#looks like shit on the phone camera of course but i shot like an entire roll of film on me slr so excited to see tht ^^

[steeleyespan]

went to the sea am feeling normal again

[bioblsm]

WHAT DOES THEIR CAMERA ROLL LOOK LIKE?

❀ ꒰warnings꒱. boothill backstory spoilers, not proofread ಥ_ಥ

𖧷 characters. jing yuan, blade, dr ratio, ruan mei, aventurine, sunday, boothill

☆彡 notes. aventurine 🤝 boothill — being some of the most gay ass mfs i’ve seen in a hyv game (apart from bronya and seele) seriously their flamboyance still gives me whiplash…anyways this has been on my mind for months now but i’ve never gotten around to writing it!!! >_<

JING YUAN 𐚁 景元

[◉"] 2,304 photos, 83 videos

⌖ if you scroll really fast down or up his gallery, all you’ll actually manage to see is splotches of pink, blonde and silver

⌖ everything ranges from cute candid shots of yanqing (he takes multiple if yanqing’s fallen asleep while on duty), to sneaky pictures of fu xuan as she’s working where he’s in the foreground doing peace signs — the final picture of course being her looking at the camera lense directly to glare up at him

⌖ reaching weekends when he’s slightly a little more free or allows himself a small break to stroll around town, his camera roll is either filled with pictures of food he’s eaten or swords that yanqing may or not definitely ask about that he’s now more inclined to buy as he’s seen them in person (he’s a boy dad who loves spoiling his child, alright?)

⌖ the large majority of his photos unfortunately are work related, only really the recent ones being deleted from his gallery to clear up some space

⌖ however, while his photos are preoccupied with either his two kids or random scrolls with messy and rushed handwriting, each video is of you; jing yuan thinks a picture would belittle your beauty too much.

⌖ he needs something a little more real, a little more active and animated to help him quell the chirping loneliness that creeps up on his heart whenever you’re away from him for a prolonged period of time; if he’s feeling particularly mischievous he might sneak a quick but blurry picture of himself to send to you ♡

BLADE 𐚁 刃

[◉"] 9 photos, 2 videos

⌖shit is BARREN. literally a complete EMPTY VOID. if you snatched his phone somehow you’d assume he just got it despite him not having changed it ever since he received one

⌖ perhaps on the occasion you’ll find a cameo picture from one of the stellaron hunters as his phone is left unoccupied and someone decided to blast his entire gallery with their face (silverwolf specifically just hacks into his phone to keep putting random screenshots he’s never taken in his gallery to make him believe he’s taken them)

⌖ maybe sometimes he’ll screenshot different ways to die or health clinic locations he can avoid when he’s fortunately bleeding out but otherwise? nothing.

⌖ if you’re a massive yapper and love sending him pictures, he won’t go out of his way to download them for later usage (whatever that may be…) but he also won’t go out of his way to delete it if it’s accidentally automatically downloaded on his phone — maybe elios intended for it to be there?

⌖ it’s quite nice having a reminder of his significant other where he doesn’t have to actively listen to their voice… that’s a little exaggerative; but he loves just mapping out the features in your face, it helps him sleep just the slightest bit better with no ailment if he’s able to trace your features like a constellation on his blank, dark wall

DR RATIO 𐚁 真理医生

[◉"] 1000 photos, 100 videos

⌖ call it a form of ocd, but he NEEDS to have a decent ratio (i didn’t even mean for this to be a pun i’m so sorry) of his photos to videos; he doesn’t care if it’s 10:1, 2:1 1:5, he needs something that’s at least somewhat pleasing to the eyes

⌖ ratio immediately deleted anything he doesn’t need or thinks he won’t find use in for at the very least the month (this includes every single cameo shot aventurine or you have taken of yourselves on his phone without his permission, which by the way, he didn’t hesitate to scold you two for)

⌖ maybe if he’s feeling particularly loving (when is he ever?) he’ll allow ONE picture to stay.

⌖ his camera roll is purely filled with test results, written exams, student emails he needs to read over, things concerning the guild or the ipc and secret purchases of ducks he’s made (he’s not ashamed, he just doesn’t want you to know he’s buying ducks that are bigger in size every time so he can fill your shared bathroom)

⌖ realistically, maintaining such a perfect ratio of photos:videos is rather impossible unless you’ve got impeccable timing with things you save and delete so, in order to bypass this, ratio made a photo library to help serve as a base number of sorts

⌖ that photo library is of course a secret and locked haven filled with pictures and videos of you, none of which you can even recall taking. all of them hold at least some sort of significance to the both of you, but the ones that dr ratio loves the most is the ones that are just natural

⌖ the ones that show you being yourself, whether it’s where you’re cuddled up near a blanket reading something with a leg hiked up over the sheets or where you’re sleeping with your mouth wide open because you’re sick and unable to breathe through your nose properly; he loves it all

RUAN MEI 𐚁 阮•梅

[◉"] 505 photos, 28 videos

⌖ she tries to keep it as neat as possible; that means no sneaky pics taken of her by you, accidental blurry shots she’s taken (god forbid, those ones are immediately scrapped and done anew especially if related to an experiment of hers) thought that doesn’t mean she clears it in the regular

⌖ ruan mei actively saves any photo you send her, sometimes she’ll even screenshot the chat itself if she finds herself clutching at her heart as she swoons over a few lines of flirting that apparently you couldn’t hold yourself back from due to how much you missed her

⌖ she’s not someone really sentimental so despite having photos of her little cake-cat hybrids, she rarely ever rechecks them unless the trailblazer sent another report on their status to match

⌖ honestly her memory is impeccable to the point she doesn’t even need screenshot reminders of things like dates and experiments saved (would it even be called machine reductionist to call her a walking computer model at this point?) therefore, anything she saves that’s work or science related probably has more intricacies that she can account for

⌖ her gallery is a little boring otherwise. for someone of her morally grey standards you’d expect at least something worth mentioning, maybe even something dumb like a secret recipe she uses to make the sweetest (anti-truth serum…) pastries but no— nothing.

yet the reason for that is very blatant; not even her beloved has the privilege to witness her mendacity.

AVENTURINE 𐚁 砂金

[◉"] 8,793 photos, 777 videos

⌖ it’s a complete and utter mess to say the very least; dr ratio refuses to so much as glance at it whenever he’s near and topaz just gets an ick:

“how do you even manage to find anything?”

“luck.”

⌖ his photos range from absurd, to sweet to egotistical. things that remind him of you such as random rocks he finds, alcoholic beverages that have the same colour scheme of an outfit you wore the night before, an animal he saw that he swears if reincarnation was real would so be you

⌖ he has a specific library for just solely screenshots based off your chats, most of them including a significant amount of “i love yous” and goodbyes that promised a little something more when you met up next; everything that aventurine utterly cherished and craved

⌖ …and then the rest was either him showing the background of him photobombing others, pictures he took to send to you (or one of the ipc members to piss them off, sometimes even the trailblazer for a cheeky laugh) and on the even more popular occasion, all his extraordinary wins whether it be in poker, pool or uno

⌖ compared to his photos, his videos are slightly more interesting. a near 50/50 split that ranged between him telling dumbass jokes to piss off his coworkers, recordings of the back of dr ratio’s and or topaz’s head just for the future laughs (he likes the reminder that he does actually have friends and they aren’t just deliberate hallucinations born of loneliness).

⌖ but of course, all his “favourited�� videos involve you somehow. sometimes it’s just a slip of your name while he’s sneakily recording a meeting, him telling you he misses you or vice versa, other times it’s just when he feels like he has a home. you snuggled up on his chest, hands intertwined together as your breathing nearly synchronises with him…moments where he feels as though he could forget the trademark imprinted onto his neck.

SUNDAY 𐚁 星期日

[◉"] 777 photos, 111 videos

⌖ now as much as i want to say “oh it’s all you! he has a special folder for you <3” i unfortunately can’t.

⌖ it’s almost most definitely videos of robin’s concerts, solo shows, videos he stolen off of audience members with good seats when he wasn’t available to personally hide in the crowd…a lot of the photos are also the same way; robin’s promotional pictures, screenshots from her recent advertisements and negative hate comments or news stories that he’s going to personally deal with later

⌖ that doesn’t mean he values or priorities you over his sister, absolutely not. you two are the only people in his life who he would unironically take down the skies and survive utter torment for if it meant your voices were the last things he heard as bellowing winds sliced past his eardrums to tune the world out in order to hear his own final breath

⌖ he tries his best not to be sentimental or nostalgic, as he’s been told as he grew up into the bright and maybe just slightly tragic and guilt-infested man he is today, those things in his eyes are an innate weakness of humanity. clinging onto something thats not tangible anymore.

⌖ but he can’t help but hold on to every video you send him. every picture of you smiling, laughing, every text of you saying i love yous, quoting love songs to him or showing him pictures where you jokingly said “that’s us” (did he tilt his head a few times when you kept sending animals to him with that particular correspondent message? perhaps, but it never made him blind to the intentions).

BOOTHILL 𐚁 波提欧

[◉"] 12,113 photos, 191 videos

⌖ he truly doesn’t gaf (give a fork) about how messy it is, all the things that are genuinely important are already locked and loaded into his noggin’, there’s no point in being frugal with the space he’s been given on a little cellular device

⌖ you wouldn’t believe it, but he rarely uses it unless it’s for emergencies. there’s plenty of trouble that comes around when you’re a galaxy ranger, which means having a constant tracking device on you like a phone that you update daily is a stupidly bad idea; which is precisely why his photo gallery is a mess

⌖ he quite literally can’t go in and clear it out otherwise it risks giving out sensitive information.

⌖ not applicable to you, that is. in boothill’s eyes, you’re an “emergency”. if you’ve texted him, it’s obvious you want his attention, which potentially means you could be in danger and he has to rush to the rescue like the flamboyant cowboy he is (no he absolutely knows you don’t need help, but there’s always that nagging “what if” factor, you know?)

⌖ he inwardly blesses whoever invented screenshotting because it would be an understatement to say that little as half of his gallery is littered with you. he’s just a bit of a boomer when it comes to technology like this, despite being a whole walking charging port himself ehem, so a lot of the pictures he has saved of you that you sent over whenever he cutely pleaded;

“missing ya, send me a lil’ somethin’ wont you?”

unfortunately are uncropped and framed with the outline of whatever messaging app you’re on.

⌖ if he lets you scroll up far back enough, maybe you’ll get to see just a glimpse of how similar his adoptive daughter’s smile was to his

© BIOBLSM ✮ do not copy steal or repost

[luvyeni]

( reaction ) yandere enha when they find you ! ୨୧ 一 엔하이픈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ enhypen finding you after you run away ヾ

yandere!엔하이픈 hyungline・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ horror ‎, angst ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎stalking , kidnapping , threats wc ・ ‎n/a ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. another request my dumb ass deleted ◉⁠‿⁠◉ ...

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 i hope you like it <3

﹙ 𐙚 : heeseung﹚ .ᐟ

he knew were you were the entire time; i've said this many of times , heeseung is crazy and he loves to play crazy mind games — games such as making a fake a dating account just to find you and match with you. he will literally wait it out , swipe through as many girls as he had to until he found you. you were excited to get back into dating , the guy you were talking to was completely different to heeseung , getting ready for your first date with him , everything felt like a breath of fresh air. at the restaurant you were looking down at your phone , not noticing the familiar sitting down with that crazy smile. “is that anyway to greet your date?” your eyes shot up. “hee-heeseung?” your voice shaking as you see him holding his phone — with the account of the guy on the screen. “did you really think you could run away from me?” he laughed , your eyes began to tear up.

“no don't cry baby, we'll still have a good night before i take you home and give you your welcome home gift.”

﹙ 𐙚 : jay﹚ .ᐟ

a serious inconvenience for him , he gives you everything and you dare leave him? okay that's fine , he'll let you have your fun , he won't even cancel the credit card he gave you , because that's exactly how he was gonna catch you. he waited until you order a purchase offline , and he was able to get the details to your new apartment a month later — normally he'd just send his guys to come get you ,but this time he wanted to be the one to drag you back home. “j-jay.” you saw the man in the suit standing in your door. “you try and run away from me , but you use the card i pay for to make your stupid little purchases. “jay please.” he doesn't want to hear it. “you've cause so much trouble already, people are already talking about how I can't control you.”

“now let's go, I'll have someone come and pack your shit.”

﹙ 𐙚 : jake﹚ .ᐟ

it was basically a miracle that jake was still alive , he barely did anything since you left , he only ate to stay alive , he only showered just in case you walked through the door. it had been two months since you left him , yelling how much you hated him before running out the door , leaving the sobbing boy on the floor. he was fully ready to take his life — but almost as if god was on his side , you come walking out of your favorite store. you had finally felt safe enough to go out and shop , jake hadn't tried to call you , of course you tried not to worry if he actually did end it all but you never got a call. you walk right past jake , you didn't even notice him that's how different he looked. jake followed you home , all the way up to your door , where he finally runs up to you. “yn!” he shouted. “yn why'd you leave me?” you try to open the door, but the look in his eyes. “j-jake.”

“please come home , i don't know how much longer i can do it without you.”

﹙ 𐙚 : sunghoon﹚ .ᐟ

sunghoon was too impulsive to let you go on for more than a month , so you quite literally have to go into hiding , never leaving your apartment; even moving from the apartment he knew about to another one , one you thought he'd never find — boy how wrong you were. still held up in your apartment , constantly looking at the door. one day you finally feel a little a peace , not enough to leave, but enough to order your favorite food. you heard a knock , which makes you get up and go towards it. you still check the camera you installed and what you see outside makes your blood run cold. “hi baby.” the boy bangs on the door. “i found you.” he said. “sung-sunghoon.” you stuttered out. “don't dare pick up that phone and call anyone.” he said , leaning closer to the camera. “you moved but your parents haven't.”

“now open the door if you love them.”

©LUVYENI

[celestialspecial]

In Cold Blood (Pt. 2)

Warnings: Dub con, knife play, blood, smut/p in v-do i even need to say its 18+ (also dont do it with serial killers irl....you know this)

The pounding relentless beat of the club echoed out onto the pavement. The sidewalk under your feet seemed to shake with each new bass drop, lights from the floor to ceiling windows washed along the crowd waiting in line.

You stood single file, all asses and elbows waiting to get to the front velvet ropes. Your nerves were frayed, the last few weeks had been leading you up to this moment. 

Once you had a photo of the killer with his mask it was easier than before to find snippets of him on local cctv camera footage. His steps were more traceable but you still didn’t know his motive. 

The more you learned the less it made sense. 

You'd tracked his wanderings for over a month now, the trail had gone cold but you had it on good authority he'd be here tonight. The Killer, looking for his next victim.

With some intense persuasion your team had allowed you to go under cover and act as bait to draw out the madman. Your skimpy dress and overall look blended you into the background of the crowd waiting in line.

You looked like you deserved to be there. Were meant to be there.

After god knows how long of waiting in line you finally were able to escape the chilly outdoors and feel the intense heat of the ravenous club before you.

Bright lights pooled the dance floor and if you had thought the outside was crowded this was even worse. How anyone managed to dance was beyond you but that wasn't why you were here.

Making your way to the bar in hopes of escaping the intense smells and rhythmic dancing to clear your head. A buzz from your phone got your attention.

One of your colleagues.

"He's there." Your heart beat increased its pace. Eyes darting around the mass of gyrating people but you couldn't see shit. Everyone was moving so erratically, it would be impossible to find him.

After a moments pause you wondered if maybe this was a wash and to call for backup and corner the bastard wherever he was here instead of coercing him to follow you somewhere private where an arrest could be made.

At that your phone buzzed again. What the fuck did they want?

Only this time it was a call. From an unknown number. He was here.

"Hello?"

"Detective. You look mouthwatering tonight." You gulped in response suddenly realizing this might be a bad idea but taking a shot from the bartender strengthened your resolve.

"Do I?"

"Oh yes. Have you come here to arrest me, Detective? Looking like that?"

"Maybe I came here for other things."

A long pause on the other end had you believing he had hung up until you heard a brief inhale on the end of the line.

"Is that so?"

"Will you turn me down?"

This was very dangerous. You were being reckless with your safety but if it drew him out and you had a chance to throw this sucker away for life you'd take it.

"Never."

"Then come get me."

"No... I think you need to find me first. Hasn't that always been your goal? To find me."

You cursed under your breath. Of course he wasn't going to make this easy for you. Why had you been so stupid.

"I don't know if you know this but you picked the most crowded club in the city tonight."

"Don't worry. I'll give you hints. But I can tell you right now you're very cold."

You stepped away from the bar and turned left.

"Warmer."

You considered that when you caught him you'd just kill him and say it had been an accident. And yet a sick and twisted part of you felt a thrill you couldn't explain.

And honestly were afraid to examine further.

Another few twists and turns to the tune of, "Warmer" and "you're getting colder." Lead you to a bustling staircase that took you up to the balcony overlooking the entire club.

Masses of people swarmed around you and at some points it was hard to even hear the phone if he had said anything at all.

You reached a hallway that was suspiciously empty. Lines of velvet padded doors with brass buttons on their exterior beckoned you forward.

“You’re getting warmer, Detective.”

Your hand twitched, trying not to rest on your concealed weapon.

“Warmer.

You'd made it halfway down the hall when you decided this was enough and it was time for backup. Your left heel stuck in place before you were about to turn tail and run.

“You’re burning up.” 

 A large hand snaked around your waist pulling you away from the door you had been looking at wearily. Then it all went black.

You came to, eyes blearily blinking in the low light. A deep red hue filled the room, curtains of lush fabric draped the ceiling, hanging askew and clinging to matching red sofas.

A black crystal chandelier hung above your head. The pounding of the music from the club could still be heard, the bass vibrating the surface you were on. 

Stuck on. No, strapped to.

You wiggled your wrists realizing they were handcuffed to the table beneath your body. Your senses started to come to you faster as your breathing increased with each panicked heartbeat.

Your ankles were tied down as well, a chain clanging against the surface. The sound blunted by the space. 

“Help!” You shouted, screaming as loud as you could. “Somebody?! Anybody!”

“They can’t hear you.” That voice. You’d heard it before. So many times before, but this time it wasn’t distorted by a device. No scrambling or altered sound. Deep, even more attractive than you’d thought.

If you didn’t know better you’d say it was almost warm, inviting. Like a lamb to slaughter, that’s how you felt. A wolf in sheep’s clothing and you were falling for it.

It was nearly impossible to lift your head fully to look upon your captor. Out of the shadows in the corner stood a man, tall, lean, leather jacket scuffed and torn and the mask. You recognized that.

He toyed with a large silver knife, pressing the point into the pad of his thumb, mask downturned as he examined the large weapon before you.

Turning back to look at you he traced the knife along the padded velvet walls. Cocking his head towards them as he approached where you lay.

“These walls are solid thick. The padding also helps block out the noise.” You couldn’t see his face but his eyes…they were black and they caught the red light just right and they almost-glimmered. 

When he spoke next you could hear the smirk on his lips. 

“Perfect place for screaming…of all kinds.” Your eyes closed, brows drawn together, a shaky rasp escaping your lips.

“You’re going to kill me.”

His head tilted to the side, taking you in, probably in more ways than you realized. Moving closer to you, the glimmering buck knife scraping against the wood of the table. You could feel your pulse racing in your neck, knees wobbling.

Once he’d approached your side, cracked white mask looking over you he lifted the glinting blade. You watched with wide eyes as the edge came down as he drew lines over your exposed flesh.

“Now why would I do that?” Cool metal bit into the side of your thigh, not enough to draw blood but enough to have you gasp at the pressure. His bottomless eyes darted to your face at the sound.

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was smiling. Captivated by you writhing on the table before him. Setting the knife down to rest on the center of your torso the man before you removed one of his gloves.

Flesh met flesh as he placed his large hand on your inner thigh, the rough pads of his fingers pressing into your heated skin. His skin felt warm against your leg, you’d waited for it to feel cold, clammy but it was neither of those things.

“I’ve watched you for so long, Detective. Been wanting to feel how soft your skin is for far too long.” 

You wanted to fight it but you couldn’t help your poor body giving in to his caresses. Each stroke against your knee, shin, then moving back up to rest so close to your center. 

You tasted blood from how hard you’d bit your lower lip. Dying to not moan, to not let him know you were enjoying this. But he knew. Dammit he knew. 

“You knew I’d take the bait. And I did. Because you KNOW me. And I know you.” 

“You don’t know me.” You spit out, you tugged against your constraints to drive home your point. 

“I know you’re enjoying this.” 

“And how do you figure that?” 

“Because I am.” Fuck him. That’s all you could think. All you wanted but didn’t dare admit. He was a psycho…and maybe you were too for wanting him this badly. 

He retrieved his knife, this time letting it settle between your thighs, the tip catching on the string of your underwear. You could feel the blade against your skin and you did your best to breathe in shallow gulps.

His wrist flicked and what little pathetic swatch of fabric you’d had on under your dress was done for. An elastic snapping noise, a sting as it smacked against your skin and then he moved back a foot.

Pulling with him the knife and your underwear torn and tattered stuck to the tip of the blade. He held up the weapon and its new bundle of fabric to examine it, fingering the underwear with his free hand.

“Detective. These appear to be wet.” 

If you’d had your gun you would’ve shot him. Or you’d like to think you would in this moment. Anything to get out of this situation. Scorching heat seared across your face, you could feel it beading up on the back of your neck as well.

He leaned forward, bracing his hands against the table, fingers brushing against your sides in the process. 

“Care to explain?” His head gestured to the sad excuse for underwear left. 

“Fuck you!”

“Soon, but not yet.” His gloveless hand resumed its place on your inner thigh but this time his fingers dared higher. You could feel him part you and drag a long finger up your center, dipping in before pulling his hand back to inspect.

You wanted to cross your legs, anything to prevent you from wanting more. The noises that had scratched at the back of your throat  as you felt him briefly inside you, were scrambling to escape. 

His fingers were coated in your wetness, masked face exploring your own, gauging your reaction. Then he slipped those same fingers under his mask, a sucking noise could be heard and his eyes rolled back.

“You taste just as I imagined.” Your eyes met his, instead of looking away you kept your focus. Challenging him. He wanted to play games, so could you. 

Maybe he was right, maybe you two did have some connection because as your eyes remained locked with his you could feel the static energy in the room shift around you. 

“What else have you imagined?” 

The hand of his that held the knife lifted again, the lip of the blade coaxing under the hem of your dress. The tip poking through the satin fabric, slicing as it moved upwards. 

Cool air rushed over your heated skin, the fabric falling away. You carefully watched the knife as it made its way across your stomach, towards your chest and finally reaching your neckline.

The stitches popping as the dress shredded away, two useless swath's of fabric toppling to the floor. Exposing your remaining lingerie that you had carefully selected for the night, something that would fit nicely under your dress.

He let out a low whistle from under his mask. Taking the knife and quirking it underneath a loose bow on your black lace bustier. Untying the ribbon as he twisted the knife expertly.

“Detective. Is this all for me?” 

“Untie me and find out.” At that he chuckled, plucking another seam with the blades tip.

“You’re very clever, but not that clever.” 

He tapped your cheek with the flat side of his knife, wiggling his finger in a childlike admonishment as he moved to the end of the table. Standing between your legs that were still strapped down.

You watched as he slipped the knife into his back pocket, removing his other glove somewhere in the process. 

The way he watched you as he moved. Those depthless eyes examining every inch of your body. How they shone a little brighter as his gaze landed on your exposed lower half.

He lowered himself onto his elbows but not before clutching your hips and tugging you further down the table towards him. You grunted at the tightness overwhelming your bound wrists, scraping against the metal handcuffs.

Then you felt his mouth against you. Crying out at the feel of his lips sucking against you. Lapping up your juices and teasing the sensitive flesh there. 

Your eyes squeezed shut, panting, then moaning. His evil mouth coaxing every new noise from your body. Trying to look down and see him but the mask sat on top of his head still blocking your view.

