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joshsindigostreak · 8 months

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I See Hell in Your Eyes

Chapter Four

“I’m just a bright eyed bitch with her heart in a cage.”

Josh Kiszka x Vampire!Reader

Authors Note: WHEW this was another chapter that kind of got away from me, but I do hope you love it as much as I do! Thank y'all so much for going on this ride with me. There's so much more to come!

Word Count: 10,061

Warnings: Detailed depictions of blood, swearing, sexual content.

Your head and arms were covered, your face shielded by the shadow his jacket cast on your face, but your legs, your poor legs and feet were going in and out of the shadow as you trekked down the sidewalk. It was Sisyphean in how the lower half of your legs would burn and then try to heal themselves with each stride. The morning was still young, with barely any people out and about in the freshly risen sun, and so far there were few places for you to find any cover for a break from its light.

Beside you, or behind you depending on the direction of the aggressive sun beams, Josh was a wreck listening to how your skin was sizzling and burning. The sound rang in his ears and it was all he could focus on, along with your constant winces and gasps. He was familiar with it, after killing several Vampires in a similar fashion. It was a trademark of his twin. Jake loved dragging Vampires out into the sunlight and lighting them up, watching them fry and turn to ash. For him, staking them wasn’t enough. It was too quick of a death, he didn’t believe they felt the gravity of their Damned existence without real pain. This strategy was something Josh never questioned until now. Now that someone he…someone he knew was going through it.

You tried to crack a few jokes every few minutes, promising him you had a much higher pain tolerance than the current situation would suggest, but he’d shush you each time, hoping that you would focus more on walking as fast as you could instead of banter. He looked down at your feet, your poor feet, while you hobbled around in your heels. You couldn’t take them off because that would expose your skin even more, and seering your skin on the hot sidewalk was out of the question.

On the next block, Josh spotted a covered bus stop, and nearly dragged you across the street to get you under the shelter. You collapsed onto the bench in a soft whimper, the sound made Josh’s chest feel tight. He thanked every being in the universe that no one else had been inside the bus stop, but that feeling of positivity was quickly shattered when you pulled his jacket down to drape over your shoulders and he saw just how much your mascara had run down your face from your tears.

You could see it all over his face that he was not only worried, but turning a bit green while looking over your slowly healing wounds.

“I’ve looked worse, I promise,” you said with a weak smile.

Josh shook his head, not only because he didn’t believe you, he also didn’t want to imagine how much worse you could possibly look, or any kind of scenario that would put you in such a state, “we’re only a few blocks away, ten minutes, tops.”

You nodded, feeling very weak despite the skin stitching itself together on your shins and ankles. Closing your eyes for a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, you reasoned with yourself, and you started to lay down on the bench. Josh, who had been standing in front of you as another barrier between you and the outside world, did not want you to fully lay down on the disgusting bench, and quickly sat next to you before you could fully collapse, his shoulder breaking the fall of your cheek. A sigh left your lips as your eyes fluttered shut, and Josh took this time to just…look at you. By far this was the quietest he had ever seen you, and it unsettled him.

He looked down the street in the direction of his apartment building, once again mentally calculating just how far you had left. He wasn’t used to this, feeling empathy for anyone of your species, but it was getting hard to ignore the warmth that spread through his chest when he would catch you looking at him. He couldn’t journal these thoughts down, putting them on paper made them real. It was against everything he had been taught. All the lessons his father had drilled into his head. He could practically hear the lecture about no matter how tempting it was, at the end of the day humans were a food source to them. Nothing more, nothing less. A juicebox with legs. Humans were prey and Vampires the predators, but it was a hunters job to take that power back, to maintain the status quo of the ecosystem.

Josh cast his eyes up at the sky, which was only getting brighter by the second, and unfortunately it appeared to be a sunny day with not a single cloud on the horizon. He looked down at you, eyes closed and breathing slowly through your nose. You were still slumped against his shoulder, nearly assuming the fetal position to keep as much of your body under his jacket as possible. Your brows were knitted together in pain, and he hated the fact that you’d have to move soon, before the sun got any worse. Your legs had finally started looking normal, and his stomach lurched at the mental image of burns blistering their way through your skin again. He leaned his head down, and tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear.

Your name left his lips in a whisper, “I know you don’t want to get up, but we have three blocks to go and then we’ll be safe.”

You groaned in response, keeping your eyes closed. Three blocks. You could do it. Three blocks was nothing. You’re celebrating the big 3-5-0 this year, you got this. Slowly, you swung your legs off the bench, and winced as gravity put pressure on your feet in your heels. Josh stood up and got in front of you, letting you use his arms to help yourself stand up. Step one was done, and it wasn’t too bad! He pulled his jacket back over your head, and you looked up at him briefly, and saw the concern written all over his face.

“Three blocks?”

“Three blocks,” he confirmed.

With one foot in front of the other, you stepped out from under the bus stop, the light immediately made contact with your skin, and the sound was audible as you burned. You tried to make a few steps further, and stumbled over your own feet again. Before you could fall, Josh caught you in his arms. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He needed to get you to his apartment and in the dark, now.

Before he realized what he said, a soft, “c’mon sweetheart,” left his lips. The last time he called you that was in a sneer, taunting you while he bound your wrists in those blasted cuffs. He didn’t have time to analyze why he said it again, and with autopilot taking over he scooped you up into his arms and started to carry you down the street. Your legs were still exposed to the sun, but he could make better time on his own instead of helping you hobble your way there. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could do.

He crossed the street to the next block, not caring if the light was green or not. Two blocks now. Josh wanted to break out in a full run, but he didn’t want to draw too much attention to the two of you. The last thing he needed was someone stopping him to question what was wrong. He kept his brisk pace as he stole a glance down at you. You hadn’t even protested when he picked you up, and the fact that you didn’t have the energy to make a sarcastic comment, or even call him a name, made his anxiety so much worse.

One block to go. He could see the front door to his apartment building. He neglected to tell you that he also lived on the fourth floor, in an attic bedroom that was converted into a studio apartment, but he’d cross that bridge when he got you inside.

A car blared its horn as he walked out in front of it, but Josh paid it no mind as he darted across the street to his block. When he first moved in, he hated the ugly blue awning that was added years ago by someone with no taste, but he was thanking his stars as he ran up the steps and got you securely under it. He wouldn’t relax until he got you all the way upstairs, but the worst was over. He plunged his hand into his pocket for his keys, and nearly got them into the lock when they slipped out of his hands due to how hard they were shaking from adrenaline.

“God-fucking-damnit…” he cursed as he bent down to pick them up and try again, this time successfully and he wrenched the door open as fast as he could. He guided you inside and made sure to shut the door behind him. The house was old, probably Victorian, and there wasn’t a lot of natural light in the front entryway. The stairs leading up to the upper floors were almost as dark, and he was once again changing his mind over how much he hated the gloomy aesthetic at first.

Josh gave you a few minutes to collect yourself against the front door, before slowly pulling the jacket down so it just rested on your shoulders. Your makeup was completely ruined, mascara streaks were down both cheeks, your lipstick gone from your activities the night before, but your eyes…your eyes still had that spark in them. You made eye contact with him, and while your fatigue refused to let you fully smile, your eyes said everything they needed to.

Josh stood there, staring into your eyes with his hands in his pockets. This was probably the quietest the two of you had been around each other, but he didn’t mind it. Silence like this was nice, one could even describe it as warm.

The dimple in his left cheek started to form as he said, “only four flights of stairs to go…”

The smile in your eyes immediately disappeared and annoyance dripped from your voice, “four flights? You live in a fourth floor walk up?”

“I mean…it's technically the attic, but it's home for now.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, “fine I guess.”

Now it was his turn to be annoyed, “Well I’m sorry princess, would you like me to carry you up there so it's not too much trouble?”

You pushed off the door and started for the stairs, “no, I’m fine.”

The stairs creaked as you started your ascent, grumbling the whole time while Josh trailed behind you. He kept his ear out for any of the other tenants as you made your way through the different floors. The walls in the building were obnoxiously thin, even all the way up in the attic where he stayed.

