#my kill count isn’t very high but it’s never been

[elibean]

I’m on a huge losing streak in spoon 😔 sad….

[dreamwritesimagines]

Declassified [2] - Retaliation

A.N: I watched Thunderbolts* and I am ✨back on my bullshit✨ 🩷

I hope you guys like it! 🥰 Please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: Actions have consequences.

Warnings: Unwanted touching in the workplace (nothing graphic but please be careful reading it) , mentions of vaping, mentions of violence

Word Count: 3434 (and yes, this was supposed to be a blurb)

This chapter can be read as a standalone but if you want to see more of them, here is chapter 1! 🩷

It wasn’t very often that you were late to work, and if it were any other time you would be rushing inside, darting past everyone but your therapist had been very insistent about you taking some time early in the morning to ground yourself, so here you were; outside the building, focused on your breathing.

“I am healthy, I am wealthy,” you said, inhaling and exhaling slowly. “I am rich, I am that bitch—”

“What are you doing?”

You jumped out of your skin, your eyes snapping open with a gasp to see Bucky watching you with a curious look in his eyes. You let out a breath, pressing a hand over your chest.

“You scared me!”

“Sorry about that.” Bucky gave you an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you, it’s a force of habit. What are you doing?”

You gestured at the building.

“It’s gonna be chaos in there,” you said. “I didn’t have time to do my affirmations this morning so I’m doing them before I walk in.”

“Affirmations?”

“Yeah, I usually do them in front of the mirror but like I said, didn’t have time,” you said. “I’m almost done, I’ll be right there.”

“It’s okay, I can wait,” Bucky said and you shrugged your shoulders, then closed your eyes again and clasped your hands in front of you.

“I am healthy, I am wealthy, I am rich, I am that bitch,” you recited. “If the world is a high school, I’m the head cheerleader. If the world is a knee, I’m Tonya Harding. If the world is an open buffet, I’m a damn snack. I have the confidence of an evil tech bro and the looks of a pretty princess, and I get princess treatment from the universe.”

You opened your eyes to find Bucky staring at you in utter confusion, but as soon as he realized you were finished, he nodded his head fervently.

“Uh—” He seemed at a loss for words. “Amen?”

You pursed your lips to control your smile, then walked into the building with him following you.

“How come you didn’t have time this morning?” he asked and you hummed.

“Me and the rest of the team went to karaoke last night,” you said. “Got plastered, and the last thing I remember is me and Kelsey trying to sing Bohemian Rhapsody.”

Bucky let out a chuckle and followed you to your desk. “Isn’t Queen a bit too old for you?”

“Queen is goddamn timeless, take that back.”

“No I’m surprised you know—”

“I’m also surprised you know Queen, it’s a bit too new for you,” you teased him back as Caleb put a file on your desk.

“There you go Birdie.”

“Caleb!”

Bucky raised his brows. “Birdie?”

“She sings like a bird, I’ll send you the video,” Caleb replied with a grin and you pointed at him.

“I’ll kill you once I’m off the clock.”

“With your voice?”

“With a knife,” you said and he feigned a gasp, then walked away from you. You let out a whine.

“I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Don’t think so Birdie.”

“I will kill you too,” you told Bucky as he shot you a smirk that made your stomach do a pleasant flip. “I’m serious. I have tricks you don’t even know about.”

“I’m very intimidated.”

“You should be,” you said and turned your laptop on, then clicked on a file. “By the way, you have a meeting with Mr. Thompson today, are you prepared?”

Bucky made a face. “I don’t really like that guy.”

“And unfortunately politics doesn’t care about who you like,” you said, your eyes glued to the screen as you attached the file to the email. “We can use him and his connections, so play nice alright?”

“No promises—”

“Yes promises.” You glared at him. “Yes promises right now.”

Bucky groaned and threw his head back. “But listen—”

“Go look over the email I sent you, it has everything you need for your meeting with him.”

“When did you send me an email?”

“Just now.”

“You’re talking to me right now, how did you—?”

“I’m great at my job, that’s how,” you told him and pointed at his office without taking your eyes off the screen. “Go. He will be here in two hours.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought the infamous Winter Soldier, the future Congressman, the great Bucky Barnes was sulking but he walked away without protest, making you repress a smile.

By the time Mr. Thompson’s meeting with Bucky was over, it was nearly lunch time. Caleb and Kelsey were already vaping outside, and you sent the email you had been working on for the last couple of minutes, then grabbed your purse to leave the office, your eyes still glued to your phone. Your whole focus was on the news article about Bucky, so you didn’t even realize the man who was about to step out the door as well until you bumped into him and your head shot up.

“Oh, sorry about that Mr. Thompson!” you said and gave him an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Oh no no, after you,” he said and you passed by him but as soon as you did, you felt his hand on your butt. Your whole body froze, your stomach lurching with the sudden panic that crashed onto you out of nowhere while he walked past you, his driver opening the door for him. You stared at his car until it drove off, your eyes burning with unshed tears, bile coating the back of your throat but you forced yourself to swallow, tightening your jaw.

“Hey, you ready?” Kelsey asked, the blueberry scent of her vape filling your lungs as you took a deep breath, then blinked back the tears.

“Sure!” You tried to smile. “Let’s—let’s go.”

                                            *

You couldn’t even decide who you were angry at more.

He was a perverted asshole, that was for sure, but now that you were thinking about it, you should’ve yelled at him.

Or slapped him.

Or did something other than freezing in your spot like an idiot.                                       

The tension hadn’t left your body for the whole day, no matter how much you tried to focus on work. All you wanted was to go home and take a long shower and bury yourself under the covers, so once everyone started to leave the office, you grabbed the file and knocked on Bucky’s door.

“Hey, here are the files for tomorrow,” you rasped out and put them on his desk. “I’m gonna leave if that’s all.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look okay.”

If it were any other time, you would’ve come up with a snarky comment but you were way too tired to do so.

“Um, I just want to go home if you don’t need me for the rest of the evening.”

Bucky stood up from behind his desk to approach you, his pleasant scent tickling your nose.

“What happened?” he asked softly and you bit inside your cheek.

“Nothing.”

“Listen, if it were any other time I would be thrilled to see you leave on time for once, but not like this,” he said. “What is it?”

You shifted your weight, your eyes cast on the desk just so that you could focus on something other than the threat of tears tingling the bridge of your nose.

“Just a bad day I guess.”

“Who’s responsible for that?”

You rolled your eyes at him playfully, the dread in your stomach easing just a little.

“Why, are you gonna go Winter Soldier on them?”

“If needed.” His voice didn’t hold a teasing tone unlike before, instead it was almost dark. “Who?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “We’re making you a congressman, you can’t do the whole scary super assassin thing anymore—”

“Who?” he repeated and you heaved a sigh.

“You were right about Mr. Thompson,” you muttered. “He is an asshole who pretends to be a gentleman. Apparently he holds the door open for you with his left hand to feel you up with his right hand.”

The moment the words left your lips, something in his eyes shifted, making you frown in confusion before your heart started beating in your throat.

Ah.

There.

Ever since you started working for Bucky, Winter Soldier had been a popular topic among your friends. They all kept insisting that it gave him the perfect air of mystery and danger, and that it made him even hotter. You weren’t an idiot, you knew very well just how handsome he was, how he stood out among all the politicians – or anyone else in the room, to be honest— but up until this point, you had never seen any trace of the infamous Winter Soldier in him. For you, Bucky was your very, very attractive boss who was genuinely so protective, so honest and so good to people around him that sometimes you wondered if he was even fit for the dirty world of politics.

But until now, it had never crossed your mind that Bucky was perfectly capable of being the most dangerous man in the room, he just made the conscious decision to shield the world from that side of him.

“He did what?”

The low growl made your whole body warm and you could only stare at him for a couple of seconds before forcing yourself to snap out of it and licked your lips.

Bucky was your boss, you were in a relationship, and this was making you feel things you definitely weren’t supposed to feel.

“It’s nothing,” you said in a rush, taking a step back. “I’m fine, it was just….who hasn’t been through that, am I right? People suck and I—I’m just gonna go home and take a shower and forget this whole day happened. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You walked out of his office and snatched your purse off your desk without even slowing down, then left the building.

Normally, you wouldn’t be caught dead without your headphones in the subway but you were so lost in your thoughts that it was only when you reached home that you realized you weren’t wearing them. You frowned to yourself, then pressed your palms on your eyes, then dropped your hands with a sigh.

It was just because of today.

That was it.

And besides, anyone could see Bucky was handsome. It was an objective observation –hell, you were the one who kept joking that his looks would grant him a seat in the congress— so if anything, it just meant you were good at your job.

You unlocked the door and stepped inside, then closed the door behind you.

“Max?”

“In here babe!”

You made your way to the kitchen to find him on a stall, his whole focus on his laptop screen. You quickly pecked him on the lips, then put your purse on the kitchen island while he clicked away at the keyboard.

“You’re home early.”

“So are you,” you said. “Oh my God, you will not believe what happened today.”

“What?”

“You remember Mr. Thompson?”

“The guy who owns that sports foundation, right?”

“Yeah, him!” you said. “So, he had a meeting with Bucky today, and it was around my lunchtime, and as I was walking out, he held the door open for me and then touched my butt!”

He looked up from his laptop.

“Holy shit, that’s fucked,” he said. “You okay?”

“Can you believe that?” you exclaimed. “He walks around like—everyone thinks he’s this sweet old guy, and he—he goes and does that? It’s so fucking disgusting!”

“It is.”

“I should’ve slapped him,” you told him. “Seriously. Or like, punched him or something. That’s what he deserves, that fucking pervert.”

“He really does,” he said. “Hey, should we have pizza for dinner?”

You blinked a couple of times, silence falling upon the kitchen as you searched for the right words through the anger burning in your head.

“That’s it?” you asked after a beat. “I’m telling you some creep groped me and your reaction is just ‘that’s fucked, what’s for dinner’?”

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked back with a laugh. “Challenge him to a duel?”

“If you could be angry, that would be appreciated,” you snapped and he pulled his brows together.

“I am angry.”

“Are you?”

“What, I should go and beat him up to show that to you?” he asked, his tone mocking. “It’s just a creepy guy with a wandering hand. No harm done—”

“Maybe I should be the one to decide if there’s any harm done, Max,” you growled through your teeth. “Seeing that it was my ass that was involved, literally!”

“Alright.” He let out a tired sigh. “I get that you’re upset, but there’s no need to take it out on me, I can’t do anything about what happened. There’s always gonna be creepy guys around you, you can’t let that affect you this much. It’s not gonna solve anything, it’ll just make you more upset.”

You could feel the headache creeping up on you, climbing from the base of your neck to your temples as you gritted your teeth, then ran a hand over your face.

“Wow,” you said. “You know what? I’m just gonna take a shower and go to bed. Eat whatever you want.”

“Babe, come on—” he started but you walked out of the kitchen to the hallway, then slammed the bathroom door behind you, your eyes still burning.

                                              *

Your headache was a little better when you woke up. You were still angry and hungry at the same time, so on your way to work, you got a sandwich, coffee with four shots of espresso and some pastries for yourself and the people at the office. As usual, you were the first one to arrive, so you placed the pastries in the kitchen, made your way to your desk, put your earbuds in and got to work.

You were halfway into your report when Kelsey snapped her fingers in front of your eyes, making your head shoot up.

“Thanks for the eclairs Birdie,” she said when you took out your earbuds and you made a face.

“Not you too.”

“Bucky still isn’t in?” Caleb asked as he put a file in front of you while biting into an éclair and you and Kelsey both shook your heads.

“He has that breakfast thing with—”

“With Mrs. Ainsley in Borough Park,” you said and checked the time on your laptop. “Should be here soon though.”

Caleb popped the rest of the éclair in his mouth, then sat on your desk.

“So, let’s get the theories about last night,” he said. “I say it was his wife’s boyfriend.”

“Nah, I say it was a robbery.”

“Nothing was stolen.”

“The guy is loaded, he probably has stuff he doesn’t want the public to—”

“Who are we talking about?” you cut them off and they both turned to give you a look of disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard.”

“Heard what?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat as you grabbed your phone. “I’ve been working on my report since I got here, what did I miss?”

“It came out last night!”

“I had a fight with Max last night—what happened?”

Kelsey tilted her head. “What happened with Max?”

“Long story, what’s going on?”

Caleb leaned back on his palms.

“Someone broke into Mr. Thompson’s house last night.”

Your heart started beating in your throat. “What?”

“Yeah, someone broke into his house—which is insane by the way, he usually has security there and a bunch of alarms— and my journalist friend got the first report, that was definitely personal. All the bones in his right hand are basically dust now, no one knows what kind of machine they used.”

You stared at him while Kelsey let out a snort.

“He knows, he just refuses to say anything.”

“The guy is traumatized.”

“That, and he lost all his teeth.”

“Exactly. He must’ve blocked it out because if he remembered, he would’ve given the description in writing.”

No.

Absolutely not, that was—

That was a coincidence, that’s all.

Bucky didn’t care enough about you to do that, your relationship was purely professional.

“He won’t,” Kelsey said. “People say he saw who it was, but is too scared to tell the police who it is.”

“I’m telling you, it’s his wife’s boyfriend or something, there is something personal—”

He stopped talking and jumped off your desk, causing you to turn your head to see Bucky walking to his office. Bucky offered you a small smile and nodded at your friends before entering his office and you let out a breath, leaning back on your chair.

“Ugh, he’s too hot,” Kelsey said and Caleb rolled his eyes.

“He’s your boss, dumbass. Don’t shit where you eat.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“Yet.”

“Listen, we all know the Venn diagram of his potential voters and the people who want to fuck him.”

“I still cannot believe Paul put that in the Powerpoint presentation, that was the most uncomfortable I’ve ever seen Bucky.”

“Oh please, as if Bucky doesn’t know how fuckable he is.”

“And do you realize what that means? We don’t ask people that question, it’s not in the survey, so it means almost all those voters just gave away that information voluntarily—”

“Uh, guys?” You hit print on the document, then grabbed the file out of the printer. “I’ll be right back.”  

You could swear your legs were shaky as you approached his office, then licked your lips and knocked on the door to peek your head in.

“Hey, are you busy?”

“Not at all,” he said and you stepped in, breathing fast for some reason. “I was just about to come to talk to you. How do you feel? After yesterday?”

“Oh I’m…I’m fine,” you said and rushed to put the report on his desk. “There. The latest numbers.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” you said breathlessly and turned around to leave, but then changed your mind and turned around again.

“Bucky?”

His piercing blue eyes on you were soft. “Yes?”

“Did you um—did you hear about Mr. Thompson?” you stammered. “Apparently someone broke into his house last night, through the security and all the alarms.”

He raised his brows in silence.

“It’s pretty weird, isn’t it?” you insisted. “Whoever it was, he broke all the bones in his right hand.”

A small smile twitched Bucky’s lips before he shrugged his shoulders.

“He needs his left hand to open doors.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, a warmth spreading from your chest to your stomach, and lower, and lower—

Holy shit.

It was Bucky.

The warmth turned into a fire rushing through your veins, making you lightheaded while you stared at him, your stomach doing happy flips. You didn’t even realize the smile curling your lips at first but as soon as you did, you cleared your throat.

“Bucky.”

“Hm?”

“You shouldn’t have.”

He scoffed. “We’ll have to disagree on that one.”

“He has security around his house,” you insisted. “You shouldn’t have put yourself in danger like that.”

He seemed almost offended that you thought security could pose any danger to him and you tried to focus on the issue at hand rather than just how adorable it made him look.

“And we were trying to get his support, if anyone saw you—”

“I don’t care about his support, nor do I want it anymore.”

Focus.

He’s your boss.

Focus.

“He apologized to you, by the way,” Bucky added, mischief glimmering in his eyes. “He would’ve said it himself but he doesn’t have teeth anymore, so…”

That managed to coax a burst of laughter out of you and you covered your mouth, then dropped your hands, trying to ignore the fluttering in your stomach.

“Thank you,” you managed to say and he held your gaze in his, making the butterflies in your stomach even worse.

His voice was soft: “Don’t mention it.”

You lingered there for a moment, then turned around and walked out of his office to your desk where Kelsey and Caleb were still talking. You could feel the fire blooming under your cheeks but you let out a breath and sat down, willing yourself to focus.

“Sorry about that,” you said. “What was that about the Venn diagram?”

Chapter 3  

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

i'm soooo glad you're back!!! love your writting so much, was thinking about some ghostface¡ tate or shit yk...like everyone who flirts with reader end murdered

i’m sorry this took me so long to do 😔 but i sorta did my own twist on this request, hope you don’t mind… i love it… anyway… :)

~~~

Lovefool

Tate Langdon x f!reader

warnings: murder, smut, stalking, obsession, very toxic, manipulation, very minor talk of drug use… virgins, yeah idk what else it’s just stalker tate being crazy for you

summary: tate’s loved you since the first moment you met, and he would do anything to be with you… anything…

word count: 4.4

~~~

2011

You stare at the boy in front of you, a mix of emotions stirring inside you. He’s your age still, you aren’t too surprised at that. You’re more surprised at the fact that he’s in front of you. It’s been so long since the last time you saw him. You remember the pain, the pure fear that paralyzed your body the last time the two of you had an encounter. It still makes you uneasy.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice weak.

He shrugs. “It’s Halloween.”

“There’s been plenty of Halloweens Tate and this is the first time I’ve seen you here. What do you want?” You reply in a harsher tone than.

Tate shrugs again and starts to play with the sleeves of his sweater. You can’t believe this is real. You want to close your eyes and pretend this is all a sick dream, though you haven’t slept in years. After a few seconds, you cross your arms over your chest and take a deep breath. This isn’t going to be easy.

“Tate the fact you even have the balls to try to find me is crazy, what happened? Did you suddenly feel some sense of guilt? Are you finally sorry for what you did to me? I don’t even care if you are sorry, I don’t care about anything except the one question I’ve wondered since the night it happened,” you say.

“What question?” He responds.

“Why?” Your eyes start to burn. “Why did you kill me?”

~~~

1993

Tate had never seen any girl as beautiful as you. Never. Not in a movie, not in a magazine, nothing. From the first time he saw you in kindergarten, he knew there was something special about you. Of course, he didn’t know it would grow into what it did until middle school when his hormones took over. His feelings for you quickly transitioned from a pure crush to a sick obsession. And the best and worst part of it all was that you had no idea.

You never really spoke to him. He was out of your league. You were popular, but not braindead popular like the people you surrounded yourself with. Tate had seen you in some of your classes. You were smart, you got the best grades in those classes. You had plans for yourself after high school, unlike your friends. That knowledge only made him admire you more.

The problems began when you started going out with one of the popular boys in your group, David. He was awful for you; Tate didn’t understand why you chose to have such a relationship with someone like that. He’d watch how David would wrap his arms around you in the hallways, leave small kisses on your cheeks, and whisper words in your ears that made your face turn bright red. It made him furious.

What did David have that he didn’t? Why was he so special? Tate knew he could give you more than David ever could. So, why were you with him?

Tate quickly became blinded by rage and jealousy.

At night he’d lie awake, the knowledge that you might’ve been out there opening your legs for another boy making him sick. That’s when the fantasies began. He imagined killing David. How would he do it? Where? In what way would leave the least amount of blood on his clothes? The image of his mutilated body consumed Tate’s thoughts. He liked it.

It was around that time that he had found the mask.

It was a strange mask he found in the basement. It had a long white face with black holes for the eyes and a long mouth. He wondered which resident of his house had left it there for him. He didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t care. All he knew from the second his eyes fell upon that mask was that bad things were going to happen.

He started going out at night and driving by David’s house. The mask he wore gave him a sense of power he never knew he could feel. At first, it was innocent. He’d simply drive down the other boy's road and look through his window for a few minutes before leaving. But all it took was one second of seeing you inside to blow the whole thing up. He was livid, seeing red. He decided he needed to bring his fantasies to life and get rid of David for good.

Halloween was when the opportunity to kill David became undeniable. By that point, Tate had been stalking the two of you for a month so he knew the basics. Which room was Davids, how to get into his house, and where his parents were most likely going to be. He had it all planned out. So, on Halloween night he put on the mask along with black robes that covered his entire body and ventured to the other boy's house, ready to kill.

He brought a knife, and when the time was just right, he snuck in through one of David’s open windows and started his game. He crept through the empty house, not making a sound. Getting to David’s room only took him a few minutes and what he heard from outside the door made him not regret his choice at all.

“Yeah, I know, listen she’s so close to finally giving it up to me and that’s what I’ve been working for this whole time. Once it happens, I’ll dump her, easy,” David spoke into his phone. His voice was cocky. It made Tate clench his jaw in frustration.

“Because dude, do you know how many girls from school I’ve already got under my belt? Y/N is just gonna be a name on my list. Yeah, whatever, I gotta go anyway I need to shower for the party, maybe I’ll get lucky, and she’ll drink too much. Okay bye.”

Before David could even get up from his chair, Tate kicked the door down and stormed in, too overpowered by his rage to think about anything but slitting the other boy's throat. He pounced on him, stabbing the knife into any part of his body he could reach. David screamed, but Tate quickly silenced him by shoving the knife down his throat. He felt empowered, he felt thrilled at the sight of his dead peer. It was amazing.

Tate didn’t waste much time gawking over his achievement, however. Once he was sure David was dead, he quickly pulled the knife out of the boy and fled out the window and back to his car. As he drove through the small neighborhoods of your guys' town, he wondered how big the news would be. Would you cry? He hoped you wouldn’t. Not over that asshole. You would move on, and Tate would wait however long it took.

