casual yet precise movements gave him an air of effortless control, as if he was both part of the scene and aloof from it, surveying his surroundings with a detached curiosity.

In a surge of raw panic, Y/N quickly turned on her heel, praying he hadn’t caught sight of her. There was still time to slip away, unseen, and pretend everything was fine. But she hadn't shown up just for the free drinks or the minuscule hors d’oeuvres. No, she was here because her darling mother—currently nowhere in sight—had insisted on some quality mother-daughter time, lamenting how rare it was these days. 

She downed the rest of her drink and placed the empty glass on a nearby server’s tray with a silent thanks. She needed to leave—now. As she fumbled with her phone, hastily typing an excuse to send her mother, a voice calling her name stopped her cold. A low voice that haunted her nightmares while simultaneously lingering in her darkest fantasies.

“Y/N?” 

Her chance to escape had slammed shut, and all the carefully crafted scenarios she had rehearsed now seemed like distant, fleeting thoughts, slipping further and further from her grasp. Panic threatened to take hold, but she knew she couldn’t afford to unravel—not here, not now. She needed to get her shit together, swallow the rising lump in her throat, and face the situation head-on. It was time to end this—no more running, no more letting him hold power over her. She had come too far, fought too hard to let the past cripple her again. This time, she would be the one in control.

A surprising wave of calm washed over her as she turned to face him, her chin lifted just enough to meet his gaze head-on. "Max." She offered a small, composed smile, hoping it would mask the lingering adrenaline still buzzing at the tips of her fingers. "What a surprise." Her words carried a faint hint of irony, as she couldn’t help but acknowledge the bitter truth—this wasn’t exactly the kind of surprise she had been hoping for. Still, she held her ground, determined not to let him see the turmoil beneath her calm exterior.

"I could say the same," he replied, his voice dripping with a casual arrogance that hadn't faded over the years. His gaze lingered on her, drifting from her slightly parted lips down to the silk dress that clung to her curves in a way that made his mouth dry. He took a step closer, his eyes darkening with a mixture of intrigue and something more primal. "It's been a while. What, pray tell, brings you here?"

She couldn’t suppress the small laugh that bubbled up, partly from nerves, partly from the absurdity of the situation. Grateful for the distraction, she reached for another Mimosa from a passing tray and brought it to her lips, the cool liquid a welcome relief to her parched throat. "It certainly has been quite a while," she said, nodding more to herself than to him, her gaze drifting away as she feigned interest in the stunning view. Anything to avoid the intensity of his stare. She could feel the weight of his presence beside her, and it took every ounce of effort not to let her emotions spill over. But as much as she tried to appear unaffected, the memories of their past tangled with the present, leaving her struggling to maintain her composure.

"Well, aside from the fact that I live here," she replied, her tone crisp, "I’m meeting someone." She took another sip of her Mimosa, using the glass as a shield. "What about you? Don’t you have a crash to cause or a penalty to collect? It is Sunday, last I checked." Her words were laced with a biting sarcasm that she hoped would keep him at a distance, but beneath the surface, her annoyance was bubbling dangerously close to boiling over.

She forced herself to maintain a calm exterior, trying to disguise just how much his presence unsettled her. Every carefully chosen word, every measured breath, was an attempt to keep him from seeing the effect he still had on her. She couldn’t afford to let him know that after all these years, he could still rattle her with just a glance. So she stood there, chin up, desperately clinging to her composure, even as her heart hammered in her chest.

He seemed taken aback by her sharp retort, letting out an actual laugh that filled the air with a mix of surprise and nostalgia. "Look at her, she's finally grown a spine," he remarked, his tone laced with both amusement and a hint of respect. "It is a Sunday, but it’s also summer break, schat. Thanks for keeping tabs tho.” he said, his voice smooth and self-assured as he took a step closer to her, closing the distance between them to almost nothing. The intimate proximity left little room for anything else, certainly not for any proverbial Jesus.

"We need to have a few words, Y/N; in private," he continued, nodding subtly toward an upper deck that appeared to be secluded from the rest of the party. His eyes locked on hers, attempting to read her reaction, to gauge her willingness—or lack thereof.

Y/N felt a chill at his suggestion, despite the warm air. She eyed the upper deck warily, her mind racing with possibilities. His broad shoulders and large hands, which seemed capable of overpowering her without much effort, loomed in her mind. Though she was by no means petite, next to him, she felt alarmingly vulnerable—as if he could easily overpower her if he chose to.

Her voice, when she finally spoke, carried a blend of wariness and mock amusement. “Really, Max, if you think for a second I'm going to follow you anywhere secluded, you might be more delusional than I remembered." Her words were sharp, intended to push back against his presumption, to remind him that she wasn't the same person he used to bully.

Max's smile didn't waver, but she noticed a flicker of something else—was it annoyance?—flash through his eyes. "Come, Y/N" he insisted, his tone softening. "A few minutes, that's all I'm asking.” 

Y/N hesitated, her resolve flickering as curiosity pricked at her defences. What could he possibly have to say that couldn’t be discussed right here, surrounded by the safety of the crowd? Despite her reservations, a part of her needed to know. She nodded, whispering a quiet approval, her voice barely audible over the buzz of conversation around them.

He responded by reaching out and gently grasping her arm, his grip firm yet surprisingly tender. He guided her through the throng of partygoers, leading her up the stairs to the secluded upper deck. As he manoeuvred them through the crowd, his touch—a mixture of control and care—tugged unexpectedly at her heartstrings. It resurrected a swarm of emotions she had diligently worked to suppress, the memories of their past interactions mingling with a confusing sense of present vulnerability and an inexplicable hint of safety. The duality of her feelings, the blend of old fears and an emerging trust, left her both anxious and strangely anticipatory as they ascended to the quiet of the upper deck.

He set his drink down on a railing overlooking the Mediterranean and ran his fingers through his tousled hair, drawing a deep breath. Surprisingly, he seemed just as nervous as she was—a stark contrast to the unflappable demeanour he usually displayed. Hell, he drove at impossible speeds, there’s no way a conversation with little old her would even raise his heart beat. 

“I spent a lot of time thinking about what I would say to you if we ever met again,” she confessed. He sighed, turning to face her with an expression that was difficult to read, his eyes holding a mix of anticipation and caution.

“And what did you prepare for today?” he asked, his voice steady. He downed the remaining liquor in his glass, the ice clinking sharply against the sides as he set it back with a slight thud.

A wry smile flickered across her lips. “I seem to suffer from a sudden case of amnesia,” she quipped, her tone light but her eyes serious. She placed her glass next to his, the gentle clink echoing their earlier years of discord. “It was something along the lines of: You made a good part of high school hell for me, I’ve talked about you in therapy, and you had no right to steal my first kiss...and so on.” Her voice trailed off, but her stance was firm, her words laying bare the wounds that still lingered from their past.

He seemed aware that he owed her several apologies—aware but clearly not pleased about it. Yet, the mention of that stolen kiss visibly shook him. His hands gripped the rail, knuckles whitening as if he needed the support to stand. “You never deserved the way I treated you,” he said, his voice laced with an angry edge, more at himself than at her. “That was a different person back then, someone I can't bring myself to be proud of.” 

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Max paused, taking a deep breath as he continued, struggling to articulate his remorse. “I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on those days, trying to understand why I acted the way I did and how I could have been so cruel.” His gaze met hers, earnest and searching.

Max leaned closer, his voice dropping to a huskier tone, charged with a mix of regret and unresolved tension. "You know, it was always your reactions and banter that captivated me," he murmured, his eyes locked on hers, searching. "That curiosity, that fire—I found it irresistible. My father would've had a fit if he knew. He wanted me completely focused on racing, living and breathing every turn of the circuits.” She could feel his whiskey laced breath on her face as he grabbed a lock of her hair and started playing with it mindlessly.

He paused, his gaze intensifying. "So, I hid behind teasing, masked my true feelings with taunts. It was the only way I could interact with you without crossing the line I was supposed to keep. But every jibe was just a poor substitute for what I really wanted to say." He moved a step closer, his presence overwhelming. "I regret that—more than you know.” 

Each word Max spoke seemed to weave around her, slowly turning up her internal heat despite the cool, refreshing breeze off the sea. He was close enough now that she could catch the scent of his skin—a complex fragrance that mingled the fresh, salty air with the rich undertones of spiced woods and amber. The aroma enveloped her, drawing her in, stirring a mix of memories and desires. It was as if the subtle layers of his scent were designed to beckon her closer, awakening a longing she thought she had long buried. As she breathed him in, the proximity made her heart beat faster, her thoughts tangled between the past pain and a present, pulsing attraction. 

She was the one who slammed their lips together this time, champagne mixing with whiskey in a tango only they could dance. His hand traveled from the delicate edge of her hair to the back of her head, gripping a fistful and drawing her even closer. The intensity of his hold only deepened their kiss, pulling them into a moment that felt both reckless and inevitable. 

She was completely and utterly lost as he devoured her mouth with a passion that she never thought possible. He forcefully nibbled at her lips, the pressure of his tongue dancing against her own ripping gasps from her throat. His hands where everywhere and yet not where she desperately needed them as her own trembling fingers were weaving through his hair. When he came up for air he rested his forehead against her own breathing heavily. His expression was reminiscent of Cabanel’s Fallen Angel, both tormented by the impact of their own choices. 

“Tell me to stop.” He ordered as he cupped her face, his forehead never leaving her own. If someone had told her early this morning that she would soon be on the verge of dry humping her high school bully, she would have slapped said someone across the face. Yet here she was, gasping for air and shaking her head because words were just not compatible with the her level of arousal. 

“Please don’t.” were the only words that she could muster out and it was all the confirmation he needed to fully ravage her. Their mouths resumed their favorite dance as Max’s hands started travelling south cupping her breasts through her silk dress, her nipples so hard he could see them through her bra. She couldn’t help but moan in his mouth. Everything was so intense with him, he knew just how much pressure to apply to dance on the edge of pain and ecstasy.

His hands continued their journey finally reaching her heat, making her sigh with pleasure. Her dress was bunched up at her hips now, leaving her legs exposed to his hungry gaze. He traced his fingers down her thigh, slowly, deliberately, as if trying to memorize every curve. As he reached the sensitive spot behind her knee, she let out a gasp, the sensation sending shivers through her body. His touch was electrifying, awakening parts of her she didn't even know existed.

He smirked as his fingers trailed higher, inching closer to her core, never taking her eyes off of her face. She trembled in anticipation, eager for his touch. But instead, his fingers suddenly stopped, lingering just a few centimeters from her center.

His voice was husky, his breath warm against her ear. "Are you sure you want this?"

She could feel her face flush, her body aching for him. "Yes."

"Beg me."

Her eyes widened, surprised by his boldness. "What?"

He chuckled softly, his hand still resting on her inner thigh, just inches from her core. "You heard me." His gaze locked onto hers, a mix of mischief and desire. "I want you to beg me."

His words sent a jolt of arousal through her, her pulse quickening. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But despite her embarrassment, the desire burning within her was undeniable. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, before speaking again.

"Please," she whispered, her voice shaking slightly. "I want you, Max"

His eyes flashed with satisfaction, his lips curling into a smirk. "That's my good girl."

With that, he finally gave her what she craved, his fingers sliding over her underwear. She moaned as he stroked her, her body responding eagerly to his touch. His other hand moved to her breast, squeezing it through her dress, and she arched into his palm, desperate for more contact. Without a warning he grabbed her drenched panties, sliding them down her legs. She could have sworn she saw him shove them in his back pocket but with all the dopamine and anticipation, she was simply an unreliable narrator.

Max gathered her in his arms leading them to an alcove where a table sat, patiently waiting for them. She could feel the cool marble on her thighs as he lifted her to sit, spreading her legs and kneeling before her. There was something so primal about the sight of him, her high school tormentor, on his knees before her.

Her legs parted and he took a moment to appreciate the view, making her squirm under his ravenous gaze. She was already so wet and he slid his finger inside her, groaning in satisfaction at the feel of her incredibly tight walls around him. She bit back a whimper, her body aching for more. He added another finger trying to prepare her for him, curling them just right and eliciting a string of whimpers and moans from her.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice husky with lust. She needed more, her hips bucking against his hand. She could feel her orgasm building, her breath coming in short gasps. But just as she was about to fall over the edge, he withdrew his fingers, leaving her aching and unsatisfied.

He looked up at her with a devilish grin, his eyes dark with desire. "I'm not done with you yet."

Her breath caught in her throat as he spread her legs wider, his mouth moving to her entrance. She let out a gasp as his tongue flicked across her clit, sending sparks of pleasure through her body. His fingers joined his mouth, teasing her, exploring her. She was completely at his mercy, her body writhing with pleasure.

"You taste so fucking good," he growled, his voice thick with desire as he was mercilessly lapping at her, drinking her nectar like the sweetest ambrosia.

The sensations were overwhelming, her body overwhelmed with pleasure. She could feel herself teetering on the edge, her orgasm imminent. And just when she thought she couldn't take any more, he curled his fingers inside her, hitting the perfect spot, and she came undone.

"Max!" she cried out, her body shuddering with pleasure. He worked her through her orgasm, his tongue and fingers bringing her to new heights of ecstasy. It was like nothing she had ever experienced, the aftershocks rippling through her body, leaving her spent and trembling as tears of pleasure started streaming from her eyes.

He stood, his erection prominent against his pants. He pulled her to him, his mouth crashing down on hers. She could taste herself on his lips, a hint of sweetness mixed with his own unique flavour. It was intoxicating, and she melted into his embrace, her body still tingling from her climax. He took a second to lick her salty tears, as if the very taste of them was an aphrodisiac. She couldn't believe what had just happened, her mind still reeling from the intensity of the experience. But as she gazed up at him, his eyes dark with desire, she knew there was no turning back.

He was everywhere, surrounding her, his presence overwhelming her senses. She could feel the hard planes of his body against hers, the heat of his skin burning through the thin fabric of her dress. She clung to him, her hands exploring his back, his muscles taut beneath her touch.

As the initial rush of pleasure began to subside, Y/N realized the gravity of what they had done. This wasn't some random hook-up—this was Max, the boy who had once made her life hell. The man she was supposed to hate. The man who, despite everything, she had never been able to fully get over.

She could feel the walls she had carefully built up over the years starting to crumble, the floodgates opening and unleashing a torrent of emotions she had worked so hard to keep at bay. She tried to push him away, to regain some semblance of control, but his grip on her was too strong.

"Let me go," she protested, her voice shaky and uneven.

"Not a chance," he growled, his lips trailing along the side of her neck, his stubble rough against her skin.

"You don't get to walk away this time."

He lifted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. She could feel his erection pressing against her core, his hands gripping her thighs. He carried her to the nearest wall, her back taking the brunt of the impact. His mouth was on hers again, his kiss rough and demanding, stealing the air from her lungs. She was drowning in him, the feel of his body pressed against hers, the taste of him on her lips. It was intoxicating, addicting, and she knew she was lost.

"This is wrong," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"So fucking right," he countered, his mouth claiming hers once more.

She could feel his hard clothed erection rubbing against her bare cunt, she was probably dripping all over his pants. It was the hottest thing she had ever experienced. He ground his hips into her, his covered length sliding between her folds. The friction was incredible, and she let out a soft moan, her body responding to his touch.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I've wanted this for so long, dreamed of it."

His words sent a thrill through her, a rush of adrenaline mingling with the pleasure coursing through her veins. He freed himself from his pants, eliciting a gasp of surprise from her. In truth, she had limited sexual experience, but nothing could have prepared her for his size. She had to remind herself to breathe as he positioned himself at her entrance, his tip sliding between her folds, teasing her.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hands gripping her thighs so hard they would certainly leave marks. He probably read her fear in the expression, "I'll take you slow in the beginning" he said, his voice low and gravelly.

He pushed inside her, his girth stretching her, filling her. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and she buried her face in his neck, her fingers digging into his back. The stretch was unlike anything she's ever felt before, but the pleasure was equally intense. Her body began to relax, the pain starting to give way to pure intense ecstasy.

With another push he was fully seated inside her. He paused, letting her fully adjust to his size. "Breathe through it." he instructed as he stroked the back of her head.

She followed his command, inhaling deeply, and the sharp burn began to fade, replaced by an overwhelming sense of fullness. It was like nothing she had ever felt before, the pleasure almost too intense to handle.

"So fucking tight," he groaned, his voice strained. "So perfect."

"I can't," she whimpered, her body trembling, on the edge of collapse.

"Yes, you can," he growled, his grip on her thighs tightening. "You were made for me."

He began to move, at first his thrusts slow and deep, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through her. He raised her head from the crook of his neck to gaze into her eyes, finding a slow rhythm, their bodies moving in sync, their breathing ragged and heavy.

Her body responded to his, hips rocking against his, her nails digging into his back. She was lost in the moment, the sensations overwhelming her, her body consumed by the pleasure of his touch.

As their pace increased, her thoughts began to melt away, her body giving in to the pure instinctual urge. His thrusts became harder, more urgent, and her climax was building, the pleasure mounting with each stroke.

She was so close, the pressure coiling deep inside her. But before she could reach her peak, he suddenly stopped, his breath ragged, his expression almost pained.

"Why?" she gasped, her body aching for release.

"Not yet," he replied, his voice strained. "I want to make this last."

He lowered her to the floor, his length sliding out of her, the loss of contact leaving her feeling empty and unsatisfied. Before she could protest, he turned her around, her palms resting on the marble table as he bent her over.

His fingers dug into her hips as he thrust into her from behind, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper.

"Fuck Max, you're going to break me." she whimpered, her voice shaking with pleasure.

"Oh, I intend to," he growled, his pace increasing, each stroke sending waves of ecstasy through her.

She could feel her orgasm building, the pleasure rising with every thrust. She was on the edge, her body teetering on the verge of release. He reached around and his fingers found her clit, stroking her, the added stimulation sending her over the edge. She cried out, her body tensing as her orgasm tore through her, the pleasure crashing over her like a wave.

He wasn't far behind, his hips slamming into hers as he chased his own release. His fingers dug into her skin, his movements frantic, the sounds of their bodies coming together mingling with their ragged breaths. "Where do you want me?" he grunted, his voice strained, the effort to maintain his composure clear.

"Inside me, please" she gasped, her body still trembling from her orgasm.

He thrust deep, burying himself in her, and she could feel him pulse inside her as he came, his release mingling with hers. He collapsed against her, his chest pressed against her back, his weight a welcome comfort. They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies entwined, the euphoria of their climax lingering.

Eventually, he pulled out of her, his grip on her hips easing, his fingertips grazing her skin as if he was reluctant to let her go. Reality once again came crashing down. She was a mess, her dress bunched up at her hips, her legs still quivering, the evidence of their pleasure trickling down her thighs.

She turned to face him, the afterglow of their coupling slowly fading. Her mother was probably downstairs looking for her, there was no way she could meet her in her current state. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, the intensity of his blue eyes too much to handle.

"I need to leave," she said, her voice quiet as she tried to tame her hair with her fingers.

He reached out and cupped her face, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.