The main staircase ended on the third floor, and you turned to look at him for where to go next. Josh led you down the hall, where a set of steep and narrow stairs were positioned in the corner, twisting up into the wall and out of sight. You knew stairs like this very well, as they were once used for servants whenever this house was first built. You had a brief flashback of similar stairs from your life before you were turned. There was no such thing as building codes back then, and architects didn’t care about servants' safety so the stairs to their quarters were often steep, uneven, and treacherous. Sighing, you started to trudge up the stairs, one heel stomp at a time. In any other circumstance, Josh would have rolled his eyes at your dramatics, but after what he saw on the street, he knew you weren’t faking your discomfort.

The landing at the top of the stairs was so small that the two of you were invading each other's personal space. Neither one of you acknowledged how your shoulders were touching, or how the back of your hands brushed against each other. The door to his apartment was angled with how it fit into the roof of the building, and Josh unlocked it quickly and stepped inside. When he didn’t hear your heels click clack on the wooden floor behind him, he turned around in confusion. You were standing in the doorway, hands against the frame with an expectant look on your face. Ah shit, he remembered, you had to be invited in.

He stepped back in front of you, dramatically bowed and said, “would you like to come in?”

“Why yes, I would,” you played along before stepping into his residence. Apartment buildings were a weird supernatural gray area for Vampires. In some buildings you couldn’t enter the front door without being invited in, and in others like this one you could freely move around the building but needed an invite into individual apartments. It was annoying as fuck but it was just something you had to live with.

It wasn’t a palace by any means, but you saw the potential in the apartment as you walked around. It was truly the definition of a studio apartment, with everything being in one whole room. The walls were painted a muted color, the floors were wooden and most likely original to the house. Josh hadn’t put much effort into decorating, mainly because he didn’t feel the need to spruce up what was essentially a crash pad. The kitchenette was to the left, a singular bowl and spoon sat in the sink, a box of cereal on the counter. There was a small, basic table between the kitchenette and the “living room” that consisted of a sofa and coffee table. Beyond that was a door to what you assumed was the bathroom, and the “bedroom” in the back. You were pleasantly surprised Josh had a real bed frame, and wasn’t a “mattress on the floor” kind of guy.

As you stood there checking the place out, Josh was flitting about the apartment shutting the blinds to all three windows his place had. There was just enough light coming through to keep it pleasant during the day but not enough to hurt you. He started to make a mental note to get some true black out curtains, but then shook his head because it wasn’t like you were going to be coming around all the time. This was a one time thing, out of convenience.

You walked over to the sofa, and collapsed down on it with a sigh. Josh sat next to you, grateful for the old dusty thing himself. Leaning forward, you attempted to unstrap your heels and finally free your feet of the wretched things, but the strap was being stubborn in the buckle and you almost ripped it off before you felt hands lifting your feet off the ground and onto the sofa between you and Josh. You looked up at him confused until you saw him work the buckle himself, freeing the strap and slowly sliding your shoe off your foot. Before you could protest he repeated the process with your other foot and gently placed your heels on the floor. You stared at him as he leaned back and relaxed on his end of the sofa.

“You didn’t have-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but out of the corner of your eye you noticed what was sprawled all over the coffee table. An unloaded black crossbow was resting on the surface, with a bunch of silver-tipped stakes strewn next to it. It was like a bucket of cold water was dumped on you. Reality set in. At the end of the day, Josh was a hunter, and not only that but he came from an entire line of hunters. And you? You were of the species his family had set out to eradicate.

“How many Vampires have you killed?” Josh jumped at your words, not expecting that question.

“Alone or…with my brothers?”

“Total.”

Josh scratched under his chin, quickly adding up numbers, “Over one hundred, give or take.”

You straightened up against the sofa, inching away from him slightly. Hearing an actual number sobered you up even more.

“Now, it's only fair that I ask you how many humans you’ve killed.”

It was your turn to jump at his question. The first five, or even ten years of your life as a Vampire were blurry, genuinely. The Vampire that made you wasn’t very concerned about your wellbeing, and essentially turned you and set you loose onto the world with very little guidance. It took a shit ton of conscious effort on your part to hone your hunting habits, to learn from your mistakes and find as much of a peaceful existence as you could.

“Dozens…if I had to guess.”

He turned and looked at you, “if you had to guess?”

“I don’t exactly write these things down. Have you ever counted how much livestock you’ve eaten?”

“That's entirely different and you know it.”

“Is it? I’m sorry we’re such imperfect creatures. I can’t go back and change any of it.”

Josh held back a scoff, physically too exhausted to argue with you now. He sighed and let the subject drop. His eyes looked at your disheveled form once more, and realized you probably wanted to shower and change. Without a word he lifted himself off the sofa, retreating into the bedroom portion of his apartment to find you something to wear. He went through a few drawers to settle on a pair of red boxers and an old gray t-shirt, it was at least something. Walking over, he crossed in between the coffee table and the sofa, blocking your view of the crossbow and stakes.

“Look, I don’t want to fight with you right now,” he said, holding the bundles of clothes out to you, as a small peace offering.

You eyed the t-shirt and boxers, “I’m glad to know you’re not a tighty-whities guy.” Josh gave you a look, sarcasm was at least better than outright refusing his help. “Ok…lead me to the shower, Boy Scout.”

For once, Josh was grateful to hear the nickname. He reached out and helped you off the sofa, as you were still a little wobbly on your feet. The door to the one bathroom he had was barely ten feet away, but he led you all the way there, opening the door and flicking on the light. The shower stall was tiny, even for him, but the water pressure was decent so he couldn’t complain too much.

“What, no clawfoot tub?” You feigned offense, laughing a little before walking in. Before you shut the door, you gave him a serious look, “...thanks again.” He gave you a soft smile and nodded, turning away as you shut the door completely.

When you heard his footsteps retreat away from the door, you turned around to really give the bathroom an inspection. You could tell so much about a person by their bathroom alone, and you had questions about the hunter who lived here. The first thing you checked was the shower. Pulling back the tiny curtain your eyes swept over the shower caddy that was hanging behind the showerhead. Oh thank fuck he had separate shampoo and conditioner, you thought. He even had a separate body wash, another green flag! The bar might be in hell, but at least this man kept himself actually clean.

You twisted the shower knobs to get the ideal temperature, and as the water was heating up you turned and looked at the tiny pedestal sink on the opposite wall. It was pretty decluttered except for a toothbrush and a cup on the back of the sink. There was a free-standing basket organizer next to the sink, which seemed to be a dumping ground for a bunch of hair styling tools. Most notably was the full size hair dryer and clippers that were plugged into the wall charging. The mental image of Josh standing in front of the mirror trimming back the sides of his head flashed in your mind and you focused on it for longer than you should have. You recalled how fresh it looked when you met up in the park, and had to shake your head to focus again. Turning around you reached your hand out to test the water, thankful the temp was just right before stripping down and stepping in.

Outside in the main living area of the apartment, Josh was zooming around the room cleaning up anything and everything. His first line of business was putting away the crossbow and stakes, throwing them in the back of his small, barely-there closet. He peeked outside one of the windows to gauge how high the sun was, and he was dismayed to find that it was still just as bright as it was before, with zero clouds in the sky. He triple checked the rest of the windows to make sure they were firmly shut and the blinds secure, so that no light would filter in accidentally. He didn’t have many lamps, but the few he did have he flicked them all on so that it didn’t look as dreary as it could. After he got done scrubbing the dishes in the sink he sat back on the sofa and took his phone out. He huffed when he saw a missed call from his brother Sam, and a bunch of texts from Jake. The voicemail Sam had left wasn’t urgent at all, just that he was pissed Josh had taken off with a bunch of the files he had put together without asking. Whatever, he’d get over it, Josh thought. But it was the texts from Jake that made him pause.

Jake: I should be there in a few days, maybe less if I make good time.

Shit shit shit shit shit, Josh panicked, it had completely slipped his mind that Jake was due for a visit. Well, he reasoned to himself, she won’t be here after today, so it shouldn’t be an issue. He just hoped that Jake didn’t decide to take any shortcuts while traveling. Jake wasn’t a flier, he rarely took planes unless absolutely necessary. He loved driving on the open road across the states. “You never know when you’d run into one of the Undead,” he’d always say. He didn’t mind side quests to pick off a few more Vampires as long as it didn’t interfere with his main plans.