~~~

The news of David’s death spread faster than wildfire and consumed Westfield High’s drama for weeks. Out of all the kids in the school, you took his death hardest. Seeing you so depressed almost made Tate regret his actions. He couldn’t bear seeing you tear up in class or show up to school two periods late. You weren’t like that.

However, as the days turned into weeks, you started to appear healthier and happier, and soon enough you were back to your normal self. Tate was glad, you were always so much prettier when you paid attention in class. He decided it was time for the second part of his plan to finally act. Though he was incredibly nervous, he knew it was then or never. He couldn’t risk you getting a new boyfriend that he’d have to kill again.

So, one day, he followed you into the library when the two of you coincidently had a study hall during the same period. His heart was beating so loud he could hear it in his ears. There you were. sitting at one of the tables alone studying, and he was going to speak to you. He’d thought up conversation starters all morning along with taking a few extra hits off his bong to help with the anxiety.

He shook the nervous thoughts from his head and grabbed his notebook from his backpack before walking in your direction. Your head was down, your hand moved aggressively across the paper as you wrote your notes. Tate stood at the other side of the table for a few seconds simply admiring you. His hands were shaky, his breathing uneasy. God, you made him lose his composure by existing. It was excruciating.

After he was done staring, he spoke, his voice quiet. “Hey y/n, do you mind maybe helping me with some of that psych homework?”

Your head shot up, your eyes instantly meeting his. He swore he couldn’t breathe. You, y/n, were looking at him on purpose. At that moment he didn’t care about what you were going to say, he didn’t care if you completely rejected him. All he cared about was how good it felt to have your eyes on him. Such innocent, loving eyes.

“Oh, yeah of course Tate that’s actually what I’m working on right now. Just sit, we can do it together. Unless you’re like super behind,” you answered.

“Are- Are you sure?” He couldn’t help the uncertainty. Did you really say yes to him?

“Yeah... should I not be?” You replied with a smile.

“No- sorry.” He sat down across from you. He could smell your perfume; he’d never been this close to you. “I just wasn’t sure if you even knew who I was.”

You chuckled. “How could I not know who you are? We’ve literally been in the same school system together since kindergarten.”

“I don’t know. You’re you know popular and stuff,” he said as he opened his notebook.

“Not really, besides even if I was that wouldn’t automatically make me forget anyone. But anyway, you can use my notes in a second, I’m almost done with the page,” you responded. You looked back down at your work and started writing again.

Tate nodded despite you not paying attention and watched as you wrote. He felt like that whole conversation was another one of his daydreams about you. Was he really sitting across from you? Or was it another mid-class nap? He cracked his knuckles to make sure he wasn’t dreaming and thankfully, he wasn’t. It was all real life.

“Sorry if this comes out as creepy, but I feel like I haven’t seen you around in a while. I mean, when was the last time we even spoke?” You suddenly spoke, your eyes back on his.

“I guess you weren’t looking hard enough to see me,” he said with a shrug. All his confidence was a facade because on the inside he was losing his mind.

He noticed the way your cheeks slightly turned pink before you replied. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t. But I should have been.”

He knew deep down you were going to be his for so long, but at that point, he knew he had already achieved his goal. You were his.

~~~

“What is this place?” You asked as you clutched your cardigan around your body.

Tate smiled and grabbed both of your hands in his. “I told you it’s a surprise. Patience is a virtue.”

“I have patience, but I also have a lower body temperature than usual and it’s bothering me so I would really appreciate it if you’d just take me to the surprise already,” you said, a small smile forming on your lips.

“It’s seventy degrees.”

“Yeah, but it’s also windy at the beach and it’s probably colder than seventy because of the ocean’s temperature.”

Tate sighed and leaned his head down to press a small kiss on your lips, a feeling he still hadn’t gotten over. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Terrible, naughty things I hope,” you replied, kissing him again. “But please lead me to your special surprise beach spot.”

Though he wanted to stand there and kiss you all night, Tate obeyed your request and began to lead you further down the beach. It had been a few months since the two of you started talking, and to say it progressed would be an understatement. Tate had truly underestimated how easy it would be to capture your attention. All you wanted was a sweet, caring, genuine boy and he could be all those things easily.

So, after a month of being friends, he asked you out and you said yes. The relationship grew deeper with each day, and it didn’t disappoint him one bit. He loved everything about you. The way you’d lie on your bed with him and talk for hours, the way you’d make your relationship with him public by holding his hand in the halls, and most importantly the way you never expected or wanted him to change to fit in with your friends. You liked him for who he was, and it melted his heart.

It was your three-month anniversary, and Tate wanted to make it special. Even though he knew before the two of you got together that you were a virgin, he didn’t know to what extent you were. He quickly became aware you had done most things already, just not full sex. At first, he was annoyed at the fact that you weren’t completely his because he had never done anything with a girl before you. But after the first night, you went down on him, he wasn’t that upset anymore.

On this night he planned to take the next step with you. He had it all set up. The blankets, the lights, all of it. As the sight of his setup came into view, he watched your face light up. You squeezed his hand and grinned up at him.

“Is this really for me?” You asked.

“Yeah, do you like it?” He replied.

You nodded and sped up to reach it, dragging him with you. Once you made it you dropped down to sit on the blanket, urging Tate to do the same. “This is so cool. You’re the first boy to ever do something like this for me. I love it.”

“I’m glad, I know how you like sentimental things,” he said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “And I’ve been wanting to show you this spot for a while. I used to come here a lot as a kid and watch the waves with my dad... before he left. I wanted to make it special with you because you’re not like my dad. Right?”

“No, I’m not. I won’t ever do anything to hurt you like that. I lo- I like you Tate, a lot.”

Tate only stared into your eyes, his heart beating faster than it ever had in his life. You almost said you loved him. He knew then that night was going to be the night you finally gave yourself to him. Something in your eyes made him certain. Your eyes were dark. You stared up at him as if he were the only boy in the world. There was a feeling in the air, one of lust and fear.

“I’ll never want to hurt you either,” he mumbled after a few seconds. “I doubt I ever could.”

You gave him a small smile and placed one of your hands on his cheek. You caressed the skin with your thumb as you slowly started to lean your face toward his. He accepted your lips on him, kissing back instantly. It was the moment he’d been working up to for years. He was finally going to lose his virginity to you, and you to him. Nothing would ever compare.

~~~

The sound of Nirvana mixed with skin slapping filled Tate’s room. He couldn’t help the moan that left his lips when he looked down at you. Your back was arched so perfectly, your waist looked impossibly small, and your ass looked incredibly big. The side of your face was smushed against one of Tate’s pillows. You were so red, so loud you had to bite your hand to spare the whole house from hearing. Tate took in a deep breath and slapped your ass, his thrusts not faltering for even a second.

“Fuck baby, you look so pretty right now. You take me so well,” he whispered. He wrapped some of your hair around his hand and yanked you up, making you practically scream. “Yeah, you like that. You like being manhandled y/n?”

You let out another moan but didn’t reply. Tate slapped your ass again and threw you back down to the mattress. He leaned over you, your sweaty body feeling perfect against his. He was close to finishing. He’d already made you cum a few times that day, so he wasn’t too concerned about where you were. All he was concerned about was getting closer to you before he came.

“I love controlling you, you’re so helpless. Fuck I’m so close,” he mumbled in your ear. “You’re mine, all fucking mine forever. I’ll kill anyone who even tries to take you away from me.”

You made a noise and Tate couldn’t hold back any longer. He came inside you, his cock pulsing heavily. You groaned; his cock was hitting your cervix too hard it hurt. He waited a minute or so before finally pulling out and moving to the spot next to you on the bed. He’d never felt anything as amazing as having sex with you. He was breathless.

He was so caught up in his thoughts about what just happened that he didn’t notice your sad expression. When he eventually looked at you, he saw your frown. Immediately he turned to his side and faced you, reaching out one of his hands to brush a few of your hairs behind your ear.

“What’s wrong baby?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you replied.

“It doesn’t look like nothing you look sad; you can tell me whatever it is.”

You sighed and turned your head to meet his gaze. “Why do you like hurting me? Like during sex and stuff. You’re always so rough and I don’t know you’re really mean and sometimes the stuff you say is… scary.”

“How is it scary?” He laughed.

“You said you’d kill anyone who would try to take me away from you,” you said.

“Yeah, I would. I swear I’ve said this shit to you before. I would do anything for you, or to keep you,” he responded.

“Don’t joke about that Tate, you know I’m scared of killers because of what happened.”

“Oh, so this is about David? Why are you even thinking about him y/n he’s been dead for months. Do you miss him, or something is that it?” He questioned; his tone harsher than before.

You scoffed and sat up. “You’re seriously making this about me missing David?”

“Well, is that what this is about?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered before you stood up and started to get dressed.

“Oh, my fucking God y/n I’m sorry for whatever I said wrong while we were fucking. Can we just move on already? I don’t see what the big deal is,” he snapped.

“No, we can’t just move on. You scare me sometimes Tate like genuinely. I know you mean it all in a sweet way but it’s weird. I love you but you don’t hear me saying I’d kill people if they talked to you or looked at you a certain way. That’s not normal.”

Tate sat up. “I wish you would say those things. I wish you loved me as much as I love you. I’d do anything you ask; I would shoot up the fucking school if you wanted me to.”

You looked at him, he could see the terror and fear in your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Of course, I am. I don’t get why you’re acting so scared. I’d never hurt you I don’t even think I could if I wanted to, you mean more to me than any person alive or dead,” he answered.

“You’re sick,” you mumbled. You grabbed your bag and walked to the door. “I think we need some time apart; you aren’t sane.”

His heart practically stopped. “What?”

“We need to stop seeing each other for a little while, I can’t take this insane shit Tate. I’m sorry. You know I love you, but I need you to get some help before I can be with you.”

Before Tate could reply, you left. All he could do was stare at the door, a million thoughts roaming his head. Did you really just break up with him? Was that it? Did you just throw away everything the two of you had because you felt his love was too strong? It didn’t feel real.

As the night progressed, he tried to call you, dozens of times. But each call was either declined or rang out. His anxiety grew with each ring of the phone. Why weren’t you replying? Who were you seeing? Did he really mean so little to you that you could leave so easily? His mind spun with scenarios, each one worse than the last. By the end of the night, he had convinced himself you were cheating on him, and the following days only worsened his state of madness.

You ignored him completely in school. Every time he tried to talk to you, you either turned away or walked away completely. It hurt him terribly. He couldn’t understand what had changed so fast. He chased you around the halls for days, trying his hardest to get your attention. But it never worked. And so, his love for you began to fade into an awful rage.

He couldn’t let you just walk away from everything the two of you shared. You were his. Only his. He couldn’t let you leave him, not like his dad. He hadn’t spent his entire life chasing you just to end up losing you. No. So, he began to formulate a plan. He’d leave you alone for a few days then calmly ask you to meet him at the beach, in the special spot he once made for you.

He wasn’t surprised that his plan worked. You were predictable.

When the night came, he made sure he was prepared. He snorted a line, packed his bag full of your favorite things, and set off. As he walked down the beach, he made sure the knife he hid was secure in his pocket. It was smaller than the one he’d used on David, but it would do the job just as efficiently.

You arrived a few minutes after him, a sad expression on your pretty face. He fought the urge to run to you with open arms.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. Only a few feet separated your bodies, he wished he could close it. But he needed to be patient.

You took a deep breath, you looked nervous. “Yeah, look Tate I... I’ve thought about it and I... I really think we should stop seeing each other for some time.”

“Why Y/N? I love you, so fucking much. I’m sorry for what I said, I can change, I won’t say shit like that ever again. I’ll be gentle, I swear. Just give me the chance I can be whatever you need me to be,” he replied desperately. He opened his bag and pulled out your favorite candy. “I love you; I really do. Please give me another chance.”

He watched your eyes fill with tears. You wanted to give in, he could see it in your eyes. But you only shook your head and wiped a fallen tear from your cheek.

“No. I’m sorry. Tate, you aren’t gentle, that’s not who you are. And I don’t want you to pretend to be someone you aren’t.”

Tate swallowed hard. “You promised me you’d never leave me; you said you were nothing like my dad. Was it all a lie?”

“Of course not!” You exclaimed and took a step closer to him. “I love you; I really do. That’s why this is so hard.”

“If you love me, why can’t we work this out? Don’t lie to me Y/N.”

He couldn’t stop his eyes from watering, nor could he stop his lips from quivering. He dug the bouquet of your favorite flowers out from his bag and held them out to you.

“Please,” he mumbled. “I need you.”

You caved. You wrapped your arms around his waist and held him tight. He could feel your muffled cries on his chest, it pained him. You were a sensitive sweet girl; it was both your blessing and curse.

“Maybe in a few months, we can try again, I don’t know.” You looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “We just can’t be together right now. And I mean we’re going to graduate soon, and I might go to a college far away, how would that even work? But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s too late for that Y/N, you’ve already hurt me.” He dropped what he was holding and dug one of his hands into his pocket. He touched your face with his other hand, your tears covering his palm. “You’ve planned on leaving me this whole time. I wanted to give it another try you’ve made up your mind. I guess it just comes down to one thing.”

“What?” You asked.

