#victim of the steel heel

[theawesomeaki-kun]

ah yes

my two favorite learned british 𝚐̶𝚎̶𝚗̶𝚝̶𝚕̶𝚎̶𝚖̶𝚎̶𝚗̶ dorks

One is extremely sober despite probs smashed, other one is naturally drunk

Lord Barok Van Zieks + Herlock Sholmes from TGAA ! this is also my headcanon for the multiple hallowed chalices in court lmao

[sorrowfulrosebud]

𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: angst

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙: in which Katsuki sees you get rid of a scrap book you planned to give him after he broke up with you

The breakup was… rough to say the least. You supposed it could have been described as a perfect mirror image to your relationship to begin with; the crushing pain of Katsuki being Katsuki.

Katsuki cracked his knuckles loudly from outside of the Heights Alliance building as he waited in the cold for you. Everyone was out doing something with the group, and Katsuki could not have been more quietly grateful. Even though he was going to rip your beating heart straight out of your body, he wanted you to maintain the dignity and pride that he had originally fallen in love with.

It wasn’t like Katsuki had woke up that morning and decided that he was going to break up with you; months of inner self-depreciation crept into his thoughts day by day, alongside the crippling realisation of his ex-victim’s strength and progress. The weight of his existence was slowly crashing around him, and he needed all of his attention for his strength.

Unfortunately, that meant cutting away dead weight.

Your happy humming could be heard as you wandered your way to your boyfriend. Your face lightened at the sight of him, before your smile drops at his scowl.

“Hi, Suki! Is everything alright?” You asked him worriedly, head tilted to the side. Katsuki’s scowl deepened, causing you to reach out to him.

“Suki please, you’re starting to worry me,” your voice rang through his ears as his hand locked around your wrist before it could reach his fluffy locks. There was a long pause as you retracted your hand, staring wildly at your boyfriend’s face.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he sneered. If he was going to break your heart, he had to rip it out and shove it in the blender. Your eyebrows furrowed as you took your hand back.

“Katsuki, I-,” you were interrupted by Katsuki.

“Don’t fucking call me that either,” he grunted, shoving his hand in his pocket. Tears threatened to prick at your eyes.

“I’m breaking this thing up. It’s not worth my time at all. I’m training to be the number one hero, so I have no time to waste on other useless shit,” his gaze steeled, no ounce of insincerity to be detected. His words cut deep like a sword, your knees feeling weak as tears cling to your lashes.

“Y-you don’t mean that,” you sniffed. Katsuki let out a gruff laugh.

“Don’t I? Look, I guess it was fun when it started, but my priorities haven’t changed. You were just a distraction, something I could put my mind to. I’m not wasting any more time on you, so just leave me alone. I don’t care what you do, or who you get with. Just don’t fucking talk to me anymore, got it?”

His strength was impressive, you thought. How he could say such horrible things to you without buckling or feeling barbed wire dig into his throat. You could only stare at him with tears in your eyes, before shakily nodding. You turned at your heels and unsteadily walked off, before delving into a run back to the dorms.

Katsuki waited until you left. And he waited. And he waited. Until your sobs could no longer be heard. His body shook, before hushed hiccups and cries left his lips. His exhausted body slumped against the wall, shaky hands knuckling at his wet eyes. Well, his dirty deed was done.

Life afterwards was rough for you. After being together for 10 months, your daily routine stung in ways you didn’t know was possible. You found yourself stopping during tasks you had grown unconscious to; you had to stop texting him during the day. Even just the silly thoughts in your head couldn’t be translated in a text to him.

You could only make protein shakes for one now. Laundry loads grew lighter, snack trips became quicker and physical touch with others withdrew exponentially. For the next month, you rotted in your dorm. You ate when Mina would bring you food, her hugging you tightly and angrily grumbling about how much of a dick her friend was.

You managed to stumble to class when you didn’t oversleep the day away. Insomnia plagued you like the Black Death, tossing and turning as you tearfully mourned the relationship you lost. You arrived to class way later than your ex would, avoiding all eye contact even though you were deskmates. (You soon requested a seat change).

Aizawa had had enough when you stumbled late to his lesson for the 5th time, demanding you stay back after class. You gulped and felt your cheeks heat up, embarrassed that your teacher called you out.

The bell for the end of class sounded, bringing you out of your daze.

“(L/N), stay behind please,” came the tired drone of Mr Aizawa. Mina offered you a smile and a rub on the back as she walked off with Kirishima, throwing you a sympathetic look when she left.

Mr Aizawa cleared his throat as he signalled for you to take a seat in front of his desk. He continued marking some papers as his onyx eyes slightly looked at you.

“Your grades are slipping. You’re arriving late to class. You’re avoiding… certain classmates. If you’re struggling, I’d recommend telling me now and continuing the course. If not, pack your bags and take your grievances elsewhere. We’re training heroes, so you need to be exemplary,” he said bluntly, eyes flickering back to his paper.

You sniffled a little, rubbing your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mr Aizawa. I’ll be better,” you promised dully, wiping your eyes on a tissue. His eyes looked back at you.

“I’m not an idiot. I can tell that you and Bakugou have come to some sort of disagreement. If it can get sorted, I would recommend making up as soon as possible-,” he starts.

“We broke up. He… he dumped me. He said such… horrible things to me. About me,” you whimpered, face screwed up as you clutched your uniform. Aizawa stopped writing before putting down his pen.

“I-I know I’m not exactly as composed as Todoroki, or as fast as Iida or as smart as Yaomomo, but I thought there was something about me that he liked. It just hurts how quickly he discarded me. I’m sorry for disturbing your lessons Mr Aizawa, it won’t happen again,” you quietly cried as you sunk your head in shame.

Only to lift your teary head as Mr Aizawa’s large hand encompassed your scalp. He looked at you with slight concern as you wiped your eyes.

“While it’s true that some of your classmates have advantages that you do not, a real hero doesn’t sell themselves short. Where Todoroki is composed, you’re bubbly and outgoing. Although Iida is fast, he often lacks the ability to let loose and enjoy the small things. And yes, Yaoyorozu is a prodigy student due to private schooling, but you put in the hard work and reap the rewards” his words soothed you as he softly rubbed your head.

“A real hero wouldn’t let someone who had to be chained up at the sports festival make them cry. So don’t sell yourself short. That boy has been in far too many detentions to have the nerve to point out your shortcomings,” he finished, removing his hand and gently pressing his fist into your shoulder.

“Understand me? I’ll let this incident pass if you can prove to me that you can put in the rest of the work and be a hero that everyone can put their faith in.”

The tears returned, but for a completely different reason. You quickly hugged Aizawa, his face immediately shifting into one of discomfort before gingerly patting your back. He let out his signature sly grin.

“Besides, if he tries anything, I can always say to Gang Orca that he needs more classes at the provisional licensing centre.”

You smiled at your home room teacher.

“Thank you Mr Aizawa,” you said, releasing him. He let out a small cough.

“Thank me with your actions. Tell anyone I let you hug me and it’s detention for the next month, understand?” He grilled you.

“I understand sir,” you giggled.

“Now go find Ashido, I can smell her anticipation from here,” he instructed.

“Yes sir.”

After Mr Aizawa’s curt but helpful words, you aimed on self improvement. You focused on bettering a routine, sleeping more and eating healthier. Days you would have spent rotting in bed were forced into activities with your classmates.

The breakup still stung like a knife, but it was easier to manage and slowly dwindled down to a papercut. You hadn’t talked to your ex in 2 months, only sly glances when he wasn’t looking.

Unbeknownst to you, Katsuki was absolutely miserable. Seeing you rot and struggle to cope absolutely murdered him inside knowing that he was the person who ripped your heart out, and that he couldn’t stitch it back together. He managed to keep his own composure, training even harder to avoid seeing you or bumping into you.

He nearly passed out from training, he was overworking so hard. It was his own fault, he knew that. He just couldn’t work past his issues with you there; you didn’t deserve to be at the end of his shitty stick.

The pride he felt when you started cleaning yourself up and interacting more with your classmates made his chest swell. You looked so much more beautiful and radiant; the person he fell in love with.

And dumped.

“Stupid fucking Sparky, gettin’ sick and makin’ me do his chores,” Katsuki grumbled, arms overflowing with bin bags as he stumbled to the large bins. It had been 2 months since your breakup. Or, even worse; your 1 year anniversary.

His heart was absolutely wrecked, but he could now slide quick glances to you without fear of you looking at him. He was so proud that you were able to overcome his asshole behaviour, and hopefully swallow any more feelings that you had about him. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of sniffling.

He peeked his head around the corner, dropping the bin bags as quietly as he could. His eyes widened. You were stood near the incinerator, a thick book wedged in your hands.

Tears slowly trickled down your face as you looked at the book. A small smile appeared as you thumbed the cover.

“I… I thought we would have made it. I don’t know, I thought it was all going so well. I know I’ll never probably understand what was going through your head that day, but… it’s time to let go of the past,” you say quietly, rubbing your teary eyes as you open the incinerator door.

“I loved you, god fucking damnit! More than I think I could have ever loved anyone! I suppose a small part of me always will now, though. I just thought we had a better chance. Happy one year anniversary, Katsuki,” you finish as you let out a sob, throwing the book into the furnace. You ran off before checking that the book was fully inside the furnace, slamming the door and running back inside.

Katsuki waited until your steps made no noise, before running forward and pulling the book from the furnace. It was a scrapbook; the book was ridiculously chunky, with glitter glue and doodles smothering the outside, as well as stickers from your combined favourite TV shows. The furnace had charred a large chunk of the book, the smell permeating his nose.

Then he saw your names scrawled neatly in cursive. His heart started to thud as he thumbed the pages.

Polaroid photos of you on dates were plastered neatly on the pages; some photos he remembered, others he had no recollection of. Movie ticket stubs, post it notes with cute messages detailing your affections, stickers you gifted each other, silly photos from photo booths that you dragged him into.

Each page was a flash of white-hot pain. There were photos of him during a festival winning you a fish from a difficult carnival game, his eyes smoked beautifully with eyeliner as he grinned (and won the fish). He wonders if you still had it.

Another photo of his birthday party. The two of you had snuck off to your favourite spot in the woods, where he found that you had created your own picnic spot with a spread of his favourite foods. Photos of shy hand-holding, of him resting in your lap and vice versa.

Katsuki was struggling to see the paper for the tears he tried so desperately to blink away before reaching the last page. A whole page was filled with your writing, and Katsuki had to knuckle his eyes to read it.

Dearest Katsuki,

Wow, a year already! I’m so happy that we’ve come so far, my love. I’m so indebted to you for everything that you’ve done for me; helped me with training, putting up with me, hell even just being there for me.

I know I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, I know I’m easily excitable and not exactly quiet. I love and appreciate that you can listen to me and not get bored, just as I do with you.

Training to be a hero is hard work, so I’m so thankful that you’ve chosen to take your journey with me, even though you’re training so hard to become number one.

I love you more than words can ever describe; you’re the reason I wake up everyday. I adore you, and I hope we can have many more years together kicking ass and beating Deku >o<

Lots and lots and lots of love,

Your (N/N)

Katsuki couldn’t stop the tears that trickled down his face. Reading your words of quiet insecurity, thanking him for things that he threw right back into your face like you were nothing made his heart ache so badly.

He clutched the scrapbook to his chest tightly, sending silent but desperate apologies to you as his head sunk to the floor. Guttural cries escaped him as his choices swirled through his head. The scrapbook’s cover buckled due to the force of his grip as he sobbed his heart out.

Months of self deprecation caught up to him as he craved your touch; he wanted you to hear him, to turn around and hold him tightly to your chest and never ever let go ever again. He needed your sweet affirmations as you played with his hair; “my number one hero,” you would croon as you hugged your tired boyfriend.

His stupid pride got in his way once again, and he finally came to the one conclusion he should have met those 2 fateful months ago.

He couldn’t do this without you.

The trip back to Heights Alliance was a painful one, but Mina hugged away your issues as soon as she saw your misty orbs.

“I’m so proud of you for doing this bestie. You deserve so much better. It’s time to let go of the past,” she told you softly, pink hair tickling your face. You smiled at your best friend.

“Thank you for everything Mina, I really mean it,” you sniffle, wiping your nose and taking a deep breath. You let go of your friend as you smiled at her.

“I think I’m gonna go for a nap, training was super rough today,” you told her, squeezing her hand as she squeezes back.

“Okay, let me know if you need anything. Sleep well, and I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready,” Mina promised, giving you one last hug.

You gave her a wan smile as you walked to your dorm room, throwing a pained look at your exes room. You shook your head as you unlocked the door and got changed into some comfy clothes. Tired bones sunk onto your bed as you let out a sigh.

“It’s time to let go of the past,” you murmur as you fell asleep. As soon as you were about to beat Shigaraki to a pulp, a loud knocking on your door pulled you from your dream.

The knocking was quiet at first, then grew louder, more desperate. You thought it was Mina, and that you had skipped dinner.

You let out a tired laugh, getting out of bed and redoing your hair.

“Okay, okay Mina, I’m coming-“ your voice was cut short as you opened the door, seeing a disgruntled ex staring at the floor.

Clutched tightly in his hand was the scrapbook, as you looked on in shock. How did he get it?! He wasn’t there when you- oh fuck.

Katsuki raised his head, volcanic eyes plagued with tears as he wildly searched your face. He gingerly reached for your hand before sinking to his knees, placing your hand on his face.

“P-please take me back. I know I was a dick, but I’m willing to show you all of my vulnerabilities. Please baby,” he raised his head again.

“I can’t live without you.”

[sarcastic-cookie]

|Hannibal Chrollo x Starling Reader| A Strange Occurrence

Special thanks to @skyyletai for the amazing idea and for helping me with the structuring of this piece!!! Make sure to go follow them! Their writing is immaculate <3

Alright, so this is my first piece of writing on tumblr, and first time writing for Chrollo. Meaning he may be ooc. I tried the best I could to not make him too ooc though. The reader‘s gender is up for interpretation in this one, but I did write it with a fem reader in mind due to them being based on Clarice.

Click-clack, click-clack. Your footsteps echoed through the narrow, dimly lit corridor, reverberating off the damp concrete walls. Each step seemed to reverberate louder than the last, barely drowning out the thumping of your terrified heartbeat. As you descended deeper into the maximum security zone basement, the air grew heavier, and the oppressive darkness only seemed to intensify the nerves eating you alive. The dull hum of the flickering fluorescent lights provided the only illumination source, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls. Amid your spiraling thoughts, you suddenly realized that the security guard had been silently accompanying you, his presence a jarring interruption in the otherwise suffocating silence

  "This is as far as I go. Are you sure you want to do this?" the security guard questioned, looking at you with uncertainty. Nodding your head, you watched as the guard unlocked the steel bars separating you from your goal. "This is the limit of my jurisdiction. Are you certain you wish to proceed?" questioned the security guard, eying you with uncertainty. You gave a firm nod as you observed the guard unlocking the steel bars standing between you and your objective.

A few days ago, your superior, Mr. Kurapika Kurta requested your assistance on a missing children’s case. The child’s name was Yuriko Tanizaki. She was a six-year-old little girl who had gone missing three days before when your superior notified you asking for your help. Her mother had called the police in tears stating that her daughter had been missing for several days. However, this wasn’t the only case of missing children. There have been many of these occurrences in the past month. The children would go missing for about a week before they were found mutilated, always missing a multitude of bones. Mainly consisting of teeth and phalanges. It appeared that the perpetrator didn’t see his or her victims as people, but rather as objects that could be tossed aside like trash after they fulfilled their purpose. The very thought of it makes you sick. Especially, seeing how these victims were all young children that could have had bright futures ahead of them.

You gathered your courage and steeled your nerves, pressing forward through the grim confines of the prison. The rhythmic click-clacking of your heels resonated off the cold, unforgiving walls, drawing the attention of the surrounding inmates. Each step sends shivers down your spine as their eyes fixate on you, their stares laden with a mix of curiosity and hostility. Among the cacophony of shouted remarks, a few words pierce through the din, the word "whore" echoing in your ears.

As you continued walking down what felt like a very long hallway, you noticed a woman muttering to herself as she gnawed on her fingernails which looked like they had been gnawed down past the tips of her fingers. You could see dried blood caking underneath. Just as her oceanic blue eyes met yours, you quickly averted your gaze, which just so happened to land on your destination target, Chrollo Lucilfer.

The was an ex-psychologist, who was also a notoriously well-known thief who only showed cruelty and apathy towards his victims. Shivers once more danced up and down your spine, as you locked eyes with the young man. His piercing gaze seemed to dissect your very soul, while the cross-shaped tattoo on his forehead beneath his bangs caught your attention.

Looking away, you force yourself to focus on your objective. "Dr. Lucilfer, may I please speak with you?" You asked, despite feeling terrified. His smile seemed forced as he inquired, "You’re one of Mr. Kurta’s, right? May I see some identification?"

"Of course," you said, reaching into your coat pocket and pulling out your ID while making sure to maintain a safe distance between the two of you. "Don't be shy now, come closer," he said intensely, staring into your eyes. You did as he said and took a step closer, still holding your ID up for him to see. "Closer," his voice rang through the room again as you advanced closer until you were only a few feet away from the glass enclosure, ensuring your protection from the unsettling individual that stood before you. Chrollo nodded his head in satisfaction as if he had confirmed something you still didn't know.

"Please, take a seat," he said, motioning towards the lone metal chair behind him. As he closed his eyes and sniffed the air, it became clear that he was trying to understand you better, to get into your head. After a moment, he stopped sniffing and gazed back at you. "You use coconut shampoo, don't you?" he said with a smirk. Nervously, you nodded and shifted your gaze to the collection of antique books and drawings inside Chrollo’s cell. 

"Dr. Lucilfer, do you enjoy classical literature?" you asked, trying to shift the conversation away from yourself. Your superior had warned you about the consequences of letting Chrollo learn too much about you. "Yes, I do. It helps me gain a better insight into the human psyche. I'm sure you're familiar with the saying, 'knowledge is key,' aren't you?" You nodded in response.

"Yes, Doctor. In fact, I was wondering if you would provide some insight on—" You finally tried to state your reason for coming, but you were instantly cut off by Chrollo, who shook his head at you in disappointment. "You were doing fine up until now. Such a shame you had to ruin it. Well, fine for a trainee anyway," he said, gazing back up at you. You nervously swallowed once again.

"Your identification expires in less than a week, so I figured you were either up to something or a student. From our interactions, I deduced you were in fact a student. You only proved my point further when you tried to push your agenda," he said patronizingly. 

"Mr. Kurta must be incredibly desperate if he’s willing to send down a trainee," he paused. "But, tell you what, I’ll entertain you by filling out your silly questionnaire if you tell me about yourself. We’ll call it a quid pro quo," he said, never once breaking eye contact. 

Trying not to let your fear show, you conceded. "Very well, what would you like to know?" you asked. 

"Let’s see… What was your worst childhood memory?" You froze, not expecting Chrollo to immediately start strong. You expected him to start light before going into darker subjects, but you guess you should’ve known better.

You mentally prepare yourself to recount the reason why you were so dedicated to this case in the first place. "Well, Agent L/n, tick-tock..."

"Well, for starters, growing up, I took on the parenting role of taking care of my little brother. Our parents had died in a plane crash a few years prior to this event. Our extended family didn't want anything to do with us, so we were tossed aside and treated like trash.

 One night, I was out scavenging for food since we didn't have any money. We would often go around offering prayers in exchange for food, but that particular night was especially rough, just like many other nights when nobody was willing to help us. So, I went to search for whatever I could get my hands on. I never stole, though. I found it wrong, no matter how desperate we were," you said, getting lost in the flashback.

You rummaged through the dirty dumpster, desperately searching for anything that might be edible. To your relief, you found an unopened can of baked beans. "Yes!" you cheered, glad that you and B/n wouldn't have to go to bed hungry. "I hope B/n likes it," you thought to yourself. You quickly returned to the hidden alleyway where you and B/n were staying, only to be shocked by what you saw. "B/n, what the hell are you doing?!" you asked, petrified by the scene before you. B/n looked up at you in surprise, his grip on the rusty scissors weakening.

I found B/n on the brink of killing an innocent animal for food,” you recounted, with tears welling up in your eyes. You blinked them back and focused on the young man in front of you. “Now, please tell me what you know about the Tanizaki case,” you requested. Sending the case file through deciding the questionnaire wouldn’t be a smart move. If anything, it would only offend Dr. Lucilfer, as he seemed to pride himself on his vast expanse of knowledge.

He picked up the case file from the metal slot and started reading through it. "My, my, it seems like you have quite a lively one on your hands," he said, flipping through the pages. As you watched Chrollo scan the documents, you could have sworn you saw a flicker of anger cross his face, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

"Your killer targets children. Why do you think that is?" he asked, his gaze hardened. "He or she has a vendetta against--" You started to respond, but were cut off. "Irrelevant," he said, his gaze still hardened. "What trophy is obtained from each of the victims?"

“Bones,” you said, confused.

 “Your killer seems to have a hankering for children. Don’t you think the stolen bones are a recompense for something?” 

"Now, tell me what happened after you discovered your brother," he said. Knowing you wouldn't get anywhere by arguing with the man, you began to speak. "After I found my brother about to murder the innocent animal, I quickly snatched the old rusty scissors out of his hand."

"What on Earth were you thinking?" you asked B/n in shock. His surprise quickly turned to shame as he turned away. "If I had known you were that hungry, I would have gone out searching earlier," you said, blaming yourself for what was almost the death of a poor innocent animal. 

Remembering what you had acquired, you quickly showed him the baked beans you had found. "I know it's not much, but I did manage to find some food for the night. Although it appears you need it more than I do, so I'll give you a bigger portion. How does that sound?" you asked, trying to forget about your discovery. B/n nodded his head, still ashamed of what he had done.

The next day, we were woken by the sound of footsteps, so we quickly ran and hid behind the nearest dumpster. It seemed to be a dispute over money between two individuals that had gone wrong. I didn't listen to the rest, I just wanted to get my little brother to safety, knowing how dangerous the situation could have become. I dragged him to the nearest public space, which happened to be a park. The park was bustling with many people, as there was some kind of parade going on, with lots of people dressed up in costumes. At the time, I didn't care about the parade, I just wanted to get my brother somewhere safe, but in all the commotion, my grasp on my little brother's hand became slippery, causing me to accidentally lose my grip.

“Come on, b/n we can make it just a little further,” your fourteen-year-old self said. Pushing and shoving through the crowd. “B/n?” You looked over your shoulder only to see your brother nowhere in sight. “B/N!!!” You began to shout in panic. 

When I realized I was no longer holding his hand, I froze. I desperately searched around for my brother but could not find him. I searched for hours, only for it to be futile in the end. He had been swept up in the crowd.

You could feel the salty trails making their way down your cheeks as you sobbed endlessly. “I’m so useless,” you mumbled to yourself. “I failed at doing the one thing I swore to never screw up.” You noticed the gazes of multiple passersby: some were filled with pity, others with mirth. They all just blended into one big blur as the reality of your situation dawned upon you.

I remember feeling all alone and realizing that my efforts were fruitless. I curled up on a park bench as everything around me became a blur. I didn't even realize it was nighttime until everyone started dispersing. It wasn't until a few hours later, after the park was empty, that I heard screaming coming from the forest behind the park where the campgrounds were located. Terrified but also curious, I ventured into the woods.

As you took shaky steps toward the woods, you mumbled to yourself, "Maybe this is a bad idea." You quickly shook your head and thought, "No, it's fine. After all, I don't have anything else to live for." Feeling dismayed, you continued, "If my curiosity is the end of me, then so be it." And so, ytadvanced into the forest. After a few minutes of walking, the screaming seemed to have stopped. You froze before continuing forward. Eventually, you came into a clearing, but what awaited you was not a sight for the faint of heart.

Before me laid four mangled children’s corpses. Some looked to have been there for a while as they had already started to decompose. The whole area reeked of death as I gazed around with tears in my eyes. One body that seemed to be fresh had caught my eye. Around its wrist was the beaded bracelet I had made for my brother before our lives went downhill.

You felt the bile rising in your throat as you gazed down upon the mangled corpse of your little brother. Waterfalls fell down your cheeks once more. “B/n I’m so sorry…” You said through gritted teeth, falling to your knees. As you gazed around at all the unfortunate victims, your despair only grew before the logical side of your brain kicked in, telling you to get the hell out of there before the perpetrator came back. And so, with a heavy heart and stinging eyes, you exited the clearing. Reporting the incident to the police. The incident, however, made you realize you did have a reason to live, to protect the innocent.

You could feel the familiar trails down your cheeks as you were no longer able to hold back your sorrow. When you looked up in surprise, you saw that Dr. Lucilfer’s face reflected your own. While not as noticeable, Chrollo appeared to have a single tear trailing down his cheek.

He quickly wiped his face, shaking his head. "I apologize, your story reminded me of something," he said. You wiped your tears similarly. "It seems you're not as cold and apathetic as you like to appear, Dr. Lucilfer. Now I have given you what you wanted, it's your turn to answer me," you said, trying to regain your composure. "What did you mean by 'hankering for children'?" you asked.

“Simple, our killer yearns for a replacement,” he said. 

With that, it had finally clicked. “By replacement, you mean a child of their own! We’re most likely dealing with a grieving parent then. Who tosses the kidnapped children aside when they fail to fill the void caused by their deceased child! The mutilations must be done out of anger and the bones must be recompense for their failure,” you said, figuring out the killer’s motivation. ‘Now to find out their identity,’ you thought.

"Thank you, Dr. Lucilfer, for your time," you said, bowing. "And to compensate for your cooperation, I promise to put in a good word to get you transferred to a nicer location," you said, overjoyed with your new discovery. Chrollo looked surprised before nodding, picking up one of his books, and opening up to a bookmarked page.

"I'll hold you to that promise then. Now, fly away back to your superior little agent," he said. "And don’t forget your case file" he informed, sending the file back through. You nodded grabbing the file before beginning your trek back to Mr. Kurta, excited to inform him of your discovery. Your excitement caused you to miss the greed in Chrollo's eyes as he gazed at you, not realizing you had also put yourself in grave peril.

You caught Chrollo Lucilfer’s attention, and that is never a good thing to do…

[heich0e]

trick or treat!!! (suna)

(un)happy halloween

"Please?"

If anyone were to objectively bear witness to the situation you presently find yourself in without any context, they'd likely be moved by the earnest way that Rintarou appeals to you. By the sincerity in his supplication.

He's kneeling at the edge of your shared bed with a towel wrapped around his neck from the shower he'd taken not long prior, whose ends dangle over his bare chest as he leans towards you with wide, beseeching eyes.

You, in contrast, are seated at the head of the bed, the book you'd been reading left abandoned in your lap, with an expression of indignant fury pinching your features.

"Are you out of your mind?" you ask him bluntly, the sharpness of your tone so starkly different to his own that you might think the two of you are having separate conversations entirely.

"Baby," Rintarou tries again, mumbling the pet name through pursed lips as he creeps closer over the mattress. You draw your legs up to your chest instinctively, knocking your novel haplessly to the floor in the process—a necessary victim of circumstance.

"Don't you dare," you warn him as he inches nearer, digging your heels down into the mattress and scooting yourself as far back as you can without sending yourself toppling down to your bedroom floor just like your book.

He's got you cornered now, a hand on either side of your lap, wedged into the little corner where your headboard and your bedside table meet. He's so close you can smell the soap that still clings to him. So close you can feel the heat that radiates from his bare skin.

"I would do it for you, you know," he murmurs, dipping down towards you so you can see the unfairly wispy lashes that frame his eyes as they flutter. "If you asked."

"But I'm not asking," you point out to him firmly, shimmying yourself down the mattress onto your back in a relatively futile effort to escape. All that does is leave you pinned underneath him which is, decidedly, no better a fate. Your voice is a bit more strained when you force out another sullen, "And I would never ask that."

Rintarou lifts his hand and brushes his thumb against your cheek, and you're furious at the way it makes your heart race. He watches you carefully, his eyes tracing every line of your face before inevitably travelling back to meet your gaze like coming home. "You might like it."

"I won't," your voice is nowhere near as firm as it had been a few moments prior—a waver in your resolve making itself regrettably known.

Suna dips down and presses a featherlight kiss to your cheek, in the exact place his thumb had been stroking a moment prior. Then he kisses you again, a little lower, just above the edge of your jaw. Then again at the corner of your mouth, a hairsbreadth shy of your lips.

Your stomach is in knots.

"Rintarou."

You take his face in your hand, squishing your fingers into his cheeks until his lips pucker from the pressure. He peers at you guilelessly—his intrepid journey interrupted rudely by your unexpected grip. You force him to look at you, eye to eye, nose to nose.

You take a deep breath to steel your resolve.

"I am not letting you fuck me with a mask on."

Suna's already exaggerated pout deepens.

"Why not?" he complains, his tone veering dangerously towards the territory of a whine.

"First of all," you shift a little bit as you speak, sitting up underneath him—he lets you move, sitting up with you too, and when you drop your hand from his face he rubs at the edges of his mouth where your fingers had been pressing melodramatically. "You didn't even get the right mask."

Suna's eyes slide away guiltily. "They were all sold out of the ghostface ones."

You snort indignantly. "Well, I'm not about to let you fuck me dressed up like one of those little robots from Star Wars!"

Suna's gaze snaps back to you immediately. "Storm troopers aren't robots," he remarks pointedly.

You're sure your ensuing expression tells him everything he needs to know about how interesting you find that bit of lore.

Suna sighs, flopping down on his back atop your bed in defeat. You stifle a laugh at the crestfallen look on his face, instead focusing on the way his damp hair fans out against the pillow. You stand from your bed, heading towards the drawer on the other side of the room where you keep your hairdryer, plugging it into the wall as you prepare to dry his hair for him.

Suddenly, you feel the warmth of his body pressed against your back—having moved so silently behind you that you almost flinch when you realize he's there. Your gaze flickers up to the mirror in front of you, and you watch as his arms wind themselves around your waist, his flushing face tucking itself into the crook of your neck. He holds you tightly, and you feel that same twisting in the pit of your stomach from earlier—though this time you don't resent it quite so much.

Rintarou turns his face to drag his lips softly against the column of your throat. You have no choice but to watch, standing in front of the mirror in his hold—but strangely you don't feel inclined to look away. In the reflection, you see his eyes flicker up to meet yours, his lips pausing against the shell of your ear.

You listen to him breathe for a moment, and wonder if it's his thundering pulse you feel in your chest or your own.

You bite your lip as his part.

"So," he says softly, and his whisper almost makes you shiver because of how near he is to you. "If it was the right mask, would you be into it?"

[darksilvania]

CREEP-N-JAX (Dark), JUMP-N-JAX (Dark/Fighting) & RIP-R-JAX (Dark/Steel) The Creeps pokemon

This misterious shadowy figures inhabit the dark alleys and lonely corners of large cities.

CREEP-N-JAX is based on the misterious shadowy figures with hats and trenchcoats popular in Noir detective stories, they can be seen creeping on the back of alleways, often peeking round the corners looking for lonesome passerbys to steal from, but sometimes they form small gangs and start working as a single unit.

When 2 CREEP-N-JAX start working together they will evolve into JUMP-N-JAX.

This pokemon uses its spring-like legs and long cape to swifty jump and glide trough the rooftops, looking for unsuspecting and lonely victims to attack by surprise from above, taking whatever they need and then leaving with a powerful jump, disappearing as fast as they appeared.

JUMP-N-JAX is based on Spring-Heeled Jack, a misterious figure from Victorian London who became popular due to the penny dreadful stories written around it

When 3 CREEP-N-JAX start working together they will evolve into RIP-R-JAX.

This terrifying pokemon moves swiftly through the darkness despite of its size, attacking by suprise from the shadows. Their hands are armed with long sharp blades used to intimidate its victim, demanding they surrender their belongings or risk being harmed. People blame this pokemon for many cases of missing people.

RIP-R-JAX is based on Jack the Ripper, another victorian figure, one of the most famous serial killers, thanks mostly to its presence in popular media.

[amyriadofleaves]

outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter four

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

{prev} ; { nav } ; { next }

ao3 : wattpad  ˚　.˚　

⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, wriothesley, clorinde, sigewinne ⌗ warnings : a lot of blood?? ⌗ word count: 6.6k (a little longer this time teehee)

“I never knew entourages were your thing.”