"Let me take you home," he said, his voice soft. "I know another way out. You don't have to face anyone right now."

Her mind raced with a thousand questions, but before she could speak, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Trust me, Y/N."

And against all reason, she did.

[judasofsuburbia]

something something caretaker! steve gets hired by rockstar! eddie to look after and live with wayne. everything is set up over the phone after eddie was given his resume so eddie's never physically seen the guy but he has enough positive reviews and references that it seems like there is anybody in this world that doesn't like this steve harrington fellow.

wayne munson soon becomes his #1 fan.

wayne keeps telling eddie all about steve in their weekly phone calls. anytime eddie tries to steer the conversation into something actually about wayne's health and wellbeing, wayne manages to involve steve. says that steve's blushing face is real handsome while steve rolls his eyes and laughs to himself across the room.

"you should come home on your next break," wayne says.

"i'm planning to."

"steve really wants to meet you," wayne says with an infliction.

"well, shit, wayne. from how much you gush about him, i'm excited to meet your new boyfriend too," eddie teases.

"oh hush, you. my casanova days are over. you, however, could use someone good."

the next break eddie has, nearly six months after steve starts working for the munsons, he arrives at nearly 11pm. he's quiet as he sneaks into the house he bought wayne years ago and nearly shits himself when he sees steve hanging out on the couch watching TV. he drops his suitcase to the floor, jolting steve out of his trance.

"oh god, i'm so sorry!" steve rushes to say as eddie clutches his chest and tries to steady his breathing.

"steve, i take it?" eddie laughs breathlessly.

"yeah, hi," steve stands from the couch and holds his hand out. "nice to finally meet you."

steve steps into the light as he does this and eddie's taken aback by just how handsome he is. oh fuck, wayne wasn't just messing around. eddie takes his hand, firm and strong, and shakes it.

"sorry to jumpscare you like that," steve smiles and his eyes twinkle in the low hallway light.

"no, i should've prepared myself," eddie says. "someone hasn't been in the house either than wayne or i in....well, ever."

"don't worry, i'll try to keep mostly to myself as you two have quality bonding time," steve replies sheepishly.

eddie shakes his head. "you don't gotta do that. you're more welcome around us than anyone. i owe you so much for looking after him."

steve smiles. "you already sign all my paychecks."

right, yeah. eddie's technically this guy's boss. eddie's never really thought of it that way before. that means any plans eddie's monkey brain had in the last thirty seconds about flirting with the handsome caretaker is out the window. it wouldn't be appropriate. eddie slouches and gives steve a tired smile.

"i'm gonna turn in. see you at breakfast?" eddie asks, hopeful despite his conflicting internal monologue.

"be prepared for oatmeal," steve jokes. "it's the only thing he wants for breakfast nowadays."

eddie scrunches up his face. "you don't have any poptarts or anything fun stashed away somewhere?"

"depends. do you like brown sugar cinnamon?" steve asks.

"love it," eddie whispers.

"then yeah, your breakfast fate can be a little better," steve nudges his elbow and it lights up eddie's skin.

"thank you caretaker steve," eddie salutes and turns heel to his teenage bedroom.

over the next few days, eddie goes out of his mind. he watches steve just do his job, the job he hired him to do, and he's still going crazy over it. how steve prepares for everything, accidents and things eddie couldn't even predict. spoon feeds wayne if his hands are too shaky. jokes and messes around with him like he's family. wayne's eyes keep drifting over to eddie's when steve isn't looking, a smug little smirk on his face.

"it can't happen," eddie seethes when steve leaves the room. "you're what's important here and i need him to stick around."

"and i need you to stop moping about the country, getting your heart broken every other week," wayne retorts. "steve's a good boy. he would treat you right."

"we don't even know if he's gay," eddie grumbles.

wayne gives him an unimpressed look that makes eddie bark out a frustrated laugh. "take a look at his bedroom, kid. you'll have all your questions answered," wayne advises right before steve returns.

"jeopardy time?" steve asks, hands already on wayne's wheelchair handles.

"eddie is gonna beat us both," wayne claims.

"that so?" steve beams. eddie is glaring daggers at wayne.

"he's full of useless facts," wayne jokes while eddie throws up his hands and steve laughs joyfully.

eddie falls for steve more and more as the week goes on. he tries his best to restrain it, tries his best to never be alone with steve. catches himself from checking steve out (especially in his daily running outfit, god) and swallows flirtatious lines that nearly escape his mouth. it's hard to say no when steve invites him to watch a movie or hang out with him while he cooks dinner but he does. eddie has to be coming off like a total dick at this point but it's for the best.

steve is out running an errand so eddie finally decides to snoop only a little bit. opens steve's bedroom door and smiles at all the decorations. sure enough, there is a little bisexual pride flag sticking out of the pen cup on his desk. eddie is admiring framed photos of steve and some kids along with little handwritten camp postcards on his corkboard when steve enters the room.

"anything interesting?" steve jokes from the doorway.

"shit!" eddie yells, clutching his chest again like he did the first night. "fuck, i'm so sorry."

"don't be," steve shrugs easily. "it is your house after all. i snoop your teenage bedroom all the time when wayne asks me to change the sheets."

"still, i shouldn't be invading your privacy," eddie says with an apologetic face.

steve walks carefully over to where eddie is standing. "i don't think there is much privacy between us where wayne is concerned," steve says quietly with a kind smile, leaning up against the desk.

"i'm sorry about him," eddie groans, rubbing his hand over his chin. "he is a little pushy about my love life."

"no, i'm sorry that he's weird about us. i swear i called you handsome once and he has never left it alone since," steve admits with a small blush.

eddie's eyebrows raise. "you think i'm handsome?"

"are you kidding me? you got this whole," steve gestures in a circle, "rockstar bravado going on. hard not to admire the show."

"well, you've got a show i admire too," eddie admits, inching closer.

steve huffs, looking down bashfully. "do i?"

"mhm. smart, genuine guy with a heart of gold. makes wayne's days better. lights up a room. probably rescues cats from trees and saves drowning puppies," eddie smiles.

steve tilts his head from side to side. "i may have rescued a cat before but it was stuck under my little brother Dustin's porch."

"see? heart of gold," eddie repeats.

steve exhales deeply, twisting his mouth. "i wasn't sure if you liked me."

eddie reaches his hand over and touches steve's hand on top of the desk. steve looks up shyly to eddie's sympathetic face. "i didn't want to-- there's a power trip here, you know? like you said, i sign your paychecks. i'm not about to pull out the moves and make you feel like your job is at risk if you aren't into it."

steve nods before slowly rubbing his thumb over eddie's.

"and if i am into it?" steve whispers.

"well i--" eddie stutters.

"can i kiss you?" steve asks quietly. eddie's not sure he's ever been asked in his entire life.

eddie nods. when steve's lips touch his, it's all over. any pretense of keeping his feelings undercover blows up like fireworks underneath his skin. eddie feels as his resolve sparkles and cracks away into the air. he encourages steve to keep kissing him by pulling in his face closer. steve sucks his bottom lip in between his own when his watch beeps.

"wayne's meds," steve whispers.

"old bastard," eddie jokes. "watch a movie with me later?"

steve bites his lip and nods. "i know just the couch."

[show-your-fangs]

What about a teenage!Jack where his friends are over and keep commenting how his Mom (reader) is attractive and Aaron finds it funny but Jack is mortified?

this is fucking GOLD. enjoy another installment of moments au

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader

Words: 665

CW: nothing, cursing mostly.

Tags/warnings: jack's friends being pervs, cursing, jack defending his mom and dad.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

Aaron honestly couldn’t blame them. He honestly found it funny, how their cheeks would flush every time you walked past, seconds away from catching them saying the most inappropriate things about you. He knew they didn’t know he could hear them from his office, the angle keeping him hidden as he tried to work while also allowing for their voices to carry down the hall. 

Jack had brought his friends over for a pool day and he’d requested that the two of you leave them alone, that they could fend for themselves. But as much as he’d pleaded, you were still unable to stop yourself.

You’d made them snacks, prepared a homemade ice tea, would check in every so often to make sure they were doing okay. And every time, without fail, his friends would pretend to be utter gentlemen, thanking you profusely until you left them alone once more and they turned from the kids their parents through they were into the horny teenagers they really were. 

It became clear to Aaron immediately why Jack didn’t want you around. It had nothing to do with his independence but rather the fact that his friends clearly didn’t know how to act around his mom. They’d made every inappropriate comment a teenage boy could come up with, and every time Jack would groan or roll his eyes or politely ask them to chill. But every time you showed your face the comments would start up again. 

It was after lunch when shit hit the fan. You’d ordered a big family meal style delivery, had set up the large containers in the kitchen, with the boys’ help which they were eager to give, and had made a plate for yourself and Aaron. They thought you couldn’t hear them in the kitchen, thought they were being so slick, but they should’ve known better than to not wait for you to exit the room. 

“I still don’t know how your dad bagged her,” Eric started, clearly teasing. “She’s just so—”

“So out of his league,” Dylan finished and the two of them snickered together. 

“If I had a step mom like that…” Nick sighed and the other two chuckled, no words needed for the four of them to know what he wanted to say. Jack couldn’t help but cringe, the mere thought of his stupid friends thinking about you this way appalling. 

“You boys need anything else?” you said loudly from the kitchen, a cue for them to stop talking as you pushed the door open with your hip. 

“We’re okay, thanks mom,” Jack’s voice was chipper like it always was with you, always soft and kind. His friends’ immediately perked up at your requests, their eyes sparkling with what you could only imagine were requests that you definitely didn’t want to know about. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hotchner,” they practically sang in unison, their teasing only getting more pronounced as you walked down the hall, desperately trying not to give them anything else to talk about, but apparently that was completely useless.

“Check out her ass—”

“Shut the fuck up, dude,” you heard Jack groan, his patience finally running thin. His friends stilled in an instant, your instinct to fix it slowly creeping up from your heart to your brain. But Aaron was quick, his hand wrapped around your waist before you could move. “How would you like it if I talked about your mom like that?”

Silence. 

“That’s what I thought,” he stated, confident. “So can you please just stop it?”

His words were followed by a string of mumbles and murmurs in agreement, ashamed apologies and admissions of guilt. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle, Aaron quickly pulling you into his office so the two of you could erupt in a fit of giggles. It was cute, almost too adorable that the boy you’d met so long ago was now defending your honor to his friends, was standing up for his mom, for his dad, for his family. 

okay i'm trying to get through some of the requests. i apologize for not being as active, you know how fanfiction authors' lives go off the rails sometimes.

i'm going to try and post a few of these before my "taking some time off" announcement. i've got a big week coming up but know i am trying.

tag list: @ssamorganhotchner, @canuck-eh, @cr1minalskies, @xladyxdreamer

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Quick! Info dump about your favorite blorbo!

König headcanons

NSFW content below the cut, 18 + only (These apply to yandere König as well, the toxic stuff is marked with a red flag 🚩)

Does like 50 crunches and 50 pushups first thing in the morning when he wakes up, as he has done since he was a teenager.

Will fix everything from cars to furniture. If the door is creaking he will oil the hinges immediately. Actually, he will treat every single thing in life as a problem... A problem he will fix.

He's great at math and physics and has vast amounts of knowledge about mechanics, thermodynamics, even things like quantum theory and other complex astronomy stuff.

He's completely clueless when it comes to following trends and memes. You have to explain every other tiktok to him. He rarely uses emojis but when he does, it's awkward and slightly intimidating because König doesn't know the hidden meanings behind them. If you send him an eggplant or peach emoji he asks if you need veggies from the store.

Loves your cooking (even if it's just microwaved mac and cheese). If you start to feed this man, you'll never get rid of him.

This is your classic mama’s boy who never had to learn how to cook and then went to the army and got used to the facility taking care of him so… yeah. Doesn't know how to cook but will try to help in any way he can! König is very excited to see you’re making food and wanders into the kitchen like “What are we making today?” You can try and give him a chopping board, an onion and a knife, but this poor man doesn't even peel the onion unless you tell him he has to remove the outer layer first...

Eats like a horse. Is secretly afraid that you run out of food. Goes to the fridge and if it's half full, he will not take the snack he was supposed to have, only comments: "The fridge looks empty." (It's not a passive aggressive statement, he's just worried.)

Also: everytime there's a crisis somewhere – he follows the news neurotically – König starts to prep. There's a month's worth of food stashed in one of the cupboards at all times. He also preps fuel, propane, medicine and the like.

Ruins all the fun when you're playing board games because he fusses about the rules so much. König holds the rulebook in his hand through the whole game and double-checks every single thing.

He's very clumsy, sometimes hits his head on the door frame when he's in a hurry or visiting a new place. He can't stay still either, always shakes his leg when he’s sitting. König needs a lot of exercise when he's not deployed to get all that energy and frustration out.

This has been discussed earlier but yeah, König even drops his mags sometimes in the field because he's too excited. He's a very capable martial artist though. Has done Savate, Escrima and Pekiti-Tirsia Kali and is very agile and precise with the double kali sticks he carries to field sometimes. Suddenly his clumsiness disappears when he has to knife someone, kick someone in the head or beat them to death with those sticks.

This is the reason König fucked up his sniper dreams too: having to control his breath, lie still for long amounts of time, then take aim and shoot a rifle vs. aiming during an adrenaline high, giving a tight spurt or two with his SMG… The latter just comes naturally to him! If you ask him how he managed to take down a human trafficking cell all alone König will say he simply "got carried away."

König goes to the gym a lot. Gets back super pumped and with an urgent need to make love. But not before he's had a cold shower! It's almost like a ritual: he has to torture himself with weights and cold water first before he can have his prize (= access to a woman)

Wakes you up in the middle of the night because he started to worry about petty, stupid things and then got a lil horny. Humps your leg or your back very, very slowly while grunting in your ear: "Hey... Hey. Are you sleeping…?" (Like. Yes, König, I was but I'm not anymore, thanks for asking)

Asks what kind of fantasies you have all of a sudden while you two are cuddling. Asks very detailed questions about them too. If you ask him what kind of fantasies he has in return, König will tense up and then say he doesn't really know, perhaps something like… a blowjob in the forest… And somehow you just know that his real fantasies are so perverse you don't even want to know more about them.

If you "nag" or yell at him, he might get a boner.

If you notice and get offended, ask: "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?!' König will freeze and look at you with a bewildered, obsessed stare and go: "Ja..?" while the boner situation in his pants gets visibly worse.

🚩 Would never go to bed before you've settled your argument. The problem is that it's very difficult for König to apologize because he always thinks he's in the right and that you simply need some time to come to that conclusion too. If you give him the silent treatment he will eventually come to you, gets all touchy and asks surprisingly demurely: "Are you still angry with me?"

🚩 The minute you forgive him or decide it was a stupid argument anyways, the demure puppy act disappears. König thinks he won and that it's time for some makeup sex ❤️

Has like the longest cock known to man. He has actual trouble finding comfortable underwear to fit that beast into. It's beautiful but intimidating, uncut, smooth and sleek. Not too thick but certainly not thin either. He likes to keep himself tidy down there too so the lack of hair makes this murder weapon look even bigger.

You two occasionally break furniture while having sex. It's mainly his fault (he gets carried away). He's very upset about it afterwards though, looks at the destruction he caused, muttering "Scheisse…" while rubbing the back of his neck. Then he tries to fix it while you're still there with your legs shaking and in need of aftercare.

If you remind him that he has other duties first, perhaps whimper his name in frustration, König will apologize and carry you to bed. He gives you that precious aftercare with unwavering passion and attention every time you ask for it ❤️ He's just a little clueless sometimes (König is also neuroatypical, either has AD/HD or falls somewhere in the autism spectrum)

🚩 Hates condoms with an intense passion. You're practically forced to take birth control pills or whatever so that he can cum inside you. This man's whining will ultimately gain a level that's absolutely ridiculous if you don't.

The first time you do it without the rubber, he sounds like he's about to cry. He tells you a hundred times how good it feels, and won't pull out until he grows soft and is kind of forced to do so. For a man who's never even heard of a breeding kink, he seems vehement about keeping his load inside you.

🚩Grunts and whispers loving but obsessive things in your ear while making love to you. You're mine, Say it, Promise that you're mine, I don't want to live without you, Why do you feel so good? at first… but as he approaches his peak, König switches to German. You have no clue what he’s saying, but from the way he spits those sentences through gritted teeth you get the feeling that it must be something desperate and that perhaps it's a blessing you don't understand his native tongue...

🚩🚩If you leave your phone on the table he tries to stalk it and check the notifications. He's so jealous it's unreal, if he sees you receive a message from some other guy König will start a circus. He needs to know all about your connection with this man. After that, he wants you to go through your contacts and show him how many guys there are and tell him what your affiliations are with them. If you're on social media König wants to go through your friends/those you follow. You have to give an account who they are and why you follow them.

🚩🚩🚩 You get a feeling he's forming a list of people he has to kill if you don't tell him they're just a cousin or something 💀

[writinginatree]

Breakfast Gone Wrong

Relationship(s): The lost boys & reader

Summary: You get hurt by what was supposed to be your victim, and your overprotective vampire brothers get overprotective.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, injury, blood drinking, swearing, vampire!reader, written from David's point of view.

Requested by @mizgames way back in February. I'm so so sorry for taking so extremely long to get this done. It's also a little different from your exact request because I remembered it wrong and didn't read the request again before I started writing, but I hope you still like it anyway!

David knew it was a bad idea to let you hunt on your own. He fucking knew it. That's all he can think of as he rushes to your side, following your pained screams. He should have never let you out of his sight, but you were just so goddamn stubborn he hadn't been able to change your mind. In a fit of what he can only classify as teenage rebellion, and for absolutely no reason other than being a brat, you had suddenly decided that you're a big, grown-up vampire perfectly capable of hunting alone. And David, wrapped around your little finger as he is, had given in and agreed, despite knowing he shouldn't.

He told you not to go too far away from him and the others, to pick an easy victim, to call him if you needed help.

And now here you are, writhing in the sand with a wooden stake through your stomach. He left you unsupervised for five, ten minutes at most. This will definitely have been the last time he ever let you out of his sight. He'll be damned if he takes the risk of something like this ever happening again. Nope, you're grounded — for the rest of all eternity.

The asshole who did this is currently being torn apart by Paul and Marko, while Dwayne is already kneeling by your side, assessing the graveness of your injury. David joins him, since the feral blondes clearly don't need his help. He wordlessly holds you down as Dwayne pulls the wood from your body.

You cry out in pain, try to sit up and get away, but David is stronger and keeps you in place.

He's looking anywhere but at your face. If there's one thing he can't stand it's seeing you suffer. If he looks at your tearstained face for too long he might just start crying too.

Finally Dwayne has pulled the stake — which on closer inspection is just a branch that was probably meant to feed a bonfire — free, and your wails die down into soft sobs. He lifts your head onto his lap, stroking your hair, as David holds your hands and murmurs soothing words.

Paul and Marko drag what's left of your attacker over to you, letting his blood trickle directly into your mouth. You instinctively gulp it down, though David is pretty certain you don't even consciously notice anything going on around you through the pain clouding your mind.