As he tossed his phone to the side, he heard the water shut off in the shower. The tips of his ears tinged pink when he realized just how fast he whipped his head in the direction of the bathroom door. He turned back to look down at his hands when the door opened, not wanting to be caught staring in your direction. But he couldn’t help himself, and slowly turned his head towards you as your footsteps made the old floor creak.

He was frozen in his spot on the sofa, seeing you walk out in his boxers and t-shirt, hair still wet from the shower and pulled to the side, all of your makeup from the night before gone. He clenched his jaw to keep himself from saying, “wow” out loud.

When you saw him look up from the sofa, you almost tripped over thin air. Those big brown eyes looked even wider, and was that a hint of red on his cheeks? His jaw was clenched tightly, but his adams apple was bobbing. Did he forget you could hear how fast his heart was beating? Did he realize you could hear it hammering in your head? Most of the time you tuned out human heartbeats. It was second nature to you. But his was too loud to ignore. Was he aware of how it stuttered when you made eye contact with him? Did he know that you could hear it thumping harder and harder as you walked closer to him?

You stopped a couple feet away from him, shifting your weight from foot-to-foot as you looked down at him on the sofa. You felt like a silly little girl. This was just Josh. The same man who had you up against a tree with a knife to your throat not even two nights ago. The same man who pledged his life to hunt your kind down.

Boy Scout.

Instead, you felt your own cheeks heat up at the way he was staring at you. Why wasn’t he blinking? Why was his stare so intense? Why the fuck couldn’t you even speak? You were just standing there, still damp from the shower, wearing his old clothes. This wasn’t…this wasn’t a big deal. He was still sitting there, still in his attire from the Den, though his shoes were off and his shirt was unbuttoned a few buttons.

But all you could lamely say was, “if you umm…if you need the shower its open…”

You wanted to fall through the floor and never be seen again.

At your words, he finally blinks at you and nods, “right.”

You take turns taking airy breaths through your noses as he stands up and awkwardly side steps you on his way to the bathroom. You didn’t dare turn around as you heard him rummaging through his drawers for new clothes. It was too domestic. That's not what this was supposed to be. You were just crashing here while the sun was out. The minute it disappeared beneath the horizon you were out of there.

At last, you heard the door to the bathroom shut. But you didn’t let your shoulders fully relax until you heard the shower start. Desperate to distract yourself, you took a glance around the apartment once more. The first thing you noticed was how the crossbow and stakes were nowhere to be found. You didn’t fight the way the corners of your mouth twitched at the observation.

Once again you were alone, and you were taking advantage of it to be nosy. For someone who hadn’t been living there very long, Josh sure loved his knick knacks. His apartment looked so…lived in. You could tell he had tidied up while you were busy in the shower, which wasn’t helping your previous thought spiral. There was a classic ship-in-a-bottle sitting on the end table under the lamp, and you wondered where he got it from or what the significance was. The ship was specifically a pirate ship as well, which was an interesting observation to you. You’d have to ask him about-

What the fuck…

As you entered the bedroom portion of the apartment once again, you turned to the far wall that you hadn’t really paid attention to earlier. Before you was dozens of papers and photos tacked onto the wall, with an almost comical amount of red string zigzagging around from paper to paper. On the floor in front of the display were a few folders. He really wasn’t kidding, he genuinely had files on us, you thought. You got closer to the wall to inspect his handiwork. There were post-it notes slapped onto every photo, with what you realized was Josh’s chicken scratch filling up each yellow square. A lot of the photos were street views of the city, with at least 6 photos of dead humans in the corner. The bodies that had been found. You weren’t sure how to react when you recognized one of the street views. In fact it wasn’t even a street at all, but an alley. The alley that Josh had almost captured you in. A post-it was peeling off of the top corner labeled, “First Encounter.”

You stood there, motionless while trying to decipher his evidence board. His thought process was all over the place, that much was obvious. As if he was trying every theory he could come up with and seeing what stuck. It was cute how he had papers with information about Vampires scattered amongst the “evidence”. Some of it was right…but a lot of it was blatantly wrong. Most of the papers seemed to be pages torn out of books, and you wondered what the hell kind of books he was getting these out of. There were a few “famous” books written by hunters for other hunters to give them tips on how to properly destroy the Undead. But the joke was on them, for Vampires had been spreading misinformation about their kind for centuries just to throw off hunters. The rumor that Vampires didn’t have a reflection was started by a Vampire Persuading a hunter into spreading that as fact, and even now in the present you’d still hear humans mentioning it as a “foolproof” way to spot a Vampire.

Looking back down at the floor where the files were, you slowly sat down in front of them to start reading. Unsurprisingly, a file with your name on it was sitting on top. The first page to greet you after you opened it was a basic summary page of you. Standard stats like your name, hair color, eye color, height, age, presumed birth place, etc. The rest of the file consisted of multiple stories about you from over the centuries you lived. Places you had settled in, Nests you had been a part of, but most of it was…inaccurate at best. Or at least, whoever had gathered this information had the right idea, but most of the details were wrong. This didn’t bother you, because they didn’t need to know your real business anyway, but it was so funny to you how they tried their best and still came up short.

One detail did catch your eye when you flipped back to the first page, at the bottom of the paper in the same scribble from the post-its were the words:

Favorite color: Purple.

You were so engrossed in reading “about” yourself that you didn’t even hear the water shut off, or the bathroom door open. You didn’t hear the skipping heartbeat behind you, or the slow footsteps making their way over. But when you felt the floor creak next to you, and a gentle thump as your hunter sat down, that's when you looked up and turned your head towards him. His knee was so close to yours that you could feel the heat coming off of his damp skin, his leg hair gently brushing against your own knee. He was dressed similarly to you, boxers and a t-shirt. His curls were still damp and not as poofy. Once again he looked so…normal. There was worry written all over his features, as if he was bracing himself for your reaction.

“You actually wrote that my favorite color was purple?” The way his shoulders visibly relaxed when he realized you weren’t upset at it was adorable.

“Could be useful information, you never know.”

“It would suck if I had just been fucking with you and it wasn’t actually purple.”

Joshs eyes went wide and he started to reach for the file, which you snatched away from him and held it above you, “is it not…?”

You laughed at him, “no Boy Scout, it is, but my age is wrong.”

“It is?”

“Yep. I turn exactly 350 this year. Well, 325 if you don’t count my human years.”

His brows furrowed inquisitively, “You were 25 when you were turned?”

“A full quarter century of living in the sun, yes.”

“Do you miss it?”

You hummed at him, “miss what?”

“The sun?”

“I miss when it wasn’t trying to burn me alive, but sunny days themselves? No. It took awhile to adjust to being completely nocturnal but it is what it is.” You shrugged and looked over the file again, “who put this together anyway? Did you?”

Josh shook his head, “no, my little brother Sam gets all the credit for these,” he waved his hand at the rest of the files. “He handles the bulk of our intelligence. The kid always has his nose in a book or on the internet researching things. It was his idea to start a file system. He was tired of flipping through journals and books and wanted a centralized system that he spent a week locked in the basement consolidating information not only in physical files but he digitized it as well.”

You held back a snicker, “well…no offense to Sam…but most of this is wrong. But I’m ok with that. The less your family knows about my history, the better.”

He smiled and leaned closer to you, letting your shoulders touch, smiling, “he didn’t even know I took these…he left me a pissy voicemail earlier when he realized he had files missing.”

You laughed softly, “Whoops.” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed black markings on his right thigh, peeking out from under his boxers. “Is that a tattoo?”

Josh looked down at his leg and back up at you, before pulling up the leg of his boxers far enough to show you the mark in question. It was a triangle with a circle in the center, criss crossed with different lines. It wasn’t a small mark by any means, it took up a substantial amount of space on the top of his thigh. “Sort of…”

“What do you mean?”

Josh took a breath and answered, “it's a sigil…to prevent Vampires from using their Persuasion on me.”

Goddamnit, Les was right again.

“How the fuck did you get a Witch to give you that?”

“My brother Jake has this Witch friend. She’s been a friend of the family for a couple years now and after a while she came to him with these to help us out.” Josh explained it so matter of fact, but your eyebrows raised nearly to your hairline at this information.