You tilt your head. “How’d you know I had someone with me?” The image of the Chief Justice flashes through your mind for a moment.

Clorinde shrugs. “Some people from outside the Pankration Ring were babbling about seeing someone with the head of civil affairs. Were you always such a high reward person? Fame catch up with you yet?” She says this as she deepens her voice, posture straightened with her hands on her hips. Your eyes wander around the fortress, at the brass that graced every corner, seeing a few puddles pooling under a number of leaky pipes. 

Playfully nudging her arm, you snort at her jab. “You’re acting as if I’m some textbook rags-to-riches story. And no, fame has not caught up to me. I am no snob,” you tell her with a chastising look, but the attempt to steel yourself breaks when you feel your lips unwillingly quirking upwards into a smile, before you begin to shake trying to restrain your laugh.

It is not long before it infects Clorinde, too, and she falls victim to your foolish sense of humour. You lean on each other like two girls who’ve had too much to drink, afraid to let go lest one of you falls over; and you fail to notice the chiding looks of the people around you, but Clorinde shakes herself off before flicking your forehead causing you to stop your fit of laughter. 

“Gosh, remind me why I’m here again?”

“Oh I’ve seen you in your office, working away like a lifeless machine—” Clorinde feels at your arm. “What a pity. All that muscle is now reduced to flab.”

“Okay, ouch.”

Someone clears their throat from the other end of the room, and a manly voice sounds. “Hey. Clorinde. Get your friend over here so you can finally get to sparring.”

“Alright, alright,” Clorinde groans before dragging you by the arm to the ring; you stumble on the heel of your boot, stride broken by the unexpected force.

She chuckles at your clumsiness, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Come on, don't be such a klutz," she teases, her grip firm as she leads you towards the sparring ring. You shoot her a playful glare, feigning annoyance.

As you approach the ring, the shouts of brutes and the scrape from blade against blade pierces the air in a dissonant choir. Clorinde releases your arm as you stand at the very base of the stairs leading to the ring, and you square your shoulders — drawing in a long, sharp breath. Acutely aware of their eyes on you, you smirk. You are knowing how their eyes follow you — others, a bit more indifferent in the ‘affairs of the ‘overworld’’ so to speak. If you were any younger and naïve as you were,  you would’ve crumbled under their watchful eyes, but you know better than to have your weakness out for show, to be an open book. 

A man clad in a dark grey coat and haphazardly bound black bandages stands in the centre of the ring, eyeing your every move, and you see him smile to the duelist next to you. From description alone, you surmise that this is the Duke; and you take in how he is a lot more different in appearance than you last saw him: a little bulkier in frame, the pinch of boyish recklessness now discreetly tucked under the guise of responsibility.

A cheeky grin plays on his lips, before he gives you a bow. You return the courtesy with a light curtsy. It is a lie to say you aren’t a little intimidated, but you play it off by avoiding his eyes, afraid that he might see right through you and immediately think you an idiot. And you are not an idiot, you tell yourself over and over like a broken record.

“It is a pleasure to meet you again, Your Grace.” Your eyes stay trained on the floor before a chuckle breaks the silence.

Bewildered, you look up to face him and he waves a gloved hand in jest. “There is no need for such formalities. If anything, it should be me doing all of that. And plus, a friend of Clorinde is a friend of mine.” 

Clorinde sees right through his facade and dismisses it with a derisive ‘pfft’. “You certainly didn’t act like that when you first met me.”

“Oh come on my dear, dear Clorinde,” he places a hand on his chest in faux distress, a pout forming on his lips. “You know it isn’t like that.”

The duelist rolls her eyes before he puts his hands up in surrender and steps backwards.

The ring awaits, and you take a deep breath, ready for the impending spar. The crowd's anticipation adds to the pressure, but you push aside any lingering hesitation. Clorinde smirks, sensing your resolve, and steps into the ring beside you.

The announcer from the side announces the start with a rumble. “Let the sparring begin!”

The duelist bows her head, and you follow suit. Instinctively, you reach for the pellet gun at your hip as Clorinde does for her sword; it is an odd selection for a spar, and the crowd seems to raise a few eyebrows at this. Dejected as you are at the pellet gun resting in your fingers instead of your normal musket, you take this as an opportunity to give yourself more of an advantage with a slowing factor. A mere practice of skill, it was, really. 

Clorinde rushes in with a burst of speed, her blade flashing downward in an opening diagonal slash at your torso. You slip left of the weapon’s reach and step backwards, barely missing a cut by a finger’s breadth. You and Clorinde possess different skill sets: she requires a closing of distance whilst you have to create distance. 

A space separates the two of you and you slightly duck before firing a shot at her shoulder blade. The gun recoils against your arm and sends the bullet ricocheting against the wall and you stumble. Frustrated, you palm the holster of your gun and wriggle your hand to loosen your muscles. Can’t blame me for this, you think blindly, giving yourself a petty excuse for your blunder. Clorinde springs forward at the brief seconds of your imbalance and slashes at an angle. Rather than trying to escape backward or sideways, which you cannot do in time, you draw your gun as you drop to the ground on your back and you fire upwards. You cannot help but smile as the bullet hits her in the torso. 

She grimaces in stinging pain as the bullet falls to the floor. Rolling onto your stomach, you fire again from a crouch. From all the spinning, your vision swirls in a blur and your head is clouded. Without thinking, you stand and attempt to create more space, but realise you have unequivocally cornered yourself against the restraints of the arena. Before you can manoeuvre your way through the ring, the duelist comes in at full speed and you are given a mere few seconds to react. Clorinde slams her own blade into the path of your weapon with the intent of disarming you with so much force that you feel the impact reverberate through you like a shockwave. You fully expect the impending pain to come at any moment, but it never does. Instead, a resounding clash sounds from metal against ice echoes throughout the ring. You do not even realise the sword that comes to manifest through your fingers until you notice the gleam of light blue shielding you from the overhead lights.

A still silence fills the air as both of you widen your eyes in astonishment. Amazed gasps sound from the onlookers, and they are now eyeing you with more intent. You do not dwell on it for long before you bring your sword down at a speed, sending Clorinde staggering.

You cannot help but laugh. “And you called me a klutz.”

The look in her eyes almost shouts a flippant: 'I am totally fucking you over,' and it makes you instantly regret even speaking. 

Clorinde’s left hand seizes your hand, gripping hard. You let out a grunt of pain. With a light twist, she forces your makeshift weapon downward, and the numbing pain that grows in your wrist knocks the blade out of your arm, and you barely catch the glint of your own gun at the base of your feet. One final cry to win was you squirming in her grasp to reach it, but your fingers hover helplessly, unable to grab the grip of the gun. 

The next move you make is miscalculated, an oversight. You jab your elbow into her shoulder, overlooking the blade that she left hanging in the little space between the both of you. Adrenaline pumps through you like a vice, and you push further, forcing another blade of ice spiralling through your fingers, ignoring how you are completely stripped of your energy and the sudden humidity of the room. The crowd gasps, and for whatever reason, you do not pay it any mind — until you see Clorinde stopping too, stepping away.

Your eyes flicker haphazardly and notice that her eyes trail slowly to your abdomen, and you absentmindedly comply. At first you do not notice anything, but then the hand that had come to rest over your stomach comes away red, and you stumble in horror at the wetness flowing down your pants as if your intestines had given out. Your blouse blooms red too, clinging to your skin like a lifeline, and the forearm that clutched your stomach is now stained with blood, diluting further as it trails down the sword swirling with the condensate that rests on the ice.

Clorinde steps forward, but you hold out an arm to command her to stop. You can handle this, it is nothing you can’t bear. You take a few steps backwards, your free arm reaching for the rope that lines the ring.  Sweat beads on your forehead and suddenly everything is burning and your stomach is catching fire. Your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage and you greet the feeling like a friend; it is a familiar one, the same heart that beats whenever you are huddled in the corner of your room blocking out the shouts from the other end of the door along with other more unimportant things.

No. You can already vision how this would turn out for you. You cannot emerge from the depths of the sea injured and dead weight for the contract that stands. How will Neuvillette push through without you to serve as a catalyst? This was no one-man act, and this, you have come to terms with. 

With your blade still held and your resolve unchanged, you advance with a futile step. Might as well push forward now; it would be pathetic to surrender in a friendly match against your own best friend. 

Clorinde’s eyes flood with worry as you show no sign of yielding. “Name, stop. Let’s get you to the infirmary.” 

You are wordless as the pain festers to your upper chest and you feel as if you cannot breathe and all the air is knocked out of your lungs. People are going to think you’re weak, unable to defend yourself: a delicate worse-for-nothing figure. But I’m not weak, you want to scream at the world. If they think otherwise, so be it. The thought teeters precariously before ultimately shattering into the void of the unspoken.

The duelist looks over at Wriothesley pleadingly as she stabilises your weakened figure and eyes the audience with a sort of disdain. “I concede,” she says, before repeating: “I concede.” She also doesn’t fail to shield you from them, and you wish to thank her later for it. 

“Wriothesley, help me out here?” She manoeuvres herself so she can wrap your right arm around her neck and, expectantly, waits for Wriothesley to take your left.

“Yes ma'am.” 

Though you do not hear it, you see the silhouettes of many receding from around the ring in a blur. Black spots form in your vision and you barely catch Wriothesley taking your left arm over his neck before your consciousness lurches what it feels to be a sudden moment. A brief thought is pushed to the forefront of your mind before everything swarms black — and the question is as mundane as the person it concerns:

Just what exactly could the Chief Justice be doing right about now?

____

“Ah, my dear Neuvillette. Don’t you just love the taste of fame?”

Neuvillette’s eyes do not leave his paperwork and the last thing he wants right now is to be pestered by the lady in front of him. “Now’s not the time, Lady Furina.”

She steps forward, the thud of her heels growing increasingly louder in an act of taunt. “And when is the right time, Chief Justice? This is a breakthrough for your career, and you’re sitting around your office like a nobody when you’ve quite literally stolen the hearts of the whole populace.”

Neuvillette taps in rapid succession at a blank piece of paper, subconsciously counting the dots that spray from the quill in his hand. It is not everyday that the Chief Justice loses his temper. But today is not everyday and nor is it anything normal. He still feels your warmth against his ear, and he lightly ghosts his hand over it.

Furina snaps her fingers repeatedly. “Monsieur Neuvilletteee! Earth to you?”

He responds with a darkening glower. Looking away, he makes out the shape of her pout through his blurred peripheral vision, and hears her sulk. “I need to talk to you about preparations for the proposal! This is very important — go too long without one, and the people will think the two of you are simply an affair. Oh, I bet you don’t like the sound of that.”

“The proposal? We’ve barely gone a day with the approval of the contract, and you’re already pressing me for the proposal? Give her a rest, she is out with a good friend of hers. 

“Well obviously the proposal isn’t for today, I’m talking about preparations. You need to purchase a ring, she needs her hair done — perhaps a new dress tailored — I think the dress she wore yesterday was rather tattered and worn…” she tuts, finger on chin. “Oh! And I don’t think it would be much trouble to have the Melusines involved, would it?”

The silver-haired man sitting in his seat is being pulled from all his limbs like a puppet. He subconsciously notes all the things she had just listed, and his mind hiccups at the idea of purchasing a ring.

“Can’t it just be simple? Such exaggerations of a mere profession of romance shan’t be necessary.”

“But that is exactly the point! Don’t forget that I have my own duties to attend to in the dark, you are hot news. I saw how you two were this morning — everyone did!”

The flashing of cameras and the unwavering look on your face rushes through him like a deluge and his stomach pits. When he returned from his trip to the Fortress of Meropide, he had washed his face in a nearby restroom earlier and noticed the touch of lipstick on the very point of his ear. He found no point in removing it.

“So you want me to purchase a ring and propose to her in front of every breathing Fontainian, is that right?”

Lady Furina's smile widens a little too much and becomes a pain to look at. “Why yes, it is a statement of love and devotion, after all. Make sure what you pick makes her eyes pop. No woman wants a ring that dulls complexion.”

He does not care that it is him that has to oblige — but subjecting you to unwanted fame is beyond him.

Not wanting any further arguments, he caves. 

____

You are in and out of consciousness, but not so much that you cannot make out the panicked conversations the two are having in hushed voices. Funny enough, you're unsure if the fact that they can't find Sigewinne anywhere troubles you a little or if you're simply just drained and want to go to sleep.

“Can’t you walk any slower?” Wriothesley grunts.

Clorinde snaps back with a glare .“Can’t you realise we’re dealing with a gash that could tear open if you keep up this pace?” 

“Can’t you both,” your voice breaks off, and instead of continuing you droop your head before mumbling: “just shut up?”

The two people on either side of you are stunned into a chastising silence and if this were any different you feel that you would’ve laughed.

The man to your right clicks his tongue. “Oh, whoops. Forgot you were even awake.” He adjusts your arm a little too roughly and you let out a cry of pain as it doubles the sensation of your wound.

Clorinde smacks his arm and you slightly shift backwards at the lack of support. “What did I tell you? Okay — let's set this aside for now. We need her in the infirmary before her whole blouse gets drenched.” 

You don’t see or hear his response, and so you briefly imagine him having an indifference to this. Sure, it is everyday for him in the Fortress, but you do not know him very well, so he might have had a different reaction — perhaps a brief look at Clorinde almost begging her through his eyes for her to know what to do even though he, too, knows basic protocol? Plausible too.

“You’re going to need to take a deep breath for this.” The duelist’s voice is as monotone as ever, and as your lids flutter open you see that you are greeted with your archnemesis.

Stairs.

Not like they were anything too taxing; a mere five steps up and another few steps down and you’d be in the infirmary; but you instantly flinch back as they assist you with the first step, and you feel their arms grab for your back. You almost black out again the moment you glance at your abdomen but Clorinde promptly pushes your chin upwards so you don’t see the worst of it. 

“I don’t think I can make it up the stairs,” you say, defeated. You eye both of them carefully and they seem to almost weigh the possibilities and come to a solid conclusion (the word ‘solid’ is an overstatement).

“I mean we could bring the infirmary to her…”

Safe to say, Clorinde isn’t amused. “Wow, let's bring a whole bed out for everyone to see! Forgive me, but I won’t allow that for her. There are many problems on the surface as is, and I don’t think this paints a good image for her.”

As delirious as you are, you manage a nod in agreement and squeak out: “Whatever. Get me there.”

Wriothesley’s eyes are crazed as he looks at you with doubt.“W— you just said you couldn’t make it up the stairs.”

“...And that claim still stands. But what other choice do I have?” You say this through gritted teeth as the pain wells up in your side for the nth time this afternoon. The light peeking through the ceiling of the Fortress seems to dim and you take this as a sign that is just shy of dusk. 

Clorinde’s lips quirk into a small smile, and you miss it because you are unable to keep focus on anything except the blood you feel dripping into your slacks. “Alright. Just squeeze something every step you take. On the count of three:”

Wriothesley starts and they alternate. “Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

With a yelp, you grip firmly onto the man next to you and let out a sigh of relief when your feet touch another step of the staircase. 

“Next time, please grip me somewhere else.” You slowly eye where your hand lies and it is unfortunately somewhere not ideal. Oops.

“Not my fault you have a built-in stress ball,” you look at him and Clorinde and realise that you have four more to go. “OK. I think we can go at a faster pace.”

Clorinde’s hand leaves your wrist as she wipes her palm on the base of her shorts and finds your hand again. “Are you sure? You looked like you’ve walked ten miles and it’s been just a step up.”

You look forward and nod your head. “Affirmative.”

“Alright then.”

Wriothesely announces the count of three rather plainly and you grip somewhere else this time. You bite your lip harshly; you do not want to complain any more than you have and instead shut your eyes to steel yourself, but fuck, did it hurt more than the first time.

You thank the gods above that it did grow easier the more steps you took, and with having given Wriothesley more bruises than dignity you finally made it to the platform at the top.

“Tough part done,” you mumble, eyeing the corridor with contempt. Not as tough, you suppose, and push ahead, your arms still hanging limp by their shoulders. You can't help but notice your blood swirling in the pools that flowed from each end of the hall, but the metallic scent of the pipes overpowers the metallic of your own.

Your boots touch the ground with a heavy thump that echoes so loudly it feels like your head is whirling quicker and you can’t make out any object in front of you. 

“Smells like murder.” His attempt at lightening the mood does more harm than good, and through your lethargy you still furrow your brow. Clorinde berates him in a low voice and you don’t even attempt to say anything in response. It is awfully silent, and suddenly you wish he had continued speaking. You force your eyes wide open out of fear that you might not wake up the moment you close them, but you have to fight against your weighted eyelids, and it is, by a mile, a terrible battle.

Fatigue - 1, You - 0.

A light shines from your left and you let yourself breathe.

“We’re here. Just need to tough through another flight of stairs and you’ll be alright,” Clorinde comforts, lifting your right arm a little more after noticing that you were slightly being raised a little higher on your left because of the height difference between her and Wriothesley.

“Here goes,” you tell yourself. This is not the first time you’ve been in a situation like this. 

Just a bit of blood and you’re crying? You look just like your mother.

You do not particularly enjoy the feeling of descending the stairs, but at least it is better than ascending them, and faster too. No need for any counts to threes. 

You wring your arms out of their grips, and soundlessly stumble to the bed closest to you. Mindlessly, you slip into the slight depression of the mattress and the springs groan under a new added weight. 

Wriothesley frantically looks around and suddenly his head is in his hands. Clorinde seems to adopt the same wrinkles between her brows as the man beside her has, and they are both thrown in a panic. The duelist still appears calm and collected throughout, and you’re surprised that the ‘panic’ they are thrown into has been reduced to a civilised conversation on how to deal with you.

Unbuttoning your blouse reveals that it takes a lot of work to separate skin from material, and you feel something stir in the pit of your stomach, or lack thereof. Dried blood starts to flake from the chilly air and the skin lining the wound is swollen pink, puffy and tender to the touch. Turning away, you aren’t partial to someone like Wriothesley to seeing the other scars that are littered throughout your skin like a canvas, and you know it isn’t pretty. You do not like your idea on what you are to do next, nor do you think it’s ideal, but with nothing to show of Sigewinne, you have to take the risk.

“Clorinde. Pass me rubbing alcohol and a towel.”

Clorinde casts you a weary look. “Surely you’re not thinking to do what I think you’re gonna do —”

“Yes. It's exactly what you think. Now pass it to me.” You turn your head a little as your hands beckon her over, and she hesitates before reaching for what you asked for and passes it to you. You do not miss the long look she gives Wriothesley.

The items weigh like a burden on your hands, and you almost decide to hold out until Sigewinne arrives. Even though you know this is probably the worst choice you'll ever make, you choose to ignore the nagging voice and go forward with it because simply, you are impatient. And what good were you to the public if you were ugly and unkempt? You know that everyone and Lady Furina would find you ridiculous. Would the Chief Justice share the same opinion? Would he break his impartiality to think that of you? For a brief moment, the answer flickers to a yes, but you swallow it down like a pill. No. No, he wouldn’t.

“Shouldn’t be too bad.” Bracing for the sting, the anticipated pain hovers like a phantom before the fabric even grazes your skin, but before you can give yourself room to yield, you jab the cloth over the gash and almost scream at the sting. You keep your mouth sealed shut and only rapid pants escape your lips. The pain courses through your veins and suddenly every working limb is now subject to agony. You absolutely detest the feeling, and you were sure that you would never find yourself like this after your father…

Shaking your head, you distract yourself by observing how the blood seeps through the cloth with ease, and you begin to question just how much blood you’re losing and how your body hasn’t given out. But the answer to it is fairly simple. Or maybe it isn’t. 

Your composure is so frigid you think the Duke is beginning to grow a little uncomfortable with just standing there.

“You can look away.” Even though you didn't have much energy to begin with, you startle yourself by being able to talk coherently in spite of everything.Your mind is dumbfoundedly collected, almost as if trained; for this you know why, and you decide not to mope over the memory. It still does end up slipping through the cracks. 

The clean blade against skin. Your father’s nasty laugh as you let out a cry of defeat. The reopened wound triggers a cascade of memories, but you resolve to relegate it to the past: a mere memory. You know you will never see him again, the idea of closure long gone and ties severed. His name, once a burden, now fades into the recesses of your memory, and you find solace in no longer sharing it.

Wiping the blood around your wound, you robotically reach for a needle and thread next, and this time Wriothesley steps forward with his hand outstretched to finally say something. “Woah there. I think we’re gonna need Sigewinne for this one.”

Your arm retracts from the needle and you wave him off with a curt wave of your hand. “I got this under control, don’t you worry,” you declare, but the claim dies on your lips when you feel your eyes drooping and your limbs going slack and the two are thrown into another dispute. 

“We need Sigewinne!”

“She should be coming in about,” the Duke checks his watch. “Five minutes.” He steals you a glance and continues: “Hang in there.”

Clorinde tears her gaze off yours and her brows knit again. “Well what if she doesn’t ‘hang in there’?” Her voice is thrown into a hush, but you can still hear it, and she knows you hear every word leaving her lips.

You use this time to silently teeter to the open cupboard of needles and thread. Surprisingly enough, you look back and find them in their own world. Perfect! You take a generous amount of thread along with a few needles with different gauges and slyly return to your place at the foot of the nursing bed. You dab antiseptic on the tender flesh of your gash. The sting is something you never get used to, and a low groan leaves your lips, and your head tips over.

Clorinde whirls lazily on her heel and points a finger at you. “You. Stop playing a fool. Your wound will get infected if you keep going at this rate. And don’t think I can’t see what you’re trying to do when I’m not looking,” the duelist reprimands, and you can’t help but admit defeat. Hah! She thought.

“Yeah, OK. Shut up and come over here for a second.” You do not face her, but hear her slow strides from behind.

“What is it?”

“Come closer.” you place the needle under her fingers, and flick her forehead. A zap courses from her fingers.

“Ow?”

Her complaints morph into incoherence as you study the needle and find that it is warm to the touch and slightly blackened at its point. 

“Thank you!”

Feeling at your abdomen, you conclude that it is numb enough to begin stitching. The sanitisation is a mere precaution, because as much as you trust everyone in this room and the nurse that isn’t present, you cannot trust whatever might be in the Fortress’ air.  It takes a few attempts before you successfully guide the thread through. 

And before Clorinde can stop you, it is far too late. The needle pierces skin, and you squint your eyes at the discomfort. If you could manage one, you could manage seven more. You are nowhere adept nor do you have a steady hand, but you are quite proud of the deep cuts you’ve stitched up in the past; they still did their job.

The Duke’s complexion is nothing short of sickly as his hand flies to his mouth. “I can’t— I can't watch this.”

“You just don’t listen, do you?”

You smile wearily. “Well, Clorinde, that is my expertise.”

Just before your fingers swoop down for another stitch, a certain Melusine skips down the steps and pauses at the sight.

“Oh? What do we have here?”

Wriothesley scratches the back of his neck before cracking a smile that seems to say: ‘caught us!’. “Ah, Sigewinne! We were just looking for you. Now if you could tend to this high demand patient we have it would be greatly appreciated.” He points over his shoulder without turning his head, and yet the shaky undertone in his demeanour is unmistakable.

You give him a look even though his back is towards you.

Sigewinne nods her head. “Alright then. Let’s take a look…” if she’s surprised, her face betrays nothing. She waddles to the other side of the room and reaches for a new, cleaner towel; and you realise how comical a sight this is — with both the Champion Duelist and the Duke following her every move in silence as you sit stiffly on a worn mattress. She returns and studies the needle in your hand and holds her own paw-like hand out. Placing it in her hand, she dips the towel into a bowl of warm water and cleans the area properly this time.

“Take a deep breath in for me please.” you do not know why you silently follow her orders. “And out.”

That was your que to prepare for the second stitch. Not bad; it did feel less haphazard than your own. Sigewinne’s eyes do not leave your wound as she pops a question: “Will you need your entourage to escort you to the Overworld?”

Suddenly all your worries are gone and are now replaced with a new one. “My entourage? Oh, no, that wouldn’t be necessary.” The needle comes up from under your skin and her paws move downwards.

“Are you sure? I can contact him if you like.”

You playfully look to the side. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Sigewinne unfortunately does not take the hint and questions your dismissal of your dealing with him. “But you were just with Monsieur Neuvillette just now, I don’t see why it would slip your mind. Unless you’re suffering from short term memory loss, that is.” Your eyes widen at the mention and you motion your hand to to your neck to stop her before she goes off on a tangent.

The pair standing on the other corner both seem to share the same concerns. Wriothesley quirks a brow. “Monsieur Neuvillette? Surely you haven’t made yourself fancy for the Chief Justice.”

“No, he is not my suitor; just a mere colleague of mine. Our relationship is strictly professional — that is all.”

The Duke smiles. “Yeah. Sure. That’s how it always starts. Workplace romance is a classic.”

Clorinde tilts her head. “What has gotten into you? Always blabbering about romance this and romance that.”

“You, Miss Clorinde, should be aware that I have always been hopeless for things like this. I am not as stoic as you or the Chief Justice of Fontaine.”

“I am well aware. I just choose not to acknowledge it — oh and…” she breaks off mid-conversation, leaving Wriothesley sulking like a defeated dog. “How has Monsieur Neuvillette been? I’ve heard that he’s been involved in some ‘scandal’, but I’ve been too busy resolving business. I haven't an idea what it’s about.”

Dread fills your gut as you come to another decision you have to make today. Either you tell her the truth or skirt over some details so she doesn’t tie any link back to you. “As it turns out I haven’t really been well-versed in the melodrama of the people, but from word of mouth,” your hand cups one side of your face as you whisper, “he has entangled himself with a commoner.”

Wriothesley and Clorinde both shout a distressed “What?” in unison.

“I surmise he hasn’t taken any of it into account,” the duelist guesses, shooting a blind shot in the dark.

Your lips curve into a leer. “He’s doing what he always does. His job.”

___

"M-monsieur Neuvillette! What brings you here?”

“Good afternoon. What rings do you suggest would suit...”

The jeweller, filled with the delicate hum of conversation and soft hushes of conversation, momentarily hushes in anticipation. Neuvillette, however, maintains a calm demeanour, allowing the flustered individual to collect himself.

The person takes a moment, clears their throat, and continues, “... suit your refined taste? We have an exquisite collection of vintage pieces or, if you prefer, more contemporary designs. Perhaps something that resonates with the essence of your intended occasion?” He glances nervously at Neuvillette, awaiting his response with bated breath.

“A simple engagement ring would be right up my alley. Your guidance…” He quickly searches for the name etched into his nametag and spots a ‘GATTINEO’ on his person “Monsieur Gattineo,, in finding the perfect ring, would be much appreciated,” Neuvillette states, and he smiles stiffly, unable to tell if he’s just scared the worker senseless or struck the first normal human conversation he’s had in weeks.

The person behind the counter nods profusely and points his arm to the left. “R— Right this way, monsieur.” 

Neuvillette gazes at the employee intently, studying the way his hands slips at the knob that seals the rings from under the glass display and slowly retrieves them, pushing the array of wedding bands toward the Chief Justice as if a single sound might shatter the fabric of time. 

The Iudex takes pity and reassures him that he ‘need not be so tense’, but whether the employee buys the claim is a story he does not remain privy to. Gloved hands pick a ring from the second row from the array and he holds it in the light, checking the glimmer of the diamond that sits snug under the hooks of white gold. Too dull, he notes, already picturing it against your ring finger. He thinks that you do not deserve such a ring of commonplace, and he politely places it back into its respectful place on the display.

He reaches for another, acutely aware of the growing pairs of eyes that are burning into his back. Another ring is victim to the light and he needs little inspection to know that this wouldn’t flatter you in the slightest. Scrunching his nose, he turns to look at other options. 

None seem to suit his taste.

Neuvillette stands stationary for a moment before noticing a glint to his right. It is a ring that appears lacklustre at first glance, but when he looks at it for longer, he realises that the ring is not as uninteresting as it initially seemed.

He points at it through the glass. “Would you mind if I take a look at that one?”

“Why, sure. It is a latest addition, monsieur, and is very much flattering on any bride.” The Chief Justice, who is ever impartial to opinions, disagrees. He does not think it is flattering on just any bride.

Its centrepiece is a gorgeous sapphire, and his mind immediately shifts to the casual blue undertones of the clothes you wear. It would certainly complement her eyes, he thinks, picturing the glimmer of blue on your skin. It would make your complexion ‘pop’, as Lady Furina had said. It is nowhere near extravagant, but keeping it simple is to make a statement. 

He pinches the ring in between the pad of his thumb and index finger. “I would like to purchase this — does it come with a box?”

The worker is stunned, eyes practically popping out of his skull. “Y—Yes! It surely does. That would be one hundred thou—”

“Please, put it on my tab.”

Now the worker is really ogling at him. He hasn’t even heard the full price! He figures up how much he will get for this commission, and it will buy him a luxurious lifestyle for several months. Heavens above, he really was lucky today. 

“I can do that for you. Just give me a moment to get the box from the back.” The man scutters away, and the conversations around Neuvillette are now brought into vivid technicolour.

“Is it for the woman in the tabloids? I heard she’s the newly employed head of civil affairs.”

“She really has done everything under the sun.”

The Chief Justice’s ears perk at the phrase in response. “You can’t trust everything you see in the media. Looks to me that she’s only in it for the money.”

“You are right… Perhaps it is a calculated move to push her way through the ranks! What a sly, sly woman she is.”

Are they seriously speaking about you around the very man that dictates the verdict of whom is guilty? That kind of daring makes Neuvillette's eyes narrow. He does not wish to entertain their idle gossip, but he also can't watch while his future wife is being disparaged in such a manner. To him, your resilience is remarkable. That, is one aspect of your character that he truly admires. But one thing rings true: fame comes with a price.

Neuvillette’s jaw ticks, and his warm, serene mien freezes over, his glare a piercing chill. He composes himself, and turns on his heel with a rigid calm. The words that leave his lips send the people’s blood running cold.

“If you are to speak ill of the woman I am to propose to — and that is certain — I hope you see to it that the repercussions are to be nothing but shy of being remarkably uncomfortable. ”

a/n: this one kinda strayed off my outline if im gonna b honest but like are we really complaining cuz PROTECTIVE NEUVILLETTEE OGME

taglist : @sek0ya, @souxiesun

[bullet-prooflove]

Valentine's Day Bingo: Pink - Connor Rhodes x Reader

Tagging: @lapricot @stxrryswvrld @cosmic-psychickitty @rosaliedepp @mrspeacem1nusone @sowrongitslottie @crazy4chickennuggets @shepgurl @upsteadlogic @cixrosie @burningpeachpuppy @i-spaced-sorry @handsupforamiracle @slytherqueen14 @queenslandlover-93 @thebejeweledwatercat @voidsteffy @shakespeareanwannabe @cerealreblogger @aaronhtchnrs @mysoulisasunflower @vermillionwinter @thebaileybugle @kotlclover2021 @neapolitantoebeans @joyfulfxckery @wnbweasley @evee87 @celilice1 @one-sweet-gubler @wooshwastaken @anime-weeb-4-life @99-reasons-to-live @legit9thlunaticwarrior @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @witches-unruly-heart @infinity-mars @telepathay @iworldlywriter @nu1freakshow @nothinbtannika @whovianwholikesgirls @@angelicbxtch @altsvu @olymosity @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @district447 @sarahedwards16 @stelacole @abby-splace @kabloswrld @rawremodino

Hitting the Wearing Pink Bingo Square

When Connor first meets you, it’s in the Emergency Room on Valentine’s Day. You’re wearing a pink mini dress that barely covers your assets and fuck me heels. The left side of your face is smeared with blood, the vessels in your left eye an eruption of tiny starbursts. His heart sinks because there’s been a spate of attacks on working girls recently and he thinks he’s looking at a fresh victim.

He’s both right and wrong.

“Look after her alright?” Antonio Dawson tells him as you’re escorted into the medical bay. “She’s my partner.”

A cop then.

It doesn’t take a genius to work out that you were part of a sting to catch the guy whose been beating the hell out of those women.

“Did you get him?” Connor asks, pulling on a fresh set of latex gloves as you sit on the edge of the hospital bed.

Now that he’s up close, he realises it’s not as bad as he once thought. The blood seems to be coming from a cut above your eyebrow, it’s starting to slow at this point. It’s a big gash, he’ll have to have to stitch it. His work is neat, careful but you’re still going to have a scar, he thinks.