That tightness and aching sensation started to gather in your center, feeling yourself getting close to the edge. Your moans grew louder, sparks flared behind your eyes and then with an extra savory sucking sensation you were tumbling over the edge.

You screamed, pulling against your handcuffs, hips lifting off the table to meet his mouth more readily and from the way the floor and walls pulsed and pounded around you, you knew he was right.

No one could hear you.

The ecstasy washed through you, draining your remaining fight down to nothing. You didn’t even notice that he had stood up and knelt by where your head rested.

“Next time scream my name.” 

“That’s a little hard since I don’t know it.” You managed through gasps of air.

You could feel him moving beside you before you turned to come face to face with that taunting white mask. You instead focused on his eyes beneath the plastic exterior.

Every nerve ending came alive as you watched his large hands coming up and unclasping the fasten behind his mask. The cold façade fell away and you felt pin pricks of both dread and wonder overtake you.

The masked killer-unmasked.

And remarkably, if not tragically, handsome beyond your comprehension.

Those same dark eyes that gobbled up any light in the room, curtained by long strands of dark hair. Mussed from the mask, and his previous explorations of your body.

A small mole rested under one eye, well shaped nose and perfectly carved smile adorned by pink lips. His jaw was severe but softened by the rest of his features when he smiled.

It set your whole being on edge. Looking at him, the man you'd been talking to for months. Who'd been taunting you at every turn.

Who'd killed people.

"Do you prefer the mask, Detective?"

You swallowed thickly at the insinuated repercussions of having seen his face. Knowing you could pick him out of a lineup easily. You'd never be able to forget that face.

Terminally Handsome.

He smirked at you, as if reading your thoughts. Grip tightening on the knife and drawing it in lazy circles and arcs over your skin once more.

Pressing deeply just under your ribcage, a rivulet of blood being drawn to the surface as you sucked in a ragged gasp.

The pain mixed with excitement as you felt yourself dampen again just watching him.

"Let's remove this, shall we?" He nodded to your bustier that was beginning to feel very tight and hot against your body.

You felt the blade slip under the center point where it laced up corset style and watched as each ribbon gave way to the sharpened metal slicing its way upwards.

You felt like your chest could finally expand and take in oxygen once he reached forward tearing the offending fabric away from you. It even took your hazy brain to register that now you lay completely exposed to the monster before you.

Monster...or man. You couldn't decide at the moment.

The blade tip circled one nipple then the other, your body betrayed you in every sense of the word as you groaned at the cool sensation. The tight bud responding eagerly to his ministrations.

There was no mask hiding his expressions now. Amusement and darkening shadows of lust.

"I can tell you're enjoying this as much as me." He leaned in close and whispered, licking the shell of your ear. Then placing a heated kiss to your neck before working his way downard.

Taking your nipple into his hot mouth and sucking enough for your eyes to roll back and hips rise up in need. He then turned his attention to the other breast. Tongue stroking you as you felt the knife pressed to the other side keeping you in place.

"Please." You wanted to cringe away from how helpless you felt as the word escaped your lips. Not helpless asking to be let go, but helpless-begging for more.

At that the gorgeous man above you's eyes rose to catch your powerless gaze. You knew this entire time, for months, you'd never been the one in charge. It had always been him. And you fell for it- hook, line and sinker.

"Billy."

"How do I know that's not a fake name?" You ventured, crying out when his mouth tortured you again.

"Does it matter?" No. Nothing mattered at this moment. Your world had shrunk and it was just you and him. You and Billy.

"No. It doesn't." He seemed to like that. Continuing his assault on your body until you couldn't tell where your body ended and his began.

Dizzy from pleasure and wanting, no, needing more. You could feel his arousal pressed into your thigh as he hovered over you kissing and marking up your shoulder.

"Billy I-"

"Shhhhh." The cool press of the blade against your lips. "I know."

And damn him, he did. You couldn't control how your body reacted as you watched him slowly unbuckle his belt, black pants dropping to the floor around his ankles.

His pupils blown wide, moving towards you, no longer a man. A killer stalking his prey. He moved in near silence until he was hovering over you.

His lips were on yours again, demanding, controlling, guiding every movement and you followed him like a lost puppy. Biting his bottom lip before he could pull away, drawing a drop of blood to fall between you two.

He pulled back, fingers tentatively touching the small wound. The look he gave you next was feral. No humanity left in it. Only terrible delight and amusement.

You felt him pressing at your entrance, hot and hard. Your knees fell apart further and you heard him chuckle into your chest as he drove home.

It was truly criminal how good it felt, how right it felt. You were turned on and disgusted by yourself all at once, but soon that little voice telling you to hold back was drowned out by each push of his hips against yours.

You wanted to hold onto him, to run your fingers through his hair to claw at his back but all your wrists could do was press against the metal holding you back. Bruises rubbing into your skin.

He struck something deep inside you and you muffled a cry into his shoulder. Building higher and higher, soaring above you body with each movement.

You could feel him getting closer too, a shift of his hips catching just the right angle and your toes curled.

"Scream for me, Detective. Like you've been wanting to all these months."

His pace picked up, Billy groaning and the sounds of your bodies coming together again and again and again.

Your body couldn't take it anymore, fucked into oblivion. Your body clenched then released, fireworks filling your vision and spikes of pleasure drove through ever cell of your body.

"Billy!" You screamed as loud as you could, the clanging of your wrists and feet fighting their confines as your back arched into him.

At the sound of you coming again he drove in deeper than he had before and followed you over the precipice. Groaning loud as his fingers dug into your hips.

He whispered your name into your ear as he came, punctuating it with a final crush of hip hips against yours. The sound of your full name on his lips made your head hazy.

You felt a sharp prick on your side and the room around you began to swim. You could feel his fingers caressing the side of your face.

"This has been very nice Detective. I look forward to doing it again sometime." He placed a passionate kiss to your lips before giving you a soft almost tender kiss to your forehead. "Sweet Dreams." Then the room went dark.

You didn't know how long it'd been but you blinked eyes squinting at the bright light overhead. You were in a hospital, sounds of people milling about made you turn your head to the side.

"Detective!" On of your colleagues exclaimed, jumping up from her seat. " You're awake!"

"What happened?"

"We found you in the club...Tied to a table. But wearing different clothing than you'd been wearing before going inside." she gulped. "We saw the torn fragments of dress though."

So he'd been a gentleman and dressed you before leaving.

"Have you found him?" Her eyes fell to her clasped hands before shaking her head.

"No not yet but we will." Her phone beeped and she gave a baleful smile before pausing to walk out and take the call.

When you turned over onto your other side on the side table you noticed a large bouquet of flowers. A note placed in the center with a heart drawn on it.

You scrambled to open the card.

"Thank you for the amazing night, Detective. Until next time."

[chronicowboy]

fuck it friday!

too impatient to wait to be tagged (but i was tagged by @try-set-me-on-fire and @alyxmastershipper for the poll thing but seen as this is my one and only wip at the moment i won't be doing that) and it's literally been friday for twenty minutes but i don't care because i finally got chim involved in the heartbreaking conversations and it might be the best one yet so....

"Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?" he asks quietly like somebody is going to jump out from behind a door with a hidden camera.

"Of course," Karen replies, probably already thinking about the tequila in her purse.

"Oh, uh, no." Eddie blinks. "Sorry, I was talking to Chim." He only feels a little bad about the hurt on Karen's face, more amused by the utter bemusement in her wide eyes.

"Sure, you can talk to me," Chim says slowly, squinting between them. His eyes catch on something behind Eddie. It's Maddie, Eddie knows by the way his eyes soften. It's the same thing that happens to him when he sees Buck. "Hey, Jee, look who's over there."

"Mama!" Jee squeals, wriggling all the way as Chim lowers her to the floor. She's off like a shot as soon as Chim lets her go, and Maddie crouches down to catch her in a perfectly practised move, spinning her around as she peppers her face with kisses.

"Okay, bud." Chim slaps him on the shoulder and brushes past him towards the reception. "Let's talk."

Eddie bullies him into a remote corner hidden by some large, assumably fake plant and slaps on his most threatening scowl.

"You are not to say a fucking thing about what I'm going to ask you," Eddie warns him. "No Chimney comments, no shit-eating remarks, nothing. Got it?"

"Well, hey now." Chim frowns. "I don't know what I'm agreeing to here. What if you're about to tell me you, Eddie Diaz, are cursed?"

"Mierda," Eddie hisses, backing Chim up against the wall with another step.

"Oh, my God. Eddie, are you about to tell me you've been cursed?" He grins, every bit as smug and shit-eating as Eddie had feared. "Waitwaitwait. Let me get my phone out to record—"

"I'm in love with Buck," Eddie says then. It's entirely unplanned, Eddie knows because he freezes just as much as Chimney does. It's entirely unplanned, but it's a goddamn effective way to get Chimney to shut the fuck up.

"What?" Chim chokes out, eyes wide and alarmed like he's already anticipating blurting it out to half the wedding party.

"Okay, now do I have your attention?" Eddie rolls his eyes, hopes to God it's enough to play it off. Chimney's shoulders relax a little, so he takes it as a win. "Look, I don't know what the fuck is going on with me and I hate what I'm about to bring upon myself by telling you this, but there's really no other option at this point." He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm either psychic or trapped in a time loop."

Chimney cackles. It's a full on witch's cackle, a belly laugh that bubbles up from deep inside him like he's been waiting for Eddie to cave since Ravi had uttered the dreaded Q word—briefly, Eddie spares a solemn thought for the other, more dreaded Q word he'd caved to somewhere along the way, a word he may have acquainted himself with sooner if it weren't for a spilled coffee and an ice pack.

tagging some lovely people sooo prematurely so i guess just keep this one in the bank for friday if you've got something to share ??? @danielsousa @butchdiaz @diazass @shitouttabuck

[are-we-really-doing-this]

Not piss anon, but I want to give you an excuse to share your thoughts 👀 -(not sure if I've given myself an anon name yet)

Anon you are a merciful entity. 7 out of 10 times I will look for an excuse to talk about Punk pissing himself. Also I do have a name for you now, I'll talk more when I answer your next ask. Never kept track of anon names before but I think I will now. Sounds like it could be a fun time.

Piss under cut btw, too long, must hide my non shame.

Just like, imagine him sitting behind the desk, cracking jokes and calling fights and shit but all the while squirming in his chair with increasing frequency because the dumb motherfucker has been drinking whatever anyone hands him aaaallllll night because they're sooooooo happy to have him back and Ace insists that he stay hydrated and on top of that he forgoes a bathroom break even when he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave once the fights began. So imagine him getting more flustered on his mic until he finally decides to let a little out because he’s wearing a dark suit right? Who would notice in the shadows under his desk with all the other smells flying around? But oh no! He’s gotta go be a good ring girl and interview the sweaty victor in that extremely well-lit cage! Whatever will he do? Well he's gonna get up and do his job, that's what he's gonna do, he's not an idiot and the kid standing in the ring is obviously looking forward to another interview from his favorite crestfallen martyr. But ughhhhhh, he's gotta go so bad. Oh well, in the ring shit happens. Piss happens. He'd know about that first one. After that maybe the thrill of the post-match buzz gets him out of his head but as he's interviewing a man he's been sweatily calling "big boy" all night, he feels himself leak. And it's not a lot, just a couple drops, but he still freezes and silently prays a million miles a second to gods he doesn't believe in that it doesn't show through his pants. And maybe it doesn't! Maybe it happens as the other guy is talking and he quips to make up for the brief look of horror on his face before scuttling back to commentary to sit in his own cooling piss. Or maybe it does! Maybe he can't stop it in time and enough comes out to leave a big pathetic dark stain down the leg of his pants. Maybe the camera guy is merciful and keeps the shot tight, or maybe he's cruel and stays right where all the divorced dads, frat bros, and fangirls (gn) can see on their tvs and phones and laptops. Maybe the fighter feels bad and lends Punk his sweaty towel for decency's sake, or maybe he would if he could stop giggling. But don't look now! A flood of relief washes over him as he pulls the very convenient crushed empty water bottle out of his pocket, cracks an off-the-top pee joke, and strides back to commentary with his bladder still full and adrenaline coursing through his veins at almost looking like an incontinent old man in front of what seemed liked the entire world. Either way he's home free, right? Well, what if that fighter Punk interviewed comes up to him later and chats him up a little, gets him alone, and as Punk attempts to end the conversation and find a damn bathroom, the other guy gets up real close and lets Punk know he could smell it on him and would very much like to see him finish his business which gets Punk VERY flustered but also intrigued at the young man's boldness aaaand etc etc, you feel my insanity. Or you don't. I put a cut for a reason lol

I definitely have more tho, make no mistake, anon. This is not the extent of the Punk-Piss cinematic universe for me.

[catedwrites]

First Chapter Friday

Title: Fearless Fortunes

Genre: Contemporary Romance, Action/Adventure

Words: 2078

Chapter 1

Fearless Fortunes - Season 1, Ep. 8 [SERIES FINALE]:  VICTOR “VIC” WHITLOCK RAPPELS DOWN THE SIDE OF THE CLIFF ADJACENT TO THE RAGING WATERFALL. RYAN WHITE AND ANNA ARNOLDS ARE ABOVE AND BELOW HIM, RESPECTIVELY.  VICTOR WHITLOCK(to camera): We know by now, the king would have gone to great lengths to hide his resting place. He knew that his kingdom wouldn’t have survived long beyond his reign, with the pressures from both the outside…and the inside.  RYAN WHITE:(above Victor; we see the strain and stress on his face) Vic! Now is not the time to be monologuing! One wrong move and we all are plummeting to our deaths! VICTOR I’ve got a good feeling about this! We aren’t dying today!  VICTOR winks at the camera. RYAN shakes his head.  ANNA ARNOLDS (further down the cliffside): Holy shit! Holy shit! Guys! I think…I think we found it!  PAN OUT to see the entire waterfall cliff. ANNA uses her body as a pendulum and swings into the waterfall–and disappears.

Chapter 2

If my life were an action movie, my morning would have gone like this:

I wake up in the pre-dawn light. My hair is not rumpled or frizzy, but pulled easily back into a sleek ponytail.

I pull on my running shoes (never worn or battered with holes, but crisp and clean) and head out for a run, wearing skin-tight leggings. Perhaps a man I pass on the street ogles me, because I am a Hot Action Girl.

I run by the river--cue shots of beautiful architecture--and I do not sweat or look distressed, except perhaps to pass an arm over my brow or to lean over my knees, pausing to breathe deeply. Cue cleavage shot, if so.

If I am a serious action movie, then at this point, I would likely be accosted by some Bad Guys. I would either flee, showing my agility and speed, or fight them off, showing how tough and capable I am. Perhaps a mixture of both, to establish to the audience that I am indeed, a proper Badass Action Girl. Not just hot. I shrug off the attack and jog home.

If I am in a comedy, then I am accosted by a Best Friend. This might be a lady friend, who is there for Comic Relief or a male best friend who is then part of a Love Triangle (later in the movie, opposite Hot Action Man). We jog the rest of the way back home, bantering.

Then, I serenely shower (backlit against my the foggy shower glass; we are classy here, people!) and dress in muted athleisure wear or black trousers and a leather jacket, depending on my day. I do not actively put on makeup or sexy lingerie, but I am, of course, wearing both. My hair is in a messy bun and I wear my glasses--I am also a Smart Hot Girl, thank you. Women can be anything, Barbie told me--I would then hop on my motorcycle and rumble to the office.

Sounds pretty great, right?

Hah. Yeah, if only that were my life. No, that's the movie that I wish I lived inside. Instead, my morning went something like this:

I woke up to my phone alarm pinging madly and I snuffled around in bed before finding my phone under my pillow and swiping the alarm off.

Noticing the time, I swore profusely and sprinted to the bathroom, stubbing my toe on the doorframe, starting another string of words my grandmother would’ve washed my mouth out with soap for using.

The world's most lukewarm, hasty shower later, my hair was in a bun on top of my head–I pulled on a pair of jeans and a nondescript black tshirt, jamming my glasses onto my face. I swiped the barest acceptable amount of makeup onto my face and rushed out the door with my backpack over my shoulders.

I barely managed to catch the subway, the screeching train packed with morning commuters, all equally grumpy. I clutched the metal pole with one sweaty palm and prayed that the train somehow developed light speed. Thankfully, the office was only a street away from the station, and I furiously walked into the morning sunshine. The residential street was quiet and the door to the office quietly clicked behind me.

Thankfully, no one in the office noticed my arrival, since I arrived on the heels of Victor "Vic" Whitlock, who is sitting on the conference table, holding court. His daughter was in his arms, happily drooling and waving at the crew around them, who seemed charmed by her spittle and chubby arms. I wanted to stare at him as I slunk past, and managed to do so discreetly.

Vic is the star of Fearless Fortunes, the acclaimed, runaway hit series. He’s 52 years old, with the honey-gold tan skin of someone who spends their days outdoors but buys very, very good moisturizer and the body of a man who spends a lot of time at the gym. He went completely grey about ten years ago, but it makes him look distinguished and suave, rather than old and tired. 

In Fearless Fortunes (Seasons 1-3 now available for streaming, purchase, and download), Vic, the intrepid archaeologist, finds treasure and artifacts in Central and South America, educating viewers and adventuring daringly into extreme locations. I nearly have the blurb memorized. You have to, working on a show like Fearless. 

All right, Victor is a great guy and a very smart one at that: he did, in fact, graduate cum laude from his class at the University of Toronto in the 1970s. He had, in fact, worked on several archaeological and paleontological digs. He even does (most) of his own stunts for the show.

But the world doesn’t know--can’t know--that he isn’t the brains behind Fearless Fortunes. No, the one doing the legwork, the one doing the research, the one with the knack for saying, "no, I think this cave is the one; don't you see the etchings on the ceiling there?" is me.

[madamechrissy]

But it's Better if you Do

ৎ୭ Pairings ৎ୭ Nanami Kento x Fem Reader

ৎ୭ Warnings ৎ୭ MDNI- Fingering, teasing, cumming

ৎ୭ Word Count ৎ୭ 5,027

ৎ୭ Summary ৎ୭ Every weekday for a year, Nanami Kento comes into the coffee shop you work at, and he orders the same damn thing. You have it bad but are too nervous to do more than doodle on his cups. You have a double life, because you're also 'Foxy' a featured dancer at a strip club once a week. A bachelor party for Satoru Gojo has you dancing, and he's there. Nanami fucking Kento. You end up both in a VIP room, awkward, nervous, but then... it's your chance. He doesn't know it's you, right? What harm can a lap dance do? Surely won't be awkward the next day...

Chapter 2 - Masterlist

Chapter 3

It's a humid summer night in Tokyo, and you have your big bluetooth speakers on one of the bustling streets, starting one of your sets, Nobara is videoing you and Yuji is your hype man, as always. There is a crowd that gathered, bigger than it was last week you notice nervously, as you feel the music move through you, pulsing through your veins, one of your favorite feelings.

Nanami’s lips were now also your favorite.

Shit.

Would he show? You nervously peer around, and start to do a piruohette, spinning several times before spreading your arms wide, starting to do the hip hop routine you’d been working on. The music is loud japanese rap, and everyone around you starts getting excited as you move in sync to every beat, carefully coordinated in parts, free in others.

Nobara is bending low to get the perfect shot as your limbs are flowing like water as you weave between pedestrians and neon-lit storefronts, starting to dance and walk forward a bit, Nobara peeks behind her, then steps back further, and Yuji is pumping his fist. You feel alive, free, like you're in rhythm with the city, with the people who all were pulling their phones out, smiling.

As you spin and sway, starting a new song, Yuji takes the camera, and you feel a pair of eyes on you, intense and unyielding. You glance up, and there he is, Nanami Kento. Your heart skips a beat as you see the way he's watching you, the way his gaze travels over your body, lingering on your hips, your arms, your face.

You pause for a moment, taking him in, feeling suddenly shy out of nowhere, though you had just been dancing for the city and had no worries, he alone could make you feel flustered. Happy from his presence. Nobara gives you a smile, and it gives you encouragement, you take a breath and give Nanami a little wave, which he returns, hands in his pockets, smiling at you slightly.

You feel a blush creep up your neck as you continue to dance, your movements becoming more confident, more daring, with Nobara, Yuji and the entire crowd cheering you on. The crowd around you grows thicker, more animated. People are cheering, clapping along to the music, even laughing. You catch yourself smiling back at them, feeling their energy.

It's like being part of something bigger than yourself, so much different than the club, you can be completely comfortable. As you finish your dance, you feel your heart racing, your limbs tingling, as sprinkles of rain start to fall, you peek at Nanami again, just a few feet away, his eyes fixed on you, dressed more casual, in a dress shirt and slacks.

You can't help but smile back at him, feeling a rush of adrenaline course through your veins when you finish, and the crowd begins to disperse, several people coming up to you, many you see all the time. You even take pictures with some people that watch your silly Tik Toks of dancing. It’s raining now, but a light mist, and you gather your things into your duffel bag, gesturing to Nanami to come over.

Nobara looks at him, then you, and gets a devious look on her soft, pretty little face. “Oh, Nanami, did you like it?”

He clears his throat, nodding, a little shy. You notice an umbrella dangling from his hand, then, something you had forgotten. “I very much enjoyed it, I am glad I could see your work.”

“Oh, not work.” You nervously look down, but Nobara comes up to you, hand on your back.

“She is amazing. Her body… it moves so good don’t you think?” You and Nanami both turn red, and Yuji and Nobara snicker.

“Very good.” He says, a little gruff.

“Thanks, you all.”

“I’d like to talk a bit if you don’t mind?” Nanami turns to you, asking you, having to say your name twice for you to register.

“He wants to talk to you, punk.” Yuji shrugs at you with his shoulder, you clear your throat, smiling.

“Oh. Yeah. We can!”

“We’ll head home. Call us if you need us?” Nobara kisses your cheek, and you return it, smiling.

Yuji tries to kiss your cheek and you smack him, making the three of you laugh, as Nanami just smirked, studying you all curiously. “She’s mean, Nanami, good luck with this one.”

“She is not, you’re just annoying.” Nobara shoves him, pushing him away from the two of you, waving.

“Ahem… Hi.” You manage to say when you all are alone, the rain starting to mist over you both now, you grab your bag to you, looking up at him, tall and fucking handsome as fuck. And here. Wanting to talk to you.

“Hi.” He smiles a bit, and you both stand there, your arms behind your back, his in front of him, shy, nervous. “You were great.”

“Thanks so much. It really meant a lot to me, you taking time to come out.” You tuck your hair behind your ear, and shift side to side, he seems to notice, smiling.

“Of course. You are not ‘lame’ or whatever you said. You’ve got real talent. I bet you have a good following.”

“It’s growing for sure! One day, I want to get into this school… it’s like to hone your skills, crazy expensive… so I have all these side hustles. I… hey, talk to me about you, I’m rambling.”

You and Nanami Kento are left standing in the middle of a now-empty sidewalk. The rain has picked up, but you hardly notice it as your heart is racing, your palms sweaty, but you force yourself to meet his gaze, attentive, and he just is smiling down at you, rain dripping on his hair in little glistening droplets.

“Well, I work a lot. A lot.”

“I knew that business man. Accounting?”

“Yeah and advertisement, finances, lots of things. I like to… read? And watch movies. I’m not so exciting.”

“What, I love to read! And movies! What kind of movies? What kind of books? I love scary movies…” He’s just studying you. You lick your lips nervously. “Am I like talking too much? I do that when I’m nervous… oh shit, it’s coming down!”

“You don’t talk too much. Yes, it is, here.” He goes to open the umbrella, as the skies open and start to downpour, and you’re getting soaked, he’s cursing as the umbrella is stuck, and you start laughing, wildly as the rain fell, cold on your skin, as he struggled with the button. “Shit, hang on.”

“Mmm, it’s fine. It’s like a romcom, right? Stuck in the rain.” You smile, swirling in circles and shutting your eyes, letting the rain hit you. It’s oddly fucking amazing, refreshing even after the dancing, but soon it’s lightning, a flash, you see behind your eyelids, and the rain stops hitting you.