Witches and Vampires weren’t exactly friends…but there was typically a mutual respect between supernatural creatures. Generally, Witches trusted humans about as much as Vampires did, and while friendships weren’t unheard of, a Witch going out of her way to help out a hunter? That was…that was a betrayal. You started to spiral at how wrong that was, until you looked up Josh, and remembered you’re wearing a hunters clothes, sitting in a hunters apartment, after using said hunters shower. It wasn’t the same…but it wasn’t that much different either. You did question what it was about Jake that made the Witch essentially betray her own kind to help him.

Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and gently traced some of the lines of the sigil. The silence was deafening, and his eyes never left your hand. The muscles in his thigh felt firm, especially when they tensed under your touch. It looked like a regular tattoo, but there was a heat in the ink. You had seen sigils a few times over the years, mainly on Witches themselves, but you had never touched one. Not like this. You didn’t realize the marks felt…alive almost, as if they were living in the skin of their hosts.

“Do you feel that all the time?”

Joshs skin felt like it was on fire, but for an entirely different reason. He wanted to answer your question, but words were escaping him. He could only focus on steadying his breathing while your fingers lightly traced his skin.

You heard it again, his heart hammering in his chest, and it spurred you on to trail your fingers up to the top of the triangle. He was so easy to mess with. His skin was so soft?

Goddamnit, focus.

You snatched your hand away from his thigh and turned your attention back to the files, sifting through the others.

Josh was a mess of conflicting emotions, still watching you like a hawk while he barely moved. But finally he spoke, “to answer your question…yeah…I feel it all the time.”

You wanted to look over, look at him again, but you didn’t allow yourself to do so. Silence filled the room once more. You needed to change the subject.

“Dimitri is super picky about humans being turned, Monica probably didn’t want him to see how Ethan was acting last night.”

Right, back to business, Josh thought. “He’s a walking liability. I don’t think she was telling the truth at all about how long it had been since their last “incident. But does Dimitri have any actual say over who gets turned and who doesn’t?”

“It's not like…an actual rule, but he is the oldest Vampire in this area. It's more of an unsaid agreement out of respect. He rarely turns people himself, but he’ll string along humans for years on the promise of it, before setting them loose with no memory of him at all,” you explained.

“If that’s the case then it was pretty stupid of your friend to bring him around, especially to the Den of all places,” Josh countered.

You nodded in agreement, “definitely but I think Monica was trying to be…normal. I’ve known her for a long time and she’s always been pretty lonely.”

“Lonely enough to turn the first human to look at her twice?”

You turned to look at him, “it happens.” Josh opened his mouth to ask another question but you cut him off, “...no I have not considered doing the same.”

Another beat of silence.

Josh reached over to grab the post-it notepad on the floor and a pen. He scribbled Monica and Ethans names and slapped the post-it on an empty spot on the wall.

“Do you think she’d be du-...naive enough to bring him back to the Den any time soon?”

“You want to go back?” You were surprised at the suggestion.

“It's not like I want to go back…but I do want to hear more about these “incidents” she mentioned, and they ran off before we could ask any real questions.”

You chewed on your lip, “knowing her, she’d go back.”

“Tonight?”

“You want to go back tonight?”

Josh shrugged, “the faster we get more information, the faster we can figure this out,” his hand waved at the wall. Truthfully, he just wanted to get this out of the way before his brother showed up and threw a wrench into his plans.

You blinked and considered it. “Fine, but as soon as the sun sets I’m out of here to go get ready at my place. Can’t show up wearing the same thing as last night, can I?”

Josh nodded in agreement, “deal.”

The yawn you had been fighting finally escaped you. You needed sleep, especially if you had a long night ahead of you.

Josh jumped up and immediately went over to his bed, “if you umm…need to sleep, you can sleep here. I can take the couch.”

You stood up and walked over and looked at the bed. Of course he’d have the standard navy blue plaid bedding. But it looked…comfortable. The mere existence of a real bed frame was a plus. “Ok…but you don’t have to sleep on that rickety couch. The bed is big enough to share.”

He donned the most skeptical look you’ve ever seen him make, “the couch is fine.”

“That couch is held together by duct tape and a wish. I know how fragile human backs are. I don’t need you hobbling around the Den because you slept funky.”

“Fine.”

Without another word, you slipped into his bed. Josh wanted to point out that you were technically on his side, but he decided against it. It was just one night, or day? It would be fine. He climbed in on the other side, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore how close you were. You also were looking at the ceiling, refusing to look over at him. All you needed was a nap before you began your night. No big deal.

“Good night.”

“Night,” you rolled over and clicked off the lamp, throwing that end of the apartment into darkness. Well, as dark as it could be in the middle of the day with the blinds shut.

Sleep came for both of you pretty quickly, the exhaustion of the previous night and the walk to his apartment this morning taking its toll.

~!~

You weren’t sure how long you slept, but the next time you opened your eyes the apartment was substantially darker than when you had fallen asleep. The second thing you noticed was an arm firmly wrapped around your waist. Josh. Shit. You started to reach down to peel his arm off of you when the arm in question suddenly tightened up and nearly yanked you backwards. What the hell? The next thing you heard was Josh mumbling in his sleep. You couldn’t understand what he was saying, but he sounded pissed. Carefully, you rolled over to face him. His eyes were screwed shut, brows deeply furrowed. His grip around your waist tightened further, and his legs started to kick. Was he having a nightmare? Oh no. The mumbling continued, and you still couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“Get the fuck-,” was clear as day coming from his lips.

Using your strength, You pushed him on his back and hovered over his face. He had your t-shirt balled up in his fist against your back. Softly, you reached up and gently touched his cheek, his jaw twitching under your touch.

“Josh…Josh, wake up.” That didn’t work, and he continued to squirm underneath you. “Come on Josh, you gotta wake up. You’re having a nightmare…,” you tapped his face a little harder. “Boy Scout…wake up.” The sweat was beading up on his forehead, his breath coming out in harsh puffs. You hated seeing him like this. Reaching for his shoulders this time, you began to lightly shake him, gradually increasing the force as you did so.

After what seemed like an eternity, his eyes shot open. Immediately, he seemed confused, as if he wasn’t sure where he was. He looked up at you, and the hand that was gripping your t-shirt flexed against your back.

“Hey…it's ok…it's me,” you shushed him quietly.

He sprang away from you, sitting up against his head board, still trying to get his bearings. You used this as an opportunity to flick on the light, returning to face him.

His eyes still seemed a little lost, as if he was still trying to wake himself up and plant himself in reality. “What…what time is it?”

You looked over your shoulder at the clock on the nightstand, 7:38 PM flashed in red letters. “About twenty-to-eight. Nighttime.”

He nodded slowly while running his hands over his face. “You should umm…you should probably head home then. To get ready.”

“Are you ok? Do you want to talk-”

“I’m fine. It was just a nightmare.” His voice was stiff and cold. He didn’t want to talk about it, or acknowledge his bad dream at all. They were common for him, nothing to worry about.

“You don’t seem fine,” your voice was laced with concern.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. He hadn’t used that tone with you since the other night in the park.

Nodding, you got out of bed and began to gather your things. You peeked outside one of the windows. It wasn’t super dark yet, but it was dark enough that you could make it home without any problems.

Josh hadn’t moved from his spot in his bed, but he was watching you move around his apartment gathering your things. You were leaving, but he would see you later tonight. He just…he needed to be alone right now. Your dress was draped over your arm, your heels in your hand and you were almost to the door before he sprung out of his bed. He wasn’t a complete douche, he’d get the door for you. As he reached for the doorknob he looked down and saw you didn’t have any real shoes to walk home in.

“You can’t just-” he grumbled to himself before turning around and marching back to his bedroom and scooping up a well-worn pair of Birkenstocks and a zip-up hoodie. He almost let you leave without shoes. He felt even worse now.

“Here, I think your feet have been messed up enough for one day,” he said as he met you back at the door and gently set the Birks in front of you to step in. It was the least he could do, but the thoughtful gesture struck you anyway. You eyed him for a second before slipping your feet into them and surprisingly, the size wasn’t too far off from your own. When your feet were secured he handed the jacket to you. You started to protest but he cut you off, “I don’t care if Vampires can’t get cold, you’re taking it.”

You smiled softly at your hunter. You were just as worried about him. Did he have nightmares that bad all the time? How often? What were they about? You hated that he wouldn’t let you truly help, but you understood it. It's not easy to open up about something as personal as dreams. Your hand gently brushed his as he handed the jacket to you, and you slipped it on silently as you continued to look at him.