“He was in the ambulance behind me.” You inform him as he tilts your head up towards the light and begins to clean the crimson from your skin. “Trust me, he’s worse off than I am.”

He believes you. He can see the grazes across your knuckles as you flex and unflex your hand. Once he’s finished with the mop up he continues with the rest of his examination. He’s as gentle as he can be, his fingers poking and prodding the bones under and around your eye.

“Nothing’s broken.” He tells you as he draws away and busies himself removing the stitch kit from one of the stainless steel drawers in the corner of the bay. “ I’ll get you stitched up and then grab you something else to get changed into.”

It’s a professional courtesy and a human one. He knows that your night doesn’t end when you leave the hospital, you’ll be heading back to the precinct in order to complete your reports on the assault. He assumes you’d rather not do it in a blood stained mini dress.

“I’d appreciate that.” You tell him softly, looking down at the burgundy stains soaked into the fabric. “Antonio’s probably already waiting with the evidence bags.”

“I’m guessing this all came from the perp.” Connor says gesturing at your clothing.  

“I had a push knife.” You say by way of explanation, your gaze straying to the gap in the curtain. There’s a flurry of activity on the opposite side of the glass, you can see Choi barking orders as they angle the stretcher into the bay beside yours.  “I don’t think he’s coming back from that.”

“It depends where you got him.” Connor remarks as he begins the process of stitching your wound together.

“Neck.” You say quietly. “More than once.”

Connor doesn’t speak, his dark eyebrows furrow in concentration. You both know the guy in the next room probably isn’t going to make it.

“You must think I’m cold, the way I’m talking about killing a man.” You say softly, your gaze lowering to the cuts across your knuckles.

“No.” He says honestly as he finishes up his work, snipping the thread carefully. “I treated some of the other girls he hurt...”

He trails off, his mouth fixing into a grim line. You’re not the only one haunted by those girls, you can tell. You’ve seen the pictures, read the reports. He’s been up close with their pain, endured their suffering, their agony.

“I think you’re incredibly brave putting yourself out there like that, not a lot of people would.” He tells you, stripping off the gloves before tossing them into the medical waste bin.

You can read between the lines, you know what he’s not saying. These victims, they’re on the fringes of society, the people that others don’t give a shit about. He’ll be the first to admit he’s jaded, he didn’t expect the police to actually do anything about the problem, a waste of resources he had overheard one cop saying when he was working on the last girl.

“These women.” You say, shaking your head. “They’re just trying to put food on the table, support their families. They don’t deserve what happened to them.”

When he looks back he realises it’s your compassion that he fell in love with, your ability to see the person underneath all the noise. He sees it over and over again throughout the course of your relationship.

He isn’t sure why he’s replaying the day he met you, he thinks it’s because the fleece pyjamas you’re wearing are the same colour as the dress you were clad in that night. The two of you are tucked up in bed together, your body draped across his like a weighted blanket. His palms smooth over your clothing as he holds you close, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. He had never envisioned that it would end up like this, that the woman he met that night would become the one that devoted himself to, the one that he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

Love Connor Rhodes? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[myymi]

lost world angst, anyone?

Sonic wasn't sure what he expected to happen to Tails after he got stuck in that trap and taken away before he could save him.

But his money certainly wasn't on the kit being half-roboticized.

He wanted to puke at the sight of his brother. (Which is an idea he wasn't too entirely fond of at the moment. Amy had made him a really nice breakfast this morning and it sits better in his stomach than on his shoes.)

He wanted to say he didn't even recognize the kid, but that'd be a lie. He'd always know when he was looking into his little brother's eyes, no matter if they're drained of life or artificial.

He could imagine the screams the fox probably let out as his body was torn into, flesh and blood being forcibly replaced by steel and oil.

Eggman had gloated about the process once years ago and it still haunted the hedgehog. To think Tails, his kid, fell victim to it..

He was going to rip those stupid zetis into shreds.

“What did you do to him.” Sonic demanded, even though he knew the answer. He just needed them to say it.

He needed them to admit they tortured a barely seven year old child.

“Calm down.” Zavok waved off the obvious anger radiating from the hedgehog, not at all worried about his opponent. “We simply gave him a few upgrades. Isn't he so much better?”

Better?

Better?!

How could anyone think that was better?

Sonic's face fell into a harsh glare, his royal blue quills shifting a few shades darker as he stared right into Zavok’s stupid, purple eyes.

“I'm going to fucking kill you.” He growled, angrily baring his fangs. He wasn't the biggest fan of swearing, especially not around Tails, but he'd let it slide this time.

“You'll have to deal with your little tagalong first.” The zeti stayed nonchalant as he gestured to the half-robot fox and, oh Chaos, his eye was so dull. There was no life in him.

Sonic didn't say anything in response to that, so Zavok decided to begin the fight with a simple command, “Tails, kill that worthless creature.”

The fox-robot listened to the command, lifting up its arm that now had a cannon attached to the end of it. The reality of the situation only fully kicked in when it started charging, a small purple energy or quickly growing in size.

“Oh, buddy.” Sonic knew he could fight Tails. Even if it wasn't him anymore, he couldn't hurt his brother. He promised him, “I'm so sorry, kid. I should've been faster.” He apologized, raising his paws in surrender to show the other he wouldn't fight.

Even if the fox was about to kill him, he was going to accept it. He deserved it after failing to keep the kid out of the zetis’ hands.

He braced himself for the inevitable impact of the orb once it looked like it was finished growing. It wouldn't be long before it shot, and Sonic would've left Mobius as a failure of big brother.

But then the light in Tails’ eye resparked.

With a wink, the kit quickly pivoted on his heel and dropped to crouch on his knee. He did his best to prop up the cannon as he aimed it right at Zavok’s head, “Never!” He shouted, pulling the trigger.

The blast ended up striking Zavok right in the center of his chest, the force sending him flying a few feet backwards.

Sonic could do nothing but stand and gape at his little brother. He didn't understand what happened, it all went by too fast—isn't that the craziest thing? Too fast for Sonic to keep up.

“Hold it, fuzzball.” Zeena said, stepping up as she pointed a remote at the fox and pressed a button. “You're still ours. Now do as you're told so we can end this. I need to fix my nail polish and you're delaying it with your wanna-be hero stunt.”

Tails yelped and grabbed his head with the paw that hadn't been turned into a weapon. His organic eye closed tightly in obvious pain as the other flashed between blue and red.

Sonic knew he should do something, but it felt like his feet were glued in place. No matter how much he begged, his body wouldn't move.

“No!” Tails cried out, shaking his head before just barely opening his eye. The first thing he saw was the arm cannon, which reminded him of a program he added in last minute as a backup plan.

Sonic was going to be so mad at him for this.

He didn't give his brain a chance to bail on the plan in fear of upsetting his big brother. He spun his tails as quickly as he could, doing his best to ignore how one of them felt like pure metal and flew straight into the center of the zetis.

He didn't stop flying until he landed on top of Zomom, looping his legs around the orange zeti’s neck as much as could as he pressed a hidden button on the cannon.

As the three second timer kicked off, the fox looked up to find his brother. He sent him a smile, quickly mouthing ‘I'm sorry.’ before his vision was full of white, then almost immediately fading to black.

“Tails!” Sonic screamed right before the explosion hit, knowing that silent apology couldn't have been a good sign.

The force of the bomb knocked him back a bit, but he was back on his feet in a second and running to where he last saw his brother.

One of the zetis, the depressed one, was entirely missing from the group. But, other than that, the rest of them were all knocked unconscious.

“Tails?” Sonic's voice choked on tears as he slid beside the kit’s body. The bomb had destroyed some of the metal, revealing that most of it was just show.

Tails hadn't been roboticized.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat as he gently cradled his baby brother, shoving away the haunting bits of metal.

He knew this entire encounter was going to haunt his dreams for a while.

He didn't dwell on that matter though. Tails was far more important. He needed to get him away from these monsters.

So he ran.

He wasn't sure where he was running to exactly, but anywhere away from the zetis was a good place to be.

By chance or maybe an unknowingly conscious effort, Sonic had made it to where they had parked the Tornado. She hadn't moved a muscle, her red paint still glistening in the sun as she soaked in the heat.

Feeling calmer from just the plane's presence, the hedgehog carefully climbed into the cockpit and settled into the seat.

Tails was still cradled to his chest, his grip on the fox tightening as he found a comfortable enough spot.

He didn't know what to do. They didn't really have the supplies to treat whatever happened to the kid.

He was just gonna have to wait it out. Figure out how Tails was feeling when he woke up and then go from there.

The hedgehog curled around the younger boy as much as he could when he felt his eyelids growing heavy. He nuzzled the fox's fur, making sure to lay extra attention to the sections that had been covered by metal. He planted a small kiss above the eye that had been seemingly replaced by an artificial one.

They would be fine if he took a quick nap. He'd wake up if something attacked them, and the Tornado’s keys were already in the ignition. It'd be okay.

Chaos, he prayed Tails would also be okay when he woke up.

He didn't like his slow heartbeat or his weak pulse.

[hijackalx]

FORLORN +18

SUMMARY: Gortash attempts to fill the void you left with your changeling kin.

WORD COUNT: 3020

UNDER THE CUT: F!reader, dark urge reader, gortash fucks orin in your shape, lowkey angsty, dom!gortash, brat!orin, they dont like each other, stripping, blindfolding, cowgirl, choking, gortash keeps his clothes on, experimental with POVs lol

Enver swirls the scarce amount of liquor around in his glass, staring at his warped reflection inside.

His reach falters after glancing over at the bottle on his desk, realizing that it has just a few measly drops remaining. He huffs, slumping deeper into his seat. The hand resting in his disheveled hair falls down his face, tugging at his flushed cheeks.

You've been gone for a month now. Orin told him that she hurt you— that she did something terrible. The details of the event are lost on him, as she won't even spare as much as the exact time it happened.

He supposes that's for the best, otherwise he'd find ways to blame himself worse than he already does. He should've kept Orin away from you, he should've seen the signs.

But he didn't. And now you're gone.

In his grief, images of you in his mind satiate him temporarily; how you'd laugh at his jokes with blood lacing your teeth, how you'd dance for him in the viscera of your victims. His dearest remembrance may be the way you always clung to him, glued to his side like an attack dog awaiting its next order. You were so eager to please, just as he was eager to reward you.

As per usual, these images gradually spiral into something more risqué, a haunting reminder of how deeply your connection had evolved just before you disappeared. A memory of you responding coyly to his praise turns into you looking desperate and pliant beneath him. An accidental graze of your hand turns into you scratching and tearing at his skin while he has his way with you. He reaches over his shoulder to grace one of the affected areas, making note of how much it's healed, taking any traces of you with it in the process.

More importantly, he recalls the way his hands felt on your body. The rough, warmth of his palms knew every inch of your skin, though it seems nowadays their memory grows hazy. He can't forget, and he'll take whatever measures he has to in preventing that.

Even if those measures in-dignify him like no other, he'll do it— for you.

He stares at the button on his desk with reluctance. A pit opens up in his stomach as a hesitant finger hovers over it. Gods, has he drank too much? Or is he going to be sick with humiliation?

He clears his throat, preparing to maintain a steady impression of sobriety.

"... Somebody locate and escort Orin to my office."

He wonders if they've caught on to what that means by now. The thought is brief as he shoos it away like a burdensome fly, his chair creaking while he sinks into it once again.

It isn't long before the doors open. Orin enters the office accompanied by a Steel Watcher, the machine following her close behind.

She smugly approaches his desk, a conquering grin on her face that he'd like to wipe off with methods he shouldn't say aloud.

The Steel Watcher turns on its heels, taking a few heavy steps before leaving them in the quiet of the room.

Alone.

Enver downs the last of his drink in one, quick motion. His dark eyes follow Orin's figure, though they almost seem to look right through her.

She circles him like a vulture, her hand trailing over his arm. "Well," she starts, her voice as theatric and ear-piercing as always. "I do hope you have something different in mind for today, little lord."

His lips hold a tight line, his gaze fixing on the scattered papers atop his desk. "Change," he demands.

Orin huffs exasperatedly from behind his chair. "Agh! Again with the pouting and moping—!" her voice warps mid-sentence, carrying a familiar lilt that makes his heart skip a beat. "— you're no less of a sorry excuse for a tyrant than when I was around to see it."

His head turns quickly as she comes back into view, no longer herself, but you. He swallows harshly, his mouth parting as he gazes upon your dearly missed features.

It's like you're really there— as long as he avoids your eyes, that is. She can never get them quite right, and they pull him out of his fantasy like a sucker punch.

He reaches out for you, his plated grasp cooly caressing your wrist. Flipping your hand, he runs his thumb over your palm, admiring every line and crevice. How often he tended to the wounds gifted by your own fits of violence, how often he'd kissed your blood-stained fingertips.

Orin sneers and roughly jerks herself away. "Cease your bleeding heart," she hisses. "Lest I rip it out."

She laughs in his face cruelly, relishing in the idea of clawing through his chest and pulling the blood-pumping organ from its chamber.

He shakes off the surprise from being slung back into reality so coarsely. With grit teeth, he catches her by her forearm and yanks her face just inches from his. "Behave, or I will do away with you like any other useless object."

Stunned, her irises dart back and forth between his, her features contorting into a mixture of fear and submission. Through frowned lips, she utters with a shaky breath, "... you'd really do that to me?"

For a moment, her disguise is all too convincing, and he finds himself instantly regretting his loss of temper.

Orin's trickery becomes obvious as she bursts into another fit of maniacal laughter. "You're weak, little lord! Oh, how I wish to carve your expression into your face so you might carry it forever!"

Enver slouches, his fingers massaging his temple while she prattles on. How much of this is really worth it? He gets to see you again, but not without paying the price of mental torment.

"Every second they're gone, you soften like the flesh of a babe!"

A deep exhale leaves his nose. "I've changed my mind. Away with you." He waves her off dismissively. He supposes he'll just have to find you in the dark room of a brothel instead.

Her cackling ceases, the split corners of her mouth falling. She appears to contemplate for a moment before dropping to her knees. "No, no," she begs, crawling closer so she can lay her head in his lap. "I'll be good."

He stares down at her with little regard— at how she looks up at him with a hint of desperation. She's in character again, but for how long? He's had enough of her games.

Just as he's about to double down, she speaks once more, "You know I can be good—" her lips pull into a convincing smile, sly and quick. "—Enver."

The sound of you speaking his name again is so much sweeter than anything his imagination could ever conjure. It grabs him by the jaw, paralyzing him.

He becomes heavily fixated on how your fingers tease at his inner thigh, the digits so delicate and nimble; how they wander so endearingly with their faux innocence. His breaths heighten, the tendons in his hand becoming prominent as he flexes it to maintain composure.

She lifts her head as he cups her cheek. Her look of triumph is ripped away when his slithering hand burrows into her hair and yanks, angling her head upward. She responds with a glare and a scowl.

Slowly, he leans closer, anticipation looming in the air before he speaks. "Undress," he orders, the alcohol on his breath filling her flared nostrils.

After she's released, she takes stance just outside the parting of his knees. Holding the intensity of his gaze, she reaches for the buttons of your blouse. She knows the drill— strip for him, nice and slow. It's the same every time.

Once she undoes the final button, she lets the soft fabric slip down your shoulders, revealing your supple breasts. He stares from under his brow as she runs her hands over them, using her thumb to play with your nipple.

Letting the shirt fall to the floor, she moves on to your pants. They wriggle off of your hips, revealing silky, touchable skin.

He runs his tongue over his lip as she sneaks a finger under the hem of your panties, letting them snap back against your body teasingly.

A warning glance is sent her way as she takes double the time removing the final garment. She rolls her eyes, dropping them to the floor with the rest of your clothing.

His chest rises with a slow, deep breath, reveling in the sight of you; how badly he wishes it weren't a facade.

As she approaches him, his lustful gaze follows your figure from the bottom up. Once he reaches your eyes, he stops there, lingering. His expression becomes rigid, and he puts out a hand to stop her from climbing onto him.

She leers at him with an already-knowing stare, then scoffs before wandering off towards his bedroom.

"Such a demanding, scrutinizing little bastard," she can be heard mumbling in the distance, distaste on her tongue.

When she returns, she has a black piece of fabric in her palms. She offers it to him, and he raises it to her face. It covers her eyes, blinding her once he ties a knot at the back of her head.

He's almost taken aback as he looks her over again— now, without traces of Orin in your gaze, he sees you.

You're finally allowed access to his lap. Although, your face has tensed, a deepness to your brow. "I make no mistakes. Any imperfections you notice are merely a reflection of your own sickly, deteriorating mind." You cradle him, letting his hands run over your body. "Perhaps you'd like me to take a look inside and fix that for you."

He ignores the words spoken under the guise of your voice, instead focusing on how your skin feels in his grasp once again. It's so warm and soft, so impossibly smooth. His fingertips trace over your beauty marks and scars as if to ensure they're where he remembers.

One of his bare fingers runs through the folds of your cunt, reinforcing the memories of its wet, velvety touch. His cock twitches, recalling how you'd tighten while you came— how he'd pump you full of his own cum time and time again.

Impatient, you grind down on his hard-on, and he responds with a sharp inhale. You continue the motion, getting off on how he feels through his pants.

He rakes in his bottom lip as he watches your lower half stir. His burly hands find purchase on your hips, the golden points on his fingers threatening to draw blood.

Unable to put it off any longer, he frees his cock from his boxers, giving himself a few pumps with his hand while ogling your figure. He uses his thumb to bring precum to your lips, which you clean off with your tongue.

An anticipatory groan erupts deep in his throat as he adjusts himself so that you can take him in.

Since you can no longer see, you rely on him to guide you onto his length. He's so large and difficult to accommodate— that was something you always struggled with.

He lolls his head back as his tip breaches your entrance, your pillowy walls satiating the hunger in him that'd been brewing so deep.

A few moments pass and he's able to sink into you a bit further. He knows it aches as it forces your legs wider apart, but he loves that you try. You've always tried for him.

A shuddering exhale leaves his lips as you begin to move, gripping his forearms while he steadies you by your waist. His hold is secure, yet an underlying buzz of anxiousness hides within it.

You let out sounds of slight discomfort as he stretches you out. His hand lifts to comfort you, but it quickly retracts before making contact. He had almost forgotten that you are not you.

His face hardens at the realization, a sudden wave of hatred and anger rattling his bones. It's Orin's fault you're not here, why's he wasting his time being gentle with her?

With a curl to his lip, his gold fingertips latch onto her, and he forces her the rest of the way down. She yowls, a pained arch in her back.

In a quick act of retaliation, she smacks him across the face. The noise reverberates through the room's tall ceilings, followed by silence. He turns to look at her again, a red mark beginning to taint his cheek.

"I will hang you from the rafters by your own intestines!" She shrieks at him, her nails digging into his exposed chest. Leaning close to his ear, she hisses, "I may look like your spineless little whore, but I can assure you our similarities are few and far between—!"

Her sentence is cut off as a hand wraps around her throat, pushing on her esophagus with increasing pressure. She chokes, pulling at his decorated fingers to no avail.

"If I hear you utter such disrespect again, I'll see to it that you're rendered unrecognizable and scattered throughout the trenches of this city," he threatens lowly and quick, a snarl on his face while he watches her squirm.

He can practically see his threat playing out in her mind like some sick fantasy. The corners of her mouth twitch before spreading into an uncontrollable smile. "Quite... the Lothario... tyrant boy," she pushes a moan past his grip that evolves into excited laughter.

His hold loosens as she begins to move up and down his length once more. Her jaw— your jaw— falls slack as you take pleasure from him filling you up. He finds himself captivated by how your cunt strains around him, leaving a creamy residue behind.

"Fuck," he mutters defeatedly, feeling himself weaken by the second. For as long as she looks like you, she has the upper hand.

Once the strength of his chokehold wavers, he allows you to take his hand and touch yourself with it, guiding it over your breasts and waist. Your hands contrast heavily; he's quite fond of how dainty yours look in comparison.

His touch settles at your hips, fastening you in his grasp as he begins to fuck you from beneath. He stares up at your partially covered face as you bounce in his lap, watching how each sound you make leaves your mouth.

He starts to feel that familiar anxiousness once again— he needs more control, he needs to dominate. In one swift movement, he picks you up and lays you over the documents on his desk, scattering most of them to the floor.

He directs your thighs around his torso, spreading you open further. Your back arches as he bottoms out in one quick thrust, the hair at his base brushing against you.

With one hand he secures your wrists above your head, then balances himself with the other. The jewelry lacing his clothing clatters as he slams into you repeatedly, a throaty moan leaving his lips.

There's a sense of deprivation to him, so much so that it drips from his every movement, every touch, every sound. He starves like a lowly stray, and you've always been the only hand he won't bite.

You begin to glow with a sheen of sweat, though he refrains from tasting the salt on your skin. The harsh reality of your condition hangs in the back of his mind, and he worries that even a grain of intimacy will enable it to come forward. Despite how badly he wishes to kiss your lips and bruise your neck, he just can't.

He moans as his body grows tense, his pace losing its consistent rhythm. His cheeks are flushed, a haziness to his gaze as he grips your wrists tighter, leaving marks behind.

With bared teeth, his eyes screw shut. He reaches his climax, and you let out soft whimpers as he rams into you with a few final hard thrusts. In just seconds, hot, thick cum stains your walls and threatens to leak onto the desk.

His head hangs wearily as he catches his breath, allowing himself to come down from his high. He looks you over— how you lay, unmoving and quiet. Something that can only be described as remorse twists in his stomach, though it's not unfamiliar in this circumstance.

Then, there's silence. It infects the atmosphere of the office, bordering on unsettling.

He exhales, running his fingers through the hair sticking to his forehead. Pulling out of you, he begins the process of recomposing himself. While adjusting his pants, he notices your body writhing and twitching in his peripheral.

Every trace of your likeness slowly withers away, transforming you back into your true form— Orin.

She lifts the blindfold from her eyes, a terribly wide grin on her black lips. She sits up on the desk, taking delight in the slight horror on his features. "How could I ever tire of that look?" she hums.

With a thick swallow, his expression contorts into anger. He observes the mess they've made— the paperwork strung all over the floor, the spilled ink dripping from its canister. "Get out." A crease forms between his brows as he starts gathering documents.

She lingers a moment longer, swinging her crossed legs as they hang off the edge.

Her lack of urgency is enough to make the already-taut rage in him snap. "GET OUT!" he shouts in her face, the papers in his hand crinkling under his unforgiving grip.

She hops onto the floor, her hands folded behind her back as she stares up into his glower. The tension grows between them like an unsightly weed while neither shies away.

As if in thought, her mouth parts before she finally speaks, "... I'll see you again soon, lordling."

Shortly after that, she turns to leave, his eyes following.

Her words ring in his ears, causing his upright shoulders to sink. His hand pulls on the lower half of his face defeatedly, a loud sigh escaping his nose.

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

You'll Find Me Resting Among The Restless... (Sinners Prayer)

Mafia!Stucky x POC Escort!Reader “Sin”

Wordcount: 5325

Summary:

Not all girls are made of sugar spice and everything nice. Some girls are made of art, lust and misplaced trust. The most loving thing you can do for a man, is to teach him to swallow his own poison.

Warnings:

Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Betrayal, Infidelity, Past Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate universe - Mafia, Texting, Punishment, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort Sex, Tease, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Female Character of Color

Notes:

This story just attacked me and would not let up until I got it out of my system. It's angsty but with a happy/hopeful ending because I'm a sucker for a resolution. Italics are thoughts Photos used do not represent any particular reader features, they are used for reference only. Happy Reading!

Banner by @cafekitsune Divider by @firefly-graphics

They messed up badly this time. Not only had they fallen for you. They didn't realize it until you were gone. Throwing every “gift” back in their faces and moving out of the penthouse they liked to keep you in. You also went back to some of your old clients. One of which was a particular couple that they were very close to, in business and personally. 

All because Steve let his bitch of an ex Sharon get under his skin and in a lapse of judgement and a whole lot of whiskey he not only fucked her but let you find them together on the couch naked and passed out the morning after. He had the nerve to get pissy with you for just showing up at their place. When he was the one that set up the breakfast date the week prior. 

Asshole.

Poor Bucky, he didn't even do anything and yet because he and his boyfriend are a package deal he got left as well. 

You told him you’d never get between them. That you wouldn't hurt either of them by picking one over the other. If things came to that, you’d just leave them both. They weren’t the only ones who went and fell in love. With tears filling your eyes, begging to be set free, you turned towards the Steel Gray eyes full anguish beside you. 

“I can handle a broken heart Buck. It’s not the first time someone thought that because of my profession and being non monogamous that you can't ACTUALLY cheat on me. I’m going to miss you something fierce though.” You step closer for just a moment and caress his cheek. 

“I wish it wasn't this way, but it is what it is. I can forgive a lot of things. Even this if done properly, but for now I just need to not be here anymore. Please know that I don't blame you for any of this. You're just as much a victim of his choices as I am.” You kiss his cheek. 

“I love you. Please don't hurt him too much and take care of yourself okay. If you need me you know where I’ll be.” You pivot on your heels and head out the door, gently closing it behind you. You make it all the way to the penthouse they provided you before you break down in tears as you pack up all of your belongings. You’ve just gotta get out here.

That’s how you ended up here, attending a party hosted by Pepper and Tony Stark, as their plus one. In all honesty you knew Tony only threw this event because he wanted to cheer you up and this is the only way he knew how outside of the bedroom. That was his first approach, which was shutdown quickly by Pepper the moment she saw you on their doorstep, clearly heartbroken.

You weren't here only in a work capacity, although they were paying for your time, they just wanted to protect you and let you heal without the added pressure to ‘perform’. So once again, on paper and according to your bank account at least, you were their Sugar Baby. 

You did terminate the contract with Steve and Bucky the same day the incident occurred, so it was good to know you wouldn't have to dip into your savings just yet. Thank goodness Pepper still kept your old apartment in Stark Tower ready for you just in case. 

The relationship you shared with them was not at all conventional, with or without a contract. Frankly they were the only people you knew who you could always count on and that meant the world to you. You truly did love the Starks. Before Steve and Bucky came along they were your favorite clients. They were the ones to introduce you to the powerful couple, at a party just like this one actually. So technically they were to blame for your current heartbreak.

I wonder if they’ll both show their faces here and if Sharon will be on Steve’s arm? I wonder how Bucky is holding up, if the nightmares have come back? Fuck. I told myself I wasn't going to think about them tonight and here I am almost in tears at the thought of Bucky in pain. I need a drink or five.

It isn’t until you're nursing your third cocktail at the bar, catching up with Wanda that you spot them, the usual entourage of Nat and Sam at their sides, Clint taking up the rear. Ever the intimidating image as always. Other than Tony, who runs Manhattan, they’re the biggest bosses in the room, controlling Brooklyn. Thankfully they brokered a truce years ago and everyone works together peacefully. 

Before you have a chance to escape to a far corner where you can hide away, you make the mistake of glancing over your shoulder and catch the intense blues of Bucky staring straight into your soul. Even tired he looks like a damn Greek god. Tragedy included. 

He breaks the stare off, leaning over to Nat and whispering something in her ear. You watch as she skillfully distracts Steve and moves him towards the center or the party where the Starks are currently holding court. Lost in watching Nat do what she does best, you don't realize Bucky has made his way over to you until it’s too late and you feel the ghost of fingertips trace down your exposed spine in your backless black dress. 

He leans over your shoulder. That sweet baritone you love whispering into your ear. “You look magnificent tonight, Doll. Would you grant a poor mortal the chance to remain in your presence with a dance?”

You lift your glass to your lips, keeping your eyes straight ahead, finishing the remnants of alcohol while you ponder your response. With a steadying breath you respond. “One dance couldn't hurt. But it can't be here, among such prying eyes. I’d rather remain in the shadows tonight.” 

“As you wish.” He proceeds to rest his hand on the small of your back and guide you toward a darkened sitting room off the main hall. You could faintly hear the music over the murmur of voices wafting into the space. 

He pulls you close, wrapping his large arms around your waist as you rest yours around his thick neck. Being in his arms again, after weeks of loneliness, feels like coming home. You place your forehead against the space between his collarbone when he begins to sway to the dull beat. 

“How have you been, Doll? Truthfully. Don’t try to sugarcoat it for my feelings.”

Keeping your face right where it is, to shield you from those steel grays you love so much, you give him your truth. “Surviving. That’s the best way I can describe it. I’ve been licking my wounds and trying to mend this hole I feel in my heart. I keep thinking, I just have to get to tomorrow and the pain will lessen even more. And one day it won’t hurt anymore when I think of them.”

You lift your head to run your eyes over his handsome face. “How about you? How have the Kings of Brooklyn been holding up in their Ivory Tower?”

Looking off into the darkened space, his eyes latching on to a sliver of moonlight coming in through a crack in the curtains. You feel his chest vibrate as he scoffs. “We’re not even sleeping in the same bed right now. I was so upset with him that day that I couldn’t even be bothered to  help him with his hangover. Funny enough, Sharon was kicked out immediately by Steve as soon as you left. Like legit woke her up, threw her clothes at her and screamed at her to get the fuck out. She didn’t leave without spewing a few truths first.”

He just shakes his head, rambling out his thoughts as they come into his mind. “Apparently it was her plan all along to get him drunk and earn her spot back by his side. She’d been talking shit about the both of us and just wanted Steve to herself. She knew just how to get into Steve’s head due to his loyalty to her family. Thought that you’d just latch on to me and I would let him go to keep you. She had no idea that you would drop us both because you couldn't handle breaking us apart.”

You stare at him slack jawed, as he turns to look down at your moonlit face.

“Not gonna lie. I’m drowning without you, Doll. I can’t even look at him after what he did. It was reckless, regardless of his inebriated state. He knows how I feel about her and the things she’s done to him and me in the past.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“The fucking Golden idiot, due to his loyalty to her Aunt and Uncle, and what he feels he owes them, just keeps letting her back in. I’m done with it. What about the respect I deserve as his partner in business and life? Fuck that, what about the respect and loyalty YOU deserve.” He’s staring straight into your soul again. 

“Your loyalty. Your love. It saved me babygirl. Your light always cuts through the darkness for me. You were the piece we were fucking missing and I cant believe he would even risk that. I’ve tried to let you go. I understand your reasons for leaving us. But I just can't do it. Even seeing the pain he’s trying to hide away, the tough front he’s putting on, isn’t enough to keep me around right now. I miss you baby. I’d give it all up to have you back in my arms for good. All this lavish bullshit isn't worth anything to me without you by my side. I hate that I’m being punished for his fuck up. Again I'm not blaming you for your decision baby. It just hurts and I miss you so fucking much. I can't even sleep at night anymore.”

You can’t resist running your fingers through the hairs on the nape of his neck. “Bucky. I miss you too. So much. I wish it wasn't like this. I never wanted to leave you. You’re right. You never did do anything wrong. You were more than loyal to me. I hate thinking I’m causing you pain because of a stupid decision he made.” Tears begin to well in your eyes. 

He gives your waist a squeeze. “Don’t cry baby. We can figure this out. Where are you staying? I know Tony and Pep took over your contract.”

You sniffle a bit. “They did. But it’s not what you think. Sex is not on the table. Though Tony fought me and Pep on that. He thinks a good dicking is all I need. They just want me to heal in peace. I’m staying here at the Tower in my old apartment.”

He nods his head. “Good. Makes me feel better knowing you're safe.” He grabs your cheeks tenderly. “I wish I could kiss you right now. It’s all I’ve wanted to do these last couple weeks. Just having you in my arms again isn’t enough.”

“Please.” You whisper out.

“Do you mean it, Doll? You're not just telling me what you think I want because you feel guilty for your decision to leave?” He implores.

“I don't regret my decision to leave, Bucky. But I do hate that I had to leave you behind. Like I said that morning. I could forgive almost anything. There’s just not anything you need to apologize for. So why did I let my emotions drag you in with my need for him to be punished? It was stupid of me. If you can forgive me for how I left, I would like to keep you in my life. In whatever way you see fit for that.” You confess.

“Really?” He furrows his brows. Not wanting to get his hopes up.

“Yes. I’ve been miserable without you too.” You smile up at him. 