“Fuck, you okay? I’m so sorry.” Nanami has the umbrella over you now, pulling you close, and you feel hot against him, nodding.

“I probably seem weird. I love the rain.”

“You’ll catch a damn cold, though.” He chastised you, all serious, you giggle.

“That’s not how colds work, Nanami.”

“Welp, still, now it’s thundering.” A loud clap sounds, and the rain is pattering you both under the shelter of his umbrella, you see his shirt is wet, clinging to his chiseled frame, one you were so close to, then you finally grow quiet. “How far is your place?”

“A few blocks or so.”

“You’re not going that far like this. I live less than a block away, let’s warm you up and I’ll put these clothes in the dryer.”

Your heart is thudding in your ears.

You wanna scream.

You wanna text Nobara.

Nanami's place?!?

“Is that too forward?” He asks, concerned, brows low over his eyes, which you notice have little raindrops on them, his tanned skin glistening. You gently reach up and touch his face, feeling him tense a bit. You pull away, but he stops you, grabbing your wrist, and you two stay like that for some time.

Soaking wet and the rain pouring, you just touching his face, barely, under this umbrella protecting your already soaked bodies from the pounding rain.

“I’m fine coming over. If you don’t mind.” You say, starting to shiver a bit as your wet clothes get to you, much to his concern as he gives you a little nod.

“May I?” He holds out an arm, pulling you closer, you sigh, far too fucking happy and trying to act cool. As if you could.

“Of course.”

“We’ll be there in just a few.”

You were soon in Nanami's apartment, your mind took in everything, the simple, sleek design, nothing too crazy or gaudy. But it did have a few little hints of him, of his personality that was hard to discern, but there. You two were dripping wet at his entryway, taking off your shoes, you peek at him, those clothes clinging, dying to know what was underneath despite your sopping wet state.

“I will get you something dry to put on, and put these in the dryer for you. All right?”

“Yes, thanks so much.” You continue to peer around his apartment, noting the comfy looking couch and loveseat, tan, simple but suede which looked inviting, as he disappeared. You look on the shelves, of little figures, pictures of him in his fancy suits with his friends…

“Here, I know these will swallow you, but they are as small as I can find.”

As you turn around to face him, you realize he's standing right behind you. He hands you a T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, along with a towel, making you flush as your brain goes awry. His fingers brushing against yours as you take the garments from him. The contact sends a shiver through you. You want nothing more than to stay like this, feeling his presence so close, even if you’re soaking wet.

"No it's perfect, thanks, Nanami."

You exhale, looking up at him. He nods, avoiding your gaze as he steps away a little awkwardly, giving you some space. You quickly go into the bathroom, which was perfect and as clean as you’d expect, stepping out of your wet clothes to dry up with one of his fluffy white towels.

You pat yourself dry, peering around the perfect little bathroom, with sleek modern tile and everything modern and simple. It was so much different than your own, usually full of makeup, perfumes and hair clips scattered on your tiny counter. Instead he had just a few organized things, cologne, aftershave, hair pomade… all arranged perfectly.

You begin to change into his clothes now, feeling the soft cotton against your skin. They smell like fresh laundry, and just a hint of him. It's oddly intoxicating. You realize how bad you have it, sighing as you peek in the mirror, seeing your nipples are hard against the soft gray shirt, bringing your mind to the worst possible things, his hands…

“Get it together, bitch, it’s just clothes. Ugh.” You mumble to yourself, then jump when you hear his voice,

“Everything all right?” He asked, and you wanna fall into the tiled ground beneath your bare feet.

“Yeah, fine! Just a sec.” You try to dry your hair a bit with the towel, scrunching it just so, it was in wet slick waves.

“Wanna hand me those? I'll dry em.”

“Yes, thanks so much again!” You peek out, handing him the wet close with a little smile, then go back to fixing your leaky mascara. You looked like a fucking raccoon.

When you're finished, you head back into the living room, finding him sitting on the couch, looking out the window at the rain. He had a sleek electric heater that looked just like a fireplace going, making everything ridiculously cozy. He’s now wearing a soft gray cableknit sweater, turtleneck, making him look so different than what you were used to, he looked comfy, and casual, yet he was still so elegant.

You clear your throat, unsure of what to say or do. The air between you feels charged, electric. He turns to face you, then, and he pats the couch cushion next to him, smiling a little, surprising you. It was quiet aside from the rain pattering on the window and the little noise the heater made.

“Come warm up.” He said invitingly, you nibble your lip just a bit, coming to sit next to him, wearing just his clothes, the shirt was swallowing you indeed. It was cozy though. He casually placed an arm over the back cushion. “You’re so tiny.”

“You’re also huge.” You cover your mouth then, and you both break out in laughter at how it sounded. “Oh my gosh.”

“It’s been one hell of a day, huh?” Nanami rubbed the bridge of his nose as you both eased a bit, some of the awkwardness fading.

“It has been. Now you’re stuck with me till my clothes dry and the rain dies down.” You tease, but he looks down to you, rather serious, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before dropping to your lips.

“I don’t mind at all.” He murmurs, and your tummy flips, those butterflies turning to violent moths inside as you feel the energy stirring between you. “I was kind of going to ask you on a date soon…”

“You were?” You asked incredulously. He nodded. “Waited a year though?”

“I just got really absorbed with work and life in general, I never meant to completely ignore you. I didn’t even think of having friends or a life until a few months ago.”

“It’s okay, I don't really need an explanation. I was teasing.”

“But you deserve one.” He gently brushes your hair back behind your ear, still damp from the downpour, setting your body on fire from just that. “I was actually really attracted to you when we met.”

“You were?” He snorts at that, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck am I that bad at showing things?”

“Um… yeah.” He sighs a bit, still errantly playing with the curls that formed from your scrunched hair.

“So… recently, I went to a strip club.”

You freeze.

“Oh?” He nodded. You expected him to say it, to ask it… to…

“Yeah, and I realized, maybe I am too fucking high strung. Gojo, who I work with, just got married and I thought to myself, I kinda want what they have. That connection, to open up. I think seeing him turn down all these women, and trust me he was quite the man whore, made me see how much it changed him. Then I just… I don’t know. I’m talking too much.”

“No, no… I like to hear you talk.” You take his hand, and he looks down at it, turning his palm over to entwine with your fingers.

“I think I am so… I am not good at things with women. I confused a stripper for actually liking me. This stuff isn’t area of expertise.”

Ouch.

Shit.

“Wh-what do you mean?” You look down at your lap.

“I was pretty intoxicated, since Gojo was filling us with drinks, and I think I got something simple confused. It made me realize how bad I crave a connection and how much I've avoided one. And clearly kinda fucked it up even.”

You’re silent, and take a deep breath. “You haven’t fucked up anything. Maybe the stripper did like you? Strippers also have crushes.”

He shrugged a bit, broad shoulders moving under the thick sweater. “Likely she was just having fun. Which is not a bad thing. I realized I never loosen up or have any fun, and maybe I should try.”

“So you kind of figured I’d be fun? I hate to break it to you. I’m kinda lame.”

He rolls his eyes at that, errantly playing with your hand. “Nothing about you is lame to me. I just watched you dance. It was beautiful. I'm kind of... boring.”

“Well, you’re not boring to me. You just… you’re just yourself, Nanami. And I like that about you.”

Nanami’s breath hitches, and soon he’s leaned closer, and you easily fall against his embrace, a hand on his broad chest, material warm and thick under your touch, the other still holding his. He’s studying you, eyes roaming over your face, and it’s on the tip of your tongue to tell him, just to end it before it begins, before you catch more feelings than you already had.

He wouldn’t want you when he found out.

Or would he?

That stripper sure did fucking like him… you did.

You didn’t wanna lie to him…

But you also hated missing this chance, to know him, after so long.

Shit.

“There’s something I’ve been really wanting to try, and I kind of planned to do this after a proper date, if you had wanted.” His hand gently cups your face, and your heart is pounding in your ears.

“What would you like to try?” Your voice was just a whisper, your eyes darting to his lips, which he nervously ran a tongue along, tempting you further.

“May I kiss you?” He asked, so softly, and your heart now wants to pound out of your chest, your breath coming out in a little pant, which seemed to excite him, hands tightening just a bit.

“Yes. Please.” You flush at your desperate words, but Nanami moaned quietly then, and then he was so close to you.

He asked you this time.

Without further hesitation, he leans in and kisses you, firm, but gently. Your lips part, and his tongue starts to dance with yours, sending a shiver down your spine, an ache in your lower tummy beginning. He tastes like coffee and something uniquely him, and you can feel your heart racing as he pulls you closer, one hand gently tangled in your drying hair.

You moan into the kiss, arching your back as he possesses your mouth, familiar yet so foreign, and your hands drift up to his broad shoulders, clinging to him, for some sense of gravity. He nips your lower lip, and you tremble, desire hitting every nerve ending of your body from just that.

He pulls away just a bit, leaning back, studying your features with stark desire in his eyes. “You feel familiar…”

You gulp. “I do?”

“Yes.” He kisses you softly, as if testing his theory, and you almost falter, letting it spill out, but then his mouth is back on you, silencing anything you may let loose, instead his tongue is more insistent, more passionate.

One of his big strong hands finds its way under the shirt you wore, his shirt, hot on your bare skin as it slides up your tummy, to your waist, pausing just at your rib cage, making your breasts ache for more. The feeling is exhilarating, and you can feel the heat building between your legs. You want nothing more than to lose yourself in this moment, to forget about everything else.

As his tongue tangles with yours, he slips a hand up further, pulling away with a shaky breath. “I should stop.”

“Ugh, no!” He blinks a bit at you, and you feel your cheeks heat up, taking his hand in yours and looking right into his eyes, those green flecks illuminated as his pupils dilate. “Do you want to stop?”

“Fuck no. But… is this okay?” He asks, and you nod, as he begins cupping your breast over the lace of your bra, which had not gotten wet in the rain, though you couldn’t say the same for your panties…. You gasp, feeling a sharp jolt of desire shoot through you. He massages your nipple just a little roughly, and you cry out, throwing your head back.

He growls, Nanami Kento growls, quietly, but it sounded possessive and fucking hot, and he’s kissing down your neck, making you wetter as you grind on the couch for some friction against your aching pussy. Your nipples hurt against the lace, pressing more and more insistently on his rough palms.

“Nanami…” You whisper, wanting more, more…

“Kento.” He says against your neck, softly, tickling you, before looking back down into your gaze. “Call me Kento, please.”

You smile, the name you’ve never really said, feeling intimate. “Kento.”

He says your name softly, too, and it sounded far too good from his lips, then you all are kissing once more, his hand gently easing the thin cup of your bra down, brushing against your bare breast now. You cry out into his mouth, body unable to stop moving as you craved him with all of you.

“It’s so familiar.” He pulls back to breathe out, and you’re tense, as he’s studying your eyes, your every feature. “I…”

“I should go.” You hop up, nervous as fuck, and he stands, turning you to him, drinking you in with those goddamn studious eyes.

“Why?”

“I…”

“Did I go too far?” He frowns, concerned, so sweet and you didn’t deserve it. You shake your head furiously.

“I liked it way too much… not even far enough. It’s just I… you don’t even know me, Nanami.”

“Kento.” He corrects, and it’s like an order, firm, so different from his usual gentle tones, standing so tall and handsome over you.

“Kento.” His name is like a caress.

“Do you want me to stop, then?”

“No, I want you to fucking rail me on the goddamn wall.” You gasp, covering your mouth, and he stands there, shocked, blinking. “Fuck. Welp. I sound like a whole slut, but I’m actually not, I don’t even have much experience, not that it’s bad to! People should fuck all they want, and I just feel slutty for you and I’m being really awkward, so please ignore that, my god! I…”

“Will you shut up?” He shocked you, making you gasp, the tone was soft, quiet, but the words…

“Shut up?” He nods, and walks toward you, and you’re backing away, step by torturous step, as he presses you forward, until you’re backed up against the living room wall. His hands are on either side above your head, as he leans forward.

“You want me to rail you on a wall?” He demands, and your pussy is throbbing, your breasts hurting, every bit of you consumed as he stands over you, imposing, consuming you.

“Just ignore me. I have a lot of… problems.”

His brows drew low over his eyes. “Oh. So you didn’t mean it.”

“No, I sure fucking did, it’s just you don’t know me. You don’t know what all I do, what I-”

You peer up, so much shorter than him, feeling so small, your heart racing as you struggle to catch a breath. His hand was gently tilting your chin up. “I don’t care whatever it is you do.”

“What if I’m an assassin?” You tease, he smirks just a bit, then he shocks you, pressing you further into the wall, wrapping an arm around your hips, lifting you with ease to where your feet are just dangling. Fuck it was hot.

“An assassin, a thief, a stripper…” You tense. You’re sure he notices, but he continues on, and you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck, legs around his hips, now pressed against him. “I don’t really care. I am more interested in how you’ve gotten this wet for me from a kiss.”

You cry out, and then you’re kissing again, Nanami pressing your body against the wall, you grind against him helplessly, heat against the hard bulge in his jeans, wishing you could rip them the fuck off. He took over every sense, every nerve ending, every piece of your soul, as his strong hands held you by your ass, pressing further against you.

“I’m this wet because you make me this way.” You manage to whisper, and then his hooded eyes locked on yours, hands gripping you so tight you’d bruise, and you’d be happy as fuck to have marks from him.

“I want to go on a date with you.” You giggle, at the position you all are in, and he even laughs breathlessly.

“I’ll definitely go on a date. Are you gonna make me wait for…” He nods, and you sigh just a bit, aching.

“I want to do things right.”

“Are we going to ask my parents permission to court me then?” He playfully bites your neck, making you moan, your hands enwrapping in his hair.

“You’re kind of a smart ass aren’t you?”

“A bit. Maybe. Mmm.” He’s now pecking little apology kisses, where he’d bit you just ever so slightly, shooting hot desire down through you.

“I would ask to court you. If we were in the 1800s.”

You giggle, swooning now, leaning your head back against the wall, losing it all in him. “You’re so fucking cute.”

“Cute? Sweet? That’s what you think of me, hmm.”

“Mmhmm.”

He eases you down, and you wobble on your feet, missing him against you immediately. 

“I do really like that perfume, it’s still on you even though you’re soaked.” Your breaths make your chest rise and fall rapidly. “Soaked everywhere.”

“Fuck.”

You’re both kissing again, as if you can’t get enough, and you boldly take his hand, bringing it to your pussy, over his own boxers, which you had indeed soaked. He groans, sliding a finger down under the waistband, moaning into your lips as you return in kind, finding your puffy clit with ease. He rubbed in little circles, pulling back to look sensually down at you.

“You’re so pretty.” He says, and you want him so bad you feel tears prick your eyes in frustration as he continues his easy little caresses.

“You’re so fucking hot.” He grins, shaking his head with a little laugh. “I’m not… eloquent or whatever. Just really horny.”

“I see this.” He starts kissing down your throat again, your collarbone, your chest, you wanted to rip off your damn shirt, ride his fingers until you came, but he just tortured you with his easy little circles. You rub back and forth on him, whining. “So desperate for more of my touch, are you?”

Fuck.

“Yeah. I am.” He moans, sliding his finger lower finally, pushing inside of you then, and you fell apart, from just that, the sensation tearing through your body. “Mnh.”

“You’re so tight.” He murmurs, pressing up into you, finger so thick and long, your own two little fingers could never hit there, massaging against your tightening walls. He has one of your legs up in seconds, wrapped around his hip, so he has better access. “You want to come, darling?”

Darling. Fuck.

“Ah- thought I had to wait.” He crooks a finger inside of you just so, watching you with parted lips, finding that spot that made you see stars with ease, you gasp as pressure builds.

“You’ll have to wait sometime to get railed. As you so elegantly put it. But I’d love to see your lovely face while I make you come.”

If you hadn’t completely fallen, you sure have now.

His second finger slid down your slit, coating in your wetness, before pushing inside you. So long, thick, stretching your pussy out with both, you hiss a bit at it. A little too much pressure, but your body adjusted quickly as his fingers increased their rhythm, your vision blurs, breath quickens as he plays you so well. And he is just watching you, his lips parted, eyelids hooded, as if you were the prettiest thing he’d seen.

It was too much.

You fall apart, closer and closer, higher and higher, and he’s just fingerfucking you through it, those light brown eyes watching every expression your face made avidly. Soon, the heel of his hand is pressing on your clit as he’s shoving his fingers in all the way, and you’re trembling, everything building. You cling to him, your eyes shutting.

“Unh. Ah! Fuck, Kento… I'm close.”

“Ah-ah. Look at me.” He orders, and you do, meeting his aroused gaze, as he holds you tight while he’s hitting that spot just right, and you’re starting to pulse around his fingers, on the edge. “Come for me, pretty.”

You do it as if on command, but you were goddamn near there anyway, shaking, a near scream tearing through your throat, as he watched you orgasm, wetness slipping out of your tight cunt, onto his fingers. The sound was ridiculously obscene as he finished, finally easing up, sliding his fingers up and down your cunt.

“Kento… Mmnh…so good.” You mumble, as he eases his fingers out your cry out softly, And he's pulling you to his hard body, still fully dressed, kissing you as your body is shaking.

“You all right?” You nod, enjoying being pressed against him, his embrace.

“Oh, I'm great.” He chuckled softly, and you both kissed again. “Do you want me to return-”

“I enjoyed touching you plenty. That's more than enough.” You swoon over him some more. Fuck. How bad were you down for him?

“I'd like to.”

“Have patience, would you, darling?” You sigh, nodding, blushing. 

“I really am not that experienced, I just kind of… lose it with you? So I may be talking mad game I can't live up to.”

“I don't mind that, either way.” He peers down at you, eyes softening. “When are we going to have this date, hmm?”

“I'm free this weekend?” You'd skip the strip night. You couldn't imagine even doing that at the moment.

You were a simp, Yuji was right.

“I am too. Text you the details this week?” You nod.

“Kinda don't wanna move, right now.”

“Then let's stay like this for a bit.”

You just stand there, in his strong arms, his chin on your head as his hand stroked your hair. There were things needing to be said soon, more things building… feelings… Rain is lightly pattering against the windows, Kento’s heart was steady against your ear. Your mind is fuzzy from his touch, but for now you just really like him holding you.

Chapter 4

Ao3 chap

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56003029/chapters/142698424#workskin

[ohsomightypeaches]

"How pretty do I have to ask?" he says, smiling wider than ever.

Oh he knows the power he has. Of course he knows the power he has.

You tell Santiago as much, but he just sits you down on the mattress, ignoring that sentiment entirely with a half distracted, “don’t be ridiculous, that horny freak gets off on you wearing his ugly-looking clothes.”

Ouch. Lol. Two insults in one I see. Actually idk if horny freak was an insult.

"Can't you go get Frankie's Go-Pro camera?"

💀 NOT THE GO PRO THATS WORSE THAN THE PHONE

"Don't you at least have a tripod?"

What kind of a high production value sex tape is he trying to make? 💀💀

It would be childish to roll your eyes, but Santiago-Maria Luca Hernandez Garcia makes it really fucking hard not to sometimes. For someone who's never been able to properly frame himself in a selfie, he sure is high and mighty about his artistic camera skills all of a sudden. He only capitulates when you counter that a sex tape shot on a Go-Pro is a terrible idea. Nobody wants to watch themselves naked through a wide-angle lens.

💀💀💀 I'm cackling at the entire paragraph. I'm glad that Boa and I can agree go pro is a terrible idea

"She's so pretty and wet, Frank," he murmurs, as his fingers spread your wet folds wide for himself.

Will frankie make it through the whole thing. Lol. He might not survive.

And as you think it, you realize that even though he brought up the sex tape as an innocent spur-of-the-moment suggestion, the bastard's thought of this way before Frankie had called to check in today.

I mean that may be but you might as well just give in. It's too late now. Lol

“Not much of a sex tape if we don’t put on a show, sweetheart.”

PLEASE. I CANNOT WITH HIM. what a fucking tease. He's lucky he's pretty.

He's laughing again, no scratch that, giggling, that bright boyish sound that has a kaleidoscope of butterflies skittering in your stomach even though you're mad enough to kill him.

🙄 HE LUCKY HES PRETTY

You won’t, and it’s not just because if you gave in the man’s ego would be large enough to develop its own gravitational pull until it collapsed the very sun itself with it.

Hahahahahahahahahhaha. The accuracy.

“There we go. That’s all I wanted. All you needed to do is ask, sweetheart."

🙄 what a little shit.

"Frankie's right, you really are such a good girl, sweetheart. Look at you beg all sweet and nicely. Should I reward you?"

Imma strangle him. Let me at him.

He's close. You grip onto his curls, tightly until it must sting. Just the way you know he likes it from all the time you’ve seen how fast it makes him come when Frankie does it to him, and Santiago groans, hips stuttering into you.

👀 I see she's got her own bag of tricks too

You must be screaming at him. Want to claw and dig into the man’s curly hair and tear it out by the roots. Curse him to the depths of fucking hell while you’re at it.

I will strangle him. I don't even mean it in a fun way.

His arms wrap tightly around your front, shushing you and it almost sounds sincere if you didn’t know him as well as you do. "Not teasing, cariño, promise."

🙄 I'll believe when I see is track star.

"Left it on when we passed out, thought the battery died and the video didn't save. Fortunately, it's fine, will just have to trim it down so Frankie doesn't have to watch us snoring for hours."

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA goof what a goof

I want to hear about how one fracisco morales did not survive watching the tape. 😌😈

Summary: Santiago and you make a sextape for Frankie.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Santiago x female reader (you) (hints of Frankie)

Content: edging (you know the drill with this bastard by now), peak brat behaviour, overstimulation, voyeurism.

Wordcount: 5.9k words

Homecoming Masterlist | Astroboot's Masterlist 

It starts the way so many things start between you and Santiago. It was a stupid idea, and Santiago talked you into it.

"Do you want to make a sex tape?"

You blink dumbly at Santiago, mouth agape. Your phone screen is still warm against your thumb from when you clicked the red button to end your call with Frankie not two seconds ago.

Your husband is out of town in Jacksonville, in a shitty hotel room they've set him up with, 10 minutes off base. Poor Frankie had sounded absolutely miserable when you spoke to him on the phone and the idea of sending him something to perk him up, a flirty text to rile him up, maybe a risque photo did cross your mind but a sex tape might be a little bit out of your depth.

You stare up at Santiago. His beautiful full lips, curling into a smile, eyes glinting with that trademark mischief that is the prelude for talking you into doing pretty much anything for him.

It's been that way since you were kids. There's never been one of Santiago's cockamamie plan that he hasn't managed to get you signed onto. Sweet smile and even sweeter talk. Car salesmen have nothing on Santiago.

“Frankie must be feeling lonely by himself in that hotel, we should send him something to make him feel less lonely," he says.

Santiago leans down, until his arms are caging you in, face close until the tip of his nose brushes against your cheeks, and that small contact makes you tingle all over.

“You miss him too right?”

Despite the self-satisfied smirk there, the sentiment is sincere. Still, you've never been one to make things easy for Santiago either.

"Santiago. I'm not Kim Kardashian. Don't be ridiculous."

He tips his head, considering you, and Santiago clearly hears the word that you did not say. You didn't say no. You prevaricated the way you often do when it's not that you don't want to: you like to needle him, for him to plead and ask nicely. For Santiago to pull out the red carpet treatment.

"How pretty do I have to ask?" he says, smiling wider than ever.

That is how you find yourself in your bedroom, not twenty minutes later. Wearing old sweatpants and one of Frankie's softworn T-shirts that you've spilled some soy and Sriracha sauce on earlier at lunch. It is, singlehandedly the worst outfit to memorialize on tape.

You tell Santiago as much, but he just sits you down on the mattress, ignoring that sentiment entirely with a half distracted, “don’t be ridiculous, that horny freak gets off on you wearing his ugly-looking clothes.”

Snorting with laughter, you sit down obediently as instructed because Santiago does make a valid point.

