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[rafecameronssl4t]

Mind, body, and soul || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

gif by @mad3lyncline

Summary: in a rare moment of vulnerability, Rafe voices his need for you and you only.

Warnings: angst galore 😍😍

Word count: 2,371

A/n: guys this acc had me giggling, smiling, and kicking my feet bc I love it when Rafe is so lovestruck by reader and being vulnerable to her and her only.

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

As you reverse park your car, the bass-heavy thrum of trap music vibrates so intensely you can feel it reverberating even from your car. Sarah, lounging in the passenger seat with a tipsy grin, shakes her head. “I can already tell I’m going to be horribly hungover tomorrow.” You chuckle, flicking her a sympathetic look as your finger hovers over the button to raise the convertible roof.

“Me too,” you agree with a laugh. But just as you press it, a blinding light floods the car, making both of you instinctively shield your eyes. “What the hell?” you mutter, squinting as you try to make out the source of the glare. Across the parking lot, a truck idles with its high beams aimed right at you. You narrow your eyes, recognising it immediately.

“Is that your brother’s truck?” you ask Sarah, already knowing the answer. She groans. “It is.” With an exaggerated sigh, you roll your eyes and flip him off, watching as he laugh. “Yeah, real funny, dickhead!” you call out, your voice carrying over the pulsing music just as the roof finishes closing.

Shaking your head with an amused grin, you hop out of the car, the cool night air washing over you as you look back to see Rafe, still sitting behind the wheel with that signature smug grin, clearly pleased with his little stunt. “Of course my brother’s here,” Sarah mutters under her breath as she steps out and shuts her door, the headlights casting long shadows across the driveway as you hit the lock button.

You laugh, nudging her with your shoulder. “It’s a party loaded with booze, drugs, and girls—where else would he be? Rafe wouldn’t stray too far from that scene,” you say, a knowing smirk playing at your lips. As you round the car, you throw a pointed glance his way, catching his eye for a brief, charged moment.

His grin widens, like he’s daring you to say something, but you roll your eyes, dismissing him as you turn back toward the house. The heavy beat from inside grows louder with each step, the thumping bass promising a long, wild night ahead. Behind you, you can still feel Rafe’s gaze, lingering with a mix of mischief and something unspoken.

~

“Finally, you’re here,” his voice murmurs close to your ear just as his arm slips around your waist, pulling you into him. The familiar warmth of his body and the scent of his cologne makes you melt, and you can’t help but grin as you look up at him. “Miss me that much?” you tease, rising onto your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips, savouring the brief contact.

“Get a room, please,” Sarah mutters, rolling her eyes as she heads off, leaving you both laughing softly. You’re still smiling into the kiss when his hand slides to grip your waist, then dips lower to give your ass a playful squeeze. Biting back a laugh, you take his hand in yours and lead him inside, weaving through the crowd toward the kitchen, where bottles line the counters and red cups litter the island.

Just as you reach for a drink, you hear Rafe’s voice behind you, casual yet somehow authoritative. “Hey, man,” he calls out, extending a hand. You turn in time to see Topper clasp his hand, pulling him in for a quick bro hug, their easy familiarity apparent. Rafe glances over Topper’s shoulder and gives you a subtle wink, a smirk dancing on his lips. You take a slow, steady sip of your drink, trying to ignore the flutter that Rafe’s wink stirs up.

He gives you a curt nod, voice cool as he says your name—“Y/n”—playing it off casually, fully aware that Topper’s watching. Then, as if on cue, Topper drapes his arm over your shoulder, pulling you close. You lean into his touch, holding Rafe’s gaze with a challenging glint as you cock an eyebrow at him, feeling the tension sparking in the space between you. Rafe just smiles, but you can tell by the tightness at the corners of his mouth that he’s bothered, the calm facade masking what you know to be a prick of jealousy.

Leaning in, you press close to Topper, your lips brushing his ear as you murmur, “I’m gonna go find Sarah. I’ll be back.” You punctuate the words with a soft kiss to his jaw, aware of Rafe’s intense gaze on you, reading every movement. With one last glance over your shoulder, you slip away, feeling the weight of Rafe’s stare as you blend into the crowd, a mix of satisfaction and anticipation simmering in your chest.

~

“Took you long enough,” Rafe’s voice comes out in a lazy drawl, each word dripping with barely concealed impatience as you shut the door softly behind you. His eyes are locked on you, tracking your every step as you make your way across the room, his posture relaxed, yet there’s a simmering intensity beneath it.

“Yeah, well, I was having my fun,” you say with a playful pout, savoring the way his gaze darkens slightly, jaw tightening as he registers your words. You take your time, letting each step toward him linger, the tension between you building with each inch of distance closed. Rafe’s expression flickers with something unreadable as you stop a couple of feet from him.

“What do you want, Rafe?” you ask, voice soft but steady, holding his gaze with a hint of challenge. His eyes drag slowly over you, a touch possessive. “I don’t get why you’re still with him,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet edge. The statement hangs in the air, daring you to defend it. “Topper?” You shrug casually, though you can see the slight twitch in Rafe’s jaw as you say his name.

“Well, he’s my boyfriend. And…” You pause, watching his reaction, leaning into the charged silence before continuing, “I love him.” Your voice is confident, but you’re aware of how close you are now, of the heat radiating from his body as you step between his legs, close enough to feel the subtle tension in him. Rafe’s pupils dilate, his breathing shallow as he lifts his gaze back to yours, dark and intense.

Slowly, his hand reaches out, resting on the back of your thigh, fingers tightening as he guides you a step closer, his touch firm, sending a shiver through you. The distance between you vanishes, and you bring your hands up to his face, cradling it gently as you tilt his head back, forcing him to look up at you. His usual confidence is flickering, replaced by something raw, vulnerable.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, laced with a desperate edge. His eyes search yours, seeking the truth, his unspoken desire crackling in the air between you, daring you to deny it. His words hang between you, heavy with something you’re not ready to name, his eyes searching yours with a mix of longing and frustration that makes your heart race.

ou hesitate, fingers brushing over his jaw, feeling the tension in him as he waits for you to say something, anything, that confirms what he so desperately wants to believe. A soft laugh escapes your lips, and you arch an eyebrow at him, letting the weight of his expectation settle for a beat before saying, “I don’t get why you’re acting like this just because I let you go down on me at that party.”

Your voice is teasing, the words edged with a playfulness that you know will only stoke his frustration further. Rafe’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as he processes your response. He lets out a short, mirthless laugh, his grip on your thigh tightening just enough for you to feel the heat of his frustration. “You think this is a joke?” he murmurs, voice low, but there’s a vulnerable edge beneath the words.

You let your hands fall from his face, crossing your arms as you look down at him, still standing between his legs. “What am I supposed to think, Rafe? You’re acting like one night means forever.” You raise an eyebrow, challenging him, but the way he’s looking at you—intense, possessive, almost pleading—makes your own resolve waver. Rafe’s gaze sharpens, his frustration giving way to something deeper, more vulnerable.

“You think I just go down on anyone?” he mutters, his voice barely concealing the hurt simmering beneath his irritation. His hand tightens on your thigh, pulling you that much closer as he speaks. “I wouldn’t do that if you didn’t mean something to me, if this didn’t mean something.” You feel his words settle over you, heavier than you expected. His eyes are locked on yours, unflinching, his expression raw and open in a way that catches you off guard.

He’s never looked at you like this, not with this intensity, this strange mix of frustration and honesty that threatens to crack your own defenses. Rafe’s hand slides up to rest on your hip, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that sends a shiver through you. “That night, it wasn’t just a game for me,” he says softly, voice rough with the weight of the confession. “Don’t pretend it was for you, either.”

You want to say something, anything that will take the edge off the tension thickening between you, but as you look into his eyes, you realize there’s nothing you can say to downplay what happened. The unspoken connection between you is real, and the way he’s holding you now feels dangerously close to a promise. “He’s your best friend, Rafe,” you whisper, your voice softening as you move a strand of his hair away from his forehead.

The gesture feels intimate, yet the weight of your words hangs heavy in the air, a reminder of the precarious line you’re both walking. Rafe shifts slightly, moving his head aside, the warmth of your touch lingering as your finger hovers just above his skin, caught between wanting to reach out and the realization of the boundary you’re skirting. After a moment’s pause, you let your hand fall back down beside you, the distance between you feeling impossibly charged.

“Yeah, and I don’t care about him,” he replies, his voice low but steady, an edge of defiance creeping in. “What matters is how I feel about you.” There’s a moment where his expression flickers—vulnerability giving way to defensiveness. Your heart races at his admission, the honesty in his tone sending a thrill through you. “So you think that just because we had one moment, I should throw everything away?” you challenge, your voice firm, yet tinged with uncertainty.

Rafe’s expression hardens, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability beneath the surface. “You make it sound like I should care about Topper,” he says, the annoyance creeping into his voice. “I don’t. All I care about is you.” The weight of his words hangs in the air, thick with tension. You take a breath, feeling the gravity of what he’s saying. “But it’s not that simple, Rafe. You can’t just ignore everything else.”

“Why not?” he replies, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, filled with intensity. “Why can’t I want you? Why can’t I want more than what we’ve settled for?” Your pulse quickens, caught between his gaze and the truth of your own feelings. Rafe’s intensity is captivating, and as he searches your eyes for answers, you realise that the boundaries you thought you had are blurring, the desire between you too strong to deny.

“Because you can’t have me,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but the words land with a finality that makes his jaw tense. Your hands lift to cradle his face, fingertips brushing against his skin as if trying to commit every line and angle to memory. Your gaze flickers to his lips, the urge to close the distance almost overpowering.

Rafe’s eyes darken, his breath hitching as he studies your face, searching for any trace of doubt. “Says who?” he murmurs, leaning into your touch, his hands coming up to rest gently over yours. He’s holding you there, grounding himself in this moment as though refusing to let it slip away. You swallow, feeling the intensity radiate off him. “Says the part of me that knows you don’t always get what you want.”

The words feel heavy, but there’s a tremor in your voice that betrays your resolve. Even as you speak, your thumb unconsciously traces the curve of his cheek, lingering with a tenderness that contradicts the distance you’re trying to impose. Rafe’s gaze drops to your mouth, a flicker of longing crossing his face. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he whispers, his voice rough and unsteady, his eyes meeting yours with a determination that makes your heart race.

“I can’t help wanting you. Mind, body, and soul,” he murmurs, the words heavy with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His voice is low, almost reverent, and as he leans in, his lips hover just inches from yours. His breath fans over your skin, warm and inviting, the space between you crackling with electricity.

His hands slide down, settling possessively on your waist, fingers pressing into you as though anchoring himself in this moment. He pulls you in closer, his gaze locked on yours with a raw vulnerability that you’ve rarely seen. “And I think you want this too,” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes searching your face for any hint of hesitation.

You feel your resolve wavering, the intensity in his words and the weight of his touch making it impossible to ignore the desire building between you. There’s a pause, a beat of silence where the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you, caught in this fragile, electric moment. You feel the pull, the undeniable truth in his words.

Your fingers tighten slightly against his skin, and you lean in just enough to brush your lips over his, tentative, testing, but unable to hold back. It’s a whisper of a kiss, a surrender, and as his grip on you tightens, you know there’s no turning back.

[administer-distractions]

.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Two

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: None :)

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“The sun’s barely gone down!” Cassian grumbled, following behind Helion, Rhysand, and Feyre as they walked the cobblestone streets of the Day Court. Every block of the small city contained at least two local bookstores, one cafe that also sold books, one flower shop that also sold books, and/or a small glass box filled with - as anyone could have guessed - more books to be given away for free. 

Helion chuckled, “You’re not in the Night Court any more. My people are early to bed, early to rise. Unless of course you spend a night with me.” He winked at Cassian, who had the sense to blush. Indeed the Night Court members had been shocked when the party cleared out not even two hours after the sun had slipped beneath the ground. 

Aside from the small scale bookstores which housed the most popular and recently published novels, every sector of the Day Court also had between one to three athenaeum’s - elaborate buildings of ivory stone laced with filigree and windows that lit up like the glowing eyes of an ancient beast. They were the pride and joy of all Day Court members. The windows flickered and shone with the magic used to protect the volumes from the sun. Even as the neighborhood lights slowly winked out, Azriel could track the diligent minds scouring the brightly lit shelves. There was a loving madness in their hunched backs, craned necks, and squinting eyes. 

As their troupe reached The Alcove, one of the smaller and cozier athenaeum’s, Azriel couldn’t help but imagine you in a similar display of passionate madness, when you forgot about the world around you and could actually relax.

The Alcove specialized in housing diaries and novels of everyday comforts - quiet, unassuming stories that could steal your heart as swiftly as the grandest tales of war and romance, but with much more discretion. Here, the knowledge pressed between pages with ink was full of warmth and subtlety. The others in your cohort had scorned you for your choice in The Alcove. Why would anyone choose such a dull place to live and work? Why not be surrounded by books on war tactics or history or religion or biology? Someplace useful and worthy of a Librarian’s gifts. But The Alcove had offered you something you’d missed since your mother’s death - a sense of home. 

You sat by the bay windows overlooking the darkened street below, breathing in the crisp and cool air that snuck in through the glass. On the other side of your apartment, a similar window overlooked The Alcove’s interior. Hundreds of mahogany shelves lined the high walls of the octagonal building with its signature domed roof. Grand staircases of gold twisted their way up from the ground, connecting to walkways that gave easier access to the volumes housed higher up the walls. 

It was a blessing in disguise that you’d chosen to sit on this side of your apartment. Otherwise you would have never seen the Shadowsinger watching you with careful consideration, his eyes faintly glowing like the eyes of a cat. He raised one gloved hand up at you in a wave, a solitary gesture as the rest of his companions and Helion walked towards the stairs that led up to your apartment entrance. 

He saw your mouth open in a shocked oh and couldn’t help the faintest smile gracing his lips as you disappeared from view.

“Oh shit.” You sprang up from your seat, eyes madly racing over the contents of your apartment. You were in the middle of a research project on magical signatures and your living space reflected the madness in your mind. Books lay open on the floor, on the desk, on the coffee table surrounded by carefully documented notes and half-scribbled ideas in equal measure. You wouldn’t be able to clean it up in time and, quite frankly, you had no interest in disrupting the chaotic organization. Did you really care about impressing the Night Court and Helion? 

The terrifying answer was, yes.

The dining room. 

It rarely saw use since you were disinclined to receive guests, and had more recently been repurposed to house stacks of romance novels… best not to let anyone see those… 

In the five minutes it took for Helion and the members of the Inner Circle to climb up the dozen flights of stairs, and knock on your door, you’d successfully managed to hide all the smutty romance books in your bedroom, throw a table cloth and candle on top of the dining table, put away the dried dishes that had been displaced on the kitchen countertops, and set a kettle on the stove. Was there anything more that could be done? 

Helion smiled brightly when you made your appearance, keeping the door slightly ajar to keep the worst of the living room out of sight. Perhaps this would be a short visit and they wouldn’t even ask to come inside.

“Y/n!” Helion said with a grin, “I present to you the Inner Circle of the Night Court.” He gestured with a grand flourish to some of the most beautiful fae you’d ever had the honor of witnessing.

“Some of us at least.” The High Lord’s voice was liquid honey and filled with enough charisma to seduce a nun.

“The most important ones.” The Lord of Bloodshed said with a boyish grin. The faint scar on his cheek pulled back with his smile.

“I’ll let Nesta know you said that.” The High Lady had swapped out her dress for a more simple pair of black slacks and a billowing shirt that cinched in at the waist, flowing over her body like smoke on water. 

“Wait, no. Feyre, I was only joking. Feyre-” 

She laughed, tipping her head back while her husband and mate looked on with a tenderness in his eyes you hadn’t expected to see. It wasn’t the love that shocked you so much as the casualness of it. High Lords and Lady’s - from the limited experience you had reading about them in books - were either unreadable or such outrageous flirts they looked ready to jump into the bones of anything that could stand upright or lay down for long enough. Both methods were appropriate to hide their true feelings, but Rhysand and Feyre seemed to take another approach entirely. 

Helion coughed when you made no move to introduce yourself, still shell-shocked at the caliber of guests currently at your door, “And to the Inner Circle of the Night Court, I present Y/n Y/l/n. My dear friend and one of the most talented researchers I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.” 

“We’ve heard so much about you.” Feyre said, moving forward on instinct to embrace you. She stopped immediately when she saw you flinch back, but recovered quickly, smiling brightly, “My name is Feyre, and this is my mate Rhysand,” The High Lord tipped an imaginary hat, “And his brothers, Cassian and Azriel.” 

“It’s an honor to meet you.” You said politely.

“The honor is all ours.” Rhysand said. He held Feyre closer to his side, one hand ghosting close to her stomach in memory of the child that had grown there not even two years ago. “Helion told us everything you did. Our daughter is alive and well thanks to you, as is my mate.” 

You blinked in surprise. You didn’t know Helion had told them about that. 

“Oh um, it was a joint effort. My High Lord is too kind.” You said with a respectful dip of your head and all at once your manners flooded into your brain again, “Please, come in.” 

You sheepishly opened the door further, allowing the two High Lords and High Lady to grace your apartment. The Illyrians crossed the threshold last. Muscular, leathery wings rippled with power and prestige and it was incredible they managed to stay upright, let alone keep them from dragging on the floor. 

You made a mental note to revisit some old anatomy texts on winged fae. 

“I um,” You hurried to the kitchen, hearing the kettle start to screech, “I apologize. I wasn’t prepared for guests.” The screaming stopped and you remembered that you didn’t have any matching tea sets. 

You reached into the cupboards, face blushing at the assortment of novelty mugs you’d acquired over the years. Hardly fit for a children’s tea party let alone some of the most powerful fae to have ever existed. 

“There will be no apologies from you, tonight, my dear.” Helion said with a charming smile, “Not after we’ve barged into your home uninvited and taken over your dining table.”

From over the island you saw that Helion had already settled down at the table, the others following suit. Everyone except for the Shadowsinger. 

He lingered by the kitchen archway, keeping a respectful distance as you poured boiling water into the teapot over a mixture of chrysanthemum and rosehip. 

“Would you like any help?” He gestured to the tray now loaded with the teapot, cups, and a platter of biscuits that shook in your hands. 

“Oh,” You stared at his outstretched hand, soft black leather molded over graceful fingers. “No, that’s alright. I can do it. But thank you for offering.” You stood face to face with him, silently begging him with your eyes to move to the table with the others so you wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of touching him.

His hand quickly dropped to his side, then slid behind his back. You caught the flash of hurt in his eyes before he masked it. 

“There are some cookies in the living room!” You said a little too loudly, “On top of the coffee table. If-if you wouldn’t mind bringing those-” The Shadowsinger was already gone on his mission and you breathed a sigh of relief. 

There were more books on the floor than swords on a battlefield. Azriel stepped over them gently, careful not to disturb the precarious arrangement. Books on anatomy, microbiology, human medicine, and magical theory flared outward, tracing the path of Y/n’s mind. Azriel walked it with wonder at the brilliance hidden within the midnight thoughts that had been spilled on paper, before being organized later on with a loving hand. Because that’s what this all spelled out to him - some chaotic, maddening love. He was almost jealous not to be on the receiving end of it… almost.

He saw the platter on the table, but ignored it for the pile of books by the windowsill. These ones were different from the rest. Older and more worn. The bindings were cracked and flexible after being read hundreds of times. He could even trace the faint outlines of your fingers on the leather bindings where natural oils had eaten away at the dye. 

He read over the titles and committed them to memory for no other reason than the fact that he liked things that had been well loved. 

“I made a mistake don’t-” 

Azriel straightened up, color washing over his cheeks as he turned to face you in a sea of paper and leather. 

Without thinking, he’d fallen into old habits of poking through people’s belongings. There was a reason Rhysand had made him Spymaster of the Night Court after all. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

“Did you eat a cookie?” You blurted out in a panic. 

“No, no I didn’t.” 

Your shoulders dropped in relief, one hand brushing back your hair. Azriel caught sight of your ink stained fingertips, and the faint mark they left on your temple. 

“Oh thank the Mother.” You muttered under your breath, stealing a glance over your shoulder to the dining room where Helion was playing host in your stead and doing a far better job than you would have been capable of.

“Are they poisoned?” Azriel asked, but the joke fell flat upon seeing the horror in your face.

“No! No, that's not why-I should explain myself better. I would never dare try and poison you. Or anyone for that matter!” You scrunched your eyes shut, face burning brighter than the sun at noon.

I’m a fool. I’m making a fool of myself. He’s going to think I’m an absolute idiot. And right after Helion called me a gifted researcher. What a fucking lie.

Azriel, the blessing in disguise that he was, gave you a moment to collect yourself, pretending to find more interest in a volume on snake venom that was laid open on the ottoman. 

“A friend baked those for me.” You finally said. 

Azriel nodded, a faint smile gracing his face and it caught you off guard. He was beautiful, there was no doubting it so long as you had eyes. What had surprised you was the faint slivers of warmth behind the facade of the cold, brooding Shadowsinger. It was… surprisingly comforting to be standing in a room with him, just the two of you. It was certainly better than the party you’d unceremoniously winnowed out of earlier that day.

“I would never hold it against you if you wanted to save those for yourself.”

Your lips twisted in disgust, “Oh gods no, Cherp is a terrible cook.”

“Cherp?”

“He’s another Librarian I know.” Probably the closest thing to a friend I have. But you weren’t about to tell the Shadowsinger that. “He specializes in chemistry and food history.”

“He’s a food historian?”

“Yes.”

“And yet he’s a terrible cook?” The Shadowsinger tilted his head to the side. 

The corner of your mouth tipped up, “The worst.”

“How is that possible?”

You gave it a thought, eyes darting around the walls like the answer was hidden behind paint, “Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, um,” You weren’t sure what to call him.

“Azriel. Call me, Azriel.”

“Azriel.” You said, testing out the shape of his name. You liked it.

“Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, Azriel?”

He cocked his head to the side, “I do not.”

“Thousands, Azriel. Thousands. If I told you to bake a cake with an egg, would you know I meant a chicken egg?” This time you didn’t wait for an answer, “Because you’d be surprised how quickly facts we consider ‘common knowledge’ disappear. Will people know we meant chicken eggs 1 million years from now? Perhaps not! All this to say that when Cherp follows recipes, he usually doesn’t have the knowledge to make it correctly and they turn out bland at best, inedible and poisonous at worst.” 

Azriel tipped his head back and laughed, prompting you to explain further, “He once spent ten years researching the evolution of average spoon sizes because so many of his recipes were measured in spoonfuls.”

Azriel smirked, “Is this what you academics get yourselves so worried about?”