“If I can’t have you, no one can,” he whispered before he pulled out the knife and plunged it into the side of your neck.

~~~

2011

“I killed you because I loved you,” he answers. “Because you were going to leave me and find someone else.”

All you can do is stare at him in silence. You think back to everything that happened. How could you have been so blind? It couldn’t have been your fault though. He would’ve killed you anyway. You think back to all the times Tate made you uneasy, all the times he would say things that creeped you out. Deep down you must’ve known that’s who he is. Maybe you knew all along.

Maybe you loved him because of his darkness.

You exhale a long breath. “We don’t have that long till midnight.”

“So?”

You shrug. “Wanna hook up?”

[slttygeto]

༉‧₊˚. PLAYLIST

༉‧₊˚. episode 09: nothing but strangers in a bed.

preview: "Being in bed with you, fucking you like this, was beginning to shake Hanma’s unwavering belief that God didn’t exist. "

content warning: a very long chapter, lots and lots and lots of smut, this is filthy, dirty talk, choking, reader likes the idea of getting caught. (and you have a cat, his name is kenta)

word count: 10,1k (she's a long one)

༉‧₊˚. note: second chapter of the year :)! thank you once again to my amazing best friend @aurelianamu for being my beta reader and helping me fix areas that needed serious editing! i won't yap for too long, this isn't my best work but I am improving and I need this story to be as frustrating as it can be. enjoy the introduction of a certain character ;)

༉‧₊˚. reblogs + comments are really appreciated!

➜ MASTERLIST

The neon glow of Shinjuku flickered below your feet as you peeked your head over the edge of the rooftop. Your brothers were going to kill you, you were certain of that.

The city hummed an unfamiliar tune, one you would never be able to catch from the balcony of your room in Roppongi. Passing cars, screeching trains, distant shouts—Kabukicho was filled with night owls, different from the ones you’ve heard in Roppongi. You can see Hanma’s motorcycle parked at the entrance of the abandoned building, the purple cheetah print visible even in the dark night. 

“Come on.” 

You almost scream when you hear his voice, holding a hand to your chest as you exhale. You look up at him, a tall and imposing figure seeming intimidating as your eyes scan his long limbs and the confident smirk on his face. This was his idea, a way for you to live your life for once without the suffocating grip of your brothers. He extends his hand out to you and you grab it as you step onto the edge of the rooftop. 

It’s spacious enough for you to stand behind Hanma, peeking over his shoulder. 

“Are you sure this is safe?” Your hand grips the hem of Hanma’s white tee, scared and trembling as you hide behind the taller male. 

“Of course, doll. You don’t trust me?” He flashes you a grin, one that doesn’t seem to ease your anxiety as your other hand grabs onto the fabric of his shirt. No answer is an answer. 

Hanma, although reckless and seemingly intolerant of other people’s bullshit, reaches his hand and wraps it around your left wrist. You gasp, trying to ignore the soft flutter in your heart as you look up at him.

“You gotta trust me.”

“...I’ve never done anything like this before.” You whisper the confession, voice small and laced with a hint of shame. If it were any other person, Hanma would’ve cackled so loud, letting the person know how ridiculous they sounded. But this was you, and you were holding onto him like a lifeline. He couldn’t brush off how important he felt considering he managed to convince you to sneak out and risk getting scolded by your brothers.

“I know,” slowly, he pulls you towards the front and grips your biceps. “But it’s worth it.”

“Holy–!” you gasp, closing your eyes fast as you ball your hands in fists. “Oh my god, oh my god Shuji that’s high!”

A low chuckle rumbles from the deepest parts of Hanma’s chest as you press your back against it, your hands gripping his shirt for support. 

“I know, isn’t that so fun?”

“Fun?!” You exclaim, whipping your head back to stare at him. “This is—” Before you could finish your sentence, Shuji’s hand grips your jaw and forces you to stare forward, then you finally see it.

What he had been telling you about since your first meeting, the view from the abandoned building in Kabukicho, the city lights and the freedom that comes with standing at the edge of the rooftop. You weren’t sure how to describe Hanma beside the term “adrenaline junkie”, but you couldn’t deny it—you were starting to understand.

What a breathtaking view. 

“I feel dizzy.”

The teenager doesn’t believe you at first, he thinks you’re being dramatic, acting like the spoiled princess who lives in Roppongi. However, when he feels your hands tremble and then your hold on his shirt weakens, he quickly pulls you against him and off the edge of the rooftop. 

You melt against him, and Hanma’s hand travels up to your face as his eyes dart across your features. From your soft lips, your closed eyes to your furrowed eyebrows, Shuji doesn’t like the flutter in his chest one bit. And the gentle hold he has on your jaw turns into a playful tap to your cheek.

“Ouch—”

“You should be an actress.”

“No,” you shoot him a glare but make no attempt to let go of him. “That was genuinely so scary. I am terrified of heights, Shuji.”

He likes the way his name rolls off your tongue. 

Still, the butterflies in his stomach must be a sign of disgust from your spoiled-rotten behavior. “You gotta get over it. What if you get on a plane one day?” 

You scoff, but Hanma sees the twitch of your lips. “That’s different. I won’t have to look out of the window.”

His golden eyes widen in disbelief. “You wanna tell me you wouldn’t want the window seat?”

And when you remain quiet, Hanma pretends to let go of you just to hear your squeal.

You smack his chest. “Don’t do that!”  

He leans down, face awfully close to yours. And for some odd reason, you don’t want to pull away. 

“And where’s the fun in that, doll?” 

—

Twelve years later, you don’t dare look the man in the eye after he is done ravaging you. You stand behind him like a statute, waiting for his cue as he motions for his bodyguards to open the backdoor of the club. 

“Come on doll, let’s go home.”

The tattooed man starts to lead the way towards the VIP entrance of the club, growing aware of your sudden silence as your high heels quickly click against the tiled floor in an attempt to keep up with his long strides. You’re right behind him, but Hanma feels as though you want to disappear into the shadows. Turning around, he sees you going through your phone with a frown on your face and he raises an eyebrow as he pushes the door open for you to step out.

“What is it?”

But you’ve completely shut him out for the rest of the night and surprisingly, Hanma doesn’t push your buttons any further. He lets you get inside the car, buckle yourself and then you rest your head against the window before closing your eyes. Even if the ride back home might be short, you pray that it’s enough for you to pass out as soon as you get home. 

As soon as Hanma parks near your building, you start to unbuckle yourself from the passenger seat then your hand reaches for the door handle. However, you don’t expect him to get out of his car as well. 

“What are you doing?” You question as he stands in front of you with an extended hand. 

“I’ll carry you.” 

Hanma doesn’t like how loud you laugh at that. “Since when did you become a gentleman?” your voice drips with venom, and you eye him in a way that Hanma doesn’t seem to be fond of. Those eyes that used to shine so bright for him, reflecting the comfort and trust you had in him, now shone with something akin to hurt and disdain. 

So he doesn’t say anything, and he steps away from the car just as you expected. You scoff, putting your high heels on as you hug your coat and purse tight to your chest. You were grateful that he managed to get them for you without having to go through the embarrassment of explaining to your co-workers the lack of stockings, but it doesn’t change how annoyed you were with him. 

You start to walk away, waiting to hear the confirmation that Hanma was driving away. But when you look back, you are startled to find the man walking awfully close to you.

“Wha—”

“What?” He asks, feigning confusion while annoyance creeps back into your system.

You climb the first couple of stairs before turning to face him.“What do you want now?”

“You think I want something?” Hanma questions as he tilts his head. 

“You always want something.” 

“Ahhh,” he hisses, pretending as though your words hit his skin like a hot iron. “Don’t like what you’re insinuating, doll.”

Rolling your eyes, you don’t bother with him anymore. You start to walk towards your elevator, completely ignoring Hanma’s footsteps behind you as he tries to catch up to you. However, the elevator doors closed right before he could step in and the tall man could’ve sworn there was a hint of an amused smile on your face as the elevator went up.

You think you finally get rid of him when you step onto your floor, but to your shock, Hanma is standing near your front door with a new cigarette dangling from his lips.

“...do I need to ask?”

Hanma makes a gesture towards his legs. “Long limbs.”

“Ah,” you simply nod before reaching for your purse. 

You can’t find the right word to describe the vibe between the two of you. Despite needing your own space, the wave of disdain and nausea you felt towards him earlier completely dissipates and is replaced with a gaping hole in your chest and an insatiable need to bicker with Hanma a little longer. You don’t deny the attraction, only a fool wouldn’t be able to see that the two of you got along really well.

(And your shared moment in the bathroom of his club is a testament to that.)

So the two of you walk into your apartment, stepping out of your shoes as you toss your keys on your kitchen counter. Hanma finally learns his lesson as he mirrors your actions then follows you into the kitchen.

“What?” you glance over your shoulder. “Are you hungry or something?”

“Not really.” 

You leave the conversation there. You grab a bottle of water from your fridge and the man is still standing right behind you even as you pour the liquid into the glass. The silence is finally starting to bother you, and you turn to fully face the tall man.

“Seriously, what is your problem?”

“Kinda miss the view from behind.” His words are filthy and the grin on his face reflects just how much he enjoys toying with you, watching your expression twist and your lips twitch as your brain conjures up a witty come back.

You can feel the heat creeping up your neck and you chug down some water before slamming the glass down on the counter. “You really need to work on your timing.”

Hanma tilts his head, a finger sliding under your chin as he slowly towers over you. “Why? I don’t think it bothers you.”

The small of your back collides with the marble of your kitchen counter, staring up at the man with bright eyes before swallowing thickly. “You’re too close,” you whisper, a hand sliding up his chest. 

Despite wearing a suit at all times, the tattooed man rarely ever feels hot. No straining physical activity or hot summer night ever bothers him. But being in your presence like this, like he hadn’t bent you over a couple of hours prior, as though he hasn’t seen you naked on so many occasions—it makes the fabric feel like lava against his skin. He wants to take it off, to tattoo the spot where your hand was resting on his chest as a reminder of what you two have. He’s never felt this way before and maybe it would’ve scared him had he not been so close to you.

In a flash, he crashes his lips against yours and pins you harshly against the kitchen counter, swallowing your pained gasp. You cringe at the feeling of his glasses against your eyes, whining when he pulls away for a moment. You open your eyes and you swear you’ve never felt as hot and bothered as now, watching the tall man remove his glasses and toss them to the side. You’ve kissed Hanma before when the two of you were having sex, but it felt new to be up against him so soon after your ordeal in his club. 

Hanma’s hands find the hem of your dress, pushing it up to your stomach. He groans at the sight of your ripped tights, letting his hands grope your ass before sliding up to your hips where he grips them.

You whine against his lips, melting at the feeling of his fingers digging into your skin. “Are you gonna stay?” 

Hanma grins against your skin. “You don’t want that?” But even as he utters the words, you can tell that his self-control was slowly slipping through the cracks of his mind. 

“I do,” you whisper as your hand grips his hair. He presses his forehead against yours, and you can’t get over how filthy and primal it feels to feel him grind his bulge against you. “Please stay–”

“Pretty girl,” his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, then your tongue swirls around the finger. “Never thought you’d be this filthy.”

“I’m not who I was twelve years ago,” You try to glare at him, but you’re too fucked out to sound threatening.

The grin plastered on his face should’ve annoyed you, but instead your heart flutters as he wraps his other hand around your throat as he leans closer. “I know that, doll.” 

—

The night at the club is what solidifies your situationship  

You had become far more comfortable expressing your sexual needs with the man and he couldn’t deny that it excited him. Instead of him seeking out sex as a way to distract himself from your very first time together, it felt like you were on equal footing in terms of wanting to fuck like rabbits. Although, you still refused to send him nudes and were very clear that you wouldn’t think of it, even if he were to pay you. 

When asking you about it as he watched you clean yourself up after fucking you on your couch, you simply replied with. 

“Who knows what you’ll do with them. You’re a dangerous guy.” 

Fair enough.

But this also meant that sexting between the two of you wasn’t as often as the man had hoped. For the past month, Hanma was not sent on any mission outside of Tokyo which worked perfectly with his agreement with you. He would visit you at 2 in the morning after coming back from his strip club, all riled up and horny, he would fuck the frown off of your face as you try to scold him about the importance of getting a good 8 hours of sleep and how waking you up for sex was just selfish of him. Once he’s done with you and you’re drifting back to sleep all satisfied, you mumble something about how good dick is always worth it. All he can do is chuckle and put his clothes back on. 

He is gone before the sun rises, and you grow used to an empty bed in the morning.

You learn to accept that asking him to stay was a one time thing, and he would never do it again.

He stands in the snacks aisle with a frown on his face. He looks…so out of place doing this. He doesn't even buy groceries for himself, so what was he doing buying snacks for the two of you? 

Christmas was just around the corner and you had mentioned something about not finding your favorite snacks from when the two of you were still teenagers. Naturally, he thought it would be a good idea to finally shut you up and buy you everything that you needed. In return, he hoped that you would give him a proper blowjob this time. 

“Pretzels.” Your school uniform was probably Hanma’s favorite thing on this planet. A cute, short skirt with the most adorable and tempting pair of thigh high socks. A white blouse and a baby blue tie which you proudly admit you tied on your own. He is distracted by how cute you look in your school uniform that he doesn’t hear a single word you say.

“What?”

“I like pretzels, but even better when you dip them in–” you gasp, clapping your hands before staring up at the boy.You point to the aisle behind him, and he notes how this is the most excited he’s seen you while talking about food. “Chocolate! There they are!”

Adult Hanma now stands before the snack section and grabs a family sized bag of chocolate dipped pretzels, before heading to the front of the store. He scans the item, missing the way the cashier gives him a bewildered stare when he pulls out his black card and then walks to his car. 

You already know it’s Hanma when you hear your doorbell repeatedly–a habit that is so uniquely his given the lack of consideration for your poor doorbell. When you open the door, he’s grinning at the scowl on your face.

“One day, you’ll pay for a new one.” You don’t even wait for him to get in before walking away to your living room.

“I was hoping you’d say a new bed, can’t believe we haven’t broken it yet–” he starts to walk towards your kitchen before feeling something soft hit his side. 

“No shoes in my house.” He raises his arms in the air, sliding them off in the middle of the hallway before putting the plastic bags on the kitchen counter. “And no shoes in the middle of the hallway!” 

You’re sitting cross legged on your living room floor by the time he joins you, staring at you in confusion when he sees the show that’s playing on your large screen.

“Criminal minds? Didn’t that shit come out in 2005?” He scoffs as he throws his head over the couch, bouncing his leg as he releases some air and reaches for his pocket to grab a cigarette.

“Is a show supposed to have an expiration date?” you throw him a dirty look from over your shoulder. Hanma catches it and you gasp when you feel his foot on your back. 

“Ew! Get off!” 

“Ew?” Hanma narrows his eyes. “I know for a fact my feet don’t smell.”

You roll your eyes at him. “I don’t want your feet anywhere near me.”

“Yeah yeah,” he motions for the spot near you and you narrow your eyes as you glance to the side. You see the snack bag and Hanma is certain he’s never seen you this excited over food like now. 

“Chocolate dipped pretzels?!” 

He winces as he brings a hand to his ear. “I think even dogs heard that.”

You throw yourself over his lap, and Hanma’s breath hitches at the proximity. His hand hovers over your head momentarily, unsure as to where to place before giving your back a gentle pat.

“Thank you, I haven’t had them in a while!”

And after a long beat of silence, the tattooed man speaks up. “Don’t thank me, it’s fucking weird.”

You smile before patting his knees. “Still as awkward as ever,”

But before Hanma could come up with a reply, you’re pushing yourself up. “Ugh, now I’m hungry. Do you want to eat?”

“You made dinner already?”

“It’s like…7:30PM.” You frown at the man who raises an eyebrow at you.

Hanma shrugs. “Do I look like I have a routine to you?”

“Oh yeah right,” you walk closer to him, grinning at the man as you lean down to remove his glasses. Hanma watches with amusement as you wave the accessory in the air, walking towards the kitchen with a little sway to your hips just to tease him. “The only thing that’s consistent about you is your dick.”

“Is that so?” your stomach flutters when you see him push himself off the couch, all height and broad shoulders as he approaches you. He throws the cigarette pack on the soft cushions, suddenly consumed by something far more carnal than the need to smoke.

“Mmmhm. It’s not a bad thing.” you look over your shoulder with his glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose, trying to brush off the heat pooling between your legs as you stand near the stove.

“I know that,” stepping behind you, rough tattooed hands quickly find your bare skin under your shirt and he gropes your boobs. “Your body speaks to me, doll.” 

“Does it?” You try to muffle your moans when one of his hands travels down to your shorts, pushing your panties to the side to cup your pussy.

“Loud and clear, baby girl.” You wish you could say something in return, poke fun at the man or say something smart–but it’s all thrown out the window when he starts to rub at your clit while his lips press against your pulse. You’ve gotten used to not seeing his face while he pleasures you. Even when you ride his face, you’re more focused on gripping the headboard for dear life than at the lust reflecting in those gorgeous golden orbs. 

“What’s…what’s up with you and doing it in the kitchen?” you ask breathlessly, hissing when you feel his teeth bite at your neck.

“Why? You don’t like it?”

“No–”

“I know,” you can hear the grin in his voice, fingers messily rubbing your clit. “This pussy is soaked.” 

It’s safe to say that the two of you did not eat that night.

You’re always the first one to pass out after having sex with Kisaki’s right hand, not that he minds. But he quickly finds out that as long as you don’t hold him or talk to him after sex, he doesn’t feel the urgency to leave. 

The intimidating man sits up against the headboard, foot shaking slightly as he realizes where he had left his cigarette pack and curses under his breath. Then he turns his head to the side, and his eyes fall on your sleeping figure. Something so familiar yet so guarded. He knows every inch of your body like the back of his hand, is able to have you unravel beneath him with the flick of an experienced hand–but your heart is as guarded as it can be. His fingers twirl the loose strands of your hair, watching as your chest slowly rises then falls, lips parted to allow air in–until they get too dry. You lick them, pink muscle peeking out so adorably. He takes note of the constant twitch in your face muscles, how you have the same expressions you give him and he can’t help but chuckle. 

Still, the heavy feeling in his chest comes back and he pushes himself off the bed to grab his clothes. Why does it bother him so much? Why was it that the longer he spent time with you, the more unbearable it was to breathe? 

Hanma doesn’t feel guilt, he finds some lame excuse for the ache in his chest as he drops his pants to the floor. His feet drag him towards your living room where he finds his pack of cigarettes and he steps out onto your kitchen balcony to have a smoke. 

The city isn’t foreign to the criminal, he practically lives during the night, but it feels strange to watch it from above like this and from your kitchen balcony. It almost feels like he is seeing things from your perspective, although he highly doubts you’d stay up this late. 

An amused chuckle escapes his lips as he takes a whiff of the cigarette, leaning forward with his elbows on the metal railing and his head hangs between his shoulders. Suddenly, he feels something soft rub against his ankle and his body jolts up.

“What the fuck–” It’s dark, but he makes out a pair of bright eyes glaring daggers at him from the balcony door. Squinting, he leans down to make sure his eyes weren’t betraying him. “Is that–are you the fat fuck?”

A sharp hiss cuts through the dimly lit space of your kitchen, and Hanma laughs when your pet bares its fangs at him, its whiskers flaring in defiance. “Oh sorry, how does round motherfucker sound?”

“See, you and I don’t really have a good history.” Hanma squats to be eye level with your cat. “You cockblocked me, but I still got to fuck your mom though.” 

When your cat hisses at him again, Hanma’s grin turns devilish. “I guess that makes me the motherfucker–”

“Kenta?” your sleepy voice cuts through the one sided tension between the two, and Hanma’s eyes shift towards you. His blouse is hanging loosely over your nude body, with your hand holding it together so it doesn’t fall open. He can’t pull his eyes away from your bare legs, as though he didn’t have them wrapped around him hours prior, but he forces himself to stare elsewhere to soothe the ache in his throat.

“What’s wrong?” he hears the panic in your voice as you speak to your pet, and steps into the kitchen. You hold a hand to your chest, clearly taken aback by his presence. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Did I wake you up?” Hanma brings the cigarette back between his lips, inhaling the smoke as his eyes keep shifting from your bare legs to your visible nipples.

“Oh, mmmm,” you rub your eyes sleepily and Hanma bites down at his cigarette bud. Your lips were extra pouty, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look so harmless, so small. Not even when you’re whining beneath him. “It wasn’t you, I heard Kenta’s bell. He doesn’t go to the kitchen a lot at night,” he sees you lean down to pick up your pet, golden eyes flickering down to your butt as the blouse rides up and then back at you. The cat sits comfortably in your arms, but its disdain for the man is evident as he hisses again. 

“Oh! That’s not nice,” your voice is soft as you rub your cat’s nose, but it’s clearly done with the man as it wiggles in your hold before you place it down and watch it run away. “He doesn’t like men.”

He chuckles, clearly amused. “Yeah, you told me that.”

You glance towards the clock on your microwave before staring at him in surprise. “It’s 2AM?” 

Hanma nods. “You got work?”

“No, it’s Saturday.” You rub your eyes as you yawn and Hanma pulls his eyes away from your bare face. He’s grown used to seeing you like this — all bare and vulnerable, willing to show him a side of you he dreamed of seeing as a teenager. But the more he thought of it, the quicker he could feel bile rising to his throat. So he clears his throat. 

“Oh yeah, right.”

You shiver slightly when the wind hits your body, hugging yourself tightly. “Lucky you, you don’t have a corporate job.”

Hanma leans against the door frame. “I wouldn’t consider myself lucky, doll.”

You shrug before continuing. “No 9 to 5, no meetings–”

“We do have meetings.” He interjects and you roll your eyes at him as you open the fridge to grab water.

“Then something about your job is more fun than mine.” 

“Uh…it doesn’t feel like someone’s fucking you in the ass?”

You wince at the image, shaking your head as you bring the glass of water to your lips. “Yeah, I mean you don’t have to sign a contract or something.”

“The only contract you’re signing is that if you betray us, then you’re fucking dead.” he puts emphasis on the last part with a dark chuckle, puffing out smoke in the air. He leans against the railings of your balcony and soon enough, you join him. 

However, Hanma is a man with a good memory — and he recalls many instances where he had to lend you his very thin jacket when it would snow, and lie to you that he wasn’t cold just so he could see your cheeks turn pink from getting warm. So he glances to the side and true to his recollection, you are trembling from the cold. 

“You’re shivering.”

You shake your head, determined to fight your body’s need to slide in your warm bed. “I’m fine now.”

It wasn’t everyday that Hanma stayed, let alone have a conversation like this. You were willing to sacrifice body heat in order to stay up with the nocturnal man, and pray that he would be the one to suggest going back inside and… talk. 

Hanma’s eyes shamelessly travel down to your erect nipples, the way they harden in the cold and how your bare thighs seem to tremble as you lean against the cold railings. Naturally, Hanma’s brain leads him down a dirty path.