In front of you, Santiago is moving diagonally from the nightstand next to the bed to the footstool by the end of the bed, rearranging the furniture in the bedroom that would be "blocking the view," like he's playing furniture Tetris.

Then he comes back to stand in front of you, practically bouncing at the ball of his heels with excitement. You can feel the eagerness vibrate off of him, as he rolls ups his sleeves to his forearms. Eyes lighting up with that proud accomplished smile of his that makes butterflies swirl in your belly.

"You ready sweetheart?" he asks.

You shake your head amused, as you place your phone in Santiago's hand so that he can use it to record.

His smile drops, and it's like you've thrown a dark curtain over him, the luminous light in his eyes dimming, narrowing at the item in his hand, as if it's offended him, curled in half disgust.

"Phone?"

He says it with such indignity in his voice, it's as if you insulted his late mother by this very act.

"What's wrong with my phone?" you ask.

And boy do you immediately regret ever saying it. It launches Santiago into a game of twenty questions. Because suddenly, he's decided that he's the next Stanley Kubrick of homemade sex video tapes.

"Don’t we have something better?"

"Can't you go get Frankie's Go-Pro camera?"

"Don't you at least have a tripod?"

"How are we gonna get a good angle?"

"Is it okay if I move the reading lamp from the living room here to get better lighting?"

It would be childish to roll your eyes, but Santiago-Maria Luca Hernandez Garcia makes it really fucking hard not to sometimes. For someone who's never been able to properly frame himself in a selfie, he sure is high and mighty about his artistic camera skills all of a sudden. He only capitulates when you counter that a sex tape shot on a Go-Pro is a terrible idea. Nobody wants to watch themselves naked through a wide-angle lens.

This is so quintessential Santiago. He gets an idea into his head and will use every tool in his arsenal to convince you that his idea is a brilliant one. Then, once he has worn you out with his persuasion, and has you (begrudgingly) onboard, he will start bitching about every detail of the itinerary as if this wasn’t his project to begin with. You truly pity the people who had to be on his team for a group project back in school (which was almost always inevitably you).

It's enough to make you regret this whole endeavor before you've ever even started.

As you see him drag the armchair in the corner in front of the foot of the bed, and gingerly prop the phone against a cushion, the ridiculousness of this whole scenario washes over you. You’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry at the sheer stupidity that you’ve signed yourself up to.

Santiago fiddles with the phone on the chair, and you see him angling it until he's satisfied that it captures you in frame before he leans back up.

The tiny lens flickers red then green, and the bright light has you flashing hot then cold then hot all over again. Your nerves suddenly a lot shakier than they were just a few seconds ago when you were bantering with the man.

Staring at yourself framed within your phone screen, you feel observed, in a way that shakes your own confidence.

Your heart skips erratically and you remind yourself mentally that, it's fine, it’s just you and Santiago in here. But there's heat prickling your face. Your fingers feel numb, sweating hot and cold at the same time and you find yourself clenching and unclenching your fists into the sheets to get some sort of sensation back into your hands.

“Do you want to stop?”

There’s concern etched on the soft lines of his forehead, one finger already hovering over the stop button. Ready to give you an out, if you didn’t want this.

And it’s not that you don’t want to do this. It's just--

You shake your head. “No… Just--” You let out a stuttering laugh, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. They’re shaky.

“You nervous?”

You hadn’t realized until he said it, but yes, you are. You give him a small nod, and he moves towards you, until he's sitting at the end of the bed next to you, and takes both your trembling hands in his, drawing them to his lap, and rubs them like he's trying to kindle a fire with your fingers.

The nerves in you melt, air flowing back into your lungs, and you can feel yourself warm pleasantly out to your fingertips.

"That better cariño?"

His voice is nothing like the teasing arrogance when he had tried to talk you into this in the first place. Nothing like the haughty banter when he had been going off about lighting and camera equipment. It's soft and gentle, a voice that tells you he's going to pick you right up if you stumble.

You nod again, releasing the long breath you've been holding all this time.

“Santiago, this is really stupid.”

He chuckles, a bright little sound that’s entirely too boyish coming from a man nearing the end of his thirties, with pepper and salt scattered over his five o clock shadow. It’s what makes it all the more endearing.

“That’s okay,” he says.

He leans closer to you, until he's mouthing the line of your jaw with his soft kisses. Lips moulding over yours, as he playfully nips at your bottom lip. Then he leans even closer, pushing, until the firm weight of his chest has you flat against the mattress and you're willingly pinned down underneath those gorgeous brown eyes of his.

“You make me do real stupid shit too," he tells you.

Your head turns to the side, and you look at the bright lens of your phone staring blankly back at you.

Your face must look pudgy from this angle. Shit, you're not even wearing make up. Did you even properly brush your hair? This is so stupid.

“Don’t think of the camera,” Santiago tells you, pressing a succinct kiss to your lips. “Just focus on me, sweetheart.”

His hand comes to rest on your cheek and he guides you back to his lips, obscuring your line of sight. It's like you have Santiago-blinders on and all you can see is him.

Soft and steady, his hands skim down the sides of your ribs, sliding up the hem of your shirt before his fingertips is brushing up against your bare skin. It tingles, warmth spreading up your spine as Santiago, slowly drags up the fabric up and over the swell of your breasts. Exposing your naked skin to the colder temperature of the room, soothing you with his warm mouth as he presses it up along every inch of skin that is bared to him. Up, up, up, until he pulls the shirt off you completely, until all you're left is in your plain panties, while he is still fully dressed, and he grins down at you.

"Good?" he asks, and you nod back at him as he leans back to pull up his shirt and evens out the playing field for you.

One large hand rests flat against the inside of your thighs, and that helps, the comforting presence of him as he squeezes down firmly with just the right pressure that has tension melting out of you.

Santiago has beautiful hands really. His fingers are long and nimble. In another lifetime, one where his right hand weren't littered with scars left from four different fractures and calluses forged in live gunfire, one could have easily mistaken him for being a classically trained pianist with hands like that. Fingers that playfully flit across your goosebumped skin. Fingers that slide down your hips, along the plump flesh of the inside of your thighs before dipping inside, circling your clit.

You arch and buck into him, keen and writhing. At the first touch of him, he touches just the right note and everything goes blissfully silent in your head. You forget about the camera, forget about any qualms you had.

He goes slow.

Patient, might not be the word to describe Santiago, but he is taking his time. Letting his lips cover, nip and lick down every inch of you as they press downwards from the collar of your neck to the soft slope of your stomach, until you can feel the pleasant scratch of his afternoon stubble graze along the soft skin of your legs.

"Spread your legs for me, cariño," he murmurs as he presses his lips there until you oblige him, and do.

Both his hand comes to rest at your knees, hooking them over his shoulders. Anticipation beats hard beneath your chest.

He's so close to where you need him. Nose practically touching your clit, and you can feel your slick drip down and out of you. Your fingers clutch at the quilts underneath you, waiting, and still there's nothing.

Opening your eyes, you dip down your eyes to Santiago nestled between your legs to see what the hold up is. Then you see it, Santiago, grinning with a sly look into the camera.

"She's so pretty and wet, Frank," he murmurs, as his fingers spread your wet folds wide for himself.

Insufferable brat.

You cant your hips with an impatient scolding whine, "Santiago."

He chuckles, and shifts between your legs, "Sorry cariño, will get right on it. Just got distracted for a bit."

His head leans down again, then all you see is his curls, loose and wild at the top of his head, before you feel his tongue touching down. A long thorough lick that has heat crackling through your veins.

It’s nice and slow, agonizingly so. Different, from what you’re used to. Frankie gets lost in it—in you. Hungry, sloppy and messy in the best of ways. That brilliant, clever brain of his turns off and it’s like the only thing left that he’s able to focus on in this new world of his is to taste you and have you, free of rhyme and reason, acting on instincts alone, guided only by the vibrations of your body and the moans you make.

Santiago is the opposite of that. 

His tongue is more deliberate. Like he’s trying to learn every one of your responses and sear them into his memory. 

Long and graceful fingers, exploratory, like he's trying to map out every inch of you to make sure that there's no territory that's been missed.

Intentional.

Precise and measured.

Santiago is a man who plans every step ahead. Every touch, every whisper, every tantalizing lick. It's in the way he keeps his hands steady underneath your back when your legs start to strain from pushing up towards his mouth. The way he was wearing your favorite red shirt that sits just a little bit too tight on his chest. The way he knew exactly where to drag your armchair to ensure that the angle of the camera would be right.

And as you think it, you realize that even though he brought up the sex tape as an innocent spur-of-the-moment suggestion, the bastard's thought of this way before Frankie had called to check in today.

Fuck, he's played you.

His tongue curls against your clit, flicking up and white sizzling heat spears through your stomach. You gasp, mind wiped clean of thoughts as your fingers curl into his hair.

Fuck, fuck, what were you thinking?

You’re a twitching, aching mess for him. Thighs pressed tight to his ears, as you can feel the tingling heat that starts from your core that spreads outwards and surrounds you in a devastatingly familiar way.

His tongue is a languid, slick slide against your clit. Fingers gracefully coaxing you until you're right where he wants you to be— that pinpoint edge of a slow burning ache that spreads across the entire base of your spine until your legs start to shake in that tell-tale sign of your orgasm.

“Fuck— Santiago, I’m—” you warn, but you can’t even make out complete words to finish your sentence, just indignant whines and sobs that should be shameful but you’re too far gone to care.

Because you’re almost there, so close you can feel it from the tingling sensation that reaches all the way from the very tip of your ears to the curl of your toes—how close you are to coming on that man’s tongue, and then— then— he stops.

He does not let you come.

It takes you a second, maybe two, for your brain to even fully register what has taken place. You rise up on your elbows, to stare down between your legs, where Santiago framed between your thighs, gazing back up at you. Lips curved upwards with amused mischief. Not a grin, no—that bastard is smiling at you, warm and sweet like he hasn’t done anything wrong at all.

“What are you—” you start.

“Not much of a sex tape if we don’t put on a show, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to protest, to give him the tongue lashing of his fucking life. But his fingers curl inside you, brushing against something devastatingly good. Your head drops back against the pillow with a thud, back arching away from your mattress and into his fingers, trying to have more of him, as he is rubbing against that deep spot that is blinding.

White, blistering heat spears through you that have you forgetting all about your indignant anger, have you forgetting what he did and fuck—makes you forget about your own fucking name for a second.

“Fuck, that’s such a pretty sound,” he says, voice feverish and rasped, “You think you can do that for me again?”

You groan impatiently, and Santiago's still smiling up at you, deep dimples burrowing into his cheek. It doesn’t matter that there are greys that are starting to skirt around his temples, or that wrinkles are crinkling in the corner of his eyes. He lights up boyishly, and all at once, you realize that —fuck, it’s embarrassing how much you’re a complete goner for this man.

The things you let him talk you into; the things you let him get away with. The things he’s doing to you right now: clever fingers rubbing-curling-pressing at that perfect place inside of you as he lowers his mouth to you again, his heated gaze never leaving yours.

The tingling heat is back, resuming its outward spread along your trembling limbs. A delicious pressure that builds and builds, more oppressive than last time under Santiago's skilled tongue and even more skillful fingers until you can’t think at all. Until all you can do is to rock your hips up against the heat of his mouth, gasping out his name. You reach out for him, your fingers sliding into his hair of their own volition to tangle and tug him even closer, pressing his face to your aching center.

Santiago doesn’t seem to mind at all. He just huffs out a sound that’s a half laugh, half groan and keeps kissing and pressing and teasing with that very same planned precision that is leading you ever closer to the edge of orgasm.

And then --of course-- he stops again.

An inhuman-sounding noise fills the walls. It takes you a moment before you register, it's coming from you.

"Shh, shh" he hushes, "it's ok sweetheart, you're okay."

Which is utter bullshit, your legs are trembling against the mattress, sweat dripping down your collarbone and you can't feel your toes. You're anything but okay.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this. You know that?” Santiago says.

"I hate you."

He's laughing again, no scratch that, giggling, that bright boyish sound that has a kaleidoscope of butterflies skittering in your stomach even though you're mad enough to kill him.

"No you don't," he rebuts confidently, as he presses his palm flat against your stomach. "You don't hate me, because I'm making you feel good, aren't I sweetheart? Why don't you tell Frankie how good you feel,” he murmurs, and then you feel his tongue press a slow lick inside you.

You don't get a word out, just a high-pitched breathless sound, as you spread your legs wider for him, as if the events from seconds ago had been erased from your mind by the pleasure that floods over you. Letting bygones be bygones, so long as his tongue never stopped. Sweet little circles, his thumb rubs into your hipbone as he gets you closer and closer to where you want to go. He leads you there, with his tongue and fingers, the soft curls bouncing on his forehead tickling against your stomach, until your orgasm is so close you can touch it with your fingertips.

So close you can see it, specks of white behind your eyelids, as you are whimpering out his name.

Then he stops.

He leaves you there suspended. Toeing the edge of a drop, right before a jump, and doesn’t let you go.

You want to scream. You're so close, your body is doing the screaming for you. Thighs aching and burning, tears stinging behind your eyes.

“Nonooo, fuck, Santiago, don’t sto—”

“Ask me nicely, Cariño.” Santiago's mouth is still pressed against your slick core, and you can feel the warm breath of his words against your folds as he says it. It makes you shiver at the sensation. “Ask me nicely, and I'll let you come. I promise.”

You open your eyes, with a sob, as you look down at him. Those gorgeous brown eyes, expecting his usual grin and bravado. Except it's not there, replaced by an intent that burns through your stomach, staring back at you in challenge: Beg.

You won’t, and it’s not just because if you gave in the man’s ego would be large enough to develop its own gravitational pull until it collapsed the very sun itself with it.

It's because you can't let him win.

The two of you have always had this strange competitive relationship. When he pushes you have to pull him back. Because if you give Santiago an inch he gets ahead of himself and will try to take a whole continent. You have to reel him back, and in the end if you’re lucky, he only goes for a mile. Still close enough that he’s not out of your sight. It’s what you’ve always done. It’s why the two of you work.

So of course you can’t beg. That’s just fucking ridiculous, to roll over and present your belly in defeat, to give in to this beautiful bastard is unthinkable to you.

You don’t beg, biting down your bottom lip to physically restrain yourself in your weakest moments when his tongue melts you. Don't beg when his fingers undoes you, unwinding the knot of heat that is blossoming in the depth of your belly, warm and achingly sweet.

You feel drunk on sensation, overstimulated by Santiago's tongue and mouth, as he latches his mouth on your clit again. You're not so sure about anything anymore. Don't know how long you've been here, how long he's done this, brought you to the precipice only to stop and start all over again.

It must be the fourth? Fifth time? Of having been led so close to your release with his tongue, only for him to slow down his strokes. To have his infuriating mouth, move away, and leave a trail of wet, soft kisses against the line of your inner thighs instead. To have him waiting until he knows you’ve climbed down from the very edge of a peak he’s held your hand and led you up to. After all of that, everything becomes a bit foggy and hazy.

It's not that you forfeit as such, you just can't remember doing it — can't remember asking him. But somewhere along the line, you let out a shaky, “ple-please” punctuated with a hiccuping sob.

He smiles.

“There we go. That’s all I wanted. All you needed to do is ask, sweetheart."

There’s an insufferable grin this time as you look down between your thighs. That diamond-cut jawline, belonging to the golden era of Hollywood is now glistening with your slick. He licks his lips like he’s tasting the remnants of something sweet and appetizing that he doesn’t want to go to waste.

After that first defeat, it gets easier. You can’t believe how easy it is as you start pleading and begging. Can barely believe that’s what you’re doing even as you hear your own voice all wanton and needy doing exactly that.

Santiago raises himself to kneel over your spread legs. His fingers are wrapped tight around the base of his cock, stroking himself languidly as he looks down on you.

"Frankie's right, you really are such a good girl, sweetheart. Look at you beg all sweet and nicely. Should I reward you?"

Your eyes are so dazed you’re unable to focus—everything’s a blur. You wonder what you must look like right now. How debauched of an image you must make for the camera— for your husband. Legs spread, slick and dripping, head thrown back, mouth slack and open.

“Please just— Fuck, Santiago, please. Please, I need to come.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and his hand comes to rest on the back of your thighs, warm and sturdy as he draws them up and spreads them.

For all the frustration you should feel at him for taking things this far. For being such an absolute little shit, all you can feel as he pulls you further down the bed until your legs are locked around his waist (right where you two belong), is warmth and relief.

Santiago leans down until his forehead is pressed against yours, grounding you. The contrast between what he’s done— teased and edged, unwound you until you’ve lost any sense of time or thread of your surroundings; and what he’s doing to you right now in this moment—mouthing loving praises against every inch of your skin he can reach with the gentlest care— it tears you apart.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he tells you, his warm hands resting on your inner thigh as he spreads it further apart and crawls up your body to settle between them. “So perfect. Always are.”

Your eyes are drawn to his cock, how it’s proudly jutting between his legs as he strokes it, flushed and dripping with precome from the lack of touch and neglect.

It's only then it hits you, how Santiago has been neglecting his own pleasure throughout. Only focusing on giving you yours.

It’s ridiculous really, how your heartbeat quickens when he’s pressed up against your slick cunt, how needy you are when you feel the blunt hardness of him.

His hands wrap around the thick girth, and then he pushes inside you with his cock.

Fuck you might almost come from that first blissful stroke alone. He nudges insistently against something ruinous inside you that makes your vision whiten. You can't even make any noises, because all the oxygen is knocked out of your lungs. God, why didn’t you beg sooner if this was the prize he was willing to give you.

Santiago's moaning too. Low and gravelly and it’s such a beautiful sound that makes your chest draw tight. Then he rocks his hips into you, a deep and impatient thrust, not holding back. You drown in it. The lack of restraint and how he’s finally giving you what you’ve wanted for so long.

He's close. You grip onto his curls, tightly until it must sting. Just the way you know he likes it from all the time you’ve seen how fast it makes him come when Frankie does it to him, and Santiago groans, hips stuttering into you.

You’re so fucking close, and you tell him exactly that. Confesses it between gasps and heaving sobs. All you want is for him to fuck you harder and deeper, to make you come.

"Please, Santiago, please just—."

The molten heat blossoms and spreads from the base of your spine, upwards, and you're almost there. So full with the sensation that you think you’re going to burst out of yourself along the seams of your skin. You’re close, so close. Heat crackling along every inch of you and—

And then Santiago fucking pulls out.

You must be screaming at him. Want to claw and dig into the man’s curly hair and tear it out by the roots. Curse him to the depths of fucking hell while you’re at it.

But Santiago pulls you up until you're kneeling upright by the edge of the bed. He's murmuring sweet apologies into your ear as he mouths and kisses your neck.

For all the physical anger in you, your body is not pairing up with your brain, because the touch of him lingers with a pleasant tingle. You keen through sobs even as you’re uttering every curse that’s left in your presently limited vocabulary.

His arms wrap tightly around your front, shushing you and it almost sounds sincere if you didn’t know him as well as you do. "Not teasing, cariño, promise."

You don’t buy that, don't buy that for shit. But it doesn't matter if you do or don't, Santiago's hands are already moving to your hips, lining himself up from behind you, his front pressed up against your back.

"I just want Frankie to see you when you come," he murmurs into your ear. His fingers curl gently over the edge of your jaw, turning it so you’re facing straight away from him. “See that?”

Your vision is blurred and it takes you several moments before you’re able to blink and focus on the scene ahead of you. Your phone that’s pointed accusingly at your naked body.

Exhausted, limbs weak to your side like a spent rag doll, with only Santiago propping you up from where your back is pressed against his firm chest.

"I want you to think about it, cariño,” his warm lips are pressed to your ear, a low raspy caress in your core. “Think about Frankie watching this where he is.”

You whimper. Images of Frankie with his large hands and thick fingers, wrapped around his cock burning vividly behind your closed eyes.

You feel the length of Santiago drag against your folds, gathering the wetness that's just dripping onto his cock.

“Think about how he’ll be touching himself in that hotel room. About him watching this and seeing my cock stretch out this perfect pussy."

Then he's pressing inside you again. His palms slide from your breast to your stomach, the rough callouses catching against your heated skin, down and lower. Until you feel his fingers skate across your navel. There's a tingling sensation there until his hands come to the front, cupping your pussy, his fingers gliding over your wet slick clit, over and over. The entirety of your spine burns.

The inevitable steady climb of your orgasm builds and builds and builds after having been denied so many times.

You want it, thighs burning and everything in you aches with the need of it. If you don’t get to come this time you think you might very well die from it.

"Santiago, I swear to god, don't-stop-don't-fucking-stop."

It’s meant as a threat. But the words passing between your lips are breathless and needy. Whiny. Beyond any reasonable doubt it falls squarely on the scale of begging. The worst part is, you don't even care anymore. Because if whining and begging is what it takes for him to actually let you come, you’ll whine for him. You’ll beg and plead and do whatever it is he wants you to do.

Your pride was scattered somewhere between the third or fourth or maybe even fifth time he could have made you come but didn’t.

The sharp line of his nose digs into your heated cheek. Arms locked impossibly tight around you, pressing every inch of you to him, and still, it feels like he’s clutching on trying to press you even closer to him. Like he’s worried that you’ll slip between his fingers if there’s any gap of space between you.

"Not gonna stop cariño.”

His voice has no right to be that sweet and gentle. You can see his expression on the small screen on the phone mirrored back to you and he has no right to look strained and tortured as if he’s the one in pain. He did this to you.

“I want to feel you come on my cock,” he says, and his voice is so quiet and gentle, it almost sounds like a plea. Like he’s the one asking for your permission, begging you to let him feel you. Like the last hour (or was it hours, god knows) had not taken place because of him. “Let's come together ok?"

His other hand comes to your hip, pulling you in closer to him. His hips snaps hard into you. It's so much, almost too much and his fingers are still circling your clit, and– and fuuuuuuuck.

It hits you all at once. Deep and sudden and everywhere, your orgasm overwhelms you, until you can't breathe, can't think, can't move. Sound disappears altogether, and the last thing you think you hear is Santiago's strained voice, distant and far away. You're only able to make out your husband's name and yours amongst the rest of the nonsensical words he's speaking.

The only thing you're capable of is letting Santiago fuck into you, until you can feel his hips stutter into a jerky pace, and the way his cock twitches inside of you as he comes with a strangled groan.

Santiago is snoring quietly when you wake with your ear pressed against his chest. The afternoon sun has dimmed now, replaced by a softer amber that washes the white walls in its sunset hues.

Raising yourself by your elbows, you cast a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand, shit, 5pm, how did you sleep away half the day.

Santiago is how.

"Shit, did we fall asleep?" a raspy murmur comes to your side.

He's rubbing the sleep from his eyes, eyes squinting adorably as he sits himself up and surveys the room and spots the clock much like you did.

"Jesus, five? how did we even--" he grumbles a bit, fingers threading through his hair to try to detangle the absolute mess you've left it in, as he starts to wake.

"Oh, oh shit shit!" he curses and launches himself to the foot of the bed.

You watch him in surprise, as you see him grab the phone.

"Oh thank god," Santiago sighs out and his shoulders sag with relief. He turns back towards you, holding up the phone.

"Left it on when we passed out, thought the battery died and the video didn't save. Fortunately, it's fine, will just have to trim it down so Frankie doesn't have to watch us snoring for hours."

The image of it, Frankie sitting in his hotel, trying to get his rocks off, and instead being greeted by three hour footage of Santiago snoring, has you snorting with a grunt-like laugh.

In front of you, Santiago tilts his head as he just looks at you, with a dopey smile on his face.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing," he says, but the smile, sweet and warmer than the sunset blankets over you and you let it settle over you, without any further quip or remarks for once.

"Wanna grab a bite to eat?" Santiago asks you.

Your tongue salivates at the prospect, images of grilled meats and deep fried spring rolls already flashing before your eyes.

"Oh yes! Can we go to Chinos?"

Santiago smile slips away into a scowl. "Didn't that place get shut down for health violations last month?"