You'll need a lot more blood than what's left in this guy to regain your strength. In their ripping him to shreds, Marko and Paul wasted a lot of the precious liquid, which now uselessly stains the sand a few feet beside your weak form. David decides it's only fair if they're the ones to have to go and find another victim to feed you with, while he and Dwayne watch over you.

For a moment he considers immediately taking you back to the cave, but dismisses the idea as quickly as it came. With how weak you are, David doesn't want to risk moving you just yet. Not until they've gotten some more blood into you.

The other two have only been gone a few minutes, but David can't take watching you like this any longer. He pushes back his sleeve and pierces his skin with his fangs, holding the wound to your lips. You instantly start sucking his blood, and he can almost watch as some semblance of life slowly returns to your face.

"Don't give them too much," Dwayne cautions. "You weakening yourself too is the last thing we need right now."

"I know."

"They'll be fine."

"I know," David repeats, and it's halfway true. The logically thinking part of him does know that. But there's also that other part, the part that can't watch you cry, the part that would go insane if he lost you. It's the same part of him that upon meeting you all those years ago instantly declared himself your older brother, a feeling that has only been amplified after being turned into vampires. He doesn't doubt the others feel the same. As the youngest of their group you have them all extremely protective over you, though David is aware he's the most protective of you by far. Maybe even a bit too much so, though he would never admit that. It's only natural, he thinks, after all he was the first to become your brother.

But Dwayne is right, he shouldn't let his feelings get the best of him. You're going to be okay. Paul and Marko should be back with a human blood donor for you soon, anyway. He just wanted to make sure you could hold out until then.

Now you almost look strong enough to drain a victim yourself if they hold it down for you, and after you feed you'll definitely be strong enough to sit on David's bike and let him take you back to the safety of the cave. He almost thinks you'll even be strong enough to be a brat and protest, but David will not let you change his mind about grounding you. Your safety comes first, your happiness second.

He pries his arm from your mouth and wipes a few stray drops of blood from your chin with his gloved hand.

You blink up at him, seemingly a lot more aware of your surroundings than just a couple minutes ago.

"How are you feeling, kitten?"

"Ouchie."

David chuckles despite himself. "Yeah, you could say that. What were you thinking?!"

"He looked like an easy victim..." Your voice is weak, hoarse with tears, but David is relieved you're already wearing your typical bratty pout again. "How was I supposed to know he'd try and gut me?!"

"People tend not to like it when you're trying to kill them."

"That's not a reason to stab someone!"

David thinks of all the times you came close to biting his or one of the other boys' fingers off for minor offences like wanting a bite of your food or wiping dirt from your face. Just last week you threatened to stab David with your ice cream cone because he said you couldn't stay at the boardwalk any longer if you wanted to be home at the cave before the sun came up.

"Uh-huh."

He shares a look with Dwayne, and knows he's thinking the same thing.

Just then Paul and Marko come back, a woman's limp body hanging between them. They dump her beside you. "Here, baby, we knocked her out for you."

For a moment you just stare, like you're not sure what you're supposed to do with her, or too exhausted to lean over and bite her. But then you move, sinking your teeth deep into her throat and David smells the blood when your teeth break the skin.

The boys sit around you in a protective circle and watch as you drink. They're hungry too, after all they barely had time to find victims of their own, let alone suck them dry, before your cry for help drew them away. But they hold back. They can wait.

Silently communicating they agree to bring you home, and then go out to feed in pairs, so there's always two of them with you. It's an unnecessary precaution, of course, but that doesn't bother them. It will bother you — or at least you'll say it does. You always pretend to be annoyed by their protectiveness, by being babied by them so much, as you like to phrase it. But the way you always hide under David's coat, make Paul give you piggyback rides and Dwayne read to you, and insist on Marko doing your hair for you says different. You might be pissed at David for grounding you, but he doesn't doubt you'll secretly love being the center of attention like that — even more so than usual.

Paul has curled up by your side now, arms wrapped around you and nuzzling his head against your shoulder. You briefly interrupt your feeding to hiss at him. David is glad to see it — the fact you're defending your food is a sure sign you're feeling better.

When you're done there's blood smeared all over your face. Dwayne wipes it away with his flag, making you whine and try to push away his hands. "I'm not a baby, Dwayne!"

Oh yes, you're definitely feeling better.

Still, you allow David to pick you up and carry you back to where the bikes are parked, snuggling against his chest and refusing to be put back down when you've reached the bikes. David sighs and climbs on his bike with you, sitting you in front of him and telling you to hold on tight to him, despite you already doing that.

Back at the cave you still refuse to let go, so David carries you inside and settles in your favorite spot — a sort of nest you've built in a small alcove going off the main cave, consisting of a mattress covered in a pile of countless fluffy blankets and pillows, with all the stuffed animals the boys have won for you at the boardwalk over the years strewn all over the place — with you on his lap.

Paul runs after him, and throws himself down beside the both you, cuddling close. Once he's done squirming around to get comfortable he's halfway laying on top of David, too, his face pressed so deep into your side he would probably suffocate if he were human.

It reminds David that he wasn't the only one worried about you, as he watches the tension seep from Paul's body now that you're in safety and he can hold you close. Since it's obvious Paul won't be letting go of you for a while, Marko and Dwayne head out to feed first, each pressing a kiss to your forehead before they go.

You're close to falling asleep, despite how early in the night it still is. No wonder after what you just went through.

David brushes his hand over your face, gently traces the bridge of your nose up to your forehead and back down in a soothing motion, watches your eyelids flutter as you fight to stay awake.

David well remembers a night much like this one, many years ago when you had all still been human, kids living on the streets. You'd been attacked then, too, by a man who'd caught you trying to steal from him. You still have the scar on your chin, where his knife grazed you before you got away. Then, like now, you'd clung to David for the rest of the night, hiding in the questionable safety of his arms.

He traces over the scar on your chin, wondering if today's injury will leave one, too. He supposes not. Vampires don't get scars as far as he's aware, but then again there's still so much he doesn't know about all this, even after decades of undead life.

"Sleep, kitten. You've got to rest."

An agreeing hum comes from Paul's direction, but you continue forcing your eyes to stay open.

"I'm not even tired."

He ignores the wornout lie and says, "You're hurt. The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you'll feel better."

You seem to consider this for a moment, absentmindedly playing with Paul's hair and snuggling even closer to David, if that's even possible.

Finally you nod. "Fine. But you have to stay with me the whole time. I'll get nightmares if you make me sleep alone."

David hadn't expected anything else, and agrees. He doesn't mind going hungry in favor of watching over you, even if he knows you've never had a nightmare in your life.

He keeps stroking your face, slowly lulling you to sleep.

Paul, never one to keep still for long, starts fidgeting, and David throws him a glare. "Stay still or go do something else. You're keeping Y/N up."

"Sing us a lullaby then."

Before David can even think to tell Paul to fuck off, your eyes shoot wide open again, and you nod. "Yes, David, sing us a lullaby!"

With a heavy sigh David resigns to his fate. He really needs to learn how to say no to you, but of course that's never going to happen. And, seeing the content little smile on your face, he can't really bring himself to mind.

[evilminji]

Back on my: Holotuber Jedi Youngling - OC Thoughts >.>

Prev <-

You think folks debate at first? Shtick or Real Thing? Like? No... no WAY could that be one of those Mysterious Mystic Space Cult Kids. No WAY. They would NEVER let their kid be unsupervised on the Net.

But like... (and since I'm a She, gonna use She, but realistically could be any pronouns here) she LOOKS like she's recording from a...? Is that a closet? This one looks like a vent. THIS video is definitely some sort of maintenance area. So she's definitely sneaking...

Ooooh! Thaaaat's a Jedi! REAL FUCKING JEDI. Just dropped down silently behind her. Arms crossed. Mouse droids be snitching. BUSTED.

:T

"Uuuuuuh, h-heeey, Master Uvalii. Fancy seeing YOU here!"

"Yes. Quite interesting isn't it? Since you should not be able to access this area at all, much less to achieve holonet access. Of which we are both aware you are expressly Forbidden To DO unsupervised."

".........I can explain?"

"Please. Do."

*feed ends, chat goes fucking NUTS*

Like? Oh SHIT. Baby Jedi in troooouble. But also? Oh no! What's gonna happen?! Are they gonna be okay?! S-should they TELL somebody? What do Jedi do to kids who disobey them? Does anyone actually KNOW? What DO any of us know about them!? Someone find their Com Code! MA! MA, I need you to yell at space monks! An adorable CHILD MIGHT BE AT STAKE!!! D:>

Even coming BACK on? For a supervised feed? Going "no, I'm just in trouble. Have to right paragraphs and meditate on 'why I felt the need to do this' (even though I KNOW why, not that they'll LISTEN. They just hope I'll meditate until I come to an answer they LIKE)" under the offscreen supervision of a teacher or Creche master?

Whole ass Net gonna be like "youngling! Blink Twice if they're holding you hostage! We can afford bounty hunters! We got a group pot thing going already!!! Aaaaaaaa-!"

Like? *waves at the camera and chat* she TOLD you. They don't believe you. This is part of WHY she wants to do what she's doing. Palpatine's and his Master's machinations have been building for a while. Eroding trust. The Jedi have become strange, dangerous, semi-mythical cryptids with magic powers we must HOPE are benevolent.

Not people.

Why would they expect some unfeeling, magical, sword-wielding space legend to be patient or kind to children? To even have the capacity? We are said to kidnap children and be unfeeling. Can not reach enough people to show otherwise. To reveal the mundanity of our lives. The traditions. The norms.

Food, children, laughter.

The Common Good.

And like? She obviously isn't gonna name Sith-ly NAMES. Not on CAMERA. But her lil "why I wanna play the tooka game and chat about lunch" speech? Convincing. Calms chat down. Still in trouble, mind you. But... provided it's SUPERVISED? And they work out some sort of effective moderation? Alright.

It's a matter of SAFETY, youngling. And no matter HOW much good you wish to do? They will NOT be sacrificing children to achieve it. That is NOT the Jedi way. There are plenty of old masters who would live nothing more then to ramble all day into cameras, if only to here themselves talk. (Oh? Good to know. Guest speakers pog?)

Like? Imagine making a game. Have a "mystical sage" character you TOTALLY BASED of Jedi in it. And your feed gets? Flooded with XD reactions in response to some smol bby streamer playing it? You go to check it out. Cause you're kinda a big deal on your planet. And?

Oh No™

That tiny streamer? Is a tiny JEDI streamer. Who is sitting there, in the stills, going O.o like "Wut." And the next still? Her lil friends are pulled in. The next? A teenager. The NEXT. An adult. The one after THAT. A few adults looking over her shoulder. Then a CROWD. All deeply, deeply confused looking.

The comments are DYING. Howling with laughter. The Jedi were so earnest. Trying to identify which Era you must be referencing. Which sect. But the head dress... cultural, maybe? It doesn't fit with the features though. Could be adopted. A hint at, I believe the term was, "lore"? No, no, those are DEFINITELY padawan beads! But so MANY? In THAT order?

They aren't even connected to a braid! And he's supposed to be a Master, right? But, wait. Perhaps it's meant to suggest he is a Padawan of the Force itself? A student of life? No, that wouldn't make sense! Stolen? It could suggest he has TAKEN the beads? Is regurgitating stolen texts without true understanding? Much like wearing bead he did not EARN?

They keep going and going. Ripping your character design to SHREDS. Picking it apart. Not even meanly! They are genuinely confused. AND IT ONLY MAKES THE CHAT LAUGH HARDER. Because it devolves into a MARATHON, after the game has been paused, of chat spamming different character names? For the Jedi to go "???" Over.

T...that's not? What? How does he even EAT in those robes? And those ones don't seem very non-humanoid friendly. Is he FLOATING HIS SWORD WITH THE FORCE? WHY!? Just keep it on your belt!!!

And? Now every game developer in the galaxy is PARANOID AF. Either make their mystics Very Obviously NOT Jedi rip offs... or shoot a "if I pay you $20 will you consult on something real quick" email. It's just... just easier man. Last guy got laughed into oblivion. Oof.

They can bill it as "Realism" or something. See guys? WE do or reasearch! Give us your credits!

Oh YEAH? Says the growing fan base of this Funky Lil Monk Child. Then put you game where your communication organs are. Send her the game, you cowards.

Do It.

Cut to "oh no, guys! The sorta-jedi died! What? Next objective? No. No we gotta give him a funeral! Oh good, we ca-BURY HIM?! What!? No!!! I could understand if he was from a race that held beliefs that bodies must be returned to the soil from whence they came, but this guy is a SORTA-JEDI! Absolutely NOT!"

"Let's cut down some trees. WE are building him a PYRE. Never ran one of these, but I can look it up. Gimme a moment. Okay. Draaaaag, him on to it. Where's his weapon. There! Thanks chat! On it goes too. Okay. Looking it up..... got it. Ahem...!"

*hold funeral for the sage character by burning his body*

*mods are IMMEDIATELY created to change the "burial" scene to a "Funeral pyre" with somber music*

Just? I can not let go? Of how the subtle shift would spread? Not in shining senatorial halls, but in class rooms and living rooms, dingy pubs and long hyperdrive flights? Anywhere boredom might be found and "hey check this out" might spread? Where someone else, might overhear and get curious?

Lik?? Imagine being the bounty hunter, who fuckin HATES Jedi, thinks they're sanctimonious BASTARDS, hearing someone snort laugh. Just... just fucking CHOKE on their cheep beer. Oh? Now everyone's interested. What's funny?

It's a teeny, tiny, lil jedi youngling. Playing that new Bounty 5 game. Unrealistic as hell. But they are going "I am a MASTER of stealth. A LEGEND of the hunt. You will not see me. I am sneaky. So, so, sneeeeakyyyyy!" As they concentrate on sneaking through back alleys.

Only for their character to fall RIGHT of a ledge, bounce against three buildings, smash into a parked Speeder, and roll right into a cut scene. Where they are call the "greatest bounty hunter of all time".

They look so incredulous.

"Are you SURE? Cause I'm fairly certain that phrase alone is banned for the trouble it causes, near most Bounty outposts. Could be the concussion talking though!"

They are? A sarcastic lil SHIT. Roast EVERYTHING. Know a surprising number of them. Given that they gave the Duros support character a modded in hat. Named him Definitely-Not-Cad. The fake look mustache REALLY sells it. Yeah, Bane. Clearly not you. YOU don't have a mustaches. *watches as she unleashes the Not Cad Bane like a highly tactical meat thresher on legs* brutal lil shit. They like her.

Granted, it's only BECAUSE it's not real she does so.

But I just? Have so many ideas? Spam the Galaxy with "this is who we are. We are people. Develop bonds with us. Care about us. KNOW us." Because the Sith can not possibly kill us all. Can not stop truth, so widely spread. Light dies, when you smother it in closed hands, hidden away in dark and long forgotten places. When you let fear dictate your actions.

It thrives in the open. With people. With the chance to SPREAD. Grow. Bloom.

It's about talking and caring. Being heard. What better place? Then on the screen in their pocket?

@babbling-babull @hypewinter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @spidori

[mrslankyman]

Sinfully Gorgeous pt. 2

Vox x (fem) over lord reader

Smut

Word count: 5K

Working on: Part 3 - cancelled (sorry!)

3 weeks. 

It had been 3 weeks since you shot that porno with Vox. So why in the HELL was everyone in HELL still raving over it?!

It wasn’t anything special.

It was a brand deal and that was it. It wasn’t like you knew it was going to be Vox. Valentino stated after the shoot he chose Vox since it would boost you both. Sure it did but at what cost?

Your phone was flooded with texts and emails from sinners asking if you and Vox were a thing.

Have you joined the Vees?

Were you and Vox fucking on the low?

How long were you two together?

All these questions were getting to your head and making you sick. 

You laid back in your expensive bed. The silky pillows that most sinners could never afford comforting your head. Phone in hand you scrolled through your feed. Vox’s news show popped. 

“Top of the hour sinners. Today we will be discussing the ongoing discussion that I and I'm sure our lovely {Y/N} is seeing too.” He clasped his hands together and turned to the screen in front of him that was showing photos of sinners questions.  

“Has {Y/N} joined the Vees?” He read aloud. “No she has not, though I would not be opposed to the idea.” He chuckled, sending a wink to the camera. 

You groaned and fast forward on the video stopping when a clip of the porno popped up on the screen. Curious of what he would say about it. You hadn’t talked to him since a day after that was filmed. 

“How did it feel to fuck the {Y/N}?” He chuckled as he read that aloud. A smirk crawled onto his face. “Well folks I’ll tell ya. It was better than any sex I myself have ever had.” He leaned forward covering half his mouth with the side of his hand. “A little secret for you all, she has the tightest pussy you’ll ever fuck in hell.” He laughed leaning back. “Yes folk it’s true she was definitely a virgin and safe to say I took that card from her.” His cocky laugh echoed in your head. 

He took your virginity? 

What was he a fucking idiot?

Embarrassing you on Hell's public news. 

You were not a virgin, far from it and for this cocky ass tv faced man to state he was the lucky one to take it from you made you seeth. 

You instantly opened up your messages and searched his name in your contact. Typing out a text. Fingers flying across the screen as anger edged in every digital word typed. 

{You}: who in the HELL do you think you are? Saying you took my virginity on the fucking news? Real mature of you. What the fuck are we teenagers in high school. If you ever fucking do something like this again I will make sure you and your little fucking news channel are never broad casted again. 

{Vox}: Wow, didn't suspect you to see it so soon. What's the matter, I was just messing around. I bet it was the best sex you’ve ever had, why not say your best was also your first? 

{You}:oh were cocky as fuck huh? You really think you were the best? Keep dreaming. 

{Vox}: I must have been something for you to go off script. 

{You}: fuck you, you went off script as well. 

{Vox}: oh you wanna fuck me again? Maybe I'll make it an even better time, we can make our own script. 

{You}: you know what I meant. Never fucking mention me on your little show again. It was a one time deal. 

{Vox}: aren’t you just a ball of sunshine. Whatever you say darling. I’ll erase that part of the segment from the show and their memories. 

{You}: good, the only time your fucking mind control has been used for an actual purpose. 

{Vox}: Or I can just keep it up. You know you’re not being very kind. 

{You}: oh fuck off this is hell. I don’t need to be kind to the man who just publicly embarrassed me. 

{Vox}: and the man who publicly pleasured you. 

{You}: just take it down. 

{Vox}: yes ma’am. 

You groaned and turned your phone off. Throwing it to the floor and laying down fully. Pulling the covers over your head and closing your eyes. Sleeping the anger and annoyance off. 

—

Your alarm buzzed in the morning. You groaned and woke up grabbing your phone from the floor and turning it off. But not before you saw the message from Alastor. 

“You’re a virgin?”

That fucker didn’t delete the segment!

You dashed around your house putting on an outfit and doing your make up the fastest you had ever. Your shoes were on in seconds and out the door you went. 

You called a cab and got in, instructing them to take you to the Vees tower. Of course you know the consequences of this.