You couldn’t tell if he was ridiculing you or not, but the sincerity in his hazel eyes said he wasn’t. “Well we...among other things, yes, I suppose that is something we concern ourselves with…” 

“Y/n!” Helion called from the other room, “Stop romancing the Shadowsinger and join us at the table. It’s a futile effort. I’ve been trying for centuries.” 

Your face turned a brighter shade of red as you watched Azriel pick his way through the empty spots on the floor. You pressed yourself against the wall to let him pass, a fact that didn’t escape his notice. And when he took a seat at the table, you ignored the unoccupied seat next to him, preferring to stand behind the island like a woodland creature ready to dive into their den at a moment’s notice. 

His lips flattened. He’d hoped to make you more comfortable around him after the disastrous events at the party, going so far as to hide the shadows that were clamoring for release. He should’ve known better than to assume one conversation about the historical accuracy of egg recipes would make that discomfort go away.  

From your island you tossed pleasantries back and forth like it was a game. But you couldn’t help the stiffness in your posture, the hesitation in your voice when they asked you about your life.

“I’m a Librarian.” You’d first answered, as if it were all that needed to be said. But they pressed onwards, tried to make you laugh. Cassian, especially, liked to poke fun, and despite your best efforts, you laughed. 

“All these libraries would make Nesta go feral. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself.”

“What kind of books does she like to read?” You asked, refilling the kettle as the cloudy sky outside darkened into a rich purple-black.

Cassian coughed, face turning red, “Romance.” He answered simply.

“Smutty romance.” The High Lord said, punching Cassian in the arm. His face turned redder.

“Lucky you,” Helion said with a wink that had Feyre bursting out into laughter. It was no secret that Helion had added Nesta onto his list of fae he’d one day like to have in his bed.

“There is an athenaeum that specializes in romance, and there’s no shortage of those sorts of novels… if you’re interested.” You said, hiding your face behind a sip of tea. 

“And how would you know about that?” Feyre asked teasingly. 

“I… am a Librarian. I know-I know things.” You sputtered unconvincingly. “I went once. Purely for research purposes.” 

Azriel gave her a look, a look that said he somehow knew of the eight raunchy books that graced your bedside table and had been well-read indeed.

As the conversation evolved to less embarrassing topics, you were struck by the fact that you were actually enjoying yourself. It was a far cry from the parties that you’d previously been invited to. There was an ease to the Inner Circle. A familial love that flowed off them as easy as water off a whetstone. It was something you hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

Azriel noticed when you fell silent, your mind carried away to more sobering thoughts than Cassian’s most recent travels to the Human Lands. Feyre noticed as well and made her surprise at the time look natural and unscripted.

“Day Court members are early to bed and early to rise aren’t you? I’m sorry we’ve taken up so much of your time.” She said, gently pulling Rhysand up with her as she stood. 

“No, not at all. Thank you for coming. I-I hope your daughter is doing well.” Was that an appropriate thing to say? Perhaps it was too threatening to comment on the wellbeing of a High Lord and High Lady’s child. But Feyre didn’t find any fault with that, a glassy look sliding over her eyes as Mor let Feyre into her mind so she could look at little Velaria dozing away in her aunt’s arms back home.

“She’s getting to be more and more of a handful everyday.”

“I wonder where she gets that from?” Cassian chimed in, throwing Rhysand a look as they collected their coats and slowly made their way over to the front door.

Rhysand threw his hand to his chest in indignation, “I was practically an angel.” 

Cassian snorted, “More like the devil.” 

Feyre rolled her eyes, shuffling the pair out the door into the still night. 

Azriel once again lingered behind, the last to leave behind Helion. He stepped out into the night-chilled air, the edges of him disappearing like the darkness had come to reclaim him. 

“It was lovely to meet you, Y/n, the Librarian.” He said, dipping into a shallow bow.

“It was lovely to meet you, Azriel…the Shadowsinger.” 

He smiled shyly, then froze, the smile slipping off his face into a look of shock. You glanced over your shoulder, missing the explosion of shadows that spilled out from him. 

You leapt back upon feeling their cool touch wrapping around you. There was a curiosity to the way they wound themselves through your hair and got tangled up in the folds of your dress. But thankfully, they carried no memories with them. No feelings but a faint relief and comfort that washed over you and gave you back your breath. For the first time in years you were experiencing a touch that you could handle. A touch that was stillness and peace.

“Is everything alright?” You finally looked back at Azriel, his eyes blown open and panicked.

He was not a man of many words. Never had been, never would be. But he wished he could speak everything on his mind. 

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re the one I’ve been waiting over 500 hundred years for. 

But when he saw the concern in your eyes, the gentle tilt of your head that exposed the curve of your neck, he knew it wasn’t the time.

“I-I have to go.” 

This time it was his turn to disappear. He swallowed his words, forced down the bond that now burned in his chest with the light of a thousand suns, and fled past the shocked faces of his family members before shooting off into the night sky.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Does this batboy deserve a nerdy mate to tease and have fun with? Yes. I will take no criticism (just kidding if you have thoughts about how my writing is, let me know, just be kind and respectful about it).

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755 @sidthedollface2 2@auggiesolovey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @transparentmoonglitter @ang-taylorsversion @ssmay123 @just-m-2 @sevikas-whore @lalaluch @svtwonwoow @user707sthings @cherryinsalemverse @evylynny @decrepit-bees-knees @eleganttravelercloud @ghostwritermia @smitty-werbenjagermenjenson @fussel9913 @st0rmyt

[bambisnc]

killing me softly [ft. p.hn]

-> recap : but when you call hanni a little later, you’re met with an automated response. the number you have dialed is currently busy. please try again.

pairing : bsf!hanni x f!reader genre : angst uwu cw/tw : THERES A LOT OF MISUNDERSTANDINGS JUSTICE FOR MY BBG MOKA + swearing + uneditted + hints of reader being possessive/jealous + surprise iroha/moka/nwjns members appearance! <3 wc : 0.7k

over the days following the new girl incident as your friend group refers to it, you’ve found yours and hanni’s relationship having … become a little strange. 

maybe it’s just that you don’t reach out to her as often; texting her only when absolutely necessary and spending recess holed up in your own classroom instead of near the school roof where the two of you used to meet earlier.

obviously you do realize how your actions can somewhat be compared to a stereotypical toxic manhwa boyfriend. 

but does that mean you’ll try to be better?

no.

it isn’t too much to expect her to be the one to approach you, right?

granted it’s not like she’s stopped trying to hang out completely (it’s more you who’s been rejecting her ideas..) but the little time you spent with her at school is now being taken up by her. moka.

the last you remember having visited her class, she greeted you with a signature, disarming hanni smile. 

“y/n! i’ve been meaning to go to your section – um, moka actually needed a lab coat for chemistry; you know how strict professor bae is… so could you-”

“yeah sure,” you had replied back with all the ease in the world, “drop by whenever. i’ll need it by 7th period though so..”

moka had held out 2 thumbs up towards you then, “of course! i’ll make sure to give it back to you by then!”

…

she, in fact, did not give it back to you by then.

“you’re so lucky i had my old one in my locker…” minji reprimands you, “what were you thinking when you just gave yours away?? yeah sure professor bae may be strict; but he’d never have said a thing to a new student.

you, on the other hand, very well would end up DEAD if he caught you without one. Again.”

really, how could you even defend your decision? the one time you remembered to bring your own lab coat, you decided to let someone borrow it, who, coincidentally ended up never getting it back to you.

more importantly, this only farther distanced you and hanni. 

she still texts you of course, but you have noticed how less frequent the ping! of the notification sound you set for her has become.

-

then one lunch break, she shows up. right outside your classroom. 

you go out to meet her, of course, but you make sure to drag minji out with you .. for emotional support.

but the second she sees kang haerin she’s quick to slip away shouting out a “best of luck btw! <3”

oh she’s so in for it later.

“y/n! how was your biology test today?” 

you respond to hanni as neutrally as you possibly can because at that moment you can only think about how neither of them have yet returned your lab coat.

“… hey.” she takes one of your hands into her own, “is everything okay? um. do you want to tag along with me to the cafeteria?”

you huff out a laugh, “have you just met me hanni?” because she knows how much you don’t like the cafeteria. 

she’s silent for a little. 

“yeah. 

it feels like i have just met you y/n...”

you pull away your hand from hers and stand with your back pressed against the wall.

a fresh sound of pleasant chatters brings you back to reality. 

minji’s here! praise all the gods. 

as she and the others she’s brought with her, haerin, danielle and hyein, entangle both of you into conversation, you find yourself sliding down until you’re sat down on the cold floor.

you close your eyes letting the harsh sunlight wash over your skin. 

.. something knocks against your arm, then. and there’s a sudden rush of cool air.

opening your eyes shows you none other than hanni, sitting next to you, fanning you with her (chemistry) notebook. 

when your eyes meet hers, both of you burst into peals of laughter. 

-

you walk hanni back to her class when the bell signaling the end of your time together (recess) rings. 

moka and … iroha? greet her at right at the door. 

“hanniii,” iroha says, throwing an arm around your best friend’s shoulder, “i can’t believe you left your ~girlfriend~ moka here all alone… she’s been pining after you for ages now~”

you quietly slip out before you can hear her response.

notes : um so u guys best be praying for me and bsf to work things out or else no happy endinf 🤷🤷 + [m.list] song rec : te quiero - kissoflife again yes <3

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

[steddieas-shegoes]

you get what you deserve

for @corrodedcoffinfest popup event prompt ‘greed’

rated t | 331 words | no cw | tags: famous corroded coffin, jeff’s inner monologue, supportive corroded boys

📄📄📄📄📄📄📄📄📄📄📄📄

Jeff stares down at the contract in front of him. It’s different than the rest of the guys’. He was told as the official frontman, he got a higher percentage up front and per album sold.

He never wanted to be the frontman. Truthfully, he thought when Eddie first formed the band, he’d be the lead. But Eddie wasn’t as strong of a singer, and admitted that he got too nervous to be the guy who was supposed to make decisions. He liked writing songs and supporting, and Jeff thought he was fine with that.

It’s never been an issue before now, before the contract negotiations and the promises of fame and fortune and the arguing.

Because Jeff didn’t want the extra money they were offering, but Eddie insisted he take it. Gareth didn’t care either way as long as he still got a paycheck. Frankie said to give him $10 every week for the next ten years and they were set.

Everyone was cool with it.

Maybe a small part of Jeff wanted it. Maybe that part of him grew bigger every time someone said something racist about him leading a metal band. Maybe the last time his mom called about the house needing a new roof made him think taking the money would be okay.

Maybe it was okay to be a little greedy when someone was offering.

He picks up the pen and glances over at his lawyer. Well, not his lawyer. He’s the band’s lawyer.

If he signs the contract, he could afford his own lawyer. He could afford a new roof on his childhood home. He could buy Eddie more Mountain Dew than he could physically drink in the next 15 years.

Not that they couldn’t afford it with their own contracts.

Jeff just likes taking care of people.

He puts the pen on the paper and watches the ink of the pen make a black dot on the signature line.

He lets himself be greedy.

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

The Lookalike (Part 9)

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fall into the clutches of his nemesis, then into the arms of the Radio Demon himself. The final instalment in the Lookalike series (well, maybe there's room for a little epilogue as a treat)- I hope you guys have enjoyed the ride! 

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, crying!reader, they/them pronouns used, explicit sexual content, Alastor X reader, Vox x reader, Alastor x Vox, threesome reader is in Hell for a reason, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Series Links: Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

Who am I? The question chewed at the edge of Vox’s psyche through his ride back to the tower, and through his day. Yeah, who were you? Who the fuck turned up in Hell looking like a freshly minted Radio Demon? Who were you that Alastor was willing to put his signature red tailcoat on your back? Vox swore to himself as he returned to the covert footage of you. Not for the sex, no. But the audio. Sweet nothings on your lips behind closed doors, your unguarded words intended for Alastor’s ears only.

“Oh? You were an antiquarian?”

“Close. I used to curate a museum.”

Vox grinned to himself. It wasn’t much of a clue to your identity, sure, but he also knew the date of your death pretty much to the day. That narrowed it down a lot. One of Voxtek’s most lucrative activities was keeping track of the dead- through obituaries and missing person reports from the living world. More people than not ended up in Hell, and there was always money to be made tracking down a new arrival. Vox put a search out for museum curators dead or missing in the last month, and, on a hunch, narrowed it to the US.

There were a handful of candidates, but running an eye over the list, there was only one person you could be, realistically speaking. Only one museum that you could have run.

“Welcome, welcome, one and all,” you spoke to yourself under your breath, words buzzing behind your teeth in practiced harmony as you walked, the phrasing coming to you without thinking after years of practice, to help you slide into the transatlantic accent. “To the Louisiana Historical Radio Museum.”

The territory that Kennedy claimed as overlord wasn’t far from the hotel, so you walked it, the smell of burning plastic cooling on the evening air. You had a smile on your lips as you strolled, humming an old jazz standard. Sinners cringed, backing into dark alleys and doorways to avoid being in your path, and you twirled your cane. Your resemblance to Alastor was more a hindrance than a benefit here, in that it curtailed several possible avenues of approach. Difficult to form a friendly connection, or talk your way into someone’s home, when you wore an outfit synonymous with the word monster. But that was probably just as well- you were hungry for a kill, and desperation was a quality that people could smell a mile off. Besides, your new body did afford some advantages, ones you had spent your weeks at the hotel honing.

Stepping into one of the back alleys and letting the shadows shroud your form, you pressed your talons to the wall. Sharp and strong, they found purchase, and you scaled the side of the building within a few seconds, crawling up and onto the roof. That was a feat that you would have struggled to replicate with your human body, but here you were a different creature, all sharp edges and horrid, grinning points.

The first thing Vox did after finding your name was to check for it on the Voxtek systems.

There were certainly a lot of people down here who wanted to find you. Most names popped up with half a dozen requests, tops- usually immediate family, a lover. You had… huh, that was a lot. And over how many years? Vox felt his screen lag slightly as he scanned the names. None of them relations. Older than you, or close in age. Unless you were the world’s greatest Lothario and all these guys were queuing up for a post mortem hook-up, there was only one kind of person who got this kind of ask list before they died.

“Jesus tittyfucking Christ,” said Vox, mostly to himself. What the fuck had Val been thinking, dumping you on his bedroom floor without so much as a background check? No wonder Alastor liked you so much.

Years of practice had taught you that killing was more art than science; that the most thorough of preparations could be derailed in an instant and that opportunities would present themselves, if you just allowed them. The universe opened itself to those who were generous, and if you left yourself flexible to the how, the act itself was often simply a matter of having the guts to do what the moment needed. This didn’t mean that the task before you didn’t fill you with trepidation, however- quite the contrary. Kennedy was bigger than you physically, an overlord when you were not, and you had little understanding of how or why physical capabilities varied from sinner to sinner. Niffty, for example, was deceptively strong despite her small size- you had seen her do things like break the lock on the cabinet behind the bar in search of bugs to kill.

You had overpowered Alastor, briefly, but that was with angelic wire and the element of surprise, Alastor with a wound across his chest. Relying solely on physical superiority wasn’t smart, and neither was picking a situation where Kennedy could fight back.

Alastor clearly thought you were up to the task. He’d given you his red tailcoat to wear, and you could tell how precious it was to him, from the way he fretted over the way it hung, the ragged edges on the tails. He wouldn’t have let you wear it if he thought you would fail. But his confidence in you was no reason to be foolhardy.

You stalked from roof to roof across the overlord’s territory, noting the deployment of the soldiers in Kennedy’s livery. They loitered, undisciplined, at street corners and food stands, harassing passing sinners, but they were out in force.

“Ugh, there you are.” It took you a second to realize the billboard was talking to you, another to realize it had Vox’s face, scowling at you from an ad for Vox brand soda. “Why the fuck don’t you have a phone yet?

“Maybe because I don’t want people knowing where I am at all times? Not that that seems to be working.” You walked to the edge of the roof, gauging the distance with your eyes, and leapt the width of the narrow alleyway to the next building, landing with a bark of laughter, a giddy feeling in your chest. In your previous life, parkour hadn’t been so much a hobby as an occasional necessity, but your new body took to it with aplomb, your feet finding their place with a flex of your new ankles and knees.

“Seems like yesterday that you could barely walk, now look at you.” Vox leered at you from a second billboard as you walked the roof, long shadows and sharp angles. On top of your head your antlers thrummed, branching in the darkness.

You glanced up. “You helped me find my feet. I’m grateful,” you said, and felt your smile grow wider as a blush, an actual, honest-to-god blush bloomed on Vox’s wide, rectangular face before you turned away, leaping a second alley. Oh, you were graceful now.

“Hey! Can you stand still for one fuckin’ second? I wanna talk to you.” Vox was on the billboard on top of this building now, his face taking the place of the chef in an ad for Voxtek brand ovens.

You relented, squatting down by the frame that supported the billboard, checking out the layout of the streets below and hooking your cane across the back of your shoulders. “Can it wait? I have plans tonight.”

“Oh, fuck my life.” Vox shook his head and you watched with interest as the giant chef on the billboard crouched down to the bottom on the frame. “Of course you’re going after fucking Kennedy.” It was curious, how his demeanor had changed since the overlord’s meeting- there, he’d been keen to scare you, telling you at length about Kennedy’s powers and deeds- but now he seemed resigned to your hunt. What had changed? Had he actually talked to Alastor?

Your plan for tonight had been to scope out his living arrangement, maybe a little stalking, but Vox didn’t need to know that. Instead, you asked a question. “Are you going to stop me?”

Vox raised an eyebrow, the virtual plate of venison behind him steaming. “The fuck would I stop you, baby deer? Hell’s most wanted making their spectacular debut?”

Hell’s most wanted? You felt your ears flatten to your skull, a shiver in your gut. What the fuck did Vox know? “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Now, now.” Vox grinned, a glint in his eye. “If you wanna pretend to be Alastor, you’ve gotta smile at least,” he said, and you reached to your face, finding your mouth a single, serious line. You corrected it as Vox continued. “Yeah, there’s a few south americans with a longer list of victims than yours, but I think I’m entitled to some fucking creative license on this, ya know.”

He knew. He had your identity, somehow. And likely the names of the people you had killed who had ended up in Hell. Which would be all of them, if there was any justice in the universe. You breathed out, slow and even, careful to keep your smile in place this time. “Alright. What do you want?”

“Why didn’t you kill me in my sleep?” Vox asked. You thought he was joking at first, but the expression in his eyes told you otherwise. You thought of the nights you’d spent with him, body curled round his, your cheek against the lower edge of his screen. He had been completely unguarded in those moments, and you had been his prisoner.

You gave Vox a puzzled smile. “You were giving me orgasms and food, why the fuck would I kill you?”

“Oh.” If anything, Vox seemed taken aback by your response. Was that more pink and red on his screen? “I, uh- I could do that again.”

“Was that all? You’re not going to threaten me?” You stood, spinning your cane around your wrist. “Like I said, I do have things to do tonight.”

“Now, wait! Wait just one goddamn second, baby deer.” Vox followed you across the billboard as you walked. “I can help.”

That did make you pause. In the mortal world you would have refused without a second thought- an accomplice was a witness and a liability. But here? In Hell, there was no law enforcement save what the overlords dispensed. You would never have asked Vox for a favor, but if he was going to offer his services? For free? Alastor would probably be sniffy about it, but who could blame you for making use of all the resources at your disposal? You looked up at him again. “Can you edit camera footage in real time?”

“Uh, sure.” Vox grinned. “You want me to edit you out of it, yeah?”

“Mhm.” You nodded. “And you’re doing this gratis, right?” This bit was important- you didn’t want to end up owing your soul for something like this.

“Relax, baby deer, trust me,” said Vox, eyes half-lidded, and his voice might have sounded seductive if you weren’t thinking about bloodshed. “No charge, just helping a friend out.”

It took most sinners years to get to the point where they could allow their bodies to shift beyond human norms. Even then, most people made it as far as some horns, some claws, a bit of size before their mental preconceptions, or whatever most people had, stopped them dead. But here you were, full fucking cryptid, crawling the fucking walls. Yeah, you didn’t have Alastor’s freaky shadow powers, and you were still pretty much the same size as you had been, but it barely mattered in this context, with the dark covering you. You were still a monster with glowing dials for eyes.

Vox might have assumed Alastor had done something to you to make you this way if he hadn’t known your history.

Vox might have remembered to be scared if he wasn’t rock hard in his pants just from watching you.

It was almost a shame that you resembled Alastor so strongly. A newly fledged sinner taking down an overlord would be big news, enough to fill the channels with speculation and talking heads for half a cycle at least, but someone who looked like Alastor doing it was just Radio Demon bites man, an item for a slow news day.

Editing you out of footage in real time wasn’t difficult for Vox. You were eerily good at finding the blind spots on the security feeds as you made your approach to Kennedy’s building, only lingering in exposed sections when the alternative would see you in a sinner’s line of sight. Sometimes you would look up at a camera, a tilt of your grinning head to acknowledge his presence as a viewer.

The whole thing was kind of fun, if Vox was honest with himself, the only thing missing from the whole caper being an earpiece to let him annoy your with commentary. It reminded him of accompanying Alastor on his errands, back in the old days, when Alastor would display his full demonic form and then give a small, backwards glance to Vox, to check he was being properly admired.

You hummed the opening bars of the saints as you scaled the wall of Kennedy’s building, ascending to the penthouse. Security cameras were trained on the outer walls to prevent exactly this sort of egress, but you trusted Vox enough that you paid only minimal attention to them, keeping to the blind spots where you could, crawling in shadows where you couldn’t.

You’d been through longer dry spells than this one in your lifetime. A six month stint here, a year there; all of them spent in a state of tension, a spring wound tightly enough that the metal threatened stress fractures. In the few weeks you’d spent in Hell you’d had sex and entertainment aplenty, that ought to have been enough to take the edge from your need. Why then, did this feel worse? You could feel the anticipation running through you, taste it like blood in your mouth. You wanted violence. You wanted pain. You wanted control.

Perhaps that was why you felt like this, so needy that your fingernails ached, that your teeth grew long and pointed in your grin. When you’d held yourself back before it had been of your own accord, lying low to avoid scrutiny, from the police or from your quarry, but here you had been a prisoner of circumstance, first a literal prisoner and then constrained by your own nascent body. You hauled yourself over the ledge and onto the external sill of the penthouse windows, briefly confronted by the reddish glow of your own eyes in the reflection. The glass was single glazed, not shatterproof, the latches easy enough to manipulate from the outside. You could get inside any time you wanted.

You crept round the penthouse from the outside of the building, looking into each room in turn. A lounge area, a kitchen with a breakfast bar, open plan. A bathroom, a jacuzzi tub pressed up against the window for a questionable view of Pentagram City’s skyline.