 “You sure someone can’t see you from here?”

“I’ve lived here long enough to know where to stand naked,” you joke around. You don’t know when throwing jokes and jabs at one another became fun around Hanma, all you know is that it doesn’t feel awkward anymore. 

“You’re not naked though,” he flickers the cigarette to the ground, and you give him a nasty side eye for it. “At least, not enough.”

“What do you mean?” your heart is racing in your chest, but you don’t pull back when he starts to lean down before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. He pushes you against the cold railings, but you make no attempt to grab onto them as devours you. He smells of cigarettes and a hint of sandalwood, a combination your brain has adjusted to over the weeks. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, and you gasp into the kiss when you feel his hands grope and smack your ass cheeks. You pull away with a whine, staring up at him behind your eyelashes. 

The action causes the man to hiss, and you could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate as he pecks your lips.

“You’re into shit like that?” his hot breath fans over your mouth, forcing you to stare at his lips for a quick moment. 

“Shit like what?” You breathe out and Shuji’s hands grip your ass cheeks. 

“Someone possibly catching us?”

You don’t give him a direct answer. You peck his lips once, twice then the third time seems to have the man unravel as he goes from kissing you passionately to devouring you in a split second. 

Hanma feels your fingernails dig into his scalp, and it ignites a fire in his stomach — a need to destroy you in front of the whole world to see. He pulls away from the kiss to bite down at your neck, and you gasp as your grip tightens around his hair. 

“As long as you make me cum.”

Challenge accepted.

You knew better than to test the man, you should’ve expected him to be determined about listening to your demands — but nothing could’ve prepared you for how shaky your legs would be by the end of it.

Hanma pulls your arms behind your back as he drills his cock into you, his nose nestled against the crown of your head as you push your ass back against him so sweetly. Your chest rests against the railings, digging uncomfortably into your rib cage but it didn’t matter — not when he was fucking you like this. 

“Filthy fucking girl,” he hums, using his other hand to wrap itself around your neck and pull you back against his chest. “I can feel your fucking pussy—she’s a messy one,” you can’t see his face, your vision blurred with tears as you fight back the loud noises threatening to spill from your lips. 

“O-Oh my g-g– Shuji–”

“Yeah baby, say it. Say my fucking name.” His thrusts become sloppy, erratic but he seems to be adamant on bruising that sweet spot. “Say my fucking name loud and clear. Tell people who’s fucking you right now.”

“Shit!” 

“Who’s fucking you? Who’s ruining this fucking pussy?”

“Shuji please!”

“Say it!”

“It’s you! It’s you Sh-Shuji it’s you, it’s you, it’s you—!” you blabber, drool spilling from the corner of your mouth and you hear Hanma curse under his breath as an orgasm washes over you in violent waves. He holds your body against him as yours shakes and trembles, kissing your neck through the tremors of your euphoric state. 

And soon enough, he is reaching his orgasm as well before melting against your back. 

Hanma carries you to the bathroom where he lets you do your business as well as clean yourself. He watches intently as you wash your hands and you shoot him a questioning look through the mirror. 

“Just thinking.”

“That’s never a good sign.” You yelp when he delivers a smack to your ass and you turn to pout at him. “You’re mean!” 

The tall man chuckles before approaching you, and at first you think he is going to try to grope you or push you against the sink. Suddenly, you see the world upside down.

“Shuji!” You gasp, holding onto his shirt as a giggle rips from the back of your throat. “Put me down!”

Another loud smack bounces off the walls and you let out a pained moan. “That really hurt!”

“Let’s go to bed.”

“I can walk!” 

You hear the playful chuckle right before Hanma drops you to your mattress. “Then I gotta fuck you harder.”

—

Over the last few weeks, Hanma’s presence has become a constant in your life. The tattooed man would stay long enough for the two of you to make breakfast together (or attempt, at least) and then he would leave. 

Naturally, that meant that the two of you had developed a sort of…routine together, one that neither of you wanted to acknowledge nor disrupt. 

7PM - He pulls up to your apartment building, and as he looks up to your living room window, the lights are on. 

It takes him about 5 minutes before he is abusing your door bell, and when you open the door to scold him, he leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss and hopes that it distracts you. 

(It does sometimes).

Afterwards, it goes something like “did you eat yet?” “not really” “Shuji, how many times should I tell you–” and you proceed to scold him about the importance of getting three meals a day, staying hydrated enough and getting a good night of rest. Obviously, Hanma isn’t listening and only nods because is distracted by your small shorts. 

7:30 PM - The two of you are done eating dinner and he helps by drying the dishes. You tell him you are still not used to him standing in your kitchen and he complains about how small it is.

8PM - You try to get him to watch an episode of Criminal Minds, and he tells you it’s stupid. He says he doesn’t understand the concept, and that they’re probably not even smart. After an episode or two, he changes his mind but only half-heartedly and without ever admitting that he likes the plotline of the episodes. 

The next 20 minutes are spent making out on the couch, with Hanma whispering into your ear lines from one of the characters. You are always surprised by how good his memory is. 

9PM - Hanma asks you if you should start getting ready for bed, but you are still needy from the makeout session and he can’t hide his amusement as you drag him to your bedroom. He watches as you make a poor attempt to switch the roles in bed and take control, but a single thrust up of his hips has you melting on top of him and surrendering to the pleasure. You are usually knocked out by 10:30 PM. 

The tall man wants nothing more than to experience this right now — but it’s all cut short when he hears his phone buzzing. He fights back the urge to go through your older messages, questions of what he wants to have for dinner and some sneaky pictures you’d send each other when you’re both busy at work. Then his eyes find the latest message.

—I have a work dinner I need to attend. sorry :( 

The brightness of his phone casts a shadow over his face, and a frown sits heavy on his features as his eyes scan the message for multiple seconds. His thumb hovers over his keyboard, unsure of what to type as a response. 

Have fun? He hopes someone chokes on their food, but he knows your kindness and how willing you would be to stay with the co-worker in the hospital until they feel better. 

Eat well? Hanma knows for a fact that you would’ve eaten better in his presence and while watching your favorite show. 

Stay safe doesn’t work either, he’s not a fucking guardian angel. 

Get home soon? Fuck no. 

Hanma cannot find a single appropriate response that doesn’t make him come off as possessive and jealous, which is far from how he feels at the moment. Obviously, the knot in his stomach is from how hungry he is and you are to blame for it. After all, you’re the one who made him get so used to a routine, modified it so it would match his schedule. 

He stares at the watch and the frown turns into a glare when he sees the time. 

7:10PM

Finally, he unlocks his phone and his thumb slides across the screen as he types a response. 

—OK. 

“Look who’s visiting.” You can’t say you’re surprised he is here, but you still didn’t expect the owner of the restaurant to come to your table. All brooding, big and handsome; a pair of golden eyes lock with yours in the dimly lit space. Surrounded by all of your co-workers, you can’t hide the big smile that paints your features, and you miss the looks they all exchange as you get up from your seat to greet the man properly.

“I suggested the restaurant, actually.” You feel your phone buzz in your hand, but you choose to ignore it and place it down as you wrap your arms around the taller man’s shoulders. Feeling his big, muscular arms circle your waist, you fight back a blush as he pulls you against him slightly.“Heard you were good with seafood.” 

He smirks at your playful comment, eyes scanning all of your co-workers as their eyes shine with something he could only describe as mischievous. “I’m excellent with seafood,”

“I have a feeling that’s not the only thing he’s excellent with,” Misaki, your co-worker, teases slightly and you find yourself flushing at the comment. Shooting her a warning glare, she shrugs her shoulders and snickers when she sees you try to fan your face.

“Uh, thank you so much for coming.”

“No problem, let me know when you’re ready to order. I’ll make sure that you’re taken care of.” He places a warm hand on your bare shoulder, and you force yourself to look away from him when you catch him eyeing your cleavage for a bit too long. 

You’re not prepared for the overwhelming amount of questions and comments that are thrown at you. 

“Who was that?”

“You have a boyfriend and didn’t tell us?”

“He’s huge! I know a size kink when I see one–”

“Guys!” you try to calm the situation. “We’re not dating, he’s not my boyfriend!” 

Another co-worker, Aya, quirks an eyebrow at your reply. “Oh yeah? But he sure looks like he wants to be.”

“No he doesn’t.” You sigh, sinking in your seat as you pretend to read the menu. “Plus, he and my ex are close friends. I can’t do that to him.” 

“Please,” Misaki speaks up again. “You don’t owe your ex anything, you two have been over for a while.” 

“Aaand, if I had a man who looked at me the same way he looks at you…” Aya sighs dreamily and you furrow your eyebrows in concern. “I wouldn’t know how to act around him.”

Objectively speaking, he was an attractive man. Tall, handsome, strong and big–all of these traits combined are enough to make any woman fall face first. Well, you weren’t just any woman. You’ve known him for quite some time now, ever since his fight with Mitsuya and the whole shift in the blue haired man’s character–you watched him change entirely for his two siblings and after many years of hard work and discipline, he managed to open a chain of many successful restaurants all across Japan. So yeah, on top of being so physically charming, he was a smart man, a good flirt and he always smelled so good. 

And beside there was Hanma. Despite things not being official between the two of you, you couldn’t imagine yourself doing it to the taller man. 

No matter how charming, handsome and huge Taiju was. 

You catch yourself before your thoughts go down a dirty path, squeezing your thighs lightly before crossing your legs and clearing your throat. 

“Well you have to learn how to act around him because–”

“Act around who?” Your blood runs cold, but you quickly look up to find Taiju staring directly down at you. All handsome face and chiseled jaw. His hands were on your chair, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel nervous at the close proximity and the feeling of his body heat. 

“You said you’d send someone?” You change the topic quickly and it seems as though the taller man doesn’t mind. 

Shrugging his shoulders, he pushes himself away from your chair and grabs his phone from his pocket. “I thought about it, and I’d rather do it myself. Memorize your order and all.” He sends you a wink and you flush. His gaze was a wildfire—unrelenting, consuming, and impossible to look away from, and honestly–you’d rather stare at him forever than meet the playful looks from your colleagues. So you point to the menu as he types away. 

“Uhh I’ll take the–”

–

“You’re leaving?” The broad-shouldered man steps into your space from behind the counter and you flash him an apologetic smile as you wrap your scarf around your neck. 

“Yeah, early day tomorrow.” 

Raising an eyebrow, you don’t miss the slight twitch to his smirk as he crosses his huge arms across his chest. “Early day, huh?” 

Sensing his amusement, you roll your eyes at him and look down at your shoes, finding them interesting. 

“Shut up, it’s not bad.” 

“Not judging ya bunny.” You were grateful that your colleagues were busy with paying, and that none of them was looking at you–or else, they’d have endless questions about why your eyes widened so much and why your face looked as though it was matching the restaurant’s fancy red carpets?

“Don’t.” 

“Don’t what? Call you bunny?”

When you don’t give him an answer, only a lighthearted glare and a smile you try to suppress, Taiju’s hands find your shoulders and he starts to guide you out of the restaurant. “Alright alright, but it’s good to know it still has the same effect on you.”

“Not the same effect if it’s not the same person saying it,” you mumble only to yourself, but the tall man catches it and chuckles. 

“You’re right, lover girl, my bad.”

“I’m not a lover girl.” 

“Mhm, and I’m not a Christian man.” You feel him squeeze your shoulders playfully, but you still can’t deny how comforting it feels to have him touch you like this. Nonetheless, you pull away from his touch when you find your colleagues waiting for you near the car.

“Okay I have to go,” you shiver slightly from the cold, nuzzling your face in your scarf while Taiju looks almost unfazed by the icy, cold wind. “Thank you for tonight.”

“No problem.” But even as the conversation comes to an end, you can feel that Taiju has more to say. You tilt your head to the side, and Taiju catches onto your movement with a slight chuckle.

“Spill.” You nudge the man and he shrugs.

Taiju’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Who’s the lucky man?”

Your eyes widen. “Huh?”

“Come on bunny,” he leans down to be eye level with you. “I recognize that look on your face. Only one man has ever made you act this way.”

But you remain quiet, burying your face in your scarf as though it could magically make you disappear. You don’t want to tell Taiju or anyone about him, you like how secretive and intimate it feels to be involved with a man like Hanma. And for the longest time, you thought that you were hiding how complete and new Shuji made you feel, that your lies about having a self-care night and going on solo dates were convincing enough to your co-workers. 

Perhaps they weren’t, and maybe Taiju knows you that well and you are only learning about it now. 

Your shoes become interesting again, and you can’t control the blush that travels up to your face. You would like to blame it on your scarf, that you were breathing into it, but that wouldn’t explain the glossiness of your eyes. 

Before you can part your lips and utter a response, a loud honk makes you jump out of your skin. Taiju stays put as he stares at the fancy car parked right in front of his restaurant, his hands buried in his pockets as his eyes stay fixated on the driver of the car. 

You turn to see who the culprit is, about to complain to Taiju about how rude people have become lately and then you see him. 

“Didn’t take you for a seafood lover, doll.” Hanma gets out of his car, marching slowly towards you and Taiju with a cigarette between his lips. “Shit, didn’t take you for Shiba’s friend either.” 

“Oh we…” you gulp as you stare between the two men in panic. Your heart is beating so loudly you can feel in your throat, but you muster up the strength to wave for your co-workers to go ahead without you before they can question the situation you were in.

Which was nothing, so you didn’t understand where the anxiety came from. 

“We’ve known each other for a while.”

Hanma tilts his head to the side. “Have you?” 

You nod, trying your best to seem unfazed by the dark look in his eyes. 

“Why is this news to me?” 

You shrug, “You never asked.” 

Taiju watches the interaction unfold with curious eyes. He can tell from your body language that Hanma isn’t a stranger, but he isn’t…just a friend either. You seem almost hesitant to talk about another man in his presence, but you are confident enough to stand your ground and not let him intimidate you.

But he does wonder, how is it that someone like you goes from Mitsuya to a man like Hanma? It seemed a little unexpected, but he continues to observe the interaction between the two of you. 

You grab onto your scarf again, eyebrows twitching as Hanma steps onto the pavement. He stands to his full height, something he rarely ever does and your breath catches in your throat. 

“You ready to go home, doll?”

You shoot him a look. “Should I ask how you found me?”

Hanma flashes you one of his playful smiles while you fight one of your own, like it’s one of your inside jokes, your own little shared secret.

“Get in the car, doll.” 

For the first time during the night, Taiju feels as though he shouldn’t be standing near you. He doesn’t voice it out, watching intently as you wave at him once you are near the car. You wish him goodnight with a bright smile, before getting in Hanma’s car. 

“Interesting.” The blue haired male tells Hanma and the latter doesn’t respond. The two stand in silence for a few more seconds before Taiju scoffs, waving a hand at you before glancing at the criminal.

“What, lost the way to your car or something?” 

A dark chuckle escapes the tall man’s lips as he retreats to his car. “You’re fucking lucky she’s there.”

—

You’ve never seen Hanma drive back home as fast as he did tonight. The entire ride feels like a blur as he pulls up near your apartment building. And when the two of you get out of the vehicle, you almost don’t register that he is physically dragging you up the stairs and inside the elevator.

“Shuji?” You whisper his name with a hint of hesitance, unsure as to why the man was suddenly as quiet as he is. But he doesn’t respond, clenching the elevator’s railings. “Are you okay?” 

Still no answer.

The elevator doors open again and the taller man is back to dragging you by your wrist. When you are finally in front of your door, you dig your hand into your purse to grab your keys then Hanma snatches them out of your hands to unlock the door himself. Your lips part and close multiple times, the coil in your stomach tightening as you take in Hanma’s body language.

Stiff shoulders, tight jaw and a dark look in his eyes. 

This could go either really bad, or really well. 

When you finally step into your apartment, Hanma doesn’t waste a single second as he pushes you up against the nearest wall and clashes his lips against yours. It’s primal, the way kisses you, pushing you so harshly against the wall that you grip his shoulders and whine against his lips. But it doesn’t shake him, instead giving him a boost to make an even bigger mess out of you.

When he finally pulls away, it is to pepper kisses down your jaw and remove his glasses as he strips you from your scarf and coat. Finally, he gets a look of the dress you were wearing.

“Work dinner?” Even as he asks, his hands don’t leave your skin. He shoves them under your dress, groping your ass cheeks before giving them a harsh smack. 

“Yes Shuji,” you bite your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck. “I like to look good.” 

You always look good.

He hikes up your dress just enough to shove his hand in your underwear, rubbing your clit in circles until he feels the wetness soak his digits. You melt against the wall behind you, whimpering when the tip of his fingers swiped and teased your entrance. 

“So unfair,” you whine to the man and he raises an eyebrow. 

“I’m no damn mind reader.”

Grabbing his belt, Hanma seems to be taken aback as you pull him flush against your crotch. “I wanna see you”

His movements are hurried as he pulls away from you, chuckling at the whine you let out at the loss of contact. 

“So fucking whiny for me.”

“Don’t push it.” But even as you glare at him, there’s a smile dancing on your lips before you pull him back in for a kiss. 

You feel his naked body against yours, moaning into the kiss when the tip of his cock grazes your entrance a couple of times. His thumb slides down to rub at your clit, taking in the way you tense into the kiss when he finally starts sliding his cock inside you. He applies a good amount of pressure to your clit, watching with lustful eyes as your jaw goes slack and you throw your head back against the wall. 

Hanma’s hand slowly wraps itself around your neck and his fingers collide with the metal of your necklace. You can feel his hot breath fanning against your lips as you part them. His eyes are like two burning suns, pulling you towards their heat but so intensely bright that tears start to blur your vision. Your hand finds his forehead, and you brush his hair away as you press your forehead against his and moan loudly into his mouth. 

“Shu,” you whisper out, voice laced with wanton and a need for his presence like never before. Hanma finds himself groaning into your mouth when your voice reaches his ear, the hold he has on your neck tightening a bit.

“Don’t say my name like that,” his voice breaks at the end, and it’s a tell-tale that his orgasm was near. And like a pyromaniac, you love to play with fire. 

Your hand slides down to his jaw, gently cupping it. The intoxicating movement of his hips distracts you for a moment, and you hold back from tossing your head on the wall as the tip of his cock brushes against your sensitive spot. “Like what, Shu?”

Another loud groan erupts from the back of his throat, then he leans down to press his nose against your pulse. “Fuck me, doll.”

Giggling to yourself, you wrap your leg around his waist as you pull him in. 

“I am,” 

And that seems to catch his attention as he pulls away from your skin, hovering over your fucked out body with flushed cheeks and bruised lips. 

“Looks like I haven’t fucked you stupid yet.” He taps your butt and you jump, wrapping both legs around his waist as you gasp.

“If I can still talk? Yeah, you haven’t.”

Smirking, Hanma moves away from the wall with him still inside, and starts to walk towards your bedroom. He makes quick work of opening your door before laying your body down on the mattress. 

You almost miss the way he is gentle with your body.

Slowly, he starts to hover over your body and your legs pull him in closer. His hand squeezes your neck once before dragging down your chest, torso and eventually your stomach where he presses down hard enough for you to gasp. You look up at him from behind your lashes, eyes shining with what Hanma could only be described as pure lust, then you drag your hands down to fondle your own breasts. That seems to seal the deal for the tattooed man, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist to pull you even closer to him. 

You yelp at the sensation, body arching off the mattress as you throw your head back on the pillow. “Suddenly wanna show off how strong you are?” you mumble against the back of your hand, poorly attempting to cover up your flushed cheeks.

“Maybe,” Hanma shrugs, his thumb brushing over your swollen clit. “Cause I’ve seen the way this pussy squeezes around me when I do that.” 

You have no response to that—no smart retort or sarcastic comment, only a hot face and a pathetic whimper that escapes the back of your throat with so much desperation that Hanma’s eyes widen in shock.

“Oh shit,” he chuckles. “Oh fuck, you do like how strong I am.”

“Shuji stop,” you look to the side, now using your arm to cover your face. You bend your knees as you try to escape his grip, but that seems to put you in the perfect position for Hanma to fold you in half. 

Pinning you to the mattress, his hands grab onto the back of your knees as he pushes them to your chest. You are trapped beneath him, forced to come face to face with the man who had been drilling you all night. 

“Don’t look away, doll.” And he means it. 

He wants to see, hear and feel everything. The slight twitch to your lips as he starts to thrust in and out of you at an achingly slow pace, the breathy moan as his pubic hair brushes against your sensitive clit and the flutter to your pussy when he leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. 

Being in bed with you, fucking you like this, was beginning to shake Hanma’s unwavering belief that God didn’t exist. 

Hanma’s eyes seem to be fixated on your sleeping figure, on the slow fall and rise of your chest, the soft inhale and exhale and the plush of your lips. He doesn’t seem to realize, but you’ve pulled him in a trance and he can’t seem to escape. His hand traces the small of your back, a chuckle escapes him and it’s so soft, so devoid of malice or sarcasm that it leaves an ache in his dull, cold heart. And then, he feels a lump in his throat. 

The longer he stares, the more his touch lingers on your skin, the harder it is to pull away and the pain in his chest intensifies. It spreads like a wildfire, and a tattooed hand lands on his torso as he feels bile rise to the back of his throat. 

He rips his eyes away from your innocent expression, trying to distract himself from the fact that your hand was resting on his arm as a way to keep yourself grounded. Even now, Shuji was aware of the fact that you don’t cuddle to sleep, you told him once when the two of you were young and dumb and he truly believed that he could somehow end up as your first boyfriend.

“That sounds like such bullshit,” a young Hanma appears in his memories, he is going through your magazines that Ran had bought for you and a teenager version of you is trying to pry them off his hands. 

“Put them down! Ran and I spent so much time organizing them!” But when that doesn’t work, you huff and land on your desk chair with your arms crossed over your chest. “What do you mean it sounds like…”

Hanma can’t stop smirking as he repeats. “Bullshit? Come on doll, not allowed to curse?” 

“I am allowed to curse!” The defensiveness and lack of eye contact tell a different story. 

“Sure thing, princess.” He pats your head rather aggressively, but not enough to hurt you. You’re annoyed that he messed with your hair, then Hanma speaks up again. “You’re too whiny and clingy to not want to cuddle when you sleep.”

Your heart aches. “Clingy?” 

When he hears the hint of pain in your voice, he smoothly places a band-aid over it. “Like a kitten. It’s not bad.”

But you shrug, leaning against your chair. “I really can’t cuddle, I feel uncomfortable.”

Hanma sits on your bed after picking a magazine. “How?” 

“I don’t know?” you tilt your head. “Maybe with a boyfriend it will feel different.”

In reality, he doesn’t know whether or not your habit has changed. For the first time, he chooses to assume that he doesn’t know you as well as he does, that you’ve grown into a person he doesn’t recognize and that his brain was playing mind tricks on him whenever he recognized old habits that never died down.  