"Yeah, but they reopened this week."

"We're going to end up with food poisoning like that time we went there the night before graduation."

You tip your head, considering him, and you can clearly hear the word that he didn't say. He didn't say no.

Your lips curl into the sweetest smile you can muster as you flutter your eyelashes at him. "How pretty do I have to ask?"

Santiago shakes his head, until he flashes you a toothy smile that crinkles his eyes.

It starts the way so many things start between you and Santiago. It was a stupid idea, and you may have talked Santiago into it.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡��🤡

A/N: I started this piece well over 1 1/2 years ago and it was actually supposed to be the follow up to Coming Home but I got completely stuck at how to write edging scenes, and didn't feel confident enough at the time to finish it. I came back to it this week, realizing that ironically now this is all I write for Santiago, and finished it within an afternoon, and was just so buzzed and happy about it, I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

[hepbaestus]

Thoughts on X-Men Days of Future Past (2014)

Ooo sinister music

Oh no not quarantine again

Humans and Mutants worked together? Nice

The world looks so sad

Yes Charles we are, we're a destructive power that has lived too long

"is the future truly set?" Ooo time travel pog

The credit intro is so cool!

The ships remind me of the ones from Star Wars

Elliot Page?! I didn't know he was in this

Shit those things can take on a Mutant's powers?? Fuck.

Rip these guys I guess

Blink is pretty.

Ayo what the fuck is that the time travel thing??

Man's really did go bald just like he didn't want

Wolverine!! Hugh Jackman, sadly not Ryan Reynolds' favourite Australian anymore

Storm is also so pretty!!

Ian McKellen??

Wait is Mystique dead??

Fuck that's terrible.

Oh wait this has long haired James McAvoy doesn't it??

Elliot's name in this is Kitty Pride? Wow

Just a little sting, eh?

Quoting Charles Xavier, good play

HIM!! I forgot his name, Alex?

Gotta say not a great fight scene

Jennifer Lawrence looks good in military uniform

Oh shit Xavier's school for mutants disbanded?

The scream and then seeing Wolverine flying.

He can walk??

The Piss off. So British I love it.

He thinks it's a dream? That's a fair reaction.

Tragic backstory time 2: electric boogaloo

He's addicted. Fuck.

"Sent me back here together." Charles'reaction

Of course Erik killed JFK

God. The phone book. I remember those.

That's so on-brand for a villain to have a painting where he's seemingly "good" behind the desk

Fuck. Those images.

Quicksilver???

The sound of wolverine's claws (they're bones??? I always thought they were metallic) I hate it

That food looks mank.

Ooooo fancy door

His lil smile. Reminds me of polite cat (r.i.p)

He said mind the glass dipshit

Of course, French chefs

I'm not too keen on his outfit.

"I'm not very good with violence." Immediately punches Erik.

The homoerotic tension between these two. Jesus Christ.

Peter's just a lil guy.

It makes sense why Wolverine's claws are not metal now. Huh. Why didn't I think of that?

The one-sided stare. Jesus Christ just get together already. (I know they don't sadly)

The pose James was in when Erik's yelling at him? I thank the director for that shot.

Jennifer is so pwetty.

Chess, the game to reconcile with the lads.

This film feels like it's going on forever. I'm not even an hour in.

The creation of the Sentinels.

The acrobatics. Holy shit.

Erik no. Don't you dare.

God that must be so painful.

Of course man's just forgets.

Of course, Charles, says the man's on acid and he's having a bad trip. That definitely won't end badly.

Doggies.

"research purposes" of course.

Oh god. Self-sewing his wound? Ew.

Not even a thank you? Wow, Logan.

It's always raining when something sinister is about to happen.

There's no nearly enough dust on the cerebro

The gentle coaxing. My heart.

This is trippy.

Talking to his future self.

Power's back on? No shit Sherlock. It's not as if the lights turned back on now is it?

CGI's kinda iffy here.

But still cool nonetheless.

"Your best is enough." Oof the pain.

It's the star wars looking ships!

AYO??? HES JUST LIFTING AN ENTIRE STADIUM

Oh shit , just a light stab wound for Erik

R.i.p Storm

Ouchie

Ouchie pt.2

Somehow the cameras still work

That close-up shot of Logan's eye.

Logan has grey hairs, ooooo me likey

Kitty Pryde as a teacher? Nice.

Logan's so confused.

Jean? (Admittedly, I have watched the wolverine films so idk much about her at all).

Overall score: 4.5/10 felt like it dragged on for too long.

Recommendations welcome!

[ragingbookdragon]

I Saw It Coming When You Threw The First Punch

Batmom x Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Violence

Author's Note: I honestly feel like I get my irritation from people out by writing stories where the characters punch people. I live vicariously through my characters. Enjoy! -Thorne

Getting the call that his wife had been taken into GCPD custody was not one that Bruce had ever expected to receive. Not in a million years. And yet, low and behold, Gordon had called sounding apologetic that she’d been detained after a physical altercation at the gala she’d hosted earlier that evening.

Which was absolutely baffling to him, because the only person more anal retentive about screwing up at a gala than Alfred, was his wife. So, something must’ve seriously set her off if she’d hauled off on somebody. And Gordon had made it quite clear that it was his wife that threw the first punch, though beyond that, he didn’t know what else had occurred because she’d invoked her rights to the company lawyer and to remain silent, simply staring at the wall while the other officers tried to get a story out of her—Bruce knew she wouldn’t crack. Other than him, his wife had a reserve that no man, alien, or god could break. He’d never say it, but he was envious of his wife’s willpower.

He arrived rather quickly with all four sons in tow, knowing that the sight of the entire family would probably help her chances of getting out and they waited patiently to be escorted to where she was being held.

When they arrived at the interrogation room, they saw her sitting there with crossed legs, hands placed palm down on the table. Her eyes were closed in what Bruce recognized as her deep meditative state; the one she used to fight off telepathic control from enemies—she was probably recounting what happened that night.

“What are the charges?” he asked Gordon and the older man sighed.

“Simple battery and public disturbance.”

Bruce hummed lowly in his throat and gazed at his wife. “How do you see this playing out for her?”

“If the woman she keelhauled doesn’t press charges, there’s possibility of probation with community service.”

He had to play naïve. “And if she does?”

Gordon met his gaze. “Then you’re looking at your wife going into lockup for a year.”

Bruce let out a sigh. “I’ll call our lawyer then.”

“I’ll give you and your wife some privacy,” he replied, hitting a button on the keypad beside the door, and the glass went dark while the glowing red button recording the room turned off.

“Thank you, Gordon,” he said, and the detective waved as he walked off, closing the door to the interrogation room behind him. Bruce looked at his sons. “Let’s go see what set your mom off tonight.”

***

The door to the room opened but she didn’t open her eyes, still under the cold water in her retreat.

“(Y/N),” someone murmured and though the voice was familiar, she didn’t come to yet.

“(Y/N),” they repeated a bit firmer. “Come back up.”

Ever so slowly, she allowed her mind to come back from the deep waters and she opened her eyes, smiling at her husband and sons.

“Good evening family.” Damian immediately sprinted to her and buried his face in her neck, and she laughed, running a hand through his short dark hair. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“You are in trouble,” he murmured and pulled away to look into her eyes. “We will do whatever you need, Umi.”

(Y/N) snorted. “Don’t worry about me baby. Knowing Little Miss Martha May, she’s not going to press charges over our spat.”

“I think simple battery is bit more than a spat, mom,” Dick worried, brows furrowing in concern. “What did you two even start fighting about?”

Her eyes darted to the glass then to Bruce and he said, “Gordon turned off the cameras.”

“Mom,” Tim started, and she looked at him; he held up his phone screen. “I just assured that you’re protected here.”

She nodded and let out a sigh. “I knew I should’ve just walked away but I couldn’t help it. She just set me off like a match to gunpowder.”

“What’d you guys even duke it out over,” Jason questioned, and she sighed again, recounting the night.

***

“You’ve thrown another wonderful party, Miss Wayne,” Lucius murmured, handing her a champagne glass.

She grinned widely, thanking him. “Thank you, Lucius, I try.”

“Clan couldn’t come tonight?”

“You’ve always been perceptive about us, haven’t you?”

“To use your words, I try,” he laughed, and she nodded.

“Patrol started early tonight,” she said inconspicuously, eyes shifting around to glance at who was walking near them. “Besides, most of them only come to these to appease the crowd.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot that you’re the only one who actually enjoys these.”

“Only when Bruce and the kids are here,” she corrected. “It’s easier to bullshit when they’re here to pick up the slack.”

He barked a laugh and she chuckled in return when someone walked up to them. She turned and immediately grimaced at the old classmate of hers.

“(Y/N), such a beautiful party you’ve thrown tonight,” the woman greeted, though it was laced with cheerful fakeness.

She plastered a smile on her face. “Good evening, Marianne. I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

“Oh, you know me, I’m always up for a party.” Her eyes drifted around. “Where is your husband? I wanted to thank him for the gift basket he sent after my operation.” Marianne gave her a sarcastic smile. “Isn’t it rather off for a host to avoid his own party?”

Note to self, yell at Bruce for sending her a gift.

“He had to work late tonight. So did the boys.” (Y/N) matched her smile. “I’m sure they’d be delighted to know that you thought of them though.”

Something shifted in Marianne’s eyes. “Oh yes, the children you have.” She leaned in close and murmured, “You know I’ve been hearing some rather negative rumors about yours and Bruce’s decision to adopt orphans rather than have some of your own.”

(Y/N) blinked, not sure if she should be shocked or unimpressed. “Really? Care to enlighten me?”

Marianne waved a hand. “The major one is that you simply took pity on the strays because you were barren.” She felt like she’d been slapped across the face and her jaw dropped as she gaped at the woman.

Apparently, that was all the ammunition that Marianne needed because she offered a sympathetic smile an placed a hand on (Y/N)’s arm. “Oh, you poor dear.” She patted her arm again. “You should’ve come to me instead of adopting orphans. I would’ve been happy to be a surrogate for you.”

(Y/N) shrugged the hand off her arm and reached up, pulling the silver teardrop earrings from her ears. “Yeah, those orphans aren’t mine, not biologically.”

She pulled off her diamond wedding rings and handed them and the earrings over to Lucius who took them and stepped back.

“But you know what they are?” she glowered at Marianne and seethed, “They’re my sons.”

The next thing anyone knew, the two women were rolling on the floor, their hostess throwing punches that seemed to make everyone wince when they connected to the woman’s face.

***

“And all I remember was being escorted down here,” she finalized, eyes drifting to Bruce’s.

He simply stared at her for a moment before he let out a heavy sigh and put his face in his hands. “I’m proud that you defended our family, but at the same time, I’m disappointed that you let Marianne set you off.”

(Y/N) crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, so you’re taking her side?”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Bruce shot back. “If she decides to press charges, you’re going to be in lockup for a year.”

“She’s not.”

“You don’t know that, (Y/N).”

“No, I do,” she blinked and leaned forward. “If Marianne doesn’t want me to ruin her image with shit she did when she was a teenager, she’ll keep her mouth shut and take the blame for this.”

“What’d she do, Ma?” Jason questioned curiously and she turned her attention to him.

“Enough that’ll disgrace her image amongst every elite this side of the globe if she tries me anymore.”

Before anyone could say anything, the door opened and they turned, seeing Gordon walking in. “Good evening, Miss Wayne,” he greeted, and she smiled.

“Good evening, Jim. How’s your night so far?”

He chuckled. “Not too bad. I got to detain my favorite socialite and listen to all my officers speculate what she did.”

(Y/N) lifted her hands palm up beside her shoulders. “I live to please, Jim, you know that.”

“I do.” He walked over and handed her a few papers. “When asked if she wanted to press charges, Marianne Walters declined. She instead gave a rather detailed statement that she instigated the fight and threw the first punch.” He stared at the busted lip she had. “Does that match what happened?”

She quickly looked over the papers and nodded. “Yes, that’s true.”

Gordon sighed. “Do you wish to press charges?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “No,” she smiled. “There’s no reason to make a fuss about this.”

“…Miss Wayne, you and Miss Walters are all over the news.”

She shrugged. “And people have very short memories. They’ll forget about this.” She handed back the papers. “Send this to my lawyer and she’ll handle it with the prosecutors.”

“You think they won’t press charges despite Walters?” Gordon asked and she nodded.

“Oh, they won’t,” she said then looked at the clock. “Am I free to leave? It’s been a long night.”

Gordon let out a heavy sigh and nodded. “Yes Miss Wayne, you’re free to leave now.”

(Y/N) rose. “Wonderful.” She looked at her sons. “Boys, let’s go.”

They followed her and Bruce stood from the table, standing beside Gordon. “Thank you, Jim.”

Gordon grunted. “I know (Y/N) threw the first punch.”

“You do?”

“Of course, I do.” He huffed. “And I don’t blame her either.” He watched (Y/N) laugh at something Dick said while the others groaned around him. “You’ve got a good woman, Bruce. Good wife. Even better mother.”

Bruce looked at his wife and let an easy smile cross his lips as she pulled them all into hugs. “Yeah…yeah, I do, don’t I.”

[creatureshrieks]

The rock in his stomach only seemed to grow heavier as the otherspoke, the idea that all he'd been doing to correct his mistakes had just been yet another one he was making. He could try to argue, but of course all his excuses would be shot down. He was right, he needed to play it safe, play it normal. He had to stop looking over his shoulder before someone gave him a real reason to. This wasn't the first time Kurt had done this, though it was the closest he'd ever come to being caught. He supposed, if he was to be honest, he might be trying too hard. He needed to impress Ghost Face, he had to be someone worth his while. He needed to do better, even if it meant taking it easy. Or, at least, looking like he was.

Kurt allows himself a slow, soft exhale. He needed to get a hold of himself. He wasn't pretending, this wasn't his first kill. He wasn't some idiot throwing around a knife hoping to stick it in someone. He got this far, he killed a cop! He killed strangers! He killed his own mother! He could do this.

Kurt doesn't reply immediately, instead taking a moment to look around the neighborhood they were at. A nice little suburbia, out of the way of the main streets. Quaint, quiet, the perfect place to raise kids. Everyone worked a 9-5. He figured if he pried back the walls, everyone probably looked the same too. He catches a sign in the distance, a house sold. He wonders, briefly, about a woman he met before. Oblivious, too caught up in her phone. Didn't even say hello, just shoved her shit in his car and died without him even needing to convince her. A realtor, probably living in a place like this.

" ...I need to find a good target, " His voice is quiet, his mind focused on the task at hand. " If I'm going for maximum impact... you need the right person. Killing anyone gets people talking, sure, but... I mean, I go after someone old, it means I don't think I can take someone who could fight back, right? I could go after someone single, too, but... that doesn't have the same ring to it as killing an entire family, " Dark, but Kurt never would've gotten where he was if he was squeamish.

" Uh... places like these are higher risk. Middle class, I think. They tend to have dogs, but not like my dogs. Family dogs, but they'll still bark. You've got to be careful of cameras around places like this too... " Kurt takes a second then to look at the telephone poles and the eaves of the nearby houses. Cameras needed to go in specific locations for maximum coverage.

" I need to find someone that could get the message across for me... then I'll need to watch them. They probably have schedules, predictable ones. Same hours, every day. Office jobs, probably... you can tell by the cars they have what to expect, too. Sedans, minivans, even SUVs usually mean kids, usually means they've got school. Two cars means someone works when the kids are gone, so... means the house'll be empty or one person's home at a time. "

Kurt looks back at him then, as if he was a dog waiting for the next command. Or praise.

“You’re being too careful,” he replies back, pulling into the empty parking lot of a playground. It’s the middle of the day and the middle of the week, everyone is either at work or school, they have the area to themselves.. Now wouldn’t that be a spectacle; leave Kurt’s corpse strung up between the climbing bars. It would be too out of the ordinary for his tastes, but then again, so was Kurt. He shoves that intrusive thought off to the side.

Turning and pulling the keys from the ignition Danny stares at Kurt, expression unreadable for a brief moment before it almost seems to soften. 

“You have something to hide, and you are making it obvious. The boring people that want you locked away or shot between the eyes could spot it a mile away. You need to play by their rules. What you did to keep them off your trail was enough, but if they come snooping around and see you are acting like someone who doesn’t want to be found out, chances are they will come knocking. Relax, enjoy your freedom, or at least make it less apparent that it isn’t deserved.” 

Shaking his head and raising a hand to slick back his hair, Danny stares out his open window. This guy could dispose of a body, keep far from witnessing eyes, but it did not excuse the fact that he had nearly been caught. The detective followed the leads from a stray camera that caught the car in the act. A mistake, and nearly a fatal one for Kurt.

“I have been watching them as often as I watched you. A few pigs keep coming around the junkyard. In typical fashion they don’t believe what everyone else is saying and want to be the hero of the story. You are going to get them looking elsewhere.” 

“The last one was big, high profile,” and an accident, but he doesn’t mention that. Danny would love nothing more than to put behind him that fit of anger. He couldn’t deny though how nice it had felt to simply let loose on an annoyance. All police were the same; they couldn’t see his bigger picture, how much he was enriching their everyday mundane lives, and giving them something worth being thankful for. 

“While I was driving, did you make note of the neighborhood we were in?” 

His eyes roam over the plain houses. White, grey, white, beige, white, white- dull colors for dull people. Them and their snug little slice of pie in the heart of residential California, just begging for a break in the monotony. 

“The houses, the yards, the careful tending to flowers that will wilt in another month. People don’t lock their doors around here. They have fallen into the trap of complacency. You are going to remind them that safety is an illusion made by the human condition.” 

"What are you going to do first?"

[darklydeliciousdesires]

From Blood, Love and Courage - Chapter Thirteen.

Big thank you for all the feedback on this, guys! I know these chapters are difficult, so I appreciate you all for sticking with it. 25 notes are needed to unlock the next one. Y’all know what to do!

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve

Words - 4,756

Tag list - In the comments, please message to be added/removed

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

“Hey, brother,” Bishop greeted Angel with at his front door, hugging him tightly, Taza doing the same as he stepped inside. “How’s she doing? And you, too.”

They all sat down, Angel sighing, rubbing his forehead with his thumb. He looked exhausted. “She’s sleeping, finally. Relented and took a pill, even though she was scared to do so. Every time she fell asleep without them last night, she had nightmares, woke up screaming, so she was scared that if she took one, she might dream and not be able to wake up. She’s been out for around six hours, though, and so far so good. As for me, tired, but this ain’t about me. It’s all about her right now.”

The men nodded, Bishop pulling out his cigarettes and lighting one up. “Take as much time as you need, to be with her, until she starts feeling better. We have things handled. We’re gonna find who did this, but I can’t let it take over us entirely, Angel. We have too much heat with the cartel, too much shit there to give this our full focus, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t gonna find the guy who did this, because we will.”

“Guy’s, plural,” Angel corrected. “It was three of them.”  

Their faces crumpled in the wake of hearing that. “What the...” Bishop began, shaking his head. Taza sat stony, shaking his head slowly. Three... the idea of one was bad enough, but three? “Did she get a look at any of ‘em?”

Angel sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Nope, all wore balaclavas. All she could tell was two were white and one was black, and the black guy had gold grills on his teeth. That was it.”

“I don’t wanna be that guy who makes assumptions on race or aesthetics, but what do you think? Banger?”

He shrugged. “Could just be some dude into hip hop culture, who the fuck knows? She didn’t really give me much to go on, the car they drove was dark red or purple, and she thought Chevrolet. Ain’t no CCTV cameras out on the streets, but she thinks it happened by the food warehouse, I presume it was Delgado’s, it’s the only one on that street which borders an alleyway.”

Bishop nodded. “We’ll call in there on our way back, see if they have CCTV looking into the alleyway, get the footage from the previous night and run it back, see if we can find anything of use.”  

Angel was quiet for a few moments, before something hit him like a bolt of lightning, information that hadn’t immediately penetrated his thinking when it had been relayed to him by Lily in the early hours. “Her phone. They took her phone.” He shot out of his seat, entering the bedroom quietly, retrieving his phone and coming back out. “I can’t fucking believe I didn’t think of this before. She’s always losing her damned phone, usually leaving it in her car or losing it down the couch cushions.”  

He opened the find my iPhone app, clicking on Lily’s device details, waiting for the screen to load. If they’d taken her phone with them, of course, it’d show them exactly where her attackers were. The map loaded, Angel sighing. “Fuck.” Bishop and Taza looked expectant. “The map is showing it’s still close to the same place they grabbed her. They probably threw it into a dumpster or down the drain or something. Either way, they don’t have it.”  

Just then, they were joined by Lily, looking very sleepy still, buttoning up the red and black plaid shirt of Angel’s she’d borrowed when she realised they had company. It was horrible, watching her limping over to them. She looked so broken, both physically and mentally, her face drained of anything resembling her usual sparkle.

“Hey sweetheart, how’d you sleep?” Bishop asked, relieved to see her looking much less traumatised than she had, but sad when he took in her bruised, swollen face, and her legs that looked like she’d been kicked by an angry mule.  

“I think I’m still half there,” she spoke, a small smile tilting her lips as he reached for her fingers, giving them a soft squeeze which she reciprocated.  

“Can I give you a gentle hug?” Maggie had told him of her injuries when she’d arrived home, Bishop lying there in bed feeling horrified to hear the details, as naturally anyone with a heart would. She nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist when he stood. “We’ll find them, we will. They won’t get away with what they did.” he promised, kissing atop her head, Lily looking up and nodding.  

“I know. Thank you.” She reached up and kissed his cheek, moving to greet Taza, who hugged her with equal gentleness, Lily closing her eyes, breathing in his scent. When she’d been all alone in the dark of her trauma, it had been him to find her and lead her back out. What he’d done for her, it had been everything her poor, traumatised state hadn’t known she needed, but those actions, his words, they’d been instrumental in helping her realise she was safe. “Thank you for looking after me. I love you.” she whispered, stroking his cheek.

He kissed her forehead fondly. “I love you too, Lilypad.” Sitting down again, he was surprised when she took a seat beside him, lifting his arm and winding it around herself, resting her head against his chest. He cuddled her, smiling sadly, Angel viewing the scene and feeling a little glimmer of relief. At least she still trusted some men in the wake of what had happened to her. Then again, he saw clearly that Taza had become like a father to her, and after suffering something so horrific, something she needed was the closest thing she had to a dad to comfort her. He was most definitely that.

“I know you might not want to talk about it, or relive it any more than you likely already are, but is there anything else you can tell us about the guys, baby? Angel relayed to us what you explained to him, but the more we have to go on, the better the chances we have of finding them quickly. If you can’t, that’s okay. Everything in your own time.”  

They were there to help her, she knew that, and she knew no matter how scary it was to relive it, she had to think hard, to give them something, anything. Those guys, they were walking around out there without a single care, free to do it again to another woman. She couldn’t let that happen if she could help it.  

She tried, attempting to focus, pull something from her memory, but her body put a stop to it when a huge shiver ripped through her, curling tighter against Taza, who stroked her hair in soothing. “Stop, it’s too much. You’re not ready yet, it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry.”

He tutted softly, two other sets of dark, sympathetic eyes upon her thinking exactly the same words that Taza spoke to her. “Don’t you ever say that again, because you’ve nothing to be sorry for at all, alright?” She nodded, sighing. They didn’t stay much longer, needing to carry on with club affairs after doing to negotiate the handing over of the CCTV footage they needed, Angel sending Taza a screenshot of the location of Lily’s phone, so he could look around and retrieve it for her.  

It was brought back to her later that evening by EZ, Jodie with him, her friend bursting into tears as soon as she saw Lily, rushing to where she was on the sofa and bundling her in a careful hug. “I’m so sorry, honey. Oh my god, look what they did, those bastards. I love you so much.” she cried softly, Angel jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen, leaving the girls to talk among themselves.  

“How’s she doing?” EZ asked, taking the beer his brother offered.  