Finally, the bedroom. Kennedy, asleep. But the effects strewn around the floor of the room belonged to more than one person. You remained still, listening, and sure enough there was a sob from behind the closed door of the ensuite bathroom. Partner? Whore? Probably the latter, given the man had killed his last three partners. Either way, it didn’t matter- it was still someone who would scream if they saw you.

You paused. You didn’t really want collateral, but having a witness was bad too. Not as bad as it would be topside, but Alastor wanted the killing to reflect on the reputation of the Radio Demon, which was easier if no-one saw.

You sucked your lip, thinking. Fuck it. You were unlikely to get a cleaner opportunity than this, and even if it went completely to shit, you still had avenues of escape available. It wasn’t like there was a police force in Hell, anyway.

With a well-placed percussive strike to the frame, you damaged the latch enough to slide open the window and stepped into the room, tucking your cane under one arm as you dropped to the floor.

Opening the bathroom door brought you face to face with a pig sinner with running mascara. You clamped a hand over their mouth to stop them crying out in surprise, then lifted a dramatic finger to your own smiling lips. They nodded once, in understanding, and you released their face before gesturing to the bedroom door. Go. Now.

They obeyed, an expression of terror in their panda-ringed eyes, and you turned to the bed, your quarry’s sleeping form, a surge of ardor coursing through your body. The fleeing pig sinner was likely to alert someone, but you stopped to soak in the moment anyway, the air in your lungs feeling briefly like fire, your pulse resounding through your tongue and through your loins. Here you were. Here was your true self. Glimpsed in the mirror of the walk-in wardrobe, your antlers looked like the tops of dead trees before a yellow moon, like old bones emerging from the bayou in a season of drought, and your breath was the noise of rain on powerlines, an ominous, crackling hum.

There wasn’t a struggle. Only release, sweet and wet and bloody.

What the fuck was taking you so long? For some reason that Vox didn’t understand, Kennedy had neglected to install cameras in his penthouse suite, and he cycled impatiently through the feeds outside. There was certainly something happening inside, a few of Kennedy’s goons milling around the doors. But no sign of you. Vox waited.

He was fairly sure you weren’t in trouble, but what if you were? You were a new sinner, after all, even if you were a murderer, no souls to your name, and no-one knew how exactly how the strength of someone’s soul was determined.

Finally, he phoned Kennedy’s number.

You looked up from the mess of blood on the bed at the glowing blue rectangle of the phone on the dresser. Vox, the screen read.

Oh, your hands were so slick with blood. It took you a couple tries to activate the touch screen, your fingertips leaving red-brown smears that made the screen trip out.

“Vox!” You felt so good now; it made you want to sing. There was blood on your tongue and on your face. “I got a phone!”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, you fucking ate him, didn’t you.” Vox’s irritation seeped through the surface of the phone, and he sighed. “Listen carefully, baby deer- you need to get the fuck out of there.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Kennedy’s goons think the Radio Demon is in there. Look, baby, you’re dangerous, I get that. I respect it. But you’re nowhere near Al’s level. You’re not gonna hold your own against twenty guys with machine guns. Get the fuck out of that building.”

Somewhere between the swearing and the threats, you started to feel a little more like your normal self. You glanced back at the bed- the remnants of Kennedy didn’t look like anything other than random, discarded meat- he wasn’t coming back, and hopefully that would be good enough for Alastor. “Got it,” you said, and after a couple of failed bloody finger swipes, managed to hang up on Vox.

Popping Kennedy’s phone into your pocket, you headed out.

The path to the hotel ought to have been clear. It had been, when you had headed out. But on your return you found the final intersection before the hotel populated by gangsters, guns trained in all dimensions. They looked nervous. You caught a whisper on the air. Radio Demon.

Of course. You had been seen.

Of course. They were waiting for you. For Alastor.

You stared at the line of goons guarding the intersection, the hotel just beyond them. You tried to take a step forward, but something stopped you, the rattle of a chain, and a pressure on your ankle. Of course. No bringing trouble to the hotel. That had been one of the conditions of your original contract with Alastor, and it was coming into play now. No going through. And chances were that Kennedy’s people had surrounded the hotel in the hopes of catching Alastor. What were your options? You could stay on the streets for the night, bloodstained and dangerous, and hope that you didn’t get caught in any acid rain.

Or you could take your second option. Gingerly, you reached into your pocket and pulled out Kennedy’s phone. His contacts list was sadly devoid of people you knew, so you phoned Vox again.

“Yeah?” He picked up before you had the phone to your ear, and you grinned at the thought that he was waiting for a call back.

“Can I crash at yours tonight? Some guys have barricaded the road to the hotel.” You paused a beat. “No funny stuff.”

There was, of course, another reason you wanted to see Vox. The list of your quarry who were still in Hell was a temptation and a half. Even now, when you were full and sated, with Kennedy’s blood still drying on your skin, you could feel the appeal of it, the symmetry- to hunt the bad men that you had hunted before.

Vox sighed as he grabbed a pair of tumblers and a bottle of yamazaki single malt from his liquor cabinet. This would be so easy, if only he could hypnotize you. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t- he could feel the give of your mind with each little push- you were strong willed but that was all. He had taken stronger minds than yours. He had taken Alastor, for fuck’s sake, had made his eyes glaze over and his slight body go limp under his influence. He had pushed Alastor’s mind, and he’d told himself it had been worth it, up until the point when Alastor had found his abuse, and those red eyes had turned from hard-earned trust to betrayal.

So no, he wouldn’t hypnotize you, even if you had just walked straight into his personal quarters looking like you just walked out of an abattoir and asked to use his sound system.

He’d been right about his impression of you over the phone- you were euphoric and reckless, probably as a side-effect of eating Pentagram’s newest overlord. VNN already had reporters on the scene and there was barely a scrap of Kennedy left, with at least two witnesses now claiming to have seen the Radio Demon.

You were sat about a foot from the speakers, cross-legged, sit bones on the floor, your right hoof resting on your left knee as you basked in the music. Vox crouched beside you, pressing a tumbler into your hand, and, as he was close, pressed his face to the back of your head and breathed in your scent. Fuck, you even smelled like Alastor now; the same mix of musk, formaldehyde and blood that Vox remembered.

Gently, you grabbed the edge of his screen and moved him away. “Stop that.”

“Why should I stop?” Vox asked, his voice coaxing. “You’re worried Alastor’s gonna be mad?”

“No, I think he’d be upset. And I don’t think you want him to be upset either.” You raised an eyebrow at him, and Vox felt a chill run down his spine. “Do you, Vox?”

Fuck. Vox pulled a face. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Maybe.” Your smile was small, and your ears twitched at some unheard thing. “You’re going to need another glass.”

Vox frowned. “For you?”

Your smile grew wider. “For Alastor.”

“Alastor?” Vox repeated.

“Speak of the devil,” said Alastor, his elocution crisp as he manifested from the shadow. “And he shall appear.”

One of the most basic workings in Vodou, the one that Alastor’s mother had warned him to avoid being trapped by, was the exchange of fluids. If a man consumed the menses of a woman, it was trivially easy for her to control him, track him, whatever she wanted. The same was true with men and their seed, and it behooved any practitioner to be careful who they accepted food from. A mutual consumption was a stronger link still, a little of the practitioner in the target and a little of the target in the practitioner.

Though you were neither male nor female, his own personal blasphemous sacred twin, there had certainly been enough exchange of fluids between you. Alastor could feel the power latent in the link; an ancient, primal sort of magic. It wasn’t the sort of thing he usually dabbled in, and if his microphone had been intact he wouldn’t have even considered it, but in his current state it was a comfort. He tuned out the banal late night chatter at the hotel bar in favor of the link to you, the smile on his face automatic. He felt you as you moved across the city, to your intended location, and then your return path to the hotel.

And then, your failure to return.

“Sir?” Niffty asked, a small hand on his knee. Something must have showed in his eyes, because both Angel and Husk were looking at him too. “Is something wrong?”

Alastor gave a terse smile. “Never better,” he said, rising from his seat. “I have merely remembered an errand I must run.”

And run was the operative word, as yet again the conditions of his deal with you compelled him. He would keep you free of being Vox’s prisoner. He had promised.

He had slid across the city and through the tower, a shadow, depleting precious reserves of power, his compass to you unerring, and his heart had lurched when he had found you in Vox’s personal quarters, sat in front of the sound system. When Vox had knelt to smell your hair, Alastor had felt his antlers creak as they grew, fierce and territorial.

Vox’s voice was wheedling, the same tone that had always worked on him somehow. “You’re worried Alastor’s gonna be mad?”

“No,” came your voice, a touch more forceful than you usually were. “I just think he’d be upset. And I don’t think you want him to be upset either. Do you, Vox?”

“Am I that easy to read?” Vox’s face was pathetic, and Alastor’s heart lurched again, with something like pity this time, or perhaps regret. They had been friends once, great friends.

“Al-” Vox breathed, eyes wide.

Alastor stepped past him, to you. His smile was wan. “Darling, you smell like bloodshed,” he said, proffering a red-taloned hand and helping you to your feet. “We should go.”

“Vox was just pouring us drinks,” you said, not wanting the evening to end particularly. Vox still had your list of victims, and the sound system was just as sublime as you thought it would be.

Vox gave you a grateful look, and waggled his expensive bottle of single malt. Alastor looked between the two of you, and sighed. “I suppose we can stay for a round or two,” he said, spreading his fingers. “But at least put some decent music on.”

That was how you had ended up on the couch in Vox’s private quarters, half sitting on Alastor’s lap, a glass of whiskey in your hand, listening to the musical stylings of Papa Celestin on Vox’s frankly impressive sound system as Alastor, now down to shirtsleeves, told stories about some of the band members- who had played with who and who had cheated at cards. It seemed like every time you had nearly finished your drink Vox was there with the bottle again, not just for you but for Alastor. A few drinks later, the playlist had moved on to Johnny Hodges ballads and Alastor was handsy, his talons tracing lines over your antlers, your neck, your back, and down over your hips.

“And then his brother formed a band with Scrapper Blackwell’s bassist,” said Alastor, fingers pressing over your tail. “Mimzy was dating their percussionist for a while.”

“Wait a damn minute Al, you’ve told me this one before.” Vox was temptingly close on the couch next to you, but he made no overtures, apparently content to watch Alastor run his hands over you. “I thought you said it was the pianist?”

Alastor hummed, one claw hooking its way into your already loosened bow tie and pulling it open. “Maybe it was both. That would explain why the rhythm section was so lively.”

You relaxed into his touch, your earlier violence rendering you satiated and languorous; content to go where he led you. You smiled up at Alastor, baring your neck to him as he undid the top button of your shirt.

Vox made a noise in his throat. “Al? Are you-”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Alastor’s grin was lopsided as his attention flicked to Vox. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, after all.”

To make a point, Alastor dipped his head to kiss you. It was messier than he usually was, Alastor’s breath reeking of alcohol, and his tongue caressed your lips and cheeks, tasting the blood that stained them.

“Fuck,” Alastor breathed, his pupils wide as he broke the kiss. “Darling, you taste like dead overlord.”

“You would know, Al,” Vox shot, and Alastor grinned.

“Vox,” he called, like a man trying to coax a pet dog. “You really should have a taste.”

You sat up and watched with amusement as Vox feigned insouciance, shuffling closer to you on the couch as Alastor held you, one arm possessive around your waist. You wondered for a second if he would take the coward’s way out, and press his tongue to your forehead or your cheek, but Vox, with an expression close to awe, pushed a little of your blood-matted hair back from your cheek, his talontips under your jaw, and kissed you.

Vox’s lips were the tingle of static, his tongue shivering hot as it twined against yours, pressing up against your teeth and your gums, and you groaned into the kiss. Alastor’s grip on your waist tightened, and you felt him grow turgid, cock pressing up against your ass as Vox kissed you.

When Vox broke the kiss his eyes held something akin to despair, fingers trailing on your jaw as Alastor pulled you to him, a fierce, possessive look on his face. You rolled your hips back, grinding against Alastor’s erection through layers of fabric, and enjoyed the shiver he gave; the way his cock grew hard and hot, his face pressing into your neck, points of his teeth grazing your skin with lines of hot sensation that you would probably regret in the morning.

Vox hesitated, wary of Alastor’s jealousy, and you caught him by the collar, pulling him in for a second kiss. His chest pressed against yours, sandwiching you between him and Alastor, Alastor’s tongue tracing hot lines against the sensitive skin of your neck as Vox’s tangled in your mouth, the heartfelt groan that Vox gave resonating through the three of you.

“Thank you,” gasped Vox, his eyes closed, though you weren’t sure if it was directed at you, Alastor, or God. It didn’t matter. You traced the hard lines of his square face with your fingers, feeling Alastor’s hands on your hips, pulling you firmly against him, as if to remind you whose bed you slept in. You turned your head to kiss Alastor, the kiss breathless and full of urgency, his teeth nipping bloody at your lips, and Vox’s hands were at the buttons of your shirt, peeling back the fabric that stuck to your skin with half-dry overlord blood.

Vox’s talented lips kissed over your chest, then your stomach, the static from his screen making your skin prickle as your hairs stood on end.

“You want the television demon to blow you, darling?” Alastor murmured, his lips brushing the fur on your ears, the tips of your antlers, and his words went straight to your cock, stirring you to half-mast. “You want his mouth on you?”

“Yes,” you murmured, and that was all it took for Vox to have your pants off, Alastor releasing your hips for long enough that Vox could maneuver you into a position where Vox could blow you. The upper edge of his rectangular head was level with your diaphragm as he took you in, his tongue gentle as he coaxed you to hardness. The inside of his mouth was warm, his tongue almost buzzing against your cock as he wound it round in a spiral, and you shivered as he did, resisting the urge to grab him by the edges of his face and fuck into him. A whine escaped your throat, low and needy.

Alastor kissed your neck, his eyes curious as he watched Vox take you to the hilt in his mouth. “But where does it go?” he asked, his gaze on the back of Vox’s extremely flat head, red eyes narrowed.

You closed your eyes, still basking in the sensation of Vox’s tongue around your shaft, the soft flesh at the back of his mouth. “The Head Dimension, of course,” you said, and you felt Vox nearly gag with laughter; not an entirely unpleasant feeling, except that he pulled his mouth from your cock almost immediately.

“Jesus, Bambi, don’t make me laugh like that!” Vox gaped at you, wiping a digital tear from his face. “Fuck!”

Alastor tittered, the noise silvery, his narrow chest shaking with mirth as he leaned into your shoulder. “He’s just pissy that he didn’t think of that first,” he said. “Wordplay was never his strong point.”

“I’ll show you my strong point,” muttered Vox, peeling off his own shirt as he did.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get to that eventually,” said Alastor, and you remembered how his cock had twitched inside you each time he had teased Vox in the armchair. “In the meantime-” he continued, hooking a clawed hand around your hip and pulling you to him once more, turning you to face him in his lap. “We have more important things to deal with.”

“The fuck did you do to their back, Al?” complained Vox, his hands warm on the furrows that Alastor’s claws had carved across your shoulders the night previous, but Alastor ignored him, kissing you lightly as he guided your hand to his fly, the fabric there taut with his arousal. You touched him, through the fabric first and then unfastening his fly and easing him out, a surge of sympathetic lust through your core as you held his cock in your hand, palm curling round his hardness. The noise he gave was a soft one, an exhalation of breath through his nose accompanied by a beat of deeper than appliance pitch humming.

You palmed Alastor’s cock, and his fingers went to your antlers, dancing lightly across the tines, each touch of his a musical note that resonated through your skull, your spine and down to your core, making you tremble, aching with want as you watched Alastor’s antlers expand in turn. Vox didn’t touch them, but you could feel him watching keenly, his own electrical powers a fuzzy interference at the periphery of your senses as you pumped Alastor’s cock with your hand.

“Inside me?” you asked Alastor, not least because having his cock in your palm made you ache with desire, and Alastor nodded, leaning back a little to let you straddle him. You guided him with your hand as you lowered yourself onto him, watching the delicious way he smiled as you did so; the way he bit his lip, his eyes fluttering half closed.

“Fuck,” Alastor spoke the word like a prayer rather than a curse as you sank onto him, Vox’s hands on your shoulders, then your waist, Alastor spreading his knees to let Vox between them.

“You look so fucking pretty like that,” said Vox, his voice full of gravel as he reached around you, hand finding your cock and folding around it, but his eyes were on Alastor, as well as you, as he spoke.

Vox’s grip was as firm as it had been when he had crawled into bed with you on your first night in Hell, and no less effective, pumping in time as you rode Alastor, your thighs working to lift and lower you. At first it seemed like Alastor would be content to be ridden, his face flushed and his hips staying in place as he made soft groans of appreciation, but when he kissed you and a squeeze of Vox’s hand made you whimper against his lips, Alastor’s hand joined Vox’s around your cock, talons curling around the back of Vox’s hand and forcing him to tighten his grip.

There was a moment of electricity then, Vox’s breath stilling in his throat, his bare chest pressed flush against your back.

“What’s the matter?” Alastor asked Vox, his expression sly and teasing as he forced Vox’s hand to grip you, started it moving again at a steady, sublime cadence. “You’ve never objected to a guiding hand before.”

Vox’s audio glitched before he spoke, accompanied by a myclonic jerk that you felt through his chest against your back, his hand involuntary squeezing around your shaft. “A-Alastor,” he stuttered, his audio still clipping, for all the world as if their hands were clasped around Vox’s cock rather than yours. “Oh, god.”

Alastor smirked against your neck, pretending careless superiority, but he couldn’t hide the pleasant twitch of arousal his cock gave inside your cunt when Vox moaned his name. Vox was right, though; Alastor did look beautiful, color on his cheeks that could have been the drink or arousal or both, his lips parted, as he panted through his jagged teeth, still smiling, always smiling, as his hair fell in strands across his face, his antlers handsomely tall.

When had you become so fond of him, you wondered, as he guided Vox’s hand in a pattern that had you aching for release, a pulse through your core as precum beaded at your tip. You stilled your hips as the sensation of their hands together on your cock threatened to overwhelm you, sinking down fully onto Alastor’s cock and pressing your face into his shirt with a whimper.

“What’s this?” Alastor turned his teasing smile on you now, rather than Vox. “So close already?” He nipped at the edge of your ear, not hard enough to do damage, but enough that you could feel the fine points of his teeth, and you gasped. “You know, of course, that it won’t save you? That we will keep going until we’ve had our fill of you?”

“We?” Vox repeated, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and hoarse, and your stomach swooped as you caught the implication too. “That mean what I think it means, Al?”

“My delightful friend here has two holes, after all,” said Alastor, pressing his cheek to your antler. “It seems a waste to use only one of them.”

You half expected Vox to run off and get a toy, but instead he fetched a bottle of lubricant from a compartment under the couch, and kissed his way down your back, over your shoulders and the claw marks that Alastor had made, his screen warm against the small of your back, making the fur on your tail stand on end.

“You’re gonna love this, baby deer,” said Vox, one hand on your back pushing you forward over Alastor. “Trust me,” he added wryly, when you gave a doubtful backwards glance.

“With your tongue?” Alastor’s tone was both scandalized and fascinated as he peered over your shoulder at Vox.

Vox didn’t bother answering him, simply spread your ass apart a little with his hands and set to work. His tongue was like white noise on your skin as he lapped at your entrance, wet and hot as he dragged it over sensitive flesh. You felt exposed; even like this, with Alastor’s cock to the hilt inside your cunt, you felt exposed. You cried out as Vox’s tongue made egress, the narrow tip pushing past your tight ring of muscle and then inside.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your face in Alastor’s collar again, and Alastor must have noticed how Vox’s tongue pressed against your walls, against his cock inside you, because he looked sharply at Vox.

“Keep doing that,��� he said, a sharp note of desire in his voice, and you felt Vox’s groan as he pushed his tongue a little further in, the sensation all slickness and pressure as his tongue stroked Alastor’s cock through the thin layer of your flesh.

Alastor found your cock with his hand again, his smile cruel as he caressed your shaft. “You’re going to come, aren’t you, darling? You’re going to spend yourself with Vox’s tongue up your ass.”

It wasn’t fair. You could barely think straight, let alone give any answer other than an obscene, whorish whimper, not with both of them working your insides and Alastor’s knowing hand on your cock. The first time you’d met, he’d shown you how he knew your body better than you did yourself, and that was still true now, the strength of his grip and his tempo nothing other than perfection as he ground his hips up into you, rutting into you and rutting against Vox’s tongue, each movement one of blinding ecstasy, sensation so strong that it seemed to bleed into senses other than touch. You had no chance to catch your breath, no surcease from the assault, and no choice other than to feel yourself fall, your whole body seeming to seize in orgasm, the cry in your throat free of static as your cunt and cock pulsed in time, painting a white line up Alastor’s red shirt and spattering his cheek.

“See? What did I tell you?” Vox’s grin was triumphant as he pulled his tongue from you, his claws caressing your tail. Your body was still sensitive from the aftershocks, and his simple touch brought another one on, an involuntary animal cry in your throat. Vox scoffed and squeezed again, threading his talons through your fur, the sensation alone enough to make your stomach flutter, and through the corner of your eye you saw him take one of the discarded whiskey glasses and drain it, swilling it around his mouth before he swallowed.

“Oh, oh, sweetheart,” Alastor wiped your cum from his cheek and brought his fingers to your mouth, slipping his talons between your lips for you to suck clean. His voice was a croon, his breath hitching with each spasm that wracked you. “You fit me just perfectly, don’t you?”

You hummed around his fingers in response. It was an act of trust, just as much as the sex was- your teeth were every bit as sharp as his- and his fingers felt good in your mouth, like a gift. You closed your eyes, tracing the delicate lines of his fingers with your tongue, and felt as Vox lined himself up behind you, the warm tip of his cock resting first against your tail, then sliding down, the tip leaving a trail of wetness as he lined up with your entrance, the tip brushing against the flesh he had lapped with his tongue a few moments before.

Vox breathed out heavily, talons cradling your hips. “Are you sure about this, Al?”

“I think it’s customary,” said Alastor, a little snippily. “To ask that to the person you are about to fuck.”

“Shit.” You felt the tension in Vox’s body at Alastor’s rebuke. “You, uh, doin’ okay there, baby deer?”

You released Alastor’s fingers from your mouth, and turned your head to Vox, as far as you could twist with Alastor still inside you. Vox leaned in to accommodate, and you caught his lips with yours, hooking your forearm round his screen to keep him close as you kissed him, Alastor pressing his lips to your neck as you did. Taking the kiss as assent, Vox pushed into you, slowly.