“You good to get out here or do the Starks still need you tonight? Cus there is nothing I want more than to get you out of this dress and underneath me so I can show just how much I truly missed you.” That devilish smile of his, that means nothing but the good kind of trouble adorns his face as he awaits your answer. 

“I’m not needed here. This whole party was just to get me out of my apartment anyway and for Tony to be Tony and throw his money around. Plus seeing him walk in like nothing happened, act or not, yeah that shit hit deep.” You shrug your shoulders.

“Then let’s head up to your place and make the most of the rest of our night. I’ve got some time to make up for, and I’m all of a sudden ravenous.” The feral look in his eyes has you clenching your thighs together.

Not to be intimidated, you run a hand down his neck until it rests along the waistband of his dress slacks. “Yes, Sir.” 

He lets out a deep growl, pulls you close by the back of your neck and lays the most devastating, soul consuming kiss on your lips. Pouring every emotion into. Conveying without words just how much you mean to him. 

How could I have ever left this man behind?

You’ve barely made it through your apartment door before Bucky has you pinned against it. 

“I don’t know wether to rip this dress off you and fuck you right here against this door or take my time sweet time and worship every inch of your skin like you deserve.”

“Who says you have to only pick one option? We have the whole night ahead of us, don't we Sir?”

“Fucking minx.” He steals another heated kiss and pulls away from your chasing lips, panting. “Where’s your room babygirl. I’ve decided taking you apart piece by piece on your bed is the best place to start.”

You close your eyes for a moment and suppress a moan. “Promises. Promises. Sir.” 

Throwing him a wink, you lick your lips before turning and heading off down the hall. Sashaying your hips and divesting yourself of your dress right outside your bedroom door. 

Now completely nude, you climb onto your bed. Just as you lie back, resting on your elbows with your knees bent and legs spread wide, drooling pussy on full display, Bucky’s large figure graces your doorway. Shirtless, he stalks over to the bed, unbuckling his pants and losing them along with his boxer briefs along the way.  

He reaches the end of your bed. Eyes zeroed in on your glistening little slit. A feral grin slowly spreads across his face and he pounces. Before you know it your back hits the mattress of your king sized bed and Bucky is pushing your legs apart, resting your knees on his broad shoulders and laying kisses on your thighs. 

“This is the only place I wanted to be for weeks. Couldn't stop thinking about all the little noises you make for me when I feast upon this sweet cunt. How you squirm when I hit the right spot with my tongue. Fuck . Just look at you babygirl, so wet for me you're dripping onto the sheets already.” He swipes his tongue up along your folds from entrance to clit, eliciting a moan from you. You’ve always been sensitive but you haven't even touched yourself in the weeks since you left. Too overcome in your grief. So just that little movement is almost too much already. 

Clearly a man on a mission, he begins to devour you, wasting no time thrusting his tongue inside as deep as he can. The thick muscle massaging your silken walls, giving them something to clamp on to. “ Fuck, Bucky. That feels so good.” 

Your hands are anchored in his hair, pulling on his silken strands, just enjoying the ride on his tongue he is giving you. When he swirls his tongue, pulls it out and then moves it to lightly draw infinity symbols on your clit you lose it. 

A kaleidoscope of stars detonates behind your eyes as the orgasm slams into you. Gripping onto his locks tighter as you writhe beneath him, back arching off the mattress before you go boneless.

Coming back to your senses, you blink open your eyes and peer down at Bucky. His chin is glistening wet. A proud smile gracing his handsome face. Adoration shining in his icy blues. “There she is.” He laughs. “Had me worried for a minute there babygirl. Thought I might have made ya pass out. Looks like it was just one hell of an orgasm.” 

A sweet smile adorns your blissed out face as you caress his damp cheeks. “One hell of an orgasm indeed.” 

He begins to crawl up the bed towards you, leaving a path of kisses in his wake. His massive thighs push your legs further apart as he gives his turgid length a couple of slow strokes. He teases the thick head of his member along your folds, coating himself in your essence. 

You lock eyes with him as you whimper. “Please.”

He leans forward, interlocking his hands in yours, placing a toe curling kiss to your lips as he enters the warmth of your cunt. Splitting you open on his generous girth. Pulling his hips back and leaving you no time to adjust as he begins to grind his hips down on yours with every thrust. 

Foreheads pressed together, completely lost in this carnal dance of love and devotion. The room fills with the sounds of your passion. A symphony of moans and groans, accompanied with the sound of slick flesh meeting slick flesh. 

“Nothing has ever felt as good as your pussy squeezing me so tightly when you lose yourself to your pleasure. I need you to come for me baby. Come around my cock. I’m not going to last much longer and I need to feel you let go for me.” He groans out between brutal thrusts. 

It’s like his words have a direct link to your clit and with another well placed swivel of his hips you feel yourself lose control as your orgasm takes over. A rainbow of colors flash behind your eyes and the world sounds as if you're underwater. 

Everything comes back into focus just as Bucky is reaching his own climax. Burying himself deep inside you as he bites down on your shoulder and paints your womb white with rope after rope of his seed. Panting, he leaves a gentle kiss on the mark his teeth left behind. You run your fingers through his dark tresses and kiss his nose.

“Fuck I missed that.” He blurts out as he comes down from his own high.

“Agreed. Although, I must admit. It’s never felt quite as intense before. Feral yes. But that was something else altogether. I want more.” The confession slips from your lips.

“I’d give you the world babygirl. All you have to do is ask.” He places a soft kiss on your lips. “Let’s make some good use of that large walk in shower I can see from here and get dirty while we get clean. A round two is much needed. I haven't had my fill of you yet tonight.”

You giggle as he rolls over, slides off the bed and proceeds to scoop you up in his arms and into the ensuite. “You weren’t kidding about making up for lost time.”

“Darlin’, I’ll never get enough of you.”

You awaken slowly, sunlight slipping in through the blinds and a sweet soreness throughout your body. You open your eyes to the beautiful sight of a sleeping Adonis laid beside you, as peaceful as you’ve ever seen him. You take a moment to just watch his chest rise and fall with each breath until a vibration against the nightstand to his right catches your attention.

You reach across Bucky’s prone frame to grab his phone. It seems that Steve has been sending texts and leaving messages for Bucky throughout the night. Having felt you move, he rouses from his slumber and nuzzles into your neck. “Not that I’m complaining about having you draped over me like a blanket, but what has you moving around so much already? I thought I wore you out last night.” 

Turning the device in your hand towards his slowly waking eyes you respond. “Your phone. Apparently Steve needs your attention.” 

He takes his phone from your hand and goes through all the texts and two voicemails left for him. He responds with a picture of the two of you together in bed.

I'm right where I'm supposed to be Pal. Don’t know when or if I’ll be home though. 

This is how you spend the next week. Lazy days full of fucking, comfort food, dancing, smoking and watching movies. Just enjoying your time together in a little bubble. Bucky taunting Steve with pictures and videos of how you're spending days together. At one point even you get in on the torment, texting him back pics of Bucky cooking shirtless, in the shower, having a smoke or cuddled up on your lap. 

Looks like breakfast is served.

Cleanse the skin of its many sins.

He just can’t seem to quit

He won’t let me move

Bucky is much more of an ass about it though. Sending provocative pics of you and rubbing in how badly he fucked up.

I’ll never get enough of kissing the breath out of her

Best morning view

Gonna have to thank Tony for this secret little room in her apartment. 

Having enough of his moping and random fits of anger targeted at whoever was closest, Natasha decides it’s time to take things into her own hands. With some help from her friends of course. Wanting to help move things along, the Starks call a meeting with Steve to be held at the tower in their personal conference room located in their penthouse. They need to figure out if it's even worth letting you back into his life. 

Surprisingly Tony is more than okay with Bucky cohabitating in sin with you here in the tower. The smile is back on your face and your laughter is filling the halls once more. But Steve has a bigger battle to fight, having betrayed your trust and he wants to make sure that he understands that.

The man of the hour walks in with a calm step and an air of malice in his cerulean eyes. The bags beneath them tell the story of a man suffering for his choices. Tony has been there before. That time when Pepper came to her senses and left him high and dry when he refused to commit to her, unwilling to give up his playboy ways. That’s when he first used your services. He needed someone on his arm for events and he just couldn’t handle bringing a new person each time. It would only aid in making what Pepper said about him true.

It was you who listened to him make drunken confessions of his true feelings for his former lover. That he did want to commit but he was afraid that he wasn't cut out for monogamy. That’s when you told him all about your non monogamous status. “Monogamy is great for those who chose to live that way. But for me, I’m just not content with only one lover in my life. I am polyamorous as well though. But don’t be confused. Not every non-mono person is that way. Some only want to play with others and keep emotions out of it and that’s ok. I for one am happy with multiple play partners as well as multiple full fledged relationships. To each their own ya know.” You gave a little shrug. 

“It seems to me that the only amorous relationship you want is with her. You just want the option to play when an opportunity presents itself. And I’m willing to bet that you want her included in those sessions as well.” You can’t help wiggling your brows. 

“That’s the dream isn’t it. Ya know, I think you two would like each other. Too bad I chased her away. The trouble we could all get in together. Mmmm.” He bites his lip and continues drinking his whiskey. 

“Who says you can't win her back? Give me your phone.” He hands it over, unaware that you were going to change his life for the better. 

Snapping out of his memories and giving attention back to the room full of his friends and fellow gangsters, he locks eyes with Steve. “Hello Steven.” He smirks. “You’re looking well.”

“Cut the crap Tony. What did you drag me here for?” He bites out.

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa Cap. I brought you here for the benefit of your relationships but now I’m thinking I should have left it alone.” He runs his fingers over his goatee. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about that icy little boyfriend of yours and everyone's favorite escort. I’m sure you're more than aware of the love den they have been spending their time in. Licking their wounds and mending their heartbreak together.” 

He quirks a brow. “Tony I don't have time for your bullshit. If you didn't bring me here for business then I’m gonna head out that door. I have better things that I could be doing with my time.”

“Like what? Taking out your anger at your colossal fuck up on your subordinates? Spending some more time between that Carter’s legs?” He declares with disdain.

With the quickness of a man half his size, Steve’s hand is wrapped around Tony’s throat. “You need to learn not to speak of things that don’t concern you.”

Pepper and Natasha rush forward. One afraid for her husband's safety, the other worried about the truce being broken due to her boss's emotional outburst. Men. 

“Alright boys. Enough is enough. Steven, please let go of my husband. We really did bring you here to help you out. He’s just a little overprotective of her. We all are.” Pepper implores in her softest tone.

With Natasha’s help and a nudge from Sam he finally gives in and lets Tony’s neck go. “Thank you.” 

He slumps back in his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know I fucked up. I let my allegiance to the Carter family blind me and allow my toxic ass ex to manipulate her way back into my life. In the process, regardless of my overly intoxicated state, I betrayed the love of my life, my best friend. As well as the only women who has ever truly understood our dynamic and accepted and loved us unconditionally. And I'm the idiot you didn't realize how madly in love with her I was until I watched her leave us that morning. Us. Not me, who deserved her wrath, but us. She couldn't bring herself to choose between us, even in her pain. I don’t fault Buck for leaving me to my misery to go after her.” 

He scoffs. “They’ve been torturing me daily with pictures of their time spent together. I want that. I want back in their good graces but I have no idea how to fix what I broke or even if I can.”

Pepper places her hand on his shoulder. “Of course you can. I can’t speak for James, but I’ve never known her to not at least have an honest conversation. Start there, she’ll appreciate your honesty. Don’t complicate things. Lay all your cards on the table and let them lay down theirs. It’s that simple.”

“I’m willing to go that route. If I even knew where they were.” He sighs.

“Well, lucky for you Cap that Pep here never got rid of the little vixens apartment. And I have it on good authority that they ordered take out that will need to go through security before making it’s way up to them.” Rubbing his neck Tony says with a smirk.

“I’m gonna need you to intercept that order for me.”

You're cuddled up all cozy in Bucky’s lap, watching Bride Of Chucky, when the doorbell goes off. 

“Must be the food. I’ll grab it, no need to pause. You know I have this memorized.” You lay a quick kiss on his cheek and make your way to the door. 

Grabbing your wallet from the hall table you open the door and let out a gasp. Standing there with your take out in his hand and puppy dog eyes is none other than Steven Grant Rogers.

You have no idea how long you stand there, just staring at him.

“Hey babe, what’s taking so long? Can’t find your wallet again?” Bucky comes up behind and stops in his tracks when his eyes land on Steve. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Bucky.” You admonish.

“No, no, it’s okay. I get it.” He lets out a deep sigh. “I just wanted to talk to both of you. Tony and Pep helped me get up here. Please. I just want to talk. If you don't like what I have to say you can kick me out and I’ll never bother you again. That goes for you too Buck.”

You and Bucky share a look, before you open the door further and step aside. “Come on in, Steve.”

You head back to the living room, and have Steve place the food on the coffee table as you pause the movie and take a seat on the sofa next to Bucky.

Instead of sitting on the loveseat to the left of you, Steve lowers himself to his knees before you. “First and foremost, I’m sorry. I’m not even going to try and make excuses for it. Drunk or not, it shouldn't have happened. And I definitely shouldn’t have yelled at you when I was only angry at myself.”

He reaches for your hands, which you let him take. “You had every right to leave me. I’m an idiot. I love you and I let you slip away.” He turns to Bucky. “I’m sorry I even entertained her baby. I know how she makes you feel. Again, I’m an idiot.” 

“Not gonna argue with you on that one.” Bucky says as he leans back against the couch.

“I can’t promise that I won’t fuck up again in some way. I am stubborn after all. But what I can promise is that I’ll try. I’ll give you both my all and do what is necessary to win your trust back. Just give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

You look at Bucky. “Do you believe him? Do you believe he’s remorseful and truly ready to make amends?”

“Seeing as how I’ve only ever seen him on his knees when he’s servicing me and I placed him there. I’m gonna have to go with yes I think he means it. The decision is up to you though, Doll. From here on out. I go where you go.” He places a kiss on your cheek.

“Thank you for laying this all on my shoulders Buck.” You turn back to Steve and place a hand upon his face. He nuzzles into it. “I’m willing to give you a chance. But just the one. You’re going to have to really work to earn our trust back and we won't take it easy on you. You’re going to need to woo us all over again.” 

“Challenge accepted.” He quickly agrees.

“How about a kiss to seal the deal?” You suggest.

He leans in. “With pleasure, Doll.” He wraps his hand in your hair and proceeds to get you drunk off his love.

[penvisions]

return the favor {chapter 19}

Pairing: Post-Outbreak! Joel Miller x Smuggler! Reader

Summary: Recovery isn't linear and neither is mending mental fences that have been slowly deteriorating for two decades. On the cusp of something life changing, Joel's growing anxiety fuels your own and the tentative bridge you've constructed with the man begins to fall.

Word Count: 7.9k

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical violence, canon typical gore, description of injuries, description of anxiety, symptoms of anxiety, tense situations, argumentative language, foul language, disrespectful language and insinuations, trauma, depictions of past trauma, ptsd

A/N: first chapter of the new year! my city has been shut down for nearly a week due to winter storms and about 8 inches of show that is slowly turning into ice. so it was good mood setting for this chapter! slowly getting back into things, really hoping to get out of my head soon and off of medical leave to get back to posting on a more regular basis, i love y'all and miss sharing things. tried to maintain the tag list but tumblr was fighting me on half the links, im so sorry if anyone who wanted to get tagged didn’t!

ao3 || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Fuck.” You whispered under your breath, watching the screeching figures rush by after the figure of Joel leading them away from you. Ellie had tripped, causing rubble to tumble over cracked asphalt and alert them of the fact that people were within the city limits and exploring through the remains of what was once a decent metropolis. Your arm stung a little from where you were still healing, the injury of your broken arm two months old now. But you were able to use it, no longer confined to a sling. Your lungs still a little sore from the plunge you had taken into a frozen lake one month ago now.

Traveling had been hard, the harsh winter not letting up but seemingly getting worse with every day. Ellie found more of herself, falling back on snark and puns in a way that helped to bridge the gap that had begun to form between you and the man currently risking his life to give you both a chance to hide and seek shelter in the torment of the snowstorm raging on.

“Bookstore or library? City looks too small for one, but everyone used to have a library at least, right, Bean?” Ellie’s voice was barely audible behind you, her gun rattling slightly as her hands shook despite the gloves and heavy layers scrounged up along the way to Wyoming.

“Yes, Gremlin. We just have to find a map or something about the area.”

“What happened to yours?”

“Gave it to Joel.” You stood from your crouched position, knees popping audibly. You peered around the corner of a crumbling building, your longer hair fanning out from beneath your beanie. The curls getting ratty with the harsh reality of backpacking around the desolate land of what was once civilization. Ellie’s wasn’t much better, tangled in a ponytail that you were sure would hold its shape even if you cut the band from around it. Similarly, Joel’s steel locks had begun to curl around the back of his neck and around his ears, a darling curl falling over his forehead when he glanced down or seldom relaxed his watching gaze on everything.

“What…what’s been going on, Bean, please tell me.”

“Ellie, it’s not…nothing happened. I really don’t know, but you have nothing to worry about, we’re both going to keep doing our best to look after you.”

You both quietly moved through the city streets, ducking behind cars when any noise was too close, or the shuffle of the Infected echoed off crumbling buildings. Cody was a decent sized city, not quite a metropolis but was spread out over a good dozen square miles. Big enough to get lost in, big enough to fall victim to with how overrun it was. There were so many Infected, the Clickers and Runners hiding within the interior of buildings that were trying to withstand the test of time. But far too many for comfort, Ellie was close on your heels as you lead her toward where you suspected the library would be.

The whole, slow way your thoughts were focused on the task at hand, instincts taking over. The niggling feeling in the back of your mind concerned with the way Joel had been pulling from you recently. The spikes of anxiety you could read from him, feeling as if you were experiencing them firsthand. Which you had been as well, the journey through the harshening winter something that was testing you all in ways that you hadn’t expected to be so difficult.

‘Gasping for air, your entire body tensed as unconsciousness was ripped from you like a blanket by an exasperated mother the morning of a school day. Hands were wrapped around you, rigid but comforting and holding you still as you began to rouse.

“It’s okay, just breath, you’re okay.” A deep, baritone voice tried to sooth you, syrupy sweet and soft close to your ear. You vaguely recognized it, mind scrambled.

Words failed you, getting stuck in your chattering teeth as you shivered so hard it felt like convulsions.

“Took a dip in the lake, not the best decision you’ve made, but we got you on the mend.” The voice continued to talk softly to you, comforting you the same way that the arms around you were.

Shifting, you realized Joel was curled around you, making you the little spoon as he tried to get you warmed back up. His chest bare just like your back and the hush of the hair that he adorned noticeable as your senses slowly came back to you. Your hair was damp, so it must not have been too long ago when he pulled you from the water. You tried to ask but your teeth clattered against each other too loudly.

“Sweatin’ from head to toe, despite the chill settled in your bones, darlin’, had to strip down to try and get your body heat up. I assured Ellie it would be okay with you, made sure to change you into dry underwear beforehand. Didn’t want her thinking I was doing anything…bad.”

“G-good call, on-only way.” You stuttered out, feeling the thickness of his thighs pressed up against your own. It seemed that every blanket between the three of you and what had been in the cabin were draped over both of your forms. The fire crackling close as you lay on the floor in front of it.

“You scared me, you scared the hell outta me.”

“Tried to take him out, he tackled me and we rolled onto the la-lake.” It was hard to talk, to get the words out past trembling lips. But the warmth slowly seeping back into your skin and settling there allowed you to try. It was lulling you, the warmth on both sides, all around. The jolt of awareness fading fast as your body realized how hard it was fighting to stave off the cold, aided by the warm body wrapped tight around you with a tight grip.

“I don’t think I could handle loosing another person.” He murmured into the back of your head, lips buried in your hair as you nodded back off.

I would be something that echoed in your mind.’

He had hovered, that first week after the incident, insisting that the cabin remain a home base of sorts, he had hunted, hung up what he could to try and preserve it for travel. Ellie staying behind when he went to check the traps, telling her that you needed someone to watch after you. But you knew what he was doing, he was distancing himself. He was marking the sand around him with deep lines that should not be crossed. But the thing about sand is that it shifts, it can be swept up, it can consume you, it could damn you as well as any boundaries you tried to mark into the vulnerable surface.

For the first week back traveling on foot, he set up his sleeping bag close to yours. An arm’s reach away in case you shivered too harshly or coughed too loudly. Your arm hadn’t been damaged in the fall or the following struggle back to the surface, but it had set you back on needing to redo the stitches you had just removed the day before.

Shaking your head and focusing, you turned the corner of a building made of brick. Bloody handprints painted across the pale pink of the faded bricks catching your eye as you spied the sign for the library in the distance.

“C’mom, gremlin. Almost there.” You whispered to her, catching sight of too many bodies clustered on the ground not even ten feet away. They shied away from the sun when it peeked through the dense overcast that seemed to become a permanent fixture. Some looked to be standing, or even sitting against the building. The ones that were didn’t shift when the sun shone down on them but groaned all the same. Squinting, you could just make out that they were attached to the wall by long fibers that spanned over the side of the building. Large bulbs had sprouted up among the veinlike display, some directly on the bodies overtaken by the fungus.

Spores.

It had evolved into spores.

“Ellie, pull your collar up over your mouth and nose. Now.”

Looking back toward it, you pulled the bandana you had tied around your neck up to cover your own face. Ice coated it all, though the Infected, melting slightly in the sun that was now shining down through the split in the low cloud coverage.

The crunch of glass underneath a boot had you whipping around toward the entrance you had tried to barricade. Ellie ducking beneath one of the few standing shelves further in the building you had taken your time to clear and make sure was safe. The local library of Cody the agreed upon meeting place so many days ago it felt like a lifetime ago, between different people than who were now using the strategy in the face of a too real notion you had voiced about separation.

Joel’s broad form came into view from the shadows of the entrance, looking disheveled but intact. The layers he was bundled up in making him an imposing figure. His eyes frantically scanning the inside of the building, an anxious twinge gleaming in them before they landed on your cautious form peering from behind a pillar. You couldn’t tamp down the instinct to move toward him, wrapping your arms tight around him. He couldn’t seem to resist his own instincts to bring his arms around you to return the embrace, tight hold that brought you flush against him.

Surging up, you placed a chaste kiss to his chin and then both of his cheeks, one last gentle one to his lips despite the adherence to touching he seemed to take up slowly toward you. But it didn’t feel perfunctory, it felt like a welcome home that would fall from his lips if reality were different, if you had been home before him and he finally crossed the threshold back into a space you both shared. His cold lips moved against yours, pressing back to deepen it and his tongue swiped at your bottom lip in a silent question. You were just about to part your lips for him to taste when Ellie realized the coast was clear and came out of her hiding spot.

“Gross, y’all gotta keep it PG, I’m still a child!”

Joel tensed, his blunt nails digging into the layers wrapped around your body. With a grunt, he broke the kiss and sent a mild glare over your shoulder toward the rambunctious teen. Rash, he thought and you saw It flash over his face at both of your thoughtless actions to reach out for each other. But instinct was a funny thing, threw inhibitions out the window, threw self-preservation out the window, the thin, sheer curtain of privacy out the window, forgotten for a moment.

“Oh, suddenly you’re a child, but back when you wanted stay up for a round of night watch you were old enough and responsible enough?” You quipped back with a teasing smile, detangling yourself from Joel and facing her with your hands on your hip.

“Well-“

“Hush it, go see what we can use that’s still around, but don’t go too far!” You waved your arm at her, the other on your hip as you tossed her a faux irritated look, but the smile quirking up the corner of your lip broke the stern image you were trying to make.

“Didn’t wanna hear whatever mushy crap y’all are gonna say to each other anyway!” She stuck her tongue out at you before turning on her heel and walking away further into the building.

“Joel,” You placed your hands on his chest, trying to get his attention as he watched Ellie’s form.

“I saw it, the spores. That means we’ve all be potentially infected just being in the vicinity of Cody.”

“Infection can show signs as delayed as eight hours. Joel there’s no way to know until we do or don’t show symptoms.” He took your hands in his, feeling the slight tremors in them as your mind worked a mile a minute. Eyes flashing with something that could only be determination as you locked your gaze on his. “But it looked mostly iced over, moving slow but still alive.”

“We gotta move out, too alive for comfort.” He slid his hands from you and put his gloves back on, flipping his coat collar back up to shield his neck.

“Copy that.”

“We’re going to be okay, we know Ellie is safe.”

“Copy that.”

A harsh grunt had your head turning swiftly back toward the clearing you were on the edge of. Trees lining the edges of your vision and their naked limbs reaching out as if to comfort you. But they would damn you sooner than that, exposing you to any threat even this deep into the forest where you had sought relative safety for the night. Joel’s sleeping bag cradled figure was shifting, moonlight showing the anguish he was experiencing even in sleep. A nightmare.

He had been having more and more of them, sleep restless and mumbled words falling from his fitful form most nights or when he nodded off.

“Joel.” You murmured quietly, hand hovering just over his shoulder. He didn’t startle, but woke with a deep gasp, eyes flying open.

“Woah, hey, it’s okay. It’s just me, you were having a fit, just making sure you’re okay.”

“’m fine.” He said as he pushed up from the confines of his sleeping bag. You leaned back on your heels where you had kneeled beside him. Confusion colored your senses before you shifted into a neutral expression. He had been pulling away, the tentative kisses you shared a few days ago the first instance of comfort you both indulged in since the cabin.

“You’re fine.” Monotone agreement to appease him fell from your lips. He shoved off from his spot and you let him walk away, boots crunching in the snow that had built up since settling for the night.

“Takin’ over watch.” He said before disappearing in the thick of the trees, not a glance back toward you or a sleeping Ellie.

“I’m fine too,” You exhaled shakily, sharing in his own lie.

The blinding white landscape stretched out as far as you could see. Packed snow and ice all around for miles and miles as winter claimed the land for its own. You kept glancing over at your companions, worry settled deep in your soul. For the girl whose teeth chattered with the cold, edge of her nose pink despite the layers wrapped around her. For the man whose anxiety was beginning to show the longer the journey took and the nightmares that plagued him every night.

He looked washed out, from far more than the endless brightness of winter shining down. He was exhausted, he was worn out, he was holding the crumbling pillars of himself up with sheer determination and devotion to finding the one thing he knew in this world, his brother.

As you tried to keep your boots from slipping, the hush of snow underfoot, a structure suddenly appeared on the horizon. Smoke calmly billowing from a chimney.

The creak of the door opening had your muscles tensing, hidden behind a wooden pillar inside the warm cabin. Joel was across the space from you, gun positioned right in front of him, a calmness about him that you hoped meant no one would be dying today.

The man who had entered back into his home looked over to his wife, her eyes sliding to the left to silently give Joel’s position away. Her eyes met yours as she continued to face the door, before turning back to her husband as she calmly rocked in the chair with her hands in her pockets. Threatened but at ease, assuming you both to be decent people. To not harm her or what was hers. Your gut twisted at the faith she put in both you and Joel, seeing the desperation for appeasement and an avoidance of true violence. You wouldn’t hurt her, hurt them. Everyone seemed to sense it, only threats were dealt with violence, and she was not one.

Turning back to the door, the man gently placed his bow down atop a table and began to unzip his outermost coat.

“And the gun,” Joel approached, revealing himself full to the older couple. Voice steady but quiet, demanding.

“Who’re you?”

“Just someone passin’ through.” He strutted confidently beside the woman still rocking gently away, his voice giving away his native land, ascent thicker in the wake of another sleepless night.

“Take the gun out, two fingers only, put it outta reach.”

The man complied, with an exasperated expression at the brashness Joel was speaking with.

“Why didn’t you shoot ‘im?”

“The gun’s all the way over there.” Was her simple answer and you felt a smile pull at your lips, the display pulling at your heart. “He didn’t hurt me, by the way.”

“Yeah, I got eyes.”

A few steps further into the room brought the map and abandoned bowls from an offering of soup to the man’s attention.

“You made ‘im soup?”

“Yeah, I did. It’s cold out.” The man’s only response was a grunt as he settled into a chair across the small table from her. Joel’s head shifted to the side slightly, and you took the signal to move in front of the door.

The man’s attention turned to you, gazing at you over his shoulder.

“Well, aren’t you a quiet thing-“

“I’m lookin’ for my brother.” Joel took over the situation, his voice cutting off any further conversation between you and the couple. Letting them know that he was the one in charge, the one who would be asking the questions and controlling the conversation.

A scoff sounded harsh into the air as the old man removed his cap, his silver hair on display now in the comfort and warmth of his home.

“Well, I ain’t seen him.”

“I haven’t told you what he looks like.” Joel’s tone was hard, though you could see how tired he was, his eyes not holding any of the weight his shoulders seemed to as he deflated. Unable to keep up the rouse, unable to not let the doubt begin to slip in. The endless days out in the below freezing tundra finally wearing him down.

“He look anythin’ like you?”

“A bit.”

“Then I ain’t seen him.”

“They’ve got a girl with them.” The woman spoke up, eyes shifting up toward the second landing and giving Ellie’s hiding spot away. You could see her easily from you spot by the door, the way her brow furrowed much like Joel’s at the woman’s easy give up of her presence.

Apparently sensing how calm everything was, Ellie took that as her opportunity to reveal herself.

“Can I come down?” She called from the upstairs, causing you to close your eyes in exasperation of her lack of patience. Joel, similarly, exasperated, turned his attention from the man he kept his gun trained on and looked toward the stairs with a mile glare.

“No,” His demand turned into a calling of her name as she moved and began to make her way down the stairs with loud steps.

“Ooh-wa. A woman and a girl, family man.” The old couple shared a quiet laugh at the quickly shifting interaction. No longer tense, but something else.

“What did I just say?” Joel posed toward her as she came to stand in the space between you both, blocking the stairs from view with her small form as she brandished her own gun.

“Joel, come on, they’re like a thousand.”

“Who’s this little psycho?”

“Never mind her.” Joel shifted forward, using his free hand to push the map on the table closer to the man whose focus was shifted toward Ellie. “I need you to tell us where we are.”

“If you got a map, why you lost?” You could hear the smile in the man’s voice that he was doing nothing to hide, finding amusement despite the barrel of a rifle aimed at him and three strangers in his home.

“Must’ve missed all the street signs in the enormous fucking forest.” Ellie snapped, trying to put on a front to imitate Joel, her voice pitched lower and hard. No sign of the girl who told puns in her as you looked over at her with a sharp flare of frustration.

“Ellie!” You reprimanded, unsure where this unwavering lack of manners came from, hoping it wasn’t her way of displaying confidence in the face of someone who had done nothing to warrant such harsh language aimed at them. Anyone else wouldn’t be so kind or forgiving. “Compose yourself.”

“Ho-ly.” The man’s eyes met yours as you nodded a silent apology at him, moving across the space and coming to stand beside Ellie with a swat to her arm. Laughter bubbled up between the couple again, getting a kick out what was happening after being isolated for so long.

“We’re somewhere here. Where exactly?” Joel tried to get the conversation back on track, an agitated look tossed over to you both as he jabbed a finger at the map. “And the answer better be the same as your wife’s.”

“Did you tell him the truth?”

“Yeah.” She rocked gently in her place, looking for all the world like this was an everyday occurrence.

“Are you tellin’ me the truth?” That same fond smile pulled at your lips at the woman’s easy compliance to the question and Ellie shifted behind you slightly as she saw it, her body relaxing in response to your own ease.

The man glanced at you and Ellie, so close together before he leaned forward and pointed out exactly where his wife had on the map. Joel shared a look with you before holstering his gun and focused on the map fully.

“Well, you found a great place to hide, I guess.” Exasperation and exhaustion taking over him, he pressed a hand to his forehead as he roughly sat down in the chair beside him. Looking for all the world someone who was about to give up.

“Hide? Came here before you were born, sonny.”

Ellie moved to sit beside him, a stool operating as a makeshift side table the perfect spot for her as Joel rocked in his place, emotions riling him up in a way you had yet to see. His anxiety rolling off of him in palpable waves.

“Get the hell away from everybody.”

“I didn’t want to.” The woman added, sharing a look with you, the gleam in her eye telling a story you so desperately wanted to hear.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you about your brother, but if you’ve come this far then you know what’s out there.” Joel’s pale glare, furrowed brow, prompted the man to speak on. “You seen Cody?”

“Yeah, got close enough. It’s crawling with infected.”