“Up and down,” Angel began, sitting at the small table. “She ain’t her right now, not at all. Doesn’t talk much, keeps breaking down, wants to be asleep a lot so she don’t gotta deal with it, but equally is terrified of it in case she has a nightmare, like she did last night. And then there’s all the pain she’s in. Even with painkillers, she winces, cries out sometimes, can’t really get comfy. It’s... fuck. It’s fucked up, man. They fucking literally ripped her apart. They tore all the petals off of my Lily.”

EZ reached for his arm, squeezing tightly, Angel’s analogy about torn petals hitting him hard in the chest. “If there’s anything I can do, just say the word. You guys alright for groceries and all that? Does Lily have everything she needs?”

He was touched by the concern shown by his brother, Angel thinking on it. “We’re fine for everything, but I guess Lily could probably do with more clothes.” He then thought on it more. “I know it’s a big ask, but could you take the van to her place and bring Charlie back here? His cage is enormous, it won’t fit in Jodie’s car. I’d go over there and get him myself, but I can’t leave her. She goes into panic if she can’t see or hear me. I went for a piss in the early hours of this morning and she had a full-on meltdown to have woken up without me there.”

“Yeah, I’ll go back to the clubhouse as soon as we leave and get in the van, take Jodie up there with me.”

Angel’s lips thinned a little. “Do that, but don’t count of her being of help trying to get Charlie out. He don’t like her. He’s fussy, but he can be bribed with snacks, grapes and trail mix are his favourites. Just tap your shoulder and he should jump right out, but have a second person there with a towel to grab him and put him into his carry bag. Also, don’t get the carry bag out right away because if he sees it, he’ll refuse to leave the cage. He’ll think you’re taking him to the vet, which he hates.”

EZ nodded, wishing in that moment that Lily had a dog. Dogs were easier than the parrot with attitude in shades he’d heard plenty about. He’d do it without question, though, roping in the efforts of a third, Jodie getting a list from Lily of stuff she wanted her to bring back before they left. Within the hour, they’d gotten the van sorted, found a third semi-willing person to help, and were within Lily’s apartment, EZ trying his best with a very reluctant Charlie.  

“You want this? Come on, come out and get it,” he spoke to the bird softly, Charlie pacing, unimpressed at the presence of one person he didn’t like, and two he didn’t even know.  

“Mama!”

“I’m going to take her to you, she’s at Angel’s place.”

“Bro time!”  

“Yeah, but you have to come out first. Come on,” he further encouraged, Charlie stepping nearer, eyeing the piece of grape EZ held. Just when he thought he was about to take it... “Son of a!” he exclaimed, pulling his hand away, Charlie whistling and shouting in triumph for having taken a chunk out of EZ’s hand.  

“Yo, that bird means business, homes,” Coco spoke, towel draped over his shoulder, ready to try and grab him once EZ had him out... not that he expected such to happen quickly.  

“Fuck you!”  

“Yeah, fuck you too for biting me!” EZ exclaimed softly, sucking his bloodied finger, Charlie now in full on, nonsensical jabbering mode, pacing his cage angrily.  

Coco looked on with wide eyes “He sounds possessed!” he neared the cage, his mouth comically downturned, grabbing the trail mix box and shaking it. “Hey, homeslice! You want this?”

“Mama!”

“Yeah, we gotta take you to where she’s at, man! Come on, Charlie, come get your eats.” He took the lid from the Tupperware box, holding it out, Jodie sitting back on the couch, trying not to laugh. The bird neared the open cage door, side stepping with caution, eyeing the two men suspiciously. He leaned over, head near the box, Coco swapping the hand holding it and putting his arm by the door, slowly moving the food away, Charlie finally stepping onto his arm. “Get the towel, but slow, man, so he don’t get suss.”  

As soon as EZ moved, Charlie suddenly flew at him, biting his arm and hand again. Because he had wing damage from a previous botched job at clipping one of his wings in his previous home (Lily had gotten him as a rescue) he couldn’t fly far, and only in a circle, but that did nothing to stop him escaping across the room and hiding beneath a table, jabbering angrily, shouting fuck on repeat before slipping away underneath the couch.  

“Well, he’s out of the cage,” Jodie shrugged.

“You might not want to look so entertained by all of this, honey,” EZ spoke, narrowing his eyes at her, smiling eventually when she blew him a kiss and stood up.  

“Jodie, you lift the other end of the couch, EZ, you grab him,” Coco asserted.

EZ grasped his kutte, raising his eyebrows. “I think Charlie has made it clear that I’m not his favourite person. Here, I’ll take the couch, you grab the bird.”

“Aw, hell, man!” It made sense, though, he supposed, since Charlie had actually come to him in the first place. Grabbing the towel, he crouched down, Jodie and EZ grasping the couch and lifting, Coco impressed that EZ’s girl was stronger than she appeared, quickly diving at Charlie and managing to secure him within the hug of the dark blue towel. “Bag! Get the damned bag!”

Jodie put her end of the sofa down, pulling out his travel bag from the shelf beneath the huge cage, unzipping it, Coco carefully and quickly stuffing him in there, the towel too before she zipped it, Charlie making angry sounds of protest from within. Coco pulled out his phone, about to send Angel a message with the news that the bird had been secured, seeing another message from him, cringing a little.  

“What?” EZ asked, nodding at his phone.

“Ahh, Angel messaged me. He said if he’s being difficult to put on oven mitts, stop him from being able to bite.”

He was incredulous in the face of this information. “And you’re telling me that now, after the little bastard bit me three times?”

Coco grinned a little nervously. “My bad!”

With Jodie carrying a disgruntled Charlie in one hand, a bag of Lily’s things over her shoulder and Charlie’s day perch in the other, the guys followed her out, each at one end of the huge cage, wondering how to negotiate the narrow staircase with it, since Lily’s apartment block didn’t have an elevator.  

“I swear, if you tell me to pivot, I will fucking end you, bro.” Coco spoke as they turned, bringing the top down so it didn’t hit the light.  

“I’m not Ross Geller and this isn’t a couch, so you’re good.” EZ laughed, Coco bracing his shoulder against the frame as they carefully turned and took the next flight of stairs. Thank fuck Lily only lived on the third floor.  

The effort was worth it when they arrived at Angel’s, setting up the cage while Jodie handed Charlie over, Lily undoing the zip fastener of his bag, the bird scampering out. “Mama! Mama, mama, mama!” he called repeatedly with joy, bouncing up her arm.

“Hey honey, hey. I missed you so much, yes, I did,” she cooed softly, Charlie settling upon her chest. It was the first time Angel had seen her actually smile properly, and in that moment, he knew he’d done right by requesting for Charlie be brought over. “Any issues?” she asked, stroking under his wing as he clicked his beak happily.  

“Angel’s message about the oven mitts wasn’t read in time to prevent him biting me,” EZ began side eyeing Coco, “but it’s all good. You got band aids, Angel?”  

Angel snorted softly, sitting down next to Lily. “Hurts, don’t it?”

“That beak is like a razor.”

His eyes widened, pointing across his apartment. “Bathroom cupboard.” Once he’d gotten himself patched up, the three left, Lily thanking them for their efforts, changing into her pyjamas that Jodie had brought over for her and taking a seat on the couch. She was a little fuzzy headed from the second painkiller dose, but still very sore between her legs.  

“Do you wanna rest your legs up on me? Would that help?”  

She was touched as ever by his concern and willingness to help. However, what she needed him to help her with, she truly didn’t want to ask.

“It’s because I need a pee, and I’m too scared to go and take one. It burns so much,” she confessed, Angel a little confused.

“We got numbing cream, though?” He’d fetched it out of the bathroom cupboard specifically so it would be there for her to use. He couldn’t help but note the stark contrast, though. Usually, it would be used by him to numb the end of his dick to the point where he could rail her around the bedroom for hours. Never once did it think it would be used for what it now sat there in wait of.

Lily looked uncomfortable, blinking rapidly, her mouth twisting into a grimace. “I know, but I can’t. I don’t want to... can’t touch myself, to put it on. I just...” she shook her head, letting her hair fall in front of her face.  

She didn’t even need to ask the question. “Do you want me to put it on for you?”  

She nodded, Angel picked Charlie up, putting him on his day perch and then taking her hand, leading her to the bathroom. “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to see. It feels bad, so I can’t even imagine how it looks. It’ll likely put you off ever going back down there again for life.” she muttered, her voice shaking, Angel stopping her, wrapping her in a careful hug.  

“Don’t you ever, ever think that. Alright?” he began, stroking her face lovingly. “I love you, every last inch of you, whether broken or not, every part of you to me is beautiful, and nothing changes that.” She nodded, walking to the toilet and closing the lid, taking her pj bottoms off while Angel washed his hands thoroughly. He braced himself, for what he was likely to see, but once he got level with the mess she’d been left in... nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.  

He took a deep breath, steeling himself, applying the cream, feeling like his insides were tearing in two. Seeing it, what they’d done, it made it even more real.

“Hey, it’s okay, baby,” Lily soothed, watching him unable to hold the tears back.  

“No, no it isn’t,” he sniffed, Lily pulling him up as she stood, putting her arms around him as he cried on her shoulder. “I can’t break down! I have to be the strong one, be there for you! None of it is okay, seeing it up close, what they fucking did to you. What they did, fuck! Fuck!” he continued to cry, anger flooding him. “They will die in pain, this I fucking promise you, sweet pea. Horrific fucking agony for daring to put you through that.”  

“Shhh, I know, I know. And this affects you as well, it isn’t just me. I want to be here for you in all of this, too,” she soothed, hands rubbing his back.  

“Nah, nah. I gotta fucking man up, I can’t fall apart.” He took a deep breath, pulling back, drying his eyes on the back of his hand. Lily knew then that this is how he had to deal with it, get over all the emotions that had been stirred by what had happened to her; he had to be the strong one, the pillar, the protector.  

“And you’re what’s getting me through, you are,” she stated emphatically. “It’s okay for it to be too much at times, though, and I want you to remember that, alright?”

He nodded, kissing her head, turning to rinse his hands again before his fingertips went numb, Lily turning and sitting back down to take a pee with a relieved sigh; she didn’t feel a thing. If only numbing cream would be applied to her heart and mind, where she felt everything entirely too sharply. Heading back to the lounge, she lay against him on the couch, the comfort of her blanket that Jodie had brought too swathing them both, having another little cry against his chest.

Gladly, she dozed off, but it wasn’t for long, being awoken from nightmares to the sound of her own screams, Angel rushing from the kitchen to wrap her in his arms, the only place she truly felt safe. As long as he held her, nothing bad could happen. No one could ger to her. Once again, she lay against his chest, stroking the smooth skin, the scent of him making her feel comforted.  

After she’d settled, they sat and ate dinner, Lily only really picking at the plate of chicken and vegetables before her, her appetite extremely diminished. He didn’t press about it. She’d eat when she was hungry. By the third day after her ordeal, though, with her only nibbling at rice crackers and granola bars, he started to become concerned.  

“Protein shakes,” Maggie began, after she’d returned his call once done seeing a patient. “Long term they aren’t ideal, but at least you’ll be getting calories into her. How’s she doing today?”

“Those I can do, I have about five different types of protein powder here. As for how she’s doing, still up and down. She had a mute day yesterday, just sat there staring, I couldn’t reach her at all. This morning she’s been a little chattier, though. She put Charlie in his harness and took him outside just now, so she’s getting better about me not always having to be so close by. There’s no way she’s ready to be left by herself yet, though. She’s still too emotional.”

“What did you say to explain her absence at work, and the gym?” she asked, rifling through her desk drawer for her aspirin. She had a headache, Cady keeping her awake for most of the night, this time convinced her wardrobe was a time machine, and she was going back to ‘lay siege on the bad men!’ as she’d put it, her toy guns and sword strapped to her. Bishop had taken over at 3:30am once he’d arrived home.

“That she was beaten up and robbed, and didn’t get a look at the guys. In the interests of not too many people asking questions, that’s what we’re telling everyone other than close friends, making it look like it sadly can’t be solved. Mentioning rape brings up all the DNA shit, plus the fact Lily doesn’t want a bunch of people knowing either. She’s ashamed, poor thing.” His shoulders dropped as he sighed, the movement doing little to counteract the tension he felt. It was tough, looking after a rape victim, exhausting, if he was honest, but it wasn’t about him or what he felt, and he’d never make complaint. He had to be there for her, for everything she needed.  

“Well, Obispo has been looking into it in his own time, even used Josh���s copy of Photoshop to see if he could get a anything clearer from the CCTV footage. Nothing as yet, though. With balaclavas, they’re just not easily distinguished.” Maggie lamented, Angel feeling something pull in his chest, that his president had done such for them. It was a gesture he’d be sure to show his gratitude over. With the car being a stolen vehicle, they had very, very little to go on, and it made Angel feel useless, especially since any noises at night made Lily stir and immediately think it was them, coming back to do it all over again.

They’d ruled out any retaliation from the cartel (absolutely not their style) or other clubs (Lily would have been given a message if it had of, they would have been told the direction it had come in and why) so that left them with very few leads. He saw how much it haunted her, too, hanging over her constantly as she tried to piece her life back together in the wake of it.  

A week after it had happened, she finally felt okay with the idea of leaving the house, Angel taking her down to the clubhouse, where she had many big hugs from many big guys waiting for her upon her arrival. Like normal, there was one she gravitated towards, seating herself on the couch, Taza taking hold of her hand.  

“How’s my champ?”

Her sigh of lamentation answered his question before she’d even spoke. “Shit. I still can’t sleep properly unless I take the pills, and they make me feel so groggy after I’ve woken up that I don’t like relying on them. At least I’m starting to heal, though, wounds wise. Everything is a little less sore than it was. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to go on after all of this. The idea of going back to work, or being anywhere Angel isn’t, and I just start trembling and can’t stop. Even here, with you guys, who I all love and trust, I don’t quite feel right.”

Taza was thoughtful for a few moments. “Would a support group help, perhaps? For you to sit and discuss it with other women who have gone through the same ordeal as yourself?”

Her eyes immediately widened, startled at the very idea. “No, no. I can’t talk about it. I told Angel what happened and that’s the last time I ever want to explain it.” She paused, squeezing his hand. “I didn’t mean for that to come out as sharply as it did.”  

He cocked his head, hand squeezing hers in return. “Like I’ve told you so far, you don’t have to ever say a single thing about it if you’re not ready to. I just thought perhaps, and you wouldn’t even need to go into detail over what happened, women who had experienced it as well could share advice on how to cope, to be able to carry on in the wake of it. If you don’t want to, though, then no one will force you into it.”  

It had been a big step for her to leave the house, let alone go anywhere that wasn’t a place she was familiar with. She knew Taza was merely trying to help, and his words did sink in a little, Lily wondering if maybe it might be a good idea eventually, when she was feeling up to it. She knew she had to go back to as much of a normal existence as possible sooner or later, and give Angel back his life as well, since she still couldn’t deal with the idea of him not being close to her. The previous morning, she’d awoken to an empty bed, flying into blind panic when she hadn’t been able to find him in the house, only for him to step back through the front door after going out to do a simple repair on his bike. It had taken her a whole hour to calm down again.  

Such were her feelings of unease, she was only able to stay for a further hour, starting to panic when a few hangers on turned up at the clubhouse, people she didn’t recognise, bolting through the bathroom door and locking herself in when a couple of other Mayans from Yuma showed up unexpectedly. It took Angel twenty minutes to coax her back out again.  

“You must be tired of this,” she sighed, once they’ve arrived back at his.  

He put his arms around her, kissing her hair. “Never, you understand? However long this takes, I’m gonna get you through it. We’re in this together, you hear?”  

She did, but she knew that in order to get through it, she’d need to eventually stop seeing him as her security blanket.  

Such was much easier said than done.

[captains-simp]

hello i love your work!! can you do a part 2 to worth our time? :”) maybe wherein carol is actually getting soft for the reader and wants to be together but the reader is hesitant bc of carol being known as a player? maybe some jealous carol as well? 😳😳

Soft!jock!Carol is a god tier idea and I really hope I did it justice

Shout out to @wlwmarvelenthusiast for helping me with my technical difficulties

Part 1

7.5k words

Warnings: oral, praise and double ended dildo use

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Why are you ignoring Carol?" Wanda asked with a frown as you sped out of the school car park a little too hastily. She narrowed her eyes at you, ready to read into every expression that flickered across your face.

"I'm not ignoring her, I'm avoiding her. It's different." You insisted as you kept your eyes on the road in front of you, determined to leave the school grounds before a certain blonde left the building and got into her own car.

"It's exactly the same thing just in a different font." Wanda stated as she continued to watch you.

"It's not. And anyway, I'm not obligated to talk to her." You said quieter, not finding enough confidence in your words. Of course you weren't obligated to talk to Carol, but you missed it - more than you would admit to yourself.

"I know, I thought you liked her though. You said your date went well with her but since then you run out of every room she enters."

"It wasn't really a date." You muttered as took a left and eyed your mirror.

"Y/n." Wanda laughed. "I think I know a date when it's described to me."

"But it's Carol, Wanda. Carol doesn't do dates." You insisted as you tried your hardest to avoid your friend's gaze again. You didn't want her to see the pain in your eyes.

"She did with you."

"She went down on me-"

"Yes, I remember that catch up conversation." Wanda chuckled and you threw an empty sweet packet you had left in the car at her.

"And I'm not complaining about that. It's just... you know I'm not one to judge people by rumors, but Carol seems like a pretty strict 'hookups only' type of gal. Every time me and Carol are alone together we end up fucking and again, I'm not complaining about that, but it's enough to tell me she doesn't want anything more from me. Not even fuck buddies, because she doesn't commit to girls." You breathed out deeply as you parked up outside yours and Wanda's favourite coffee shop, suddenly not able to tell if you weren't in the mood for your hot chocolate or in desperate need of one.

"I think there might be a little more to it than that." Wanda said after a moment. She knew where you were coming from but she also couldn't deny the fidgety nature and anxious look in the blonde's eyes a few days prior.

"She called it a date last time you were together, she hasn't done that before. She was worried when you were sick and she's only ever worried when her teammates are sick."

"She wasn't worried." You rolled your eyes lightly and managed a small smile at Wanda.

"Oh she definitely was."

You groaned when you heard your phone vibrate on your bedside table. You rolled over begrudgingly, only bothering to check it because you knew it was lunch break at school and it might have been Wanda sending you the class notes you had asked for.

Unknown number: when I saw you weren't in class I assumed you were dead

You frowned as you took a double take of the message and the number you didn't recognize. The fuck? You decided to respond anyway, if they were in your class and texted you maybe they would send you their notes too.

You: sorry, who is this??

Unknown number: your favourite jock ;)

They replied, pretty much instantly. You put two and two together, but really the smirking face would have been enough.

You: Carol? How did you get this number??

You rubbed your eyes and pulled you sick bowl closer to you, frowning at the discomfort you felt.

Unknown number: so I am your favourite jock?? Good to know

You rolled your eyes and groaned more, knowing Carol wouldn't be forgetting that in a hurry. You didn't respond to that, instead shutting off your phone in hopes of getting more sleep but a minute later another text came through. You knew it would be Carol, but you still reached over to check it.

Unknown number: and Wanda gave it to me

"Dammit, Wanda." You grumbled, going to write her an angry message but Carol had something else to say.

Unknown number: I asked very nicely

You fought off a smile weakly and decided to change her contact, telling yourself it might be useful to keep it.

Jackass: You home alone?

She didn't seem to want to stop talking. Although you couldn't deny that it made you smile more when you wondered if she meant was anyone there to look after you.

You: I am, parents have to work

Jackass: want me to come over and make you feel better? ;)

Suddenly you didn't feel like talking to Carol anymore. You were sick and feeling crappy and all Carol wanted to do was fuck, she was hardly subtle about it either. If you hadn't already been thinking long and hard about what the jock could possible think of you, that would have been the moment you started to ponder it.

With your mood somehow lowered even more, you turned your phone off to go back to sleep, accidentally swiping the notification that read Jackass: * :)

"I still can't believe you gave her my number." You grumbled as you swirled the chocolaty drink in front of you.

"She did ask very nicely." Wanda grinned.

"Enough about her." You said, leaning forward on your elbows to grin back at your friend. "How's your girlfriend?"

*

You were on your phone when you saw a donut being pushed across the table towards you out of the corner of your eye. It was your favourite type that also happened to be the one the cafeteria rarely sold, so when it landed in front of you you looked up with a smile, expecting to see Wanda smiling knowingly back at you.

Carol grinned as she pulled out the chair opposite you and sat herself down. Your eyes flickered over to Wanda who was trying to hide her smile and look away.

"It's for you." Carol said after a second.

"What do I have to do for it?" You asked, only half joking as you eyed the treat suspiciously.

"Come on another date with me." She winked. You leaned back and looked away from Carol and the donut, displeased but not surprised. "Nothing." Carol said quickly. "You don't have to do anything, I just know that one's your favourite." The blonde said. You had never told her that. You eyed Wanda again who quickly looked away like she hadn't been watching the interaction and leaned into Natasha.

"Thank you, Danvers." You said quietly, moving the napkin that the donut was on closer to you.

"I thought we were passed that." Carol chuckled, you wanted to smile at the sound. Carol leaned down to grab something out of her rucksack as you started on the donut, not entirely sure if you should try make conversation or just run away.

"I took notes yesterday, while you were gone." The jock said as she put her notebook on the table and flicked through her badly organised pages to find the one she was looking for. You raised your eyebrows slightly in response.

You had never once seen Carol take actual notes in class, but when she spun the book around to face you you were even more surprised to see the detailed notes she had been taking, even with a couple of small diagrams at the bottom she had probably copied from the board.

"Are they okay? Wilson's pretty good at this shit I'm sure I could get him to-"

"They're great!" You interrupted. "They're...fuck, I'm sorry but since when did you take notes?" You didn't want to seem rude but it felt like you were witnessing a never before seen event or the discovery of a new species.

"Just figured you would want them." Carol shrugged and took a sandwich out her bag.

"Yeah I... thank you." You muttered and smiled when you saw a small doodle of a star. "Can I?" You asked as you motioned to your phone's camera. Carol nodded with a smile and watched as you took photos of her notes.

Wanda coughed from across the table and you shot daggers at her, knowing what she so desperately wanted to say. She hasn't done that for anyone else.

*

"It was sweet of her though." Wanda pointed out as her eyes stayed fixed on Natasha's form.

"It was, but you've gotten me donuts before and you don't want to date me." You said as you tried to stop your eyes trailing to Carol again as they seemed to keep doing.

"Well if Natasha wasn't here..." Wanda teased with a smile. You rolled your eyes at your friend and chuckled.

"Are Carol's abs as hard as they look?" Wanda asked randomly. You couldn't help but look up at the blonde at the mention of her name and perhaps one of your favourite things about her.

It was a hot day and her team was training hard on the field, so most of the athletes had their shirts off. Carol's abs were on full display and given the amount of core stretches she had been doing they were as prominent as ever.

"They are." You muttered, remembering the first time you ran your hands across her chest.

You heard giggling in the row behind you and turned around to see a group of girls also watching Carol and her team train. It was obvious their gazes fell on the same area yours had and suddenly you remembered the long list of names that Carol used to show off proudly.

The girl's whispers became louder as did the giggling and without realizing what you were doing you found yourself comparing you to them. They were popular, effortlessly beautiful and probably had much more experience than you ever had. You couldn't compete with that. Especially when you didn't even know why Carol wanted you. You rested your head on your knees and tried to zone out the world around you as your insecurities ate at you more.

"Come on." Wanda nudged you gently as she stood up from the bleachers. You grabbed your bag and followed after her, noticing that practice was apparently over.

Natasha was standing at the bottom of the bleachers and pulled Wanda into a tight hug. You smiled at the motion, wishing you had what they did.

"Hey." Carol said to you, her eyes shining lightly in the sun.

"Hey yourself." You nodded as you began to walk behind Wanda and Nat. Carol fell into place beside you and made you think about the height difference between you. You were convinced she could give the best piggy back rides.