Your inebriation and your orgasm helped make you loose, and Vox had been liberal with the lubricant on his tongue, but with Alastor inside you as well the fit was a tight one. Alastor tensed when he felt Vox push his way into your ass, his hips stilling and the soft hiss of static escaping his lips.

“God,” mumbled Vox as he bottomed out, his claws on your hips tight enough to mark you. “Fucking god. Al.”

Alastor didn’t bother with words, but the strangled noise in his throat might as well have been agreement.

Both of their eyes fluttered closed, and you felt a tremble in Vox’s arms. They could feel each other. They could feel each other inside you, both of them together stuffing you to the brim.

“I- I’m gonna move now,” said Vox, a pleading edge to his voice. He swallowed, edge of his screen knocking briefly against your antlers. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you managed, briefly getting yourself to a state where you could form actual words rather than animalistic whimpering. “Just full.”

“If he hurts you,” said Alastor, into your collarbone. “I will eviscerate him.”

“Fuck me.” Vox exhaled again, sounding more like himself. “I have never seen him this fucking protective. Of anyone. But sure thing Al, I'll go gentle.”

True to his word, Vox went slowly as he fucked you, fucked both of you. Post orgasmic and still sensitive, the sensation of it filled your awareness; at the apex you were so full that everything pressed together, Vox’s cock pressing into Alastor’s through your thin divider of flesh, Alastor’s cock pushed almost by default into the sensitive spongy tissue that he would usually need to angle his hips to find. There was no escape, not for you nor for Alastor- Vox’s cock stroking his as much as it was fucking you, and you found yourself crying out in tandem with him, the same sweet noises from both your throats, the sound so close that it made strange beats and harmonies around you. Vox kissed you, sensuous and open mouthed, then Alastor kissed you, fierce and possessive, then Vox again, lapping up the blood that Alastor had drawn from your lips, your head swimming as two sets of claws held you in place.

You grew hard again, your body responding to being pressed between the two of them and fucked, and Vox took your cock in his hand, a victorious growl from his throat.

“You wanna cum round Al’s cock again, don't you, baby deer,” Vox’s voice was thick with desire, his hand firm as he handled your already overstimulated cock. Even a gentle stroke would have been too much, and his manipulation was more than that.

“I can't-” you managed between gasps of air. With both of them in you, you were stuffed to the brim, each roll of Vox’s hips bringing tears to your eyes. “Too much. Please.”

“You want him to feel you twitching around him, though, don't you?” Vox’s voice was coaxing, the hand that wasn't stroking your cock hooking round your waist, the heel of his hand pressing into your stomach, below your navel, pressing everything together inside you. “You want him to feel good, don't you?” said Vox, his breath hot on the back of your neck, and you stared into Alastor's lust-blown eyes, feeling the way Alastor trembled each time Vox ploughed into you, only your inner wall separating them.

“Yes,” you whimpered, but it was Alastor who cried out, drawing blood from his own lip, his hands tight on your hips. Alastor came a second before you did, his seed inside you a wave of heat as your cunt pulsed around him, your cock twitching weakly in Vox’s hand.

“Fuck-” Vox breathed, clinging to you tightly, the edge of his screen digging hard into the tops of your shoulders as the feeling of you and Alastor coming dragged him over the edge, his composure lost, and you made a noise in your throat as you felt him shoot his load in you, into your already overstuffed hole.

For a moment, the two of them inside you filled the entirety of your awareness, the pulsing warmth that filled your stomach, the tight grip that both Alastor and Vox had on you. Then you sank forward onto Alastor’s shoulder, and the grips became slow caresses, claws gentle against your bruised skin. Both of them praising you, neither man quite ready to look the other in the eye. They pulled out of you, and it occurred to you that you needed a shower, but you had barely enough energy left in you to lay back on Vox’s couch, your forearm over your eyes.

The last thing you remembered before you blacked out was Vox pouring another finger of obscenely expensive Japanese whiskey, some Ella Fitzgerald playing as the two of them admired how pretty you looked with their cum leaking out of you.

If this was Hell, then what the fuck went on in Heaven?

[naomikozura]

Playing With Fire: Chapter 7

Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Fem!Reader (Criminal)

Trope: Enemies to Lovers, Forbidden Romance

Warnings: strong language, use of weapons, violence, transit of a criminal/bailing out a criminal, bombs/usage of bombs, explosions, mentions of torture, men not accepting no as an answer (nothing violent or intense, just a brief scene), gun use, arguing, fighting, angst, slight soft moments (if you squint really hard), mentions of troubled past, money from illegal jobs, mentions of stealing, (Lmk if I missed any!)

WC: 7.5K

Summary: Black Mask sends you to escort his VIP client safely back to Sionis Industries, ensuring you understand that his life is worth more than your own. But when an explosion is caused courtesy of Red Hood, you have to find another way to get him safely to Sionis Industries or die trying. Red Hood just can't seem to stay out of the way.... or out of your apartment.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 6 || Chapter 8

Flashback

You paced around the roof, letting yourself bask in your thoughts as you waited for Robin to arrive for the night. You needed his help, you felt yourself doubt everything you had going on at the moment and you needed him to help you. “Hey,”, you turned at the sound of his voice, taking in his outfit. He wore his signature sunglasses along with some sweats and an oversized hoodie. It wasn’t too chilly tonight, but you knew it would get colder since it was only getting later in the night. The temperature always cooled down a lot more at night.

“Hey.”, you felt a clog in your throat, trying to ignore the lump as you looked at him with a smile. “How are you?”

“Good. I mean, a little tired but overall, good.”, he smiled at you, a hand touching yours slightly. The warmth of his hand made you melt at his touch. You wondered how he always ran hot even when it was cold. “What about you?”

You raised your eyebrows slightly before turning back down to the openness of the city, watching the cars as they drove by at the late hours of the night.

“I’m okay, just… torn?”, you muttered.

“Torn between what?”, he raised an eyebrow at you, watching you and waiting patiently for your answer. 

“The family, they want me to decide on whether I should stay at Gotham Academy, which I do since it’s close to home or move me to a different school across the city that has better benefits for them business wise. The investors are part of their business, so it’ll look good for them. In the end, they want me to decide.”, you paused. “I don’t want to leave Gotham Academy. As much as the people suck, they have good resources for me to read, visit different galleries, libraries, and it’s not so bad.”

Robin looked at you intently, letting you get all your words out as he too tried to contemplate what decision you should make. 

“If I move to another school, it’ll be like starting completely over. I don't know anyone, it’s more of a school for students who want to go into taking over their family business, that type of thing. It’s not at the same caliber as Gotham Academy, but it’s a good prep school for those who choose to go to Ivy Leagues.”

Robin could hear in your voice the doubt you had, you didn’t want to leave the academy, and deep down he didn’t want you to either. It was selfish of him, but he needed to focus on what you wanted, not what he did. 

“I think you should do whichever will make you happy, Y/n.”, Robin’s voice was soft, his body relaxed as he looked out at the street with you. “If you like Gotham Academy, you should stay. You like that they give you resources to let you do different things you like, they also have a higher success rate than any other school in the city by far. If the family really wants to give up your happiness for their own selfish needs, then they need to reevaluate their priorities.”

You stared at him, his voice never faltering as he spoke. 

“You should never deny yourself of the things that make you happy.”

Your eyes softened at his words, letting them sink in as you tried to weigh the pros and cons of both situations. You felt a warmth at his words, making you feel seen in your conflict. He was right. If you wanted to be happy, you would do whatever you needed to do just that regardless of what the family expected of you. They needed to understand. 

You smiled at Robin, leaning into him as the both of you sat on the ledge, letting the silence fall over both of you as you enjoyed the quiet of the night and each other's company. 

You should never deny yourself of the things that make you happy. 

“I need you motherfuckers to focus! I am not spending hundreds of thousands of dollars in this for you all to fuck it up!”, Sionis yelled at his men while your glance remained neutral. He bored you with this tough guy act. Although he was a menace, he was nothing compared to the client you had tonight. 

You had read over the file, checked every possible way that could result in his capture, and ensured that tonight would go smoothly. This served as the perfect distraction from the past weekend's events. 

Your eyes looked up at Sionis as he towered over you, his eyes boring into your bored ones as he remained silent. He was better that way. Silent. But you could only dream. 

“You won’t let our VIP get in harm's way, right sweetheart?”, his voice dripped with his taunt, your body inwardly recoiling at his use of the pet name. There was only one person who could make calling you ‘sweetheart’ sound like fire in your veins and he was currently up to his own business elsewhere. "He comes back to me alive, even if it means you don't".

You narrowed your eyes, watching Sionis as he kept pacing the room, your thoughts moving from the mission to a certain green eyed man.

You hadn’t spoken to him in days, wondering why he’d gone radio silent and still hadn’t given you your half of the money. Irritation burned in your skin but for some reason you allowed him time. After your timeframe ended you’d personally seek him out and actually feed his teeth to him for making you waste your time. 

“Alright. You guys have two hours to get him and come back to Sionis Industries.”, Black Mask moved towards this desk, sitting and swiveling as his men filed out the doors you followed closely behind. The three black cars were parked outside, all decked in bulletproof tinted black glass, not allowing anyone to look inside. It was for everyone’s security, not just the VIP. 

You opened the back door to the middle car, sliding in as the men divided into the front and back vehicles. You were to ride with the VIP to ensure the greatest level of safety. You might be under constant scrutiny by Sionis but he couldn’t deny you were the best card Penguin had in his hand. 

You placed your chin in your hand, looking out the window as you watched the lights of the city pass by as you went into the outskirts to reach Arkham. You didn’t realize just how creepy the drive was until you actually went through the roads late at night. It was quiet, almost like a horror movie, just waiting for the climax to happen and something would jump out at you. You rolled your eyes at the thought. You’d see far worse things in the underground than a few jump scares. 

After 20 minutes, the gates to the entrance of the building opened, the road leading down a straight pathway that went further towards the massive building. It gave a very dark, gothic feel but still with some touch of modernity. 

You kept watch as the cars made their way towards the back of the building, almost like the front entrance was just a decoy for decoration. Once the cars had parked, they sat for a moment, no one moving to get out. The seconds ticked by eerily, leaving a cold sensation in the atmosphere as the night seemed to get darker. 

You perked up at the sight of four guards opening the front door, a Warden stepping out with a file, and two more men holding your VIP. 7 people just for one person, for anyone else it would’ve seemed extreme but this was a psychopath you were dealing with. You stepped out of the vehicle, walking up the steps as you made eye contact with the Warden, before shaking their hand. 

“Good… Night, Warden.”, you dragged out, but regained your composure shortly after. “Is this his file?”

“It has everything you need to know. Birth records, background checks, aliases, known contacts, extended known contacts, his network of allies and their allies, and finally”, he pulled out a massive file almost the size of a dictionary. “His criminal records and psychological evaluations”

You grabbed the two stacks he had handed out, carrying them for safe keeping. You were unsure why Penguin and Sionis wanted copies of his full record but you wondered if it was so they could have contacts with his ties. You knew it would just rot away in the back of a cabinet or something. 

“Your VIP”, your eyes watching as the men forced your guest forward, a slight series of giggles erupting from under the bath he wore over his head. You took note of the straight jacket and the cuffs on his feet, mentally preparing for finally meeting the man in person for the first time. 

“In the car. Middle one.”, you motioned as they opened the door and shoved him inside, the maniacal laughing filling the inside of the car as you watched two of your men hop in with him. “Thanks for the delivery.”

“And good luck to you. You’re going to need it with that maniac”, he muttered before he walked inside with the six guards following him. A chill ran down your spine as you walked back to the car, motioning for the front car to head back to Sionis Industries. 

Opening the car door and sliding it, you placed the stack of papers next to you, a sudden shaking of the car as you turned your head, your heart dropping in your chest. 

The fucking maniac was staring at you, his face only inches from yours. You kept your usual poker face but your heart rate was skyrocketing, his proximity and the cynical look in his face making you uneasy. 

“Aren’t you a pretty girl”, he muttered, a laugh escaping his red painting lips. “I wonder what you’d look like with a big smile”, his voice sent chills down your spine. 

You narrowed your eyes at him as he let out a maniacal laughter, letting himself fall back into his seat as he tried to wiggle his arms out of the straight jacket. 

“Oh you’re not fun. Loosen up, or you’ll make this entire game boring”, his voice rang out as the smile stayed etched on his face. 

“I’m not here to play games. I’m here as an escort.”, you replied flatly. “You know why there's so many of us here for you, so I suggest you stay still until we arrive at Sionis Industries.”

“Ah, yes. I am what you are calling your…. VIP”, he hinted at the use of finger quotes as he turned to look at one of the guards, Sionis’ men trained for any possible situation, even dealing with the maniac.

“We’re 20 minutes out.”, one of the men in the front called out before rolling the partition back up and continuing through the streets. You forced yourself to look away, not being able to stomach being so close to one of the worst criminals within the city. He was dangerous, psychotic, killed for fun, and had absolutely no sense of control. He was sadistic and plain narcissistic, it was blood chilling just how little remorse and empathy someone could have. You wondered if this was the closest you’d get to him before Sionis took him off your hands and you could go back to just continuing work with Penguin. 

A sudden heat surrounded you, the abrupt halt of the car throwing your body forward and the sound of an explosion ringing out as you watched the two men next to Joker sit up and pull out their guns. You rolled down the partition, moving forward to force the madman to the ground. 

“What the hell is going on?”, you yelled out. 

“The other car, it had a bomb in it!”, you heard the driver yell back, looking through the windshield and seeing the other car laying in flames on the road. Your eyes widened, someone was trying to make a hit on Joker. 

“You guys stay with him! I’ll go deal with whoever the hell this is.”, you pushed the door open, jumping onto the car and looking up at the buildings. You couldn’t see anything from down here, you needed to move up. You jumped off, running to the driver and telling him to keep going. “Take the back route if you need to, I’ll deal with this.”, you said as you ran towards the buildings and pulled yourself up through the ladder on the side of one of the buildings before reaching the roof. You skimmed the road below, running to jump between the buildings and keeping up with the car below. 

You felt the wind on your face, trying to keep up as you felt the oxygen burn in your lungs, suddenly hearing another explosion a few meters ahead of the car.

Bingo. 

You jumped between the buildings, seeing the figure running through the streets as you tried to catch them. They could not ruin this operation. It was no secret that news of Joker’s release had made waves in the underground, everyone ready to make their hits necessary to get rid of the mad clown. 

The gap between you and the figure closed, only a few buildings behind as you jumped over another ledge to reach them. Your eyes narrowed as they came to a sudden stop, looking to see that the buildings ended and created a huge gap between the street and the next building across the way. 

“Hey asshole”, you yelled, pulling out your gun and aiming it at the back of their head once you got close enough. You were hoping for an easy night, but anything having to do with Joker would never be easy. 

“Hey Sweetheart”, you felt your heart drop in your chest as they turned around. Fucking hell.. 

“Ja- Red.”, you bit out. “Why are you here?!”

You watched as he raised his hands, pressing a button on the side of his helmet and removing the red helmet. His dark hair was messy, sticking to his forehead slightly from the sweat and his eyes covered in a domino mask. Your eyes soaked him in, admitting he looked devastating in his suit now that you knew what his real face looked like.

“Nice to see you too, Y/n.”, he smirked, his body moving closer to yours. 

“Why are you here?”, you repeated, your eyes meeting him as you tried to keep your composure. You hadn’t seen him since the night of the Gala, since that night in your apartment, since he…

“You have something I want”, he motioned towards the black car. “So I’d thought I’d steal it from you”

You felt a slight irritation in your bones at why he was here. Was this the job he needed to complete that he always brought up? What business did he have with Joker? He couldn’t possibly have ties to the maniac. 

“You shouldn’t be here.”, you bit out, dropping your gun and placing it back in the holster. You watched as the sockets of his mask moved, most likely taking in the way you were dressed. It was a regular stealth suit, but he indulged in soaking you in any chance he could.

“As much as I would love to stay and spend more time with you, I have a job to finish.”, he walked over to the ledge, opening a hidden compartment and taking out his AK-47 and leaning it against his shoulder, the barrel pointed upwards as he walked towards you. 

“Red!”, you tried yelling at him, but your words died in your mouth as he grabbed your waist and slammed his lips on yours. Your eyes were wide as he kissed you in a deep, passionate way before quickly pulling away and smirking at you. 

“It was good seeing you tonight.”, he whispered before running off and jumping off the ledge. Your heart lurched in your chest, trying to run after him but felt a weight on your foot. The mother fucker put an adhesive pellet on your foot, forcing you to stay in one place. 

Dammit!

You pulled your foot from the adhesive with all your force, the substance settling in and making it harder to move. You grabbed your knife, cutting through the adhesive and pulling your foot one more time before it broke free. 

You ran through the streets, trying to find where Jason had run off to. Why did he have to show up tonight? You had one thing to do and now you would have to hear all the shit spew from Sionis if you couldn’t get Joker back in one piece. 

You quickly made your way towards where the tracker in the car had led you, showing you its movement as you cut through some of the buildings to get there sooner. If you couldn’t reach the car before it arrived at Sionis Industries, you hoped Jason might’ve been left behind somewhere. He probably was already close to getting another hit in before the car made it to its location but you needed to stay persistent. 

Reaching the car’s location, you jumped down, using the buildings to use your grappling hook to lower yourself safely before running towards the car as you watched it slow to a stopping position. Your eyes narrowed as you moved closer to it, never letting your guard down as you moved towards the car carefully. 

You watched the fire surround it as you approached carefully, taking in the rubble around the vehicle as you pulled the door open as your heart pounded in your chest. A soft grumble echoed from inside the car, your body on edge as you spotted the green color of hair, a subtly laugh ringing out. 

“Oh you came to save me! I love a good heroine story, it’s much more fun than those stupid knights in shining armor or whatever.”, you let out a sharp ‘tsk’ as you grabbed his arm, forcing him to his feet as you pulled him out of the car. 

“I don’t have time for your shit, clown face.”, you spit out, as you moved through the streets to find cover. “Let’s get to the alley by Gotham Square, I have a bike stashed there and I can get us to Sionis Industries.”

“This is fun.”, he laughed maniacally. 

You kept observing every inch of the street, trying to see if you could spot Jason within the buildings. You knew he wouldn’t make a hit at you, but if he really wanted to, he’d do anything necessary to take a hit at Joker. Any criminal in the underground would. A part of you couldn’t help but wonder if Jason had a deeper reason for getting at Joker or if it was solely to piss off Sionis. 

You moved through the streets quickly, keeping your guard up as you held Joker’s arm in one hand behind you and your pistol in the other. You were only three blocks away from where your motorcycle was stashed, you just needed to hurry before another explosive went off. You messed with your watch, taking note of the message you received from the third car holding the last of the men. They were on foot trying to get Red Hood stalled so that you could get Joker back safely. You had an opening and you needed to take it before he came back. 

The silence felt eerie, but you knew that would be the opening he needed to make an attack. Every second seemed to drag on, every step you made felt like an eternity as you navigated carefully through the streets. The city felt like it held its breath due to the silence, anticipating whoever made the next move to cause more chaos. 

You glanced back at Joker, his eyes full of humor and madness, the instability in him causing you a level of discomfort you couldn’t unpack right now. Not when your job was to get him back to Sionis in one piece and alive. You couldn’t lose focus on the objective, no matter how much Jason was making you on edge. He truly should have just stayed out of your business tonight. Just this once. 

A loud explosion rang out behind the both of you as you tugged Joker to his feet and threw him into a running pace so you could get the hell out of this shit show. You were a block away, running through and keeping your eyes peeled. Deep down you knew Jason wouldn’t make a hit but you knew he’d try and make it as believable as possible to make it look like you weren’t just partners with your enemy the week before. 

“C’mon, my bike is just right down that alley.”, you heard him laughing as you tried to tune him out. 

“Oh good, I was starting to get bored”

You ran down the dark walls of the alley, pulling the tarp off your bike as you grabbed the bullet proof vest and shoved it over his head, your helmet strapping around his chin as you turned the bike on and revved the engine as you kicked the stand us sped down the streets. The tires screeched as you gained momentum and turned sharp corners, staying focused on getting to Sionis Industries as quickly as possible. 

“You think the Hood is gonna come back?”

“Don’t worry about Red Hood.”, you bit out as the wind made your eyes slightly blurry as you blinked away the tears forced by the wind. “My objective is get you back to Sionis Industries alive, even if it means I don’t.”

What a cruel way to look at it but it was the truth of your situation. You’d have to give your life for some mad man clown who was like a roach: even if you burned them alive, they just won’t die. 

 The streets seemed quiet after leaving the center of the city, everything passed in a blur as you sped down the streets. Even Joker remained silent until you arrived and forced him off the bike. He might’ve been Sionis’ VIP but he wasn’t yours. 

You led him into the building, pressing the elevator button that went straight to Sionis’ office. You kept the bulletproof vest on him, especially knowing Jason would probably try and shoot him through the window. Although Sionis was careful and had bulletproof glasses on his vehicles and home, he didn’t have them on his building. A dumb okay on his part but it would always be an inside thought you’d keep to yourself. 

The doors rang open, the bulk of security at the main entrance as they opened the door. You forced Joker behind you as he stayed close, you could practically hear his smile and the laughs he held back as he skimmed around the room, making eye contact with one of the guards who kept a straight face. Joker was strange to say the least, more creepy and maniacal than anything, everyone knew him as the worst of Gotham’s criminals. Perhaps the most reputable in terms of causing psychological terror in the city. 

The silence filled the room, the guards waiting for the arrival of Sionis as they stood tall and quiet. You were annoyed. You wanted to go home and forget about this stupid mission. As the door clicked open, your head snapped up, your eyes narrowed as you watched the black masked mother fucker walk through the door. His eyes landed on you, taking in your annoyed appearance as he smirked. He kept you here waiting to mess with you and it made you want to shove your gun down his throat and pull the trigger. 

“Y/n, Joker.”, he passed his hands over his suit jacket as he made way to his seat behind his desk. “I’m glad you were able to make it in one piece. Hope there were no delays of any sort.”

“No delays. Just a  little rat trying to kill me.”, Joker mused. “He made quite the appearance but good little guard girl here made sure I was safe. Even gave me this nice little number”, he motioned towards the bullet proof vest. “So I wouldn’t die.” 

“Red Hood cause you some trouble, Y/n?”, Sionis narrowed his eyes. 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”, you spit back through clenched teeth. 

“Yet I don’t see a body on my desk.”, Sionis ran a hand over his mouth, eyes focused on you. 

“Are we here to talk about Red Hood or move forward with the business you claim is so precious we had to bail Joker out of Arkham?”, your words were laced with hatred and annoyance. 

Sionis bit back his words, clenching his jaw before moving forward with his business. “Fortunately, the two correlate.”, he spoke out. 