“Thanks Josh…,” the sheepishness in your voice was foreign to you, but you didn’t mind it.

“I’ll uhh…I’ll see you tonight. Same time?”

“Same tree?”

Josh nodded, “same tree.”

“See you soon, Boy Scout.”

With that you turned and started going down the winding stairs, a little sad when you heard the door shut behind you. But that was ok, you had a few hours before you’d see him again. As you landed on the third floor, you caught the eye of one of Josh’s neighbors in the hallway. The old man looked you up and down, noticing your attire, before glancing up at the stairs behind you. He turned to open his own door, muttering, “good for him…,” before disappearing into his apartment.

Oh god, you rolled your eyes and beelined out of the building, needing to get home to get ready for your next exciting evening at Dimitri’s Blood Den.

~!~

This time when the two of you descended the stairs into the Den, you were ready. The game plan was more solid this time, as Josh knew what to expect. Instead of going towards the booths, you opted for one of the antique couches in the middle of the room, where you could have an even better vantage point.

You sat next to your hunter, about to get up and go to the bar for a drink when he turned to you and said, “A-Negative Manhattan, right?”

His assertiveness caught you off guard, but you liked seeing him more settled into your world. You nearly beamed at him and said, “of course, thank you.” He nodded before getting up and going up to the bar to order your drink.

When you had met up in the park earlier, he hadn’t spoken that much. He seemed fine, but you could tell something was bothering him. You decided against asking him if he wanted to talk about the nightmare, or how he had tangled himself up with you in the process, in favor of keeping it light and “work” related.

Josh was still at the bar waiting for your drink when you spotted Monica and Ethan come down the stairs. Relief flooded through you that they had showed up so quickly, and you made a big show of waving them over to sit on the couch opposite of yours. It was when they sat down that you noticed they had a human girl with them tonight.

“Who is this?” you feigned interest in their new companion.

“Oh this is Rachael! We found her earlier tonight,” Monica replied brightly. Rachael had a dreamy expression on her face. She had definitely been Persuaded to be there. Tale as old as time. Ethan was seated between Rachael and Monica, and it made you nervous.

You were snapped out of your reverie when a familiar cocktail was held in front of you. You took it eagerly and looked up at Josh while he sat down beside you. For the briefest of moments, the gesture felt so…normal. You were afraid of even thinking of the word domestic, but it was right there, begging to be dreamed about.

“Oh my god you did end up keeping this one!” Monica squawked from her couch.

“What can I say? He was too pretty to let go,” you mused, playing your part. At least you thought you were just playing long. You reached up and gave a playful pinch to his chin, which earned you a look from Josh, but you could see him fighting a smile.

At the sight of Josh, Ethan snapped his attention from Rachael and zeroed in on the hunter. What was it about Josh that Ethan was so fascinated by? A thought occurred to you, that typically new vampires' sense of smell was especially heightened as they got used to their existence. Being able to suddenly smell blood was an indescribable experience. It was too complex to be merely described as a new type of food. The first feed one has after they’re turned is a complete out of body experience. Human psychedelics don’t even come close to how your brain warps and rewires itself in real time. In that regard, you almost pitied Ethan in his clear lack of control. It's often said that not every human is meant to be turned. It isn’t cut out for everyone. The same could be said for other supernatural creatures who have the ability to turn humans into their own kind. Someone could be a complete disaster of a Vampire, but an incredible Werewolf. But no one ever knows for sure until it happens. Until their precious human lives are completely dismantled and changed. Until their very DNA is unrecognizable.

You wondered if Ethan was literally smelling Josh, and that's why he was acting the way he was. It was a thought you had refused to allow yourself to have. Any thought of tasting him died when you learned he was a hunter. Even when Dimitri had his teeth in him, you were more worried about his well being than what kind of snack he’d be. But what was it Dimitri said? That his blood tasted…spicy? Was he being literal? Was he just fucking with him?

“I want him.” Ethan blurted out.

Monica leaned over and shushed him, “no Ethan, he’s her Human Companion tonight…you have Rachael.”

“She can share,” he gritted out. You felt Josh stiffen next to you. No. You weren’t allowing this to happen again. You took a long sip of your Manhattan, giving Monica a warning look. One hand gripped your glass, the other reached across Josh’s lap and planted itself on his right thigh. You could feel the subtle heat of the sigil through the fabric of his pants.

Ethan grew restless in his seat, completely abandoning Rachael and turning his full attention to Josh. Monica threw you a pleading look, as if she was hoping you’d relent and let him have a taste, but you refused. Dimitri might have not given a shit about pleasantries, but he was older than you, and had more authority, and honestly intimidated the hell out of you. Monica? Not so much. She was younger than you by nearly 200 years. She was a toddler in comparison.

Setting your drink down on the coffee table between the couches, you kept your glare steady on Ethan. Your hand moved from Josh’s thigh to his wrist, you gently rubbed your thumb over the veins and tendons. A visual reminder that if anyone was feeding from him, it was going to be you.

Monica looked visibly panicked, “if you just let him have a taste he’ll be fine I promise…”

“No. He’s mine.”

Josh turned to you, trying to silently give you a signal. He didn’t want to whisper to you and risk Monica, or worse, Ethan overhearing what he was saying. In the last two days, he had come to realize he had known far less about Vampires than he previously thought, but he could see a struggle for dominance when he saw one. He didn’t want a repeat of last night just as much as you did, and at this point, there was only one way to make sure that didn’t happen.

Making eye contact with you, he slowly turned his neck to the side, offering it to you. If he was going to get fed on, by you especially, he wanted the real deal. He didn’t want his wrist used as a straw. If you were going to feed on him, you were going to feed on him.

You saw what he was offering, and your eyes locked with his, making sure you understood him correctly. With the slightest nod, you got your answer. You threw a side eye to Monica and Ethan, it was your time to shine. At this, you took a deep breath and allowed yourself to truly inhale Josh’s scent. God, you thought. You had caught a faint whiff of him in the alley, when he was distracting you with that kiss, but this was so different. There was something bright about his scent, citrusy, clean, a hint of vanilla? It was delicious, and it was about to be yours.

With a steady hand, you tilted his jaw to the side a little more, giving yourself better access. Nearly raising yourself to your knees on the couch, you leaned in close to his neck. Your breath fanned over his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. The one good thing about Dimitri feeding on him the night before was that he had more of a clue as to what he was in for. He thought he did, at least. He cast his eyes down towards you, your fangs descended from your upper jaw, and he realized just how well they suited you. Like they were made to be part of you, as if you were born for this.

You gave him one last look of reassurance, before lowering your teeth to his skin. You huffed out a final breath against his neck, before your fangs finally began piercing his skin. It was quick, and the familiar burn started at the puncture wounds. But that wasn’t the best part. No…when your lips sealed themselves against his skin around the punctures, and you took that first true pull of his blood? His eyes instantly rolled back. Whatever your technique, if you could call it a technique, you used was so drastically different than Dimitri. This time, being fed on didn’t feel “weird”, it felt…good. This time, the way his blood went backwards against its natural current, it was invigorating. He felt his veins come alive. With each subsequent pull from you, he felt like he was floating higher and higher. Your hand shifted from his jaw to the other side of his neck, pulling him even closer.

As for you, the second his blood hit your tongue you were moaning against his neck. You were right, the citrus notes, the undercurrent of vanilla, but the aftertaste was strong, and oh so Josh. You needed more of him. It felt like a privilege to feed on him, you would forever rue the day that Demitri got to be the first Vampire to taste him. He didn’t deserve that honor. But something in the back of your mind wanted to make sure you were the last Vampire to ever feed on him. There was no one else in the room in your mind other than Josh. You were so focused on his taste that you almost didn’t notice his arm snaking around your waist, pulling you to straddle his lap. Immediately you complied and settled yourself onto his thighs, your arms wrapping themselves around his neck. The growing bulge underneath you almost made you pause your feeding. It made you smile against his skin when you realized he was enjoying himself. Instinctively you grinded down against him, delighting in the moan that rattled his throat against your teeth. His hands moved to your hips and pulled them down even harder against him, gripping your hips so hard that would’ve left bruises on a human woman. But you weren’t fragile like that, you could take it, whatever he had to offer, you would take it no questions asked.