But your hand keeps sliding up his arm, nails digging into his shoulder as you shift closer to him in bed. 

You press your lips against his bicep, and Hanma instinctively reaches his hand down to cup your face.“Shuji?” 

“Hm?”

“What do you say we go out and have brunch tomorrow?” It’s mumbled and barely coherent, but Hanma makes out a few words and manages to piece them together. However, he doesn’t say anything in return. 

This wasn’t unusual, the two of you have made plans before. And like every other time, you expect him to reply with his usual ‘yes’ and ‘I will find a place’.

Instead, all you hear is a shuffle before your face is pressed against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, steady and comforting, and it slowly pulls you back to sleep. 

But even with your naked body pressed up against his, and as you mumble his name in your sleep, Hanma can’t seem to brush off the discomfort that suddenly engulfs his entire being. The walls of your bedroom suddenly seem like prison walls, and the pendant of your necklace presses against his chest like the tip of a knife. 

A loud buzzing sound interrupts his thoughts, and he quickly reaches for his phone on the nightstand. 

It’s Kisaki. He brings the phone closer to his ear.

“Hm?”

“Where are you?”

Despite being familiar with your sleeping habits, Hanma’s voice is unusually quiet. “Why?”

Kisaki doesn’t need to say much before Hanma is slipping out of your arms and into his work outfit. He doesn’t cast you a glance, golden orbs fixated on the grey of your carpet as he sits at the edge of the bed to put on his socks. 

Homemade meals, soft covers and a place you turned into home with your own delicate hand; those were all things Hanma wasn’t used to, and he couldn’t afford to keep lying to himself about being deserving of something like this. 

Suddenly, the walls of your room feel foreign to him. He doesn’t see himself in any of the pictures in your living room, nor can he find a way for his existence to fit on the pillowy bed of your heart.

He steals a glance at your sleeping figure, still curled around the pillow that had cradled his head just moments ago, before tearing his gaze away. 

He was never meant to find his way into your life again, and by the time the sun rises, he will be nothing more than a shadow lost to the morning light. 

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[dyaz-stories]

a house, not a home || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings & tags: canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, hyun-su needs a hug, unresolved tension, mentions of blood

a/n: okay so, for context, this takes place during season 2. reader and hyun-su know each other from high school and reader runs into hyun-su after the events of the first three episodes. reader also doesn't know that he is a monster/neohuman though if people are interested i could definitely write that 👀 I hope you'll like it! Please let me know your thoughts and if you'd like me to write more, and consider reblogging!

next part

The hardest thing to get used to, after what others called the Monsterization Outbreak but you labelled, more simply, the Apocalypse, was the silence. You were the type of person to always have music playing, back when you were a high schooler studying hard to get into your college of choice. Now, music was wasted electricity and, worse, could be a death sentence if anyone — anything — heard it play, or if it dulled your senses and got you killed.

At the beginning, there had been lots of sounds. Screams. Cars colliding. Stores’ alarms, blaring when the looters broke in. Sobs. In your house, for a while, there had been your father, humming quietly as he worked.

Then he’d gotten a nosebleed, left the house, and never returned.

Now it was just you, and you’d learned not to make a sound. So when there’s a knock on your door, it echoes through the rooms and rattles you to your core. For a second, you clench your trusty baseball bat. You took hours and cut your fingers planting nails into it, but it’s worth it, if only for the feeling of confidence it gives you. Truth is, you rarely had to use it. Your strategy relies on avoiding confrontation at all costs.

You release it when you realize that there are very few people who can come knocking at your door.

After all, monsters don’t knock.

You rush to the door without letting go of the bat. Your habits are ingrained in you well enough that you still check the peephole — and when you do, your heart somersaults in your chest.

You keep the hinges well-oiled and the door doesn’t make a sound when you open it.

“Come in,” you whisper, not daring to break the silence with actual words.

Cha Hyun-Su stares at you, looks like he hesitates. He always does, looks like he wants to give you a chance to slam the door back in his face. He’s covered in blood now — ‘not mine’, you know he’d say if you asked —, clutching his wrist, lips chapped, eyes hollow.

“Come on,” you say again, and this time he does, walking by you without a word. Then he goes still once more, there in your entrance, while you close the door behind him. He always does that, until you give him explicit permission.

“Are you okay?” you ask when you turn around, hands reaching for his arms, his torso, trying to check on him, though you cannot see whether or not he is hurt.

“I’m fine,” he replies with that deep voice of his, catching your wrists before you can feel for yourself. “It’s not my blood.”

It never is.

“But are you hurt?” you press, still.

He frowns, and confusion sparks in his eyes.

“I told you. I’m fine.”

You shake your head.

“No, I mean— Does it hurt? Does anything hurt?”

Hyun-Su’s lips part. He closes his eyes. His body sways towards yours, and you freeze. You feel his breath against your cheek, and his grip on your wrist becomes lighter— a caress, at most. You just stay there, not wanting to scare him away, but not wanting to leave him to himself either. You feel a pull towards him, the urge to wrap your arms around him, and you resist it, knowing that he’d flee.

Finally, he snaps out of it, lets go of you, takes a step back.

“I’m fine,” he repeats for a third time.

You don’t push it.

“Do you want to take a bath?”

Clean water isn’t easy to come by these days. Fortunately for you, you have a complex system designed to retain rain water as well as morning dew, put in place by your father, when he was still around. It’s rained recently, and with the help of solar panels you’d stolen with him what feels like a lifetime ago, you’ll be able to have hot water. Showers, you haven’t mastered — though you’re sure your dad would have figured it out by now — but you can at least offer him a warm bath.

Hyun-Su’s eyes are on you, wide and focused.

They’re ever so slightly warmer than they were when he came in.

“I would like that.”

Hyun-Su comes out of the bathroom some thirty minutes later, clean and looking more like himself. He’s wearing clothes he’d left there on one of his other visits, which you’d washed by hand among some of your stuff.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice firmer than it had been earlier.

“It’s not a problem,” you reply, and you have to stop yourself from grimacing at how fake your nonchalance sounds to your ears.

If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Have you been okay here?” he asks instead.

You bite the inside of your cheek. The answer is complicated. You’ve been safe, physically that is. You have barely caught sight of a monster since he’s last been here — nine days ago. You can’t say you’re bored, either. There’s always things to do, to fix, to figure out around here.

What you are, is alone.

And, though you don’t want to admit it, lonely.

It might be the kind of answer he’s looking for, yet you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. It’s not even that you don’t want him to know.

It’s that you’re scared that if you did, if you asked him to stay or to take you with him, he would still leave you behind.

“I make do,” you reply, which at least isn’t a lie. “I keep myself busy.”

It’s your turn to freeze when Hyun-Su leans forward, trying to meet your eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

A smile escapes you at his cautious tone as he repeats your words at you. You look up, and there he is, inches away from your face, checking on you in the very same way you’d checked on him when he’d arrived — now that he’s had the time and space to collect himself. For half a second, the corner of his lips lifts clumsily to form a smile in response to yours, and then it’s gone, as he, too, realizes how close he is.

You see him sucking in a breath, then swallowing, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Your heart beats so loud in your ears, you can’t even hear the silence anymore.

“I’m not hurt,” you say, and it is true for now, at least.

Hyun-Su nods without moving away. There’s an intensity in his eyes that you’re not used to, a spark, a craving.

His eyes drop to your lips.

Your whole body is tingling with anticipation, yet you don’t move, no matter how badly you want to close the gap between you. You can’t rush him. You’d never forgive yourself, if he didn’t come back.

He leans forward, just by an inch, then closer again, so close and—

He turns his head at the last moment, late enough that his cheek brushes against yours, before he pulls himself back.

That hurts. It makes your heart ache more than you’ve let yourself hurt in forever.

“Sorry,” Hyun-Su mumbles, stumbling back. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re not sure if he’s apologizing for trying to kiss you, or for not doing it.

“I’ve brought you food,” he says in a rush, picking up his backpack by the entrance door.

You watch him as he does, and you can’t help but note the many wounds on his body. Most of them are half-closed, and you know that they’ll be gone by the next time he comes back, but that new ones will have had the time to open and heal halfway.

He hands you his offering of food, without meeting your eyes this time, and you take it from him. Your fingers brush against him, and he moves his hand away like you’ve just burned him.

“It’s late,” you say, your voice quiet even to your own ears, even now that you’re so accustomed to the lack of noise. You don’t want him to go, not just yet. “You should sleep here.”

But, just like you expected, Hyun-Su shakes his head and closes his backpack with shaky hands.

“I need to go,” he says. Then, when you don’t answer — can he tell you’re fighting back tears? —, he adds “I’ll come back. I promise.”

You nod. It’s your turn to avoid his eyes.

“I’ll be waiting,” you say.

You open the door for him, and you force yourself to look at him as he steps back outside, into the unknown, into the danger, and away from you.

He looks back, right before disappearing in the night.

“Stay safe,” you say, though you know he won’t.

“You too,” he says, knowing you will.

And then he’s gone, and you’re alone with the silence again.

next part

[thisischaostragic]

i have been holding space for the Agatha finale (i’m in queer media) and am pleased to report that my feelings about it have shifted quite significantly. follow me, my friends, to a more or less coherent, very long text post at the end

primary thing: this show is very much about motherhood. idk why that didn’t totally register for me in the first half given how often they mentioned Nicky, but realizing this changed my analysis a ton. Billy doesn’t just remind Agatha of Nicky — Agatha loves Billy like a son. (i know “like a son” is an oversimplification, but I’m sticking with it for this post.)

with that, my thoughts on Agatha’s arc almost completely flipped. when Rio shows up in E8 and says she has to take Billy, Agatha is revisiting her deepest wound all over again. her reaction is harsh, but it’s not some long-simmering revenge plan or a calculated effort to hurt Rio. Agatha is literally just reacting to the fact that, after all of the almost-reconciliation, the love of her life is taking her son again. i think she was trying to get Rio to fight for her or to say the trade was too high a price and bend the rules. Agatha was trying to get Death to act only as her lover, and looks devastated when Rio actually walks away instead.

and so, when Agatha goes to the morgue trial and says that “sometimes, boys die,” she’s continuing that realization that Rio isn’t personally chasing her down and causing her grief. sometimes, death just… happens. and “out of Death, life” is largely about Agatha realizing that Rio did bend the rules for Nicky, but also doubles down on the Nicky and Billy parallels. both of Agatha’s sons were literally borne of Death and living on stolen time. loss is inevitable.

i think Agatha genuinely believed that Rio could have kept Nicky alive and chose not to. we know that Agatha blamed herself for Nicky dying (“the truth is too awful”). so Agatha, who was taught by her own mother that nobody would ever actually love her for who she is, probably thought that the love of her life just… didn’t love her as much as she thought she did. going back to E1, i think “you don’t have a heart” is equal parts about Nicky as it is about Agatha herself. her main takeaway is that everyone will betray her, even when they claim to love her, and so she hides behind power and a god awful reputation so that she can keep everyone at arm’s length and never get hurt again.

ALL OF THIS IS TO SAY: when Billy is about to die, Agatha almost retreats back into the version of herself she became after Nicky died, but she doesn’t. she turns around and faces the pain head-on.

and I want to take a second to appreciate how immensely hard that would be. Agatha spent centuries killing people so she could be powerful enough to stay numb. Agatha spent all of that time pushing away the love of her life, who still loves her, who still sees her fully, and who Agatha is clearly still desperate to return to. Agatha realizes, probably to absurd amounts of despair, that she was wrong about all of it. and she still turns around.

it’s not about Agatha randomly sacrificing herself for a last minute villain kind-of-redemption. it’s about Agatha breaking the cycle she’s trapped herself in for an unfathomably long time, admitting that she knows Rio couldn’t change the outcome, and acknowledging that, yeah, she actually does love this kid.

and honestly?? i don’t think Agatha becoming a ghost counts as killing her. she’s literally still around, doing stuff, picking up brooches (👀 Rio wya), and getting a second chance at… not motherhood, exactly, but caring for a child. (and a queer child! and the idea of Agatha, who has been queer since the *1600s*, getting to tell this gay kid over and over again that there’s nothing innately wrong with him makes me actually sob.)

HOWEVER! i maintain some criticisms. i think Jen deserved to have an actual fight with the doctor who bound her. (the oops! it was Agatha All Along twist was… complicated. i have mixed feelings. essay for another day, but i wanted Jen to have rage time that everyone was just cheering for.)

i needed Death lore. how is she physically with Agatha so often if, as Agatha states, 120 people die every minute? is she Death the cosmic entity, or are green witches sort of responsible for decay on earth?

some of the plot elements were severely under-developed, and frustratingly, the vast majority of the underdeveloped plotlines had to do with Agatha/Rio’s romantic relationship, Agatha’s mother, and Agatha’s reasons for killing people. (the fact that they said she’s a siphon in interviews and not once on the show will never stop baffling me lmao.) i find it very frustrating that a LARGE chunk of the underdeveloped stuff relates back to Agatha’s queerness in some way.

however… i am willing to be generous about some of that, because i find it difficult to believe that this *extremely queer* creative team actually just disregarded major queer plot elements. i am far more inclined to believe that they were operating under a hostile corporation and pushing as far as they could, and in that case, they did a fucking phenomenal job.

i genuinely think that the way they landed the show opens the door for them to… dare I say it? … give Agatha/Rio a happy ending?? ghost Agatha literally need only show up to Rio’s house or cave or dimension or whatever and be like “heyyyyy, yeah that kiss was forgiveness and also i’m solid enough to use my hands now” and it would be believable. the fact that it would take them only 15 seconds to give us two fucked up lesbians having their version of happily ever after is actually pretty cool

anyway, this is an abridged summary of how my feelings abt the Agatha All Along finale went from like a 4/10 rating to an 8/10.

[cameronspecial]

Can i request a Rafe x pogue! Reader of reader probably ignoring all his calls and texts and he shows uo at her house and ahe gets nervous because everyone can see his truck parked outside her house and she's rushing him inside the house

I Want To Be With You

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

Warnings: Underage Marijuana Use

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Rafe is probably the most surprised that he is dating a Pogue, but how could he not fall for Y/N when she is the only one who could see the full potential in him? He also never thought he would be needy for her either. “Come on, Baby. Why aren’t you answering your phone?” he groans into his phone as he is sent to voicemail again. His fingers go back to sending texts asking what she wants to do tonight. They all go unanswered. 

———

Y/N’s knee bounces as she stares at the buzzing phone on her coffee table. Thankfully, Kie, JJ, John B and Sarah are all too high to notice and Pope is too focused on his book to notice either. She really wishes she could get high with them to help ease the stress of keeping her relationship a secret, but she knows Rafe would get jealous of her using someone else’s stash. She couldn’t answer his calls because she wouldn’t be able to hide her excitement from them and it would warrant questions. Any attempt at getting them to leave has not worked. “You guys, my parents are going to be here any moment and they would kill us if they find you high,” she tries to scare them. 

However, their attention is focused on something outside the window. Sarah’s eyes narrow at the car, “Is that my brother’s car?” Y/N scrambles off of the couch and joins them. Of course, it is his truck. He’s about three hours too early, yet, it really doesn’t surprise her that he is. He always gets worried when she doesn’t answer and when he is worried, he gets clingy. “Uhh, no. That’s my neighbour’s truck. They have very similar license plates. I actually need to put the garbage out, so I’m going to go do that. I made brownies. Go eat them in the kitchen,” she excuses, running outside and sneaking to the passenger side of Rafe’s truck. 

She pops up from her crouched position, knocking on the glass to ask him to roll it down. “You haven’t been answering my calls, Baby,”  he pouts. He moves himself over the centre console so he is sitting in the passenger seat. He gives her a kiss on the lips. She shakes her head, “Because I’m currently hanging out with your sister and all of our friends.” “You spend all your time with them. What about me?” he whines, placing his head on her neck.

“I’m supposed to hang out with you at seven, Rafey. You are about three hours early.”

“Well, like I said, you weren’t answering my call. I thought you were hurt so I HAD to be early, so let me just turn my engine off and we can go inside to cuddle.”

“You know you can’t. Everyone is still inside. Why don’t you go get some snacks for tonight and come back?” 

The childish frown he gives her makes her sigh. She knows he is going to throw a tantrum if he isn’t in her warm embrace any time soon. “Okay, you can come in, but through my window. Let me go inside and distract everyone then I’ll open the window for you,” she proposes. His mouth turns into a massive grin, “My second favourite way to get into your house. You promise to cuddle once we are inside?” “Yes, you just have to wait until I chase the others out.” Y/N makes her way back inside to the kitchen. The empty tray of brownies disappoints her when she remembers that she could convince Rafe to make some with her. Maybe they could bake it into an edible. “Oh, no. All the brownies are gone, guess you have to go now. Remember, let Pope drive and don’t talk to your parents,” she chases her friends out of the kitchen and house. 

Once the door is locked up, she heads to her bedroom window. However, she is surprised to find Rafe already in her room on her bed. “How did you get in?” she pounders, kicking her shoes off to lie down beside him. His arms quickly engulf her in a hug, “When it comes to being with you, a locked window isn’t going to get in my way. I couldn’t wait to be with you.”

“God, you are so clingy. You couldn't even wait five minutes to be with me.”

“I am. And proud of it. You are the only person I ever want to be with.”

[billy-cockblock]

SWTD Theory

Still Wakes the Deep has been a huge brainworm for me the past few weeks, so I wanted to make a post with one of my takes. Someone’s probably thought of this already, but I can’t find anything about it, so here I go. 

I’m gonna take this time to shout out a little sub theory of mine that plays a bit of a part in my main point. 

For a little background, in populations of organisms, there are limiting factors on their growth and spread. Think of it as a series of funnels of different sizes: the rate of liquid that can flow through is going to be determined by the narrowest funnel. For example. if there’s a population that has ample food, space, and whatever else it needs, but has a restricted access to water, that water is going to limit how large that population could grow.

Before the Shape was dug up by the drill, it was probably dormant in the sea bed, doing its best to survive, the same as any other organism. Down where it was dark, wet, and cold, I think it had one main limiting factor: oxygen.

I don’t think the Shape can efficiently exchange gas underwater. Most of the untouched bodies Caz sees are only underwater, where an organism that thrives in air would struggle to access. Once it gets dug up and brought to air with plenty of organic matter to consume and grow with, its population explodes. When a limiting factor is removed, there’s nothing holding the population back any more until they hit a new limit. The Shape’s old limiting factor was removed, and it would only stop reproducing by running out of space to grow on the rig, running out of organic matter to use, or being killed (like, say, in a giant fiery explosion).

(I could go on and on about how the Shape potentially works, please feel free to ask me about it)

Now, I’ll get to my main theory:

I think Caz was dead the whole time.

Now, I don’t mean that in a “the whole game is in his head, none of it was real” way; I mean it in a “this man got Ethan Winters’ed” way. 

So, I started to do a little research into how tall oil rigs are to know how far Caz would have fallen off the helipad. I quickly learned there are many types of oil rigs and not every oil rig of the same type is the same size. I’m studying marine biology, not petroleum engineering like my brother, so I got tired of trying to guesstimate how tall the Bierra D’s helipad would be and attacked the problem with some simple math. 

Watching a video, I saw he fell for between 4-5 seconds; the acceleration due to gravity is 9.8m/s^2. Plugging that in a calculator while not accounting for air resistance to solve for distance gets me ~80-120m, depending on if I used the 4 or 5 second count, so I’ll guess around 100m. I’ve found many conflicting sources on what the tallest heights you can safely fall into water are, but I can safely tell you that 100m is much higher than any of them. 

Now, maybe the devs weren’t going with the mathematical exact timing it would take for a guy to fall off an oil rig, and didn’t mean for it to be implied that he fell from THAT high. Still, we can agree he fell from very high up, high enough to have likely ended in injury. Maybe he’d just fall on and break a leg? Maybe an arm or some ribs?

After falling off the rig, the last frame before Caz blacks out shows the water at the top of the screen, meaning he hits the water head-first. He may be wearing a hard hat (that somehow stays on his head through the whole ordeal since he clips his flashlight to it), but he still should have cracked his skull open or broken his neck. 

When they pull him out of the water, he’s cold and not breathing, which wouldn’t be unusual for a drowning victim in the North Sea in the dead of winter, but it would usually be a death sentence. They never explain how they dragged Caz out of the water, but it would presumably have taken a long time to get him out, and time is key when dealing with someone who isn’t breathing. The fact that he’s able to cough up water and start breathing on his own is a miracle, since it doesn’t sound like Brodie or Douglas do CPR when they bring him inside.

So, fall damage, head and/or spine injury, drowning, and hypothermia. By several different factors, Caz should be a very, very dead man. So why isn’t he?

My theory is that, somehow, somewhy, the infection from The Shape healed and brought him back to life. We know for a fact it has amazing generative properties, basically able to double, triple, quadruple the amount of tissue and organic matter in the crew’s bodies with no regard for conservation of mass, so what’s just a little regeneration of damaged tissues in a single body? Once Caz’s body gets someplace with better conditions suited to life (inside where it’s warm and there’s air), it just jumpstarts his body functions. The Shape’s presumably been dormant in the seafloor for a long time, so it could be able to go dormant and kinda “come back to life” as conditions change, similar to a tardigrade, and potentially pass this ability onto its hosts.

And Caz mentions how his head hurts a lot, especially when he gets close to the Shape. 

Now, this might seem like baseless conjecture, and y’all might say “That’s a good headcanon, but there’s no evidence that The Shape could bring people back to life!” to which I would say “Oh, but there might be!"

After the helicopter on the starboard side, we get a call from Bruce, who is actively drowning. Through his gasps, he tells us that O’Connor hurt his leg and couldn’t swim, presumably drowning. And guess who we see still kicking as we’re passing through the pontoon? My thought is that O’Connor couldn’t swim, drowned, and drifted to the bottom, landing on a part of the shape. Once Caz and Brodie start working in the legs and they drain, it exposes him to air and allows the shape to start growing again, assimilating him and bringing him back to life. 