Everyone would assume you were going to see Vox in a different way. When in reality his ass was going to get a fist in his screen. 

The cab dropped you off and you paid them before getting out. Marching up to the front of the building. A few people looked over. Snapping pictures and videos. You rolled your eyes and pressed the buzzer on the door. 

“Who is it?” Voxs voice played through the small speaker.

“{Y/N}.” The second you said your name the doors opened. You smirked slightly and headed inside jumping as the doors closed behind you harshly. 

“Vox! Where the fuck are you we need to have a talk!” You yelled walking around the lobby looking for any sign of him. Footsteps echoed down the hall and there he was. A smile on his stupid flat screened face. 

“Ah {Y/N} So nice of you to stop by-” You grabbed him by his suit's flaps and slammed him against the wall. A groan escaped his lips and his screen displayed a loading circle before his eyes came back. 

“You asshole, I told you to take that segment down!” You screamed in his face without giving a second to think. “Do you know who the fuck I am?! I will end you!” You leaned into his face. Your spit landing on his screen. He glared at you but on the inside he was loving the attention. 

Your hands on him was enough to make him melt. But he had to be sure not to display it too much. Or you’d let go and call him weird. 

“You can end me anytime you want.” His words were smooth and flirtatious. He obviously did not understand the gravity of the situation he was in. 

“You do not wanna fuck with me Vox.” You warned re-shoving him against the wall. He grunted and grabbed your arms. “You know I would love to fuck with you.” He chuckled, eyeing you with a smirk. “You little-” Your grip tightened on him getting ready to shove him again. 

“{Y/N}!” He yelled his right eye widening as he used his mind control on you. You froze your eyes going wide. Your grip on him faltered as you shook your head. The daze wears off. 

“Why don’t you calm down?” He offered, pulling your arms down from his suit. “Don’t use that fucking mind control shit on me.” You pulled your arms away from him. He sighed and rested his hand on his hips. “Yes ma’am.” His voice was full of annoyance now. 

“Delete the segment. That’s all I want. I’ll leave you alone and you do the same.” You held out your hand. “Deal?” You tilted your head, pink fire appearing around your palm. 

“No deals. I just promise I will. I’m no idiot. I know how you pull strings.” He pushed your hand away, the fire disappearing. You groaned and pulled your hand back. 

“Very well.” You nodded even though a part of you knew he would never take that segment down fully. 

“I’ll go delete it.” He fixed his tie, closing his eyes. “Good.” You said before a ding came from your phone. You held it up. “At Voxs darling?” Alastor had texted. A part of you hated Charlie for getting him onto this phone kick. He was so against technology until he was told he could text you whenever. 

Vox opened one eye as he heard the ding. He eyed you and read the text. The words Darling and Alastor made his circuits spark. Why in the hell did that old timey prick have your number? 

“I better leave before everyone in hell assumes we're seeing each other. I do not need that in my life.” You shoved your phone in your pocket. Looking up at Vox whose face had a rather.. Concerning smile displaying. 

He let out a laugh though it glitched. He stepped closer to you. His hand grabbed your arm pulling you to him. “Why the fuck is the radio demon texting you?” His voice deepened. Eyes squinting as he grabbed your phone from your pocket. 

“Hey!- what the fuck.” You squirmed in his grip. A tsk tsk came from him as he used his eye to unlock your phone. Reading you and Alastors messages. Anger surged through him as you both had been sending jokes about him. His grip on you tightened and he squeezed your phone in his other hand till it shattered into pieces. 

“Vox what the fuck!-” You watched as he broke your phone, your attention being snapped back to his face as he slammed you up against the wall this time. 

He laid his arm next to your head on the wall and his other hand gripped your neck.  

“I’m not taking the segment down. You wanna talk shit about me to that damn radio demon go ahead. I'll say whatever I want about you. You are nothing to me.” His words were low and strung out. His eyes were wide and red drool dripped from his mouth. Though his grip on your neck was tight it wasnt hard enough to really choke you out. 

That was one thing he did not want to do. 

He was pissed off but not necessarily at you. The idea that Alastor got more of your attention than him is what pissed him off. He knew it was such a stupid thing to be mad over.

But he wanted you. Even if he had to pretend he didn’t. 

Your eyes squinted and you squirmed under him. Truthfully he didn’t scare you. This position didn’t make you feel threatened, it made you feel.. Other things. 

In a dark and twisted way his anger really made you think of that shoot. How his hands gripped your sides and he’d moan before glitching out. 

“If you wanna scare me you’re gonna have to try harder than this.” You grabbed his face. Your hand pulling him closer. “Cause all I can think about is you glitching out before you cummed inside me.” Your words made his screen display a light shade of red. 

“I-”

“You want that again hmm?” You kissed his screen. “Want to feel my tight pussy as you said? I guess since it was the best I’ve ever had you’d think I would’ve been begging you for more.” You whispered, making your voice low and seductive. His grip faltered as his screen turned red. His eyes drooped as you talked to him sensually. 

“Too bad I wasn’t.” You cooed, kicking him in the crotch. He groaned and keeled over. Holding his crotch in his hands. “Fuck fuck fuck..” He groaned in pain as you stepped over him. 

“You owe me a phone.” You spat on his withering form and walked out.

–-

Safe to say he gave you a new phone. That part of the segment was erased. To your knowledge from the general public of hell. Knowing Vox he probably cut it from half the people's memories and kept it in the other to confuse them. 

What an ass hole. 

Today you were off to Alastor's radio tower. He wanted to have you on this new segment he was working on. Whatever that meant. 

You had made it to the Hazbin Hotel. Charlie showed you to Alastors tower. You thanked her and headed inside. He greeted you and showed you the different buttons and the mic. Getting you accustomed to the technology before having a seat with you. 

Not having a camera in your face was both relaxing and strange. This seemed more like a conversation you were having with a friend that just so happened to be recorded. 

“Today I am here with my dear friend {Y/N}.” Alastor spoke into his mic. Smiling your way as you said hello. 

“So why don’t you tell everyone what it’s like to be the fashion overlord?” He handed you his mic. Urging you to introduce yourself further. 

After the basic introduction was done he began to ask you questions. It slowly became clear to you what he was doing. 

“What is your opinion on Vox?” He smirked and leaned your way. That question made you groan.

“That man? Come now Alastor. You know he isn’t something to talk about.” You leaned back in your chair and your reply made Alastor chuckle. 

“Go on dear. Just tell us about him.” He leaned the mic closer to you. 

“Fine.” You took the mic and leaned up. 

“Vox is something. Not the kind of something you’d want either. He is terrible in bed.” You snickered at the idea that Vox would be listening to you. “Oh is he now? I do believe we all saw that video dear. It seems the opposite.” He eyed you a shit eating grin on his face. 

“That’s what a script is for.” You sneered. 

“There's a theory you went off script. After all that Valentino did post it.” He checked his claws smirking. 

You groaned as Alastor was just doing this to stir drama. He hated Vox but loved to mess with you. So he was playing both ways. 

“Anyways, besides that he is a prick and snoops on everyone. He is fucking insane but I suppose that’s why he’s here. If you are thinking about trying to get with that man please do so he will leave me alone.” You handed the mic back to Alastor. He was holding in his laugh. “Thank you dear for your lovely insight on that clout chasing mediocre video podcasts.” He ended the broadcast and sighed.   

—

About 4 hours after the broadcast a ding sounded from your phone. Either it was Alastor or some random person. 

You checked the message and groaned as the name displayed on your screen. 

Vox.

Of course. 

You slid open your phone and sat down on your couch to answer him. 

{Vox}: doing a broadcast with the radio demon to degrade me? Really. After you begged me to delete your segment.

{You}: what's the matter? Thought you liked being degraded 

{Vox}: I'm not doing this. I’m gonna have to make you understand. 

{You}: oh really? Why don’t you just face that you suck in bed and you suck even more as a person. 

{Vox}: I suck in bed? Oh sweet heart. I don’t believe that's what you truly think. 

{Vox has sent a video} 

You pressed play, wishing you didn’t as a clip from the porno played. You were riding him moaning his name and begging him to go faster. His fingers digging into your sides as he rammed into you on your command. 

{You}: have to give the audience what they want.

{Vox}: oh yeah? What if there wasn’t an audience? 

{You}: then none of that would’ve happened. I’d be as quiet as a mouse.

{Vox}: we’ll see about that. 

{You}: what's that mean? 

:seen 3 minute ago: 

“Bitch.” You turned your phone off and laid down on the couch. Letting your mind wander back to the shoot. Perhaps you did enjoy him a little more than you’d like to admit. But you’d never tell him that. Or anyone for that matter. 

It’s bad enough there were more theories going around on you two. How the hatred was an act so you could keep things private. How it was fake or just a stunt for money.

You’d let the public guess and argue over it. You had no intentions on stating anything as of yet. 

So not thinking much of anything you turned on your tv and sat back. 

You sat up a little as you tv went to static. A blue glow came from it after a moment and a shock wave burst from it. The room went black and then the tv turned back on. Vox stood in front of you. Blocking the tv from view. 

“What the- Vox what the fuck!” You sat up all the way as Vox stepped closer with a smile on his face. 

 “We don’t have an audience here.” He leaned down looming over you as. Leaning back into the couch you slowly smirked. “Oh is that so? You wanna see if you can really work your magic on me?” You teased him watching as his face grew more annoyed. 

“Yes I do.” He put a finger under your chin and lifted it up. “I wanna prove to you that going off the script was because I am good at what I do. Not because you wanted to promote your bullshit brand.” He chuckled and moved you down on the couch to a lying position. 

“Oh you really wanna prove a point? Then I'm gonna make mine. I bet you can’t make me make a single sound.” You snickered as he threw his hat off to the ground. 

“Fine but I'm gonna make you eat those words.” He leaned down and kissed you. You rolled your eyes and opened your mouth. 

He slid his tongue inside your mouth. You closed your eyes and let your tongues tangle together. 

His hand slid down your sides and grabbed your jeans. You didn’t make a noise, the only sound was your pants rubbing together as Vox began to grind against you. 

A part of you just wanted to give in. Let him take you and win. But the bitch inside you wanted to win to shove it in his face every day. So you suppressed your moans and pulled back from the kiss.

He stared down at you and smirked, “Come on.. Just a little peep.” He groaned and made a quick upwards motion with his hips. It felt good you wouldn’t lie. 

You shook your head and smirked though earning an annoyed groan from the man above you. “Good thing we just started.” His voice was low as he undid your pants and yanked them off with a swift movement. 

You stared up at him and smirked. He slid off his blazer and undid his tie. The only thing left was his striped shirt. 

You sat up and pushed him down instead. He looked at you confused before smirking. He liked this and he didn’t care if you didn’t care in the moment if you didn’t like him how he liked you. Any form of attention from you was good. 

The feeling of you sitting on his bulge made his screen glitch as a low moan escaped him. He wanted to hear your approving moans as well but you weren’t giving it to him. You just moved against him with the best poker face he had ever seen. 

“F- fuck..” His voice buffered as he grabbed your hips and lifted you off him slightly. He didn’t want this to be over too soon. 

“I’m gonna break you. Just you wait.” He clawed at the sides of your underwear. Breaking the thin fabric, grabbing them as they fell down. He tossed them to the side and looked at you.

You blushed. Thanking Lucifer a blush didn’t count as a noise. That action was pretty hot. The desire in his eyes shone through. He slid off two of his claws. Just as he did for the shoot.

He lifted his hand to his mouth and licked them. Red saliva littered them. You anticipated the feeling of them inside you. Trying to prepare yourself so you didn’t moan. 

But he didn’t just slide them in. He circled his fingers around your clit. 

Smirking as he saw you twitch. Biting your lip before going back to a straight face. 

“Oh come on. I almost got you.” He laughed and slid one finger in. Pushing it in and out before adding the second and curling them inside. 

He kept pumping them in and out at different paces trying to make you moan. Anything really. A small gasp or groan. 

He wasn’t given the pleasure. 

You just closed your eyes and enjoyed the feeling. You hadn't met a man who could finger this good. He sure was something and you would love to keep this up. But his fingers just weren’t like his dick. Which was under you twitching and leaking pre cum. 

Just waiting for it’s turn inside. So you grabbed his wrist and he slid out his fingers. 

“Come on.. I’ll only give it to you if you beg.” He smirked and slid his finger down your slit teasingly. You shook your head. 

“Come on!” His voice statticed and he shoved his dick inside you. The amount of force you had to use to suppress your moan was astounding. 

He groaned as he noticed you didn't make a sound. 

“Fine, but I'm still gonna give you a damn good time. So you can’t say im shit at this.” he pulled out of you and flipped you over. Pushing you down under him. He wrapped your legs around him and slowly slid inside you again. Leaning his head back a quiet moan escaping his lips. 

You grabbed his shoulders and bit your lip. With each steady thrush the feeling of giving up echoed in your mind. It was starting to hurt holding in your noises. His eyes were squeezed shut, teeth bared and red drool dripping from his mouth. Blue static came from him as soon as he picked up his pace. 

“F-f-fuck.. I fucking hate you.” He slammed into you and a quiet moan escaped your lips. 

His eyes shot open and he looked down at you. Your face was red and sweaty. You covered your mouth, a smirk displayed on his face.

“What was that?” He taunted and slid all the way out of you then back in. A quiet moan escaped your mouth again. 

“Yeah that's right, I knew you couldn’t last forever.” He chuckled, his cocky attitude back. He kept his thrush gentle and slow. You gave in and let your moans fill the room. Vox loved the sounds. All your attention on him every moan, grunt, and whimper from your mouth was for him. It made his dick even harder. “Vox..please.. Please I'm.. I’m almost..” You stared into his eyes on the verge of orgasm. 

“Go ahead, we’ll do it together darling.” He slid his hand down and circled your clit and thrusted into you on more time. His cum filling your inside as yours too gave way and hit your orgasm.

His screen glitched out and his voice buffered as he moaned your name. 

After you both came down from your highs you looked into his eyes. 

“I hate you.” You glared at him. 

“You may hate me but I know you love him.” He chuckled as he slid his dick out, rubbing it against your slit. Earning an annoyed groan from you. 

“This was fun. Good to know you enjoyed it.” He winked and stood up. Putting on his clothes. He walked down your hall. You groaned and looked down at the cum on your couch. Annoyed now. 

He came back with a damp towel. He pushed you down gently and cleaned you up. Then rubbed the excess off the couch. 

“Gotta keep my toy clean.” He pinched your face before sliding his claws back on. 

“Least you have decent manners.” You scoffed and sat up. 

“Of course.” He smiled and glitched out. Disappearing into the tv. The room went black before the lights turned on. 

You got dressed and sat on the couch. Embarrassingly repeating the way he moaned your name in your head over and over. 

Why did you let him win? 

—

Today was your and Alastors photo shoot. You were modeling Sinfully Gorgeous but just a few of the modest outfits. With Alastors old time camera it made things look more classy. So he had agreed to do a small shoot in your studio. 

He had arrived about an hour ago. He was all dressed up just waiting for you now. You had gone for an old timey style of makeup and hair. 

Walking out of your dressing room he looked over. His eyes widened and a pleasant smile erased the plain one. 

“You look lovely darling.” He titled his head. “Thank you. You look rather handsome yourself.” You complimented back, gaining a chuckle from him. 

“Shall we do this?” He stood up straight. “Yes.” You replied back heading over to the backdrop. It was plain white but it made the photos show up better.

You did a few different poses and outfits. Some silly and others professional. 

“Wait, I have an idea.” You smirked and Alastor looked at you with a confused smile. 

“Voxtek is sponsoring this shoot. Part of a contract deal after that shoot with Valentino. I made Vox sign a contract to sponsor whatever I want when I want since I had to.. Fuck him” You rolled your eyes. 

“Right.” Alastor chuckled. He knew better. You and that tv headed fucker for sure had something going on. But you were his friend so he wouldn't say his true opinion. Though he sure as hell did back at the hotel. 

“I know just the way to tick him off.” You smirked at him and he instantly knew what you meant. Loving the idea of pissing off Vox for fun. 

—

You did a few poses. Holding each other. Alastor dipping you and finally the ones that would piss Vox off the most. You knew Alastor wasn’t one for these types of things. Though he agreed he did not mind if it was just to piss off Vox. 

You had ordered your helpers to set up a chair. They did as asked and Alastor sat down.

“Go head darling. I wanna see the look on his face when he sees these.” You both laughed as you sat between his legs.

Alastor gripped your chin and turned your face to his. His smile on his face. Though it was a more intimate one. He sure played this well. You look into his eyes with as much passion as a smirk displayed on your face.

 The photo was taken and you stood up. Slinging your legs over Alastors lap, your assistant changed the camera's angle to get a side view. Alastor looked into your eyes. “Excuse me if I am not good at this.”He chuckled and you smiled. “It’s okay.” You both had a short laugh before getting ready for the photo. 

He closed his eyes and you leaned in. Pressing your lips to his. He kissed you back but he wasn't hesitant. He just wasn’t sure how to move his lips. You pulled away the second the photo was taken. 

“You aren’t terribly bad.” You joked, gaining an eye roll from him. 

The last photo was one of you both standing. Alastor kissed you one last time but in this one his eyes were looking at the camera. A bigger dig at Vox. 

—

“Thanks for helping me.” You thanked Alastor as you had gotten the photos ready to be sent out to Voxtek. “It’s not a problem. Anything for an old pal.” Alastor smiled as you both walked out of the studio. 

—

Vox sipped on his coffee until a ding came through on his screen. He flicked his finger and sent it to one of his monitors. He opened the email and sifted through the photos your team had emailed him. 

He groaned as it was you and Alastor. Pissed off that the radio demon was getting your attention now. 

His anger was pretty controlled till he got to the attachment labeled ‘surprise.’ 

A part of him hoped it was some sinful photos of you in your outfit. Though to his dismay it was not. 

He opened up the file with a smirk on his face only for it to be erased in a meer second as his eyes landed on you and Alastor kissing. He gripped his desk claws digging into it. Leaving a mark. 

He groaned and looked at the next photo. Alastor kissing you and eyeing the camera with that smug grin tugging on his lips. He screamed and slammed his fist into the monitor, cracking it and causing the screen to glitch out. 

The monitor turned off as he kept punching it. His screams and groans of anger echoing through the room. 

“The fuck is your problem?!” Velvette asked as she slammed open the door. 

Vox turned around to look at her. A deranged smile on his face as his eye twitched. 

“Set up my showroom. If this bitch wants to play dirty we’ll play dirty.” He pulled his hand out of the monitor watching as his blood trickled down his arm.

[silv3rswirls]

Fawn

warnings: 18+, age gap(reader is 18), coercion, corruption, praise, humiliation, dirty talk, hair pulling, gaslighting and manipulation, alcoholism, some religious themes/talk, virgin/innocent reader, dark thoughts/fantasies, very vague mentions of familial abuse, shamming, obsession, overall yoongi is a ✨creep✨

Note: sometimes I piss myself off because I've been dying over this fic for days and now I don't even like it much anymore- can I have nothing?😭idk might start writing more smut now??