“The reason I paid the bond for Joker was  to get at our Hood.”, your eyes narrowed slightly, the revelation a little more obvious than you expected. You knew he’d only pay such a high bond price if it meant it would save him money in the long run. It was all business and investments to Sionis. It’s what he built his empire on, the investment of the underground trades and illegal business. 

“Oh, this will be fun”, Joker smiled widely. “I’ll place a cat and mouse game, or maybe send him on a wild goose chase. Oh, I know. I could impersonate the Riddler and make him answer all these stupid questions.”, his laugh cracked through the silence of the room. 

Sionis had the ultimate card in his hand. A piece of you wanted to warn Jason, another part wondered if Sionis’ plan would even be a success. 

“Your job is to do anything necessary to get the Red Hood out of hiding. I don’t care if you have to blow up every building in Gotham or kill every man in connection with him, I want him out of his little hideout and dead on my desk.”, Sionis rose to his feet, walking over to you and pushing his face in front of yours. “Since it seems other methods have failed”, he bit out as you held his gaze, not breaking your confident posture and glare at him. 

“My men will show you the room you’ll stay in, don’t take it for granted or you won’t get payment.”, Sionis threatened as Joker rose to his feet and followed behind Sionis’ men. You began turning to leave, Sionis’ voice making you come to a halt. 

“Do I need to send someone to watch over your business or can you keep this under wraps?”, he called out. “This is our ultimate card. It would be a shame if this leaked and made its way to the son of a bitch’s lap.”

You turned your head slightly, not saying a word as he continued. 

“If I find out that this got to him, I have no choice but to maim the mole alive. Flay them perhaps.”, he bit out. “You are the only one besides my men and I that know of Joker’s whereabouts. Penguin knows just what he needs to. So my suspect list would be very easy to blow through in case I needed to kill anyone who is a mole.”

“I wouldn’t leak anything. My loyalty is to Penguin and you’re his business partner. It isn’t in my best interest to let this get out anywhere.”

“That’s a good girl.”, he smirked and you internally recoiled at the name. 

“Is that all?”, you questioned. 

“No”, he answered. “I have another question”

You raised an eyebrow at him before he stared at you intently. He rose to his feet, walking over to where you stood and met your gaze. “Why don't you leave Penguin and work for me?”

The audacity he had to ask you to abandon your place next to Penguin for him. It made you want to punch him in the mouth. 

“I’m fine where I am.”, you said blandly. 

“I’m not asking for you to be my little assistant. I’m asking for you to be mine”, his voice rang through your ear, the gross feeling you got made you pull back from him. “You could have all the power, the money, the control, the status, all of it would be yours.”

“I’m not in this for power or status.”, you spit out. “You keep getting my personal interests mixed with your own desires and that’s not what I'm in this life for.”

His hand reached behind your head, tightening in your hair as he forced you to look at him more intently. His grasp was rough, it hurt your scalp but you refused to let that pain show in anyway. 

“I could give you everything.”, his face leaned in, a lust deep in his eyes. If there was any man you would stay far away from it was definitely Sionis. “You just love to play hard to get.”

You pulled out your gun, placing it up to his temple and cocking it as his grip tightened. “Let. me. go.”, you spit out with venom dripping from your lips. The taunting in his eyes only getting deeper, his love for the game made it hard to threaten him but you did it anyway. 

You felt his grip release, stepping away from you before returning to his desk. You ignored whatever else he wanted to say, pushing your way out of the door to his office and leaving the building once the elevator brought you down to the lobby. 

Sionis really had gotten ballsy over the past few months, even more so now that he had a card that he could okay and cause all the chaos he wanted within the city. You swung your leg over your motorcycle, revving it as you sped off towards your apartment. 

It wasn’t often the crime in Gotham got so out of hand, maybe a raid here and there but you knew with Joker’s release the mayhem would slowly start to rise within the city. Sionis had little to no remorse for anything, he would do whatever necessary to get whatever he wanted and he was so close to getting Jason off the streets if he allowed for Joker to go head to head with him. The thought spiraled in your head as you approached your street, turning into the alley and turning off the engine. 

You opted for the window, climbing up the ladder as you reached for the window pane, noticing it was already opened. You scrunched your eyebrows, taking out your gun as you climbed through the opening. Once you were fully inside, you turned your head, meeting those dark green eyes that made your heart skip a beat. 

Jason was sitting on the couch, his head leaning back on the cushions and looking up at you. You felt a prickle of annoyance before it disappeared when he full on smiled at you. You mentally cursed yourself for letting him have this hold on you, damming him for being not only charming but handsome at the same time. Guess when you’re the son of Bruce Wayne, looks come with the package. 

“Hey, Sweetheart”, he smirked as he got up off the couch, his height making him end up looking down at you instead of you looking at him. 

“Red.”, you forced. You need to keep your distance, create some kind of boundary that helps you keep him at a distance. Not calling him by name created that distance. “What are you doing here?”

“Was in the neighborhood, thought I’d come drop off a present for you.”, he smirked. He was still wearing his gear, his helmet on the living room table. He really just showed up after trying to sabotage your job tonight. 

“Yeah, I can see that.”, you raised an eyebrow at him before watching him as he walked into the kitchen, two large duffel bags in his hands. You had to stop yourself from physically expressing your shock, watching as he plopped both bags on the dining table. 

“Is this…”, you slowly unzip the bag, letting the muted dark green color pop as you pick up a stack wrapped in a band that read 1,000 USD. 

“It’s your cut from the other night”, he shrugged. “$24 Million”

You felt your heart pound inside your chest. He brought you your cut of the cash, he actually brought you your half. You let his gaze, a shock in them as he smiled at you. That’s why he’d been MIA until tonight, he’d been getting everything worked out to bring you your half. 

“Red, I…”

“Thank you.”, he cut you off. 

“Why are you thanking me?”, your eyes brows furrowed. 

“For helping me. For not killing me. For a lot of things. Mostly for not killing me”, he laughed and it sounded like music to your ears. His deep voice gave him an edge, his laugh even more so. He walked up to you, his eyes never leaving yours as he lifted a hand to grab your face, his thumb softly stroking your skin. 

“Red..”, you whispered, breathing in his musk and trying to keep him at a distance. You forced yourself to believe you couldn’t be caught in such a compromising position and yet you didn’t move away from him or out of his touch. Your eyes melted into his, wanting to deny that he had a hold over you, yet you let him share that moment of familiarity with you. 

You felt his hand hover on your back slightly, almost like testing the waters, before letting it wrap around your waist and pulling you into him. What was it about him that just made all reason go out the window? What hold did he have that made everything you believed to be right, actually wrong? 

He leaned in, his mouth hovering just centimeters above yours, his musk drawing you deeper into him as you breathed him in. You kept telling yourself that it was wrong, he was wrong, this was wrong. He was the enemy, he was the one who ruined your work, the one making hits on Penguin’s operations, the one who made your loyalty completely shatter into doubt of what you were doing in this life. 

“Red.”, you warned, your voice holding absolutely no resolve in it as his lips met yours, deafening everything around you. You breathed him in, his hands burning your skin as they tightened on your waist. You felt his hands go lower, grabbing your thighs as he picked you up into his arms. Jason was built. He was a machine. He had the strength of a bull and carried you like it was nothing. 

Walking over to the couch, he laid you down, his lips never leaving yours and his hand gripping your thighs as he found his place in between them. Your legs wrapped around his waist, his muscles flexing as he broke your kiss moving his way to your neck causing you to hold back a moan. 

He nipped at the skin on your neck, your hands tightening on his arms as you held back your soft cries. He wasn’t letting up and you didn’t want him to. You want him to keep going, to keep making your body feel on fire just like he did a week ago. You wanted him to consume you in every way you knew existed, even in the ways you didn’t. His teeth nipped at your soft skin, his grunts filling your ear as he continued down your neck. 

“R-Red.”, you muttered, trying to push him back slightly, trying to gain some control over the situation. “Stop.”

He pulled back, his deep green eyes meeting yours in a delicate way, his jaw clenched as he tried to gain his composure. 

“Y/n..”

“We shouldn’t do this.”, you whispered against his lips, watching as his eyes filled with desire and held your gaze. “We can’t do this.”

“Why?”, his voice came out in a tone of slight desperation. 

“You know why. We both know why.”, you tried sitting up, his body moving with yours as you sat upwards, your hands still on his arms as you flexed your fingers slightly. 

“You want this.”, he muttered, leaning forward for his forehead to lean against yours, his breath touching your cheek in a soft manner. “What does it matter what they think?”

“Red.”, your eyes closed in frustration. Frustration at him, at yourself, at your selfish wants, at your situation. “That’s exactly why we can’t”

You pushed him off, standing as you walked over to the window, looking out as you let your mind run wild with a million different thoughts. You couldn’t fall into this, couldn’t fall into him. You were getting your jobs done, he’d given you your cut of the money from the Gala, you had more than enough to pack up tonight and leave. You should. You had to do it. If you didn’t leave, you would never get out of Gotham alive. 

“Why do you always deny yourself the things that’ll make you happy?”, a cold sinking feeling melted into your bones, turning to look at him with wide eyes. His own held a determination in them as he rose to his feet, wiping his thumb over his swollen lips as he stood over you. “You’re bailing.”

“No. I’m doing what I have always wanted. I’m leaving because I worked for it.”, you bit out. “I’m leaving Gotham because It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. There is nothing for me here.”

“You don’t know that.”, he retorted in a deep, calm tone. “You’re bailing before you even have the chance to figure it out. You’ve lived on the streets since you were a child, you came into this life when you were 16, you don’t know anything else.”

Your eyes filled with anger, his words fueling the fire inside of you and making you ready to snap at him with every ounce of fury inside of you. 

“If you stayed long enough to leave behind this life and try something else, maybe you’d think it was worthwhile. Maybe you wouldn’t be packing up and leaving the second shit got tough.”, you saw his jaw clench and his hands tighten into fists, almost like he was trying not to let the irritation eat him alive. “Like I said, you always deny yourself of the things that’ll make you happy.”

“I don’t need a lecture from anyone. Especially not you.”, you spit with the venom laced in each word. “You’re just a rich boy going around wreaking havoc because you're too bored to do anything else. You have all of daddy’s money. You don’t know what it’s like to live on the streets and fight for your life, fight for an ounce of power when you feel absolutely worthless, to just have any form of control. You’ve had power and control since you were born, so don’t go lecturing me like you fucking know me.”

“I know you don’t give yourself a chance to be happy. I know you’re working yourself to fucking death every week putting up with the fat bird’s pointless jobs and dealing with that motherfucker Black Mask. I know you’re better than the scraps they give you just so you feel important to them. Let me tell you right now Y/n, they don’t fucking care about you. They never will,”

“Oh and what?”, you gave a pathetic laugh, “You think you’re the one to care for me? You think you know what’s good for me? I have survived this fucking city, the low lives, the drug lords, the murderers, the foolish rich assholes, I have survived it all long enough without your fucking help. So, do us both a fucking favor and get the hell out of my apartment!”, you yelled at him, shoving him back when he tried getting closer to you. “Go back to fucking trying to kill me. You were far more tolerable when you had a gun pointed to my head.”

His eyes darkened, never leaving yours as you stood your ground and had your jaw clenched. His shoulders were tense, his hands were balled into fists, and his face remained neutral. After what felt like forever, he turned, picking his helmet off the table and placing it over his head, hiding his perfect features and those green eyes that made you weak. That was just it, you couldn’t be weak. Not because of him. In this life, weaknesses were not tolerated, especially not when he was the most wanted vigilante in Gotham. 

You stood in the middle of the living room, waiting for him to leave, watching as he climbed through the window and halted halfway before turning towards you. 

“Seems like escaping has been on your mind a lot more recently.”, he muttered, the distorter making his voice change completely. “Thought that would’ve changed by now.”

His words rang through the room as he left, leaving the window open, the money on the floor, and you sitting in your own anger. You felt a heaviness in your chest, an emptiness that you didn't realize would consume you until just now. 

I’ve been wanting to escape a lot less recently.

Your words echoed in your head from all those years ago, a hit to the gut at the memory of what kept you hopeful for the future. You couldn’t bring yourself to let go of the dreams you once had as a teenager and now that you were older you felt like you’d failed yourself. 

You’re bailing before you even have the chance to figure it out. 

If you stayed long enough to leave behind this life and try something else, maybe you’d think it was worthwhile. 

His words echoed in your head, almost like a broken record, just repeating until they felt like there was some hidden meaning behind them. You ran a hand over your mouth, letting yourself sit with the small realizations of what he could have possibly meant by his words. Was there something deeper behind his anger? Was there something hiding behind the disguise of frustration that you couldn’t quite place?

A shaky breath escaped your lips, moving towards the kitchen and grabbing one of the duffle bags, moving it into the closet before doing the same to the other. You sat on your bathroom floor, letting the silence of the apartment consume you before letting yourself sit with your calmed emotions. Everything replayed. You wondered, was he right?

Did you bail when things got hard? When did you become so stubborn? When did you stop hoping for more? Was it this life that robbed you of everything or was it your own self destruction? 

You moved through the world with a guarded heart, not letting anyone close enough to penetrate the armor you’d spent the majority of your life forging. You never wanted to be vulnerable, you never wanted to be seen as weak. You sit in the silence and wonder, was that the problem all along? Was it self-preservation that led you to this point, or did it slowly evolve into a self-imposed prison? When did you start to mistake isolation for strength and solitude for safety?

You used to dream of a different life, of leaving Gotham and turning your life around and now, it felt so far in the past. Everything had faded into nothing and a part of you feared leaving the city. You’d be alone again, you’d be forced into starting over, you’d be forced to forget everything that made the city worthwhile. You’d forget him. 

You stood, staring at your reflection in the mirror, a ghost staring back at you. A version of yourself that didn’t exist in this timeline, a version of yourself that felt familiar and foreign. A happier, perhaps more stable, version of yourself that likely lived a carefree life. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath, and let the silence wash over you once more. You turned, walking to your bed and laying on the mattress as you stared out at the empty sky, letting your tired body slowly sink into your sheets. 

If you stayed long enough to leave behind this life and try something else, maybe you’d think it was worthwhile. 

The words continued to echo. 

A constant loop. 

A replay of words as you slowly slipped into unconsciousness, the words blurring into a completely new meaning. 

If you stayed long enough to leave this life behind and experience what it's like to be happy, maybe you’d think it was worthwhile. 

Maybe you’d think I was worthwhile.

A/N: Hey guys! I'm sorry this chapter got delayed for posting, summer class finals have been consuming my time! BUT after the next two weeks, I will have all the free time to just write at my hearts content and get this series into the second half! I really loved all the reactions to the last chapter and it makes me feel so much more motivated seeing everyone's comments, reposts, and messages.

I have another set of one-shots that I plan on posting (some are 2 part stories) since I've had them in the vault for a minute, so they will likely get posted along with Playing with Fire. They are anime fanfictions (Jujutsu Kaisen mainly) so if you're also into those check them out!

I will be creating a Masterlist of all my works soon so everything is all in one place!

Look forward to next week and again thank you guys for all the love and support!

[evergone]

The Agreement

James Potter x Reader

Warnings: 18+, sex, alcohol, smoking

Description: James and the reader lay out the rules to be FwB, but the reader has already broken one.

It was James who had come up with the idea to make the agreement. You’d only accepted and helped to draft the terms. I mean, of course you had, it was James, how could you say no to him? Plus, you were a little more than tipsy and the fumes that you had been second-hand smoking from Sirius’ cigarette wasn’t assisting in keeping you soberly grounded. That being said, you probably still would have agreed to the terms if you were sober.

That was problem everyone found with James. All he had to do was give you his signature look — the one that spoke more than words could convey, the one that held out a metaphorical hand and beckoned you towards adventure, the one that wouldn’t allow itself to be ignored — and suddenly, you were saying yes to his every whim. His friends were the most common victims of that look, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were always whisked away into trouble with him, but you were one of those victims, too.

At first, James hadn’t wanted to go to the party with the rest of the group. He was nervous about being amongst such a large group of muggles while drunk, knowing his own tendency to show off with that wand of his. But when he saw you twirling on the street from the upstairs window of Lily’s home he reconsidered.

“Surely you’re coming, James!” You called from the ground, your hand a shield covering your eyes and hair from the cool afternoon wind.

“I’m too immature for it, Y/n,” he shook his head, “It’s best if I stay.”

“Oh, shut up and get on down here!”

He laughed heartily and disappeared into the house only to return at the front door. You squealed in delight and pulled him into a hug, dragging him into the large group that had gathered outside. Lily’s sister, Petunia, had reluctantly decided to allow you all to go to the party that only she was invited to, and stood off to the left with her hands in her jacket pockets and her arms glued to her sides.

“Can we go now?” Petunia more demanded than asked, “We’re already a half hour late.”

When, finally, you arrived at the party, you were into the alcohol in moments. Sirius had run off to mingle with muggles about the music, asking every person he could find for recommendations and such, and Marlene had joined him, interested in muggle culture. From afar, you felt that they sounded like tourists from another country, you even heard some people asking where they were from. Mary, Lily and Dorcas were doing shots with some muggle boys, while Peter was demolishing Remus at beer pong.

In the joy of it all, of the fraternising with these unfamiliar people, you had lost James. Everyone was wearing such similar outfits that you couldn’t find his hideous denim jacket in the crowd, so you slipped out the back door and searched as you stood cluelessly by the edge of the pool.

“Lost, are you?” James’ deep voice sounded from behind you, spooking you into spinning around to look at him.

“I was looking for you,” you informed him, “Wanted to talk to someone I knew, but the others are all busy.”

“Well, here I am, doey,” he smiled, gesturing to himself.

“Don’t call me that, you fool,” you rolled your eyes and he chuckled.

He led you away from the crowd and onto the roof of the unknown host’s house where you continued to chat softly, watching the stars twinkle in the great expanse like the tuffs of a dandelion clock stuck to black paint on canvas. You had no clue where he kept pulling drinks from, but for the rest of the night your hand was never without the comforting hug of a beer.

The lot of you had stumbled home together with laughter that echoed through the streets. Somehow, Sirius had gotten his filthy hands on that cigarette I mentioned earlier, and was treating it like his only lifeline, desperately trying to get every breath out of it that he could. Your arm was slung over James’ shoulders as you whispered flirtatious secrets to him:

“You smell absolutely fantastic.”

“You fancy the scent of Peter’s vomit?”

And, in return, his hand graced your hip. His fingers too close to be friendly like they were supposed to be, his heart too close, as well. He stared at you with his beautiful brown eyes that shone a brilliant gold in the light of the street lamps and the shine of the waning gibbous moon.

Back at Lily’s in the dead of night, James claimed one of the spare bedrooms all to himself, arguing that he deserved it after Peter spewed his guts up all over him. At first, you had shuffled into Lily’s bedroom to change into your shorts and a Fleetwood Mac shirt that you found stuffed into the bottom of your suitcase. As you slipped into bed next to Marlene, you were drawn out into the hallway in which you caught James making the exact same movement.

You waved at him. He waved back. Both of you exchanged quiet greetings before he nodded backwards towards the room he was in and bit his lip.

“It’s cold in there,” he said, “All alone…”

You shrugged, “And what do you expect me to do about that?”

“I could think of a few ideas,” he teased and you shook your head.

“We shouldn’t,” you said, altogether unconvinced by your own words, “This is Lily’s house.”

It wasn’t like there had ever been something between James and yourself before. You were always just friends, that’s how it was and how it would always continue to be. That’s why you made the agreement — but not until after you had warmed him up and kept him warm until morning.

Once you awoke, he helped you tie your hair back into a ponytail and smiled at the work of art his mouth had made on your back. You, on the other hand, were appalled by the sight of it in the mirror and unleashed a full-blown pillow attack on him, giggling goofily. The two of you showered together in the en suite, his large, calloused hands drew the soap along the curves of your body expertly. You dried his hair slowly and gently as you pressed your breasts onto his bare back.

“If we do this again, we need to make an agreement,” he told you, his head resting between your naked thighs on the bed, “A—A set of rules of some kind.”

You didn’t want an ‘agreement’ but the effects of alcohol still lingered in your mind, so you said yes and let him lay out the framework. You added your two cents every now and again.

“Never while high on anything other than weed,” he said.

“Never in the same room as someone else,” you said.

“We have to tell each other if we do it with someone else.”

“Or if we go on a date with someone else.”

“And most importantly,” James begun, “Absolutely no falling in love, alright doey?”

Your lips pursed. Oh. Oh. Oh, fuck. You were screwed, you couldn’t possibly agree to that term. By Merlin, you were already in love with him! How could you not be? He was everything you could want in a man: stunning good looks, intelligent mind, charming personality. He was perfect and you were in love with him.

“Absolutely.”

After a couple months of suffering through a friends-with-benefits situation with James, the agreement was coming back to bite you in the arse. Your friends could see it in every movement you made around him. Remus had caught you crying in the common room more times than he could count, and Lily couldn’t bare to hear another story about you giving him a blow job just so he wouldn’t end the agreement that was plaguing your every waking hour. It wasn’t his fault, you had to remind them, you just weren’t able to confront him with the truth about your feelings yet.

“I’ll tell him, I promise,” you told them.

“When, Y/n?” Lily asked skeptically.

“Eventually!” You whined, “When I’m ready!”

“And when will that be?” Remus raised his brows at you.

You groaned and fell back into the maroon couch in the common room in front of the empty fireplace. They were so pushy. They were the worst. You would get there at some point, they just needed to give you a little more time. You needed a little more time.

When James entered the common room that afternoon, he had nodded up the stairs towards his dorm at the sight of Remus, Sirius, and Peter all sitting around. It was one of the very few moments that none of them were up there, and you had to capitalise on those moments as best you could. You stood up obediently like a puppy and ignored the judgemental glances from your friends as you followed him up the stairs.

As he shrugged off his robes, he turned to you, “This might be our last go at it.”

“What do you mean?” You asked him curiously and stripped off your pants.

“I have a date,” he responded.

Oh. Well, that was one way for you to get out of admitting your feelings for him. Probably the worst way, but a way nonetheless. Perhaps, your heart would be broken, but at least James would never know that you had broken the agreement before it had even been agreed upon.

“Jamie,” you started, “I don’t think you should go on a date.”

He turned to you, head tilted to the side, one eyebrow perked in a mixture of confusion and curiosity. You couldn’t help yourself, it seemed. You couldn’t let him leave you behind.

“I broke the agreement ages ago,” you admitted and he frowned, “From the start, I was in love with you and I’m sorry for lying but I just thought that—”

“I knew it.”

“Huh?”

“I overheard you talking to Lily about it.” His gaze softened as he grinned at you, “You should have told me, I would have asked you out instead of making the agreement, I thought that was my only option.”