"You make it look easy." You blurted out. Carol arched a perfect brow at you as she pulled her shirt over her head. "Sport." You generalized, waving your hands.

"Y/n is allergic to sport." Wanda called back.

"Is that right?" Carol smirked as she looked at you.

"It is not, it's just not my thing." You defended.

"Then what is your thing?" Carol asked curiously.

"Wouldn't you like to know." You replied as you searched your brain, not really knowing if you had a thing. Nothing serious at least.

"I would." Carol fired back.

"That's too bad." The jock smiled and decided not to push.

"I'm sure there's a sport you can do." Carol pondered.

"If there is if it could be added to the curriculum that would be really helpful." You sighed.

"Y/n L/n, are you failing a class?" Carol gasped dramatically. You groaned when Wanda laughed, confirming the blonde's assumption.

"Could be worse, I fail loads of classes and everything seems to work out okay." Carol said calmly, seemingly completely unfazed.

You reached the car park and slowed down when you saw Natasha follow Wanda to her car. Wanda was your lift to school and therefore your ride home too. You had stayed behind to study in the library and joined your friend on the bleachers when it shut to see the last of the teams training, not thinking about the fact Wanda was staying behind so she could hang out with Natasha after.

"I can give you a ride home." Carol offered as she threw her car keys up in the air and caught them easily. You pondered that for a second, you really didn't want to be a third wheel to your friend, even if it was a short drive home.

"Yeah, thanks, Danvers." Wanda gave you a knowing smile as she waved goodbye and practically ran to her car with Natasha.Yeah, definitely the best call to leave them alone.

You got into Carol's car and tried to ignore all the memories you had of being in the backseat, instead resting your arm against the window to try and keep your focus on that. Carol didn't say much as you drove which surprised you. She seemed deep in thought about something and you couldn't help but wonder what.

"You want to come to mine?" She said suddenly. You froze in your seat before answering.

"Just my place will do. For me only! I mean I... I have homework." You rambled and felt your whole face heat up. You wondered if being in a car with Wanda and Natasha jumping each other could possibly be more uncomfortable than being sat with Carol and trying to decline her advances.

"I could help." She offered, seemingly genuinely.

"I can handle it." You forced a laugh. Carol nodded and didn't say anything else until she pulled up to your house.

"Thanks again, Danvers." You smiled at the blonde as you hauled you bag up and opened the door.

"I'm always happy to help you out, y/n." Carol smiled back your way genuinely and your stomach did a little flip.

*

You hummed to yourself quietly as you made your way through the school corridors and opened the double doors to the library. You smiled to the librarian as always and got a limited response but your smile faltered when you saw your usual table was taken... by Carol.

She was in her training attire and scrolling mindlessly through her phone until she glanced up and saw you. "Hey." She smiled.

"Are you lost?" You asked as you walked towards her slowly.

"No and go get changed." Was all she said as she pushed a bag of school gym clothes towards you.

"And why would I do that?" You sighed as you peered into the bag.

"Y/n," Carol started as she tilted her chair back and rested her hands behind her head with her feet on the table, her usual confident smile playing on her lips. "Does it or does it not absolutely kill you that you're failing a class?" You paused before flicking yours eyes up to her. Yes, it absolutely did.

"And am I or am I not the best athlete in the school?" Also hard to argue with. You shifted on your feet.

"Come on, y/n. I promise I'll help you at least pass the class." Carol said with certainty. You chewed your gum as you thought about it.

"What do you get out of it?" You asked as you narrowed your eyes at the blonde.

"I can go to sleep at night knowing I've helped an underling." She grinned. You rolled your eyes but couldn't help but smile at her, Carol continued to smile back at you.

"That A* you got us on that project made me pass the class." Carol shrugged.

"Alright, Danvers." You nodded and picked up the bag. "But no funny business."

"Great!" She exclaimed and took her feet off the table to stand up.

"I'll see you in the main hall in 10."

*

Barely ten minutes into Carol's 'warm ups' you were already out of breath and in need of a break. You glared at her every time she barked orders at you with a grin, clearly enjoying bossing you around.

"Catch!" Carol exclaimed as she hauled a basketball at you. You ducked out the way and watched it fly past your head.

"You trying to kill me?!" Carol was bent over laughing at your exasperation and inability to catch a simple ball.

"Shut the fuck up, Danvers." You huffed but managed to hit the second ball that came your way.

"You really are allergic to sports huh?" She teased as you scowled at her. "Okay, let's start with the basics."

Surprisingly, from that point onward Carol wasn't that bad. She gave you a lot of pointers that honestly proved helpful because you slowly started to improve. Granted, you were still bad, but you were better.

"Arms like this." She instructed and watched as you mimicked her shooting position. "Elbows a little higher." You did as she said but she smiled at the attempt and stepped behind you. You froze up a little when she put her hands over yours and lifted them up too to a position that felt more natural.

"You got it." She assured, speaking right next to your ear so you could feel her breath against your skin. Then she withdrew her soft hands from yours and backed away. You missed the contact immediately.

"Now shoot." She instructed. You missed.

*

Carol trained you after school pretty much every day after that. Your limbs always ached after those sessions, so much so you were tempted to cave and take Carol up on her offer of a back rub.

You found that some sports were actually kind of fun to play with Carol, whether it was the absence of the pressure you got in a full class of teenagers or just because you enjoyed the blonde's company, it wasn't all that bad.

You still couldn't find a sport you were good at, but you didn't really care. You wondered what would happen when you did. Would Carol coach you at it for a bit then abandon your sessions? They couldn't keep going forever. The pang you got in your chest was the reason you had been ignoring Carol weeks prior, you didn't want to feel that for her. You just couldn't help it.

"Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night." You recalled as Valkyrie wrote it down.

"I knew it was something like that." She waved off.

"Yeah you were really close with..." You glanced at her notes. "She gives me a boner." You laughed and put your face in your hand.

"That's the modern day translation!" Valkyrie exclaimed defensively.

"Please don't put that in your exam." You sighed as you flicked through your copy of Romeo and Juliet to find the next act.

"One sec." Valkyrie said as she looked down at her phone that was vibrating on the desk with a caller ID that you couldn't read.

"Hey, Captain." Valkyrie answered. You looked her way and back at your book quickly. There was more than one Captain in the school.

"I'm in the library studying." She continued and paused for the other voice to speak. "It's not that bad, a pretty girl's teaching me Romeo and Juliet." Valkyrie winked at you and you smiled weakly back, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Fucking jocks and their shameless flirtation.

"Yeah I'll be done soon, see you then." She said and hung up the phone before turning back to you.

"Are there any quotes about boners?" The minutes after that went by painstakingly slowly. It was only a one off tutoring session that you would get an extra credit for, but you could think of a million things you would rather be doing with your lunch break.

Valkyrie nodded past you at someone at the library entrance. You turned around out of instinct and saw Carol strolling towards your table, eyes focused on you.

"Thanks for this." Valkyrie said as she packed away her things. "If I pass the exam I'm gonna have to find some way to make it up to you." She smirked as her eyes trailed over your legs.

You glanced at Carol who looked far from pleased at Valkyrie's comment and couldn't help but smile because that is exactly what she sounded like to you sometimes.

"That's okay." You muttered as you tried to avoid her gaze and put your books back in your bag.

"Alright, but I'm having a party this weekend. You should come."

"I'm not really a party person." You laughed awkwardly, wanting the encounter to be over.

"You don't have to spend long at the party itself." Valkyrie shrugged as she took a bold step towards you. "You could always stay in my room-"

"She said no." Carol cut in. Her eyes bore into Valkyrie's with a look that said the conversation was over. Her stance was firm and her jaw was tightly locked as she glared at her team mate. Valkyrie frowned and looked back at you as you fiddled with your bag zip and avoided her eye, silently thanking Carol even if she had been a tad aggressive.

"Right, sorry." Valkyrie muttered before making her way past you. Carol gave you a small smile before turning to leave with her team mate. You were sure Wanda would have something to say about that.

*

It was a few days until you saw Carol again. She had texted you to briefly say she had practice after school and you didn't see her at lunch breaks either. It annoyed you to admit you missed her company.

With every second you spent with the jock your crush on her grew. You knew that any longer and you may just end up head over heals for her which would only end in heart break for you. But every time you saw the wisp of blonde hair, shine of brown eyes with her confident smile or even just that god damn varsity jacket, you didn't care about how it could end.

It was a Thursday when she texted you during lunch to ask if you wanted to practice after school. You replied a little too eagerly with a yes and continued listening to Wanda rant about something dumb Pietro had done.

A few hours later you held a bat in your hands and prepared for Carol to throw the ball your way. She wasn't very talkative that day, a rarity for the blonde. You wanted to ask if something was up with her but the concentrated look on her face made you not want to disrupt her train of thought.

"I'm sorry." She said suddenly.

"That's alright." You sighed as you watched the ball roll across the field. That was a particularly fast throw.

"About snapping in the library." Carol corrected. "I didn't mean to make it awkward." She said as she scratched the back or her neck then stretched her arm to throw again.

"You didn't." You assured honestly. "I was already uncomfortable." You huffed as you missed another throw from Carol even after trying to apply all her tips.

"Val can be quite persistent." Carol said, still not showing her smile.

"Just like someone else I know." You shrugged. Carol faltered at the obvious call out.

"Lets switch." She said quietly and handed you her glove as she took the bat from you. She explained to you the basics of her own throwing techniques and had a few recommendations on what she thought might work best for you.

"If you ever told me no, I'd back off." Carol said as put the bat up. You were thrown off by the sudden shift in conversation.

"I know you would have." You hoped Carol noticed your use of past tense. You had already decided that sex with her again would be too dangerous for you. God only knows what you would end up blurting out. You cringed at the thought of confessing your love for Carol as she fucked you.

Your eyes shifted to the track team that were doing their laps around another part of the field. They made it look as easy as always.

"You got eyes for one of them, y/n?" Carol asked in a voice that seemed more curious than teasing.

"Not my type." You muttered as you threw the ball weakly again.

"What is your type?" Carol asked, unable to mask her curiosity that time.

"I don't know." You huffed. The blonde looked at you expectantly, clearly hoping for something more. "And what's your type, Danvers?" You asked, successfully shifting the conversation when you saw a glint in Carol's eyes. Her smile returned.

"Eh, about (your height), (your eye colour) eyes, terrible at sport but really cute so it's dorky." Carol shrugged. Damn, that could almost be me. You glanced up at the blonde to throw again and saw her smirking at you.

"Someone should warn her." You joked in a feeble attempt to hide your disappointment that we swelling in the pit of your stomach.

"I just did." Wait... Carol's smirk grew as she watched the realization spread across your face. You blushed deeply and tried to fight off a smile.

"I don't think baseball's working either." You muttered.

*

"You know it's strange, I always thought you were going to become a jock." Pietro said thoughtfully before taking a bite of his apple.

"First of all how dare you and secondly what the hell gave you that idea?" You exclaimed. Wanda was giggling besides you while Carol gave you a look of faux offence.

"That's the highest compliment!" She argued.

"I second that." Natasha nodded.

"Do you remember Wanda's 14th birthday party?" Pietro asked.

"It's a treasured memory." You grinned at Wanda. "I kicked your ass at bowling." You recalled proudly.

"You kicked everyone's ass at it. Bowling's a sport isn't it?" Apparently word had spread about Carol's private lessons. You and the blonde had spent weeks going back and forth between different sports. Overall, you were still pretty crap but you had been lifted to a passing grade in the class. You kept meaning to tell Carol that, but you didn't want the lessons to end. You concluded that as long as she didn't ask, you wouldn't tell.

"I'd say so." Wanda shrugged but Carol and Natasha clearly had different opinions.

"Fuck no!"

"Please do not align that with us!" They erupted. You and Wanda started to laugh at their outraged expression, never knowing something to piss a jock off more.

The sound of the bell overhead was followed by a few groans from those around the table as you all packed up and left the table. At least it was a Friday. You wandered across the field on your usual route of going round the main buildings to avoid the crowded corridors, lost in your thoughts until someone jogged up besides you.

"Bowling, huh?" She inquired as she slowed down to a walk.

"It's been years." You said offhandedly.

"You got plans tomorrow?"

"Nope."

"We should go bowling, if you want to. Obviously just as part of your lessons." Carol offered as she looked ahead.

"I thought you said it isn't a sport." You eyed the blonde suspiciously with a smile.

"It isn't, but this I have to see."

"Okay." You nodded without much thought. Bowling with the jock did sound fun.

"I'll pick you up at 2."

*

"These shoes are ridiculous." Carol grumbled.

"American football shoulder pads are ridiculous but you don't hear me calling that out." You fired back.

"Oh, so that was meant at someone else?"

"Sure." You shrugged as you smiled at Carol's brightly coloured shoes. You went onto your lane and gleamed at the nostalgic sound of pins being knocked over and the bright spot lights across the lanes.

Carol put your names into the scoreboard tablet as you ran your hands over the bowling balls and frowned slightly as you realized you still had to use one of the smaller ones.

"Experts first." Carol motioned to the beginning of the lane with a small smirk and you smiled back at her excitedly and grabbed a ball.

"Just remember it's been a while!" You called back to the eagerly watching blonde. She hummed back. You brought the ball up to your chest to have a feel of the weight and glared at the pins, there had to be something you could impress Carol with. With a deep breath, you swung your arm back and forward to let the ball go, center down the lane and colliding with the painted targets. All but one knocked over and you couldn't help but throw tour hands up in the air in triumph.

"That was pretty good!" You declared as you turned back to Carol happily. She beamed back at you, giving you a smile that made her eyes squint and look absolutely adorable.

You grabbed the second ball and rolled it smoothly across the polished floor, successfully hitting the last pin. Carol strolled up after you, her hands hovering over the range in front of her and landing on one for someone with a bigger hand. You scoffed quietly, not believing the jock could hold it but she picked it up with ease.

You stood, wide eyed, watched as she sauntered over to the lane and swung her arm. The ball veered off to the side and took down a couple of pins that Carol glared at.

"Unlucky is all." She grumbled as she went to get another ball. This time when she threw it it fell into the dip along the side, it was hard to hide your amusement.

"That's just bullshit." Carol grumbled.

"Do you want me to put the sides up for you, Danvers? Or maybe I could ask someone for that ramp." You teased. She flipped you off and went to sit on the small sofa and watched you carefully.

You knocked most of the pins over on your next few goes while Carol got very little. You tried to give her a few tips but apparently her ego was too big to accept them, which meant you were winning marginally.

You spun around to face the blonde after knocking the last of your pins over but she wasn't on her spot on the sofa. You were about to get your phone out to text her but you spotted her sauntering back towards your area with a bowl of nachos. Your mouth watered at the sight.

Carol gave a dramatic huff as she spotted the scoreboard and beckoned you over to the small table by the sofas. "We'll start a new round after these." She said as she put them on the table. "I didn't poison them." She quipped when you didn't move.

"Sometimes I think you'd do anything to win." You replied as you sat down opposite her and took one of the nachos. In all honesty you weren't expecting Carol to get the snack, never mind to want to share it.

Carol flexed her right hand absent mindedly as she glanced around at over areas of the alley. "Your hand hurting?" You asked as you took another nacho with a lot of cheese on it.

"A little." She shrugged and lifted it up to look at the back of her mind. Without thinking, you put your hand and pressed it gently flat against hers. Not only were her fingers longer than yours but her palm was bigger too, even her wrist was thicker. It was only when you caught Carol's eye that you went to bring your hand away but she laced her fingers through yours and put them down on the table.

"Sorry, I was just curious." You blushed even though it was clear Carol didn't mind.

"Okay." She chuckled as she continued on the nachos. You finished the rest of the snack in silence with your hands still together until you leaned back and glanced at the lane again.

"Ready to have your ass kicked again?" You quipped.

"Don't get cocky, kid." Carol mused as she rolled her eyes with a smile.

"Since when did you know Star Wars?" You asked in complete disbelief.

"I love Star Wars." Carol said casually. "And since always."

"I didn't take you for the type." You smiled as you tried to study the jock for any signs of a lie.

"That's just because you never asked." She shrugged and stood up, letting your hands slide apart. You missed the contact instantly but that didn't distract you enough from her words.

Of course you had never asked her something like that, Star Wars was the last thing you'd guess she would like. You knew there was always more to people than what they showered publicly, but Carol had always seemed like such an open book in every way. So hearing that she wasn't quite what you thought she was, even after the few months of knowing her better, simply made you impossibly more interested in the blonde. You stared at Carol in nothing short of awe, she was really something else.

"I've had enough of these shoes." She declared.

"You quitting on me Danvers?" You quipped but really your heart dropped at the thought she wanted to cut your outing short.

"I'm just thinking we could try our hand at a few other things, seeing as we're not doing sport anymore." She said as she nodded towards the arcade.

Your eyes lit up at all the games in the entrance as you found your competitiveness returning. You both returned your shoes and practically ran over to the arcade area with all its choices. You decided to head towards the air hockey first as you argued over whether or not it was a sport. Carol, of course, took the opposition.

Your reflexes weren't as good as hers but you liked to think you put up a good fight, even if you did curse under your breath every time the blonde scored. The screen above you both lit up to declare Carol's victory that she was very happy to celebrate, you watched as she danced around the table towards you in what could have been the dorkiest thing you had ever seen.

"You having fun there?" You laughed.

"So much fun." Carol grinned back and eyed her next target.

"Absolutely not!" You cried out when her eyes landed on the basketball. You took her by the hand and tried your best to ignore the electricity running up your arms at how perfectly her hand fit in yours and led her through the arcade. You came to a halt by a racing game and before you could even suggest the idea to Carol she was clambering into the seat and shoving the coins into the machine. You sat down next to her and did the same. You were both terrible. The controls were slightly broken and far too sensitive, making the cars on screen spin around when you tried to turn and never going straight.

"Piece of garbage!" Carol shouted at the screen as you passed the finish line by some miracle.

"Wanna go again?" You asked with a grin but the blonde was already jumping off the seat.

"Now this I have to win." Carol declared as she spotted the nearest shooting game. It was some kind of zombies in space crossover but you didn't much question that when you picked up the plastic gun.

"We work together on this, Danvers." You laughed.

"Count yourself lucky then." Carol said as she aimed her gun at the screen as the game started.

"The fact that you didn't know how it works doesn't make me all that confident in you." You pointed out as you started firing at the horde of zombies. You didn't see one that was charging at you from the left but Carol shot it down before it reached you.

"You're welcome." She smirked then shot some more on your right. "Come on, y/n I'm doing all the work here."

"Fuck yourself, Danvers." You fired back as you tried to reload your gun.

"Fuck me yourself you coward." She challenged. Your mouth went dry but you started to laugh. She didn't make the comment with her usual smirk and suggestive tone, instead it seemed like a genuine joke that you didn't get anxious about.

"That would be a first." You quipped with a smile. You managed to take the last few zombies.

"It really would be, I am a virgin after all." She said casually and you dropped your gun. "Oh shit, here we go!" Carol laughed as the zombie boss made its dramatic entrance.

"Wait what?" You stammered as you looked between Carol and the screen while trying to get a grip on the plastic gun.

"What? No one's ever fucked me. I fuck girls, they don't fuck me back." She shrugged simply and started rapid firing at the boss.

"Maybe you should stop being exclusive to pillow princesses." You joked in a feeble attempt to mask your surprise.

"Maybe, it's not just that." She started. It confused you that she could say something so out of character while keeping most of her attention on the screen. "I don't trust any of them. I don't know, it's just, when it comes down to it, I freak out." Carol tried to explain but seemed to struggle.

"Damn." She sighed when the screen presented 'Game Over' in an overtly bloody text. You wandered away from the booth as you thought about what Carol said. She had a content smile on her face as she looked around and you figured the conversation was over.

"I love these." You told the blonde when you came across a Wac A Mole machine. You put the coins in and lifted up the rubber mallet as you kept your eyes on the board. The first one sprung up in front of you and Carol announced its presence with a cry.

"Thank you, Danvers." You smiled after hitting the figure.

"There!" She pointed to the next one, and the next one until you shouldered her out the way, not expecting her to actual wander off. When the game was over you grinned in triumph and looked to Carol for her praise but she wasn't near by. With a frown, you ventured around the arcade and found the jock hunched over a claw machine.

"These things eat you money, you know?" You half joked but to your surprise Carol dropped a small teddy bear into the box.

"And how long did that take you?" You teased as she picked it up.

"Its for you." You ran your thumb over the left paw that had a heart over it and smiled back at the jock who kept surprising you.

"Thank you, Carol." She nodded and the pair of you started to walk out the arcade and main building. Much to your surprise it was starting to get dark and there were few cars in the car park. You guessed the place would be closing soon but you hadn't realized you had been there so long. Time always seemed to fly by with Carol.

"How long were we even..." You started to laugh lightly until you turned to Carol and realized how close together you were. Your breath hitched when your eyes locked with her own that seemed to be looking back at you with something you couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Can I kiss you?" You whispered gently. You licked your lips and nodded slowly.

Her other hand rested on your cheek as her thumb caressed the smooth skin slightly and finally closed the distance entirely.

You had kissed Carol before, but never like that. It was slow and longing and gentle and you reciprocated in an instant, matching the rhythm she set. You brought you hands up to Carol's neck and cherished the moment of feeling connected to her in the way you had been craving before you pulled apart.

"It's only our second date, Danvers." You couldn't help but quip, not knowing what to say in such an unfamiliar scenario.

"Well this second date has taken a lot of work to get." Carol pointed out and you laughed as you continued to hold her close.

"I was scared." You admitted.

"You don't have to be scared with me." Carol assured gently.

"You mean it? You really..."

"I really love you." She confirmed.

"That's lucky for me, because I love you too." You smiled and brought Carol in for another kiss that she happily encouraged.

"So... more dates?" Carol asked with a laugh, clearly not all that familiar with the procedure either. You would work it out quickly.

"Yeah Carol." You chuckled.

"That I still have to work hard for?" She half joked.

"Not if we're girlfriends." The blonde laughed more at that.

"I'm glad to hear I've upgraded from just your favourite jock.

"You're always going to be my favourite jock too." You assured and kissed Carol once more.

*

Carol kissed a path down your stomach and smiled against your skin as she felt you shiver. Even after weeks of dating you still weren't used to her kisses, especially not across your more sensitive areas of skin.

"I got you." She whispered as she hooked her fingers over your pajama bottoms and panties and pulled them down together, kissing the newly found skin. You shivered more as her breath ghosted over your clit making you whine and buck your hips up. Carol smiled at your reaction and leaned down not before whispering "God, you're beautiful.

She wrapped her full lips around your clit and reveled in the moan that spilled from your lips. Her tongue dipped between your folds and she moaned at the sweet taste that invaded her taste buds.

You wrapped your hands in Carol's long blonde hair to bring her closer but she pulled away with a smirk. Before you could whine in protest she pulled her own trousers down to reveal a strap you hadn't seen before. It was different in shape and colour but the most noticeable different was the absence of the harness. You moaned softly at the realization it was anchored inside her.

"I want to feel it with you." Carol said as she lowered herself back towards you and placed her hands either side of your head and kissed your neck.

"Are you sure?" You asked tentatively. It would be the first time Carol had been on the receiving end to such a level. The most you had done was go down on her a few times.

"Yes, I trust you. I love you." She grinned and lined the strap up with your entrance.

"I love you too." You had really started to enjoy saying that to her.

You moaned breathlessly as Carol inched the strap into you carefully and kissed along your jaw more. She moaned with you when she bottomed out and felt the strap dig deeper into her. Her hips twitched as she took a moment to gather her own composure and held your hands above your head, your fingers intertwined.

"I got you." You assured back to her as she started to pull out and push back in. Carol moaned loudly in response and held you closer to her as she started to build up a rhythm, your thigh slapping together.

You moaned in sync as the strap pleasured you both more and more. You wrapped your legs tightly around your girlfriend's waist to push the strap deeper inside you both.

You shuddered every time Carol's skin met yours. Carol started thrusting the toy faster and harder as she chased her own release.