“Spores, too. But the weather seems to have killed that off for the time being.”

“Yeah, Laramie and Wind River Reservation. Anywhere people used to be, you can’t go there no more.”

“So you haven’t heard the name Tommy?”

“Nope.”

“What about the Fireflies?”

“We get those in the summer.”

“Not the bugs, the people.” Ellie snapped, though there wasn’t nearly as much heat behind her words this time. Mindful of the presence you exuded as you stood beside her.

“There are firefly people?”

You couldn’t help the chuckle that rumbled from your chest, joining in on the disbelieving laughter of the older couple.

“You got any advice on the best way West?”

“Yeah.” Suddenly serious, the man’s face shifted into something unreadable. Leaning forward to get all of Joel’s attention he spoke without a hint of the jovial tone he just had. “Go East.”

You swallowed down the spike of unease that settled over you, watching as he leaned forward to draw his finger over the map.

“But you never go past the river here. Ever.”

“What’s past the river, sir?” You cut Ellie off, knowing she was about to ask the same thing. You stepped forward, angling closer to him, wanting to understand everything they new about the land but afraid to ask. Afraid of the answers they had that would sever the last string of hope, of the mission Joel had set out on.

“Death.” The woman spoke, her eyes meeting yours. “We never seen who’s out there, but we see the bodies they leave behind. Some Infected, some not. If your brother’s West of the river, he’s gone.”

“You’re not gonna scare us.” Ellie spoke quietly, face solemn as the atmosphere of the room shifted.

“Scared them.” The woman nodded at you and then over to Joel beside her.

A beat passed before Joel reached for the map with harsh movements, folding it in his grip and then stood. You ushered Ellie to follow him, taking a moment to reach into you pack. You placed a small bundle of bandages on the table, locking eyes with both of them before speaking.

“There is medicine wrapped up here, please, take it as a thank you for your help. I’m sorry we had to brandish our weapons at you. Can’t be too careful these days.”

“A quiet, sweet little thing, aren’t you?” The man looked you over, though there was no threat or undertones in his eyes. “Take care of them, they need it.”

‘I’m trying my best, sir.” You turned to the woman one last time, hoping that the heartbreak didn’t show on your face. You wanted them to make it, to live out the rest of their lives in peace. “Ma’am, thank you for the soup.”

And with that you walked through the door and back out into the blinding landscape.

Joel was leaning heavily against a post of their fence line, one hand supporting him while the other was pressed tightly to his chest. Ellie was hovering close to him and speaking too fast for you to make out her words.

“I said I’m fine.” She looked back at her with a weird look, trying to display some sort of control, but he was still leaning heavily against the post. Her soft acquiescence pulling you behind them with quick steps.

“It’s just the…cold air all of a sudden.” He leaned over and looked down, his breathing labored and his body taut. A gentle hand on Ellie’s shoulder had her moving forward through the fence.

“All right, uh…so let’s go and find Tommy and the Fireflies.”

Joel stayed still, jumping slightly when you curled a hand over his shoulder.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me. It’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay.” His tone shifted from quiet to harsh, furrowed brow and hard eyes turning to face you. He shrugged your hand from him with a rough movement and you curled it back to your side with a frown.

“Joel-“

“I said I’m fine!” He raised his voice and you shrunk back a few steps, not sure why he was suddenly so angry. The look in his eyes one you hadn’t seen since your shared time in Boston. At a loss for words, you only nodded, hoping he didn’t continue to yell. Your foot slipped on a patch of ice hidden underneath the snow and you let your body do so, looking up the small slope to Joel as he shifted the rifle from his shoulder and gripped it in front of him before following after Ellie. “Don’t need you trying to fix me when nothin’ is wrong.”

“It’s gonna be easy.” Ellie trilled, trying to control the situation as best she could despite how tense things were. “All we have to do is cross the River of Death.”

He didn’t look back as he caught up with her smaller form.

“The river of death. Scary.” Ellie sardonically announced as the landscape opened up, the map in Joel’s pocket as he lead the way over the terrain. She stopped and loved over the fast moving line of water that weaved it’s way through the beautiful landscape. It had been a quiet day’s travel, Joel and Ellie having small pockets of conversation as they traded places leading. You stayed behind them, trying not to warrant another flare of Joel’s bitter anger.

“Don’t start.” He sidled up next to her, taking in the view while you hovered behind a few paces, feeling like an outsider. He didn’t so much as glance back at you, before speaking. Deciding.

“It’s too close to dark. There’s some caves along the river. We’ll set up camp there, cross in the mornin’.”

“Good. I’m starving.” A pause. “Should’ve stolen two rabbits.”

“We can get our own rabbits.” He almost scoffed, worried about how she was thinking of stealing before trying to provide for herself. Or that he would let her starve.

“You gonna teach me how?”

“Just keep movin’.”

And with that they both began to walk again, seemingly forgetting about you trailing behind them.

As the fire crackled on, rabbit consumed, Joel was busy duct tapping his damaged boots. The sound a background noise as you gazed up at the night sky, a haze of green lights shining among the stars. It was beautiful but it did nothing to soothe the anxiety thrumming through your veins. Something was about to change, the air around you drenched in the inevitable. The hairs on the back of your neck and all along your arms prickled with every howl of the wind and shuffling sound of an animal nearby.

The whistle Joel let out had you jumping in your seat, but you didn’t bother to turn around, back to the set up of the night. You knew it was for Ellie, to garner her attention where she gazed up at the sky in the same fashion as you, but she had scaled the outcropping around the mouth of the cave.

“Come down from there. You’re gonna break your neck.”

“Bean said it was okay. As long as I was careful.”

He didn’t respond, opting to pull a flash out from his jacket’s inner pocket. Your brow furrowed as you heard the sound of it clinking against his zipper. You hadn’t seen him swipe that from the older couple’s cabin. But he hadn’t had it before.

You blanked out, thoughts humming, eyes unfocused as you stared deep into the fire. The flames taking you back to when you had burned down your own cabin, unable to stomach the thought of living out your days with the buried corpses of what was supposed to be your future.

Screams echoed in your ears, plaguing you more and more as winter continued. The snow flashing from pristine white to red with every other blink. Footsteps deep in the snow, following a man who was showing his cracks much the same way you were. You gripped your mostly healed arm tight with your right hand, nails digging into the flesh there as you had snuck it into the sleeve, gloves tucked into a pocket.

The buzz of a quiet conversation quieting had you blinking your eyes back into focus, the fire lower now.

“What about you, Bean?” You didn’t let your surprise at being addressed show, but the feeling of your nails digging deeper into your skin was an all too real reaction.

“Hmm?” Shifting up from the fire, you looked over at Ellie, her face bright in the night. Small smile on her thin lips as she looked back at you. The weight of Joel’s gaze was heavy, making your nerves twitch and you were sure he was reading you as well as you could read him when his own resolve slipped.

“What would you do?”

“What would I…do?”

“If this all wasn’t going on.” The teenager waved her hands around, stray strands of her hair peeking out from her beanie wafting up with the action.

“I want a nice little cottage, protected deep in the woods. Maybe a garden to plant coffee and cultivate it.” The answer was quick, but quiet. Honest. That’s all you wanted now, a place to hunker down and be left alone.

“Coffee beans for Bean.” She chuckled before realization dawned on her. You hadn’t mentioned either of them, saying what you wanted. She took a breath before she breathed out her hesitant question, unable to shake the feeling that everything was not as okay as it seemed. She had to have picked up on the way you and Joel had grown quieter and more agitated since leaving the cabin. “…alone?”

“Yeah, kid, alone.” Your smile was sad as you looked down at where your boots stretched out in front of you toward the crackling fire. You could feel both of their eyes heavy on you as you fell silent, closing yourself off from them once again despite the hesitantly jovial air that had begun to form around the makeshift campsite. Shifting, you stood from your spot and walked over to your pack, unbuckling the sleeping bag from the bottom of it. Laying it out, you settled into it underneath the overhang of the outcropping of rock that had been picked out for the night.

Snuggling down into it, you heard them talk softly to each other for a little while longer, comfortable silences falling every so often.

“Dream of sheep ranches on the moon.”

“With a three-room cottage.”

“Yeah, kid, with a three-room cottage.”

Steps as quiet as possible, you glanced at the map in your hands and then toward the bridge you could see in the distance. The river was still like glass, nothing but the wind breaking the surface and causing it to ripple every so often before it stilled once again. The bridge looked untouched, no visible disturbances in the snow blanketed ground around it or along the expanse of it. But it was a sign of something, of what was once. Blinking against the bright white of everything around, your vision clouded as snowflakes gathered on your lashes. The feeling of unease settled over you as you heard the call of a geese on the other bank. The only sound you had heard since taking up watch a few hours ago when sleep evaded you. It was too quiet out here.

Dread settled in like rocks in your stomach, throat constricted as the old couple’s words sounded in your mind. Turning back around, you rushed to the cave that had been used as shelter the night before.

“I’m responsible for you, okay?” Joel’s voice was audible as you neared the small camp.

“Then don’t fall asleep.” Ellie rebutted. “I was quiet, I checked my six, I looked for tracks. I found the high ground and I kept watch. Like you taught me too. Bean made sure to double check it all before she went off. What can I say, man? I’m a natural.”

He mumbled something and motioned for her to hand over the rifle, turning his attention to your approaching form. At the snap of a bush, the rifle was raised, his eyes not recognizing you through the haze of the falling snow. You quickly raised your hands up into the air and announced yourself, heart thudding.

“Where the hell did you go off to, huh? Supposed to be keeping an eye on her.” His voice was anything but relieved, holding anger and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Woah, hey, I was checking map, I think we got turned around somehow. Bridge to help up cross the river.”

“You’re supposed to stay put. No one goes off alone.”

“I’ve traveled alone before; I can handle myself.”

“You took the only map, what if you got taken down or lost or fell in the god damn river?”

“I didn’t, I was just trying-“

“Trying to get us all killed, is what you were doing. Exposing us on your little scouting mission.”

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you lately, but we are all tired. We are all feeling the same way, Joel. Do not raise your voice at me. Please.”

He took a deep breath, eye clenching shut. When he opened them back up the gun shifted to his shoulder. He nodded at you in silent agreement. Then at Ellie.

“Wake me up next time.” He admonished; tone not nearly as hostile or frustrated as a few seconds ago.

“Yes, sir.” Ellie tried to lighten the tense atmosphere with a quick of her lips.

“Copy that.” You nodded back at him, not liking the way it was getting harder and harder to communicate with him. He was taking the lead more, making routes on his own more, taking on the burden of wandering through the endless landscape in a way that was hurting him more than helping the group. That kind of responsibility taking its toll on him as the days continued on.

The bridge was larger as you stood at one end of it, facing the backdrop of large snowcapped mountains behind it. More wilderness, more unknown, more unseen threats.

You were trailing behind Ellie, the formation second nature now. Joel in front, rifle at the ready. Ellie in the middle, her hands at her sides, gun easily accessible in her pocket. You behind them both, keeping Ellie’s smaller form protected as much as possible.

Conversation flowed between them as you now walked along the river, the trees dense on the other bank, the one you were traveling along exposed. It made you uneasy, that feeling having settled into your bones from this morning. Cresting over a large hill, the sound of rushing water was suddenly loud, having been so low a hum it didn’t register until now. The snow was mostly cleared on the other side of the rather blue river, the structure of a-

“Dam.” Ellie announced, playing on the double meaning of the word easily.

“You’re no Will Livingston.”

“Yeah, yeah, but who is?”

“So that made electricity?”

“Yeah.” He looked over at her, brow already furrowed. “Don’t ask me. I don’t have a clue.”

“Joel…the dam…it’s running.” You stepped forward, breaking into the bubble the two of them had unknowingly created.

“The water wouldn’t stop running through it, even if it was abandoned.”

“No…but that doesn’t explain the lack of snow all around it. Almost like it’s been cleared.”

“Just didn’t snow as hard in this area, nothing stuck.” He dismissed you, moving on.

Ellie was watching the movement of the river’s current, having stopped ahead of you both and you quickened your pace to catch up to Joel. Reaching out a hand to hook around his upper arm. He let you turn him, a frown on his features.

“Joel, please, this doesn’t feel right. Between the sparse snow despite the storm last night and how quiet it is, something-“

“Everythin’ is fine, you’re reading too much into it.”

“Remember when you trusted me? Heeded my instincts as well as your own?” You snapped, roughly letting go of his arm and shoving him back. “Remember when we were equals?”

“You’ve been out of it more often than not, seeing things where there isn’t anything. You double take at every turn of direction, eyes glazing over and losing focus at night when we settle. Jumping at every little sound in the night.”

“So have you, I can tell when you’re breathing heavier, overrun by anxiety.”

“I’m fine, but you aren’t. Not since the cabin.”

“I’m fine, Joel. Just like you’re fine, right?” You used his own words against him, hoping that they stung him when they landed. They did, you could see the shift behind his eyes from frustration to acceptance.

“I’m not gonna apologize, but, darlin’…you really have been out of it more than here with us. I’m just…I’m trying here, okay?”

“I’m trying too, it’s…it’s this time of year, it’s harder. But I’m trying, Joel, I swear to you I am. When did I let anyone get the drop on me when it was avoidable? When did I failed to get Ellie to safety? When have I failed to reconnect after getting separated. Please, Joel, I’m trying.”

His broad chest expanded with a deep breath; hands held out to you in a silent offering of peace.

“I’m just picking up the slack, trying to keep us all alive, I didn’t-“ His words were fast, twang thick as he tried to back track. His trauma showed in ways different than your own, something he still had to learn about you, learn to help you with. Return the favor of you allowing him to work through his own.

“We’re fine, okay? I just…I need a minute, please. I just need a moment to myself.”

You stepped toward him to grip one of his offered hands with both of yours, cradling it. Looking up at him, you could see that he was as worked up as you were. Both of you feeding off of the other’s intense emotions in the worst way. He slowly lifted his other hand to caress your cheek.

“We’re okay, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You untangled from him, offering him a wan smile, and walked away, gazing out over the river.

After a beat, you began to follow behind Ellie as Joel continued on at a slower pace.

“Look at that river. It’s crazy blue.” She fell silent for a moment, looking down at her boots as she thought something over.

“Hey Joel…what is this is the River of Death?”

You both paused at her words, realizing that this was in fact a secondary river. You looked up and locked eyes with the man as he turned, hair ruffling in the breeze. The map was quickly pulled from his coat pocket, and he unfolded it as you closed the distance, coming up close behind them both, head on a swivel as he tried to center your current position.

The whiny of a horse had you bumping into Ellie. Too late to do anything about it or even announce it as the sound of hoofs thundering across the fallen snow blanketed all around you assaulted your senses.

You could feel it reverberate through your entire body, teeth clenched tight and eyes wide as they took in the fast-approaching group cresting over the hills of the landscape.

Joel scrambled for Ellie, pulling her behind him. He chanced a look over at you, your eyes meeting for a brief moment before you were surrounded on all sides by people on horses, two dogs pacing around them all with the river’s bluffed bank behind you all.

Joel reached for her hand and she reached for yours, scrambling to huddle close and maneuver with a dash that wasn’t quick enough. Allowing for the group of saddled horses to surround you on all sides.

“Get behind me.” He ushered, realizing it was too late to run or even think of making a getaway with the ten or so people now aiming their guns on you in a misshapen circle.

Hands going up in surrender, you didn’t dare close your eyes as you took in a deep breath of the stinging cold air.

“We’re not lookin’ for any trouble,” Joel was calm despite the buzz of adrenaline that was lighting you up, no doubt mirroring his own. “We’re just passin’ through.”

“Drop the guns.” The demand was calm, controlled. “And the blade.”

With slow movements, you removed the colt from the harness inside your largest coat, the shing of the blade following the thump of it to the ground.

Eyes moving from each imposing figure, you noticed that they were all armed with rifles. The glint of secondary handguns on their hips. Every single person was armed to the teeth and concealing their faces with masks made of scarves, bandanas, and scraps of clean fabric.

“You,” The same man spoke to Ellie, his eyes trained on her. “Take five steps back.”

“And you as well.” A woman spoke to you, her eyes calculating. Tracking the way you were scrutinizing the entire group with quick glances all around you.

“How ‘bout we just talk this through?” Joel attempted to bridge the gap. But they weren’t having any of it, cutting him off before he could even get the words out.

“How ‘bout you shut the fuck up?”

“Okay, easy.”

Glancing down at Ellie he assured her she was going to be okay, the hope that they wouldn’t harm a child allowing the words to sound genuine. He glanced over his shoulder at you, paces behind them both having already heeded their commands.

“You been near Infected?”

“There’s no Infected out here.” Your voice was strong despite feeling anything but. Overpowered, out manned and out gunned. Not letting it show that you were absolutely terrified for the two people spaced out in front of you.

“The hell there ain’t.” The man argued with you, tearing apart your feeble attempt at complying with them but also sticking your own ground.

A barking dog was lead out from behind the man, as he declared it the last chance for a swift death.

“If you’ve been infected, he will smell it, and he will rip you up.”

“Fuck.” You muttered under your breath; eyes trained on the back of Ellie’s head. What if they could smell the dormant cells in her body? Suddenly, it looked like this wasn’t going to end well at all.

The dog was going insane, barking up a storm with intermittent growls from deep in its ribcage. Struggling against the leash it was being held onto with. But it wagged its tail as it loosened and approached Joel. You could see the increase of his breathing from your spot, though the man hadn’t been near Infected since Cody. A tense moment passed as it deemed him safe after sniffing around him and standing up on its hind legs to get a sense of him too close for comfort.

“Like I said, we’ll just move on.”

“Now the woman.” Dogs always made you nervous, having been on the receiving end of a rather bad bite at a young age. But you kept your eyes open as it approached you and did the same inspection. A deep breath in, held the entire time, and exhaled only when the dog was backing trotting away from you. You could only hope Ellie remained as calm as it cautiously approached her, growling as it did so.

Growls turned to happy yips as Ellie giggled, the two finding peace as she pet the suddenly friendly animal. You head knocked back your head as you sighed in relief. The man speaking for the group was smiling, you could see it in the way the wrinkles around his eyes creased despite the mask. Much like when Joel allowed himself to relax enough to do the same around the fire at night.

“You just bought yourself ten more seconds. What are you doin’ out here?”

“I’m just lookin’ for my brother.” The truth, you hadn’t known he was going to say it. But you felt your heart soften as he did. “That’s all, nothin’ more.”

The woman who had been watching you pushed forward and demanded his name, gaze locked on his.

“Joel.”

previous chapter || next chapter

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

taglist: @narcissa-anastasia @ayamenimthiriel @rosaaeles @sawymredfox

[dumbslxtclub]

you're on your own, kid | e.m - part twelve

eddie munson x singlemom!reader

summary: set after the events of season four, Steve has disappeared and is presumed dead in the upside down. broken and now left to deal with your pregnancy alone, Eddie takes it upon himself to support you to the best of his abilities in Steve’s absence.

chapter summary: as your relationship with eddie blossoms, the weight of truth reaches it's breaking point.

content warnings: fem!reader, adult language, adult themes, unplanned pregnancy, angst, hurt/comfort, some canon divergence/au, mentions of death, reader is 20, anxiety, heavy angst, fluff, no use of y/n, slow burn, brief mention of vomiting

word count: 10.8k+

a/n: some of this was inspired was inspired by the poem ‘i wish i were two dogs then i could play with me’ by anne carson. I apologise for the long absence, life has been crazy but I’m very proud of this chapter and I hope you enjoy! sorry in advance for the angst it’s about to get real. as always, shoutout to @dickfics69 for helping me xx

taglist: @lezzy-bennet @harrypotteranna23-blog  @reidstea @sashaphantomhive  @bexreadstoomuch @audhd-dragonaut @littlepotatobeansworld @ches-86  @tlclick73 @fckyeahlames @gnocchey @astrolockley @sidthedollface2 @micheledawn1975  @3rd-conchord @eddiesbabe95 @taintedcigs @harry-bowie-mercury @micheledawn1975​

↳  one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight  / nine / ten / eleven

Part Twelve: Lovely To Sit Between Comfort and Chaos

Who knew scanning video tape barcodes could be so fun? An inherently arduous task made tolerable thanks to the warming weather, every monotonous motion laced with sun-soaked dopamine. The stale interior of Family Video is washed in a stream of sunlight, the clear sky leaving no interruption for the desired warmth.

The chill of winter has all but dissolved, the new season budding in blossoms dancing in lush trees and children without jackets in the park. But, beneath the surface, something more has begun mingling in your blood. Your veins are laced with the giddy joy of a new beginning, something fresh and exciting. Like the first pages of a good book, popping open a fresh bottle of wine. As with all beginnings, they have their own tonality, an addictive vibrancy that makes them so elusively special. Ebbing with firsts, ‘what ifs’ and unadulterated hope. Leaving you behind the store counter with a schoolgirl grin, completing the most mundane of tasks with enthusiasm. With every video returned into the system, another mountain forms as Robin returns to the front desk. She picks up the two latest additions from the pile, examining them with scrutiny.

“Woof. 9 ½ Weeks AND Body Heat? Someone had a big weekend.” She places them onto the steel rolling shelves, beginning to categorize the sections. Monotonous doesn’t even begin to describe the store’s activities, Robin falling especially victim to their dullness today. “Speaking of, did you get up to anything interesting?”

“Well, Audrey’s learnt how to chuck her bottles across the room. So I guess you could say things were pretty wild around my neck of the woods.”

“Guess I’ll cancel her pee-wee baseball lessons then.” She quips back, busying herself with the tapes. 

It’s a funny thing, dishonesty. How it sits on the roof of your stomach, digging its heels into your gut whenever it sees fit. You’ve elected not to tell Robin about your date with Eddie, nor your second kiss, for a myriad of reasons. As your closest friend, you understand that she is just looking out for you, protecting your vulnerable heartspace. With your connection to Eddie growing, complication is bound to follow. And in such a budding stage, it just doesn’t make sense to make a mountain out of a molehill. 

When you’d first approached her about your potential date with Andy, she’d responded in a similar manner, driven by protectiveness. But you knew, she could see an innate craving for something more than she could provide. It was only natural. Your new identity was tied to being a mother, full stop. It had been a long time since you felt wanted, attractive, desired. A longing to be wined and dined, treated like so much more than milk-providing breasts on legs. And she wanted you to get back out there, into the real world and away from your comfortable nest of motherhood. You are strong, Robin is well aware of this, fighting the urge to protect you and Audrey from the big bad world. Of course, hindsight is a funny thing, and she should have ripped Andy a new one before he had the chance to do anything stupid. To assume he was capable of being a decent human being for an evening was clearly expecting too much.

But with Eddie, it’s so different. Comfortable in ways you couldn’t articulate, you felt a sense of consistent safety you hadn’t experienced in a long time. Life has just become easier with him around, day to day tasks much more enjoyable in his company. And so, you’ve resolved to just dip your toes into the idea of it evolving into something more. It’s not so much lying as it is withholding the truth. 

With the final tape scanned in, you toss it onto the shelf, nearly bowling over Robin’s efforts in the process. She shoots you a warning glare before sighing, glancing melancholically at the clock.

“Ah, all that stands between me and a turkey sandwich is…” She picks up a video at random and glances down at it. “... Xanadu?! Oh my god-”

She drives the cart around the corner, cussing out the poor customer's choice in film. Smiling at her antics, you busy yourself tidying the cluttered desk. Taped to the monitor is a curated collection of film pictures Robin had Jonathan develop. The ultrasound photo still sits in prime position, with a copy of the hospital image below it. Another picture is tacked to the corner of the screen showing you and Robin cuddled up in bed with Audrey sandwiched between you, all in accidentally coordinating shades of blue. You remember that night, Eddie had dropped by after work and lost it laughing at the three of you perched in bed like the grandparents in Willy Wonka, quickly racing to the kitchen to retrieve Jonathan’s camera. Moments immortalized in stillness, energetic happiness radiating out of them.

So lost in the memory, you barely register the sound of the bell above the front door ringing.

“Late return charges got you grinning like that, sweetheart?” Averting your gaze, you watch as your babysitter of choice enters the store. Eddie shoots you a warm smile, one hand gently supporting the black carrier strapped to his chest. Audrey, pacifier in mouth, faces outwards with limbs dangling aimlessly in the confines of the holder. It’s hard to miss the small purple bow clipped to the crown of her head, something that was not part of her ensemble when you dressed her this morning. Like maneuvering his own personal puppet, Eddie picks up her limp wrist to wave it in your direction. The docile baby glances up at the metalhead with curiosity, seeking out the phantom manipulating her arm.

“I can’t rent you R-rated films with a minor present, I’m afraid.” You quip with a smile, pressing your palms into the counter.

“Shit.” Eddie points to the door, backtracking a step and glancing down at Audrey. “Let me just go and tie her up out front real quick, alright?”

“Please don’t tie my daughter up on the street like a dog.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about her.” Eddie grins. “But maybe we should lock in that date before we break out the ropes and collars, hm?”

His comment immediately causes your cheeks to flush, suddenly feeling stifled in your sickly green vest. Images of compromising positions flood your mind, notably featuring the handcuffs strung up in Eddie’s bedroom. An awkward chuckle escapes your throat, Eddie’s smile faltering at the sight.

“I- I mean… fuck, oh-” His hands quickly fly to Audrey’s ears, protecting her from his cursing. “- just, pretend I never said that, okay?”

“Not a chance. You’re never living that one down, Munson.” Your melodious laughter sets Eddie free. “Where’ve you two been today?”

“Y’know, just all of her favorite places. Had to head into the shop to pick up my paycheck, the guys couldn’t get enough of her. ‘Specially Bob, or Ed, I forget- he’s been going on about her for weeks so I thought if she visited he might shut up about it.”

“Using my daughter as bait? Classy.”

“You know me all too well, sweetheart.” He’s quick to catch the pacifier as it tumbles out of Audrey’s mouth, her face screwing up in disgust while he tries to feed it back to her. “Oh, and she met a dog today. It was a beast of a thing, a Rottweiler or something. Don’t think I’ve ever seen her so excited, she grabbed its ears and everything. Thought it might bite her head off. It did lick her on the face though, but I suppose that’s good for her immune system.”

“Sounds like you two have been on quite an adventure.” With Audrey now within arms reach, you lean over the counter to give her a kiss on the forehead. Her eyes light up at the sight of you, giving Eddie enough time to quickly shove the pacifier back into her mouth.

“Speaking of which… what are the chances of you getting work off this Friday afternoon?” His voice is hushed, and laced with an edge of the cheekiness you’ve come to adore. With a quick survey around the shop, you inspect to make sure Robin is out of earshot.

“I think I could pull some strings.”

“Good, good. I might have something fun planned for us.” Eddie smiles sheepishly, readjusting the weight of the carrier. “And, as much as I hate to admit it, I think Henderson might finally be ready to go solo with Squid.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, I mean- I didn’t see anyone chewing on the electrical cords so that’s an A in my books.”

“Glad to see you’ve got high standards.” You tease, the grin on Eddie’s face only growing..

“I sure do.” 

-

Quick question, what the hell does one wear on a date? For your outing with Andy, Robin took charge of your wardrobe and crafted an outfit with complete ease. The stakes were lower, you suppose, not overly concerned with your appearance. But for today’s mystery date with Eddie, you’re finding yourself digging into the deepest crevices of your wardrobe for something that screams I’m trying, but not too hard. And, as fate would have it, nothing is jumping out at you. That shirt? Too old. These pants? Don’t fit anymore. Those socks? They’re Audrey’s, not sure how they got in here…

Huffing, you plant yourself on the floor in a nest of unacceptable garments. Your daughter sits peacefully in her bouncing recliner, gaze contently following your every move while she gums at her caterpillars antennae. Grabbing two half decent short-sleeve tops, you hold them up in the baby’s direction.

“What do you think, little miss?” Audrey continues her chomping assault, not at all interested in your predicament. You sigh, tossing the shirts into the pile of mediocrity. “God, it’s easy for you. You look cute in everything.”

Articulating your last word with a tickle, you drink in the way her mouth spreads into a toothless smile. She’s really beginning to grow into her own looks, her features forming beyond the universal blob baby look. Her hair is getting a slight wave to it, still comedically thick on her head. Pouty lips combined with her chubby cheeks give her maximum squishability factor. And as you look down at the mess of clothes covering the floor, you can’t help but cast your mind 16 years into the future. Rummaging through your daughter’s wardrobe in search of the perfect first date outfit, taking her to the mall just outside of town hunting down the dreamiest of prom dresses. It’s all racing by before your eyes. A spiral begins to form if you think about it for too long, so you quickly dedicate yourself to the task at hand.

In the end, you decide to keep it simple. A boxy button-up paired with some acid-wash mom jeans and a leather belt. Your hair is on its last legs before wash-day, so you elect to tame it with a bandana wrapped at the nape of your neck to hide the greasy mess. And Converse to complete the ensemble, because, you know, you don’t have all day. Your babysitter will be here any minute.

Dustin is smilier than usual, if that’s even possible. Grinning from ear to ear, watching you dart across the room with his hands on his hips. Making no effort to help you find your keys, but rather engaged watching your one-man Monty Python sketch.

“All ready for your big date?” The teenager articulates the last word with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows. It stops you in your tracks, shooting daggers his way and doing little to wipe his smile away. 

“For the last time, it’s not a date!” You lie through your teeth back to him. “I told you, we’re just going to hang out as friends. Adult friends. You know, without the presence of a baby.”

“Sure, sure. So, you got all glammed up for nothing?”

“Oh my god, I am not glammed up!” Glancing down at your outfit, you subtly worry that you may come off as trying too hard.

“I’m just saying…” Dustin throws his hands up defensively, the traces of a smile still playing on the corner of his mouth. “... you do look really nice, though.”

A humble grin makes itself known, abandoning your fruitless search to cross over to the younger boy. With figures like Steve and Eddie in his life, it’s easy to see where Dustin gets his chivalrous manners from. 

“Aw, thanks, Dusty.” Flinging your arms around his shoulders, you pull him in for a tight squeeze with the explicit purpose of embarrassing him. The teenager relents quickly, giving your back a firm pat as you hold him to you in a vice grip. Giggling at the way he squirms in your arms, you take a few wobbly steps to keep him locked into place.

Burrowing your face into his mess of curls, you allow yourself to indulge in the comfort of his embrace. He’s always been a cuddly kid, and perhaps you weren’t aware of how much you needed this until now. The pair of you stand there for a beat, allowing the moment to morph from playful teasing into genuine support. Two kids, sharing a history of pain, guilt and loss. Finding solace in one another, the older enveloping the younger and soothing whatever lingering ache burns beneath their collective sorrow. He misses Steve. God, how he misses him. 

It seeps through the pores of his fingertips, gently caressing your spine in small circles. As if, if you were to listen closely, beyond the dull hum of the refrigerator and the scattered bird calls outside, you could hear it. The tiniest voice, buried beneath unkempt curls, asking will it ever go away? And you both know the answer. It won’t, but you’ll learn to live with it. Together.

Biting back the swell of tears wetting your tongue, threatening to make themselves known, you refuse to crumble before him. Not today. Not on a day as happy as this. 

If it’s true that Eddie has little experience with dating, he sure as hell masks it well. With a handful of daisies clutched in his fist, he’s the epitome of confidence as he raps on your door three times. Claiming the flowers were for Audrey (and definitely not for you), he quickly shuts down Dustin’s insinuations before shuttling you out the front door to his chariot. He always opens the door for you, but the small gesture makes you giddy with girlish excitement. And as soon as he joins you in the dingy interior, positive the pair of you are out of Dustin’s prying eyeline, he leans over the center console to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. The brief contact causes your heart to skip, chapped lips meeting soft skin so casually it’s disarming. A calloused thumb brushing your chin, edging your face in the direction of him, drinking in every imperfection dancing across your skin in the fading afternoon light. Noses lingering inches from one another, wrinkles forming at the edges of his eyes preceding a Cheshire-cat grin.

“Ready for our next adventure?”

With a nod, clicking the gears into drive, the van rolls out of the sun-bathed trailer park and onto the winding roads out of town. It’s easy, the silence that exists between you while you tune out to the sound of whatever metal cassette is shoved into the car’s stereo. Pulling further and further out of the small town, away from the noise. The bustle of life, the judgemental whispers. To some unknown destination, where the two of you will be free to just be.