You had been latched onto him for a while at this point, and you still had enough wits about you to listen to his heart rate. It was beginning to slow down, which was your cue that his body had enough. For now. With the slightest reluctance, you withdrew your fangs from his neck. You couldn’t resist going back, licking the excess blood around the puncture wounds, cleaning up your mess. With a flurry, you pricked your finger with your teeth to draw enough blood to heal the wounds. When they started to close up, you raised your head to look him in the eyes. Those big brown eyes, nearly black now with blown out pupils. He looked completely blissed out, and it was all because of you.

You felt his blood dripping from the corners of your mouth, and you could feel it smeared all over your chin. Before you could push any excess back into your mouth, Josh’s hands reached up and pulled your face to crash against his. Oh god, you thought once again. The feeling of his lips against yours made you grind down on him again, and he moaned into your mouth, which gave you access to slide your tongue against his. You still had blood in your mouth, and even if he was human and not getting the full scope of how good it was, he was getting a taste of not only you, but himself. One of his hands was tangled in your hair, the other slid down to grip your ass underneath your skirt. You were vaguely aware you were causing a scene, even if enthusiastic feedings were considered the norm, the private rooms existed for a reason, and you were quickly approaching the territory of needing one.

With the both of you wrapped up in each other, you weren’t aware of how the music changed, how the live pianist took their post at the piano bench, playing a familiar melody. You didn’t see Dimitri and Yvonne enter the room. You didn’t see how Dimitri was watching you both, an unreadable smile on his face. You especially didn’t see Yvonne’s hard stare, wheels turning in her head.

You pulled off to let Josh breathe, and you opened your eyes to stare down at him. His blood was all over his face, all in his goatee, his mustache, even dipped in his cheek scar. He looked so fucking beautiful that way, with his hooded, blissed out eyes. You wanted, no you needed all of him.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“My place is closer,” he breathed out. Of course, and this time you didn’t have to fight the sun to get there. The night was still young.

You smiled and slid off of him reluctantly, reaching out to help him off the couch. As he rose to his full height, he intertwined his fingers with yours.

Leaning in to whisper in his ear, “lead the way, Boy Scout…”

He smirked at you before leading you through the various groups of people, through an empty private room, and up the stairs to the street. This time only moonlight greeted you at the second landing, the chilly night air washing over the both of you as you went back to that cozy attic apartment you hadn’t wanted to leave hours prior.

Maybe it was the blood talking, but you didn’t want this high to ever end.

To be continued…

Tag List: @lightmylove-gvf , @dannyandthekiszkas , @gretasmokerising , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @gvfcinema , @sacredthethreadgvf , @losfacedevil , @jakekiszkasbuttsweat , @shutupdevvie , @hearts-hunger , @gretavanfleetposts , @ascendingtostardust , @mackalah , @andromeda-raine-gvf , @jake-kiszkas-smirk , @gracev0609 , @sacredjake ,

#josh kiszka #josh kiszka x reader #josh gvf #greta van fleet #enemies to lovers #slow burn #my fics #I see hell in your eyes #🩸🖤

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astranite · 3 months

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Protective is an Emotion

John and Virgil, with younger Tracies. This started off with me wanting to write John being the protective big brother and went from there. Might be a 2nd and 3rd chapter as there be ideas for them. Rather angsty so far but there shall be some hurt/comforting. John and Virgil are both autistic as I am always writing them that way tis just more obvious here.

Warnings for bullying.

---

John walked through the crowded school yard, head down, one hand tightly wrapped around the shoulder strap of his backpack. The cacophony of bodies and noise pressed in on him, the typical state of students at break time, rowdy, clamoring and far too numerous.

He wouldn't have stopped usually, have kept pressing through until he got to the doors of the library and inside, where it was finally, thankfully quiet and he could breathe. But something caught his eye, an aberration in the pattern of swirling students and harried staff members.

At the base of the concrete stairs leading to the art block building was a knot of students. It wasn't out of the ordinary for teenagers to gather there, half blocking the walkway for people who wanted to get past until a teacher inevitably told them off and then they inevitably returned to position as soon as said teacher was out of sight. But it still pinged in John’s brain as an important detail even before he quite realised.

The teenagers looked to be a couple of grades below him. They formed a wall of bodies against the art building, intention all focused inward. John caught a glimpse of dark hair and flash of colourful canvas between them.

The final piece of the puzzle: Virgil had started attending the same highschool as Scott and John, beginning this week.

It could be fine, maybe it was fine, maybe the kids in Virgil’s grade would treat Virgil better than John’s supposed peers had ever done to him.

But John preferred hard evidence and he didn't put much stock in the good of humanity when it came to teenagers forced into close proximity by the mass education institution known as a school.

Best case scenario, John could say hi and check in on Virgil, then leave him to hang out with his new friends without his weird ginger brother butting in on the conversation, and ask Virgil to tell him about them and how his day was on the bus home from school.

Worst case scenario? Well, that was why John was striding towards the group, chin up and shoulders back, doing his best to use his lanky height to get through the crowd and mimic Scott when he had something to prove. Because he was the big brother here and if there was the slightest chance Virgil needed him, that meant John was all the way in a heartbeat.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” John smiled, showing his teeth.

Start nice, start friendly, better not to let them see a potential threat coming. If there needed to be a threat, which John sorely hoped there wouldn’t.

Several of the students jumped, whipped their heads around.

“Who’re you?” One challenged.

John made full eye contact with the teen. “I’m John Tracy.”

The other boy looked away first.

“We’re just talking. What’s your problem?” Another teen, closest to Virgil and pressing in on his personal space as Virgil leaned away added.

“Yeah, we’re talking,” A different student, John couldn't keep track of the faces. Then directed at Virgil: “Aren’t you going to tell us what you drew?”

They all looked to Virgil, like this was some kind of gotcha instead of an innocent question as John’s instincts screamed this was a trap.

He’d been here before. John swallowed hard. They weren’t— It wasn’t— Appearances could be deceiving and some people didn't know when to stop because they liked the feeling of having power over others.

“Come on, give us an answer. Or is it music again, which is a sound that you hear?” A voice twisted to mocking.

Virgil was clutching his sketchbook and a canvas covered in vividly painted patterns to his chest. The concrete stairwell wall was up against his back, blocking off the exits as pleading brown eyes found John, lips mouthing his name.

Virgil was scared, these teens were taunting him, even though there was nothing he would have done to deserve it, no one deserved it, especially not his kindest brother who wore his heart on his sleeve and wanted to help everyone. He wasn’t as strange or sharp-edged as John…

“Stop. Just stop,” John said. Blurted out, because he wished Scott was here, Scott would know what to do to fix this. John needed his big brother right now too.

One of the teens nudged Virgil in the ribs quicker than John could cross the circle to get to him. Virgil flinched and shrunk further inwards on himself, humming under his breath, the pitch rising.

John saw red. He forced his way through the gathered teens to put himself between them and Virgil, protectiveness surging enough to take his breath away. He’d tear them apart with his teeth if that would make them leave Virgil alone.

But it wouldn’t. And he wasn’t Scott, he was just John. He could calculate the forces involved better than he could throw a punch because he was too clumsy to be on the sports teams and didn't really want to be anyway, and he was tall like a plant that grew too fast without enough sun instead of tall and athletic, and he was only a year older than these kids no matter that he was in Scott’s grade, and he’d never won a fight when it was him because it had never ended.

Analysing variables was his language: a) he and Virgil would never win now if it came to fighting because bullies liked to outnumber you, b) getting himself suspended trying would only mean he wasn't there to protect Virgil and it would be another thing Scott would have to deal with dumped on his shoulders, and c) the smart option was to get out now.

The teens were between laughter at them and indignation, a volatile combination. Spilt rocket fuel in the school yard.

John dropped any semblance left of the polite expression he’d been wearing. Gave the blank, emotionless, nothing look, because he knew it unnerved people even though it was just his normal face. Stared unblinkingly into the eyes of the teen directly in front of him, because apparently it was uncanny even when he didn’t mean it as a threat, the same intimidation of a barn yard cat eyeing up its prey. Somewhere that hurt but it was buried amongst John’s roiling emotions. He could use it though.