Obviously, he’s not doing as well as Caz is. My thought was that, if Caz died as he was infected, the infection would’ve had to put a lot of its energy into bringing him back, not leaving much for itself to begin assimilating him into the Shape. Since O’Connor was in direct contact with the Shape, it could hook him up to its network to help supplement that loss. Caz, meanwhile, stays as far away from the stuff as he can and doesn’t even get anything to eat all day; guy's running on empty. He has small things where the Shape affects him, like the colors at the edge of his vision, but most of his hallucinations only happen after the Shape attacks him through O’Connor. Before, I’m pretty sure the largest incident (other than when he’s blacked out) is when we can barely hear Suze’s voice over the speakers when moving through the pontoon. It’s really only after getting attacked that he starts to hear her when he’s awake, near the Shape, or over phone calls. He only hears her clearly over the speakers in administration after he runs into the shape many times when he gets swept away in the flooding.

With my main evidence out of the way, I’ll also mention that Caz sees the “light at the end of the tunnel” from the end of the game in the oil flashes when he blacks out.

But hey, that’s just a theory. 

A GAME TH- I have received a cease and desist.

Man, this became a long read. Thanks for getting this far, and I hope you enjoyed!

[mysaintkitten]

Mile High | Robert Fischer x fem!reader

prompt: you’re the stewardess on robert fischer’s private jet, and he’s not too fond of your attitude. (NSFW, no minors)

WARNINGS: robert’s a cunt, plane sex, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), degradation and praise, slight age gap, power imbalance

word count: 2.1k

today was your first day working with mr. fischer, you had been a regular stewardess for a few years now but due to good word of mouth you were able to become a private jet stewardess. it was a more intimate environment, the pay was better, you had less people to tend to, it was overall quite the win for you.

the jet was set to leave in a few minutes, so you found your way to the bathroom and quickly dolled yourself up a bit before mr. fischer came onto the plane. you’re expecting a man, at least in his 60s, rich as hell and eager to pounce on a young woman such as your self. you could use it to your advantage, maybe leave the jet with some extra money in your pocket.

while in the bathroom, you overheard some small talk happening within the jet.

“good afternoon, robert! right this way” you hear, “robert?” you think to yourself. you wait until the minor chaos of dealing with the baggage is dealt with before you take one last look in the mirror, feeling satisfied with what you see staring back at you. with a deep breath, you walk out the bathroom. what was once lively a few moments ago has fallen silent. you see a lone man sitting in his seat, hands clasped in front of him while gazing out the window. is that mr. fischer? or, robert, as you had just overheard.

you were expecting some grandpa. oxygen tank on standby if need be. you could tell from afar he was older than you, but not by very much. a decade at the most.

you quickly dismiss those thoughts, and bring a semi-artificial smile to your face. as you begin to approach him and his face becomes clearer, you can tell he’s quite an attractive man. sharp suit, nice watch, clean shave, he looks good to say the least. as you stand beside his seat, you start to say the introduction you were told to say by the jet company.

“good afternoon, mr. fischer, my nam-“

“i don’t want any handouts.” he says sharply, not even attempting to shift his gaze from the window.

oh. so he’s like that.

you brush past his blatant arrogance and continue with your introduction, “oh, no, i’m not here to offer anything at the moment. just introducing myself, my names y/n and i’ll be taking care of you for this flight.” you say, forcing that smile back to your face. it’s at this point that he actually looks at you and you’re met with his striking blue eyes, he really looks like the embodiment of if looks could kill. “throughout the flight, anything you need, just let me know.” he scans you up and down before returning to your face, muttering a small “mhm” before looking back out the window again.

once your backs to him, you roll your eyes, heading to your lounging area to wait around until robert to wants something.

around a half an hour has passed and you’ve resorted to reading a book, you’ve read it multiple times before, but it’s an old reliable. and you also had absolutely nothing else to do. that is until you hear him call out for you, “ma’am?” you hear robert say, you place your book down and stand up, walking over to him.

he’s watching you this time, actually looking at you like a person.

“could you get me a scotch on the rocks?” he asks, leaning his head back slightly, “of course, i’ll be back shortly.” you reply before heading to the opposite side of the jet to make his drink. after a few moments, you return, drink in hand.

“here you go, mr. fisc-“

“could you get me a cigarette, too?” he adds, fully cutting you off without care.

“i’m sorry, sir, smoking isn’t allowed on the jet.” you reply, obviously you can’t smoke on the goddamn jet, but this would probably come as a surprise to him. arrogant little pricks probably never been told no in his life.

he brings the drink up to his lips, taking a swig before placing it down in the cup holder.

“i could buy you, and this jet company. get me the cigarette.” he spat, you’re rendered speechless, as you begin to leave to try and find cigarettes you feel a tight grip on your wrist.

“for future reference, doll, when i want something, i get it. i’m not asking you, i’m telling you.” he grumbled before letting go of your wrist. as you kept walking you couldn’t help but be absolutely appalled at his behaviour.

somehow, you were able to find the cigarettes and a lighter.

you remind yourself, suck it up, he’s filthy rich, the pay will be good. the thought of taking money from him gave you an authentic smile that you held on your face as you approached him, cigarettes and lighter in hand.

“here you go, sir.” you say, he grabs them without acknowledging you at all and quickly brings a cigarette up to his lips, lighting it before inhaling the smoke sharply. you watch as his shoulders drop as he exhales.

you turn your back to him to leave, “wait.” you hear him say, you turn to face him.

“sit.” he adds, using his head to signal towards the seat sitting across from his. you feel your anxiety begin to peak, but you oblige. “how’d you get this job?” he pries, taking a sip from his drink and then a drag from the cigarette. “uh..” you start, mind racing. you’re about to lose your job, you think to yourself. “i worked as a regular stewardess for a few years, but someone put a good word in about me, so now i’m here.” you say, as sweetly as you can.

“good word? about what? did you fuck someone to get them to say that?” he asks, his words are jarring. you can’t believe he’d speak to you like this, “excuse me?” you question.

“because the behaviour you’ve shown is less than satisfactory to say the least. so i’m just wondering if you fucked your way to get here.” he shrugs, “i’m disgusted with how you’ve acted. and if you wanna keep your job, you’re going to have to prove yourself worthy.”

you don’t know what to say, “mr. fischer i’m afraid i don’t know what you’re-“

“call me robert, hun.” he says, his tone still cold as he puts out the cigarette.

“robert. i’m not sure what you’re implying here.” you repeat, feeling yourself become flushed.

“you said you’d be taking care of me for this flight, didn’t you? and right now, i’m having some needs that i’m sure you could meet. after all, the other favours i’ve asked of you have been a disappointment.” he says, beginning to unbuckle his belt, your eyes go wide,

“robert, i’m not sure-“ you squeak, being thrown off by how quickly everything is progressing.

“sh, do one thing right and keep yourself quiet.” he says, now unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. “matter of fact, get on your knees.” he growls, blatantly palming himself in front of you. this entire situation is a huge mind-fuck. roberts been nothing but a petty little cunt the entire time, but he’s still rather handsome, and, his most dominating quality, rich. you don’t wanna lose your job, and you’re willing to do whatever he’d ask to prevent it. so you fall to your knees in front of him.

“you’re gonna suck me off, and then i’ll consider forgetting about your bad hospitality.” he remarked, scooting his hips forward slightly. you nod, not saying a word before tugging his waistbands down, watching his hard cock spring against his stomach. you hesitantly give him a few pumps. after building up the courage, you bring his tip into your mouth, sucking and swirly around it gently, watching his body begin to go limp as a low groan came from within him.

slowly, you start to take more, pumping whatever isn’t fitting in your mouth, he’s moaning now. not very loud, but enough for you to be able to hear him. you feel a palm being placed on top of your head, forcing you down lower on his cock.

“take more, and don’t be shy, sweetheart, you wanna keep your job, don’t you?” he purrs, you view that as a sign for you to play with his balls as well while sucking him off. at this point you’re basically deep throating him, twisting your hand to act as if a continuation of your mouth.

“ah fuck..” he grunts, “do you only follow instructions when they involve you being a whore?” he growls through gritted teeth, you hum around him, unable to give him any other response. he swats your hands away and locks his fingers into your hair, fucking your mouth at a rough and unexpected pace.

you can barely breathe, your eyes are watering, and worst of all- you can feel yourself becoming wet. you hope to god that he doesn’t know that he’s turning you on, he’d never let you forget it.

“god..” he moans, “such a good girl. is that all it takes to get you to behave? a cock down your throat?” he teases, brushing your hair back to watch himself fuck your mouth. you whine around him, and glance at him through half lidded eyes, continuing to let him have his way with you.

he starts to huff quietly before roughly tugging you off his cock, making you gasp loudly at the ability to breathe clearly again.

“don’t wanna come just yet, wanna use that pussy first.” he grunts, pumping himself slowly. almost as if in a daze, you stand to your feet and shimmy your stockings and panties off, leaving you still nearly fully clothed. you place your hands on his shoulders and climb onto his lap, lining him up with your entrance before slowly sliding yourself down. wincing slightly at the stretch.

he moans lowly and his head dips back, “fuck.. you’re so wet.. gripping me so good.. shame you’re such a disrespectful slut. maybe you just need a good fucking, huh?” he groans in your ear, running his tongue along its outer shell. chills spread across your body as you raise your hips and slowly begin to ride him, “y-yeah.. i think i do..” you reply, hiding your face in his neck,

“mhm.. i think so too..” he purrs before placing his hands on your hips, guiding you to pick up a faster and rougher pace. you can’t help but moan while gripping his shoulders, “s-ir!” you whine, “feels so good!”.

he lets out a breathy laugh, “such a good girl when she’s got a cock inside her.” he nudges your head up to expose your neck and plants wet kisses, occasionally sucking gently. he sneaks his hands down and rides your skirt up so it’s sitting around your waist, fully exposing your bare bottom half. he grips your ass roughly before placing a firm smack against it, making you gasp loudly. you feel yourself becoming wetter, almost embarrassingly so. he noticed this.

“oh, did you like that, sweet thing? god, you really are a slut..” he laughs lowly before shifting his hips up to meet your trusts. the cabin is only filled with the sounds of heavy breath and moans, skin on skin, a slight squelching sounds which are making you blush harder.

you’re a moaning mess, shaking slightly, gasping and whining. he grabs one of your wrists and moves it between your legs,

“rub your clit, get yourself off on my cock, sweetheart.” he groans in the sweetest tone he’s had the entire flight. and you do just that, rub your clit while he fucks up into you. you’re close, very close, and judging by that gesture he just pulled you assume he is too.

“i’m close, robert!” you whine, screwing your eyes shut tightly, “come for me.” he growls before smacking your ass again, the sting of the smack pushed you over the edge. your orgasm rippling through you as he continued to thrust himself inside you.

“oh, shit, hun..” he mumbles, “squeezing my cock so nicely.. like you’re begging me to come inside..”

before you can fully process what he’s said, hes coming inside you, biting down on your shoulder to stifle his own moans. after riding out his orgasm, he begins to lift you off. but instead of guiding you to the seat in front of him, he moves you to the seat beside him, then proceeding to lean forward and pick up your stockings and panties for you.

“if you clean up your act, i’ll have you on my flights more often. i’ll treat you good, sweetheart, real good.”

[yaut-jaknowit]

How about high tension between a male yautja and human. Where one gets drunk and finally yells that they want to fuck them already.

Tensions Run High

Pairing: Icheall-Dua (male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2555

Summary: It was at a gathering for Yautjas and humans alike on a different planet than Yautja Prime. You had been constantly trying to hit up Icheall-Dua and he couldn’t get the idea! So, one night, during a feast of celebration that Icheall-Dua was going to become leader of the clan, you get drunk. A very bad thing. You have loose lips. When you tried again with Icheall-Dua and he doesn’t get it again, you straight up yell it in front of the clan.  

Author Note: I realized this has taken me two months to get to. Sorry that production has slowed down. I've been grinding away at my game. Also, I didn't know if you wanted spicy or not, so I decided to leave it out just encase. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Ao3

Sonorous voices that boomed across the clearing filled the air. Joyous in nature. Prideful for the years to come. Every rise and fall of the suns to bring a life and challenges to the clan. You held up a cup of a drink that was considered alcohol. Between a Yautja and human mixture of potent alcohol, deluded for yourself.

It reminded you of whiskey with the slight burn with each sip you took. A drink not meant for shots. Rather just to take sips here and there. It’ll still knock you on your ass three drinks later. So, you took your time to consume the interesting taste of the smokey concoction.

Despite living among the predators of the universe and showing we are equals rather than enemies, the two species have come together. Some clans as you’ve heard are more reluctant, or rather downright say no, to allowing humans into their ranks.

Others, like the one you live in, are more accepting if you pull your own. You will not be babied. If you die, you die. A kill or be killed world on this planet. This isn’t even Yautja Prime. Yet, its dangers rival Yautja Prime.

You breathed in the marshes stagnant air. Though the division is still evident; Yautjas with Yautjas and humans with humans, you couldn’t help but find yourself drawn to Icheall-Dua. Marsh green and cream bellied. His scales are basic compared to those you’ve seen throughout your time through a few clans.

What Icheall-Dua lacks in different physical aspects, he makes up in his skills. From the words whispered amongst the clan, he’s a prodigy. He’s the next best thing. A male anyone would kill to be but could never get to his level. Yet, no matter how many times you try to send the right signals in Icheall-Dua’s direction, he doesn’t see it! The skulls, the meat, the Yautja way of courting!

Weeks of research were put into this before you attempted the first time. It should’ve been clear as a peacock spreading its tail feathers. No though. He accepted the gifts but never said anything after that.

At first, you drew back to ensure what you read was correct. Skulls of creatures are the first step. You did just that. Yeah, it wasn’t the dangerous creature on this planet but it nearly killed you! His obliviousness didn’t deter you though. You took a slow sip of your drink again, eyes sliding over to the beast that filled your thoughts.

A large cup filled with a similar concoction to your own was cupped in one of his large hands. Two of three fingers missing on that hand. You knew there was harrowing story to explain what happened. A story you would love to listen to with his deep, grating voice. The sound crunchy like stepping on a gravel road. Another sip downed the rest of the liquid.

With a sigh, you stepped around the larger species that filled the space to the bar tender. A night like this was to be celebrated with alcohol always being included.

After living around these guys for a quarter of your life time, you have learned it’s best to slip between them. Some will shift their weight allow you easier access around them. Yet, many have the mindset not to move for anything. You’ve learned to be slippery rather than it becoming a dick measuring contest. Not submission but avoiding unnecessary fighting. Why get wounded if it all could be avoided? Somethings in this culture you’ll never come to understand.

Once you reached the bar tender again, you set your empty glass on the counter and tapped twice. Ci’tha grunted and immediately got to work. Your drink was set in front of you with a tangy tasting fruit on the rim. You thanked the yellow based Yautja with a dip of your head then leaned against the count with your back to it. People watching.

Other humans were amongst the crowd, mingling with mainly other humans. Only a select few were chatting away with the friendlier Yautjas in the clan. None of them dared to go close to Icheall-Dua nor his father who had a permanent scowl etched into his worn features. A life lived through the ways of a Yautja of hunting and gaining scars along the way.

Icheall-Dua went to sip at his cup only to find it empty and shook his cup. You instantly noticed and spun around to face Ci’tha. “Do you remember what Icheall-Dua is having?” you rushed out and jerked your head over towards Icheall-Dua direction. The poor yellow Yautja jolted at the sudden move then glared at you. You sheepishly smiled an apology at him.

Ci’tha rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I do. Why?” he grunted and raised a brow at you.

“Can you make it? Yautja sized?” you sweetly asked the lanky Yautja who stood in your way of impressing Icheall-Dua some more. Though, the two of you didn’t talk on the regular, he could see what was happening. He rolled his blue eyes again before got to work.

The large mug was set before you. You threw a thanks towards Ci’tha before snatching it racing through the sea of bodies. At points, you nearly shoved your way through but reframed from starting a fight. All you had was a mug and a small knife not long enough to hit anything important on a Yautja.

After breeching the main crowd of people, you were able to make your way up to Icheall-Dua standing in all of his glory. His father only a couple of steps away from him, speaking to another Yautja. Icheall-Dua, himself, was crowd watching until you stopped before him.

“Hello… I saw your cup was empty and retrieved one for you,” you spoke up and presented the cup to him. His sky blue eyes looked down upon over the jut of his small snout. Icheall-Dua blinked slowly in boredom, gaze glancing to the cup in your hand.

He reached out and took it. A critical eye peered and inspected the contents. You gnawed on your bottom lip, in hopes he would accept the drink but nothing else was working. Maybe a drink would win him over.

The Yautja raised his shoulders in a shrug and gulped from the cup. You silently cheered to yourself, praying this was him finally noticing your advances towards him.

Next to him, Zutouh, his father, leaned over and scoffed at you. It didn’t deter you though. Through his one good eye, he analyzed you. Not all Yautjas still accept humans into their ranks. The older generations such as Zutouh are part of that. You’re used to it at this point, even dealing with clans who would kill you on sight.

“Great party,” you tried to start small talk in hopes to get Icheall-Dua to open up a little more. “What’s it for?” A closed mouth smile was directed towards Icheall-Dua.

Icheall-Dua kept his nonchalant expression plastered to his face. “I’m becoming the clan leader,” he stated as if it was an everyday thing. You tensed up mid sip of your drink, eyes darting over to his marsh green hide.

Well yeah. Zutouh is his father and the clan leader. Yet, each Yautja usually has a bunch of children. You didn’t know Icheall-Dua was next in line to ascend the throne. By Paya’s grace, you truly didn’t stand a chance against any of the females who would flock to him. Clan leader got you lots of perks. A title Icheall-Dua had to have earned out of all of his siblings.

“That’s amazing! Are you excited?” you kept up with the small talk, using questions to get answers from him. You gulped down a mouthful of your drink again as it started to affect your mind and rational thinking. “Of course, a male such as yourself with that physique definitely deserves that position.”

Drunk words were sober thoughts.

Alcohol gave you loose lips.

Zutouh snorted and shook his massive head in disbelief. You didn’t care though. What you said was true. Icheall-Dua was built well, the prodigy everyone saw him as.

One of his upper manibles quirked up for less than a second yet you caught it. “This is my destiny.” His answer short, barely even sweet. You nearly deflated at that but an idea came to him.

“Well, does your destiny have me included in it?” you flirted with him again like all the times before. You hoped he would finally get the big picture you were waving in front of him.

This caught Icheall-Dua off guard. The Yautja nearly choked on his drink you graciously provided for him and snapped his gaze to you. Hope flickered in your eyes as you noticed you had more of his attention on you. His hand tightened on his cup, claws slightly scraping across the glass wear.

Except, it all faded away when he pulled back that nonchalant expression and shrugged again. You could almost scream at him for that. Your nose flared with a snort, lips pressed tightly into a line. The alcohol in your system not helping one bit. A near glare was settled on the stupid marsh colored Yautja who you’ve pinned for the last few months.

Like a volcano, there’s only so much you could hold in.

“For the love of everything unholy, I want to fuck you!” you shouted at the top of your lungs, fire blazing in your veins while you stared this male down. “I’ve been trying for months the Yautja way to get your attention. And-and nothing! You hadn’t acknowledge my attempts or even told me to stop! I don’t know what I can do anymore.”

It all came out. Ranitng out your horrible experience trying to court a Yautja their way. All this research was false, wrong. It led you on for months and left you to feel this angry… in front of a crowd.

Your shoulders heaved with each lungful breath. The crowd around you had gone silence due to your shouting. The realization struck you, dosing you in freezing cold water. Your shoulders tensed up, eyes wide, glued to the spot. Nothing could make you move until Icheall-Dua took a step towards you.

Then, you spun on your tail and darted between humans and Yautja alike, a stumbling, drunk mess. They didn’t part for you, even when you ran into them but when a shadow gave chase, they instantly let him through. Your arm was snatched in a vice grip that would bruise tomorrow. Heat slammed into your chest, forcing you to pressed to his torso. Tears pooled the lips of your eyes as you looked everywhere but him. You couldn’t see the rage of you interrupting his celebration, of you ruining the night with this silly crush.

Your entire jaw was swallowed up by a hand and forcefully tilted your head back. Through blurry tears, you find his blue eyes on you.

“Say that again,” he demanded with a voice he used to lead. You tried to struggle against him, nearly turning your head enough to bite his fingers. Nothing worked to get him off of you. Icheall-Dua easily far stronger in close quarters… yet, you didn’t want to hurt him anyhow.

“Why? So you can embarrass me in front of everyone. Show everyone how much of a fool I was? To think I had a chance with you?” you snarled then paused for a pregnant moment. He squeezed his hand tighter on your jaw in a short warning. Icheall-Dua wasn’t one to be around humans often, he didn’t understand their fragileness. “Should’ve brushed me off the first time I gifted you a skull.”

None of this would be happening if he had.

“And why would I do that? I was following the advice given to me by your fellow humans for your courting rituals.” If he didn’t have such a tight grip, you would’ve jerked your head back. Instead, you raised your brows instead.

He was following dating advice… What had they told him? Also, dating?! Your heart started to thump loudly in your ears, like war drums. He had gone out of his way to ask for advice.

A lump in your throat made it hard to speak. “What, what was the advice?” you questioned and untensed your muscles. The Yautja responded by easing up his grasp on your jaw and wrist. Icheall-Dua didn’t let you go fully though. Not that you could outrun a Yautja in the first place.

His gaze deviated over to a group of humans who were staring the two of you down. Everyone part of the party was. “Samual said to ‘play hard to get’. It get’s people needy.” Oh, you were going to kill Samual when you had the chance. All these months of torture because that dumbass told him horrible advice.

You couldn’t help the breath of relief that escaped your lungs. Then, you began to laugh and shook in his hold. “That’s the worst advice anyone could give you. No, ‘playing hard to get’ is the worst way to show someone you’re into them.” Your laughter died down. “And I thought my research was a fraud when you didn’t react to any of the gifts I gave you.”

Icheall-Dua growled lowly in his chest and spread his mandibles in a display towards the humans. The group jolted and instantly scrambled away to be hidden away in the crowd. With them gone, he returned his attention back on you. “You did well and everything right. I apologize I wasn’t properly conveying my feelings towards you. Will you forgive me?”

All that tension in your shoulders you’ve been holding for months finally fell off. “Yes, yes. I forgive you and whatever stupid advice Samual gave you. I would say to do research but… that has also bad information as well.” His hand on your wrist released you to cup your waist. Goosebumps immediately rose on your arms. A tingle running down your spine.

“And what were you saying early? If my memory serves correct: you want to fuck me?” Oh god, he just had to bring that up! Heat instantly rushed your cheeks.