It comes into view around half an hour into the drive, sticking out like a sore thumb against the lush forest surrounding you. A kitschy, neglected sign with what appears to be a beaver toothily smiling down at you, waving its unoiled, mechanical arm at passers-by. Silly Putter Mini Golf. Pulling into the tiny parking lot, you study the loud canary yellow clubhouse building while Eddie clambours out of the driver’s side. It’s totally cheesy, down to the pathetically flickering lightbulb on the welcome sign. And you couldn’t love it more.

Swinging the passenger side door open, your date extends his ringed hand outward.

“Ready to get your putt on?”

With utmost ease, Eddie sinks the ball on his second shot. You could be mad at his seemingly god-given talent, but it’s hard to stay upset watching his hips sway like that in those dark jeans. Even at a children’s putt-putt course, he’s shown no interest in dressing more family friendly. Under your breath, you mutter praise to the inventor of muscle tank tops, now privy to the way his sinewy muscles flex with each stroke of the golf club. Occasionally, the handle of the club would clink against his wallet chain draped out of his pocket, drawing your attention back to his narrow hips. As far as you were concerned, you were a winner tonight, regardless of the scores.

“Yes! Gotta catch up, sweetheart. I’m beating you by…” He pulls the small scorecard out of his back pocket and grins. “... five points.”

Shooting a distrusting look in his direction, you pace to meet him on the prickly astroturf. 

“What?! I thought you said it was three?” 

Snatching the page away, Eddie holds it tauntingly above your head. He swings it around like a kite, mocking your stature while the only other family here passes by you with milkshakes in hand.

“That was before you hit the windmill twice on the last hole. Bit embarrassing, if you ask me.” He pokes, a shit-eating grin still plastered on his face. “Tell you what. You make this in less than two shots, I’ll call it even. Even throw in some fries afterwards, as a sign of good showmanship.”

A competitive energy charges through your body, a daring smirk playing on your face. Through your lashes, you challenge the metalhead’s smug demeanor, flirting with the notion of friendly competition.

“Deal.”

With a newly confident stride, you make your way to the fluorescent pink tee you’d picked out for yourself, placing the equally obnoxious green ball atop it. It’s a fairly easy set up, two small hills creating a valley that would lead you straight to the hole. A mechanical crocodile snaps out of the wall sporadically, directly in line to your goal, hinges chomping at nothing. You assume the stance, needing to bend over slightly to accommodate the child-sized putter you were gripping. The crocodile seems to be popping out every five seconds, and so you brace yourself until it begins its certain retreat. Drawing your putter back, you hear it click against the ball, knowing immediately you overshot it. The ball rolls over one of the bumps in the turf, into a direct line with the crocodiles elongated snout, sending it back in your direction with a pathetic tumble. 

“Shit.” You groan, attempting to tune out the smug laughter behind you. A tattooed arm comes into view over your left shoulder, pointing to the red flag sticking out of the ground.

“The holes over there, sweetheart.” Eddie quips matter-of-factly.

“Gee, thanks. What would I do without you?” Shooting daggers at your entirely too-smug date, you elbow him in the ribs before setting off in the direction of the ball. It seems your jab did little to quell Eddie’s laughter, who quickly catches up to you.

“Think you need to work on your form.”

“There’s a form needed for mini-golf?”

“Mhm, form I possess by the bucketful.” God, he’s a smug little shit sometimes.

Incredulous, you welcome his challenge with wide-open arms. “Alright then, genius. Enlighten me. Show me how it's done.”

Eyebrows disappearing into his messy bangs, Eddie’s doe eyes twinkle with boyish mischief, a prominent dimple playing deep into his cheek.

“Here.” Placing his hands on your shoulders, he maneuvers you in the direction of your goal, now partially obstructed by the protruding crocodile snout. “Line ‘er up.”

He angles himself around you, back pressed to abdomen, warmth emanating from the thin cotton of his shirt against yours. His feet shuffle to either side of yours, boxing you into his cradling hold. Snaking his bare arms along yours, starting at your elbow, each finger wrapping gently around the girth of your forearm. He lingers a moment too long, you don’t complain. Slowly working his way down to your wrists, locking his digits around the boney flesh. Breath on the nape of your neck, adrenaline pumping too fast for you to look anywhere but the lime-green golf ball at your feet. 

“That’s it…” His chest rumbles against your ribcage, coaxing vibrations of praise causing your fingertips to go numb. “Nice and gentle, okay?”

One slow nod is all you manage, feeling his gaze burning into your profile. You watch as the rusting reptile makes itself known against the fake grass, gaping jaws ready to foil your next putt. As it begins its retreat, you take a deep inhale, feeling your ribs expand against the comfort of Eddie’s sternum.

“Go.” Barely a whisper is required, his lips so close to your ear you can practically feel their plush sanctuary. In tandem, Eddie gently pulls your wrists sideways before encouraging you forward with perfect momentum. Metal meets plastic with a firm thud, propelling the ball forward. It rolls, and a collective breath is held. As if the future of the world hinges on this single stroke. Picking up sand and debris along the way, the bright sphere travels across the turf towards its goal. It hits the lip of the hole before tumbling in with a clatter, sending your arms skyward in celebration as you discard the putter.

“Yes!” Gleaming with joy, you spin on your heels to press a firm finger into Eddie’s chest. “In your smug, stupid face, Muns-”

Victory is swiftly cut short as an arm wraps around your hip, grip settling in the groove of your waist. You slot perfectly into the crook of his lean body, softness meeting strength entirely channeled into closing the gap between you. The sheer momentum of it knocks a sigh loose from your chest, clinging to the anchor of his chest with bunched fists entangled in his shirt. His free hand nestles beneath your chin, a firm thumb pressing and guiding your eyeline up to his. Eddie shines with pride. Smiling from ear to ear, shaking his head at your antics with pure amusement, feeling the contagion of your joy. 

Angling your chin slightly higher, Eddie presses his lips down onto yours with fervor. A blend of your two previous encounters, it’s passionate yet careful, a marriage of wanton desire and delicate care. You lean into it, drawing him closer by the cloth adorning his torso, chasing the taste of his kiss. As if to commit it to memory, to learn how it sits in your mouth and if the needy aftertaste ever dissipates. Muscles not just for decoration, but with the greater use of keeping you pressed intimately to his body. His thumb brushes against the groove of your jawline, dancing across the expanse of skin he is yet to be acquainted with. But there will be time for that later. Eddie is the one to pull away, a proud grin still plastered on his face.

“Good job, sweetheart. Ready for your prize?”

Food always tastes better when someone else is paying for it. The fries have the perfect crunch to them, the outer a golden brown against the fluffy white potato now filling your mouth rapidly. Eddie claims that they only came in a package deal with two cans of soda, but you have an inkling he may be lying about that. Your date watches as you shove the greasy food into your mouth, taking a long sip of his Coke.

“Looks like you’re enjoying your winnings over there.”

“Mmm-“ You mumble through a mouthful of starch. “Feels like there’s a birthday party in my mouth.”

Eddie’s brows furrow with amusement at your choice of words, shaking his mane of curls.

“Shit, actually, there’s something I don’t know about you. When is your birthday?”

Swallowing the thick mass of carbs, you slyly redirect your gaze to the quickly-emptying plastic basket before you, picking at a few deep-fried crumbs.

“Next week…” You pray to the heavens your admission was mumbled low enough for Eddie to catch it as some ambiguous month in the distant future. But it seems the years of heavy metal assaulting his ear drums has done little to subdue his sense of hearing.

“Next week?!” Theatrically, Eddie slams his soda down on the picnic table, likely taking off some of the tragic peeling paint in the process. He looks positively incredulous, brows raised to maximum height behind his bangs. “And you’ve been keeping this a secret, why?”

“I wasn’t keeping it a secret! I just didn’t think it was that big of a deal-“

“Not that big of a-“ Fingers splayed on the periwinkle blue wood, he braces himself forward with a deep inhale. “Sweetheart, now I’m gonna have to plan a big bash in less than a week. How could you do this to me?”

As if it’s the biggest inconvenience he’s ever encountered. Chuckling nervously, you wave your hands in a flurry before his deadpan expression.

“Oh no, absolutely not. Uh-uh, not happening.”

“But-”

“Eddie.” Your tone is firm, gaze boring into his. “I’m turning twenty, it’s not even an exciting number. Plus, I have a baby, in case you forgot. Not sure how many nightclubs would let the pair of us in. If it means that much to you, I’ll have you and some of the kids over for a movie. That’s my limit, though.”

Eddie huffs, resolving himself to defeat. “Fine. No strippers, then.”

“Oh, now that you mention strippers…” A grin takes over your face as you waggle a fry in his face, likely sending salt fragments onto Eddie’s shirt. Before you can bring it to your awaiting mouth, he swats the perfectly good fast food out of your hand, sending it catapulting to the ground for some poor, underpaid teenager to clean up later.

“Party in your mouth, huh?” He quips, stealing the larger of the two potato sticks stuck to the paper lining the basket. He pops it into his mouth with a grin, shooting you a suggestive look.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know.”

The energy between the two of you is so, so easy. You sip your cool soda, indulging in the sugary carbonation clinging to your teeth. Eddie does the same, studying a terribly constructed pyramid situated on one of the holes. No pressure to speak, or not speak, just basking in the glow of one another’s company. The air is cool under the downlights, a mild spring evening setting the scene for what a true date night should look like.

“I’ve gotta ask-” You begin through a mouthful of food, somewhat unceremoniously. “- how’d you get so good at mini golf? I just wouldn’t expect you to be the kind of guy to spend his free time at a place like this.”

“Ooft, judging a book by its cover, are we?” Eddie places his drink back on the picnic table, grinning beneath the fluorescent snack bar sign. 

“Oh, never. Heavy metal and putt-putt go hand in hand, as far as I’m concerned.”

Eddie shakes his head, grinning while he peers down at the condensation accumulating on the metal can.

“I, uh- I used to bring Dustin out here.”

“Dustin? Really?”

“Yep.” There’s a loaded silence between the pair of you, something that isn’t uncommon as you exchange stories of your past. “After, um- y’know, everything happened. He kind of… shut down. A bit like you did, for a while. Didn’t want to play DnD, or see anybody, really. So this one day, I just drove over to his place and dragged him out of bed saying ‘C’mon, butthead. I’m taking you outta town’. He kicked up a bit of a fuss, but I just sort of army-marched him out the front door. We drove around for a while, not really talking and stumbled on this place. He shot me that stupid grin of his for the first time in forever, so we came in. It sort of became a weekly thing after that, and I hate to admit that I actually enjoyed it after a while.”

Swirling a fry around in too much ketchup, your meal is all but forgotten as you find yourself enthralled by Eddie’s recollection. That all too familiar pang of sadness returns, regret manifesting quickly in your body. You wish you were there for Dustin. You should have been. You wish you were stronger earlier, able to provide him with the care he so desperately needed. In the past few months, you’ve watched the teenager really step up, busying himself with baby books in order to be the best ‘uncle’ he could be. He’s a close second behind Eddie when it comes to making Audrey smile, lapping up every second he gets with her. God, Steve would be so proud of him.

“He’s a good kid, even if he’s an annoying little shit sometimes. And Steve…” His thought trails off, running his finger around the edge of the soda can. “... Steve was good for him. Gave him someone to look up to, a role model sort-of. Almost like a big brother, I guess. So I didn’t mind running around a shitty mini-golf course with a creepy beaver sign if it made him happy.”

Abandoning your meal, you reach across the table to take Eddie’s hand in yours. The tips of his fingers are cold from the refrigerated beverage, and you wrap your palm around the icy skin with warm reassurance. 

“You’re a good man, Eddie.”

Eddie’s lips curve into the most imperceptible smile, humble and felt almost entirely inward. For a fleeting second, he wonders if that could be true. 

Eddie was meant to drive you straight home. The roads were quiet at this time of night, no traffic bar the occasional truck making its way in the opposite direction of the small town he unfortunately called home. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this full. Not literally, of course, given you guzzled down the majority of hot food before he had a chance to get to it. But it didn’t matter, not the slightest. 

He felt proud. 

Proud while he watched you dig through the bucket of tees, looking for the perfect Barbie pink one that wasn’t chipped or dirty. Proud of his excellent golfing form, thankful for all the practice he’d gotten through restless evenings with Henderson. Proud of the way you jumped up and down, hands raised to the heavens as you sank your shot in half the time it had taken you on every other hole. Proud of how he scooped you into his arms, like every cheesy rom-com he’d had the displeasure of watching. Proud of the part he had to play in your happiness. Proud to be seen with you.

He was meant to drive you straight home.

He had every intention of doing so. 

Satiated with pride, he could resolve to spend the remainder of his evening grinning stupidly to himself in the isolation of his room. The humble home across the trailer park suddenly feels closer, anyway. Until, your hand snaked its way across the center console onto his thigh, your touch feather light but the weight heavy. For a brief moment, he wonders if you reached for something but overshot, a simple mistake. And then, you linger. Fingernails scratching the course denim clinging to his legs, shockwaves sent down his skin with every delicate stroke. Absent-minded. Loaded.

He knew the stakes had just been raised.

The two of you had been close like this dozens of times before, particularly in your pregnancy. Eddie never saw the need for one of those pregnancy pillows advertised on late-night infomercials, when you apparently saw him as the perfect substitute. Back then, those exchanges meant almost nothing. A tiny back scratch here and there, drawing small circles on your forearm while you dozed off with your entire body weight pressed to his shoulder. Thoughtless interactions, designed purely to comfort and set you at ease. The familiarity that has perhaps always existed between the pair of you, now morphing into something new.

Thumb smoothing the faded-black material, tiny rotations etched over and over.

Hypnotic.

The bravery that overtook him was phantom, ghostly desire edging his knee ever so slightly further in your direction. As if to say please, don’t stop. I’m right here. His eyes remain firmly locked onto the dark road, using only the occasional streetlight to guide his path. Besides, he doesn’t need to look at you to feel your gaze on his cheek. Not that he could bring himself to, if he tried. He wonders if he blacked out earlier. Got hit in the head with a rogue club and passed out, ascending to a heaven in which he would be fortunate enough to experience such a sensation. Heart pounding in his chest, he lets out an unsteady exhale as your fingers snake deeper into the groove, caressing at more sensitive flesh. Inward, where the skin is far more sensitive. 

Eddie isn’t a greedy man.

Until he is.

“Baby…” The foreign pet name slips out as a moan, barely perceivable beneath the soft hum of the cassette’s tune filling the car at a low volume. Somehow, in those two syllables alone, he crosses a line. Bares his soul to the wolves, knowing well the potential ramifications, the bloodshed that follows vulnerability.

The digging of your fingernails into the meaty flesh at his utterance is his breaking point. The green light he sought out. With cautious fervourency, he pulls off the road quickly, wheels clattering along the asphalt excuse for a truck stop. The car is quickly clicked into park before the metalhead can cognise it, tearing the constricting seatbelt off his body. Your hand never leaves its spot.

Turning to you, wide-eyed with want, he pauses. Gives himself whiplash from the flurry of activity leading to the sudden stillness. It’s intrinsic, no need for words anymore. Redundant wastes of breath.

His lungs hitch, adrenaline pulsing in the tips of his fingers. 

Can we?

Lips parted ever so slightly, a rise of your chest and dazed fluttering of eyelids answers.

Yes.

It’s not clear who lunges first. What is clear is how your bodies instinctively shape around one another, quick to absolve the space between you. Lips collide with lips, desperately seeking respite. Wanton moans are pulled effortlessly, fistfuls of hair tangled in clammy fingers drawing the two of you impossibly close. Imperfect fumblings as shirts are clutched desperately, fueling the fire burning in the pits of Eddie’s stomach. The pace is entirely unsteady, soft brushes bleeding into firm tugs of teeth piercing tender flesh with just the right amount of force. Embarrassing, unadulterated need at the forefront of every motion, and neither of you cared. God, it’s almost perverse. How Eddie corrupts something so soft, so sweet, with every fevered kiss. Like he’s tainting you with his taste, as if he could lap enough of you up and absolve his unworthiness. The likelihood of that working is slim, but god damn Eddie is willing to try. 

It’s still not enough. 

The plastic console separating you is driving him mad. He needs to be able to grab, clutch, caress every square inch of you with no obstructions. You make him bold. 

Bold enough to slip his wandering hand beneath your far thigh, the smallest hithering motion enough to feel the weight shift above his palm. Unceremoniously, you clamber over the glove box after unclipping your seatbelt, haphazardly swinging your foot into the horn. The beep echoes through the isolated rest stop, a mumbled apology being quickly swallowed by Eddie’s lips. Blindly guided, he directs your knees to either side of his hips, showing no qualms with the limited driver’s side legroom. His hands find your hips, tentatively hovering above his lap, shaky thighs taking the brunt of your weight. With small, caressing circles of your hip bone, he soothes you as he always has. Encourages you to share the pressure, begging to be the bearer of it. No wrong answer, only whatever you’re comfortable with. Perfect the way you are. 

Ringed fingers press gently into the small of your waist, drawing you closer still to his body. This seems to encourage you to relent to your tiring muscles, finding solace on Eddie’s tense thighs. A safe distance, but so close to danger. To unbridled want. Neither of you care.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut as you speckle kisses along his cheek, dancing down his jawline and finding sanctuary on his neck. Nipping slightly at his pulse point, he can’t help but squeeze a bit tighter. Relishing in your exploration, mentally mumbling Hail Mary’s for his good deeds from past lives that lead him to this euphoria. A gasp escapes his throat as you latch onto a particularly sensitive spot, causing his hands to seek refuge on the meat of your hips. He squeezes, eliciting a similar wanton moan that vibrates against his stubbled skin.

“Is- is this good?” A sentence loaded with various meanings tumbles out, his grip loosening slightly. 

“Mmm.” You murmur, tracing the familiar trail back along his jaw and to his aching lips. “So good. So good to me, always.”

A knot forms in the pit of Eddie’s stomach. So good. So good. For you. That’s all he’s ever wanted to be. It fucking underscores every day, trying to do right by you. Constantly trying. He lives for it. For the smiles, the exhales of safety, the reassurance, the comfort…

It’s gotten him more hooked than a drug ever could.

So why. 

Why can’t he accept it?

The praise, the love, everything you dish out effortlessly. But to want and to deserve are very different things, the latter being something that Eddie factually knows he is not entitled to. 

It returns, a tidal wave of despair crashing over his heart, encasing it in a riptide of emotional debris and darkness. The taunting ticking of the second hand that haunts him constantly, the grip on his happiness slipping…

“Hey.” He gasps out, ringed fingers grazing your cheek as he pulls away. So close still he can see the flushed-red outline of your lips, the blissed out expression in your eyes quickly morphing to concern.

“Shit, you okay?” You pull back, brushing a loose curl out of the frame of his face.

“Yeah, ‘m fine.” A stabilizing breath does little to quell the erratic beating of his heart. “Just- maybe we should, like, take things a bit slower? I- I just don’t want all this to be too much, too fast.”

Brows furrowing slightly, it’s hard to miss the minute disappointment reflected across your face.

“Oh. No, yeah, of course.” Letting out an awkward chuckle, your unoccupied hands take to fidgeting with your now-loose blouse. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get carried away…”

“No, no-” Eddie reassures, a smile growing on his sore lips despite the gnawing ache in his chest. “Fuck, you were- it was perfect.”

A bashful grin cuts through the nerves etched into your skin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” God, you make him too bold. Cradling your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he dips forward to steal another miss from you. “Just want to do things right. Be a gentleman and all that.”

“You? A gentleman? Since when?” You poke.

“Since always.” The tone returns to easy as always, if not charged with a certain afterglow of electricity.

“So, what’s the next step in the courting ritual then?”

“Dunno. Guess I’ll have to pull off a grand gesture of some kind.”

Thursday afternoon, counting down the minutes until the clock strikes 5pm and frees you from this grind. Happy fucking birthday to you. 

Robin has been fussing over you non-stop for the past 24 hours. Apparently, a little birdie told her about your upcoming birthday (something you’d diligently kept private), sending her into a frenzy. She insisted on at least taking you out for dinner to celebrate your birthday at Benny’s, and practically stuffed her version of appropriate birthday attire into a duffle bag this morning for you to change into post-shift. In all her festive glory, she returned from her lunch break with a pink-frosting covered cupcake and tried to involve no less than three customers in a group rendition of Happy Birthday that was less than successful. And despite the unwarranted theatrics, you can’t deny your gratitude. Seeing how she dotes on you, dedicating her every movement that day to your happiness. And frankly, it’s not dissimilar to every other day. The love, the care that the two of you feel for eachother simply heightened for your first day of your twenties. Luck has never been a word you’d use to describe your life, but today, it feels fitting.

Keith has been goaded into closing the shop up solo tonight, Robin sparing no detail of the utmost importance to this diner dinner. She’d also arranged for Eddie to bring Audrey along, clocking in around 12 total hours of unpaid babysitting and a bushel of brownie points. Then, once the grown-ups have hung out, some of the younger kids will bike to the trailer park for a late-night movie. Spending the remaining hours of your birthday with everyone you love.

The small bathroom cubicle adjoining the workroom is cluttered with makeup and clothes, the two of you primping yourself in privacy. Tonight’s outfit of choice appears to be a band tee, tied at the waist with a flowing maxi-skirt, clashing in your mind but makes sense to Robin, apparently. To level the playing field, she dug out some of your nicer boots for the occasion. Internally, you worry for Audrey, and how it’ll be once Robin realizes she has two life-sized Barbie dolls to dress up. But secretly, you like it. It feels very you, whatever that means now. Comfort meets expression, an identity crafted beyond Mom.

Smiling at yourself through the rusty bathroom mirror, Robin swipes on her mascara.

“How do you feel? Older and wiser yet?” Robin asks, eyes bugged out in concentration.

“More of the former, I’d say.” You chuckle.

“What about the outfit? I felt pretty proud of it, very rocker-chic meets fairy princess.”

“It’s great, Rob. All of it.” Lips pursing together in an emotional smile, you drink in the image before you. You look your age. No dark circles or fine lines present, concealed under just the right amount of makeup. Hair just the way you like it, not confined to a three-day-old ponytail. You recognise her, from another life. The girl you used to be. And she’s so happy to see you.

Robin shoves the mascara tube into her tote bag, throwing it over her shoulder. “Ready to hit the road?”

With a nod, you hold the door open for her, the imposing fluorescents of the video store coming back into view. 

“Oh, nearly forgot. We’ve gotta make a pit stop along the way, if that’s alright with you?” Following her trail, the two of you burst out the front doors and into the brisk evening towards your Pinto.

“Sure.” You reply. “Just lead the way.”

“Robin, where the hell are we?” Glancing around one of the seedier streets of Hawkins, you shrug your handbag a little closer under your armpit and remind yourself that you did, in fact, lock your car. It’s fairly innocuous, an assortment of goods shops and a vintage record store, but you’ve never ventured this far into the heartland. Robin is a few paces before you, studying the signs of various closed businesses along the road. Her face lights up as you approach one particular building. 

“Bada-boom.” She announces with a proud grin, stopping in front of a large, black building. The paint is sun-faded, lined with scratched-off band posters graffitied with lewd scribbles. Against the dark sky, your only indication of the name etched into the doorway awning comes in the form of a passing car blaring its lights.

“The Hideout?” It rang a bell, yet you could not work out for the life of you what the two of you were doing here. “Dude, is this a nightclub? It’s a Thursday!”

“Not exactly…” Her brazen smile makes you slightly nervous. “More of a live music venue. I’ve just gotta pick something up from here, then we’ll be off to dinner. ‘Kay?”

“Alright, maybe I’ll just wait outside-” “No!” Robin quickly clears her throat. “I mean- I’m not leaving you out here on these mean street all alone without me to protect you.”

Shooting you a bright smile, you have to take at face value that she’s being entirely serious right now. Locking her arm through yours, she urges your unwilling feet further to the entrance.

“Is it even-” Answering your half-finished question, Robin pushes open the door to the venue, the interior pitch-black. “Are we even allowed to be here?”

“Yes, dingus! Just c’mon…” Once again, you’re placing literal blind faith into your closest friend. She might as well have tied Eddie’s bandana over your eyes as she did at Christmas, nothing but the slightly sticky floor beneath you to guide you forwards into oblivion. Her arm is your liferaft, swimming through pitch-black waters towards god knows what. In the distance, you hear a strange scuffling of feet, not belonging to either you or your co-worker. It sends chills down your spine, suddenly feeling very out of your depth. It’s disorienting, and totally alien.

“Seriously, Robin. Can we-” Your hushed tone is directed to the girl beside you, who stops in her tracks. You plant yourself beside her, the strangest feeling of being able to make a figure out through the void before you. A fleeting moment of movement, another shuffle of shoes on tacky wood ground. 

And in the flash of an eye, brightness burns your retinas, momentarily blinding you. It forces you to squint, a desperate attempt to identify these unfamiliar surroundings. A spotlight of sorts bears down on you before Robin quickly releases you from her vice grip and jumps to the side. But as one sense is returned, another is quickly abused, a raucous sound brutalizing your eardrums.

“Surprise!” Numerous voices call out at the top of their voices, unable to be individually dissected amongst the barrage of confetti poppers bursting into the sky. As your eyes grow accustomed to the warm spotlights around the venue, you make out familiar shapes. A mess of scruffy curls buried beneath a baseball cap. Two young boys with arms slung around one another jumping up and down, perfectly manicured bangs flinging haphazardly. The flash of a camera you’d borrowed months ago. There’s only a few of them, but their energy fills the space tenfold. 

And, at the center, you see a lean figure with a Kirk Hamlett haircut raise a squirming lump high above his head, not unlike a certain Disney movie that wouldn’t come out for another good eight or so years. Eddie, in what can only be described as his best cut-off band tee, proudly holds Audrey high above the group, her chunky legs bunched up to her body as she looks around entirely confused. As the last syllable of their celebration dies off, as if on cue, Audrey’s face screws up in a dramatic pout, a loud cry echoing through the venue at a volume the others only could hope to have achieved. Eddie’s face quickly transforms to worry, eyes squinting with embarrassment.

“Oh, fu-” Eddie quickly lowers her, cradling her head towards his collarbone. “Shit, didn’t mean to scare you, Squid.” 

Shushing her and pacing a step towards you, he bounces your baby from side to side. Her cries begin to lull, her fist tucked tightly at his clavicle for emotional support. Likely giving his neck a few scratches from her razor-sharp fingernails, she clings to the neckline of his shirt like a spider monkey, pulling it down with a subdued whimper and revealing one of his tattoos.

“Eddie? What-” You’re stunned. Shell-shocked from the sudden onslaught of sensation and attention, closing the space between you and the metalhead.

“How’s this for a grand gesture?” Spinning on his heel, Dustin rushes over to present a frosting-covered monstrosity on the bar. The icing is baby pink, with large globs that could be letters on top, with a handful of mismatched candles shoved into the floury concoction.

“Ta-da!” The younger boy grins, fixing one of the especially lop-sided candles. “Sorry it’s nothing special, I didn’t have much time to work on it…”

“You- you threw me a birthday party?” You ask, wide-eyed to Eddie.

“Ah-” He raises a finger, readjusting the subdued baby in his arms. “A surprise birthday party. In case you missed the keyword over the little hellraiser's scene-stealing cry.”

That familiar feeling returns. Overwhelmed by love and eyes solely on you. A small pile of presents sits on one of the bar tables, along with a few cards. Far more modest than the endowment you received from the group months earlier. Smiling faces, slightly tentative as they attempt to interpret your expression. But that thumping in your chest is not from anxiety this time. It’s from an overflowing sense of gratitude. 

A teary smile takes over your face, rushing to embrace Eddie and Audrey in a tight bear hug. The baby nestled between you burbles and squirms, and you raise your lips to the shell of Eddie’s ear to whisper a heartfelt “thank-you”.

The party is in full swing. Of the faces huddled in groups around the intimate venue, you initially only recognise half of them. Mike, Lucas and Will order root beer from the bar under Eddie’s strict supervision, not wanting any wasted minors on his track record. Dustin and Erica are engaged in a heated conversation with a few older boys, each of them wearing shirts printed with the name Corroded Coffin. You’d only crossed paths with them a handful of times at campaign nights, but they shared Eddie’s welcoming nature, trying to involve you in their conversation about elves or something. Nancy and Robin were trying to liven up the dance floor, which mostly involved Nancy swaying to the beat and Robin putting on a full-scale musical number around her. With Audrey not in the arms of any of her allocated babysitter’s arms, there was only one place left to search. Jonathan was taking a picture of the group in the adjacent booth, El and Max grinning either side of an unfamiliar face. His long, dark hair proved most entertaining for the infant on his lap, a glazed-over expression dancing in his red-rimmed eyes. 

“Woah, woah! That’s not for playing with, little dudette. Try this instead, I know it keeps me entertained.” From his Hawaiian shirt pocket, he pulls out a small set of keys, passing them to Audrey’s greedy fingers. She squeals, flinging the keys up and down in delight.

“God, she’s so cute.” El gushes, smoothing her pint-sized overalls over her legs.

“I know, right. She looks so much like Steve, it’s insane.” Max affirms. “Alright, Argyle. Quit hogging her.”

The redhead scoops her hands around Audrey’s waist, bringing her up to eye level with a cooing expression. 

“You know they’re born without kneecaps? How gnarly is that?” Argyle states, turning to El with complete sincerity.

“No way that’s true.” Max shoots the older boy a signature dead-pan look, readjusting Audrey in her arms, who is now getting a good amount of drool on the keychain.

“Swear on my life! I read it somewhere, they’re born without propellers.”

“You mean patellas?” El corrects.

“Yeah, that’s the one! Or maybe it’s dogs I’m thinking of…”

It’s beautiful, watching over your own party as a voyeur. An event that has brought together all of the closest people in your life, the common thread being you. It makes you sick with love.

“How’re you enjoying the event, sweetheart?” Eddie’s voice reaches you before he does, a glass of tan-colored liquid in hand.

“It’s perfect, really.” You reply with a grin. “All that’s missing are the Jell-o shots.”

“Gonna treat us to another Flashdance number?” Cheeks flushing over his statement, you stammer a response.

“How- how did you…”

“Don’t think I’d forget a spectacle like that.” He winks, a devilish grin spread across his lips. “Livened up that night’s dealings, that’s for sure.”

It’s strange, remembering a time before this. A time when Eddie was just a face in the crowd, Steve the undisputed King of Hawkins, and you with no clue what the coming years held in store. It feels like a lifetime ago, and simultaneously feels like an eternity you’ve spent with this eclectic family by your side.

“Getting on the beers tonight, Munson?” You tap a nail against the edge of his glass teasingly.

“Nah, confiscated Henderson’s root beer for my own selfish purposes.”

“You’re not gonna have a celebratory drink with me tonight?” Eddie shakes his head.

“Don’t think so, sweetheart. Sounds a bit cliche, but I feel weird drinking around Squid. Just don’t want to be the kind of guy who does that around a baby, makes me feel like my dad or something.”

You swear your heart swells to three times its normal size. He might be the most considerate man you’ve ever met.

“Besides…” Eddie continues, pointing to the Hellfire boys. “... don’t want to be a mess on stage for the grand finale of the night.”

You gasp, mock excitement written all over your expression. “Strippers?!”

Eddie shakes his head with a laugh, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“Maybe later, if you ask nicely.”

He did it.

Eddie pulled it off. From the house-shaking rendition of Happy Birthday, to the (in his humble opinion) absolutely killer set courtesy of Corroded Coffin, to shuttling the younger kids home before the bar opened to the public. He fucking did it. He did good.

The dingy bar is now filled with the usual patrons, the bouncers not bothering to check the ID’s of the occupants inside who could pass for being over 21. Last he saw you, you were dancing arm in arm with Robin and Nancy, screaming Everybody Wants to Rule The World at the top of your lungs. He’d never seen you so free, so vibrant. Moving like no one was watching, twirling and laughing and holding your friends. Just as you deserved to be. A twenty-year-old for one night, before another 364 days devoted to being a mom.

The cool breeze is welcoming, soothing his warm skin under the clear night sky. Stars swimming in the endless expanse of night, delicate kisses of light kissing the pitch-black veil. He can breathe. It used to be suffocating, looking up at the infinite nothing. It would clog Eddie’s throat, choking him in bleak nothingness. Wrap him in a coat of terror, a black mirror designed to play back every fateful mistake of his miserable life. Now, it welcomes him. And he isn’t afraid to embrace it. Baby steps, learning to love the dark parts of his being.