[diejager]

Thinking about COD men putting their cigarettes out on my delicate skin 😵‍💫

Burn Cw: burn scars, DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, implied smut, burning, smoking, scarring, mean cod men, tell me if I missed any.

John likes his cigars, the thick-rimmed and earthy-scented cancer stick that smells more elegant and refine than the usual nicotine stick that Ghost smoked. He likes indulging in his office, cutting off the bottom and lighting it, a small flame licking his expensive brand, the wrapper turning to an ashen colour before he even smokes it. Lighting up a cigar is a whole art, to treat his precious sticks with the carefulness and respect it deserves. It helps him relax at night, to let the bliss overtake his mind, and the best thing about smoking was that he has the prettiest ashtray.

Kneeling between his legs, whining and whimpering while he worked on paperwork, signing off his signature on papers and reading through debriefs until the life of his cigar ended. When it does, he grips your jaw, forcing you closer to his chest and neck bared to put out his cigar, the end pushed against the scarred skin of your shoulder. He rarely burned the same place, around and overlapping at some ends, but never exactly over it. He kept to a side, a place promised to him alone. Sometimes he burns your thighs, the soft inner fat and stomach, giving him something to stare at when he ploughs you over his desk.

Ghost, much like Price, smokes often to relieve himself of the stress and tension, usually on the roof at night where he wouldn’t be bothered, but he occasionally enjoys a few smokes in his room by the window. He’s cheaper and less fussy than Price about what he smokes, content with cheap cigars he bought from the corner shop, a plastic box with white sticks that he can burn whenever he had the urge to smoke. Ghost isn’t picky, he’d take any brand he can get his hands on as long as it gives him the same nicotine bliss.

And when he smokes in his room, he likes having you cockwarm him, his tip pressed against your cervix, mewling and panting from the sheer size and girth of him. He doesn’t let you move and inch, ordering you to relax until he softens of he finished his cig, occasionally bucking his hips or growling out when you clench around him in a tight vice. He stubs his cigar on your thighs, his preferred area, where he could grip your hips and admire his mark on you, the red and pale scars that littered your hips and legs as a reminder of his possession on you. He might even admire the burn scars Price left on your shoulder and inner thighs.

Gaz doesn’t really smoke, he had one here and there, but unlike him, Soap does occasionally smoke, he steals a cig from Ghost’s pack. It’s a rare pleasure he indulges when Soap has time, one he got after he sneaked a smoke in the school bathroom because he wanted to look as cool as his cousin. It stuck after a while, but he doesn’t smoke as often as habitual smokers, one or two a month if he’s really stressed, but he usually deals with that through drinking or taking it out on the gym and shooting range.

He and Gaz sit together when Soap smoked, squeezing you between them and made to relax while they talk and watch the TV. He doesn’t always finish his stick, breathing out the smoke in your face or sharing it through a kiss, his tongue pushed down your throat before he passes you to Gaz for his turn. He’s happier, more jovial and reckless after a smoke, the nicotine easing the tension off his shoulder and that leaves him more handsy and eager. He puts out his cig - whether it was half way or fully done - near your collar, scars painting your flesh that trails up your shoulder and down your breast. His side had less burn scars than Price and Ghost’s, older and paler than the fresh ones.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

ezra + bath oil + titties

GO

You absolute menace ily hahaha. Initially I was just going to do a short lil drabble that was a continuation of our disgusting musings about this man, but then I said why not make this into an entire feature in honor of @swiftiscruff's Friendship Exchange? You know, give our boy Ezra some real time to shine, and all in the name of celebrating friendships formed over that little verbose slut?

So, here is my Ezra oil shower titty fic dedicated to the lovely Kelli in celebration of the Friendship Exchange.

𝗔𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗵 𝗶𝗻 𝗬𝗼𝘂

PAIRING(s): Ezra x fem!reader RATING: explicit material | 18+ WORD COUNT: 3k CONTENT: AU where Cee doesn't exist sorry lmao, established relationship, titty fixation, edible/food safe bathing oils, Ezra comes with his own warning, egalitarian assplay, cumplay, fabric washcloth used as gripping agent

Your nose for the most part had become blind to Ezra’s signature, tangy musk that edged into a ripe stench on hotter days. Even though you’d settled into the outskirts of a modest trading town and begun taking on the doldrums of keeping house, Ezra hadn’t fallen from his habit of going a little too long in between bath days. In times past he would go unshowered due to lack of amenities – the worlds you’d traveled and harvested from had hardly offered much in the way of hygienic routine – but now there was no such obstacle. He could bathe any time he wished and take as long as he pleased. You had your own home together now, one you were building upon each and every day, but the transient, unpredictable life that had become so ingrained into him was hard to shake. The notion of permanence was fleeting no matter how many days passed under your roof.

You, on the other hand, had become part fish since putting down roots here. There was a bathtub and a separate shower, and you craved the warm pool of water to soak in after a long day. Ezra liked to give you grief for wasting such a precious resource as water even though this planet was abundant in it. And yet, his admonishing never kept him from slipping into the wash room to ogle your bare form in the bath. You just wish every now and then he’d partake himself.

“The suns in all their unwavering glory has me feeling wrung of every bit of moisture,” he huffs as he fills a glass with something to wet his tongue and flood his scratchy, dry throat. “It’s good fortune that we needn’t adorn ourselves in protective suits here. I can only imagine the sort of foul fog that would cling to me then.”

You’re well aware of the second sun’s habit of becoming unbearable in these few weeks that your now home planet rotates closer to it. Your skin is sticky and wet with exertion, but at least all the growth pods you and Ezra have worked so tirelessly to establish are flourishing. They needed as much extra attention as any human on this planet did during these hotter spells. Soon enough you will forget all about the vehement heat when you and Ezra take your yields to the market during The Great Exchange and come home with lighter wagons and heavier pockets.

You accept the glass from Ezra and drink down whatever he’d poured. The cool creep of it down your throat already feels one step closer to equilibrium. “I guess we should wash up before we get the entire house dirty,” you reason.

“Hm, I suppose we should.”

You trod upstairs to the bathroom and bite back a scream when you see Ezra procure one entirely too small washcloth from the cabinet.

“You’re only washing at the sink?” you ask in what you pray isn’t a too panicked timbre.

“You don’t think the sink is robust enough to address my filth?”

You scrunch your nose, and that’s all the answer he needs. He chuckles a little and sets the singular washcloth aside. It already has smudges of who knows what just from him handling it.

“Tell me what you propose, my Little Gem.” He has an easy smile and those dangerous, glittery eyes fixed onto you.

“I mean, if you’re too tired I could, you know, I wouldn’t mind getting you washed up.” You shrug as though it’s enough to offset your way too eager proposition.

“You believe my own efforts are inferior?” he teases. “My Little Gem needs to take matters into her own hands and not rely on the fates?”

“Well, you’re always talking about wasting water. Wouldn’t it be saving water if we showered together?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You would forgo your hallowed soak just to bathe with me, Little Gem?”

“I’m way too gross to just get into a bath. It’d just be sitting in a pool of my own funk. This level of gross calls for a full on shower, I think.”

“And you’ll tend to me in there?” he purrs as he steps closer to you and curves his hands over your hips. The pungent tang of his body makes your nose scrunch again.

“Much to tend to, it seems,” he remarks in response to your overt repulsion.

You need to take Ezra up on his noncommittal commitment of getting into the shower with you before he changes his mind. You quickly concoct a plan to hold his attention and agreeability in the small shower. You grab the soaking oil you drizzle into your baths on especially achy days and prop it on the shower ledge. You start peeling off grimy, damp layers of clothing and nod to Ezra, who begins doing the same.

You cross the room to where you stow your accessories and extras and grab a few items to pin your hair back. The last thing you need is something getting in the way of you giving him a thorough scrub down. Ezra saunters after you like a cat on the prowl, eyes roaming greedily up and down. Before he can derail the entire enterprise, you slink into the shower and start the water.

The initially cool spray is a contrary sensation to the heat emanating from your skin, but it quickly warms to a soothing slip. The stall darkens as he steps inside, broad shoulders blocking out the light struggling to filter in through the expanse of him. His frame was a thickened amalgamation of corded musculature padded in the softened flesh of a satiating supper every evening. The work here kept him lean for the most part, but you much preferred this iteration of him – all brawn and lithe but with the markers of an untroubled life.

“It seems all displeasure with my hygiene is forgotten once I’m naked as the day I was born,” he murmurs low and self-satisfied.

You roll your eyes but know he’s correct. A lover as competent and enthusiastic as Ezra meant overlooking other personal drawbacks wasn’t too difficult. “I’m sizing up my work,” you protest.

“And what do you make of its sizing?” he purrs with a gentle roll of his hips against you.

You knew this was where things would go almost immediately, and yet you still had the nerve to be caught off guard. “Ezra,” you grit out. You guide him under the stream and tell him to stay put while you grab the stack of washcloths you’ll need.

Upon your return you note the ashen brown water falling from him and circling the drain. “I must admit–” he says through the water rushing over him. Your eyes catch the flex of his biceps as he raises his arms up to work the water through his hair and scalp. “–There is something quite divine about the ritual. All sins washed away. A clean slate. A pure soul ready to be defiled once again. Isn’t that right, Little Gem?”

“What?” you mumble absentmindedly, too preoccupied on ogling the trail of water snaking down his torso and into the thicket of brown coarse hairs below his waist.

He only grins with a devious slant to his mouth and pulls you under the spray with him. His hands wander across your body in a lazy exploration. The only thing keeping you from abandoning your task altogether and just letting him take you right there in the shower is the persistent odor still clinging to him, now taking on a damp quality that only heightens the earthy grub and grit components within.

“Take a seat on the ledge, Ezra.”

He gropes the curve of your ass and presses a few kisses to the column of your neck before complying. “I’m at your disposal.” He spreads his arms open, inviting the work and focus of your hands on him.

You avoid looking at his half hard cock bobbing gently with every movement and soap up the first cloth. You try to avoid the snare of his gaze as you begin scrubbing his face, but he catches you with it as you lather through his beard. The corner of his mouth pulls up, an instant reassurance that he knows exactly the effect he has on you.

His face is a brighter, pinker vision once you rinse it, and it solidifies your resolve to scrub every inch of this man while he’s indulging your whim. His hands roam up and down your legs as you scratch and scour his hair. The fragrance of the soap combined with the purged dirt fills the space. You move to your hands and knees and start scrubbing from toe to knee then thigh to groin. He surprisingly doesn’t make too much of a fuss, which is good considering it takes three separate washcloths to get that section entirely cleaned.

“Surely I’ve indulged your caretaking long enough to have earned a different kind of corporeal attention?” He leans forward and noses at your neck and earlobe, and your body shivers despite the warm rush of water trailing down your back.

“Grab that bottle to your left,” you order as you start scrubbing down his torso. Your breath catches when your wrist bumps into his fully hardened, weeping cock, and you catch the curve of a smirk playing on his mouth. He holds up the unlabeled bottle and gives it a questioning shake. 

“An aphrodisiac?” His eyebrow cocks in devilish curiosity.

“Bath oil,” you snort. “You can, um, put some on me while I’m working on you. You know, just so it has time to soak in before I wash up, too. If you don’t mind.”

His eyes narrow and pull the edge of his mouth upward. He sees right through you, just like he always does. “Here I was thinking my purest Little Gem wouldn’t resort to such lowly deceit and bribery.” He pops the cap of the bath oil open and drizzles a moderate amount into his hand before setting the bottle aside again. He’s clearly amused with the ruse you’ve concocted, but unfettered exploration of your body is apparently a bribe he’s willing to accept.

“Resume your venture to free me from all the remnants of my labors,” he obliges.

“You know, you could just say ‘keep scrubbing me because I know I still smell’, Ez.”

He grins and raises his hands until they hover above your chest, little trickling lines of oil falling onto the slope of your breasts and dripping down slowly. You push your tongue against the back of your teeth to keep yourself grounded. If Ezra decided to start toying with you, you didn’t stand a chance at resisting his efforts.

You slather his arms from wrist to shoulder and work your way to his torso. Meanwhile he grazes a slick finger against your nipples in a ghost of a touch that has you subconsciously chasing his hand. You finish underneath each of his armpits, and, just when he’s behaved himself long enough to catch you off guard, he flicks one of your nipples hard with the edge of a fingernail. A shaky gasp of sharp pleasure flies from your throat quickly followed by a second one when he does it to the other side.

“See to my hindparts, won’t you?” he solicits with a deceptively innocent expression.

You clench your teeth together and take a step forward so you can reach over his shoulders and wash his back. He dips his head and takes as much of your breast into his mouth as he can and suctions with as much strength as he can exert. You yelp and attempt to release the clutch of his mouth from your sensitive bud, but he only sucks harder with a satisfied groan. His arms circle around each of your legs and cause you to lose your footing, which he uses as a distraction to switch sides.

Little pinpricks of purple have cropped up in a bloom of red from where he already sucked, and the force of his pull now promises no different for the other side. He loved to do this to you – get you off kilter, overstimulated, and seeking out more, often all at once. Your breaths come out whiny as he latches and pulls on your nipples and tissue.

“Ez,” you gasp. “I’m–I have to–to finish.”

He grips the flesh of your ass and pulls one cheek aside so that he can deftly push a thick fingertip into your puckering rim. It glides in with no resistance, and you almost think the oil wasn’t even necessary with how much you ached for him to fill you there. He pulls away just enough to disorient you with his intoxicating diction.

“Perhaps before our wash is complete, you’ll be beseeching me just to feel the breadth of me cleaving you apart,” he husks. “Nearly weeping for me to bury my cock in this hole just as you did only two nights ago.”

 “It feels good,” you mewl weakly. 

He hums low and gravelly in agreement as he resumes his ministrations on your breasts. The tip of his finger plunges shallow, a slow in and out, and you know it’s just to tease you for what you won’t get until you are begging him for it. You think that he must revel in the sway he has over you when he so fervently succumbs to you. There’s something so raw and vulnerable in the way he cannot deny his devotion and attachment to you, and so he must have some part of you in the same way as to not feel entirely powerless.

You’re panting despite exerting very little energy at the moment. “I-I really need to finish washing you u—”

He pops off with a loud smack and abruptly stands. He crowds you against the corner and props a foot up on the ledge, caging you in with his cock right at your eye level. Your hands rush with a washcloth and soap, now more greedy to feel him than cleanse him. You lather his entire groin area and resist the urge to lick up the beads of precum dribbling from his ruddy tip. Your eyes keep traveling up to meet his where he watches down on you with an almost omnipotent, divine consideration.

The last washcloth falls to the shower floor, and Ezra slowly walks backward into the water to rinse himself. It’s probably just a trick of the mind, but you swear he appears less hazy than usual with all the grime cleared from him. Your mouth is slack as you watch from your hands and knees on the shower floor, impossibly cramped into the corner of the small space. He smiles down at you. You know how much he loves seeing you on your knees in front of him.

Without a word, he moves the shower head to the side so that it pelts against the tile instead of spraying down on you both before turning around and hitching his other leg up on the ledge. He braces himself on the wall and the wobbly metal and glass door on the other side.

“Reap the benefits of your work, Little Gem,” he says over his shoulder.

You frantically douse your hand with a generous dab of the bath oil and walk on your knees until your mouth is flush against the cleft of his ass. A strangled whimper ekes out of him as you reach a hand between his legs and stroke his neglected cock with the slippery pull of the oil. You entrench your face into him until your flicking tongue delves into his asshole. You massage and prod into it, eyes rolling back when you feel how it clenches in delight at your motions.

Ezra turns again to face you now with what can only be described as a wild, hungry look in his eye. He takes the neatly stacked pile of used washcloths and tosses them onto the floor. You have no time to question his motives because he’s grabbing the bottle of oil and squeezing globs of it onto your breasts, barely returning the bottle to its place on the shelf before he’s massaging them and awkwardly shoving his cock between them and rutting against their pillowy, fleshy tightness.

“Shit,” he hisses. “That ass. That asshole of yours. These tits.” He sounds pained just trying to speak. His face screws up as he fucks between them, moaning appreciatively when you use your hands to press them closer together for him to fuck.

“You like my tits?” you ask a little breathlessly.

He makes a noise of great effort, eyes pinching shut at your goading question. He frees his cock and takes the flat of his hand to slap against your peaked buds. You cry out in pleasure at the sharp, blissful sting. “Bet I could make you come for me just like this. Couldn’t I, Little Gem?” he grits.

“Y-Yes,” you moan.

He makes some unhinged noise and slaps against your breasts in quick succession, barking out an order for you to touch yourself, and teeth glinting in the light with a manic grin as you climax. He starts fisting his length over your face, breaths coming fast and heavy.

“Open wide now,” he pants as he tugs his cock faster. The tip of it knocks against your lip, and you open wider with your tongue jutting flat and spread out for him to cover.

“Just like that Little Gem,” he rasps. “Hold it open and drink me.”

A few short strokes is all it takes before he’s moaning and erupting all over your face and mouth, the hot, thick bands of his spend sticking to your skin wherever they land. He doesn’t stop jerking himself until every last drop is spent. When he’s finally done, he smears his softening cock against your face, collecting his cum in sloppy swipes.

“Now look who is soiled, Little Gem,” he hums. “Clean up the mess you’ve made.” He watches you with half-lidded eyes and a heaving chest. “Wouldn’t want to leave things filthy, would you?”

You oblige and take him into your mouth, sucking and licking until every trace of his spend has been swallowed.

[finniestoncrane]

2.5k Event Request - Nick x GN!Reader word count: 970 a/n: what i wouldn't give for this idiot to teach me everything he knows, because i just know he's picked up a few tricks (and infections) along his way... cw: reader is afab, inexperience, loss of virginity, first kiss, dirty talk kinda 🔞minors dni🔞 • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie2.5k (to follow or to block)

Nick was speechless, for once, in the face of your confession. Shocked at how you had said it so passively, how you were willing to be so vulnerable with a man who took everything anyone said to him to use as ammunition when it suited him, whether as a serious threat or as playful teasing.

“Are you… are you kidding me?”

“Does that sound like something I’d joke about? Is my situation funny in any way to you?”

He raised his hands quickly, averting his eyes from your intense gaze as he let you repeat yourself, listening intently to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood.

“I can’t really find the joke when I’m so pissed off, y’know? What kind of bad luck do you need to have to be a virgin at the end of the world?”

“Yeah, no, that’s… That sucks. But you can always remedy that situation.”

In your peripheral you caught a glimpse of that signature Nick smirk, one that seemed playful and cruel all at the same time.

“Oh yeah, because there’s tonnes of eligible partners walking around these days, huh?”

“Listen, being picky got you in this mess, you wanna keep that up?”

You were read to scold him as you turned his way, about to correct him and tell him off for making assumptions, but the words stuttered to a halt in your mouth as you caught his expression. Eyebrows raised expectantly, smirk turning into a sneer as he waited for you to catch on. And when you did, you let out an exclaimed, short laugh.

“I’m up for it if you are. There’s nothing better to do out here.”

“Oh wow. I’m very flattered.”

Your tone was flat, unamused, and as you turned away from him, you felt his hand reach for your arm, grabbing you and keeping you close to him on the roof of the abandoned motel where you intended to spend the night.

“No, no, no, hey! Wait! Come on, that’s not what I meant… I’m just trying to… make it less of an event. It’s casual. No big deal. One friend helping another.”

Eyeing him up, you turned your body back around to him.

“No big deal? Just casual? Promise?”

“Of course, completely! I’ve done this so many times. Just a one-night stand… My experience speaks for itself. Besides, rooftop at sunset? The world all ours? Can’t think of a better time to knock that one off the bucket list.”

“Well… tell me what you’re going to do, first.”

The request flustered him, something you’d never seen before in the man who had always remained cool, calm and collected in the face of even your more monstrous enemies.

“I think we should kiss first. Helps ease the tension, makes the next steps easier.”

“I’ve never kissed anyone either…”

“Fuck me…”

Nick could feel his cock twitching, and he shifted to hide the obvious tenting at the front of his white pants. The thought of you, so sweet and innocent, being corrupted by him, completely at his will, eager to learn, eager to have him show you everything he knew… it was enough to make him lose control of himself. He had to stay focused. So he took a deep breath and continued.

“Ok then. Kiss first. Nothing fancy. No tongues to start. Soft and gentle. Then, I guess we should keep our clothes on as much as we can… Which I have to admit is a little disappointing, because I have been admiring your ample physique when I’ve had a spare moment… But we don’t want to be caught off guard. But I could pull your pants down a little, see what we’re working with.”

“Oh my god.”

He blushed, immediately trying to smooth over his clumsy wording.

“Sorry, I just mean a little foreplay never hurt anybody. Even people who are desperate to get to the main event. Plus, it’ll be a little taste of what’s to come if I use my fingers first.”

“Oh? Are they comparable size-wise then?”

He snorted, scoffing at the ridiculous insinuation.

“No, it absolutely is not. But I wouldn’t want to hurt a pretty thing like you by barrelling into it, even if you have plenty of cushioning where it’s best to have it…”

He was distracted again, focusing on your body, the curves and rolls that he’d thought about running his hands over each night as he tried to fall asleep.

“Nick…?”

Distracted once again, he scolded himself quietly and tried to get back on track.

“Right… once you’re ready, I’ll just…”

“Just what?”

“I don’t know how to word it.”

His cheeks were reddening, brighter than before.

“Are you embarrassed, Nick?”

“No! It’s just hard to figure out how to word it in a way that isn’t just me telling you that once that tight hole of yours is wet enough, I’ll spread you open, push my cock inside of you and start fucking me until you cum quick like the desperate virgin you are. Doesn’t sound that romantic, does it?”

“That… actually sounds good.”

“Really? Well, what are we waiting for then?”

As Nick leaned in, his lips close enough to yours that you could almost feel them on you, a screech echoed across the car park behind you, the warning sign of impending doom in the form of whatever creature might have inadvertently stumbled upon you both. As you looked to Nick, he cocked his gun and stood up, offering you a helping hand as he spoke.

“Looks like you might need to wait a little longer.”

In response to his mean-spirited wink, you offered a sarcastic smile, more a grimace.

“Hopefully I find someone better before we’re alone again, then.”

His smile widened, the flirtatious teasing only securing his desire to make sure he was the one who cured what ailed you.

[xiaoriae]

"...AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES!"

— PAIRINGS ; childe, diluc, xiao & zhongli x gn!reader (separate)

— NOTES ; a repost from my old blog!