You were a fawn in headlights when he first saw you in that clearing. Your back had been to him and at first, he had swore and scoffed at you because who hangs around in the woods disturbing his peace? Everyone in this town knew he lurked behind the tree line, drinking himself stupid and doing whatever fucked up activities they rumored him to. Yoongi never minded being the talk of the town. He’d been an outcast since his teenage years. Since he stopped going to church with his family like every other prim family populating the place. They took some fun teenage rebellion and ran with it- he liked to think himself not as messed up as people whispered he was. He’d always thought himself not to be until he met you.

He found you picking berries and flowers, anything that looked pretty out in the forest. You were kneeling trying to choose the perfect dandelion to add to your basket when he stormed over; pissed that someone was in his usual drink until he couldn’t move anymore spot. He liked it because it was a short walk from where he liked to stare at the Sunday churchgoers leaving and freak them out. He could recall seeing you before, always glued to your mother's side wherever you went.

But he stayed away and kept to himself like always. He couldn’t say he had many, if any, friends around here. He’d been on his own since graduating and his family moved away shortly after. He hadn’t been close to them at the time so being left alone was welcomed at first. As for everyone else; if someone didn’t fit in around here they were an outcast without much care and it seemed that no one cared for him.

“What are you doing?” He barked, scowling as he approached you. Bottles clinked in the bag he was loosely holding and his cigarette was at the end of its life. You stood up, stumbling back a bit in shock. Yoongi wasn’t a kind person, so you’d heard, and his appearance didn’t do anything to help. He was scowling, his hair was frazzled from rolling out of bed an hour or so ago. Dressed in darker colors, a sweater and thick coat layered in him. You wanted to laugh over how tired and grumpy he looked, but the nervous swirl in your stomach told you not to.

“I’m just picking flowers” You straightened up, knuckles white as you gripped the basket and your free hand smoothing down your skirt. 

“Well this is my spot” he rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to hear your stupid humming or see that ridiculous frilly dress you were in. Something about it pissed him off, he couldn’t place it exactly, but whatever it was would put a damper on his getting shitfaced in the woods plan for today. Besides, you had just come from Sunday service, he didn’t need any annoying pestering about drinking or sinning, or whatever he was sure you would pester him about.

Your eyes landed in his bag, before flicking up to him a bit wide. “Are you drinking out here?”

“So what if I am?”

He watches you look around, pressing your lips together for a moment. “Could I try?” His brows raised in surprise. interesting outcome of all of this he supposed? “It’s just, I’ve always wanted to.”

“I know your mom, she’s crazy, you know? Where is she?”

“Still at service, she helps plan the food drive” You smiled a bit proud, “It’s next week.”

Yoongi hummed. She was a nutjob, he’d lost track of how many times she’d harassed him in the past month alone. “So while she’s planning to feed the needy you want to drink?” You nodded and he looked around in disbelief. Was this a joke? Was someone going to jump out and condemn him for even entertaining this? 

“Here” he fished out a bottle and held it out to you. He watched you smile, a curious twinkle in your eyes as you carefully set your flowers down and took it. He waited for you to try, there wasn’t anything better to do anyway.

Your sudden shyness poked him the wrong way. He watched you bring it to your lips for a moment before lowering it with a new nervous expression. Second guessing your rebellion? “Come on” he urged, moving to grab your arm and pull you over to him. You stumbled, kicking over your flowers and stepping on them as he dragged you over.

“Hey-” you cringed, the bottle clinking against your teeth as Yoongi held you firm in place and forced the drink into your mouth. “I don’t like it” You managed to get out between the burn of liquor and sputtering as you tried to breathe. You broke away, yoongi dumping the rest of the bottle onto you; dripping it down your hair and face, and soaking your pink cardigan. “Why would you do that?” Your voice wobbled, and your eyes were wet as you looked at him.

“You said you wanted to try, stop being a baby about it.” He rolled his eyes. He watched the heat of embarrassment color your cheeks, big wet streaks stained your face and your hair clumped wet against your skin. “Get out of here now and don’t come back.” 

He watches you grab your things and scurry away, and in the distance, he can hear your mother scolding you from the parking lot. 

“Why does everyone hate Yoongi?”

The already tense air between you and your mother grew thicker on the ride home. She was angry over the smashed flowers you brought her for her centerpieces and even angrier over your now damp and smelly clothing. The fact that you had come running back to the car in tears, crying like a child over Yoongi.  

“Isn’t what he did to you answer enough sweetheart?” She sighed, “He’s never been right, even when he was your age.” She cringed, “Ever since his parents left he’s gotten worse. He’s a creep honey, stay away from him.”

“His parents left him?” You perked up slightly, basically ignoring everything else she said. “Why would they do that? That’s so sad.”

“If he was my child I’d leave him too” She scoffed, “don’t feel sorry for him, he’s everything I’ve ever warned you about. You don’t want to get tied up in all that mess right?” She asked. You didn’t answer.

The second time you ran into Yoongi was in the same stretch of woods. You had nervously ventured out there a few weeks after the last time, unsure if you wanted to run into him or not. Your mother was right about him being scary. You’d never interacted with anyone so harsh before, everyone your mother kept in your circle was kind and caring, just as you were. All women, no men really got close thanks to her. Other than being intrigued about being around him and all the things he did that everyone had drilled into your head were wrong; you felt a bit bad for the older man. You couldn’t imagine being all alone like he was or listening to all the awful things people said about him. He couldn’t be as evil as people wanted you to think, right?

Maybe he just needed a friend?

When he saw you again he smiled in welcoming. After spending a few weeks mulling over what happened and being publicly shouted at for ‘harassing her poor child’, Yoongi had decided he wanted to get closer to you. What better way to stick it to your mom than to mess around with you some more? You were naive enough not to catch on, so what was the harm?

You just talked for a few hours with him. He listened more than opened up. He listened to you talk about what you liked to do, where to find all the best flowers around here, about how you were nervous about the little recital the church was having next month for the Holidays, and how they wanted you to sing in it.

He watched you fiddle with the robbins decorating your hair. Watched you kick your legs back and forth off the rocks you were perched on beside him. Watched how your skirt scrunched and rode up just slightly every time you moved. 

He went home that night feeling a bit odd over the experience. You seemed genuinely glad to have someone new to talk to. He wasn’t sure how he felt, because you looked so cute sitting next to him chatting his ear off. 

He was fucked to put it lightly. You were everything he hated about the people in this town. Stupid and blindly following the herd…but with more of an innocence. All Yoongi knew was that he was down bad and frankly, a little pissed about it. How many whores had he had in the past and how many could he go out and find at this moment? Too many, maybe they were getting boring to him because right now all he could think about was you. He wanted to poke fun at and just piss everyone off at first, but now…now he just wanted corrupt you. Odd, he’d never felt the want to do it before to anyone, but something about you was sticking to him. How could he not with how cute and innocent you acted around him? Your fault really...hadn't your mother already warned you about men like him? He wanted to take you until the innocent air surrounding you was gone until all you could think about is him and how good he fucked your little virgin cunt. How cute you’d be under him. Covering your breasts and trying to hide away from his hungry eyes. Your cute little moans, moans you’d likely never made before. The feeling of you stretching around him for the first time. A little too much to handle, but you’re eager to please him. How wet you’d be, how it’d be such a challenge to bottom out, and how you’d squirm and try to resist the urge to be run over the edge as his hips pressed into yours. Your thighs twitch and try to close, too overwhelmed by the new sensations happening in your body. He’d leave you ruined; never to be the same again.

Yoongi blinked himself out of thought, he was sitting outside of his house having zoned out thinking about it all. 

Well, change of plans he supposed?

Two weeks later snow began to fall and hanging out with you had become routine. Admittedly, it wasn’t that bad. Other than an insatiable want to get you in his bed, he couldn’t say he hated every moment spent hanging around you. It was refreshing not to be by himself all day, he hadn’t had a real friend since early high school, and every day since had pretty much been spent alone. Stuck with a family that refused to speak to him until he admitted his sin and went back to church to grovel for forgiveness; he’d never do that even now. To his surprise you hardly talked about your family or religion; he had part expected you to try and drill it all into him. But you were pretty quiet and liked to laugh at all the ‘silly’ things he did as you liked to put it. You thought the way he slurred words when he was drunk was cute, but wouldn’t touch a drink from him after what happened, not unless he sweet-talked you enough. Sometimes it felt like he could sweet talk you into doing anything he wanted. Sometimes you’d let him put a shot glass to your lips and pour it down, wincing at the burn and getting watery-eyed. Yoongi wasn’t interested in bringing you anything gentle, he liked the hard stuff that could send him over the edge with a few drinks.

“Yoongi?” You asked one night. He was sitting beside you on the park bench, wrapped up in a plethora of jackets and hoodies trying to fight against the bitter air. Obviously, he couldn’t go to your place, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted you hanging around his yet. Truth be told he wasn’t sure if he could contain himself seeing you sitting in his bed just talking with that sweet tone of yours. Your eyes looking up at him, wide and fully focused on what he was doing or saying. You’d be wearing one of those silly frilled dresses you liked; he was sure of it. He’d thought about it so many times. How you’d let him get close and run a hand over your thigh, then over your stomach, to your chest. You’d let him kiss you, he knew you would. You liked doing what he said. You were so curious to partake in all the things he liked to do; all the things you weren’t supposed to do. One night he passed you a blunt without thinking much of it, you took it but nearly choked trying to smoke it for the first time. So you settled on letting him blow smoke in your face because he wanted to and you kept lying that you liked the smell of it.

“Yoongi?” You repeated, pulling him out of his daydream. He hummed, “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Go for it.” He’d lie if he didn’t want to answer, he lied to you a lot and you never seemed to pick up on it.

“Have you been in love before?”

“No.” He looked over at you again. You were playing with your hands in your lap, your nose was red from the cold and your hair was covered in snowflakes. He was still damp from earlier when you made him do a snow angel alongside you. “Why?”

“I don’t know “your face flushed, “I just wish I knew what it felt like. I’ve never been able to have a boyfriend” you explained, “Mom said I have to wait longer, I think she wants to find someone for me.”

“Well, that’s what good girls are supposed to do, right?” He asked, rolling his head back to look at the street light above and watching the snow flurries cluster around it. 

You were quiet for a moment, “I guess. I don’t know I’ve just been thinking alot lately, questioning some things.”

Yoongi nodded, he could remember when he started to as well. Hearing how everything in your circle talked about Yoongi didn’t sit right. Everyone should love everyone and get along, that is what you had thought everyone preached around you your whole life. Now they spoke about him like trash, ever since he poured the liquor on you. You hardly even cared much after the fact. It had been thrilling in your otherwise mundane life. Everyone thought you were staying clear of him, but you liked hanging out with him. Every evening when your mother left for work you ran to him. And every Sunday morning people still talked about what happened. How Yoongi shouldn’t be allowed to stay around here, how he was nasty and unholy, and how he'd do horrible things to you if you got close again. 

“You want a boyfriend?”

“My mom would kill me if she knew I did.”

Yoongi wet his lips and tugged your jacket until you looked at him. You were pouting, eyes cast down as you thought about it. “Well,” he started waiting for you to look up at him with your little doe eyes met his. “I could be your boyfriend” it rolled off his tongue, music to your ears. “No one will know, we’ll do all the things girlfriends and boyfriends do.” He waited for your reply, “unless you don’t like me?” He couldn’t remember the last time he spoke in such a tone: a soft and nearly whiny one. 

“No, I do!” You blurted out. “I want you to be my boyfriend, please Yoongi?”

He could listen to you say please all night.

“You’re not scared about breaking your mom's rules?” He egged in, “Not very good of you to lie.”

You scooted closer to him, grabbing his hand and pouting. “I-I don’t care about lying to her. Really! I’ve always wanted a boyfriend and I really like you, so why not?”

“Okay” he grinned, “I’ll be your boyfriend baby.” You grinned, genuinely excited. “We should make it official though, give me a kiss?”

You picked at the edges of your sleeves, “Y-yeah…but I’ve never…done that.”

Good, he thought. He wanted to be your first anything and everything. To teach you how to be a good girlfriend for him. “It’s okay, I’ll teach you. Just follow my lead.”

He grabbed your face, encouraging you to get even closer. Your legs pressed against his and he held your waist tight. He could see the shine of your strawberry lip gloss and the pink ribbon in your hair tickled his hand as he held your cheek. You were enthralled, gazing into his eyes like hearts were exploding behind you. He kissed you, trying to start slow and keep the cute boyfriend appearance up, but he was ready to get heated and messy with you. He did- kissed you harder, nibbled your lip, and pressed his tongue into your mouth. You were so meek under him, trying your best to keep up.

Your lipgloss was smeared- most of it left on Yoongi. You made it just-in-time before your mother got home. You scurried upstairs to change and pretend you’ve been in bed all night. You still felt breathless over the kisses. How he held you and how he asked you to be his girlfriend. You didn’t know how it was supposed to go, but you were sure he did it well. He had to. You hurried yourself under the covers. 

You had a boyfriend!

You kissed him!!

You smiled thinking about his hands holding you- how big they felt against your waist and his sting against your cheek. His lips were chapped and a bit cold against yours. He said he liked your lipgloss- the one you begged your mom to let you get just so you could wear it for him. 

“You’ve never touched yourself before?” You weren’t sure how the topic had been brought up, but Yoongi had just become far more interested in your video call after you let your secret slip out. You’d been lying around in bed talking to him for the past few hours. He was at home while you were stuck in bed for the night. Your mom was sick and hadn’t gone to work in a few days. You’d been missing Yoongi so he promised to call you.

“No…we’re not supposed to…my mom always tells me I shouldn’t it’s not pure and good.” You explained. Yoongi rolled his eyes, what a fanatic. 

“I used to think that, my family taught me the same things.” He started, “But I don’t agree. It’s normal, we’re all a little dirty sometimes, right bunny?”

You flushed, you liked it when he called you that. 

“I miss you, I’ve been thinking about kissing you all day. I wanna teach you more though, do you want to learn more next time?”

You nodded, slowly as you thought about his words. “You like when I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” you giggled. “Of course I do!”

Yoongi hummed, looking over the nightgown you were wearing. He liked kissing you well enough but he was starting to crave more. It’d been a while since he’d had sex, fantasizing about you while getting off was getting boring. He looked over your crossed legs, a bit upset it was long enough to cover your thighs- he liked them. It was, however, just snug enough to give him a subtle outline of your breasts, your nipples a bit hard grazing the fabric if you moved the right way. “Why’d you stop talking?” You pouted.

“You like my voice?” 

You nodded, “I really like it.”

“Wanna hear me call you pretty some more? How vain of you bunny. That’s a sin” he snickered, “does my voice turn you on?”

“I think so” You grew quieter, taking one headphone out and setting it aside to listen for your mother. 

“Is she still sleeping?”

“I think so.”

“You wanna do something for me, baby?” You nodded eagerly. “Touch yourself for me.” His tone was almost demanding, and needy as he shifted in his seat.

“But I’ve never…I’m not sure.”

“Come on,  try it for me?” Yoongi asked and very slowly you got off of your bed, leaving your phone propped against some pillows as instructed. Yoongi smirked, watching you look around your bedroom and to the door, double-checking the lock and listening for your mother. He was already feeling warm, mouth a bit dry as he looked you up and down. He couldn't help but to slip down his pants and tug at his cock in anticipation. The fact that you were so nervous, anxious that you’d get caught and reprimanded…that cute little nightgown you were wearing. “Just lift your nightgown” he wet his lips, watching you pick at the thin fabric and shyly lift it for him. “That’s it just a little, there you go” he encouraged, eyes glued to your panties. “Not so bad, right?” He smiled, and you let out a nervous, breathy giggle. “Turn around now” he watches you do as told, he hummed “bend over.” He watches you check your door again, a bit hesitant. “Don’t disappoint me now…good girl. Just…” Yoongi ogled over your ass, how the soft white fabric of your panties stretched over it, and how your legs pressed together now and again. “Just touch yourself for me” he finished. You did it for him, snaking a hand between your legs and clumsily playing with yourself. 

“Feels good?” He laughed at the little moans you let out now and again. “Don’t get shy, you’re so cute. Just show off for me baby.”

“You said you wanted to see it” Yoongi bit back a laugh. 

“I know, but…not here.” Your nose scrunched as you took another weary look around the alleyway. “Someone will see.”

“That’s what makes it fun” He grinned. He was feeling himself a little too much after a few drinks in his favorite bar. They wouldn’t ID him, and he knew they wouldn’t ID you. It was across town, too much of a trek for anyone who knew who you were to see. He’d gone through a few beers and some shots with you following him. You didn’t like the beer and refused a second shot, so he rolled his eyes and got you something smoother, fruitier. You were more content sipping on it, kicking your legs off the stool, and begging him to come to see you in the Holiday service on Sunday.

“You want me to come Sunday or not?”

“That’s not fair” you whined. Yoongi shrugged, leaning against the brick wall with his hips jutted out slightly. “Get on your knees for me bunny.” He watched you sink down, complaining when the slosh of rain and snow stained your stockings. “I’ll by you new ones” He assured, watching your brow knit ever so slightly as you fiddled with his belt; loosening it and going for his jeans button. He could feel his throat getting dry, ever since that little show he talked you through a few days ago he had been plagued with thoughts of you nonstop. You pulled his jeans down a bit, looking up at him for reassurance before shyly going for the boxers. He was already hard, it didn't take much from you nowadays. His fingers twitched, he wanted ot grab your hair and go to town, but he tried to take in your wide eyes, cautious little touches, and overall curiosity of it all.

“I don’t know if I should be doing this” Your voice was small, torn as you looked up at him again with a frown. “It feels wrong, I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, it's normal. Lots of girls do it, don’t you want to make me feel good? I made you feel good the other night, it’s only fair.”

"I know you better than you think baby. I know those dirty little sides of you no one else does. You keep saying this is wrong and you shouldn't be doing it…but you’ve been saying for days how you want to please me. Now it’s time. Want me to help you?” He murmured. You nodded, a mix of excitement and nervousness in your stomach as you looked around one last time. He snaked a hand through your hair and guided you closer. His tip grazed your lips, pouty and slick from your lipgloss. Egairly you opened your mouth for him, trying to breathe through the new feeling and anxiety of having him in your mouth for the first time. 

Yoongi on the other hand felt like he could melt then and there. The feeling of your hot mouth against him sent tingles down his spine. “Just suck on it a little, grab the rest with your hand, and stroke it for me, baby.” your hand felt so small and cold against him, it made him shiver. He tugged your head a bit, he couldn’t help it. Your inexperience was too much for him. He loved the clumsiness, the little noise you made as you choked on him, how drool dripped down your chin and stained your blouse. “I know you can take it bunny, tell me if you can’t- fuck” he hissed, “you’re so good for me.”

He came in your mouth- he hadn't planned to but hadn’t been able to help it the moment you peered back up to him. Your face flushed, your eyes wide and teary, still looking at him in adoration. You pulled back, saying something about not liking the taste and wincing when more landed on your face. Yoongi was too immersed in trying to calm down to make some witty remark, he just took a moment to steady his breathing and look down at you. “Sorry,” he was quick to get his pants back up and get down to your level to help clean up. He sighed, watching you pick at your ruined stockings and skirt, “We’ll go to the mall tomorrow, and I’ll try to come to see you Sunday.”