“We are going,” he stated flatly. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, the protagonists in John’s books always had a snappy line at this point except he didn’t.

He tried to give Virgil as much warning as he could, saying his name before seizing his hand.

John broke the path, somewhat dragging Virgil with him even as he did his best to be gentle because he really didn't want to hurt his brother and he knew how scary it was, but getting away was more important right now.

He pushed past the other students, shuddering when a grab was made at his arm and shaking it off. The boy in question loudly played what they’d done to Virgil like it was a big, friendly joke, like it wasn’t one hundred percent purposeful, couldn’t any Tracy just take a joke.

“Can’t even say anything about his own stupid drawing,” The same teen muttered to their retreating backs.

By how Virgil’s grip went suddenly crushingly tight on his hand, John knew he had heard every word.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #john tracy #virgil tracy #autistic John Tracy #autistic Virgil Tracy #neurodivergent Tracies #astrawrite #goodnight i am tired adn need to do the sleep but have fic. why was this fic started new today with all the many wips? who knows? not me #yes i totally have a neurodivergent tracies agenda and im very happy with it and now just going all in with it

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raineandsky · 10 months

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#50

tw: home break-in

The civilian had entered the library with an empty bag and his library card, and he’s somehow walking out with a bag of books, a renewed card, and a hero trailing after him.

“I’m really glad I managed to find you,” the hero is saying, as if the civilian is particularly interested. “I’m telling you, you’re—”

“Dying. Or about to die.” The civilian doesn’t break his stride as he beelines for the bus stop. “Whichever.”

“[Civilian], please, these are serious matters,” the hero says a little desperately.

“Getting these books home before they dislocate my shoulder is a serious matter.”

“[Civilian], listen to me. Your life is on the line.”

“Living in a city with a bunch of idiots fighting in the streets already has my life on the line,” the civilian retorts with a snort. “Business as usual.”

They round the corner and the bus stop comes into view in all its glory. “[Civilian]—” Oh my god, are they still going? “—you need to—”

“Look, [Hero], really, I’m flattered you care so much.” He pauses, the hero almost bumping into him at the abruptness of it. “But I can assure you I’ve never been involved in any illegal activity. I’m not on anyone’s hitlist. Don’t think I’ve ever even seen one of the villains, let alone worked with them.”

The hero seems to be thrown for a loop for a moment, and the civilian takes that as his cue to continue with his day.

“Wait, no, [Civilian]—” They’re coming after him again. GODDAMNIT. “—that’s not what it’s about. It– The villains have nothing to do with it. I’m trying to warn you about the agency.”

That gives the civilian reason to stop, and this time the hero does walk into him. “You’re trying to warn me about the place you work for?”

The hero nods as if that isn’t the strangest contradiction he’s ever heard. “They’re looking for you.”

The civilian frowns, but he doesn’t let it put him off. “Again, I’m not affiliated with any of the scum wandering the streets. No need to look for me.”

His bus is here. He gives the hero a half-hearted smile, more out of politeness than any feeling of satisfaction about this conversation, and starts for the queue piling onto the bus.

“[Civilian].” The hero’s hand closes around his arm, painfully tight. “I’m trying to help you. I can protect you from them.”

The civilian shakes him off, and in that hero brain it’s obviously hardwired as a signal for let go. They step back like they’ve been electrocuted. The civilian asks exactly zero questions and bolts for the bus.

“[Civilian]!” the hero shouts after him, but he ignores them and hops on just before the doors slip closed. The bus speeds away without a thought for the hero, leaving them watching mournfully from the pavement as it goes.

The civilian sets his books on his coffee table at home, trying to ignore what the hero said. They’re messing with him, surely. He has nothing to do with the heroes or the villains. They have no reason to have an interest in him. The hero was messing with him.

He hears his living room window sliding open at exactly 2am, though, and it occurs to him that maybe they weren’t.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #tw breaking and entering #so. apparently publishers want you to be basically famous to publish your book #so imma need yall to vouch for me when i say people read my writing #just nod and well be fine

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runnning-outof-time · 2 years

Note

Hi K! I was inspired by the ask you sent me and the game I saw @zablife create a few weeks ago (I can’t find the link for it, sorry!) where you send people a GIF for them to use as creative inspiration for either a blurb, headcannon, moodboard or one shot or fic whenever they choose!

This can sit in your inbox for months and months if you wish, the idea of this is just to be there for when you feel as though you need some inspiration for something creative and just want to have a bit of fun or get the brain into a creative place! Please don’t feel any pressure to use this I just thought it might be quite a nice thing to use when you’re in the mood to write but aren’t sure what!

I hope you enjoy this and have fun with it! X

Thanks so much for sending this in, Aimee!! 🥰 I’m sorry it took a little bit for me to answer it, but I wanted to make sure that it was good. So with that being said…I hope that it’s good. It’s not quite based on the scene that we see him in here (because that scene breaks my heart) but it’s certainly not a fluffly piece.

I Have to Go

Tommy Shelby

———

Warnings: language

Tommy goes to (Y/N)’s house with hopes to stop her, but he finds that it’s too late to get her to change her mind.

“I have to go, Tommy,” (Y/N) said, her one hand gripping onto the wooden door while the other was clenched into a tight fist behind her back.

“You’re still going forward with it?” he asked her, swallowing harshly then.

“Yeah,” she nodded, keeping her response short at first. She looked into his blue eyes for a moment before she realized that he deserved a better explanation. “I need to do this for myself. We’ve talked about it many times…I’m never going to be the person I want to be if I don’t leave this city.”

“So you’re leaving now?” he asked, sounding like he was still trying to wrap his head around it.

“Yes,” she nodded, “I have to.”

“You’re gonna leave now…after I’ve come back; after I’ve told you what’s going on with my family, at the time that I need you most,” he tried to get his thoughts out, his sentences pieced together with pauses.

“Please don’t make this about yourself, Tommy,” (Y/N) asked him, her tone teetering on the fence of sounding like begging.

“I fucking need you here, (Y/N),” he reiterated the final part of his previous statement.

“I can’t be here anymore. This city’s going to eat me alive if I stay in it a moment longer,” she stressed, her desperation shining through in her words. This wasn’t an easy choice for her, but it was one that she needed to make.

Tommy dropped his eyes to the ground, breathing in slowly before he exhaled the air in a deep sigh. “Fine,” he said then, the word sounding like it was forced out.

“Tommy…” she sighed, already knowing what was coming next.

“No. Just go, yeah? Go like you’ve said you’re going to. Your mind’s made up…follow through with your choice,” he said, his eyes locked onto hers as he spoke, the blueness of them that once resembled a warm, summer day now looking like fractured ice.

(Y/N) opened her mouth to speak, but Tommy didn’t allow her to. Instead he held her gaze as he stepped away from her door, keeping his eyes locked onto hers until his body was completely perpendicular to her home. She watched in disbelief as he began walking away from her without speaking another word.

“This just goes to show that you’re absolute shit at saying goodbye, Tommy Shelby!” she called out to him as she watched him walk away, the tears now stinging her eyes. He didn’t stop his stride, so she continued, “all of those years…all of those moments we spent together…all of the secrets I vowed to keep!” her vocal level rose with each step he took away from her, “you should’ve just fucking stayed home; should’ve let me leave with the memory I had of you!” she was crying now, which surely made her words sound incoherent and jumbled together.

What she didn’t know was that Tommy had heard them loud and clear…and that it was taking everything in his power not to turn around and try again. But he kept on walking, because he knew that she was doing herself the biggest favor by getting as far away from this city, and him, as she possibly could.

———

Tagged: @mgcllovdrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @lovemissyhoneybee @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @raincoffeeandfandoms @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby blurb #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #asks answered

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anewkindofme · 5 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

As always, thank you @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad for the tag!

This takes place in "But I'm An Avery". This isn't for the next installment, but for a future one. I put up Mark's POV a week or so back. Here's a look at why Jackson is so upset.

***

The ER is abuzz this afternoon. A bus crash on the I-5 has brought in over 20 patients, each with their own set of medical needs. Already, 2 are in surgery. The nurses found 4 that need a plastics consult. They split the cases between Mark, Jackson and Ben. Jackson takes his clipboard and heads for the curtain.