In his arms, he rocks Squid back and forth gently. She’s long since dozed off, the burden of being the life of the party clearly hung too heavy on her tiny shoulders. On her ears sit the smallest fluffy earmuffs, an investment courtesy of Dustin just for tonight. She was the best little groupie he could have asked for. At one point, Robin brought her onstage and placed her feet on the ground, bopping her up and down to the music. The crowd roared, and she giggled and squealed like she was the headliner act. Might have shown the band up, honestly. Eddie didn’t mind.

He’s getting better at stealing moments with her. Giving into his need to dote on her unabashedly. He could stare at her for a lifetime, and that wouldn’t be enough. He needs to imprint in his mind the way her eyelids flutter when she sleeps, commit to memory the O-shape of her mouth when she lets out a sleepy yawn. He wants to record her laugh, keep it forever. He wants every waking second to be dedicated to her.

“Have a good night, Squid?” He mumbles, lightly stroking the bridge of her nose. “Not bad for your first party, eh? Just you wait until your birthday. All of this will look like child’s play.”

Squid wriggles restlessly, burrowing into Eddie’s chest. Against his sternum, he can feel the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath, the tiny grunts of sleep deep in her lungs. It makes him grin like a mad-man.

“Y’know, I’m gonna let you in on a secret.” He readjusts her carefully in his arms, hushing his tone slightly. “I think- I think you and your mom are the best things that have ever happened to me.”

His words hang heavy in the still air, the empty alleyway the only recipient to his confession.

“Can you believe I was scared of you? Of these tiny hands-” He tickles her palm with his pointer finger, the baby clasping around it instinctually with unbridled strength. “- and these little feet. God, I’m pretty stupid, aren’t I? You can tell me, I won’t be offended. But, I’ll tell you something, just between you and me. There are much scarier things out there. And I’m not talking about monsters or alternate dimensions, although I do promise to protect you from that, cross my heart.” He raises his free hand to his heart, as if the sleeping infant would know any different.

“In this big, bad world, I think the scariest thing is to be alone. And I’m gonna make sure you never feel that way, if I can help it.”

Eddie is rambling, word vomit spilling past his lips faster than he can contain it. No scapegoat of weed or alcohol to blame his honesty on. He gently rocks Squid back and forth, the motion soothing both of them. 

“Y’know, I know you’re not mine. But-” Teeth bite down on the inside of his cheek, fingers pulling down her overalls. “- I dunno, it kinda feels like you’re mine in my heart.”

With a deep exhale, Eddie allows his honesty to wash over him in all its brutal glory. Knee-buckingly raw, and he leans into it, for once. Allows the love to pump through his veins with every beat of his cynical heart, waking up parts of him he thought were gone for good. But the moment of solitude doesn’t last long before Robin comes barreling out of the back door, almost crashing into the nearby trash cans.

“Shit, sorry. Did I wake her?” She apologizes, sloshing her half-finished gin and tonic onto the pavement.

“Nah, you’re in luck. Squid’s out like a light.” He pulls out another milk crate, beckoning the tipsy liability over. “Having fun in there?”

“Yeah, yeah- I am.” It’s a half thought, words dancing on the tip of her tongue not ready to be spoken yet. “The kids get home alright?”

“Eventually, had to drag most of them out by the end. Henderson wanted to hide in the bathroom and then ‘blend in with the older crowd’.”

“Wonder where he learnt that one from.” Robin smiles, nudging the metalhead.

“Hey, don’t look at me. Wasn’t my doing, for once…”

“Mmm…” She replies, taking a swig of her mixed spirit. Staring down at the lime slice, she swishes the glass around as if deep in thought. Glazed eyes laced with melancholy, radiating off her being.

“Something on your mind?” Eddie asks, angling his body more in her direction.

Robin’s mouth screws up as if she’s tasted something bitter, unable to bring her gaze to meet the man before her. But he doesn’t need to look her in the eyes to see the tears swelling on her waterline, quivering with her next sentence. 

“We have to tell her…” Her voice is barely louder than a whisper, suppressed anxiety trickling in with every syllable. 

Eddie feels his blood run cold, the familiar pang of dread hanging low in his stomach. He shakes his head defiantly.

“Not tonight, Rob. Please…” The plea is firm, fraying at the edges. Not ready to face the inevitable.

“No, no. Not tonight, but it needs to be soon.”

“Can we please not do this right now?” Eddie doesn’t mean to be so forceful with his words, but fear is a powerful thing. It poisons his blood, pushed further through his system with every erratic beat of his heart.

Robin’s eyes continue to well up with stinging tears, her grip on the glass tightening. “The guilt is eating me alive, Eddie. I just… I don’t know how to do it.”

Eddie sighs, desperate to keep what little control he possesses. 

“We need to do it the right way, got it? You, me, Henderson and her. We can all sit down and…” Robin runs her hand through her hair with exasperation at Eddie’s suggestion. Even the gentlest of options sounds like a monumental task. “Just give it a bit more time…”

“There is no more time!” She retorts, her volume loud enough for her to quickly glance down at the sleeping baby to make sure she didn’t wake her.

Eddie stands up, readjusting Squid in his arms. He’s doing his best to stay calm, and not let the inevitable spiral begin, a fruitless battle. “I’m not doing this right now, okay?”

The liquid courage is working wonders on Robin right now, standing up to face the metalhead eye-to-eye. “Don’t act like you don’t feel the same way, Eddie. You know as well as I do that she has a right to know.”

Eddie’s mouth is open and ready to voice another stern reply, when it’s interrupted by a meek voice behind him. The soft tone does little to soothe the ache growing in his abdomen, not daring to look over his shoulder at the source. 

“I have a right to know what?”

Haze. 

Disorder. 

Stumbling your way through the overbearing smog flooding your consciousness. Gripping to the worn sofa in your living room like it’s a buoy, the only thing grounding you in painful reality.

It’s fragmented, the onslaught of new information cluttering your mind, unable to be sifted through logically.

Owens.

Lowering yourself to the ground, you’ve lost all faith in your legs to keep you upright. Sea legs giving out beneath you, collapsing under the weight of a burdened mind. You quickly put Audrey in her bassinet the second you arrived home, stepping back from her small body like she was made of fire. Delicate, precious, amidst the crumbling ruins of life.

Found.

No. 

No, you need someone to cling onto. Polyester beneath your fingernails can never compare to flesh and blood, pumping with life and hope and comfort. Oh god. Craving arms, muscle and sinew engulfing your body, soothing and shushing like you’ve done with your baby countless times. Desperate for the luxury of kindness.

No one to dote. 

No one to care. 

No one to witness the mortifying pain of existence. 

No one to observe the torment they cursed you with in the first place.

Steve.

Crawling up your throat like bile, burning your esophagus as hot lava. You’d welcome the respite of vomit, the substance of it, the satisfaction of exorcism. But no, the painful tar claws its way through your tract, bringing biting tears to your eyes. Hell manifesting in your being. Truth collapsing with a heavy hearted I’m so sorry, bouncing off the walls of the narrow alleyway while you retreated. Words spilling out helplessly from your loose tongue, rage of betrayal driving every consonant and syllable. To never see you again, let alone speak to you. 

The loss of everyone, everyone. Robin, Dustin, Nancy, fuck- Eddie. They all knew. They coaxed you through the loss, never allowing for hope to breed. Lies built on mountains of lies, a shamble foundation of friendship. Arms that held your daughter with gentleness and altruism, seemingly all fabricated. Tainting her with every touch, every smile, tongues bleeding as they bit back the truth. Too numb to cry, to even indulge in the agony of feeling.

Beginnings are special, because most of them are fake. Artificial and man-made, entirely composed of brain chemistry and justifications. The person you become after your first glass of wine was already there, fretting below the surface of your facade, chipping away at the mask you present to the world. They never left.

You are at the end of beginning.

[acapelladitty]

Scarecrow/Harley Quinn - CNC (Kinktober #11)

Summary - The infamous Harley Quinn finds herself in quite the tricky situation when she is held captive by the equally infamous Scarecrow. (A commission for the very kind and wonderfully sweet @forthegothicheroine)

“Did you think, all those years ago, when you sat coyly in my office, batting those beautiful lashes and begging me for an extension to your paper, that it would end up like this?” Crane asked, gripping Harley’s chin in a spindly hand. “I refused you then, professional judgement, but I always knew I would have you like this. Spread around me like a common whore.”

Baby blues painfully wide and fluttering anxiously as muffled words struggled to break through the thick cotton gag which looped around her mouth, Harley was every inch the perfect little doll in his grasp; a beautiful victim with her bottle-blonde hair fanned out around her head like an angelic halo as she shook her head against the darkened sheets she found herself pinned against.

Crane’s cock was hard, almost uncomfortably so, and he rubbed it along her slickened folds, enjoying the shudder which crossed her muscular frame as her body betrayed her, the wetness there giving him all the consent he needed. Her skin was soft, like velvet coated steel due to her years of physicality and gymnastics, and it gave her a strength which he himself lacked. But here she was, presented before him like a delightful gift – one which begged to be unwrapped as her mouth and hands remained restrained to prevent any hope of escape.

A soft grunt fled his throat as his long fingers gripped her creamy hips, the indents of his fingertips brutal enough to guarantee at least a light bruise, and the hold allowed him solid purchase as he snapped his hips forward and buried himself within her in a single, violent thrust. Her warmth was immediate, and his grunt dissolved into a low, languid groan – one which only increased in volume as he slowly slid free, her walls delightfully flush around him. The loss of contact barely had time to resister as he slammed himself forward once more, his groin flush against her thick thighs.

It was addictive.

So hot and warm around him as her eyes blinked away discomforted tears. Muffled cries making her breasts bounce in such a way that Crane found it difficult to decided where to pin his hot gaze. She enthralled him; every inch of her perfect frame a siren-like call as he found himself unable to resist having her in the way he knew that so few others had.

Stretched around his cock, her walls fluttered around him greedily, pulling him in closer with every jerk of his cock and the fingers of his left hand dropped free of her hips to trail up her heaving stomach. Tracing a soft line up her abdomen, his fingers paused to tweak almost playfully at her hardened nipple before tapping along the swell of her collarbone.

“A beautiful little doll.” Crane growled, wrapping his fingers around her neck as she swallowed in panic and thrashed below him. “Just perfect to be used.”

His lazy thrusting and musings were cut short by a very deliberate sensation against his lower back as the heel of her right foot came to tap roughly at the base of his spine.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Three distinct movements and the feel of them made his hands drop from her neck immediately as though the skin there had burned his palms. With a deft swiftness, he loosened the fabric gag and pulled it free of her mouth as his hips stilled; his cock still buried within her cunt, but unmoving as his analytical gaze swept across her face to search for an answer he knew would soon be revealed.

“Harleen?” Crane prompted; his voice softened from its previous aggression as he allowed her to settle her frantic breathing. “Do you need water? Loosened?”

“No.” Harley stuttered out. “I’m – I’m okay. Just feeling a bit, y’know.” Her words were shaky and Crane could see the shadows in her eyes, the panic there which she was so valiantly trying to hide behind a soft, placating smile.

“Do you want to stop?” His other hand still planted on her creamy hip, Crane stroked the skin there gently with the sides of his fingers. It was a simple gesture which replaced his unspoken concerns as he gazed down at her.

“Not yet.” She confirmed before pausing. “But maybe – maybe don’t put your hand on my neck again, okay?”

Her eyes, so big and blue, blinked at him and a warmth which had nothing to do with the arousal which still burned within his veins swept through his chest.

“Of course.” Crane agreed as his hips moved slowly once again, allowing Harley to set the pace a little more as he pretended to forget to reapply the thick fabric of her gag.

[the-batblog]

You ever stood in front of Superman?

Not like when he's moving, or when he's saving people, but just standing there. Have you ever been in his presence? Have you ever experienced his company?

At first, there's this sense of awe. It's Superman, after all. The Man of Steel. And he's taller than anyone you've ever met, and he's built like a truck, and you just watched him punch a giant robot so hard it broke the windows of the high-rise he was next to.

But then… then your lizard brain kicks in.

And it tells you to be very afraid.

You don't know what it is at first. It takes a long time to figure it out, to see what's so wrong, what's making your hairs stand on end and your skin crawl and your spine tingle.

For one thing, he's not breathing.

He's been standing in front of you for two minutes now, listening to emergency personnel, checking up on some of the other victims of this week's mishap, and it isn't until he gets to you and opens his mouth that you realize. That it finally clicks. That you notice, unless he's talking, his chest doesn't move.

"How's your head?"

Three little words, and it's amazing how hard it makes you want to flinch. Again, why? You tell him you're fine, because the EMTs already looked you over, and then he stops looking you in the eyes for just a moment. Because he's not looking at you. He's looking in you.

He's looking at your skull. At your brain. At all the blood vessels in your head. He's not looking at you, he's looking at your meatsack, at the flesh and bone of your insides, as if they were open to the air. You're as good as dissected in that moment. He can look at everything in you, and the thought that you may as well be naked is the least intrusive thing going through your head. Because you gotta wonder how he's so calm about seeing everything that should be hidden on the inside, as if it were spread out in front of him. You gotta wonder what that does to a person's mind, seeing that.

When he meets your gaze again, it strikes you how damned blue his eyes are. They don't look real. They don't even look like color contacts. They just look CG, even though he's standing right in front of you, even though you can feel the heat coming off of his body.

"Drink plenty of fluids when you get home."

You catch it that time. As he walks away, you figure it out; what's so wrong about his voice. It's quiet, and it's polite, and his tone is only gently authoritative, but it. Booms. There's something like a ten foot drum under his words, and the air itself shivers when he talks. It must be his strength. It doesn't matter how quiet he is when his muscles are all so unbelievably strong. When his lungs and throat work under the same power as those window-shattering punches.

And then the fourth thing that sets your teeth on edge. He walks like he doesn't weight a damned thing.

He's big, he's huge, and you've seen semi trucks wrap their bumpers around him on TV and he didn't even twitch, but every step he takes is completely devoid of substance. Of consequences. He's pretending to walk, moving his legs and body in all the right ways, but nothing squishes his heels or pulls against him when he lifts his leg. It's like he's not real. Like he's a video of a person superimposed into the world.

Superman's amazing, of course. He saves so many people and he's really truly so nice. He's probably got a lot going on, but he makes time for the whole world. But standing in front of him… it's deeply disturbing. How does anyone look at him and decide to fight him?

I love Superman and I'm thankful for everything he does. But I never want to see him in-person again.

[riggedtraps]

@photographerstanheight

A small slither of light illuminated the grimy room as Amanda pushed the door open. She gripped the flashlight in her hand tighter, forcing her tremours of terror to stop. No matter how frightened she was, she had to do this. Had to fix her mistake.

The bathroom hadn't changed since she'd last been in it. It felt so long ago though, realistically, had only been a week. Amanda felt so changed in such little time—she was more devoted to the Jigsaw teachings now, aware of who she was supposed to be and what she was meant to acheive. She wanted to believe she was less afraid than she had been a week ago. It simply wasn't true.

The walls of the bathroom were still slimey and gritty, the tiled floor slippery. Fake blood—the one filled with poision—was still puddled on the floor, now dried and another permanent reminder of the torterous game that had been carried out. It was so close to being the same that, for a moment, Amanda believed that if she closed her eyes, she could wish herself back where it all began. She could fix her mistakes; change the one decision which had ruined it all, rigged the entire game. Amanda wasn’t certain where the key had disappeared to, but it wasn’t hard to hazard a guess. Adam's only salvation had gone down the drain. If only she'd put it in a safer place. Under the bathtub. In his pocket. Anywhere else, and Adam would have been able to win. He wouldn’t have been doomed. But she hadn't.

Now, Amanda had to fix her mistake.

Opening her eyes, she found herself in the same room, same situation. She was stuck. One thing had changed, though...The smell.

Gagging, Amanda hid her face in her elbow. There was an awful stench, not from the muck, dirt, bodily fuids of the bathroom—from worse. Amanda had spent her fair share of time in trash houses when she was a junkie, and even before then, her childhood home hadn't been the cleanest. She was accustomed to gritting her teeth and blocking the awful stenches out. But this was different.

A rotting, decaying aroma.

For a second, panic seized her. Amanda wanted to turn heel and run, tail between legs. She didn’t want to see a corpse. The anxiety burst through her veins, clawing at her—the buzz made her skin itchy. Her breathing picked up, eyes widening. Was she too late? Was Adam already dead?

Taking a deep breath, Amanda steeled herself. She at least ought to know whether she truly was a murderer or not. Sweeping her flashlight across the room, she found a corpse. Laying, unmoving, his head caved in and covered in gore. But that wasn’t Adam.

A little further behind, there he was. Hunched over. Foot still chained to the pipe.

Shaky breaths escaped her as Amanda inched closer and closer. Crouching down, she placed her flashlight on the floor, aiming the white beam at her victim. “Adam...” She murmured, hoping for some sort of response. Nothing. Amanda repeated his name, waving her hand under his nostrils. He was breathing, at least.

This was the hard part.

Biting her tongue, Amanda relished in the comforting pain as she pulled a scrunched up plastic bag out of the pocket of her leather jacket. She straightened it out, hands trembling—no, entire body trembling. Amanda's eyes were wet and she let out a sniffle. Fuck, just do it quickly.

Raising her arms, she wrapped the bag around Adam's face. Amand wasn’t sure she even had the strength in her to do it. But she had to. This was her fault. It was her fault for not thinking properly, for just chucking the key onto Adam's chest. Her mind had been spinning with the revelation that she had committed such a despicable act, one she could never return from, that she had acted recklessly. And now she had to make ammends.

“C'mere, 'm going to help you,” Amanda spoke softly, in a voice that she hoped was reminiscent of a mother comforting an upset child. She pulled the bag tighter, cutting off Adam's air supply. Even if she didn’t want to, she had to do it. She had to save Adam from the pain of a slow, agonizing death.

And yet...Adam had won his game. He had survived the allocated time, but Jigsaw had left him to rot. If anything, Dr Lawrence Gordon had lost and should be punished for not killing the man in Amanda's arms. But Gordon was being praised and taken care of. Amanda had changed his bandages twice already. She trusted Jigsaw and his choices—but this one simply didn’t make sense.

Sobs errupted from Amanda's chest. She forced her head down, nose pushing against Adam's back as she tried to hide her teary face. A hiccup escaped her as she attemped, and failed, to silence herself. It was hard to tell if her arms gave out, or if Adam had decided to fight back, but the plastic bag slipped from his face, falling to his lap.

Amanda was crying harder now, gasps and wails coming from her. She wrapped her arms around Adam's shoulders, hugging him tight. Not to pin him down, not to hurt him; to keep him safe. Amanda's motive had changed, the guilt overwhelming her rational thinking, and she decided: “I'm going to free you.”

The darkness and the tears blinded her, but Amanda's hands scrambled across the floor. They wrapped around a thick chunk of ceramic with crimson stains. A toilet lid. Before she could change her mind, she brought it down, heavy, on the chain connected to Adam's foot. A few more hits and the thing would break.

A few more hits and Adam would be freed.

[silent-sanctum]

Do you do AUs? If you do, may I request Jotaro x fem!reader where he is a mafia boss? 💖💖💖

Oh anon, I absolutely love writing AUs, they're actually my specialty ^^ So I had a nice time writing this one for you. Everyone say thank you to anon for the request~ Granted, mafia aus are the fics I'm not too well-versed with, but I did my best! Hope you and the others enjoy it!💖

Lowlife Princess - Jotaro x Reader

word count: 9.9k+

3 minuscule clangs echoed throughout the darkened ballroom, followed by the screams of pain.

How unfortunate was it to think that this space used to harbor so much events may it be a drinking fest to drown the glutinous, a town hall meeting to indulge the corrupt, hell maybe even an orgy to satisfy the lustful.

Though with a couple of crimson smeared on the walls, unhinged doors cast aside useless on the floor, ruined furniture rid of their contents, and shattered glass from tall windows, the once grandeur of the hall has now been reduced to a decrepit room for slaughter.

All because the greedy politician couldn’t pay his debt.

Within the four corners, men in tailored suits stood by with an assortment of weaponry in their hands- a barbed bat, bladed steel, warm-tipped guns, etc. They remained still and stood to block every path of escape, watching their leader circle around his victim with a simple revolver in hand.

Around him, countless bodies of his guards lay motionless. All done by his hands. Red filled the spaces unoccupied by their corpses. His family was left unharmed but kept under close surveillance in case they try to flee and report.

And of the old coot? He’s bound to the singular chair in the middle of the room, stripped down to his sweat-soaked undershirt and piss stained boxers. 2 bullet wounds punctured his thighs, one each, bleeding profusely down his legs, while the last blew his right ear right off.

With the man stopping before him, the politician whimpered. “I-I swear the money was on its way 2 days ago! You can check my messages for proo-”

“I don’t give a fuck about your messages,” the boss gritted out, gripping the chair’s arms to lean forward with a deathly glare. “You owe us a shitload of funds and this is the third time you haven’t paid what’s due.”

This was also him being extra generous mostly due to this guy’s history with his family, but at the first sign of noncompliance, he won’t be tracing his roots just to spare one influential man. There are many other fishes in the sea after all.

He eyed the darkening skies outside the window and clicked his tongue. “It’s getting late. Might as well loot all your possessions and hack into your accounts to find my severance pay.” At the snap of his fingers, 4 of his men bowed and got to work in an instant.

With a cock of his head, another brandished a knife to slice the ropes off of the quivering politician. The adult immediately planted his face on the cold floor in a full bow, still whimpering. “T-Take all that I have! Just p-please let me go! I’ll find more ways to pay you more!”

The leader pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his blood-tipped gun, not looking at him. “I already let you go.”

A sliver of hope grew on his pathetic face. “Does that mean you’ll spare me?”

“No.”

Another bang echoed within the spacious area and the politician dropped to the ground with the others, a bullet lodged through his forehead.

He spared no more time watching his corpse rot on the floor and turned on his heels with the swish of his long coat. His men stood aside as he crossed through the door frame. “Report to me the details of the ‘transactions’ at my office. Understood?”

“Yes sir!”

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

Jotaro Kujo was what one would describe as “ruthless yet reasonable”.

Being the 3rd patriarch of his family bloodline at the age of 28, he was a smart figure with a penchant for methodical violence. He had a lot responsibilities managing the Sangyosei, one of Japan’s most dangerous yakuza clans, infamous for its reputation of gaining followers through material benefit and killing traitors with prolonged torture.

It wasn’t hard but the fact that the 1st patriarch, Jonathan, established the Joestar mafia lineage in Europe and the 2nd, Joseph, in North America, it made the whole structuring a whole hierarchy from the ground up a hassle to deal with.

But it took him a couple months of proving what he’s capable of to his lackeys and enemies, until the Japanese mafia has solidified its place with its current reputation.

And while power felt good to many, he would thrive in it if he didn’t have to deal with … other matters. Paperwork. Interviews. Secret meetings. Training. Dealing with backstabbers.

Jotaro needed a break once in a while. Good grief.

He stepped out of his car, unbothered by the amount of blood painted on his long black coat, and walked through the clan headquarters' main entrance, followed by his men behind him. “Good day, sir.” Two maids bowed upon entry.

“Kakyoin, any updates on the tasks I told about earlier?” Jotaro paid no attention to the ladies’ greetings, instead shrugging off his coat to dump into their arms for wash. “I’m expecting an increase of numbers.”

A man with red curled hair decked in a sharply-pressed olive green suit stepped aside from the line of soldiers, a tablet in hand displaying the needed information. “Yes sir. Accordingly, I’ve received reports from Polnareff that whatever Takahashi had in his possessions, they managed to sack everything valuable he had in his manor and wired all his saved money into your account.”

He handed over the device into the boss’ hand as the two reached the top of stairs where his office situated. Jotaro flicked through the images of accessories and priceless décor and read the success notification of money transferred. “And the clean-up?”

“Avdol already ordered them to get rid of the bodies,” Kakyoin said as he opened the door for the raven-haired to enter. Behind them, two stationary guards stood by to shut them close.

And behind shut doors, Jotaro could finally let that menacing mask off his face for once and slump onto his chair, hanging up his hat on the nearby rack beside him. “This is the 5th time someone hasn’t met deadlines. Why do I still bother offering at this point…”

“Well, you could either say it was due to Ms. Holly’s influence on you or your great grandfather’s values,” Kakyoin said.

The boss pinched the bridge of his nose with the hints of a headache coming any minute. “Damn their persevering good will. Makes me wonder why Jonathan started a business this shady in the first place.”

“Hey boss! We’re back!”

The doors burst open to welcome a silver-haired Frenchman with the indigo suit and upbeat personality, and a dark-skinned man beside him who received all the embarrassment for his companion with his persimmon robes. “Polnareff, what did I say about keeping the noise down?”

“Ah come on, it’s just us here. Let loose for a bit.”

Aside from his numerous men working for him, Jotaro kept a close circle of guards around him, those who had better skills and attributes than the rest. Kakyoin, the one who offered his services in exchange for protection from the Kyuketsuki clan, was the one responsible directing his orders to the others and the one who obtains details about almost everything.

Polnareff and Avdol were both transferred from the American branch under the instructions of Joseph Joestar. Those two shared the same role of leading selected groups of men to do Jotaro’s bidding.

Years of working together had granted these 3 adults privilege to be informal with their leader and the latter to be more lenient towards them. However, they all knew very well not too take his generosity for granted.

“Well… what’s next on the itinerary boss?” Pol asked, reaching into his suit to pull out a lighter for a smoke. With his cigarette lit, he tossed the silver item into Jotaro’s waiting hand.

“Imports from Italy are scheduled to arrive at the docks tomorrow dawn.” He brought the small flame to the tip of his cigarette and flicked the lid close with a tiny clang. Blowing out a puff of smoke, he continued. “But I’ve also heard that bastard’s planning a raid to get rid of the stationed guards and loot all the guns from their crates.”

“Should we inform them of the attack?” Avdol spoke out.

“No need. I already phoned the captain of the ship to change the time of arrival from dawn to late evening. Those who were standing by have already received the new schedule and to prepare themselves in the probable case Brando’s lackeys do proceed with the raid.” The leader said, eyeing the map and other paperwork on his desk.

“And the cops?”

“Sent representatives to deal with them. If they do what they’re told accordingly, then we’re in the clear.”

All three nodded. “How about you,” Kakyoin said. “Are you coming with us to inspect the imports?”

Jotaro huffed and pressed the cigarette butt against the image of a blond man smirking at him through the photo.

The cool surface of his revolver grew prominent as he said with a sneer. “Wouldn’t miss an opportunity to take him down along with his bloodthirsty crew.”

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

It was 11:30 in the evening and Jotaro walked through the alleyways leading to the docks with his men trailing behind him.

Prior to his departure from headquarters, he asked for any details if any sudden appearances transpired between 5 to 6 in the morning. Reports told him that several men did arrive fully armed with weapons, bearing the fang and blood tattoos on their skin.

And they were dispatched of at first sight.

Throughout the rest of the day, the raven-haired’s guards continued to monitor the area with sharp eyes, just in case the bastard tried to sneak another raid in an attempt to claim territory. He had another group of guards keeping an eye on nearby windows just in case someone dared to take him out in the clear.

But he arrived at the place the same time the ship delivered his goods with the captain and his crew members lowering the last of them onto the pavement. Around him, his men dispersed to secure the area and stood guard while their leader approached further.

The nearby street light allowed him to glance down and notice the visible red smears still on the wood panels below him and on those surrounding the landing docks. There’s the confirmation.

Though as he was about to move past the two buildings, Avdol spoke behind him. “Boss, you should stay hidden for now. Just so you wouldn’t feel too exposed.”

Jotaro regarded him for a split second and gave one nod. “Open them then but I still plan to have a personal talk to the captain after they load the goods.”

“We’ll just inform about your request to see him. Where shall the meeting take place?” Kakyoin said.

“Bring him to the nearest room here. Clear the area and make sure no one is around. I’d rather meet back at HQ but I know the captain has a tight schedule to follow.”

No further questions were asked and together with his two other personal guards, the red-haired turned to his tablet and went off around the corner.

Jotaro watched Polnareff and Avdol order people to open the crates, and felt satisfaction fill him as soon as he saw the items lifted from the sea of white Styrofoam- Beretta PM12 and MAC-10 sub-machine guns, Beretta 92 and Staccato CS handguns, numerous batches of ammunition, combat knives, bulletproof vests, and a couple of expensive wines and pasta as courtesy from Giorno Giovanna, Passione’s mafia boss- a subset branch of the Joestar business that Jotaro made connections with beforehand.

He shoved a hand into his pant pocket and had the other reach for his phone, informing his assistant to make sure the transaction wired to the young blond end up in success.

Though as he finished with the call, a commotion occurred in the direction of where he came from. He turned to see what caused the ruckus and stepped one foot back at the pack of rats worming around him.

Tiny scattering footsteps grew into regular human footsteps, echoing louder as it drew close. Jotaro reached for his revolver in an instant-

Only for a woman to jump out of the shadows in a panic and grab him with no ounce of decency, hiding behind him. “Help! Help me please!” The fuck? Informing his men of the intruder should be done by now, but she continued to point into the alleyway. “Some thugs are chasing me down! Hide me please!”

On cue, a couple more footsteps could be heard from a distance alongside the audible squabbling of men stating that they heard someone run here. Jotaro kept a firm stance and fixed his attention to the growing noise until a mob of 15 men came barging in with flushed faces and rabid mouths.

He gave one quick scan down their body to find the semblance of some tattoos belonging to a clan only to find none. The leader cocked his head. Just a bunch of predators I see.

One of them walked in front with a bottle of sake in hand with a hiccup. “Oi… you there… I think you should give her to us.”

“Why should I?”

The drunk laughed, turning to his fellow drunkards. “Would you look at this punk?” He spat on the ground. “You gonna regret denying us-”

“Take one step forward and you’ll be the one regretting.” The guy gave one last chuckle and put one foot forward-

Bang.

The sound rang throughout the alley, followed by the dull thud of his body collapsing onto the ground with a bullet wound in his head. Behind him, the woman yelped as she covered her ears from the sudden shot. The remaining mob staggered back in shock.

As if he wasn’t stupid enough, two more of them ran to the yakuza leader’s direction in a blind fit of rage, only for them to meet the same fate as the first with two more blasts of his revolver.

The rest of them cowered at the sight of their fallen brethren and froze on the spot. Behind Jotaro, his own men came running in at the sound of gunfire, and the rushing footsteps were enough for the mob to make a run for it. “Gun them down. All of them and make sure no one escapes.”

No response was needed as Polnareff charged into the shadows with his line of men, while Avdol and Kakyoin remained by their leader’s side.

“You…”

He grabbed the lady’s wrist and kept her securely in his grasp. “You’re coming with us to HQ to sort this little ‘mess’ you brought in today.”

She said nothing but offered him furrowed brows and a scowl in exchange.

“Kakyoin, have the captain wait for one of my calls and tell Polnareff to return as soon as they’re dealt with. And Avdol, secure the imports and bring them to base as soon as possible.”

“I have… other matters to deal with right now.”

Just as they retreated back into the shadows, the resounding gunshots echoed through the night.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

“Why am I dragged into this?” she said as she stood in the middle of the room, constantly glancing at the men watching her. “I’m the one being chased down yet somehow I’m also guilty enough to be here?”

“You’re here because you trespassed into yakuza territory and grabbed me unceremoniously that would have ended you dead like your chasers,” Jotaro said in return, leaning against his chair. “Consider yourself lucky that I left you alive.”

“Okay fine! I get it was rude for me to just throw myself to you out of nowhere and I’m thankful that you didn’t shoot me immediately,” she rambled on but the leader merely cocked a disinterested brow. “I’ll stop talking then. What do you want? Why did you bring me here in the first place?”

“Bold words for someone trapped in a lion’s den,” Pol spoke up, chuckling.

To which the woman averted her gaze to him with intentional judgment. “First time? What are you gonna do? Shoot me?” The Frenchman spluttered and reached for his gun, only for Avdol to stop him with a visible ‘what are you doing’ look to his face.

“Let’s start things of with some basic details about yourself. Start with your name-”

“Now why the hell would why-”

Multiple guns pointed to her, causing her to shut up with arms up in the air. “Your name, age, and occupation.”