He tried to seem indifferent to the way your face lit up, lunging to hug him. He smiled and took you home.

After taking you to the mall and replacing your clothes, Yoongi felt needier than usual for you. He was ready to take up, ready to steal that innocence away. 

“Stop pretending you don’t want to” Yoongi laughed. “Do you like it?” Yoongi grinned. You squirmed in his lap. He could tell you were trying not to like it, your brow scrunched slightly. When he grabbed your face and made you look at him he could see the concern clouded with lust in your eyes. “I know you like it, stop lying to yourself” He had taken you home for the first time, wasting little time before pulling you to the bedroom for a makeout. 

“I do” you whimper, “but…I’m not supposed to do stuff like this” You frowned, “Not until I get married and-”

“We’re not having sex though, we’re just playing a little, right?” He asked, grabbing your hips tighter, pressing his bulge against you. Your skirt rode up more, your knees pressed into the sofa as he guided you to grind against him. You were starting to get a little bold when you were with him, it was hard not to when he was constantly grabbing at you and saying all the right things to get you worked up. He was ready to take this to the next level- ready to fuck you.

“Come on, fuck yourself against me, baby, you’re already soaked and I’ve barely touched you.” He slipped back into his mindset fast. Your hips moved with his, he could feel the wet spot staining his jeans as you moaned and squeaked in surprise every time he pulled you hard against him. “Want me to fuck you? Seems like it, want me to ruin your insides?” He was into it, into how good your clothed cunt felt against his jeans and hard-on, how red your face was getting and the little beads of nervous sweat forming on your forehead. How your fingers clasped his shirt and nails pinched his skin, how into you seemed to be getting.

“I shouldn’t, but it feels so good” You cried, while Yoongi nearly came at your breathly little whines. 

“it's okay to be dirty like this, it makes you feel good, right? makes you want to cum like a good girl for me?” Yoongi went on, “Or we can stop, you can just pretend we didn’t do anything and go home, is that what you want?” “No” you cried, “It feels good. I wanna cum.” You shyly spoke, quickening your pace as he rutted against you.

“You gonna let me fuck you now?” He had been half serious when he said it, still content with sucking on and leaving hickeys on your shoulder. When you say yes? He felt like his brain short-circuited, he had you on your back in an instant; staring down at you like a hungry animal. Your shirt was unbuttoned, chest flushed and marked up from the groping. You were looking at him through lidded eyes, your legs still pressed together in anticipation as he moved in. 

“Fuck this is so wrong, isn’t it bunny?” Yoongi let out a shaky exhale, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long, god you feel so good.” You were flushed under him, biting back moans and trying to take the pain of the first stretch like a good girl, like you knew he wanted you to. “I’m trying to go slow baby, but fuck…You’ll forgive me if I can’t, right?” He leaned closer to you, peppering kisses over your neck and sucking dark marks on your skin. “Please forgive me, baby, I’m gonna ruin you.” He murmured. He knew you’d never hate him, he knew you’d forgive him for anything he did to you.

taglist: @aft3rhrs

[unclewaynemunson]

A soft knock on the door and a half-whispered "hey there" wake Eddie up from an uneasy sleep. A strip of light shines through the gap of the door, illuminating the figure of Steve standing in the doorway.

"I got some soup for you. Are you feeling any better?"

Eddie shuffles into an upright sitting position while Steve comes into the room and hands him a warm bowl filled with what's unmistakably his aunt's homemade creamed potato soup. Even with his blocked nose, Eddie can still tell that it smells exactly how he remembered it.

Before he knows it, tears start blurring his vision. It's the fucking soup that does it. The smell that brings back memories he tried so hard to leave behind when he suddenly had to leave what he once called his home more than ten years ago.

“Oh, honey,” says Steve in a voice that is so soft and caring that it makes Eddie want to cry even more. He sits down on the bed, right next to Eddie, and wraps both his arms around him, careful not to spill any of the soup. “This fucking sucks, right?”

“It does,” Eddie says quietly, and that's really all he needs to say. Steve will understand. Steve knows exactly how much Eddie was looking forward to this week, how excited he was to return to the mountains and to be reunited with his family and to show Steve all the places that hold so much meaning to him. 

For ten years he hadn't been able to visit. He had missed the mountain air like a chopped-off limb and seen his cousins grow up only through grainy polaroid pictures. And now that he's finally here, his body decided to betray him and keep him chained to his bed with the worst fucking cold he’s ever had.

It's been so long since he has been home that it almost doesn't really feel like home anymore. He never wanted to leave in the first place, but the circumstances gave him no choice. When his dad got locked up Eddie had nowhere else to go but to his Uncle Wayne, who lived states away and who he had only met twice before in his life. He had to leave everyone he cared about behind: his grandma, who would've taken him in within a heartbeat if she hadn't been too old to take care of a ten-year-old kid; his mother, who had already slipped away too deep into her addictions to keep Eddie around in good conscience; his aunt and uncle, who had too many mouths to feed with too little money and couldn't afford the additional burden of another rapidly growing teenager; and his many cousins, of course, who grew up side-by-side with him and made the move feel like he was leaving an unmissable part of his soul behind.

Granted, moving in with Wayne soon turned out to be not by far as dramatic as Eddie had prepared himself for. It turned out that Wayne was actually a better parent to Eddie than his dad ever was. But no matter how much love and care Wayne gave him over the years, it could not be enough to replace home. Nothing was.

Ten years had passed since Eddie left. Most of the cousins moved out, either to find a better life for themselves or to follow the path that Eddie's father had taken. Some of them had kept in touch with Eddie, some of them hadn't. Some of them had gained a family of their own, with spouses and nephews and nieces who Eddie never got to meet.

And now he's back, and everything keeps going differently than how he envisioned it.

He blinks away his tears and tries to eat as much as he can stomach of his aunt's soup.

“Your cousin Jay called,” Steve tells him. “He insisted on visiting tomorrow, whether you're feeling better or not. He said he can’t wait to see you.”

“That's nice,” Eddie answers flatly. “D'you know he hasn't reached out to me in years?” He sighs. “It's so weird to be back here. I thought it would be different.”

“Different how?”

“More like coming home, I guess. But all the places have changed. I barely know some of those people anymore.”

He places the unfinished bowl of soup aside. Steve pulls him closer in his arms and presses a gentle kiss on his curls.

“I've felt so angry about Hawkins for so long,” Eddie admits to him, “but now it's like I don't belong here anymore either.”

“You do belong in Hawkins, you know,” Steve tells him.

Eddie huffs.

“No, I'm serious,” Steve insists. “Has Wayne ever told you that he thinks you coming to live with him was the best thing that ever happened to him?” He doesn't wait for an answer as he continues: “And your bandmates, the Hellfire Club, all those lost sheepies you've been looking out for over the years... Maybe Hawkins didn't exactly welcome you with open arms when you just came there, but you made a home there. You did that.”

“And where are you on that list, Stevie?” Eddie asks, a teasing edge returning to his voice despite how awful he’s still feeling.

It takes Steve a few seconds to answer, but when he does, he sounds surprisingly soft and genuine, almost shy.

“Wherever you want me to be.”

“Don't worry big boy,” Eddie tells him softly, nuzzling his face into Steve's chest, where it's warm and where the sound of Steve's heartbeat forms a comforting presence. “You're the most important part of what home means. Top of the list, whether we're in Hawkins or here in the south or on the other side of the world.”

Steve hums and kisses Eddie's temple.

“I do wish this week would've been more like how you wanted it to be,” he says. “But for what it's worth, it sounded like Jay was really excited about reconnecting with you. Let's see if you can sleep off this cold, and tomorrow will be a new day, alright?”

Steve starts to pull away to leave Eddie alone in the bed again, but Eddie clenches his fists around the fabric of his polo.

“Stay with me?”

Steve chuckles softly. “Of course.”

He sits back down on the bed with his back against the wall and gently manhandles Eddie until he's lying with his head in Steve's lap. And with Steve's fingers softly stroking through his hair, Eddie quickly drifts back to sleep again.

Tomorrow will be a new day. And even if being back is bittersweet, at least Steve is with him - and the sound of Steve's heartbeat will always be home.

This one's for my dear friend dae @strawberryspence because sometimes life sucks and while nothing can actually solve it, some warm soup and a loving hug can at least make things a little bit more bearable <3

[fic-heaven]

Feed me some gore

Yes ma'am

Duty's Price

2. John Price

⚠️GORE⚠️/ unedited/ heavy angst/ no happy ending/ assassination/ panic attack/ stillborn/ pregnancy/ break-up/ open ending.

🐥Part 2 of the Gorey shorts I said I'd do! This time featuring Price.

Part 1

-You couldn't expect everything to go right, to make the captain fall in love with you when you were just a tool for him to put his sexual desires at ease. It's only when you are gone that he realizes how much you truly meant to him and the future he lost with you when he kicked you out of the force.

.

Your last words to Price: "I'm pregnant... You can't do this to me, John."

Price is a very sharp captain. His abilities have never failed him, and you were not going to change that.

You two spent a year having casual sex. He can't remember well how it all started, that's how little he cared. After all, it shouldn't even have happened in the first place, he was you captain and you were one of his most trusted Sargeants. His right hand after Ghost.

But a few weeks back, you begun crossing boundaries you were strictly forbidden from crossing. John called you ungrateful and greedy because it was already very grave that you two were fucking in the first place and he was letting it slide, but now you were thriving for more. Often acting jealous when he shared a few heated looks with the nurses at the base or some gal at a bar, being all clingy whenever you two were out of sight along other things. Price told you he wasn't ready, he couldn't commit to anyone when his work required his full attention.

"But If I had the time, i wouldn't dedicate it to you, (Y/n)." That was your breaking point. That single line seemed to punch the words out of your mouth, so John kept talking to fill the silence.

If you could go back in time, you'd tell yourself to never fall for the man who treated you like you were the most precious thing only to, in the end, claim he never loved you back.

"You are a woman, a SARGEANT, acting unprofessional like a jealous, possessive teenager." He spat making you drop your gaze to your feet like a child getting scolded after you confessed your feelings. At your stubborn silence, Price continued not knowing why he even felt like he owed you any more than a dismissal from your confession. "You can love me all ye want, but it's interfering with your work performance. As your captain I can't let this keep on, specially considering lives are literally on our hands. So you either suck it up, pretend none of this ever happen and focus on your damn job or yer out."

This last quip made your head snap back to him, teary eyes widening and wobbly lip trying to still as you formulated a response, and said response was what got Price to stand abruptly from his chair and straight up expulse you from the force with a loud roar. You couldn't be pregnant, you were just using that excuse to soften him up and warm him into staying with you.

Could you really be so selfish and greedy to try and baby-trap him?

A few weeks passed after he expulsed you. John never heard a word from you and he was grateful for it. As for the few questions the others asked about your absence, he gave vague responses and that as it is, was very weird. What could you have done for John Price to kick you out of the force so suddenly when you were the most obedient and efficient out of all the five of you?

It didn't matter. What matters now is getting the team to adapt to your absence and focus on a new threat that tormented the streets of London. After Price had killed a terrorist a few months back, he had received many death threats from the terrorist's sons. The eldest, most known as Bones due his strange passion for collecting many bones from the bodies of his victims and decorate his hideout with them, and the younger many called Reggie, a fat, greasy man whose whole purpose in life was pleasing his father and brother by doing atrocious things.

Something that Price haven't acknowledge but Soap would always warn him about, was that ever since you left the force, the captain became more careless and distracted. Your departure took a huge tool on John even if he didn't want to admit it, and the fact that you went radio silent on him, as much as he thanked you for it, made his chest feel oddly empty and aching. It was because of his state that him and Gaz got captured so easily.

He woke up with his hands bounded together on his lap and his feet chained to a pole. Looking around he situated himself inside what seemed to be an abandoned sausage factory. Gaz was wide awake when Price turned his gaze to his right side, grimacing from the terrible headache he was suffering. When the younger man took notice of his Captain's awakening, he sighed relived and tried to explain the situation. Soap and Ghost were tracking their location using Gaz's phone he managed to hide from the brothers when they were ambushed and brought here.

"It's only a matter of time, cap. We just gotta wait..."

"Not for longer, we're already here." A stranger's voice surprised them both followed by a pair of footsteps approaching their trapped forms.

The introduction was short and very stupid. Price was confident, putting his whole trust and patience on Soap and Ghost who had to arrive soon. He was disassociating, Price's exhaustion from these months of heavy work and your "break-up", if he could call it that, was getting to him. He slumped on the spot until something picked his interest.

"I hope we're not boring you, John. We've got something you might like." Bones said using his cane to poke Price's bullet wound from his left shoulder making him grunt in pain. "Something we haven't told you, Reggie and I-" the slender man smiled giving his brother a side eye. "-is that we are not here to kill your Sargeant right here as payment for our daddy's death, as you would have expected." He pointed at Gaz with his cane. "No, we already killed a Sargent of yours. We avenged our father in our own way, it is done. And although it would have been great to do it in front of you, we got... Carried away. So we might as well show you the fruits of our work."

Gaz and Price perked up at this, the thought of Soap laying dead somewhere not sitting right with them when Ghost was with him this whole time. Then... Who?

"You made us orphans. We wanted to kill someone from your family but it was so hard to track 'em we decided to pick someone closer to you." Bones explained casually approaching Price holding a strange wrapped, round object he picked from a dusty table nearby.

A shiver ran down Price's spine. Thinking the worst, he replied to Bones with an equally calm voice as if they were discussing the weather. "Y'keep babbling n' beating around the bush we'll end up falling asleep before dropping dead, son." He licked his canines before lazily inspecting the dark cloth covering what the tall killer was holding.

"You're right. I'm usually pretty straightforward. I guess we have been waiting to have you here for so long I'm getting carried away, pardon my... Babbling." A chilly smile crossed Bones' face, his brother crackled urging him to show Price "the surprise".

Gaz was quiet through all this, he was young, intimidated by their capturers and surely blaming himself. He wasn't experienced like Price who had lived through so many assassination attempts and captures he didn't loose his cool even when he felt dread at the mention of one of his Sargeants being killed. He was hoping, no, praying, that they got the wrong person. But his worst fear materialized before him when Reggie rushed closer with heavy steps to take the cloth off of what his brother was holding as if presenting a trophy.

Your head appeared in between Bones' disgusting hands. Eyes lost, hair messy and cut short by the neck where they had chopped your head off. They did a messy work, as Bones said, probably driven by the excitement and lust for the kill, your jaw was seemingly broken and it hanged limply, your wide mouth showed broken teeth and a cut tongue, clear proof that you tried to fight back.

The smell was worse. It was the smell what hit his senses first, a smell of rot so strong it made the old captain almost puke on the spot. He managed to hold in his puke but his bladder emptied wetting his cargo pants, lucky him none of the men noticed thanks to the color of the cloth, it snapped him back to reality when Bones shoved your head closer to Price's head grabbing you by the hair. Price looked away, in shock, fear and disgust. This was not supposed to happen.

''Why don't you kiss her, captain? Don't you love your little whore? We cut her tongue, her lips are still intact."

To say Price was mortified was an understatement. His eyes, normally half-lid, were so wide they could have popped out of his skull. His bounded hands were violently shaking on his lap, wetting them with his urine.

"Captain-" Garrick cried, his voice wavering.

"Shut your mouth." Bones growled before snapping back to John "Kiss her, Price." He ordered the shock-struck captain whose wide eyes begun watering down a river of silent tears.

"She cried for you, you know. You should have seen her, a sweet thing whailing for her captain to come save her. Got me all hard every time I saw her cry like that." The cruel man informed shaking your head side to side as if you were some short of new keychain he had gained at a fair.

"Bet I did you a favor." He suddenly said, and Price lifted his wet gaze to the killer silently waiting for him to elaborate as the only sounds coming from his mouth were short wet gasps. "I doubt a man so bounded to his duties like you would have liked to settle and have a family so soon. Specially with a Sargeant as pathetic as this one."

Price's eyebrows knit in confusion. He was really fooling himself, as if he didn't understand what this monster meant. But it only lasted a few seconds before he collapsed letting his whole weight fall to the ground with a thump followed by a loud gasp, his breathing getting quicker and raspier. He was having a panic attack.

You died alone, in distraught, desperate to be back to him and worst of all, pregnant. You weren't lying. You never were.

"Reggie saw her clutching her stomach after a few beatings so I gutted her like a fish. That's how I know, if you are wondering." He chuckled. "Lil babe was so uncooked it looked like a small bean, but it was unmistakable. Congratulations!"

Kyle shakes his head violently in denial feeling his Captain's sorrow, just as unable to mouth any word out of the shock of this whole situation. Both men could only whimper and babble like small babes.

"I think it was a girl, but then again it was too small... Right Reggie?" He went on to ask his brother who was standing next to a bounded panicking Gaz with the biggest grins. "I can't recall. Uuhh... Hold up."

The redhead pulled out a jar from his coat's pocket. A fucking pickle jar. And Price's eyes followed the motion as if he was pulling a gun ready to shoot him the final killing blow. The jar was bloody on the bottom, a very small bundle of red meat was inside, it looked squashed as if someone had carelessly stuffed it inside and shook it.

Reggie crouched to John's squirming and heaving body lifting his head by the hair and showing him the glass jar. Price's face was a wet mess, sweat, tears, snot and spit bathed his skin and made it hard for him to focus his stare. His blue eyes managed to pick the very small meaty figure of what had to be your biggest gift to him. There, laying on a jar and small like a tadpole, laid a fetus only a few weeks old.

"What do you say, Cap? See any lil dick or kitty in there?" Reggie asked cruelly, Price let out a cry so uncharacteristic it didn't sound like it belonged to him at all, Reggie took it as a very acceptable answer "Nah, it's too soon to tell. Ah well I'll let it to your imagination."

The violent spams and squirms from John's tied body made Reggie step back as the captain let out animalistic sounds trying to headbutt the killer. At the sudden jerk from Reggie, the jar dropped to the ground crashing into a million tiny pieces, the small fetus lay squashed on the stoney ground. The sight caused Price to fall down again with a sob, his cheek pressed to the floor digging some small cristal shards on his skin. His head fell a few inches away from the fetus, his mind was a storm, running a mile per minute, the normal serious facade he had to put on every mission was amiss leaving instead a man crying loudly, whailing out in pain, both emotional and soon physical, John's body burned, the stress and grief striking him so fatally it left the other three men speechless at the sight of true, raw agony. For the brothers it was poetic, for Gaz it was such a traumatic scene it'll haunt him until the day he dies.

Kyle was shaking, he couldn't do much other than watch as his captain laid on the ground crying with your head and babe a few inches from him as he made sounds Gaz had never heard coming from anyone, much less his normally stoic captain.