“That’s-that’s just the alcohol talking. I’m drunk. Had some drinks… I don’t know what you mean,” you did everything in your power to get him off of that.

“Daring little thing,” he mused and ran his thumb claw across your lips. Just a little more pressure and he could slice the feeble skin apart. “Taking more than they can chew.” You knew you had chosen right. He was still going to fuck with you though.

He leaned down so only the next words were spoken directly at you. “Once this party ends, would you like to start the night back in my tent?” he whispered. Your brain blanked. Not a single thought entered your mind for a long, unknown amount of time.

When some of the fog cleared, you rapidly nodded your head, eager. “My naughty little ooman.” He returned to his full towering height and offered his hand to you. “Come along, I know of seat you wouldn’t want to leave.”

Curses filled your head, the only thing to make sense in your fray of mental words to yourself. The things you could do to him.

[ninapi]

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┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺╚══ Upper Moon Four╝

Premise: Obsessive emotions can rut anyone away, appreciating love with fear, anger, joy, pleasure and sadness can overwhelm even the purest of hearts.

Word Count: 2638

Note: You can read the first installment of this story here, this was requested by the lovely @star-dust-wanderer, sorry it took so long for me to finish this! 🫣

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Fear is an incredibly powerful emotion.

It’s very much needed for survival, that is a fact, as it helps you keeping yourself safe and away from all dangers life can bring your way.

But when it comes to love and those sort of complicated feelings, fear can become your worst enemy.

While the rest of the clones had their fair share of excitement with this flower girl, Hantengu hasn’t stopped shaking since the moment you escaped.

Were you safe?

Were you able to escape from this awful series of unfortunate events?

Were you sad and alone waiting for someone to come and get you from a hidden cave in the woods?

Just why he kept thinking about all this was entirely a mystery for him. But he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t even drink blood anymore. He was in physical pain from all this irrational fear to a point where Muzan told him to take a break, sort of…

“Get out of my sight, you useless creature…if I see you once more shivering in a corner today I swear I’ll crush your skull…”

His harsh words only made the grunting and shaking worse, if this wasn’t enough on it’s own he managed to anger his lordship. Why did his clones get him in this mess? Is not like he did willingly, he just absorbed them back, this never happened before, never their emotions were so high they would end up rubbing on him, this was a first and he didn’t know how to fix this.

“I need this to go away before Muzan-sama ends up eating us all…” quivering behind a rock he summoned them four, while all he could feel was fear, annoyance was as clear as water in his eyes.

“Fix this now!”

Sekido as usual was the first one to talk, “This is all your fault to begin with! YOU sent us her way, you agreed on taking this mission! And now you want US to fix it?” scoffing he just paced around said rock, “So easy of you to say…you never take on the dirty work…”

Karaku on the other hand was delighted with the news, “Do we know where she is? I can’t wait to see that gorgeous body of hers again…ahhhhh….my love….I hope she’s dying to meet me just the same way I am…” loud scoffs was all that could be heard in the background, presumably coming from Sekido.

“I just hope she’s still alive…poor girl…she didn’t do anything wrong and she’s so nice…so kind…” Aizetsu kept sighing from his place underneath a tall tree.

“She’s fine, I’m sure. I’ve never seen a stronger woman before. She even likes Sekido!” Urogi was circling them all from above, happily flying with excitement.

“I don’t know where the woman is, just go find her. Don’t come back until you get rid of her!”

“WHAT?” the four of them said in unison, dumbfounded by their counterpart’s instructions.

“I can’t keep living like this, you need to make sure this stops right now. I need her out of our life!”

“I don’t think getting rid of her would fix this problem…if any…my own emotions will drown you further…” Aizetsu rarely has any valuable input in a problem, being driven by sadness isn’t the solution to any problem, but this sounded about right.

“Sekido will consume you from the inside too…” 

“Ugh…We won’t kill her…but I’ll think of a way of fixing the problem.” without acknowledging  their higher self, they followed their self imposed leader, at least he didn’t want you dead.

“Aizetsu, can you track her scent?”

Pulling a little piece of cloth from his pocket, he sniffs it like a pup. “You had a piece of her kimono with you all this time? You disgust me…”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s just jealous because he doesn’t have one himself.”

“She’s in that direction…” he pointed south, the familiar scent he’s been craving so much filling his lungs causing a few tears to roll down his face.

“Urogi…”

“Yes sir!” flying as fast as he could through the vast forest, an immense amount of excitement filled his chest. While he’s the most calm of the bunch, just thinking of being able to see you once more was enough to make him forget about how hungry he was.

The night was dark, the moon kept hidden by pesky water filled clouds. Of course nothing that would stop Urogi from finding his prize, yet a bit troublesome to say the least. Storm winds kept pushing him on the opposite direction, washing away the soft floral scent he got to love so much.

“(Y/N)!! (Y/N) baby can you hear me? It’s Urogi! (Y/N)??? C’mon love stop hiding!” he screamed at the top of his lungs while flying low. He knew you were there somewhere, he could literally feel it, yet you were nowhere to be seen.

A little branch cracking caught his attention, his eyes glowing brightly in the darkness as the figure he’s been dying to see again finally reveals in front of him.

“Urogi-san? Is it really you?” unlike him, you couldn’t see in the dark, yet the powerful sound of his wings was a memory you treasured dearly and would recognize anywhere.

“(Y/N)!!!” a loud thud could be heard as your body hit the ground, a very heavy mass of muscle and wings crushing you and smothering you with kisses. 

“Urogi-san! I thought I’d never see you again! Why are you here?”

“We were a bit restless thinking of what became of you. Are you hurt? Have you been eating?” 

Giving him that lovely smile of yours,  you just shook your head. “I’m not hurt, all thanks to you all. Aizetsu-san made sure I got to escape safely. Are you four ok?”

“We’re fine just worried about cha. Let’s go find the others, shall we?” he didn’t really gave you time to answer, scooping you in his strong arms and giving you forehead a soft loving kiss while he crossed the forest once more, with you in his arms the storm winds were nothing to him, pure joy elated his heart and that was more he could ever wish for.

Once he managed to get back to others, he put you down puffing his chest proudly, “Found her~”

“Sekido-san!!!” you tackled the demon, wrapping him in a warm embrace, while the others knew you were quite fond of him, they never expected to see such a thing.

“Are you ok? You’re such a dumb woman, I’m sure you’re hurt everywhere, aren’t you? Show me your injuries, you idiotic pest!” 

His angry outburst made you giggle, even if he was angry he was worried about you, that much was clear. “I’m fine. Don’t worry, I’m tough, remember?”

Scoffing he stopped resisting your snuggling, “Yeah right, like a useless human could do anything on their own…”

“I wasn’t on my own though…Aizetsu-san helped me get out of there unscratched.” reaching a hand over to Aizetsu, you pulled him into the warm mess of tangled limbs you called hug. 

“I missed you…” the sadness in his voice was palpable, while the other three missed you as well, they were incapable of showing it the way he could.

“I missed you too. Did you manage to escape alright too?” you cupped his cheek, tenderly caressing it with your thumb, while he couldn’t smile, his eyes watered with intensity from your soft loving touch, nobody had ever shown such tenderness to him, he was a demon, undeserving of such delicacy.

“Yeah…we are all fine. Better now that you’re here…”

Karaku was enjoying the show from up a tree branch, drinking some sake while admiring your beauty from afar, “We need to get you back to safety, sweetheart. Otherwise our emotions won’t be at peace. Though, I still want to strip you naked and drink from your-“

“Shut your mouth if you ever want to use it again.”

Sekido’s outburst made you giggle once more and snuggle further onto him. “Are we going back to the cottage? Or is it still not safe?”

“The cottage should be fine, right boss?”

“Yeah the demon corps left the area a while back, even if they did a human living there on her own wouldn’t be suspicious.”

“As long as we aren’t there, that is. We would only bring her troubles…” Aizetsu sighed heavily, sinking further into your embrace as if trying to engrave this moment in his memory for eternity. The warmth of your body, your little squeezes, the soft touch of your loving kisses…in all honesty he wished he could enjoy those all his life. 

But there was no way he could.

“Let’s go, gorgeous. I’ll carry you in my arms so you don’t have to walk.” flying with Urogi was quite thrilling, though it was also pretty fast to arrive to wherever the aim was and that was something you didn’t want right now. “As much as I enjoy that, I think I would like to walk with all of you, if you don’t mind.”

They were all as surprised as the other by your response. It almost sounded like you wanted to spend time with them. But that couldn’t be true, they were your captors, they literally kidnapped you and forbid you to return to your home town, not even to retrieve the corpses of your departed family.

Aizetsu held one of your hands in his, gently caressing your knuckles with his thumb, “Let’s go.” 

Taking the lead was never reserved for Aizetsu, he lacked assertiveness, but even sadness can be useful when it comes to real love.

He had the most intense feelings out of the rest, while some might think Sekido was the obvious answer, sadness is more powerful than anger, it tears you apart from within, it makes you take stupid decisions, clouds your view of every possible positive outcome. But it also clings to the beautiful feeling of love, craves it like no other as it soothes their lonely heart.

Aizetsu was the one who triggered such anxiety in Hantengu, he was the sole reason for his constant breakdowns.

While the other three contributed to this, Aizetsu kept flooding his mind with insanity.

The moment you smiled at him and held his hand back, his heart just couldn’t take it anymore, sobbing, he kept on walking north, he needed to bring you back to safety, back to a place he could always find you at.

“Oi Sekido…If we bring her to the cottage…does that mean we can just visit her whenever we want?”

“Ugh…I guess…but try to suppress your joy or he will notice…”

Urogi danced in the gloomy night sky, even if Aizetsu had the best interaction with you this time around, there was always a chance to see you again, he could come and smother you with kisses whenever he wanted, he could just stop feeling like he was drowning. Being happy all the time can be as exhausting as being sad or angry, it makes you question your own choices, your own words, your own truthfulness, yet with you around he never had to question anything, he could utterly enjoy his joyful self, making you giggle, causing you to smile, being a source of happiness to you was more than enough for him.

Sekido on the other hand, had his mind filled with uncertainty.

While he knew you being safe would bring order to his messy thoughts, he also knew it was very unlike him to enjoy your company, your touch, your smile. He was in rage with his own self, he wanted to kick himself real bad, rip his own head off, he couldn’t fathom anger itself could bring something like love to bloom.

What angered him most was the fact that you didn’t mind any of this. You were surrounded by demons, demons that could eat you alive at any point in time, you were facing Karaku who could ravish you to pieces, and all you did was giggle like a fair maiden, blush at their words, cuddle them like they were a bunch of puppies. You’d end up dead at this rate…if you accepted them just fine, you could accept any other demon, they would not think twice and dismember you like a chicken for supper, drink your delicious blood like nectar from the gods.

“Woman. You can’t let anyone enter the cottage but us, you hear me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You…your scent…calls creatures like us…they won’t be as generous…”

“Ah….yes…anyone would party in that beautiful body of yours, my muse…I would if Sekido wasn’t as noisy…” the scowl in Sekido’s face was almost comical, yet he was absolutely right and that was a terrifyingly infuriating thought.

“Got it. Will you guys bring food to me then? If I can’t go out?”

“You can go out, dumbass. Just not at night.”

“Oh…that makes things easier, yes. But you will come and visit me, right?” the pleading look in your eyes made him feel somewhat light headed, an unusual sensation at that.

“Yeah yeah…”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The cottage was still the same way you left it, remains of the rope that held you captive, charred coal from Karaku’s bonfire…Urogi’s scratches on the floor, it held so many dear memories, even if they were fleeting, they were all very much treasured memories of yours.

They were hard at work reinforcing the door and windows, setting traps around the cottage, making sure no demon would dare to touch their prey. 

Aizetsu though, couldn’t bare being away from you and was currently laying his head on your lap while you caressed his long fluffy hair. 

While he was still sad about leaving you here on your own, he knew there was noting he could do, he couldn’t stay here to protect you, though he could come at any time, see your face, have your soft soothing touch all to himself.

“Aizetsu-san…I wanted to thank you…” your voice was nothing but a whisper, yet he could hear all of it and it made his stomach drop with anticipation.

“You were always so kind to me, from the start. Gave me a sense of safety I never felt before…” your words turned to silence yet your loving touch said more than your words, he could feel how much you cared for him, for the others, how you accepted them even knowing what they truly were, a sense of belonging bloomed in his chest the same way it did on the others.

“I’ll come visit when I can…will you…will you caress my hair like this when I do?”

“Of course, sweet stuff. As much as you want…”

Unbeknownst to you both, the other three were watching the entire interaction. 

They were connected after all, they were one.

That sense of belonging bloomed in all of them at once, and not an ounce of jealousy could be felt within any of them, not even Sekido.

This is where they belonged. 

Not by Muzan’s side, not fighting demon hunters, but in your arms.

A realization that was not only worrying but wholesome, as much as troubling.

Demons can’t fall in love, can they?

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Masterlist

[defectivevillain]

vigilant veneration

pairing: Padmé Amidala/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

summary: After an assassination attempt on Senator Padmé Amidala, you're tasked with watching over her. One late night, you accidentally fall asleep outside her door—and you wake to find her staring down at you.

reader's pronouns are unspecified; race and gender are ambiguous; no physical descriptors are used.

word count: 1k | ao3 version

warnings: mentions of fatigue/exhaustion and a canonical assassination attempt

At first, you think you’re imagining someone calling your name. Then, there’s a light shove to your shoulder and you’re roused from sleep. You blink blearily, opening your eyes to find Padmé looking down at you. It begins to come back to you in that moment: you had watched over Padmé the previous night; you wanted a brief moment’s respite and had moved to sit on the ground; now, you’re still on the ground, but there’s sunlight peeking through the sheer curtains down the hall. You immediately push yourself to your feet—despite Padmé’s hand on your shoulder, reassuring you that you haven’t made a misstep—and regard her with a somewhat terrified expression. 

You were assigned to watch over Padmé Amidala, the former Queen of Naboo and newly-declared Senator, after an assassination attempt very nearly took her life. You’ve been a Padawan for a few years now, and you hoped that, with the successful completion of this task, you’d be even closer to becoming a true Jedi. Moreover, selfishly speaking, you wanted to get to know Padmé better. You had seen her in passing and spoken to her a few times with Obi-Wan, but you never got the chance to truly interact with her. You’ve quickly grown to care for her—in a manner that far surpasses the professional boundaries mandated by your assignment and your status as a Jedi-in-training.

Now, as you look at the Senator—who is staring at you with a mix of bewilderment and something close to concern—you realize you’ve made a terrible mistake. “Your Highness, please forgive me—” you’re quick to stammer, beginning to grow quite nervous under her watchful gaze. Despite the fact that Amidala gave up her throne after her second term, it only feels right to address her as the Queen. 

“It’s alright,” she responds, eloquent as always. You’re too frazzled and embarrassed to register that she’s not angry with you, so you continue speaking. 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep— It was only for a few moments, I promise,” you try to justify. Admittedly, your heart is racing out of your chest as you’re faced with Padmé’s full attention. Yet, you can’t quite dwell on that in the face of the harrowing realization that you left the Senator entirely unguarded in her room. An assassin could’ve snuck into her room, broken the window, and killed her with a swift shot from a blaster. The thought sickens you. 

“It’s alright,” Padmé repeats thoroughly, breaking you away from your panicked thoughts. She is calm and composed, which only makes you feel worse. Somehow, she is not acknowledging the severity of your blunder. “You can’t be expected to stay awake all night to watch over me.” 

“But that’s my job,” you feel the need to remind her. Why isn’t she furious with you? She should be—her anger would be completely justified. “That’s what I’m here for, and I failed,” you realize aloud. 

“You didn’t fail,” Padmé argues, her eyebrows furrowed. Her lips are pressed in a thin line now. 

“I did,” you insist. “What if something had happened to you? I’d never forgive myself—” your voice cracks slightly at the end of that statement and you hope she doesn’t notice. The prospect of being complicit in her assassination is… unacceptable.

“That’s quite enough,” Padmé interjects, before you can spiral any longer. The commanding tone in her voice makes you promptly shut your mouth. She extends a hand towards you, as if to place a hand on your shoulder, before evidently abandoning the gesture. “Dwelling on the past is a pointless endeavor. Besides, I can protect myself.” She raises an eyebrow after that, as if daring you to argue. 

“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise,” you’re quick to say, shaking your head in disbelief at your own foolishness. You’re just tripping over your own words at this point, and with each statement, you’re incriminating yourself even more. You take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of your nose. Admittedly, you didn’t get nearly enough rest—but you’d never burden Padmé with the details. Besides, this is what you signed up for. So what if you haven’t slept in three days? The Queen’s safety is far more important. 

“Enough of this,” Padmé says, resolve written in her posture. There’s concern glittering in her eyes, but you dismiss it as a figment of your imagination. Surely Padmé isn’t genuinely worried for you. She simply wants her bodyguard—that’s really all you are, at this point—to be well enough to protect her. “You look positively exhausted,” she adds. The Senator is right. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror the prior night and nearly recoiled at your reflection, which sported extremely dark under-eye circles. You can’t imagine those went away overnight. “You need to rest.” Padmé maintains. 

“No, it’s fine—” you try to say, only for her to cut you off. 

“As your Queen, I’m ordering you to rest.” You blink at her for a few moments, and it takes several moments for you to convince yourself that you heard her correctly. At your surprised expression, she softens. “Come on.” Padmé motions for you to follow after her. After a moment’s contemplation, you do so. She’s a member of the Galactic Senate and the former Queen of Naboo, after all. You’re a mere Padawan. Who are you to refuse? 

When the two of you make it to your bedroom, you move to sit on your bed. You expect Padmé to leave you with a farewell, but after a few moments, you’re forced to watch in thinly-veiled confusion as she pulls up a chair and sits down. Under her attentive gaze, you have no choice but to get under the covers and lie back against your pillow. “Sleep,” she says, not unkindly. “I’ll watch over you.” 

That’s not necessary, you want to say. You don’t trust yourself to speak, though. Besides, you’re already struggling to keep your eyes open. You recline on the bed and stare up at the ceiling, quickly losing the fight to your exhaustion. The last sensation you register before falling asleep is a hand grasping yours with delicate care.

thanks for reading! <3

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[itsnotamatterofif]

Hello member 1 of 8 of coalectra nation how are we doing today? I hope this satisfies as a first meet!! I also now have them in my head again. Fuck.

✨Want a Stex Drabble? Send me an ask! ✨

“I believe that should be everything.”

The stack of money between them is bigger than anything Porter has ever seen Slick collect before, and that’s impressive considering how hard Electra had haggled her down from fifty. Honestly, he’s mostly amazed Electra just has this much cash sitting around; he knew they were rich but not this kind of comically rich, pulling bundles of crisp bank notes out of a black leather briefcase like he sees criminals do in those crappy westerns Lumber likes.

Then again, Porter remembers, they’re the villains now, accepting hush money for a clean job of fucking over their childhood best friend, and a bit on top for Slick’s help in the next race. Not that he’ll see a penny of it - Slick will probably cover an essential repair for him later down the line - so really, he’s not even a proper villain, just a henchman.

“Do you want to check?” Electra asks wryly, one silvery eyebrow raised expectantly. Something about their gaze is piercing in a way that makes Porter squirm on his wheels, as if they were able to see straight past his outer placing and weigh his soul by eye.

Truthfully, he doesn’t want to. Starlight alone knows why Slick asked him to pick up the cash, she knows he struggles with numbers at the best of times. Shapes he’s alright with, thankfully, and judging by how each bundle was a grand and he can roughly make out that the pile is ten bundles high and two wide, he’s confident it’s the right amount.

“I trust ya’,” he replies lowly, and pops open the lid on his currently empty hopper to begin shovelling the money into. Considering the fact that this is more cash than he’s seen in one place in his life, he figures he should probably be more careful with it, but it’s just going to go into the peeling satchel under Slick’s bunk, so really there’s no reason for him to treat it like gold dust.

Definitely not that it’s more money than he makes in a year, and quadruple what he thinks he’s ever seen in his account at one time.

“You’re very trusting,” Electra muses, and they ease back against the wall of the rusting shed that Porter agreed to meet them behind, “I see why that oil truck likes you - I bet you’ve never questioned her once, have you?”

“I question her every day of my fuckin’ life,” Porter grumbles as Electra’s sparkling lips curl into a thin smile, “but it’s easier to go along with it and at least make sure she gets out of it alive than it is to argue with her.”

“Indeed, quite the force of nature, isn’t she?” Electra asks, but not in a way that suggests they want an answer, “she should count herself lucky she has such attentive colleagues.”

“Colleagues?” Porter can’t help but laugh as he pops the lid down on his hopper to sling it back over his shoulders, “I’ve known Slick since she was a bairn, if she thinks I’m her colleague I’ll kill her-“

“That explains your protectiveness nicely,” Electra interrupts smoothly, as if they were slotting together the pieces of some great puzzle, and Porter frowns for a moment trying to work out the enigma of their expression, the slight tilt of their glamourous brow, the way one of their long, spindly legs is tossed over the other, “quite the older brother, aren’t you? Very sweet, especially since, well, I imagine you’re scrabbling for work now that steam’s day has passed. Does she pay you handsomely for watching her back?”

His chest tightens painfully - why the fuck would they want to know about that? It’s not a stretch by any means to know about the drying up of the coal industry, but this doesn’t seem like something Electra should care about. Truthfully he can’t even say he wants to talk about it, not when the paychecks coming in have been on the decline for months, but the last thing he wants to do is stress out the others when cash is already tight.

Although, Porter thinks, it won’t be for a while after this.

“Work’s fine,” Porter mutters, pursing his lips as Electra’s smile widens, “Slick doesn’t need to pay me.”

“Of course,” Electra purrs, that piercing gaze never breaking for a second as Porter can’t help but feel his cheeks heat up in their scrutiny, “my apologies, I should not have assumed.”

Somewhere in here is a chase, a game to be played and won, and he gets the overwhelming feeling that he has been labelled the mouse as Electra’s lips curl further, catlike and cunning.

“A shame, truly,” Electra muses, but not in a way that makes it seem like they’re lost in thought; instead, casual, but targeted, knowing fully the implication of their words as Porter’s mouth goes dry, “you seem confident, dedicated, loyal to a fault, exactly the criteria I would be looking for if I were to be, say, hiring - plus, I am a fan of adoration, and you seemed to take to that like a duck to water.”