"It's so good!" You cried out. You both struggled to form words, only managing breathless moans as the strap pressed firmly against your g-spots in sync.

"Me too, fuck, please Carol. Cum with me." You pleaded and gave a strangled moan. Carol shuddered and moaned louder than you had ever heard as she came undone at the same time as you.

"Y/n." Your girlfriend shuddered and started to grind her hips against yours as she rode out her high with you.

"It's okay, I got you." You said as you held onto Carol's bare back. You held her close to you as she breathed heavily against your neck, the irregular patterns starting to even out. She was still shaking so you planted soft kissed across the patches of her face that weren't hidden in your neck as you stroked her hair, a content smile on your lips.

She adjusted herself slightly and the pair of you moaned softly when she eased the toy out and put it on the floor. "I'll clean it later." She whispered, eyes closed, before you could say anything.

"Okay." You chuckled and brought her closer to you. You wrapped your arms around one another as your legs tangled together under the sheets.

Carol's soft breath caressed your skin as you stroked her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead. A faint smile played across her lips at the action, confirming that she was just as happy as you were.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Taglist: @caroldanvers2 @marvelwomenslut @marvelwomen-simp @likefirenrain @grxvitye @emilyprentisslittlewhore @lostandsearching @firenrain13 @horcruxhunter90 @wndrcarol

Join a taglist

[raggaraddy]

your writing is amazing 🥺

could i ask for a yoongi version of the reader being shot because of them? your other ones are so good!!!

Family affairs

@dramaclub-thin

A/N: Thank you, sweetheart! I'm glad you're enjoying the series. This one has a bit of OT7 and I hope you like it too. 💜💜💜

If anyone else wants to request, you can here.

Other parts:

Namjoon

Jimin

Taehyung

Jungkook

Summary: You'd tried so hard to hide your relationship with Yoongi from your father. You knew when he found you were dating someone from a rival club that he'd kill you. You just didn't think it would be literal.

Trigger warnings: Violence, Filicide, Blood, gun usage.

Yoongi

Mafia! Yoongi

Mafia! BTS

"Yes Daddy," you poke your head through the door to his office with a little knock. Normally you would never bother your father while he was working, but one of your brothers came to your room to let you know he was calling for you.

"Ah, Darling. Yes, have a seat." He stands up from his desk, gesturing to the chair ahead of him. "I need your advice on something."

For a moment you get a flutter in your stomach. He never asks you for anything. Your his pretty princess on a pedestal. And he never involves you in anything that a woman wouldn't have been responsible for in the 1950s.

"Of course," you smile, shifting comfortably.

"I know you're tech-savvy, so maybe you can explain this to me. I had some photos printed, but I think there must be something wrong with the camera. Have a look,"

Reaching into his desk drawer as he speaks he pulls out a stack of A4 photos. As he lays them out your eyes jump straight back up at him. Checking for his reaction, a sharp pang of absolute fear hitting you. They're pictures of you and Yoongi, his arm around you when you were coming out of the Bangtan clubhouse.

"I know the camera has to be faulty, because that" he tapes your image, "looks like you. And I know my one and only daughter wouldn't be socializing with those Bulletproof scum."

"Daddy, I-I," you stutter with no idea what to say.

You thought you were so clever, so careful that there was no way he'd ever find out. Even when Yoongi would worry about you possibly being caught you would shrug it off. Your love was invincible and meant to be, and you were smart. No chance your family would ever know you're with Yoongi, and no way his family would ever know you were from a rival gang. As far as they knew, you were just Y/n Brown, the hairdresser from one district over.

But clearly, you weren't careful or clever enough.

Your stark silence is loud enough for your father and he nods a sombre confirmation. "How long Y/n?" He questions.

"Daddy, I don't-"

"How long?!" He's quick to anger, making you jump.

"A few months," you lie, your eyes dropping to your lap. Telling him it's been closer to 18 months is only going to enrage him further.

Slumping back into his office chair he lets out a heavy sigh.

"You think you raise your kids right. To know loyalty and family." He derides looking at you fiercely. "But then you find out your own daughter will open her legs for any cretin. In complete disregard of everything she should know."

You knew it would be awful if he ever found out, you know he is a terrifying dangerous man, but hearing your father's derogatory comments are harder to take than you ever expected.

"What did you tell them?" He sits forward. His demeanour, his expression going from disappointed father to cold mafioso.

Your mouth going dry, you swallow hard. Shaking your head softly. "Nothing."

"Bullshit!" He yells. "You expect me to believe they just let the daughter of Bastille get all cosy with one of the 7 without you giving up something."

This is so bad. You knew your parents, your brothers, the entire Bastille would disown you for this, but they'll actually kill you if they think you've sold them out.

"No. I didn't tell them anything. None of them knows who I am. Only Yoongi knows. And I didn't tell him shit. You know I wouldn't." You defend yourself trying to reign in your distress.

"Well, there's a lot of things I wouldn't think a daughter of mine could do." His voice is so detached. He's stopped looking at you. This is so so bad.

"Dad. I didn't say anything." You restate, fighting to convince him. Feeling like you're trying to prove the case for your own life. "I know the rules. Don't talk to anyone. Not cops. Not friends or enemies." You repeat the words that had been drilled in your entire childhood. You knew nothing, you saw nothing. Those are the rules.

"I don't believe you." He says bitterly.

Your hands are trembling, you're panting heavily. You know being with a rival club member is a stupid thing, but the clubs are in a truce.  And despite your father's opinion, you would never be so stupid as to actually say anything. And Yoongi would never let you, even if you decided to. You did one thing wrong, but you made sure you did everything else right.

Leaning back, he opens his phone book. Searching for a number.

"Dad," You plead for his attention. Raising the phone to his ear he shushes you, placing a finger over his mouth.

You have no idea what to do. You've seen him decimate people for so much less than what he's accusing you of. You don't know how to prove your innocence.

The call answers and you can hear a distant 'hello'.  Putting the phone on speaker he puts the receiver down.

"Warren L/n here. I believe I have something of yours," he says.

"What are you talking about?" You inhale a staggered breath, hearing the familiar gruff voice of Kim Namjoon.

Your dad's plan was simple. If you were telling the truth about Bangtan not knowing who you were, their leader would be confused and concerned that you were with the leader of Bastille. But if they knew who you were, this would be a much more straightforward issue. Namjoon would understand right away why he was calling.

And if you were lying about one thing, he could assume you were lying about more.

"Say hello Y/n." Your dad prompts, his look daring you to refuse.

"Hi," You squeak, nervously chewing the inside of your cheek. Your own safety aside, Namjoon was going to kill Yoongi.

There's a brief pause. The background noise on Namjoon's side disappearing. "Kidnapping women? I didn't realise you were handling that personally now."

"Who said kidnap?" he leads the conversation.

"Then maybe you want to explain what one of our girls is doing with you?" Namjoon growls, sounding protective.

That was enough confirmation for your father. The leader didn't know what was going on. But he was about to.

On Namjoons side of the line, he was pacing back and forth in a closed meeting room at the entrance of the clubhouse. Your father was revealing the secret that you and Yoongi had fought so hard to keep.

The phone call ending, Namjoon was in a rage. Marching across the bar he stormed at the table with other members around it. His maddened expression drawing Yoongi's attention. But the older member didn't have any reason to think this fury was directed at him and so he doesn't react quick enough as Namjoon punches him in the face, knocking him from his chair.

The other boys instantly becoming alert, Jungkook jumps to Namjoons side holding his arm out in front of him, looking ready to intervene. Jimin standing between the floored Yoongi and the enraged leader.

"Hyung, what the hell ar-" Jimin snaps.

"You fucking idiot! Bastille's daughter?!" he roars trying to push through Jimin. Jungkook stepping in to help keep him at bay.

Climbing back to his feet, nursing a split lip, Yoongi's eyes go wide. Completely caught off guard by Namjoon's revelation. "How did you-" he gapes.

"Everything she's seen, everything she knows! Do you have any idea how much you've exposed this club?" He lunges again, bowling the mediating members out of the way. Diving through Yoongi, the two men trade blows as they scuffle on the floor.

The scene quickly gets out of hand, and as Yoongi throws Namjoon through a table, Jin and Hoseok come from a backroom to step in also. The four of them now working to pry the two battling men apart. Jimin and Hoseok holding back Yoongi. The oldest and youngest members trying to keep Namjoon at bay.

"Enough!" Jin scolds with a firm shove to Namjoon's chest. "Someone explain what the hell is going on!"

"Just Suga thinking with his dick, instead of his brain." Namjoon spits.

Shirking off the boys, Yoongi barges forward infuriated by the provocative comment. War breaking out again with a solid hit at Namjoon, a gash opening over his eye. Another difficult struggle beginning for the members, grappling and clawing them apart. Having to fully restrain them to have them stop. Being held as they bleed.

Grabbing both of them by the collar, Jin demands their focus. "The next man who throws a punch leaves here with a bullet in his leg!" He growls. "Am I clear?!" His fist tightens, stiffening their necklines.

"Yes,"

"Yes, Hyung."

The two of them conceded, their energy dropping as their eldest releases them. "Good. Now sit down so we can talk this shit out."

It takes several minutes and a round of drinks, but the room calms down enough for the members to sit down. They send the few 2nd levels out and the 95's girlfriends. The bar remaining with only the 7 original members. Taehyung coming back just as the disclosure began.

Namjoon starts, passing along the information your father had given him. The 6 of them all sharing disappointed, worried or angry glances towards Yoongi.

"She wouldn't have said anything." Yoongi insists, after explaining his side also. Trying to defend his decision. To defend you.

"You can't know that," Jimin argues, flumping back in his seat. Taking a sip with a pissed-off scowl on his face.

"Yeah, we've all been pussy blinded before. You're not thinking clearly." Jungkook snips.

"Maknae-" Yoongi warns. Getting tired of the disrespect that keeps getting thrown his way.

"Hey, watch it." Jin interrupts, correcting Jungkook's blunt attitude. The youngest shrugging, downing the last of his drink.

"Look, if she was giving information to L/n, then why would he call to tell you that he knows." Yoongi disputes. Hoping to bring reason back into the debate.

"He wants to trade. The latest shipment of horse for Y/n." Namjoon answers with a frustrated scoff and a roll of his eyes.

"That's close to 500 K. That's not happening," Hoseok jumps in. The rest of them firmly nodding in agreement.

"Okay, but if that's the case. If he's trying to sell her off, that means she's not working with him. Right?" Taehyung backs Yoongi's point.

"Idiot," Jimin shoves his friend, "It could be a part of the plan. A way to rip us off for half a million."

"Or it could be a set-up," Namjoon adds. "Let's say Hyung's right, and she isn't working with her old man. If we're willing to sit down, if we try to buy her back, it confirms that she knows enough that we're concerned about it."

"I'm telling you, she doesn't know anything. She didn't want to know anything. And even if she did, she's not gonna give it up." Again Yoongi vehemently defends you.

"Well if she doesn't give him anything then L/n kills her." Namjoon finalizes. "To hurt the club, and as retribution for her betrayal."

"What I don't understand is why you would let her go back? If you trust her and you know how ruthless Bastille is, why would you let her keep going back to him?" Jin asks, genuinely baffled.

Standing up Yoongi can't take anymore. He's furious. He's upset. At himself most of all. Feeling to blame for allowing you to be in this situation, he leaves in anger. Needing some time to himself to think.

"I don't know, she seemed pretty cool," Taehyung mutters, leaning into Namjoon. "You don't really think he would kill his own daughter, right?"

It's been 2 days and you've been locked in an empty storage shed at the edge of the property like a captive. Your father turned your world upside down looking for information. His people went through your computer, your phone, your car, your room. Everything that was yours he and his men had raided. And just like you said, there was nothing there. No information about Bastille, and nothing about Bangtan.

"Suga. I'm guessing that's Min Yoongi? Unless you're cheating on him." Your dad muses holding up your phone. That is so humiliating. So many nudes and dirty texts are in that chat. There may not be revealing information, but there was still plenty of personal stuff.

"You know Darling, I don't like to admit when I am wrong, but it looks like you were telling the truth. I can't find any proof that you gave up any family details." He smiles softly, your heart lifting with relief for a moment. "But then I was looking through your camera roll and, in the pictures where you actually have clothes on, it's just full of Bangtan." He comes further into the empty shed, leaning on the wall alongside you. Showing you the screen as he scrolls through. The only entrance being blocked by one of his more grizzly looking men. "See here, there's you and a bunch of them at a restaurant. There's you and the leader. You and the crazy one. Here's a family-style photo, isn't that nice."

He keeps scrolling through shot after shot, exhibiting an entire album full of Bangtan family pictures.

"I'm sure you never expected anyone else to see these. I guess I should have been teaching you not to put the same password for multiple devices." He scoffs. "But the interesting thing, when I'm going through these photos you seem to be really close with all of them. Some of these even go back to last year. Which makes the timeline you gave me a little off."

He shows the details of one of the pictures to you, the time stamp from when you had already been with Yoongi for 6 months.

"This one is from May 2nd. Last year. On the 10th those bastards stole one of my shipping containers. With nearly 100 grand worth of merchandise. Did you know about that?"

"You mean people." You sneer, his characterization of human trafficking as 'merchandise' making your skin crawl.

"So you did know." He smiles coldly.

"I found out- I knew after," you justify. Even as you continue to defend yourself, you have a sick feeling that it's all for nothing.

"I'm really curious what else you know." He hums, walking around the front of you to get back into your eye line.

"I don't know anything," you tell him for the 1000th time with an exasperated shake of your head. Moving away to the far side of the shed.

"Darling, I'm your father and I'm telling you we need to reconcile this. Your mother is worried sick. I'm here losing sleep over this. I'm giving you a chance to repay all the damage you've done. A chance to forget all this. You tell me everything you know about Bangtan, and just like that," he snaps his fingers, "you get to return to your comfortable life."

You don't trust his change in tone or his promises for a minute. You may not have known the darkest parts of who he is, but that's how you can be sure that his offer to forgive and forget is rubbish. Not even the father in him would let you forget a mistake. Especially one this major, not with the way he is reacting. And he's so much more brutal when it comes to Bastille.

"And if I don't?"

"Then you've betrayed your family. And we'll find out what we want to know in other ways." he taps the back of his hand in the other, symbolizing a beat down.

You shake your head hard. You might love your dad. But you don't like him. You've known for most of your life that he was a bad guy. And Yoongi, Bangtan, they might not be the good guys, but they've been the family you've always wanted. There is no way you were telling him even the most insignificant detail.

"Hit me all you want dad, I still don't know anything." You snarl.

"I could never hit my own daughter." He taps his heart, a feigned pained expression on his face. Nodding his head in your direction, he trades places with his man who advances on you.

Breathing hard you step back only to hit the wall.

The tall, square-built man swings. The back of his hand slapping your cheek, the force so strong that it smacks you into the corner sidewall. His hand, like a vice, grabs ahold of your head and mightily slams it into the steel beam running down the sheet metal wall. Pushing your hands against his chest, you weakly attempt to fend him off, but he ends your efforts with another solid wack against the frame.

As blood streams down your head, his focus switches. The majority of his attacks landing on your torso.

With you curled up on the floor, wheezing and gasping for breath, the assault finally stops. But not out of mercy. Even through the ringing in your ears, you can hear the outburst of gunfire in the distance.

Both your dad and his man rush out, leaving you locked away. While it's for an equally terrifying reason, you're thankful to have this time to catch your breath. Although every laborious intake brings agony.

After some time, light floods back into the room, your father standing in the doorway outlined by the setting sun. "I'm sorry Darling. If I had to do this, I hoped it would be a bit more ceremonious. But we don't have the time for that now."

You gasp at him raising his gun at you. He shoots three times. One in your chest, one in your shoulder and one in your stomach.

The shock, the impact takes the breath from you. And you can't draw it back in. Your eyes glassing over, your head filled with nothing but white noise. Feeling a fleeting moment of relief as everything goes quiet and dark.

"Fuck. No!" Yoongi howls. He, Jin and two 2nd ranks had chased after your father as he fled.

Bangtan's siege on his property was highly successful till that point, and he had run downhill to the storage garage. Looking to make a getaway.

The other's continue after him as Yoongi stumbles into you. His steely outer shell crumbling away the moment he sees your body limp and bleeding out.

Falling beside you he leans over shaking and in tears. Kissing your lips gently with heartfelt pleas "I'm sorry Y/n. I'm so sorry. Please don't do this. Please."

Jin doubles back, watching distraught from the entrance as his brother falls apart.

Lifting your head up, Yoongi brings your forehead to his. The movement making you splutter blood. The first sign of life that either of the men had seen.

"Holy fuck, she's alive." Jin gawks, jumping in beside Yoongi pressing on the hole in your stomach. The bullet in your shoulder and chest had both hit bone, stopping the slug from going through, blocking the wounds from severe blood loss. The bullet in your torso shot through your bowls and thankfully not through your vital organs. Meaning your chances of survival were much higher. It was either 3 highly unlucky shots or three precisely placed ones.

"I'm so sorry Y/n." Yoongi's in shock. Devastated and guilt-ridden, and unable to make himself function.

"Dude, get your shit together or she's not gonna make it." Jin smacks the side of his brothers head, snapping him out of his grief-stricken daze.

"Can you save her?" He asks rubbing the tears from his eyes.

"Not a chance. But I can keep her alive for a minute until we get to the clubhouse. Call the doc, tell him to meet us there." Jin orders, having much more clarity at this moment. "And get the boys to bring the car around. We're going to need a few of us to move her."

Yoongi follows Jin's lead, wiping the blood from his hands onto his pants to dial.

"Think of it this way," Jin smiles shortly, trying to soothe Yoongi's fear and panic with an ill-timed joke. "If she survives, at least she'll have proved she's Bangtan."

[quill-pen]

I was inspired by my own canon and did a little thing. Featuring Abigail and Oliver and Ebeness by way of Instagram. Set in my Timeless Scroogeverse.

Rated hard 't' for lots of harsh and derogatory language, bullying, a touch of domestic violence (woman on man--not that the distinction matters, dv is dv), and overall toxic behavior

Oliver slouched back in his studio chair, wearily dragging his hands over his face as he groaned in exasperation. "Ffffuuuuuuck-how'm I gonna fix this shit?" he muttered, peeking through his fingers at his computer screen. On the display was a file of at least a thousand photos of the wedding he'd shot the past weekend; all of them completely unusable and unfixable. Except for a handful of reception shots, which would work nicely for his portfolio, they were all blurry messes--his camera had been out of focus the entire time and he hadn't once stopped to check it the whole day. Again. "Really need to start checking that thing before every job. Eh. At least I got the money up front." And this was a perfectly good example for why he didn't have a Yelp page or a place on his website for customers to leave reviews.

"AHH-WHAT THE FUCK?! OLIVER!!!"

The shrill, banshee-esque cry of enraged female sensibilities pierced through the young man's eardrums and made him cringe painfully hard. He quickly swiveled around in his chair to face the door as his girlfriend rushed into the room, staring in fuming disbelief at her phone. "What is it, Babe?"

Abigail's gaze turned his blood to ice as it lifted from her phone and lighted on him. "LOOK!" she screeched. "LOOK AT THIS!" She shoved her phone under his nose.

The young man backed up a bit so he could actually see, then inspected the object of Abigail's ire. He found himself looking at her Instagram feed, and the picture in focus was an obvious engagement ring shot with a pretty, freckled manicured lady's hand gently splayed atop an old, rather worn looking copy of Charles Dickens' Great Expectations (an obvious aesthetic setter) with a delicate and sensible but undeniably attractive ring on the ring finger. The caption beneath the picture simply read as, ~OF COURSE I SAID 'YES'!~ The account name was 'Moonrock'. Wait--Moonrock?!

Oliver sat straight up. "Waitisthat-" he didn't even have time to finish before Abigail had scrolled to the second picture of the post. Sure enough, his ex, Bess Sullivan and her doddering old man of a boyfriend (pervert!) were cheek-to-cheek, staring out at him with beaming smiles, Bess' hand and, thus, engagement ring once again the focus of the shot.

The revelation hit Oliver like ten tons of steel beams: Bess was engaged again. The photographer sat there, completely dumbfounded in the wake of it.

"They've only been official a year!" Abigail exclaimed, pulling her phone back to glower at the pictures. "A year! Look at her! He's a fucking billionaire! He could have easily got her a rock the size of Rhode Island and he got her that tiny little thing and she's over the fucking moon! What the fuck does she have to be happy about?! That little ball of foil is jack shit! She's so fucking privileged and she doesn't even care!" The redhead's voice dropped into a mocking tone: "Ooh, look at me--I'm Bess! I'm banging one of the richest men in the world but it means nothing to me because I'm above it all! I could easily be a sugar-baby but I choose to work instead because I'm oh-so humble! I'm so relatable and ordinary and that makes me special enough for a billionaire to fall in love with me! Love me! Love me! Make me your darling!"

Oliver wasn't really listening. "He doesn't even really love her!" he fumed, hands curling into fists on the arms of his chair. Oliver had been angry about this so-called "relationship" between Bess and the old geezer since he'd first started showing up on her social media feeds. This new development set something blazing inside him that made him fear he would burst into flames and smelt away. The blood had never rushed so loudly in his ears and his face had never felt so hot. "The old sicko! He's just using her for a living fleshlight! She's nothing to him but a cumdump! Assuming he can even get it up enough to actually blow a load!"

Abigail was not listening. Not so deep inside she could feel that familiar old grating sensation, like a nasty monster gnashing its teeth in her soul. She wanted to hit something--someone. She wanted to reach through her phone into the picture of Bess and Scrooge and rip out her hair and gouge her eyes out. That smarmy little bitch! Where did her scarred, fat ass and floppy cunt get off snagging one of the most eligible bachelors in the world?! "You know she fucking seduced him," she snarled, as she, yet again, went to Bess' profile and scrolled through every single infuriating picture. "That has to be the only reason they're together. He's old and lonely and so horny and desperate he'd've probably taken a poodle in the right clothes and lighting--Bess just got to him first. I bet all she had to do was shake her ass and flash what little tits she has and had the old man hook, line, and sinker. I won't be surprised if he turns up dead in the next year or so, after he's left everything to her in his will." She stopped on a candid shot of Bess being swept up in a romantic kiss by Scrooge and her insides bubbles and boiled with fury that could rival a volcano. She clenched her phone in her fist as if to crush it. "That little whore! She deserves nothing! Nothing!"

All at once, Abigail spun around on her boyfriend and swatted him upside the head.

Oliver flinched, effectively wrenched from his angry, sulking thoughts. "Hey!"

"Why the fuck does that slut have an engagement ring before I do!" his girlfriend demanded. Her voice dripped with venom--her eyes smote him down.

"I told you, Goldfish, I got the ring all figured out," he assured her, try to soothe her bitter fury. "I just need time to get the money."

"Fuck your time! We're getting engaged by the end of the week, Oliver Howard Sprague! Get my fucking ring stat! And it better be ten times as big and twice as expensive as the Speckled Whore's pathetic piece of tim foil!" With that, Abigail spun on her heel and stormed from the room, her carrot-orange locks snapping angrily behind her. "You're making an honest woman out of me, Oliver, and it better cost you a goddamn fortune to do it! I deserve it!"

Oliver stared warily after her then flinched as the door to their bedroom slammed shut. Groaning, he slumped down in his chair again, suddenly feeling completely drained. "Shit...."

@rom-e-o @themostanonymousscribbler @ray-painter @m0nsterwife @crimson-phantom-designs @christmasgaybusinessmen @purgratoriat @thedivinelights @the-house-of-auditore-frye @oldmanlusting

Just throwing it out there:

In the modern!Scroogeverse (and of course, Sims!verses, @rom-e-o) Oliver and Abigail? Oh, yeah, they definitely stalk Bess' social media. Especially after Eb comes into the picture. Yes, Bess blocked their actual accounts, of course, but Abigail goes out of her way to make fake accounts to get around the blocks.

It's pathetically sad actually.