Jotaro heard the lady mumble to herself before heaving a sigh and answering his query. “Y/N. 27. Investigator. You can check my pockets for my ID or badge or whatever.”

Avdol did what she said and found her identification card and badge, both having her in the pictures clear as day. “An informant and detective..,” the Egyptian muttered. “Boss, if we consider her occupation and… distasteful behavior, this could spell trouble for us in the long run.”

“Distasteful?!”

“I hear you Avdol, though with the information learned, we might be able to benefit from it as well.” The raven-haired turned to the woman as he poured himself a glass of imported whiskey. “I presume you’re smart enough to know that by having one yakuza clan save you from those drunks, you’re indebted to us.”

A rebuttal wanted to leave her mouth but with a swallow, she nodded. “Should’ve expected it.”

“You have two choices,” the clan leader presented a wad of bills and a pistol on his desk. “You pay us about 1 000 000 yen for our job and for you to shut up about this whole ordeal-”

“What?! But I don’t have that much mon-”

“Or,” Jotaro held up a hand, not finished with his sentence. “Offer your services to the Sangyosei Clan.”

All three of his personal men turned to him with surprise. Even Y/N widened her eyes at the choice of words. “B-Boss what?”

“Couldn’t we at least just make her one of our eyes in the city?” Kakyoin butted in. “We’ll just make sure she doesn’t end up spilling intel about the underground.”

“It won’t be permanent,” he said in return. “Only for a year or for how long I deem it to be.”

“Does she even know how to fight? Our job isn’t exactly a walk in the park.” Polnareff added to the cherry-haired’s concerns.

“That’s for us to see.” Jotaro snapped his fingers, prompting the attention of everyone in the room. “With the exception of my personal guards, I order for every man in this room to attack her. No guns or blades.”

The lady was appalled at the sudden decision and took in all 6 suited men with their fists up, ready to charge. She made sure to turn to the boss and cocked her head, tonguing the inside of her cheek. “Asshole.”

Admittedly, he didn’t know what to expect but he was curious on how developed she was in terms of combat. At the first advance of a guard, Y/N stepped to the side and elbowed the guy in the ribs, before dodging another incoming punch aimed for her face.

In return, she returned the favor and swept a kick on his knees, toppling him down. On her feet again, she lunged forward to the next guard, grabbed his arm, and twisted around, eliciting a yell from the man. Planting her foot on his back, she launched the guard onto the other one, knocking them both down.

With nimble feet and quick reflexes, she evaded the swings the remaining men had for her. Though, at an opening, Y/N ducked through them and landed a direct chop to one guard’s nape, dodging the last one’s last attempt at a jab. With his momentum lost, she returned the punch with one of her own, delivering a blow straight to his face.

To her luck, she was near the boss’s desk and with no hesitation, went for the pistol and aimed the gun at Jotaro.

“Boss!”

But the raven-haired only smirked, watching as Y/N tried to pull the trigger only for nothing but a dull click to come out. “Impressive. You’ve indeed excelled in your combat training for you to handle 6 grown men with no weapon… aside from reaching the fake model to shoot me with.”

“How’d you-”

“Quick look into your online profile and messages addressed to martial art trainers both new and old will do wonders in providing me information. Combined with your fearless attitude and your chosen career path, one could put two and two together.”

In a flash, Y/N yelped as he swiped the fake gun off her hand in a second, and pointed his revolver to her in the next. “Makes me wonder why you couldn’t fend off the bastards in the alleyways.”

“They were more than double of the men you have in this room, most armed with something. Even I have my limits boss-nim,” she scowled.

Jotaro huffed and gestured for Polnareff and Avdol to move. “Take her to her quarters. I’ll have my men fetch your essentials from your residence and you can start training tomorrow.”

Y/N clicked her tongue with irritation, but allowed the two guards to bring her to the ordered location. At their exit, he exhaled one long sigh, removing his hat to run his fingers through his black curls.

“I hope you know what you’re doing…” Kakyoin muttered quietly.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

What was promised to be a year or two turned to five.

And the next thing Jotaro knew was that Y/N rose in ranks, earning her a spot in his close circle of guards alongside the three men.

She was his right hand man.

And in an unexpected turn of events, he had strange fondness for her.

He could still remember how she performed during her first few weeks at headquarters despite her initial wish of just wanting to get out of her unfortunate situation. The leader had watched her sessions and monitored her performances.

He had to give it to this lady- she knew her way with weaponry as she was with physical combat.

She had near to perfect aim whenever she shot with the gun of her choice, had prowess in handling knives around their test dummies, and had able to withstand daily endurance tests that checked how good her stamina was.

With further research, Jotaro found out that you were an honors graduate at a police university that just so happened to have a club centered around martial arts. He double checked the images depicting her in the institute’s uniforms, scanned several lists she was in.

In every single one, she was there and he didn’t have to search further when her name would often be among the top students.

No wonder Y/N had no issues talking with criminals at their home base.

As days passed and she was given her own set of suits post training period, she was allowed in fulfilling assignments and thus followed orders from either Polnareff and Avdol to made sure whatever was asked was done, may it be to keep watch on a specified target, gun down non-compliant debtors, or secure an important object from a neighboring prefecture.

In the process, Y/N managed to be close friends with the two group leaders and his assistant:

“Hey you know, you’re not that bad as I initially thought.” Polnareff laughed, patting Y/N’s back.

“Really? But I do recall you wanting to shoot me when I was extra bratty that day…”

“Well who wouldn’t? Besides, you’re cool now. You do your job as a goon pretty well!”

She scoffed with a smile and a glass of alcohol in hand. They did come from a new mission to kill a new target and now they’re here in a small pub with blood splattered clothes. “Now that I think of it, I’d be annoyed by myself too, but… you’re right. After all, I do my job the best to my capabilities. Whatever it is.”

“To that I give my cheers to.”

“Is everything secured?”

“Hm, with Group A having returned fully loaded from floors 3 and 4 and Group B having cleared ground and 2nd floor and have helped with the other men, then I’d consider this a successful raid.”

Avdol smiled to himself, contented with a cleared task. “Though I have to say, it’s quite surprising that the Viper gang had several meditation books kept in one of the shelves.”

“And you’re saying this why?”

“Well, outside the bloodshed stress that I found myself in, I’d take most of my free time meditating in my room.”

“A zen person I see,” Y/N chuckled. “I figured you’d be one to let out some pent-up hassle through relaxing means.”

She crossed her arms and sighed. “I doubt our job won’t get any easier so Avdol-san,” you brought up one of the gang’s meditation books for the dark-skinned man to see. “Mind teaching me some of these relaxing methods you’ve mastered?”

With the rest of Jotaro’s men now heading back, the red-haired had stalled for a moment in the area of the interview to record the details of the events, making him more vulnerable to potential-

“Kakyoin!”

He turned around in shock at the sudden ambush of enemies heading straight for him. Though the guy had his gun prepared, he wouldn’t last too long. He pocketed his tablet in an instant and shot a couple of men down.

Y/N made the risk of running back into the fray to pull Kakyoin out of the line of fire. However, in the process of doing so, two bullets grazed her thigh and bicep, causing her to grunt in pain. “Shit! What the hell were you doing just standing there, you idiot?!”

Still on the run and frantic, the assistant reached for his phone to call for the men to return immediately, emphasizing the injury of his companion.

They ducked into the many lines of trees and hid themselves in a small cave hidden underneath moss-covered rocks and shrubs. “If your call did make it through and we keep quiet here, then we’ll make it out here alive.”

“Why’d you save me? You were already out of danger’s reach.”

She stared at him, stunned as if he spoke a different language. “Are you kidding? Don’t you know how mafia rules work? And I’m saying this as someone who’s newer to the clan.” She rose an arm to swat him, but forgot about her wound that she hissed in pain. “No one leaves brethren behind.”

Kakyoin pulled out a handkerchief to temporarily bandage the wounded spot. Y/N offered her own to deal with the one on her thigh. Just then, he let out a silent chuckle and she stared at him with confusion. “You’re right. I get too invested in my job too much that I tend to forget the most common of senses.”

She rolled her eyes with a disbelieving smile. “You sir are indeed an idiot.”

Beyond their small hideout, multiple rounds of gunfire rang throughout the forest together with the panicked screams of the attackers. “You’re gonna tell this to the boss, aren’t you?”

His acquaintance leaned on her good arm and responded with a cheeky smile.

Naturally, months of working together would eventually lead the once-hostile investigator to befriend his tightly-knit circle through violent yet worthwhile experiences. But Jotaro had also expected that organic growth of kinship to extend farther, stretching from his three personal guards to him directly.

Her ability to quickly adapt in any environment and headstrong personality were two factors that could penetrate through the Sangyosei leader’s intimidating aura. That was one thing… her providing insightful strategies and actively hanging out with him knowing he’s one of the country’s dangerous underground leaders were another.

And Jotaro, for the first time in his clan leader life, didn’t know how to respond to the woman’s clever approaches except with appalled intrigue.

“And if we turn to this side of the Hokkaido prefecture, there’s a gap here that will allow us entry to the Lotus gang’s hideout, and if we’re lucky, we’ll get some intel about the Kyuketsuki and their true motives.”

“But I see a slight problem in the plan and it has to do with the crowds we’re dealing with,” she said as she showed Jotaro the printed images of several people bearing lotus and/or blood-fang tattoos, standing guard or in the motion of surveying the area.

“These just came in from your men scouting the area and knowing the gang’s leader’s history of mischief and traps, they pretend to be unprepared to lure in prey.” Y/N said. “And who knows if they have goons on standby inside potential loot locations.”

“What do you suggest then?”

“We play the counter bait.” She reached for a pen and traced a circle on the area highlighting the gang’s main entrance. “If there’s another fact I’ve learned from the guy, he’s an addict to a good gambling game, and once he’s in, he’s in it to win it. Get one or two of your associates to deal a bet against his team and a distraction is set.”

“You got the head occupied but you’re aware of the guards still surveying the area.”

“That’s what everyone thinks, but I’ve studied his patterns long enough to know that once he’s in the middle of a game, he calls in everyone to watch the game in the main arena, because his pride is what fuels him, more so when he doesn’t have a single loss in his track record.”

She introduced three pairs of photos on top, all depicting a raving event featuring the gang’s leader and his cronies and empty pathways at the same time. “I’d know because it has happened thrice.”

“Even if he did leave some men on guard, it’ll be less and we’ll have enough workforce to take them down with the handy silencer equipped.” Y/N tilted her head, a finger under her chin. “Then we can ambush the remaining men from the shadows and capture the Lotus gang leader for info about the Kyuketsuki clan.”

Jotaro didn’t supply anything in return, speechless. Y/N turned to him with one raised brow. “What?”

“You are… very knowledgeable about a gangster mob that’s known to be discreet from the public.”

“Well you forget that I worked as private investigator for multiple clients. Nearly half of their complaints described the details of the same man you are targeting for. Call it a stroke of luck that you got me here now or else you guys would be in one hell of a night.”

And she did not disappoint. Her strategy was what earned Jotaro and his men a successful finish to a mission as his guards took the enemy crowd by surprise and shot them all down before they could launch a counterattack. Their leader, who was drunk with material wins and alcohol, was caught in the middle of his escape.

The bastard did spill intel about the bloodsucking yakuza, but he shared a bit more information than what Jotaro had initially expected.

“All you fucks searching for those leeches when there’s a bigger threat than that clan of his,” the Lotus leader said with his arms bound behind him on a chair. “Kyuketsuki this, Kyuketsuki that. I teamed up with them in the first place because I need to stay safe against the impending conquest of the Seiikigumi.”

“The Seiikigumi?” Jotaro asked, curious.

“Those guys are the real deal. Multiple mob houses and a clans have either fallen or submitted themselves to the mercy of that organization,” he said. “Scary thing is that no one in this city knows about them but Brando and high-paying info brokers.”

He did remember rumors of the mysterious yakuza clan spreading during his first years as leader, but he never saw any evidence to prove their existence. For all he knew, gangs fall because they were too disorganized and had high chances of getting caught by enforcement. Clans, especially the smaller ones, were disbanded due to insufficiency in human and financial resources.

“The Seiikigumi… I’ve heard of the rumors before,” Y/N muttered, deep in thought. “But people only told me details of them as if it’s a novel. I’ve yet to see a member of that group or their actions for myself.”

“Oh they’re real alright,” the bound man said with a grin. “So you better watch yourselves and be careful to not pry too much, or else the Sangyosei clan will be next on their chopping board.”

“The Lowlife Princess will have you as her next meal.”

Jotaro shot him clean in the head as soon the man started to cackle.

His words retained in his mind all throughout the rest of the day which was foolish for him to do. He had better more practical things to do than to fret about a myth. Yet, he found himself deep in thought in the middle of a meeting.

Eventually, it came to his realization that he was too busy scrounging his memories for any links to the Seiikigumi so he could devise something to prevent them from infiltrating his clan.

“Hey boss.” Jotaro blinked out of his mental thoughts and immediately made eye contact with Y/N standing before him in his office. “I’ve noticed you’ve been preoccupied with something. Is it what the Lotus leader said the other night?”

He sagged back against his chair and rubbed his temple, a mild headache starting to grow. “It’s nonsense but I’m here wondering why some drunk bastard is making me overthink.”

“You know, you’ve been busy lately- well, 24/7 if we’re being honest,” she said with casual tone, leaning against his desk with her back to him. “Have you even took breaks once in a while?”

“I have no time to let loose when anything could happen at any time,” he said. “Right now, I’m waiting for Kakyoin to update me on the whereabouts of the Kyuketsuki’s eyes. They’ve been too quiet recently and it peeves me off.”

“At this rate, you’re going to die from stress.” She turned to look over her shoulder. “How about we book the small, private restaurant nearby and eat? I heard the meals they got there are to your liking.”

Jotaro didn’t reply and instead stared at her with deadpan. Y/N rolled her eyes and lifted a white plastic bag filled with different boxes and cups inside. “Figured you’re gonna decline my every offer, but I insist you eat. You wouldn’t want the Sangyosei to find their boss dead on the floor due to starvation, would you?”

He was about to reject and suggest she share the meals with the other 3, but his guts had to betray him in that exact moment via a small growl. Jotaro closed his eyes in self-disappointment and Y/N smiled, smug as ever. “Chow time leader-nim.”

Starting from that offer to take-out lunch, the clan leader had granted the woman access to his social circle the same he gave to his personal guards. Where it stemmed from simple offers of drinks and food, slowly spiraled into conversations that didn’t involve the underground world, and eventually to flirting- both the subtle ones together with the direct.

That was the thing with her- she knew what she was doing, knew when to balance work and all the other stuff that was out of Jotaro’s field of specialty. One moment she’d assist him with formulating strategies and carry out orders as if it was merely shopping, and the next she’d share the most absurd stories about a client’s dead pet and its relation to a murder case while wasted beside him.

Y/N’s hardworking work ethics and clever planning eventually earned her spot as Jotaro’s right hand with the whole clan agreeing with the choice unanimously.

With her current position, she was able to connect with him more than before as she was able to follow him everywhere with no permission required. It gave her the power to convey approved orders to his men, acted as his advocate to associates wanting security, and watched over training sessions while he was busy with more serious matters.

With her by his side, Jotaro could feel himself getting swayed by her assertive charms and given how it seemed a heavy weight was off his shoulders, he had no complaints.

She’d start making advances that weren’t too subtle towards him- a sultry whisper into his ear, a brush of her hand against his, shared hooded glances, the press of her body against his in tight spaces, the quiet bickering of the two that contained suggestive innuendos-

It was unbearable, though not necessarily in a bad way.

The one that made the tightly-strung tension snap was the night Y/N made the conscious decision to walk into his office, fresh from a nightly sponge dressed in a silk robe while he in a dress shirt and vest. The raven-haired man swept his gaze up and down at her form with an intense look to his gaze, covering his actions with a quick “what are you doing?”

According to her, she came in with urgent news about the immediate sighting and dispatch of Kyuketsuki members making a move of sorts in the Gifu prefecture. At closer inspection, he learned that at that location, Brando kept majority of his weapons in storage, likely also containing maps leading to several more of his undisclosed bases.

If it were any other day, he would take note of the report and dismiss the reporter, but he kept her in the room longer than what should be.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to send me to my quarters, boss?” Y/N said while she had the gall to cross her arms under the swell of her breasts.

Jotaro stood with furrowed brows, never cutting eye contact as he walked to her in an almost predatory way. “Do you think what you’re doing is funny?”

The closer he got to her, she walked back until she found herself against the wall. “What exactly am I doing boss-nim?” She tilted her head up to face the frustrated clan leader and narrowed her eyes as if to challenge him. “Am I annoying you greatly?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what you’ve been doing and you’re right-” He slammed his hand on the space beside her head. “You’re driving me crazy, you vixen.”

Y/N scoffed, lips curling into a coy smile as her fingers threaded over the buttons of his vest. “Is that so? Why don’t you fire me then?” She purred. “Send me back to the world above the underground where I can expose your plot to the public?”

He clicked his tongue and leaned forward until his voice came out as a growl into her ears. “I’d be damned if I do such a thing.”

“So what are you gonna do, hm?” She whispered.

“I’ll make you shut up the way you like it.”

In the darkness lit only by the light of the full moon, Jotaro had her pressed up against the wall, robe cast aside as he fucked her with vigor, releasing all his pent up stress that accumulated throughout the times she teased him. Y/N whined and cried with every harsh pound of his hips against hers, every inch of her shivering from the intensity of it all.

Once she came, Jotaro flipped her around to let her face him as he lifted her up and thrusted back into her warmth with no hesitation. Y/N tossed her head back and moaned a loud cry, hands grasping his dress shirt with desperation. With her chest bouncing in front of him, he took the opportunity to bite and suckle on the hardened bud, prompting a second orgasm out of you.

He railed her to oblivion to no ends, carrying her over to his office desk only to fuck her over it with the same stamina as the first round. She gasped, breathless as her body rocked back and forth against the smooth surface of his table.

By the time her third orgasm hit her, Y/N still found herself on her back on the same furniture, unable to focus her vision and control herself from drooling at the overstimulation of Jotaro’s rough thrusts.

He never gave her the time to breathe, irritation still bubbling in him. As soon as she came yet again, he maneuvered both of them to his chair, where he planted Y/N on his lap, fucking up into her hear and letting you ride and bounce on cock.

Her body started to grow weary but her moans and cries were still loud as ever, addressing his title with every stimulated cry. Even at that, Jotaro grew annoyed. He wanted her to shout his name.

And so, the second she tightened around him for the fifth time, he held her close to him and pressed the tip of his nose into her neck, trailing it up until his lips grazed the shell of her ear. Raspy from his nonstop grunts, he muttered. “Beg.”

Y/N croaked out her words with unfocused, glassy eyes and a foggy mind resulting from the brutal poundings. “P-Please… boss-”

“Jotaro,” he whispered into her ear, emphasized with a slow yet deep roll of his cock against her walls. “I want you to cry out that name every time I fuck you.” Just like that, he suddenly bucked his hips upward, eliciting a ravishing cry out her reddened lips, one that only bore his name.

As his own release drew closer, his pace turned erratic and his thrusts increased in both speed and intensity, but to hear this woman plea his name over and over again just as she’s told was gratifying for the yakuza leader.

Wringing out one last orgasm out of her, Y/N jerked and let out a silent scream, a stream of clear liquid gushing out of her hole the same time Jotaro groaned and stiffened, feeling his release shoot into her soaked and loosened pussy.

Damn. He was exhausted.

Jotaro panted, sweat beading down his body as Y/N’s sweat-slicked body lay limp against his torso, feeling fluids leaking down his cock and seeping into the fabric of his slacks.

He turned to look at her to check on her current condition. She passed out from their wild escapade, cheeks flushed, panting with ragged breaths with stray hair plastered on her forehead from sweat. Her arms hung over his shoulders, no longer clawing lines onto his shirt.

Strangely enough, he was compelled to brush the hair off her forehead and plant a soft kiss on the area, before lifting her ass up to free his softened cock and arranging her body into a bridal hold to carry her over to his bedroom.

Ever since that night, no words were needed to convey that Jotaro’s relationship with Y/N became more than just simply that of “boss-guard”. They grew addicted to each other, craving that intimacy every moment it was just them in the comforts of closed doors. They would spend time in private establishments to plot, chat, eat, drink, and fuck.

Eventually, she wanted more. She wanted to claim his heart and so brazenly expressed her desires to him. And who’s he to decline her temptations at this point? Y/N was perfect in every aspect- a strategist, communicator, soldier, leader. Why would he refuse someone possessing those talents?

Just as she yearned for him, he gave into her allure, letting this woman become his queen.

But was it for the best?

Months after they had made it official, Jotaro decided to make a move to infiltrate one of the Kyuketsuki’s buildings in Gifu. Everyone in his circle had gathered around to discuss matters of the task, devised multiple plans on how to raid Brando’s precious armory.

Once all was clear and a plausible map of operations were made, he and a selected group of men chosen by Y/N, traveled to the marked location. Avdol had volunteered to join the venture as to provide extra security for his boss, while Kakyoin and Polnareff stayed behind to watch over for him.

It took them a while to get there, considering the distance between Tokyo and Gifu was fairly long. If it weren’t for the pathways formed exclusively for illegal transport, he wouldn’t be able to make it in time to weaken Dio’s forces, causing double repercussions for the territory he left without his watch.

But Jotaro reached the Kyuketsuki’s armory by nightfall and set everything into motion. He stationed his guards in their planned positions, with Avdol leading half of them to stay put in the shadows to serve as Jotaro’s eyes and keep watch of reinforcement, while he and Y/N lead the other half into the building, fully armed and cautious.

They crept through the darkened hallways that were eerily too quiet for a building supposedly filled with lackeys who often indulged in casual games and alcohol. “Boss,” Jotaro glanced at Y/N. “The firearms are found in the hangar in the left wing, but the documents and maps are kept in the right where the offices are located. Do you wish for me to help in retrieving the guns or-”

“I’ll lead the looting. You focus on giving me the paperwork,” he said. “Remember to keep an eye out. Who knows where they’re hiding.” She nodded once and split from the group at the next intersection between the two wings.

Something’s off. Why is no one here? Even as he first arrived, all the building’s lights were off. Not a single fluorescent lamp shining through a window, a lamp from a nearby shed, nothing. No goons were roaming around either, the footsteps of a patrol was non-existent. A chill crept up his spine. This is wrong. What happened?

As someone who’s been bested twice by him, Dio should have placed numerous men around his goods just as he always did to ensure nothing else would be stolen to maintain whatever pride he still had in him. But where were they?

The silence persisted even as he and his men reached the door to the hangar, kept shut with a low-security padlock tied to a chain. Jotaro pulled out his revolver and with a silencer equipped, he aimed and gave two shots before it gave away and fell. He cocked his head to motion his guards to remove the chains and push the door open.

True to the report, what he looked for were waiting for him to grab with crates of firearm stacked on top of each other lay inside while other miscellaneous items such as makeshift bombs and melee weapons lie on shelves. If he looked closer, he could spot a huge safe tucked in a dark corner where cash meant for the lackeys lay inside.

He should be relieved that he didn’t have to spare himself the extra trouble of fighting against a couple of gangsters to retrieve several guns, but he wasn’t because he knew this situation was too unusual and easy for his liking.

Unless-

The door clicked shut behind him and Jotaro spun just as he realized the reality he found himself in. He walked into a trap, but he was a second too late. A hard blow to his head sent him to the ground, warmth leaking out from where the pain came from. He bled from the impact.

He gritted his teeth and attempted to get up only for men, his men, to force him still on the ground, pulling out a white fabric to stuff his face into. Are you fucking kidding me? Jotaro was pinned to the floor, getting chloroformed by his guards.

The last thoughts that circulated his mind before falling unconscious was Y/N. She was caught in this as well and now she’ll be taken captive if she ended up unlucky as he was.

He should have seen this coming.

But why couldn’t he?

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

When Jotaro came to, he was bound in a rather… explicit way that he considered too vulgar for his taste.

He was on his knees, his whole body tied with red rope in a series of complicated knots. It was fortunate that his clothes were still on him or might as well shoot him where he knelt. Above him, a single low-hanging light was the only source of illumination this dark room had. Around him were people surrounding him with sub-machine guns in hand.

And out of the light, a lone figure stood in the shadows with two men standing guard beside them.

He squinted and tried to make out who it was. Dio Brando? Or some other lucky fucker who got a yakuza leader trapped? As a means of verification, he gritted out. “You’re being a coward now? Step out of the dark and face me, Dio.”

“Dio? Oh sweetheart, you couldn’t be more farther than the truth~”

Jotaro stilled, eyes widening and all air leaving his lungs at the familiar voice chirping at him. It was as if a cold bucket of ice had poured over him in an instant. It couldn’t be. How… How did… “Oh damn. I spoke to soon. Literally. But since I’m outed at this point, might as well not be a coward.”

The shadowed figure slowly stalked forward, revealing a woman dressed in a finely-pressed black suit ensemble fused with a black-laced sleeves and posterior half of a lace skirt trailing behind her, and with the culprit under the spotlight, he could see the wide almost excited smirk carved on her face.

“Y/N…”

“The one and only darling.”

He couldn’t fathom how he’s still able to keep it together at the revelation that the woman he saved that night, who served him to no ends for years, who became his lover, ultimately was the woman who would be his downfall. “Oh and you don’t need to worry about Avdol. I already sent them back to HQ, informing him that for investigative purposes, our half of the group had to stay behind a bit longer. And he listened with obedience.”

Jotaro felt a range of negative emotions boiling within him due to the most insulting betrayal he had throughout his life as a clan leader- anger, confusion, surprise, humiliation, hurt. “Explain yourself. There’s no point in talking about anything else now, is there?”

She hummed. “Might as well. Though there’s a lot of stuff I have to dump on you in one sitting unless you want-”

“Just get on with it, bitch.” He spat out, eliciting a delightful “oh?” from the other.

“Reaching curse words now are we? Alright, I’ll start from the beginning until where we are right now then.”

Everything started the night the imports from Italy arrived. With her associates, 80% of the civilians living in his turf, lurking in plain sight serving as her eyes, had updated her constantly on Jotaro’s every move. The same individuals who had sought his clan out for security.

The lackeys that Dio sent in an attempt to steal his weapons were all dealt by Y/N’s men who she called “wraiths”- silent and hidden only to strike at the right moment. The leech’s goons were all taken out by her snipers from the comforts of their undisclosed positions before they could reach the docks.

At the same time, Y/N had hired a group of drunk men she found in the streets, promised them she’d pay them for playing the part of assaulter, only for the promise to be in vain with them ending up dead.

The ID and badge that proved her "profession" as part of law enforcement were fabrications to sell her persona, but her combat skills and her way of handling weapons were very much true. Getting involved with the ruthless underground world would require one to possess at least one of those things.

Throughout her time working as one of his pawns, Y/N would do her job diligently, too diligent to the point where she was able to sneak through his and his men’s watch and kept contact with hers, updating them on new tasks to do that aided her and by proxy, the Sangyosei and she was able to do this without causing suspicion.

The strategies she had formulated were all due to her constant exposure to other clans and mob houses, studying their patterns, way of living, connections, and how their operations worked to find the one loop hole in order to flush her targets down the drain of defeat.

The photos she had presented him all this time, photos of which were high in definition and close to the target, where taken from her wraiths, not his men. How they knew where they were? Turned out she had eyes everywhere- a waiter serving meals, a mother and her child by the swings, a farmer in the fields, a ship captain or his crew members, a passing businessman, a politician’s bodyguard.

She had majority of the population in her grasp.

While they worked externally, Y/N did her part from the inside. She climbed up the ranks until she landed into a position where she shared power that equated to his. With new acquisition of power, she now had control over his men, sending a handful or two out to an empty mission only for them to get gunned down, replaced with wraiths disguised in their clothes.

The same wraiths who accompanied Jotaro to the hangar.

And of the Kyuketsuki’s lackeys who were supposed to watch over the armory? Y/N had them dealt with just as the time during the first day they met, their bodies disposed onto a nearby lake, leaving the building devoid of life.

“Now we’re here with you tied up under my mercy,” Y/N drawled out.

“You’ve got loads of conniving bullshit planned out admittedly well for a leader of a small yakuza clan,” he responded with a glare. “Must be tiring for your so-called wraiths to do so much just to do this.”

At that, Y/N tried to stifle it in but failed to keep the laughter from escaping. “Small? Do you really think my crew is just some fiery underdogs who knows what we’re doing?” This time, the wraiths in the dark laughed after her. “You’ve complimented me then insulted me, oh how do I process this?”

“Who the fuck are you then to spit this much confidence to my face?”

Y/N stopped her sadistic glee and faced him with sudden stoicism. She drew a few steps closer and grabbed his chin, making sure he’s facing her head-on as she sat on her heels and said.

“You’re here with the Seiikigumi darling,” she purred, tilting her head with a growing smile. “Lead by none other but yours truly, the Lowlife Princess.”

All this time… The myth spread around the underground about a mysterious clan taking down multiple others before him. The men skilled enough to not be caught by enemies. The leader responsible for running such business. Everything was bared open for Jotaro to experience first hand as their next target.

To that, he cursed to himself for being foolish to trust a random stranger pleading for help.

“As you’ve may or may not known, I’m notorious for shutting down clans as I please by first killing the boss and either letting loose a mass ambush to every known location where their men are or have them join my side… but-” She cupped his cheeks and held them dear. “You may be my first exception~”

“Just shoot me now and spare yourself the effort,” Jotaro hissed but she paid no attention and shushed him.

“Listen to what I have to say darling~” Y/N said with a pout. “Unlike the other fleabags I had to be with, you’re different. You’re competent, stoic, rich, intelligent, and above anything else, pretty handsome for a yakuza boss. Plus, your personal men were so lovely to be with. I’d hate for them to be killed from the get-go.”

“How about you swear loyalty to me and you get to keep the Sangyosei alive and running? You head back as if nothing happened and do what you do, but to imagine you leading your troops with me as your right hand knowing that you're actually mine to control?” She sighed. “Oh it would be such a waste if I were to do what you just said. I do like having my trophy be shiny with power.”

Jotaro growled. “In your fucking dreams.”

Y/N scoffed, standing back up to step back and pull something out from her pocket. “Of course, I’d expect you to be defiant. I know you too well.” She raised her hand to reveal a button. “Standard protocol for stubborn prisoners is usually torture with the usual go-to stabbing, breaking of fingers and/or toes, and other forms of prolonged physical pain.”

“But since I hold you to a higher regard than the previous victims I’ve kept hostage, I have a different form of torture for you~” She gestured for one of her wraiths to gag his mouth with fabric. “Consider yourself lucky~”

With a press of her thumb on the device, Jotaro widened his eyes as his hips jerked and back arched, letting out a strained groan as something stuck to his cock and nipples started to vibrate with much intensity, and he couldn’t do anything about it with his arms and legs stuck in a compromising position.

“I very much enjoyed the nights where you fucked me so hard I couldn’t think straight. Truly, an experience I’d love to be in again. So in your honor, you get to feel what I’ve felt during those times for the whole night.” She pressed the button and his muscles relaxed, sighing with relief.

Y/N slid the gag off his mouth for a moment and said, “So? Will I expect your compliance by dawn, Jotaro-ssi?”

His body still felt the lingering sensations from where the devices were taped on him and he’d expect worse to come, but he wouldn’t back down. He was better than to give his dignity away to a traitor who more or less, deserved to get killed by his rules.

Jotaro responded with a smug smirk, letting her know he’ll indeed be different than her past captives. “Go fuck yourself.”

And just like the first time she stepped into his office, she tongued the inside of her cheek and ordered for the gag to return to his mouth. She turned on her heels, pressing the button to the highest level, causing him to grunt and quiver from the overwhelming sensation of the vibrations.

The door opened for her to step through, but she paused to say one last thing, looking over her shoulder. “I’ll have you know that you’re being recorded as well. Knowing you’re a man with dignity, it be awful for everyone to know how the leader of the dangerous Sangyosei clan is tied like this, captured and shaking. Just something to consider.”

He locked into her gaze with a deathly glare.

“Though I’m proud of my title,” she smirked. “I’m glad you made me the Queen, and you only have yourself to blame.”

And the door closed shut.