He knew he shouldn’t have blown a kiss earlier. Lumber told him it was a bad idea, now it sounds like Electra wants him. Which would be strange, no one really wants Porter around anymore apart from his friends, which, don’t get him wrong, he’s got many of, but no one really wants him for work-

Unbidden, an image flashes in his mind, the familiar black and red of his armour replaced with silver and chrome, but he shakes the images away before the pounding of his core becomes too loud.

“Thanks for the offer, hen,” Porter chuckles, and hopes that the laugh covers up the slight shake in his voice that he knows shows up whenever pretty people pay him attention, “but I ain’t becoming no fancy electric coach.”

“Pity,” Electra replies as they push themselves off the wall, and Porter forgets how to breathe as one sharp talon draws along the edge of his jaw, Electra merely centimetres away now, “you’d look ever so handsome in my colours.”

He’s not used to being made to feel small, caged in, but Electra towers above him, a private spotlight illuminating every inch of his scarred face. There’s no hiding from their stare, and the drag of the talon sends sparks along his skin, raw and sensitive.

Suddenly there’s the press of something against his chest, and Porter finds it in himself to break their gaze for a moment to look down and see a fresh bundle of notes being pushed into his hands, the flash of a silver business card glinting faintly in the glow of their armour.

“A tip for the delivery boy - keep it to yourself, please,” Electra says lowly; Porter reaches up to grasp it tightly to his chest, and Electra finally steps away whatever weight was preventing his ventilation from working properly eases slightly. “Au revoir, Porter.”

Quiet as the wind, Electra disappears into the night, LEDs flicking off as they turn into the darkness, and Porter can’t help but fall a little bit further down the wall that he’s leaning on. Face alight with crimson and core thumping painfully in his chassis, he must have looked a fuckin’ idiot-

If he’s a little bit late back to the shed, hands trembling slightly and cheeks still flushed, no one says anything.

[feathered-mushrooms]

Scott Summers ahead Cannons

he is my favorite loser boy

Due to growing up on it, Scott tends to throw himself into the danger room whenever he feels an emotion more than fine. He does not know a limit, which his led to “Scott patrol”. Oh Scott hasn’t left the danger room for five hours? Rouge it’s your turn, I pulled him out last time. 

Scott can’t handle to much down time, or being bored. He constantly feels like there is something he should be doing, and therefore will constantly find something to do. 

Charles has done a number on him. He is the reason Scott is so high strung, why failure isn’t just a lesson to learn from but an entire judgement of his character, why he can’t just breathe. He needs to be the leader and the man everyone can count on, he needs to be everything Charles wants him to be. 

This is not a healthy way of thinking. 

Scott has a special interest in planes. It started when he was young and then had a pause after the plane crash that killed his parents. However he picked it up again and now can tell you the difference between a commercial flight and a jet. He also knows how to pilot seven different types of aircraft and even got official license for each.

He is Bi.

It took him frighteningly long to figure this out. 

Scott has issues with social skills(projecting). He can speak sarcasm just fine and makes many jokes in that medium. However he has a hard time figuring out people are being sarcastic, especially if the joke is around him. 

He would wear a dress. Not in public, but if Jean offered he would try one of her dresses on in the safety of a bed room. He would like it. 

Game nights were originally hidden from Scott who(due to the professors absurdly high expectations) does not handle losing well. He loves to point out the rules and technicality’s, and will not play Uno with any variations. He’s not a sore loser par say, it just gets depressing for everyone watching. 

When he was young he kept only one pair of ruby glasses and one visor. As he has aged(and been influenced by Emma) he know has a collection of ruby glasses in all types and styles. 

Star Wars is his comfort show/movie/universe

Pretty equal on cats and dogs but leans towards dogs. 

His chances of being a toddler dad had been pretty ruined but he thinks it would be nice to raise a kid alongside a dog. Maybe a golden retriever. 

He does not mind cats though. 

He often feels weird in his place as a parent. Nathan is his kid but some much time has been lost that Scott can’t help but yearn for the mile stones that were missed and lost to time. He misses everything he was promised as a father. The same is true for Rachel although it is a little weirder. Yes she is his, but from a future that will never happen. He often feels guilty because in the end he has two great kids, but he wishes he could raise a kid in a normal sense. 

He just wants to be a father. 

When he was their step father, Scott showed the Cuckoos Star Wars. He keeps checking in on them, even after he and Emma are no longer together. 

Scott’s type is a person who will be mean to him, and could probably kill him, but have a soft spot.

Even if that soft spot is very hidden. 

He can make a really good grilled cheese. There was a week in his teens were there was low x-men activities and not a lot to do in the mansion so he dedicated his days to perfecting the grilled cheese. He makes it anytime he thinks someone needs some comfort. 

He’s eyes are brown under the visor. 

Never played DnD but very interested in it. Researched it a whole lot and has watched a lot of play throughs. Has even mentioned it to the rest of the squad and most were down to try. However it was forgotten due to the next world ending event. Scott still thinks about it and the character he made. 

He is doing his best but often over exerts himself which leads to sick days. On these days he is forced to cuddle up in a blanket and watches either the Star Wars orignal movies or one of the shows. Most times someone will be designated to sit with him so he doesn’t try and get up and do work. 

On these days Logan often takes the job. 

That all for now!

[bowerspowers]

SCREAM AU 🔪

AU where the Bowers Gang all take part in being Ghost Face and terrorizing the residents of Derry.

Not sure if this has been done yet, so here’s my take!

TW for mentions of murder

Henry Bowers

• a very … motivated ghost face

• he chooses people he has a vendetta against

• honestly he chooses people who simply piss him off —

• the others have been trying to tell him why that’s not a good idea. “If we keep killing people who ‘Henry Bowers’ hates… everyone’s gonna find out who Ghost Face is!”

• unfortunately for him, the Losers Club is off limits for this reason… for now

• the messiest killer, repeated wounds found on the victims person. They’ve have to get separate masks simply because they are tired of cleaning the sheer amount of blood whenever he’s done with it

Patrick Hockstetter

• it was honestly his idea, he chose the mask, he chose the first victim

• nine times out of ten he’s the one on the phone

• incredibly charming, so deceptively charming

• gets shit from the other guys for essentially “face revealing” before killing someone.

• he loves the thrill of his victim’s eyes widening when they realize it’s been Patrick all along

• his victims are killed in such a methodical way, it’s put a damper on the ( lousy ) investigation because the contrast between Patrick and Henry’s styles are so different

Victor Criss

• the quietest of all the ghost faces, it’s no nonsense with him.

• genuinely scary because he isn’t loud and thunderous like Henry is, and he doesn’t taunt his victims like Patrick does.

• he’s simply quiet, and there is something incredibly terrifying about being stalked and chased by someone who refuses to speak even when the victim is shouting crying and trying to coax some reaction out of him

• when things inevitably start going south, THATS when the guilty conscience kicks in. He’d genuinely debated parting ways from his whole double life, he knew he’d never be allowed to, though.

Belch Huggins

• drives the get away car

• works mostly behind the scenes

• honestly when the guys require muscle though, Belch is the one to handle it.

• he was genuinely against it at first, but he was more or less forced into action.

• always the alibi. “we were at belch’s workin on his car.” “we were helpin’ Mrs Huggins with the house.” More often than not it checks out because while one or two of the boys are out causing carnage — the others are busy keeping a low profile. People just tend to assume they are all together even if they don’t immediately see them. Even though Belch is usually parked in an alley waiting for his friend to be done to drive him away from the scene.

• Belch’s car is far too recognizable to those in town, so he drives an old beat up ‘58 Plymouth Fury he found in the junkyard. He and the boys worked on it in secret

• Lowest kill count of the boys, but oh so capable of having the highest. He took out Derry’s quarter back with horrific ease, the adrenaline coursing through his veins gave him both a high but also made him sick to his stomach afterward.

[guiltyasdave]

are you ever dreaming of me?

series masterlist • this is part IV

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

a/n: This got very dark very quickly, but it had to be done. It’s basically just one big love letter from me to Dave and his character. I know Dave’s behavior in the last chapter has been a little frustrating but I hope it’ll make more sense now (it’s still frustrating though ngl). I also know this is not as smut-heavy as the other chapters, which might come as a disappointment to some. Stay with me here, more filth is coming soon, I just had to get emotional for a second. <3 (also, please be nice because I lowkey hate this, actually)

word count: ~3.1k

summary: Dave’s side of the story.

warnings: ANGST, bits of fluff if you squint, age-gap, mentions of killing people, mentions of death, mentions of rough sex, power imbalance, able-bodied reader, somewhat unhealthy relationship dynamics, dubios morals (Dave is cheating on his wife… kinda), idiots in love, this whole serious is still very much 18+ only, mdni… did I mention angst? (As always, please tell if if I forgot something!)

dividers by @/saradika <3

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Dave York isn’t a good man.

He isn’t a good man and he hasn’t been in a long time. He probably had been, once, when he first joined the military, when he still thought that he was doing the good thing, the right thing. Before he killed his first man. Now he’s living in shades of gray, where nothing is as simple as right or wrong.

He knows that what he’s doing is not right, but then again, the people that he’s killing aren’t good men either. He’s doing what he’s good at, what he has been trained to do for years. He doesn’t really know what else he’s good at. If there even is anything else.

He makes enough money to provide well for his daughters, the only thing in his life that he really cares about, the two girls that he loves more than anything. He loved their mother too, once, when they were both young. They were high school sweethearts, got married quickly simply because that was the thing that you did, only to realize later that adult life with each other wasn’t what either of them had imagined.

He’s never told Carol what exactly it is that he does, trying to protect her, which then led to her not understanding what was going on when he came home feeling cold and empty, a void inside of him that nothing could fill. They both grew distant from each other, not sharing any real connection anymore, just living aside one another. It works for him; their daughters are still the top priority for both of them, and they’re going to do everything in their power to give them the best possible childhood.

He suspects that Carol is seeing someone else, with the way she’s sometimes working late for no good reason, sliding out of the room to answer her phone at odd hours, the way he occasionally finds a position on their shared credit card bill that he doesn’t have an explanation for.

Dave knows that if he cared, he could easily find out every little detail about it. If he cared, he would probably be angry at how she’s not even making an effort to hide it. But the thing is - he just can’t bring himself to care. Has never done the same thing either, neither out of spite, nor because he had any desire for it.

Until he met her.

Sitting in a hotel bar, two seats over from him, when he’d just gotten a job done and figured that a quick drink might help him fall asleep easier. The whiskey’s burn in his throat didn’t ease the coldness that felt like it had permanently settled into his chest, not that he’d expected it to.

He had just decided to retreat to his room and get out of the city first thing in the morning when she sighed loudly and downed her own drink abruptly. He had noticed her when he walked in, the way he always clocked every person in any room he entered, and every possible exit route. He had absentmindedly noted that she was attractive, then dismissed the thought immediately. Probably here for a date, much younger than him, not paying him any mind. Not a threat, and therefore not important.

Not important at all, until he found himself turning to her and offering to buy her another drink before his mind had even caught up to his actions, learning that she had just been stood up for what would indeed have been a date, noticing the glint of interest in her gaze as she eyed him up and down, feeling a kind of longing that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Getting her to go up to his room with him had been easy. A mutual understanding of wanting each other, the desire to turn a shitty evening into something else, something that he doesn’t think either of them understood at the time.

Kissing her for the first time had been easy, too. Touching her, feeling her hot skin under his fingertips, her entire being so much softer, lighter than he was, felt easy. It felt right, like something that he hadn’t known he was missing right until that moment. He wanted to devour her, make her his, get her as close as he possibly could, before he inevitably had to give up this fleeting moment of something that suspiciously felt like happiness, and happiness never stayed within his reach for too long.

Sinking into her for the first time, hearing her gasp, her breath hot against his neck, felt even better. This was never gonna last, things this good never did. The way she clenched around him when he first slapped her ass and her whimper of “harder, please” turned him feral in a way that he hadn’t known before. How she gave up all control to him so willingly when his entire life had felt out of control for so long - it was addicting. He had known that he would come back for more again and again before he had even spilled himself into her for the first time.

He hadn’t planned for her to stay the night. Hadn’t planned for the way she kissed his lips in the morning, acting a little shy, like she was worried that he might send her away, but so clearly showing him that she wanted more of him, if that was what he wanted. And god damn, did he want to give her more, give her all that he had to offer, if only it wasn’t for the fact that any more of him would be enough to scare her away for good.

So, he didn’t give her more. Made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t looking for an emotional attachment, told her about his marriage, told her that they couldn’t be a thing. She was quick to hide her disappointment, but not quick enough for him not to notice. He half expected her to walk out then, that this wasn’t something she wanted, but instead she scribbled down her phone number, gave him a flirty smile and told him to call her “whenever”.

He knew he was being greedy, that he should have kept it a one time thing that he could keep a fond memory of, but of course he called her. Kept making stops in her town before flying back home, started spending weekends with her, the feeling of being around her too good to let go of.

He knows that it’s not right, that he’s probably taking advantage of her in some way. Of course he sees how badly she wants to please him, how she looks at him like he’s hung the moon for her. She has never denied him anything, no matter what kinds of depraved things he’s wanted to do with her. Hesitated, yes, but she has never said no. Never called red, never asked him to stop. Not when he first told her to call him “sir”, not when he spanked her for the first time, not when he’s edging her until she’s barely coherent, not when his fingers tightened around her throat for the first time. He could leave her a crying, shaking mess on the floor, and by the end of the night she’d still look up at him with those wide eyes and thank him.

It’s addictive and he can’t stop, always comes back for more when it feels like his whole life is spiraling out of his control again, when the darkness around him is threatening to swallow him whole. She’ll let him grab at her with rough hands, mold her body into any shape he wants, let him spit filth at her and let lose until he feels grounded again, until some of the darkness around him has dissipated.

Lately, work has been weighing on him even harder. Maybe he’s just getting older, maybe he has finally reached his limit, he’s not sure. With the whole week off, an incredibly rare occurrence, he knew who he wanted to spend it with. She had seemed stressed lately, like she needed a break too, so it was easy to convince himself that he was doing this for her. That it wasn’t just a selfish plan of his to spend more time with her.

Because somewhere along the way he has come to enjoy the time with her way too much. He enjoys lying in bed together, both of them catching their breaths, laughing about a stupid joke, the little tidbits from her life that she shares with him, the rare occasions when they’re walking around her neighborhood. The way she shyly grabbed his hand the first time, like she was scared that he would pull it away. The smile that she tried to but couldn’t hide when he didn’t.

This isn’t right and it’s not going to last, he’s well aware of that. As clear as he has been about his intentions, he still feels like he’s leading her on sometimes. But it feels too good to stop, to let go of one of the few comforts that he has in life.

The past few days with her have been heaven. He hadn’t anticipated how much he would enjoy spending so much uninterrupted time with her, how good it would feel to be around her the entire day, just watching her be herself and listening to her talking. And he has been talking as well, the feeling of speaking to someone without an ulterior motive, of someone listening to him just because they wanted to, more meaningful to him than he could put into words.

And all throughout, she had so willingly bent to his every wish, put all her trust into him, secure in the knowledge that in the end, he would take care of her.

So, Dave had let his guard down. Relaxed. Then the dream happened.

Last night, he had come home to find the girls slaughtered in their house, their small bodies soaked in blood. It’s a recurring nightmare, a fear that he can never entirely shake off, that haunts his subconscious every couple of weeks. He’s being thorough in his work, never leaving loose ends, keeping his private life concealed from the world that he moves in. The risk that anything could happen to them is as low as he can push it, but it’s not zero. Never zero, and it’s eating at him. Usually, he wakes up alone, gasping for breath, the sheets soaked with sweat. Him and Carol haven’t slept in the same bed for a long time.

Last night, it had been different. It had been different because she had been there beside him, shaking him awake and holding him in her arms until he calmed back down. It had also been different because she had been part of the dream. Just as dead, just as blood-soaked as his daughters.

She had been so sweet when he woke up, and it broke his heart. He wasn’t a good person. He was endangering everyone around him, he was endangering her by not being able to end this thing with her, and yet here she was, oblivious, comforting him.

He had always thought that eventually, he would be the one to break things off. But what if it was her? What if she figured out what a pathetic excuse of a man he was, that he couldn’t give her anything? Not a real relationship, and no future. He couldn’t let her in, couldn’t let her see who he was. What he did, what he was afraid of - and just how realistic those fears were.

He couldn’t even bear to picture the look on her face if he ever told her. The betrayal, the disgust, and eventually the fear. He couldn’t tell her. He wouldn’t. But how could he go on with this, knowing that every minute that he spends with her, he puts her in danger? Someone could find out. Someone could find her.

So does what he does best. Makes a plan. Suppresses his emotions until he’s sure of what to do. How to keep her safe. The logical part of his mind arrives at a solution pretty quickly: She’ll be safest if she stays away from him.

The emotional part of him, the part that he tries to keep shut down, doesn’t approve of this idea.

He has to tell her. Sooner rather than later, while the dream is still fresh in his memory, while he can still see her dead body when he closes his eyes.

Because he obviously knew about the dangers of being with him when he first laid eyes on her. When he kissed her for the first time, texted her for the first time, walked up to her apartment for the first time, when he booked this damn vacation because he’s unable to stay away from her. Unable to think straight when it comes to her. There’s a million reasons why he shouldn’t be with her and yet, he always finds a reason not to quit.

He tells himself that he’ll speak to her as soon as she gets up. Then once he’s done with his phone call. Maybe after they’ve had breakfast. At the end of the day, when they’re back in the room. He never does. He can’t.

The tension has become unbearable at that point. He knows that she’s confused, that she has questions that he doesn’t have answers for. His life feels out of control once again, so he tries gaining it back in the only way that he knows.

He half expected her to refuse him, but she seems just as relieved as he feels when he tells her to get down on her knees. Afterwards, he doesn’t feel better. Possibly hates himself even more.

He can tell that she’s off afterwards, and he’s battling himself to comfort her. This is not what he should be doing. None of this is what he should be doing.

Usually, she tucks herself into the space between his shoulder and his chest before he can even say a word. Not tonight. Tonight, she had her back turned to him before he had even switched off the lights, the “good night” that she normally breathes against his neck nothing more than a murmur from her side of the bed.

He stares at her backside in the darkness of the room, the way she seems to be curling in on herself, and he has no idea what to do. What they just did seemed like what she wanted, she had appeared eager, enthusiastic even, but maybe he read her wrong. Shit, he hadn’t even asked for her color once.

It’s quiet for a long time. He finally feels himself slowly drifting off to sleep, when her hears her sniffle. His eyes fly open again. It’s only minimal movements, but he can see her tremble ever so slightly. Fuck it, he thinks to himself as he reaches out towards her.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

You tense at his words, at the fact that he’s apparently awake. Has probably been the whole time. You try your hardest to make your voice sound normal, even though you know that it’s pointless.

“Nothing.”

It comes out even weaker than you had anticipated. You keep your back to him and feel him shuffling closer, his hand gently pulling at your shoulder to turn you towards him. “Baby. Talk to me.” His voice is soft in your ear and your heart is beating painfully in your chest. Baby. He has never called you Baby before. You feel a fresh wave of tears welling up in your eyes and shake your head but let him turn you around until you’re facing him.

His eyes search your face in the faint moonlight that’s filtering into the room and his hands cup your damp cheeks, his thumbs gently running over the skin under your eyes. The worry that’s so evident in his expression right now makes you want to break down. You’re exhausted, and confused, and you don’t understand the man in front of you and his contradictory behavior at all. So far you’ve been crying silently, but you can feel your bottom lip trembling as you try to suppress the sobs that are threatening to crawl up your throat.

“Did I- shit, was I too rough, did I hurt you? You didn’t say anything, but I never asked- I should’ve checked, I’m sorry, I-“

“You didn’t hurt me,” you whisper, cutting off his frantic rambling. He didn’t, not in the way that he’s referring to, anyway.

“Then what’s wrong?” he pleads, his hands still on your face, “Talk to me.” You inhale deeply. You really don’t want to have this conversation, but maybe it’s best like this. Rip the bandaid off, make it quick.

“Do you want to leave?”

Your voice breaks on the last word. He stares at you for a beat, his eyes wide. “Do I- What?” You shrug, unable to bring yourself to ask a second time. One of his hands slides down to your shoulder, holding you there. He doesn’t speak, his eyes boring into you.

You can’t hold his gaze any longer, your eyes dropping down to his chest instead. “You’ve been… weird. Today. I thought- I don’t fucking know, that I had done something or that you’ve-” a sob breaks free and interrupts you, “that you’ve had enough of me. That you don’t want to go on with… this.” You gesture helplessly between the two of you.

You’re certain that now you’ve said too much, that if he hadn’t had enough before, he definitely has now. You’re supposed to be fun, a distraction, not someone who’s clinging to him, but you’re feeling too exhausted, too raw to keep pretending like this thing between you doesn’t mean something. To you, at least.

“Fuck,” Dave mumbles, and you gaze up to see the anguish in his eyes before his arms envelop you and he presses you against his chest, speaking into your hair. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.”

It’s quiet for a minute as you’re inhaling his scent, trying to calm yourself down, when something occurs to you. “You didn’t say no,” you whisper into his chest, “you said that I didn’t do anything, but… you didn’t say that you don’t want to leave.” Dave freezes for just a second, searching your face, then he sighs heavily. He sounds defeated, you think.

“No, I don’t want to leave.”

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