During that, Price's screams and cries were so loud he couldn't hear a word from any of the others, his senses dulled in a mist of stress and panic. It didn't take more than three minutes for him to completely black out, his heart and brain almost giving out at such levels of stress and grief. Gaz thought he had a heart attack, wouldn't shy away from confirming that he HOPED his captain died of a cardiac arrest just so his suffering would have ended right then and there.

But after getting rescued by Soap and Ghost and taken to the hospital, a nurse confirmed John had a severe panic attack. A warning sign that his years of service were numbered.

This whole ordeal ended up with the unit capturing the brothers and recovering your body. You didn't have a family, so it was the 141 who celebrated your departure from life and gave you the final goodbye. John made sure to cremate your child with you as well. A day after, he'd be on his office with an urn belonging to his nameless child and his lover who he never appreciated until your passing.

And it was with deep emptiness within his soul that captain John Price left the base, never to be found again.

.

[suzukiblu]

belong, insecure, expression, empty

The asset expects another asset in a cryo tube.

What it gets is a teenager in . . . some other kind of tube.

The asset frowns. Tilts its head. The HYDRA scientist hanging from its metal hand begs for mercy.

HYDRA does not deserve mercy, and the asset has no mercy to give. HYDRA itself made sure of that.

But the teenager's eyes are open, and they are watching the asset past the heavy metal apparatus covering the better part of their face. Watching the asset through the haze of green liquid that their body is suspended in and the scuffed and bloody glass of their not-cryo tube. They are naked, except for the machines that are hooking them up to what the asset can only assume to be feeding tubes and an air supply and whatever else is necessary for sustaining their survival while confined in the not-cryo tube.

The asset cares about none of those facts; just observes them.

But the teenager's eyes are open, and they are watching the asset.

The asset cannot discern the color of those eyes through the green, but it knows those eyes all the same. Those eyes are the only piece of mercy the asset can remember.

And those eyes are the most merciless thing the asset can remember.

The asset would tell them to look away so it can kill the scientist, but it knows better than to ever expect those eyes to look away from anything.

Not even the asset.

"This," the asset says. "Open it."

"It is–the project is incomplete," the scientist stutters. "It has not been fully indoctrinated. It will not obey!"

"Sounds perfect," the asset says with a smirk that does not in any way belong on its face. "Open it."

The scientist cringes. And then the scientist opens it. The green liquid drains slowly into the floor of the tube. The teenager stumbles as they settle down onto their feet, as if they've never actually been on their feet at all before. They lock their knees and brace a trembling hand against the glass. They don't fall or kneel.

The asset would not have expected any different.

The teenager tears the heavy metal apparatus off their face and drags in a rough breath, and their face is a face that the asset knows.

It knew their eyes, of course, so this is not a surprise either.

The glass opens. The teenager stumbles forward, stilted and fumbling. They pull their way out of the machines hooked into their body and bleed all over the floor.

And then they grin, wicked and bright.

The grin is new, the asset notes.

"Experiment Thirteen," the scientist says uneasily. "Submit for inspection."

"Fuck you," the teenager–Experiment Thirteen–says, blood dripping out of their crooked mouth as they grin all the wider.

Yes, the asset thinks. Perfect.

The asset still has trouble refusing direct orders. Refusing orders at all. Experiment Thirteen does not appear to have that problem.

But again, the asset would not have expected any different.

"You're Experiment Thirteen?" the asset says.

"I'm Captain America," Experiment Thirteen says. The scientist looks ill.

That seems like a normal reaction for HYDRA to have to Captain America, the asset thinks. Experiment Thirteen doesn't look quite the way it thinks it remembers Captain America looking, but then again, what the hell does it know? The asset's brain is only arguably an actually functional brain, and its memory is fried beyond repair. And Experiment Thirteen is closer to the size that it remembers Captain America first being, come to think, and their face looks right. The blood in their mouth is right. Their eyes are definitely right.

And Experiment Thirteen isn't kneeling, and doesn't take HYDRA's orders.

"Confirmed," the asset says with a nod of acknowledgement. "Reporting for duty, Captain."

The scientist looks ill.

"Red son," the scientist says, and Captain America laughs.

"Fuck you," they say–he says. Captain America is male, the asset remembers. Or is mostly certain it remembers.

"Longing. Rusted. Seventeen–" the scientist starts in Russian, and the asset–freezes, reflexive and inexplicable. Those words–those words are–

Captain America steps forward and clocks the scientist across the jaw like he thinks they're in a Brooklyn back alley. The scientist drops.

That seems right, the asset thinks, and the tension drains out of its shoulders.

"What an asshole," Captain America says, rolling his eyes. That seems . . . less right, the asset thinks. But also the scientist is unconscious now, and it doesn't have to follow HYDRA's orders anymore or hear the rest of those words, so it isn't going to complain. "Wanna get out of here, man?"

The asset cannot remember the last time it was asked for its opinion on where it should be.

"Yes, sir," it says.

"Cool," Captain America says. "Me too."

Captain America cracks open a closet in the back wall of the lab; breaks the lock right off the door of it and grins wide and wicked at the sight of the gear mounted inside. It's a suit with a star on the chest, blue and white and lightly armored, but clearly designed to be tightly fitted. Looks like there might be some StarkTech or something similar in it, given the way it resizes to fit as Captain America pulls it on. There are boots and gloves, and they resize too.

The shield is different, but the asset supposes it would be. It's not the perfect circle of stars-and-stripes vibranium, but a high-tech blue and silver disc that, again, resizes in Captain America's grip. There's a star in the center of it, though not much else in terms of decoration. The surface is noticeably lined with layered interlocking plates, though, so maybe that should count.

There's buttons in a few places on the inside. That should possibly be concerning, the asset notes.

Captain America grins even wider and stretches, testing the weight of the shield on his arm and the fit and range of motion of the suit. He hooks the shield on the harness strapped over his back and shoulders, then strikes a comic-book-cliché pose.

"How do I look?" he asks with a cocky smirk.

"Smaller," the asset replies, mystified by both the pose and the question.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't finished yet," Captain America says with a shrug, heading for the door. "But fuck it, I'll just grow up the old-fashioned way. What's your name?"

"I don't know," the asset says, a little unsettled. Captain America is the one who knows its name. If Captain America doesn't . . .

Captain America looks at it. Squints assessingly.

"Oh, wait," he says. "Are you the asset?"

". . . yes," the asset confirms, still more unsettled.

"Huh," Captain America says, tilting his head. "Wouldn't have thought they'd let me anywhere near you, considering."

"They didn't," the asset says. "I broke in."

"Oh, yeah, that makes more sense," Captain America says. "So like . . . do I call you 'Sergeant', then, or . . . ?"

"You're Captain America," the asset says. "And I'm your asset. Call me whatever you want."

"Okay," Captain America says with a shrug, then jerks his head towards the door. "Then let's get the hell out of here, Bucky."

That name isn't the asset's name. The asset doesn't deserve that name. Won't ever.

Hearing it is such a relief.

"Anywhere you wanna go, Cap," it says, and Captain America grins at it as bright and easy as if he doesn't know it's a monster.

"Not gonna lie, NYC has some appeal," he says. "But like, why be boring, right?"

"Is there somewhere better?" the asset asks doubtfully. It would die to go back to New York City and also probably kill itself if it ever had to go back to New York City, it thinks. Somewhere else might be . . . wiser, at least.

At least for the moment.

"I dunno," Captain America says thoughtfully, cocking his head again as he saunters down the hall. "What are your feelings on California? Or Hawaii? Like, the beach sounds nice, right? And hey, it's still technically America."

Well, he's not wrong. And it is somewhere other than New York City.

"Hawaii is less affected by HYDRA's influence," the asset doesn't quite suggest, half-wondering if Captain America is even going to care about its opinions.

"Hawaii it is, my man," Captain America says with that new grin, looking satisfied with the decision. The asset feels a little better about things, again.

About everything, really.

That's what it would expect from Captain America, so it makes sense.

[lostlegendaerie]

So last night, a little after nine, my mom texted me a message that starts with "did you know that your dad wrote something called Stanford Prison Experiment: the Musical?" This was not the full message, but this was enough to stop me cold so we're gonna go line-by-line accordingly.

Here's a little context as to the kind of person my dad is; a prepper libertarian with a history of (child/spouse/animal) abuse, cheating on my mom with a teenager, and a absolute inability to take any sort of criticism for anything he's ever done in his life. Not really the demographic that I would trust to make a musical about one of the most infamous cases of scientifically enabled human rights violations and take the right conclusion away from it.

I looked up his blog out of curiosity (because, again, what the fuck?) and basically he rewrote some of the lyrics to music from the era to construct a narrative around the two real people who were instrumental in running the experiment (both described BY LEGAL NAME) and with only one original character that he described as, and I quote, "the “John Wayne” guard, an everyman antihero whose rise, fall, and remorse could befall anyone." Unfortunately, any information as to the plot is buried under a staggering amount of description of "systems thinking" - his wholistic solution to everything wrong with the world, emphasizing on cooperation, identifying the 'root' or a problem, and eliminating 'us verses them' thinking. This is the same man who got in a fight with me this Christmas that we shouldn't raise the minimum wage and everyone should just work harder, and who continues to insist the gender wage gap doesn't exist.

So we've confirmed that not only is the musical bad and bereft of plot, serving as a little more than a spoon with what she plans to feed his ideology two more people, but it is a staggering time bomb of legal issues regarding licensing of music not in the public domain and the use of likenesses of real fucking people who are still alive.

But it gets worse.

The next line of the text message informs me that he has asked my mother, who works at a place that will be hosting an A list celebrity known for their charity work (I'm trying not to dox my family here, be nice), to ask her bosses boss to forward his play to said actor and try to help him meet up with them.

This man is trying to cold pitch a work titled "Stanford Prison Experiment: the Musical" that has never been performed by anyone on any stage, nor has it obtained the licensing needed for two thirds of the primary cast or any of the music featured, directly to an A list actor.

Her current plan is to send it to her boss with a follow up email apologizing that she had to send it to him or he would pitch the worlds biggest fit like the baby that he is, and ask her not to forward it onto the celebrity because my mother is at least aware of the incredible social faux pas that would be involved in this. (Because if she just says no, he will scream at her for literal genuine hours about how horrible she is. You know. Like a 60+ year old toddler.)

The one positive thing I am choosing to take away from this is; at least I am not that obnoxious about my OWN creative writing endeavors, damn.

[coolattas]

thinking about lucretia adventurezone and grinding my teeth down to the gums because holy fuck dude. holy shit. she was impossibly, horribly young on the starblaster. three hops and a jump from being a fucking baby. the two-sunned planet is devoured by the hunger in the same year that she graduates from high school. she is easily the youngest of the birds, even considering the differing rates of aging amongst the rest of the crew. teenaged astrophysicist, wizard, author, artist, without ties solid enough back home to keep her from the starblaster's maiden voyage. she writes and rewrites every moment she can wring from her memories into enough notebooks that it's damn near arthritis-inducing to step within 50 feet of the stacks upon stacks of field notes, of detailed accounts and gentle, domestic benignity. she loves and she loses and it still can't ever prepare her for the next decade. a century dwarfs the time she spends alone running the bureau, but the sheer magnitude of her loss is incomparable. lucretia learns to live in the stolen century, learns to rely on others, learns to trust and care and laugh and build, create, sacrifice, indulge. she pries these things away from herself in the name of a greater good, to what she believes to be their only hope. she sees the agony they're in, and she inadvertently compounds that anguish when she tries to fix it. she is 18 and 118 when she feeds fisher her journals. she is 30 and 130 and 50 and 150 when taako holds a staff to her chest and counts down like it means anything to her anymore that she dies. maybe it's atonement, but even that sounds far too holy a word to describe it. her brother grips her life in his hands, and she thinks it's only fair that he is the one to soundly smother it at last. the lonely journal-keeper is so young and so impossibly old and she is so, so tired. her family will outlive her by centuries. she will be a fine powder, dust beneath the crust of the planet, long before she believes their forgiveness will ever be known. if that day comes at all. everything she has ever done is soured by a guilt so weighty that she spends every day trying to play damage control with the havoc she feels solely responsible for having wrought. she lives within the confines of dichotomy, of red and blue and good and bad, even when she knows she's lying through her teeth, because its easier to live with herself (it's not) when she justifies it, when everyone else lives and dies by the idea that she got it right. she spends 12 years alone, sitting in the thick of her own grief. she mourns men who are right in front of her face. she sees the way they have changed, so fundamentally, sees the ways her choices have ruined them. 12 years is such a long time to be alone. 12 fucking years. she ages 32 in the same span, shedding decades in wonderland in the blink of an eye, and she knows she's running out of time. she's willing to give up whatever she has left, without question. lucretia loves so fiercely and so unquestionably and still she believes herself to be irredeemably cruel when really she was just so scared, tethered to any sense of hope only by the idea that she was doing right by her family. in a position that no one should have to be in, a situation that virtually no one else could truly understand. she was so young and she suffered so, so much. more than any person should. she is flawed but she is not the monster she convinces herself she has become. lucretia adventurezone they could never make me hate you lets kiss on the mouth ok?

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Three: Memories Embarked

Heiress of Gotham

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

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Summary: Runaway plan going sideways, will a visit home profit, or encourage further mourning? Revelations, keepsakes, suspicions, and more are brought back when you finally return.

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: Cursing, Grief, Guns, Insults, Exclusion, Embarrassment, Crying,

Mentions of: Drugs, Sex, Crime, Yelling, Domestic Violence, Robbery, Secrets, Poverty, Unbelonging, Funeral Arrangements

Bruce hadn't been keen on revealing details about the girl's mother. Sure, he let them know there was nothing mysterious about her death, but that's about it. From her words at dinner, Jason could tell she didn't grow up wealthy by any means, but he wasn't expecting this. Sure, it's not as bad as Crime Alley, but it's definitely not the kind of place he'd ever want to raise a kid. Let alone a place he could imagine one growing up in.

Following her up the flights of stairs to the sixth floor, he's surprised when she whips out the key from her jacket's pocket like she'd been planning on this. He guesses she had. Still, part of him anticipated the teenager having forgotten the key and having to wind up kicking the door in.

"Just in here," you announce, pushing the key into its keyhole.

Climbing the last few stairs, Jason notices how your body language appears much more relaxed than at the table in the Manor, earlier. It's somewhat hard to ignore the sound of the people fucking you'd passed on the fourth floor, then there's the yelling, the loud televisions, the smell of weed, and the sirens down the street. Yet, you seem entirely unfazed.

He watches as you enter, slipping off your Converse at the door. He follows suit, unlacing his boots and stepping out of them to be respectful. With a swift hand, he closes and locks the door behind the two of you. Backpack tossed onto the couch, he watches as you go over and turn the television off. Why was it even on? Hadn't your mother died? Was someone in here? Were you expecting someone? The casual nature in your behavior is eerie, nonetheless. He traces along the walls of the room, taking in everything.

"It's so people think we're home," you reveal, "the tv. You looked confused." With quick feet, you head down the hallway. It's curious that you come back with a bowl. However, he easily puts two and two together as he spots little fish painted around the circumference of it. You walk into the kitchen, nonchalantly tossing the bowl onto the counter before opening the fridge. The light within illuminates your face and it's only a matter of seconds before you're placing some sort of leftovers from a white styrofoam container into the bowl and heading back down the hallway. When you don't come back, he follows where you'd gone.

"I know that this will be hard, but it's for the best! Plus, I know Mrs. Garcia won't be missing you more than me," you whisper, upper body leaning out the window onto the fire escape's landing. Eyes trailing past you, he finds a fluffy white cat just outside, happily purring and eating whatever it was you'd laid before him. Without turning to look, you speak up, voice no longer holding the soft and sweet sentiment it just held for the animal. "It's our upstairs neighbor's cat. She doesn't really take the best care of him, so I feed him sometimes." With a last sentiment spared toward the feline, you close the window and lock it. Good, hopefully, the others are already locked, he thinks.

"So you can't keep him. That's too bad," Jason remarks, faux sympathy in his voice as he eyes the knick-knacks on your dresser. At least, he assumes, considering the very colorful nature of the room and the stuffed animals on the bed. "Damian is a sucker when it comes to animals. Would've been a good way to bond with him," he teases.

"This is my room. I'll just be a minute! I need to check a few things and… then we can go." You started confident, but he could tell that this was painful for you. The thought of leaving again. Eyes unmoving from his, he watches as you shyly tuck a strand of your bangs behind your ear before he nods and starts to let himself back out into the hall. Hand catching on the door, he holds onto it as he decides to ask, rather than rummage through the entire apartment.

"Do you have a first aid kit?" This time it's you who's surprised as he observes the way you give him a strange look.

"Um… yeah, why, do you need it?" Despite the question, you're already moving toward him, then around and past as you make your way back to the kitchen. Up within a cabinet, Jason watches as you struggle to reach it on your tiptoes. While he's not that close with you and knows some people prefer doing things themself, he doesn't like to watch people struggle. Just as he closes the steps between you to grab it, you let out a proud exclamation and gently cradle it on the descent. "Did you cut yourself or something?"

"Actually no, but I noticed you did. You can't just let it stay like that," he argues. The look on your face sends him racing to beat you to the punch. Before you can protest, he adds, "If anything I'm not letting you leave here without patching that up. I'm not getting more blood and who knows what else on my shirt or jacket." He doesn't miss the glare you shoot him, but he doesn't acknowledge it either.

Sliding the kit out from under your hand on the counter, he opens it to retrieve a bandage and some antibiotic ointment. With a gesture of his head, you turn your palm face up to reveal a few scrapes, some having elicited blood though it all looks dried by now, and a few tiny splinters lodged into the skin. He'd ask you to take them out, but you're already on top of it, preparing your hand as he unscrews the cap on the ointment. Within a minute, you're all patched up, no argument, no complaints; an easy job, really.

"I'll stay in here, I guess. Get your stuff and then we're outta here, alright?" Jason suggests. You seem content enough with this as you nod in his direction before heading back toward your room.

Essentials. Essentials… what even are essentials? Hastily grabbing your bag of hair ties, your hair brush, deodorant, and some of your more important clothing items: bras, panties, and sleeping shirts, you toss them into your bag. With those out of the way, really, what else should you bring? Immediately your eyes are drawn to the shelf of books, movies, and other eclectic items within. Crouching before it, you grab your photo album. You can't forget your favorite bear, the one your aunt had gifted you when you were born. With his head sticking out of the bag as he won't fit any further into it, you decide that apart from one final task, all that's left is the other two rooms: your mother's and the bathroom.

Emptying your piggy bank into your backpack, you pull the door open and head into her room. Luckily, Jason seems occupied snooping through the living room. With an unnecessary urgency, you pull the mattress away from the headboard and round the bed. You crawl up to the pillows, tossing them aside before you lift the corner of the bedsheet. It looks untouched, but that doesn't mean it wasn't. There's a six-inch cut in the mattress; it's easy to miss if you're not looking, but you've known about it since you were eight and caught your mom stashing her last paycheck's worth of money inside. With searching hands you feel around inside. One stack after another is produced from the hiding spot. Altogether, there are stacks of at least, if you had to guess… maybe fifteen, sixteen bundles of hundreds on the bed.