CHILDE was a friendly roommate, that was the first and significant trait you’d noticed since day one he walked into the small shared apartment.

he wasn’t scared to communicate directly with you, exchanging introductions felt less awkward and more livelier with his playful tone and that signature smile of his.

you didn’t think childe was richer than ordinary people like you to be honest. he probably was a broke student, just like you. after all, he did split the rent with you and so you assumed that he underwent the same financial problems people around your age did.

but when he spoiled you on your first birthday you celebrated together with him, only the two of you in the small, cozy, living room, you almost choked out the soda in your hand when you saw the necklace you drooled over the other day you went shopping, or rather, window shopping with him along the city, was in front of you.

“how much is this?!” your eyes bulging out, partially because of the shock and because you knew how expensive it was.

of course you were staring at it for too long on that fateful evening both of you strolling around the city. the necklace caught your attention the moment you saw it was shining under the sun and was displayed right there in front of you, behind the big glass.

the only thing that was holding you back from barging into the jewelry shop was because of that insane price tag.

childe instead shrugged your question off with his laugh, he cautiously took out the necklace from its purple box. “i caught you staring at it, and your eyes shone so bright, they didn’t lie when i asked you if you wanted this necklace or not, unlike your words,” he recalled the moment you quickly shoved him aside from peeking at what you were looking at and pretended that you didn’t want the item.

“as i said before, it wasn’t necessary—

childe’s hands suddenly appeared in front of you, since when did he make his way to stand behind you? you didn’t notice that.

"what—

the cool feeling in contact with your bare skin made you speechless. childe could be a gentleman when he wanted to, it was a rare occasion, of course, but if he did this to you, you might or might not have a teeny little crush on him and that was definitely a bad sign.

the moment he secured the piece of jewelry around your neck from the back, childe quickly spun you around to face him standing as you cooled down your racing heart, and the beats picking up again when you felt him patting your head.

"happy birthday to you, my first, precious and lovely roommate. now you would at least bring a piece of me with you.”

DILUC was a man who would rather keep all things to himself than talking the out with you.

that was how things had always been from the first three months both of you had started living under the same roof.

he was introverted, and you were perfectly fine with it.

he was minding his own business, and you did the same too. nothing clashed, no fights, and although you somehow met with a dead end trying to bonding more with your roommate, it always ended up with the thoughts that he might be uncomfortable if you indulged yourself to have a proper conversation with him.

he always came back home late way passed the twelve o'clock and you always wondered, what did he do for a living?

yes, you were so delusional that sometimes you thought he was doing illegal things at nights. he sometimes did intimidate you by his looks so you wouldn’t stray off that far, right?

well, the answer to your question was finally answered when your friends brought you to crash at a local, famous tavern, and oh, you were shocked, super shocked to see diluc, the mysterious roommate stood behind the counter.

“diluc, why aren’t you looking at me?”

he swore you gave him a headache. just why did you end up drunk and he knew that he would be the one taking you home.

“diluc,” you whined, for some reasons, you were super clingy, acting like a lost puppy and followed him everywhere when he tried to close the tavern.

there was no breathing customers in sight, it was late at night and even your friends left you for him to handle your drunken state.

if he could leave you alone here, he would probably do it, but to say that you peaked his interest that night was an understatement.

you ended up landing your face onto the counter, waiting eagerly for diluc to wipe off the counter and you said what weighing inside your heart the most. “diluc, let’s be friends.”

his actions ultimately stopped when he saw you looking at him with a pair of eyes that almost made his heart skipped a beat. you looked so innocent, he never thought that you were capable of doing that, or was it because you had some possible effects on him?

“hm?”

“i said, let’s be friends,” you sighed dramatically, and suddenly bumped your head hard onto the wooden counter. diluc almost slipped out the small glass in his hand hearing the loud thud. “i want to know you more. it has been like, what, 3 months since we knew each other yet i only knew you work here today,” your hands flying all over the place before your roommate placed both of his hands on your tensed shoulders.

“calm down, y/n,” he sighed, but a small smile started to form on his lips. “we have years to come, you will eventually know me, right?”

you started to freak out with his words, slapping his face away from you and a scoff was heard by the man in front of you. “you’re weird,” you commented.

diluc acted like nothing happened, he had came across a lot of situations with drunken people and he knew you weren’t going to stop until he said what you wanted. “yes, friends.”

“pinky promise?” a wide grin plastered all across your face as soon as you heard diluc words, and diluc almost, almost went red with how his heart tugging at how adorable you were right now. well, you did have an effect on him after all.

and so, your fingers intertwined, a childish promise was made before diluc pulled his hand away from you.

“now, let’s go back home together. i’ll have to take care of you so do not act foolishly along the way.”

XIAO wasn’t fond, or even acknowledged, that there was literally another person living with him. to say that you at least felt distant from him was an understatement, and maybe, just maybe, you did feel hurt sometimes with how cold he was.

your friends, who often crashed inside your small apartment seemed to notice how quiet he was. it was like he wasn’t there in the first place, ignoring you and your friends as he casually went inside his room, shutting the door and never came out again for the rest of the night.

yes, you did feel worried about him. how he was so alone and didn’t socialise with people made you wonder how on earth did he manage to share this place with you, and still treated you like you were some sort of an invisible entity since then.

no matter how many times you tried to talk with him, coincidentally, or consciously, bumping into him while doing the dishes or the laundry, sitting down next to him while he was alone on the couch only for him to say nothing and got up leaving you slightly disheveled at his actions, he just wouldn’t get the hint of you wanting to know him more.

you were bored, and xiao acting like this wasn’t going to cure your boredom anyway.

and of course, as someone who basically lived for human interactions, you knew you had to be bold enough and break that stupid barrier he had in him, that barrier in which blocking you and his solitude life far away from another.

so, one day, a thing that you knew you would never do onto your roommate caught up inside your mind, weighing onto you for the entire day, contemplating all over again whether you should or shouldn’t, because this might turn horribly wrong and you feared that the thin line of relationship you two might have would turn out to be more awkward than it already was.

“what are you up to, hm?” xiao jolted at the sudden voice behind him. he almost burnt the pancake he usually did for breakfast. sometimes he did for you too, knowing that you woke up later than him who was a night owl and an early bird all at once.

he stayed silent, but you knew he was cooking breakfast for you too. seeing the amount of multiplied ingredients in front of you made your heart all fuzzy and warmed. at least, he did care for you, even the slightest.

xiao was taken aback when you suddenly hopped onto the counter beside him. somewhere in the back of his mind, he was questioning why you were acting so happy and bubbly. you were always like this, but seeing you being this cheerful and positive made him looked at you with a calculating gaze.

“what?” your legs swinging back and forth. “stop giving me the judging look, xiao,” you scoffed. sure, xiao was a handsome man, and maybe you just couldn’t stand his good-looking face staring at you for too long.

“why are you here?” his question was straightforward, yet his tone was stern and he continued to act cold. if you could describe him, xiao would give the most 'tsundere' vibe you’d ever found in a man.

“oh, you know, just watching you doing stuff,” answering without any hesitation, you instead asked him. “do you need help in anything? you do this for me too.”

to say that xiao was flabbergasted with you pinpointing his deed was more than enough for you to understand his situation, and xiao faked a cough, proceeding to ignore you at his side and flipping the pancakes.

when he finally done, you jumped off the counter and quickly grabbed the plates nearby, serving them for you, and for him too.

“what is this for, y/n?” oh, so xiao knew your name after all, you nearly thought he’d forgotten about it. you didn’t blame him though, you were just another unimportant person in his life. “let’s eat breakfast together,” you gave him a cheeky grin, and xiao still stood firm although you had placed the pancakes onto the small dining table, yours and his were opposite of each other and you smiled at the thought of your plan since last night doing well so far.

“it’s fine,” xiao hurriedly took his plate, and you truly knew where he was heading, it was either his room, or the living room. so you did what your instinct told you, gently slapping his hand away from the plate and although you’d already sat and he was still shocked with your hand wrapping his arm, xiao quickly looked away, closed his eyes and gave you a big sigh.

“come here,” you pulled him to sit in his place, and to your suprise, he didn’t fight you back.

“where is this going?” he asked, and you felt like smacking his head for being too oblivious with your situation of wanting him to feel like he was your roommate and not just another stranger lounging across the apartment.

you pulled up your spoon. “do you want me to lecture you on how to be close with another person?” flicking his forehead with your spoon instead only for xiao to still stay emotionless and frowned slightly at the pressure on his face. “just eat, big boy. i swear if you’re acting like a lost child once again, i might go feral.”

“why do i have to listen to you?” he still didn’t want to back down, and still questioning all your actions so you quickly got up from your seat, your hands found his face and xiao’s eyes widening at your warm touch on his face, you were bold, he gave that.

“xiao,” you called his name gently, and he felt how his heart dropped at your sad eyes. “can we be more than just strangers?” you murmured. the way xiao looking up at you intently made your heart almost cried at the sight. he was a good roommate although there was a lack of interactions between the two of you, xiao still cooked your breakfast occasionally.

but you weren’t going to ignore the fact that there was something felt lacking between you and him.

and now, when you felt xiao’s hands taking your hands away from his face, you almost exploded in emotions. was this the direction of your relationship and him left you alone again? why did you feel so emotional, did xiao really had an impact on your life?

maybe he did, he was the one taking care of you in the shadow after all, although he was silent about it.

were you really that desperate for his attention?

and all was shut up when you felt xiao stood up, holding you near him, wrapping his arms around your waist and although the hug was awkward and he was stiff, it was enough to soothe you.

“i’m sorry,” his voice turned softer, silently blaming himself for doing this to you, and you were taken aback with the smell of his cologne, the small space between you and him and the gentle tone he was using.

“i’m sorry, i’ll try improving myself and be a good roommate to you, y/n.”

the first thing to note about ZHONGLI was how cautious and gentle his actions were towards you.

everything he did was so admirable and you couldn’t help to adore this mature side of him, minus when he started to go all in with an insignificant topic like who invented the coffee table or when wine was first made in the industry.

he could be an old man if he went on rambling about all these knowledgeable stuff until your brain went black, malfunctioning, and couldn’t process the information you actually wouldn’t need and use in your daily life that you just had to stop him from continuing his speech.

not to mention, he was quiet popular between the neighbours. even your friends would sometimes wanted to meet him only to drool over him and his look, and sometimes you would cut them off and said no.

the only downside of him was how he seemed to borrow your money all the time. his look could pass off as the rich if you didn’t live with him, but well, guess that was his financial problem.

even how he seemed to ace in economics and unconsciously showing his things—branded things by the way—he yet still borrowed your money just because his memory wasn’t good enough to bring his wallet with him.

he could memorise everything perfectly fine but a precious item, namely his wallet, wasn’t his priority and you were scared to see him broke one day.

thank god zhongli was such an intelligent human. too wise for people around his age and this, of course, you took an advantage of asking him to teach you when you had exams around the corner.

and you were so grateful to have him as your free tutor. he might do bad at his job but hey, at least your grades were improving.

“why did this nation called wind as anemo in the ancient times? it’s so complicated,” you frowned at the long text engraved in the thick book. it just happened that history was the last paper and you just couldn’t comprehend why the term existed when they could’ve just call it as wind.

“it’s in greek,” zhongli seemingly super patient with you and your whiny attitude, he decided to just let you be. “and dendro is also in greek,” he added. “only these two are in greek, there is no need to be theatrical about this.”

“yeah, i know, but with how many papers i’ve gone through this week, my brain has insufficient space of storage for now and this makes me feel worse. i am doomed,” you turned towards him dramatically, maybe you were being exaggerated like he said but the nervousness about failing history was unbearable at this point, for you and your mental health.

“nonsense,” he cut your acting and you quickly glared at him. “the human brain is capable of storing memories up to 2.5 million gigabytes, and there’s never too much for your brain,” he leaned back onto the cushion chair beside yours, bringing his hands to his chest and looked at you as if he was quite disappointed with your little to no efforts.

“one synapse of the brain could—

"okay, mr. zhongli, i’m sorry,” you cut his words before your supposedly history lesson with him turned out into some sort of a neurology class and you definitely didn’t want that.

“let’s be real here,” you spun your chair to see his face directly in front of you, ankles immediately meeting with his and you almost flinched at the contact. zhongli was unfazed so you decided to casually push your chair back a little without making it look awkward due to his intimidating aura when he was serious, and to make more distance between the two of you.

“so, the famous history of teyvat civilization,” you brought your fingers. “there are seven thriving nations,” you continued before seeing that zhongli was staring at you intently. it was too much for your heart to handle. he looked so cool and you were scared of looking stupid.

“ugh,” you groaned, bringing your chair back to the table. “just why do i have to memorise all these facts about this inexistent world in the first place?”

“you have to,” he answered unknowingly. “now, do you want to revise or..?” the calming voice beside you made you felt like an idiot compared to a smart man like him.

“alright,” you sighed, zhongli did have a point. this was for your final semester grade, and you knew you would instantly regret it if your grade ended up low.

“enlighten me then,” he did what he always did when you asked him to tutor you or to supervise you studying.

you took a deep breath. “there were once seven gods people in teyvat worshipped,” you peered your eyes at zhongli and he nodded calmly at your words. “the god of anemo, geo, electro, dendro, hydro, pyro and cryo. all these gods also have their own titles which are freedom, contract, eternal, wisdom, justice, war and love respectively,” you trailed off. even only in a single sentence, your brain jammed trying to process them.

“i couldn’t do this, we aren’t even at the part of each of the nations yet,” you gave up, closing the book before getting up from your seat and ultimately backing away from your study. “time to go out and get some fresh air!” you ignored zhongli’s gaze at you, and when you were about to pass zhongli and get out of your room, zhongli pulled you back from his seat, only for you to land on top of him and a silent gasp came out from your mouth.

what the hell was he even thinking about?

“you are not going anywhere,” his deep voice made your insides tingling. your heart skyrocketed and with how fast he pulled you into him, he placed you back in front of your study like he didn’t do that with you in the first place. your face felt hot, red and you somehow felt nauseous all at once.

where the heck did he learn to do that from?

did he know your poor heart couldn’t take that?

“cat got your tongue?” zhongli’s chuckle resonated through the thick atmosphere within your suffocating room.

“what’s that for?” in that short span of time, you decided to chin up and not showing him how affected you were by his actions. your insides was screaming yet you gave him a look to hide the embarrassment you felt.

“i know you would not even bother to read after this, that was definitely an uninspiring argument you had,” he pulled his chair to become much more closer than you intended him to.

there was no way you were going to focus with him acting like this all of sudden.

“y-yeah, i’ll continue,” you stuttered, and zhongli found it was an adorable sight to see.

“that's my sweetheart.”

all rights reserved © berrywoo 2023 strictly on tumblr only. any form of wrongdoings under the copyright law is strictly prohibited.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

The Waves of Love

@blurredcolour hello I’m your giftee for @hbowardaily summer exchange. So after a lot of debating I chose your favourite MOTA character: John Egan. I’m always doubtful whether I capture John right and I feel like there are writers far better than myself who write him perfectly but I hope I have done him justice and I hope you enjoy this little fic of John Egan and his WAC wireless operator lover. Also thank you so much for being so patient with me after my first version had some technical difficulties.

September 8th 1943

Being friends with John Egan was something that had made Adeline’s life fuller than she could have ever imagined. Before joining to WAC and traveling to England she had never realised how sheltered and simple her life had been.

John Egan was the kind of man that fathers sheltered their daughters from. ‘He’s nothing but trouble,’ her father would have told her, and in truth she would have believed him. But that wasn’t the John she knew, her best friend who no matter what could make her smile. The same man who held her heart without even knowing it since her unit had arrived at Thorpe Abbott in July. She was part of the first unit of WAC women sent to support the 8th Air Force, and she thanked her lucky stars she was assiganed to the 100th.

The pub was loud and stuffy by the time Adeline had arrived. The late summer air had been thick and humid all day and despite her cool summer dress, she had built up a sweat on the bike ride over. She was glad to be out of her thick, brown WAC uniform after a stifling day listening to radio reports and transmitting messages to the aircraft around Thorpe Abbott.

Fanning herself, she smoothed down her curls before pushing open the large wooden door and stepping inside. A wall of smoke hit her and a ruckus of laughter met her ears. It would have been unusual should the pub have been quiet on a Friday evening but somehow she was surprised just how loud some of the men could be.

She stepped up to the bar, standing behind two airmen who were discussing a certain dark-haired broad sitting with her friends on the other side of the bar. Adeline tried to ignore the men’s comments. She understood they were a long way from home in a foreign country spending each moment in the air fighting for their lives, but some still took it a little too far.

“Can’t have a lady such as yourself drinking alone now, can I?”

And there he was, smiling down at her from where he leant against the thick wooden beam supporting the thatched roof. The cocky smile and raised eyebrow matched his signature expression that he always sent her way.

She shook her head, “I haven’t even got a drink yet. How can I be drinking on my own?” She gestured to her empty hands, ignoring the smirk that grew across the pilot's face. “And anyway, shouldn’t you be celebrating something…?”

John shook his head, a light blush covering his cheeks as he ignored her comment.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve got you covered then.” He grasped her hand, leading her away from the bar despite her protest. John Egan always had a way of making her late to things, and tonight that would include her getting a drink.

He led her to a small table by the dark paned window and she tried to ignore the strips of masking tape that crossed the window, blocking her view.

Two glasses of whiskey sat on the table before them and Adeline took her seat, staring down into her drink.

“How did you know?” She gestured to the glass. Normally she would arrive with a group of other women from the base but John would make a beeline for her and she often didn’t see much of her friends after that.

John just shrugged, falling into the wooden chair opposite her and lighting up a cigarette.

“You always get the same drink. It’s not hard to guess,” a mischievous grin spread across his lips, “And besides, I want to celebrate my birthday with you, not watch you queuing for a drink all night.”

Adeline groaned, she knew the kind of ‘celebrating’ that John liked to do and it usually ended in trouble.

“Not tonight, John. I’ve had a really long day and I’m here to celebrate you becoming an old man.” She chuckled, squealing as he poked her side affectionately.

John, seemingly understanding that she wasn’t in the mood for getting into trouble, nodded slowly, his expression instantly softening. He shuffled his chair around to sit beside her, dark eyes watching her carefully. His expression reminded her of a young boy, waiting patiently for someone to tell him something important.

“Wanna talk about it?”

She didn’t really. The whole day had been so long and stressful that Adeline just wanted to forget all about it, but she knew John too well. He wasn’t going to relent until he knew what was bothering her.

“Well you know, Major Egan, you sure do like causing trouble,” she sent him a small smile, remembering the events of the afternoon. The room had been buzzing after a certain Major took a joy ride in a B17 with ‘radio silence’. She’d found the event rather humorous listening to John’s laughter coming over the radio, but the small chuckle that had slipped past her lips landed her with a mountain of paperwork from her superior officer. His words of ‘these are United States Air Force property’ rang in her ears.

She’d spent the last three hours, after her shift, should have ended typing up reports and correspondence at her desk.

John looked at her, a little confused, until an amused smirk spread across his lips. He now realised what Adeline had been talking about.

“Well what can I say,” John chuckled, sipping his drink thoughtfully, “I just like keeping you on your toes.”

John had rather enjoyed his afternoon, soaring over the countryside with his best friend Buck Cleven in tow. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to talk Buck into joining him and they’d both landed in a mountain of trouble which was the reason Buck wasn’t here celebrating his birthday, but it sure had been worth it. The only thing that would have made it better would have been Adeline by his side.

She rolled her eyes, remembering the way her superior officer had nearly had a stroke whilst trying to report the happenings on the Fort doing laps around the base. She had to admit that seeing the straight-laced officer falling apart due to John’s antics had been rather humorous.

“Well, I don’t think my senior officer would agree.”

John’s grin only grew wider, “Well, he needs to lighten up a little. The poor guy’s too uptight all the time, gotta give him a little excitement.”

Adeline rolled her eyes again, chuckling to herself. Picking up her glass of whiskey she raised it in the air, “To causing trouble!”

“I can definitely drink to that,” John laughed, clinking his glass with her own.

There was a familiar look that settled in John’s dark eyes that Adeline couldn’t quite place. It was a soft gaze that accompanied the gentle smile, and her heart only beat faster. It was so rare to see the infamous John Egan looking softly at someone that she always had to remind herself of all the other girls he’d occupied his time with, otherwise she might have found herself truly falling for him. That was the last thing she needed.

Having hit it off from the first moment they met, after John had apologised profusely for nearly knocking her off her bike, the pair had become inseparable. She never felt like she was competing with Buck to be John’s better half, but there was something about their relationship that just worked. She wasn’t sure when she first noticed the way they looked at each other, but it certainly dawned on her when he’d offered to drive her to the ops room for her shift. The next morning, he had done the same thing and John had repeated this every day since, every morning like clockwork.

“Were you at least impressed by my flying?”

He laughed, remembering how the officers had hit the deck when he’d ‘buzzed the tower’.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, Major,” Adeline replied nonchalantly, sipping her whiskey and wincing as it burned her throat. This was the good stuff, then again John Egan never went cheap when it came to whiskey.

Chuckling, he threw his arm around her, squeezing her shoulder.

“Can’t even get a compliment on my birthday. One day I’ll find out what it takes to impress the infamous Lady Adeline.”

Adeline snorted at her new title, smiling up at him and losing herself in his dark eyes, “I’ll hold you to that, Major.”

He winked back at her, downing the rest of his whiskey before stretching his hand out to her.

She raised an eyebrow, “What do you want now?” She jested, allowing him to lead her away from the table.

“Can’t a guy dance with a beautiful woman on his birthday?” He spun her around in his arms, their faces inches away from each other. “Beside, there’s no one else I’d rather spend my evening with.”

…….. …….. …….. …….. …….. …….. …….. …….. …….. ……..

October 8th 1943

The day Buck Cleven’s Fort went down, Adeline knew that everything would change. As soon as the news reached her it was as though time had frozen, Adeline's heart plummeted. She knew John was in London. He’d been having a rough time of it and Harding thought it would be good for him to get away for a while. She could only imagine how he’d react when he found out.

Pushing herself from her desk she hurried from the building, ignoring the shouts of her senior officer. Her legs carried her to the hard stand where the remaining Forts were taxied. The crews looked exhausted. Broken. Defeated.

The image of their return brought her no comfort, not like they normally did. She’d lost count of how many times she’d counted the Forts back to base, celebrating as each plane touched down and waving at John as he boarded the truck to the briefing hut. He’d seek her out afterwards, telling her about the mission, the losses, everything. He confided in her and she’d always let him. It felt wrong to not have him returning now, especially when Buck wasn’t there either.

She flopped down into the grass, not bothered by the grass stains that would inevitably appear on her dark brown skirt. Her heart hurt at the loss of Buck Cleven. A large part of her life at Thorpe Abbott had been ripped away from her that day. Although she had never known him as well as she’d known John, he had become a constant around the base. You rarely saw one without the other, and even though John was safe in London it felt eerily unnerving without the two Bucks at Thorpe Abbott.