Upon hurriedly transferring the cash from your mother's room into your backpack you'd stupidly left in your room, you're met with Jason's form at the end of the hallway on the last trip. Stacks of hundreds cradled in your arm, your eyes widen. "Where'd you-"

"It's not what it looks like!" You defend. He calls your name in a stern tone, yet you only offer him a Cheshire smile and evade him into your room, placing the last of the bundles inside. "They're mine! Okay? My mom's."

"But h-"

"-She-we don't really trust the banks, okay? Let's keep it at that." Unwilling to part with it, you sling the almost-closed backpack onto one shoulder before walking toward the door. He blocks it.

"I just have to get a few more things and I'm ready, alright?" The hopefulness in your voice does nothing to wipe the disconcerted look from his face.

"I can't just not tell Bruce about this, kid," he warns, a look you can only guess is akin to disappointment on his face. Slipping under his arm and out the door into the hallway, you head back to her room.

"That's fine! But it's still my money. It's everything she ever worked for, and I'm not giving it to him." Upon reentering your mother's room, you stop in the doorway. Sure, the mattress and pillows are askew from your manhandling, but something feels off. Eyes darting to her desk, the top drawer is open, along with some of the side drawers not fully closed. Dresser drawers halfway open with some sock couplings on the floor, it's clear. "Someone's been here," you whisper. Heart jumping in your chest at Jason's proximity, standing just behind you, your hand holds your chest.

"You mean before we got here? How do you know?" He asks. Eyes taking in the space, Jason puts on his detective hat. It's certainly messy, but he'd also just seen you come from this room. Either you're trying to pull something right now, or… he's not sure, yet, but he'll figure it out. He'll figure you out.

"I just know! She never leaves her room like this, and-" pushing at his chest when he doesn't move, you poke your head back in the hallway before ducking under his arm again and running to the dresser. Stashing your mother's jewelry box and perfume into your backpack, you turn and are about to head out of the room when you spot something. A framed photo on her desk of the two of you: it'd been a photo from your trip to Gotham. It was a Christmas present you'd gifted her that year since you didn't really have any photos up of the two of you in your house.

Frame in hand, you stare lovingly at the photo for a moment before a look of determination crosses your features again. Stuffing it in your backpack, you squeeze past Jason into the hallway. Your baby pictures, junior-high graduation photos, and other mementos hung on the wall are mostly untouched, yet at least two photos are askew on the wall. In the hallway bathroom, there's only your makeup bag and skincare that you can take. There are already bathing supplies at the Manor. "If you've ever met a Latina Mom, you'd know that she doesn't keep our house like this! Everything is square and perfect, put away. The only thing that was messy when I left was the kitchen and that was because of breakfast," you inform him. Unloading the backpack from your shoulder onto the couch, you properly zip it up before slugging it over your back again. "I'm ready." If someone really had been here, it's best not to stick around if they decide to come back.

------

While Jason had texted Bruce informing him of your whereabouts upon arrival, he couldn't bring himself to text anything else before the both of you arrived back at the Manor. You'd thanked the man you suppose is your older brother, before departing upstairs with Alfred. And while Bruce had made a move to talk to you, your dismissal was evident in your preference to the contrary. "We need to talk," Jason announces.

"Do you still have it?" Bruce asks, a look of concern upon his features. While both Jon and Clark had gone home soon after your departure, and both Timothy and Stephanie had gone out on patrol, Bruce kept Dick and Damian back. In the event they're all needed, they'll be there, but he'd wanted to have someone around while awaiting your return. Maybe he just didn't want to be alone right now, but he won't admit to that.

"Of course. I wasn't letting her keep that! God knows teenagers don't need guns," Jason grumbles. Reaching around himself, he lifts his shirt to dig the gun out of the back of his waistband.

"Hey! Speak for yourself. I can handle a gun," Damian argues, arms crossing his chest as he stands his ground. "I've been doing target practice since I was two."

"Anyway, she had… at least half a dozen in her arms when I caught her, but who knows how much she really has in her bag! She wouldn't let me touch it."

"So we're talking thousands, then?" Dick asks, hands in his pockets as he leans against the railing in the Batcave. "Shit," he whispers to himself. Hair falling into his face as he looks down at his shoes still processing all of this, his lips screwing in thought.

"At least! And that's not to mention that she insisted someone had 'visited' before us. I checked the locks, and, everything was sound. It was a mess, but, if anyone broke in, it had to be someone with a key. It didn't seem like anything had been taken," Jason expands.

"So what're we thinking? She was dealing?" Dick asks with a thoughtful expression on his features. He finally raises his gaze to meet the group's eyes.

"She has to know something," Damian accuses. Crossing his arms over his chest, the boy's eyebrows are set as he looks more than perturbed by all the information. He'd had a bad feeling about her from the get-go, but this is far beyond anything he had in mind. At least, aside from the really fantastical theories he'd concocted.

"There's no record of criminal history. I'll have to see if this is even registered, and if it's to her mother. I'll look into it," Bruce informs, taking the gun into his possession before walking over to the computer. "Until we find anything, we have to assume that it was a fluke. There was nothing unordinary about this, and I already told you that I don't want anyone digging into this!"

"Bruce, I-" Jason speaks up, a sympathetic feeling in his chest. He can only imagine how this situation has been affecting him. An unknown child suddenly dropped in his hands at the death of a previous lover? And now said child is showing distaste for you? Rough.

"What did I say, Jason?" Bruce barks.

"I only thought you'd want to know! I didn't do any digging, and I'm not going to. Got it? All I did was take a crying girl home, and help her grab some of the things she needs! God knows you wouldn't do it. Besides, she has a lot more that should be moved either into-"

"-storage or here. I know. I'm dealing with it! I told you I've got this covered. If you don't remember, I've been around this ballpark once or twice," Bruce chastizes. Placing the gun under a mirrored device, a red beam shoots out and scans the weapon. Blue eyes stuck to the computers, he reads over whatever report the device is producing.

With a huff of annoyance, Jason swipes his helmet off the nearby metal table and angrily slides it on. Walking away, he only turns back to leave them with one last note: "And for the record, I like her. She's a feisty little thing. Has got a lot more spunk than some of the others around here," he teases, eyes glaring at the two brothers still standing by the ledge murmuring to one another conspiratorily.

"So what's our plan?" Dick asks, ignoring the insults as he turns along with Damian to speak with Bruce.

All the money set up in nice little stacks against the wall underneath and toward the top of your bed, you'd placed your piggy bank on your dresser along with the photo of you and your Mom. Bear propped up to sit against the pillow you don't use, it elicits a faint smile. Jewelry box and perfume add a touch of femininity, and the rest of your items were put into your private bathroom. It's still hard to believe you have one, always having wanted one. It's not until you change into pajamas that you lie on the bed and unlock your phone, hoping to respond to some of the messages you've gotten in the past twenty-four hours.

Of course, your best friend Daisha is worried. Informing her of the situation, it doesn't take long to get back an astonished response. Granted, you'd been the same way yesterday, too. She asks what Wayne Manor is like, and how things are going. Soon, she realizes through text that you really only want to talk about the cool new things in the Manor, so you both revel over all the fancy features you've only found through exploration today. Who knows what else is in store? There's way too much to explore in just one day, and really, you hadn't done much exploring considering you had school and then cried almost all afternoon.

It's only when Daisha's gone to bed and you've been scrolling through memes for far longer than you should have that there are three knocks on your bedroom door. "Come in," you call, expecting Alfred to come in and tell you that you should be sleeping at this hour instead of being awake. He seems like the type to do so. After getting back, he'd informed you of everyone's worry and concern for you, only wanting the best. You'd talked for a while, but overall he eventually dismissed himself with the excuse of more work to be done tonight.

When the door slowly opens, you find it's Bruce juggling two teacups, and a dog at his heels. You know who it is after this afternoon. "Oh! No. Ace, stay out here," he asserts with a wobbly voice as his eyes stay glued to the unsteady teacups.

"It's okay," you assure. At this information, the door swings open wider and the dog pads over to you. Sitting by the edge of your bed, you reach out to pet him. "Hi Ace," you greet, hand brushing over his soft and short fur. "Did you come to check up on me?" You whisper to him with a gentleness that you're sure anyone observing would be baffled by considering he looks intimidating and scary.

"I wanted to talk, and before you say 'no' or tell me to 'get out', just know it's not to argue. I came to apologize," Bruce explains, seating himself at the edge of your bed a few feet from where you sit cross-legged. When you don't say anything, a sigh escapes him, and he holds out one teacup. "I thought you might like some tea before bed."

"How did you know I was awake? Or that I like tea?" You question, eyes shifting from his down to the fancy porcelain cup filled with a yellowish liquid. Taking it into your hands, you let yourself hold onto it, the comforting warmth seeping through the cup and into your palms.

"What happened?" Bruce immediately asks, concern evident in his voice as he notices your palm. "I saw the light from under the door and figured… plus who doesn't like a little chamomile before bed?" He attempts a smile, which you return with an inkling of one. At least he's not yelling at you for your outburst, you figure. "I wasn't sure how you take it, so I didn't put anything in it." It's only after a second that you realize he means milk and sugar.

Contemplating if you're really up for whatever you're sure this discussion will entail right now, it's only once you notice Ace walk in a circle before curling up and lying down that you concede. "I… fell and scraped my hand," you reveal. It's not entirely a lie, you just didn't mention the tree involved. "I just…" you're unsure how to explain why you did it, what came over you, "I'm sorry." His blue eyes stare back at you with a look you're unable to place. Suddenly, he's placing his teacup, then yours, onto the nightstand and enveloping you in a hug.

"You don't have to apologize." His voice rumbles deep in his chest and while you're taken aback at first, he doesn't let up. "I'm just glad you're okay," he says your name with a care that you hadn't realized was there before. Though the strength of his hug partially has you feeling like you'll die of asphyxiation, you bear it. It happens automatically, and despite your best efforts to keep it at bay, the tears come. "I should've talked to you sooner. I realize this is all a big change and I didn't even stop to think about how you'd feel in all this." While he talks you think he finally notices your shaking shoulders as his voice eventually dies down and he retracts from the hug. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I should've asked if you were okay with a hug, I just-"

"It's okay," you respond, voice coming out quieter than you'd anticipated, a shakiness you can't cloak within it. "I just… I didn't get to bring anything, and I didn't feel at home, and…" As your voice fades with your thoughts, he speaks up.

"-I know, and you deserve your things. Whatever you want. Whatever you need, we'll get. We can get some movers to help us get your things from the apartment if you want, either tomorrow or by the end of this week."

"I'm just embarrassed because I didn't mean to make a scene! I… no one deserved that, and-"

"-yes they did." His chuckle surprises you and leaves you taken aback as you stare up at him with incredulity. "I mean, maybe not the viciousness about the BPD and all, as Dick has been trying his best to be supportive, but him and Damian together? Well… they can be troublemakers, I'll say that much. Damian was being rude to you, it's only fair you express how you feel about it. He'll only listen that way, unfortunately. It's something we're working on."

"You're not mad at me?" You whisper, suddenly feeling like the little girl with pigtails in a dress your Mom picked out, crying and praying that you won't get a worse punishment for admitting your fault rather than playing dumb.

"Mad? No. Just… upset with myself, and disappointed that you didn't feel like you could've come to me sooner, and perhaps in a more private setting." The look on your face must say something, considering he continues. "Look, you're not the first kid to curse me out in front of everyone, and I'm sure you won't be the last. Okay? As long as you're okay and you feel welcome and at home here, that's all I care about. Alright?" A big hand on your shoulder, he stares into your eyes with a tacit question. When it seems he's got the answer he's looking for, his shoulders sag a bit and he seems to breathe a little more easily. "What did you even bring back? Can I see?"

Before you can respond, you find his eyes have landed on the photo album you left on the bed in front of your teddy bear. You'd wanted to look at it before going to bed, and it seems now is the best excuse to. "It's my photo album. I know my Mom has more, but, she gave me a bunch of the photos I liked in hers and let me make my own. Do… you want to look at it?" You ask tentatively. He nods, and you grab the album, shifting and taking it into your lap as you move the teddy bear into the middle of the pillows. With a pat beside you where both the album and teddy had been, he scoots backward further onto the bed until he's where you'd patted.

"I know that I haven't been a part of your life, and I know that it was your Mom's decision… and while none of us expected to wind up here, I hope I can--that you'll allow me--to be a part of your life going forward," again, your name falls from his lips. Leaning back against the plush pillows, you point to the lamp on the other bedside table.

"Could you turn that on?" You ask. Doing as you'd said, the second light helps brighten your little area in the grand room. "You're already a part of my life," you point out with a small smile on your face, "but I hope I can get to know you better. The real Bruce Wayne, not just… playboy billionaire Wayne Enterprises, Gotham's most loved celebrity." A teasing smile sits on your lips as amusement fills your chest. Bringing the album into your lap, you flip open the book.

"I hope so too," he agrees, before chuckling uncomfortably, a nervous hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. "I don't know about that, but… the real me, I can definitely do." As the book opens, his attention suddenly shifts and he's more engaged, curiosity overtaking as he leans in and examines each photo with intent.

An explanation follows every picture you can remember the pretense of, which isn't too many in the beginning where all your baby photos are. Though as the photos become more and more recent you tell stories, finding that he's actually listening and asking questions, trying to get to know more about the little family you had. Eventually, you both retake your teacups and continue to look at the photos which now sit in the album atop the comforter before both of your laps. Backs hunched over, teacups delicately held in one hand, the other cupping the bottom of it, you two unintentionally mirror the other. The resemblance to an outsider is uncanny, there's no question to Bruce's fatherhood.

Once the album is gone through and you've shown him "Teddy" of course, the beloved bear you'd been gifted at birth. What a unique name, you know… but in your defense you were two when you named him. The Gotham Trip photo's story also told, you simply list the rest of the belongings you'd brought… omitting the cash, of course.

"It's getting late. You should get ready for bed. I decided that you deserve the rest of the week off school. It was too soon to push you into it, and if you're going to help me with the rest of the arrangements then you'll be a bit busy." A surprised, and then excited and appreciative look overtakes your expression, Bruce holding a smile on his lips.

"Thank you! Thank you! You don't know how much this means to me," you cry, hugging him for a moment before sitting back. "I mean… I'm not excited to have to do this… but," your voice takes on a quieter and more serious tone again, "I think it's important I do this. She's my mom, you know?"

"I know," he responds, lips pinched.

"I'll call the school first thing in the morning. But try and get some sleep, please. I know that it'll take some adjusting and getting used to, but I hope you can one day call this home, too," he admits. With another pat on the shoulder, the tall man stands from your bed and pulls the string on the farthest bedside lamp to shut it off. The sound of shuffling by the dresser signals Ace's rise as he trails after the man. "Goodnight."

"Okay, and I will! Goodnight." You're almost half-tempted to say his first name like the others, and while you'd previously been calling him 'Father'... 'Dad' still feels out of bounds for now… so you simply don't say anything.

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @safarigirlsp , @moonlightsolo , @jynzandtonic , @ohdamnadam

hog taglist: @luvly-writer , @clairese1980

[smytherines]

Fuck it, here's an Agent Mega dissertation

Alright since I have such elaborate headcanon for my beloved precious Owen Carvour, I guess I should do it for Agent Curt Mega too. Sigh.

So, going off of the last big one, if Owen is born in 1928, then I'm gonna say Curt was born in 1930. I'm forever won to the Texan agent mega headcanon, but I think it's safe to say that Mrs. Mega is not from Texas, probably more like New York or I've seen people say New Jersey.

We know nothing about Agent Mega's dad, but I imagine he was kind of a loser and low level con artist and moved his pregnant wife down to Texas to do scams around the bustling oil industry, and then soon after Curt was born a scam collapsed and he ran off. It's either that or an Aladdin 3 situation where he was secretly a spy the whole time and had to go into hiding.

So we've got mama Mega, raising a VERY hyperactive (read: ADHD) little boy on her own, in a place where she doesn't have any support, and he just becomes her entire world. But she has to work a lot, so Curt becomes used to taking care of himself, and most importantly- keeping himself busy so he doesn't lose it.

In this headcanon Curt would only be 15 when WWII ends- not old enough to fight, but definitely old enough to have personally known a lot of kids from his hometown who come home in caskets. I just truly think of WWII as a formative experience for both these guys. For Curt it just feeds into that inferiority complex.

Now anybody who has ADHD knows that you already spend a lot of your life feeling inadequate, feeling self-conscious about not being able to be the person other people want you to be (*especially* if you're queer). You get defensive, especially when criticized. You also get restless.

I headcanon Curt as growing up in Abilene, Texas, mostly because I have a friend who grew up there and I've visited and the vibe is right.

I don't know if anybody has ever seen The Last Picture Show, but its a film set in small town Texas in 1951-1952 (so a little late for our timeline but still) and it's (more or less) about two high school seniors essentially trying to escape this suffocatingly small, dying town before they become doomed to spend their lives trapped there.

That's definitely what I think about Agent Mega too- this gay, ADHD teenage boy climbing the walls of this little town, never being able to fully be himself. But he's got a lot of energy (and more than a little anger) to burn off, so he does sports. It's Texas, so football for sure. Maybe wrestling too. Perhaps wrestling is even where he has his gay come to jesus moment.

And when he isn't doing sports, he's home, alone (mama Mega is working so hard), out back drinking a beer (or two, or three) and teaching himself how to shoot. I think he becomes hyperfixated on becoming an expert marksman, because with all of this shit he cannot control, all the stuff he is supposed to be but isn't, this is one area where it feels like he has the power here.

What starts off as "kid drinking beer to feel cool and rebellious" starts to morph into a lifetime dependence on alcohol. Substance use is a big issue for a lot of ADHDers for the same reason I think it would be for Curt- it calms him down. It eases that constant restlessness in his bones. It softens the edges of other people's criticisms of him. It makes him care a bit less what others think about him.

In a vicious cycle, he drinks to avoid feeling those big feelings (especially as a man, especially as a gay man, especially as a gay man in Texas), but the drinking leads to more criticism, which leads to more drinking to numb the emotional response to that criticism.

But his hyperfixation on learning to shoot pays off. Let's say he becomes a junior state champion trapshooter (did I look up trapshooting competitions from the 1940s? yes I did). He's good, especially when he hits the sweet spot of drinking just enough to calm his ass down but not so much that he's useless. Maybe this is how he comes to the attention of the A.S.S.

And he fully believes that these skills he cultivated, the ability to hit hard and run fast and shoot accurately, his ability to escape when it doesn't feel remotely possible, is why many years later he just kinda rolls his eyes at Owen for insisting that they do things carefully and methodically. Careful didn't get him out of small town Texas. Careful didn't get him the exciting non-stop life he has now, a life where he *almost* gets to be himself a lot of the time.

When Owen "dies," and its Curt's fault, he naturally turns to drinking to numb that pain. But its a lot of pain, so it takes a lot of alcohol to kill it.

I'm sure I could go on, but as always I have rambled a lot here so I'm just gonna leave it.