Adeline wasn’t a superstitious woman, but it hardly felt like a good omen. She could only hope now that John would return here in one piece, but after the news of losing his best friend, Adeline couldn’t be so sure.

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October 10th 1943

The words clung at the back of her throat, unable to escape as her heart stilled in her chest. Tight, compressed gasps escaped her lungs as she tried to control her emotions. It was no good, there was nothing that could stop the tears from escaping, cascading down her cheeks with no signs of stopping.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder and someone guided her from the room and into a plain office. She felt herself being pushed down into a dark, leather chair, the studs digging into her back but her whole body felt too numb to complain.

Adeline could feel the cool pressure of a glass of water being pressed firmly into her hand and the familiar face of her superior officer looked at her, his mouth moving so slowly and silently that Adeline wasn’t sure if she was dreaming.

The loud clatter of keys from the typewriters in the next room deafened any sensible thought she could have. The constant pounding and pinging drove her to the point of insanity and she wondered how much longer she could stay there.

Adeline had found herself outside the officer's hut in the early hours of the morning, tears in her eyes as she had begged him not to go. She knew it was no use, he had a job to do and he wanted more than anything to avenge the death of his best friend.

“Buck wouldn’t want you to get yourself killed for him, Johnny. Please don’t do this,” she’d cried, sobbing into the front of his life preserver, the rough fabric of his sheepskin jacket grazing her cheek.

“Doll, I have to do this,” John’s voice was strained as if he was fighting back his own tears. “You know I have to do this.”

“I know,” she cried, “But I wish you didn’t.”

She didn’t know if John had cried with her that morning but she knew he felt the same anxiety within his chest, eating away at him as they waited for the inevitable.

“Oh come on, Doll. You know I’m always careful,” John reached down quickly, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes and allowing his gaze to linger a little longer than usual. His dark eyes seemed to read the invisible expression on her face because his own softened, his moustache twitching and he bent down, pressing his lips against her flushed cheek. Adeline could feel her heartbeat quicken and only hoped that John couldn’t hear the way it pounded every time they met.

How could he be gone? It wasn’t possible. Not John Egan. He’d promised her, after everything with Buck, he'd promised to come back in one piece.

She was relieved from duties for the rest of the day, ‘until she got her head in the game’, she had been told. She couldn’t bear to sit listing to the static buzzing any longer. Her superior officer gave her a warning look, a bushy eyebrow raised as he watched her be led by one of the other wireless operators out of the building. If she’d been feeling up to it she’d have had some snide comment for him, but she remained silent, allowing herself to be led to the WAC Nissen hut.

As the door to the hut closed signalling that she was finally alone, Adeline lowered herself carefully onto the small, wooden chair beside her cot, legs shaking weakly beneath her. The tears she had tried her best to contain flowed swiftly down her cheeks, smudging her mascara beneath her eyes.

How could he be gone? Just like that. Erased from her life. For someone who had as much life in him as John Egan had, how could it be snuffed out so quickly and quietly, as if he was never there in the first place?

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February 1944

She wanted to write, she truly did, but she didn’t know what to say.

How could she put into words how she felt and send it to Germany for him? What would happen if he didn’t feel the same way?

The thought that she may never see him again made her realise just how much he had meant to her. The simple acts of kindness he had given her had filled her day-to-day existence with so much love. She missed the short jeep rides with him every morning. She missed the way his eyes always found hers across the airstrip as he returned from a mission. She missed the meetings in the pub, the way his arm had caressed her on their walk back to base. Yet she couldn’t find it in her to tell him how she truly felt.

The stack of unsent letters that rested in her bedside draw gathering dust told the story of her feelings towards him. The first few were from a concerned friend, asking after his health and welfare. The next few from someone who held him in high regard as their closest friend, dropping in a few more sentences that could have been taken from several perspectives. The most recent ones could have passed for a fiancée or wife, someone who loved him deeply and wanted him to return to their loving embrace. None of them left the bedside draw and saw the light of day.

With an exasperated sigh, Adeline ripped up the most recent letter, scrunching it into a tight ball and throwing it into the bin in the corner. No good could come of this.

What could she honestly write to someone stuck in a POW camp that could hold any sort of weight?

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May 1945

As the Fort roared above her head, Adeline couldn’t help the nervous energy that bubbled inside her, threatening to spill over in hysterical, happy laughter or even more hysterical tears. She had waited so long for this moment, but now it was finally here she seemed as though she was lost for words, fighting to recall something from all the letters she had written.

The Fort flew a circle over the base until it landed on the runway, drawing to a halt on the hard stand. Adeline had seen more Forts than she could count land at Thorpe Abbott over the last two years, but this time it was different.

She found her fingers digging painfully into the dark, wooden windowsill as she watched the ground crew encircle the Fort, helping a few figures emerge from the aircraft. Her eyes landed on the familiar swagger from one of them. She’d know that walk anywhere.

“Go on, go and see him.”

Adeline jumped, turning to glance over her shoulder at her superior officer, who simply gave a nod towards the door. Adeline nodded in thanks, a wide grin spreading across her lips as she flew through the door and down the steps onto the grass.

She nearly twisted her ankle in her haste but managed to catch herself before she stumbled to the floor. Wincing against the pain, she pushed forward. She’d have time to rest her sore ankle later, now she just needed to get to the Fort.

Her army-issued, brown, leather shoes slapping the ground with each step, pounding the tarmac as she ran. Adeline wished now that she’d grabbed one of the bicycles that had been propped against the ops rooms building, but it was too late for that.

She could feel her legs growing weaker as she stumbled over the uneven ground, cutting corners across the grassy patches to reach the Fort faster. Her heart pounded uncontrollably, winding her slightly with every breath at the thought of what might come next.

As his name fell from her lips one of the figures stopped, turning away from the others and falling quiet. From across the field, Adeline couldn’t make out the broad smile that grew across his face, she couldn’t make out his tired eyes shining in relief.

She did however see the way his legs stepped forward, breaking into a run. She followed suit, letting her own legs carry her unsteadily towards him.

“JOHN!” She shouted again, her lungs burning from the effort but her heart's desperate pounding forced her forward.

He didn’t shout in return, instead his arms flew around her body, lifting her off the floor and spinning her around him. Her legs flailed, kicking outwards, as she squealed in excitement.

Adeline felt so light, as if John were to let go of her then she might float away, but his tight grip remained firmly on her hips as he placed her down.

He grinned at her, the same damn grin that he used on her so many times before and that always made her tongue tied. His moustache twitching curiously at the corners. His face was thinner than she remembered, more gaunt and pale. His dark eyes seemed to tell the whole story as he looked down at her, eyelids sagging tiredly.

“Well I’m glad someone’s happy to see me,” he chuckled, giving her hands a quick squeeze as he stepped back. “Look at you, just as beautiful as ever.”

Adeline shook her head, cheeks blushing a dark rouge as they always did when he complimented her, and she loved it. For a moment the anxiety that had been eating away at her seemed to disappear until it swooped back, threatening to spill forth. If she didn’t tell him soon she thought she might never tell him.

“John, I need to tell you something,” she sighed, pulling him away from him. She tried to ignore the way his lips dropped a little, moustache dropping and his sparkling eyes dimmed. He suddenly looked very serious, far older than his years and Adeline couldn’t help but feel guilty for changing his jovial mood so quickly.

She gripped his hand, leading him away from any prying eyes and towards the WAC Nissen hut that lay away from the runway. The short walk was tortuous, painfully silent and damn right depressing for both involved. Adeline wished more than anything in that moment that she was better with words and could crack a joke to put them both at ease, but alas she remained silent.

She hopped up the step quickly, throwing open the hut door. She was thankful that her fellow wireless operators were on shift and they had the hut to themselves.

John stood on the doorsteps, peering into the hut that he knew was forbidden territory.

“Adeline, I can’t go in there.” There was a sadness hidden in his voice that she’d never heard before. The old John would have jumped at the chance of being smuggled into the women’s Nissen hut and she had always been adamant to say goodnight to him on the doorstep.

Adeline hurried forward, grasping his hand and dragging him inside before someone spotted them, or she lost her nerve.

John’s eyes scanned the hut curiously, observing the name written above each bed until he found Adeline’s. Her living space was small, a simple cot, a small bedside draw that she shared with the girl beside her. There were two pictures beside her bed, one of her family, and the other took John by surprise.

He picked up the silver rimmed frame, his thumb brushing over the smiling faces before him. He barely recognised himself. He looked so young. His bright, youthful face grinned back at him, his arm draped over Adeline’s shoulder as she grinned up at him. Buck had taken the photo of them on the evening in the pub after their first Bremen mission.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he placed the frame back beside the bed, his eyes soon finding Adeline’s watching him worriedly.

“John, I need to tell you something,” she repeated again, hoping that if she started at the beginning that everything she wanted to say would fall into place.

John gave her a strained grin, “You already told me that part, Doll.”

“Right,” she fumbled, tugged at the cuff of her brown Class A uniform. “Right. It’s something I should have told you a long time ago. I guess I never truly realised until you were gone, and I didn’t feel that it was something I could just put into a letter.”

John’s forehead creased slightly, but his face remained calm, emotionless, and the anxiety in Adeline’s chest only grew. If John could give her some sort of reassurance to continue then she might make it through the speech, but he didn’t.

“Well, you see, we’ve always been friends, good friends in fact, and while I hold our friendship very dear…”

“Adeline,” John's voice was firm and it caused Adeline’s mouth to slam shut in a sharp breath. John had never been one for formalities with her, sure he knew her name but he had always used nicknames. To hear her God given name spring from his lips only made the situation worse.

“Adeline, if you’re here to tell me that you’ve met someone then let’s stop this right here. You know I’ve always cared for you, more than I ever let on really. I wish I could have told you sooner, but while I was away it never felt like the right time to spring that kind of information on you.” John took a deep breath, his hand moving to cup Adeline’s shocked face.

“I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’m happy you’ve met someone that obviously makes you happy and I don’t intend to stand in the way of that. As soon as I can I’ll be heading back to the States for Buck’s wedding and I’ll be out of your hair for good.”

Adeline wasn’t sure if she’d ever heard John speaking in such a heartfelt way, but the notion caused her to freeze, mouth agape as she gasped for air like a fish out of water. How could this conversation have gone in the completely opposite direction to what she had intended?

“What!” She blurted out, forgetting all the ladylike manners that her mother instilled in her as a young girl. “I…I mean, I haven’t… I haven’t found anyone. There isn’t anyone to find, the man I love is already here in front of me,” she sighed. “I’ve just been too scared to tell him.”

Now this was something John did understand.

Adeline turned away, digging her hand into the draw of her bedside table, and fishing out a stack of letters. She handed them to John, a faint smile on her lips.

John ran his thumb over the stack. There must have been at least twenty letters there, all written in Adeline’s delicate hand. His face broke into an uncontrollable grin when he saw the name on the envelope:

Major J. C. Egan

His eyes found Adeline’s and he watched as faint tears began trickling down her rosy cheeks. She had written all of these to him and never sent them. Why? How could he have been so blind to see that what he’d carved all those lonely nights in Stalag Luft was right in front of him the whole time?

John bit his lip. He’d always been considered quite the ladies man with the ability to flirt with anyone, but Adeline was different. She was special and he didn’t want to mess this up.

Deciding that words wouldn’t suffice, he stepped forward, one hand wrapping around the back of her head while his other gripped her hip, pulling her to his chest.

Without missing a beat he pressed his lips firmly to hers, trying to convey all the love, hurt and desperation he’d been bottling up for the last two years. John felt Adeline gasp into his mouth before settling in his arms, her own hands wrapping around his neck, wracking through his dark locks.

Adeline had never felt more alive than she did encased in John’s arms. It was a moment she had dreamed of for so many years that now it was coming to pass she wasn’t sure if it was even real.

Pulling back, her bright eyes glanced up at John, her breath leaving her lips in short gasps as her brain took its time catching up.

He smirked mischievously, tucking a loose strand of Adeline’s hair away from her face.

“I knew I was a good kisser, but I’ve never made a girl speechless before.”

Adeline chuckled, smacking her hand playfully against his chest, “Trust you to ruin the moment, Major.” There was the old John back.

“Well, I’ve waited long enough to try that. You have no idea how distracting your voice is over the radio. Damn!” John swooned dramatically, sweeping Adeline up into his arms. She squealed, smacking him playfully again.

“Can I take you out sometime, Adeline?” John cleared his throat, cocking a dark eyebrow at her, waiting patiently but already knowing what her answer would be.

Adeline rubbed her chin thoughtfully, trying to remain serious with her body pressed against the Major. “Well, my schedule is quite busy… but I’m sure I’ll find time.” She jested, cupping his cheek fondly. “But no more disappearing, Major. I don’t think I could survive losing you again.”

“Cross my heart, Doll.”

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Tags: @georgieluz @docroesmorphine @major-mads @violetdaze25 @bcofl0ve @precious-little-scoundrel @artlover8992 @b00ks1ut @xxluckystrike @hockeyboysarehot @groovin2beats @kmc1989 @ginabaker1666 @hesbuckcompton-baby @beebeechaos @forsythiagalt @prettyinlimegreenboots @blueberry-ovaries

[writingoddess1125]

Boardwalk Artist

Finally used my limited drawing skills for this little story!

Support me on Ko-Fi

No warnings. Fluff-tastic!!

It had been a fairly good day on the boardwalk- Plenty of ships stopping by which allowed you to get some minor work done. Any money was good for you, especially as a artist which wasn't a common or appreciated trade in the East Blue.

Most your work came from low time pirates wanting a better drawing of themselves instead of the unflattering photo from their Bounty's. However the little Berry you got was enough to eat, keep a roof over your head and buy more supplies.

Speaking of supplies-

You sigh as you realize this is the last page of this pack of paper- better make it worth it. Maybe a landscape or the sky or..

However something red and blue catches your eye- spotting a stranger walking down the boardwalk past you.

Your eyes focus on the stranger, noticing the scowl on his face and the clear distaste he had that lingered on his aura. However despite the scowl he was unique looking and at least to you attractive. Strong jawline, pretty blue eyes, wonderful cyan hair and the cheaply painted over 5 o'clock shadow adding a rugged look to his appearance. Defiently your type in some way.

So you begin to sketch him, The last paper being filled up by this odd clown stranger walking past. It was almost muscle memory at this point as you captured him to your finest abilties.

He must have felt you staring as he turns to give you a passing glare-

So you waved him over, he glanced around himself like he was expecting forr you to call for someone else- till you pointed directly at him and waved him over again which lead him stepping forward. The pocey of circus people carrying weapons behind him also staring at you in question at your odd actions-

You finish the sketch with ease and smile at the odd man as he got within a few feet of your little set up.

"Here you go. Last paper of the day is free" You said kindly ripping the last peice of paper from your board and handed it to him as you stood up to pack up your things.

He opened his mouth clearly to say something snarky and rude but paused as he looked at what you handed him.

He stared at the paper, it was a pretty okay drawing of him from the side mainly charcoal with some light white, red and blue chalk were his nose, makeup and hair was which made them pop nicely. In the corner was a scribbled signature and note saying 'You look cool, Thanks!'

He looked up at your surprised as you finished packing the last of your supplies of the day.

"Er- Uh thanks?" He said in a confused tone, Clearly not used to stuff like this. Which was normal for most customers you got anyway.

"No problem, Should thank ya for the nice look" You say cheerfully putting on your backpack and tucking the cheap wooden easel under your arm.

"Oh by the way your nose looks really pretty with your hair color. Complimentary colors and all" You say with a wave and smile. Walking away leaving the Captian standing there bewildered and unable to process what just happened.

[neosero]

[ 11:30pm ]

you’re his favorite, though it doesn't feel like it sometimes

word count | 1.5k+

noteworthy mentions | gn!reader; gojo x reader; jujustu-college!au; unimportant but the reader cursed-technique uses tattoos;

blue-eyed freak

you still mad at me :)

As soon as you open your messages you regret it. Of course you’re still mad — leaving you to handle the after mission briefings was one thing you’re used to, but getting ditching to find a way home alone on the count that he wanted to go limited souvenir shopping in Puerto Rico is a step too far.

The speech bubbles appear almost as soon as you open the message, like he knows you’ve seen it and you don’t doubt the possibility. You turn your phone off and toss it to the side, choosing to finish your course work rather than give him the satisfaction of knowing you’ve seen it.

Still, your phone vibrates once then after an hour it goes off again. This is normal for Satoru really — a triple text then radio silence until he’s had enough of the silent treatment. Then he comes barreling through your dorm room as if it was his own. You’d thought about reporting him before or at least asking for a change in partnership, but he would most likely find a way to prevent that from going through. As your senior he can get away with it — that and the higher-ups just about bend over backwards for him.

His radio silence lasts about another two hours just as the moon reaches her summit for the night, then three curt knocks echo through your dorm room.

Gojo never knocks.

He might tap his fingers along the door to his new favorite song of the day, yell at you to open up or he’ll break it down again, he may come in through the window at times or somehow get Geto to use a curse to unlock your door for him like a mad man…

But he never knocks.

You stand, work nearly finished but long forgotten and head to the door. You don’t feel an over abundance of cursed energy nor do you hear the tell tale giggling of a prank getting set up just outside when you place your ear against the cool steel. Confused, you finally look through the peephole and see nothing. You open the door, casting your gaze down the hall to be met with common silence.

You almost believe you were ding-dong-ditched by the man you wanted to avoid, until a note falls off your door and at your feet. COME TO THE ROOF, it reads with no signature; although you recognize the handwriting as if it were your own. You wish you had the self control to ignore it — to ignore him, but you don't. Geto likes to say that it's what makes you both so perfect for each other no matter how much you tell him to shut it. Even when you throw his remark over your shoulder it still clings to you like a shadow.

Like now, pushing open the emergency exit doors to the roof of your building. The Autumn night weather picks at your clothed skin as soon as you walk outside and the stars seem to mock you as they flicker amongst themselves within the sky. You stuff your hands in your pockets for warmth.

Scanning the rooftop for your daily tormenter, you are met with the nights silence. You walk around the roof egress to see if he was hiding. The rooftop isn’t that spacious, so if he was here he would’ve been in eyeshot. He isn't.

The only gullible idiot you find on the roof is the one in your own reflections. You shuffle to the gate surrounding the top of the building. Looking down, you can see the faint glow of dragonflies dancing within the shrubs and flowers. Butterflies follow suit jumping from one flower to the next. The cicadas join together in a sad symphony, giving weight to your sudden walk of shame. At least something is enjoying the night.

What were you hoping for anyway?

A sigh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. Anything really.

A sudden pulse of cursed energy hits your senses with a force. Quickly, turn on your heels. Has the bearer been breached again? Your hand pulls up your sleeve, ready to conjure a shikigami from your skin but stops short.

Gojo sits atop the gate opposite to you. He kicks his feet about like a child, smirk pulling at his lips with your jumpy behavior. The feeling of that overbearing has gone just as soon as it came. That prick.

"Didn't think you'd show." He speaks first jumping from the top of the fence. You give no reply in return. Instead, you lean against the gate head turned away from him to eye the distant buildings. Even if you did come all this way to see him, he still isn't forgiven.

Gojo chuckles to himself, "Still mad."

He sighs, faint clouds of breath leave his parted lips at your continued silence. The subtle annoyance brings a sense of joy that you hide away.

He strides to you, the sounds of his shoes hitting the asphalt overbearing all other sounds of night. In the moment you think of all the things he would say when he gets to you …

( 'Come on, it was a one time thing I swear!' or 'Ijichi was in the area anyway.' maybe even a 'As a Grade One that was light-work, I knew you would have made it back no sweat.' )

… or what he’ll do.

( You had made the mistake of voicing your complaints about Gojo to Geto once, thinking it would be all in good fun. And remain confidential. That same day you found yourself ascended high above Japan, clinging desperately to the cause of your afflictions. Gojo called it an apology — showing you the sites of the city. You still believe it as a threat. )

With the jujutsu world’s biggest enigma you can never guess what he’ll do in any given circumstance. That being said, you fain indifference as he stands in-front of you in all his ‘Special Grade’ glory. Tall and lengthy and powerful. He’s in a class of his own in every department and it’s infuriating to always have to look up at him — in both status and everyday life.

An anomaly both in and out of work. He toys with curses one day then snaps them in half before you can blink the next. Choosing to toy with you for days like your back in grade school, then leave you notes to come see him at night in private. He’s made it his mission to keep you guessing.

He still doesn't give you a chance to think about his next moves even now. Not when he throws himself on you like a limp sake of potatoes. You reach to grab him without a second thought. Your arms wrap and his waist to stabilize him, and his wrap around your shoulders in a hug. He buries his face into the point where your neck meets your shoulders and breathes in deep. You have to fight the urge to shiver. Not because of what he did but because you're touching him. And he's warm.

“I’m sorry.”

Oh.

Your shoulders stiffen and he laughs into your neck with the action.

Gojo Satoru never apologizes. He is the highest point of Jujustu Society; the personification of cursed energy itself since the last incarnation of the six eyes. He was raised as a god, the top of the society; you had thought apologizing was beneath him.

"It's fine." You say, unsure of just what you are supposed to say. It apparently isn't that. Gojo pulls off of you with a deep frown.

"It's not fine."

"What I did wasn't cool, and I'd rather the last time we saw each other not be with you hating my guts."

The last time we saw each other?

What does he mean by that? Your mouth opens but he beats you with the answer.

"The higher ups have assigned Geto and I on a mission, but this one is different. One even I don't think we’ll come back unscathed. So, I just wanted to—"

"Wait! Why are you telling me all this Satoru? I don’t understand?" It is weird to see him this open with you, especially with all that has led you to come up here in the first place. The thought of him being sick or faintly under the influence rocks through your mind. Gojo is honestly awestruck with your confused face.

"You really haven't noticed, huh? Guess I do owe Shoko that five."

He pulls off his glasses, placing six eyes all on you.

"It's 'cause you're my favorite and I don't know how far I'd be without you here."

His gaze is piercing, blue eyes just as bright as the full moon tonight. You had no idea what to say before but now you're really stunned. Here is Gojo Satoru laying down his emotions to you on a cold Autumn night. It’s strange; there is a feeling festering in you that you’ve never felt before with him. Is this genuine concern, hope or something else. Whatever it is you can’t tell but for that moment you believed that heartfelt look in his eyes…

Until he starts laughing. He lets a grand puff of air before he tries to hide his giggles poorly, “Sorry, sorry.”

You shove him away from you with an eye roll, but he still shows you a toothy grin.

"You really know how to ruin a moment, ya'know that?"

"Yeah, I do. But you still love me for it."