The man is in his 60s according to the chart. Busted up nose that they just barely managed to get the bleeding to stop. Jackson steps closer, still looking at his clipboard.

“Mr. Sturgess, hello. I’m Dr. Avery. I see here you’re complaining about your nose. Can you tell me what happened?”

A familiar, strained voice echoes through the chaos of the ER around him. “I was standing up to speak with the driver when we were hit by the semi. Got knocked to the floor.”

Jackson walks closer. The man’s nose is a gnarly shade of black and blue. It swells up at least twice it’s normal size. Jackson tenderly touches it and the man grits his teeth.

“I want to call an X-Ray,” he says. “It may take a bit, given all that’s going on. But from the looks of it, you may need surgery.”

“Just great. How long will that keep me out of work for?”

“It’s hard to say. What line of work are you in?”

“Counseling.”

Jackson meets the man’s bright blue eyes. There are some scrapes surrounding them, as well as the rest of his face. In comparison to some of the others he’s seen, the man got off lucky. Jackson tilts his head. Sturgess frowns.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson says. “You just seem so familiar.”

“I do a lot of work with the community,” Sturgess offers. “Perhaps that’s it.”

“Maybe.”

Jackson glances back at the clipboard. Duncan Sturgess. Classified as a caregiver. According to the nurse, he gave that information reluctantly.

His eyes scan down the rest of the man’s body. He wears a pair of torn jeans, with burn marks from skidding across the bus. His shirt is a blue polo with white lettering in the corner.

Seattle Correction Camp

Jackson’s heartbeat picks up. He once wore a similar polo, though his was in white. Campers wore white, counselors in green and the head directors, blue. His itched his collarbone and left a nasty rash behind. Especially when paired with the humiliating signs forced around his neck. The most common one reading “Bedwetter”. It took a full decade before he could wear a polo again.

When he heard “bus crash”, he assumed a public city one or maybe even a Greyhound on a trip.

SCC has their own busses. Jackson still remembers the ugly white paint with the name of the “camp” scrawled across the side in gaudy black font.

The first person he met while approaching the bus had deep blue eyes and a full head of blonde hair.

In 16 years, the hair has thinned out, but the eyes remain.

For a moment, Jackson smells smoke. He feels the hand colliding across his cheek. It takes all he has not to whimper in pain.

You’re at the hospital. You’re safe. You’re not bleeding.

One look into those scary blue eyes undoes every bit of his mantra.

“Dr. Avery?” Duncan’s scratchy voice breaks through. “Are you alright?”

Jackson blinks a couple of times. He tries to regulate his breathing, but can barely remember the steps Mark taught him. Instead, he turns and strides out from behind the curtain without another word. He busies to the first nurse he sees and thrusts the clipboard into her hands.

“Y…you need to get Dr. Sloan o…or Dr. Warren for this.”

He doesn’t wait for her to question why.

***

No pressure open tag to anyone who wants to do this!

#wip wednesday #jackson avery #grey's #grey's anatomy

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mariamariquinha · 2 years

Text

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Eight

Summary: *Daddy Issues by The Neighbourhood playing in the background*.

Word count: 4.6k (hell yeah)

Warnings: Bad words, daddy issues (of course), talks about paternity, mentions of violence, family problems, unprotected p in v sex, slight nipple play, kinda of copy mechanism (?), typos (I’ll try to check again if there’s something), very brief reference to country singers, allusion to historical events.

Author’s Note: Guys I’m really sorry that my links are not working, but I don’t know what’s going on and it’s kinda freaking me out. I still need to check on Tumblr to see what’s up, so I’m sorry for everyone who tried to reach the last chapters (that’s why I didn’t even linked the masterlist here).

Also, I’m sorry for being late with this one haha Things wasn’t working for me so I give myself a small break to go back in the mood, so... yeah, 4k words later, here we are! WOO-HOO!

(I love this gif so much, ugh)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

-------------------------------------

It was a cliché. A big one. Girl who had problems with her father, like… yeah, okay. Kick a bush anywhere and find five or six with similar stories.

He was born in Nashville, used to listen to Patsy Cline and Jim Reeves with absurd frequency, and disowned everything after the 70s, which included Alan Jackson, even if you've seen something about the guy in his record collection - not that the visits to his house were that frequent (or existent). Hillbilly, another cliché. Harsh personality, another cliché.

He didn't even have to hide so much in his astute personality to accurately trace what that past, filled with sermons, church Sundays and hay, would have done to the relationship that type of man developed with a female daughter. There was a cruel side to you, cold and even calculating, that personified itself as a consequence of the way things had been. How unhappy he was with his decision to move to Texas for work and then turned to be even more bitter at the idea of having a daughter with someone he'd met in a single night; how marriage was a bankrupt institution from the beginning and how it hurt you and your mother unscrupulously.

You weren't from Texas, though. Javier used to say that you still had a long way to go to be like that, even if there were certain remnants of the education your father gave you - if he gave you any. Your metropolitan Los Angeles style was something of your mother's and that only made the crumbling relationship turn to dust in the wind. Join the DEA? Stupid. But he would take credit, after all he saw the Department being created and felt 'honored' to have nurtured enough good fruit in you, making you a young woman in the field.

Firstly, when he walked towards you at the airport, you noticed that there was confusion on his face when he saw you. Whether it was your presence or you just looked more miserable, he was expressionless for a while. It was night, the trip from Bogotá to Medellín had been adjusted to a more strategic time, but you knew the Ambassador would offer lunch or something similar to create amenities.

“... I feel flattered.” Not a ‘hello’, or even a ‘how are you doing?’. He needed to tease. He needed it.

You rolled your eyes at him, keeping your arms crossed over your chest and rolling your head to the side.

“Don’t feel, you’ll still carry your own luggage,” Your tone was light, a little sharp but… light. “And it’s a long way to the car.”

“Oh, I'm sure that courtesy was a privilege reserved only for your arrival.”

Without an answer, he just followed your strides down the landing strip, the cool breeze making your clothing choice more valid than his, who opted for those tailored pants that were expensive in an unhealthy way financially. He was always bigger, stockier, better able to withstand cold breezes. If there were any complaints, it would be about the wind messing with his hair, but the time had made him bald enough that the effects of the breeze were nil.

“Where will you stay?” The question sounded stupid, at least for him, who replied with a bigger frown after getting comfortable in the passenger seat of the Ford Bronco you’ve been driving for quite some time. “What?”

“Where do you think I would be?”

“Not with me.” After a beat of silence from his part, your hand hesitated on the ignition and you looked at him a little desperate. “Or it is?”

“No, of course not.”

“Thank God,” You breathed with relief, finally giving life to the car in time to see the man scoffing a disbelieved laugh. Perhaps he reconsidered a little before giving his address, which was in a discreet hotel - this time you masked the relief in knowing that the stay would be temporary.

You didn't dare turn on the radio for much of the drive, opting for the natural silence of the streets and the car's engine instead of trying to fill the void of a conversation neither of you wanted to have (or so you thought).

“How’s everything going? I’ve heard a lot about your progress.”

Huh.

“Did you?”

“Since you don’t appreciate giving me any updates…”

“You seem to be having them just fine without me.”

“Or maybe you just didn't want me to know about your adjustment difficulties,” This made you gaze at him with a bit of annoyance, where he found enough encouragement to continue with that tone. “Which I understand, after all, the local police aren't always very cordial with us.”

“Do you think this is the biggest of my problems here?”

“No, but the name Horacio Carrillo may have caught my attention. I imagined he was patriotic enough to be averse… It must have been a fun experience, watching you two beating horns.”

The mention of Carrillo made you grip the steering wheel tighter and keep your eyes exclusively on the street so as not to give any suspicious reactions. That was one thing that had been probing your head a little bit, the idea that they had a past you knew very superficially. Your father wouldn't pay much attention to it if it was something forgettable, like most of the memories he never wanted to share from his time in Colombia, and it certainly wasn't something that boiled down to a simple soldier learning torture techniques to fight the ELN*. Plus, of course, there was the shadow of the fact that you hadn't even enjoyed the amazing time the two of you had together, especially with the great distance you both naturally established with your father's aura hovering there.

“Beating horns.”

“I know how tough and stubborn you can be.”

“It came from somewhere.”

“Me, I assume.”

“He had his reasons for not liking me right off the bat,” You gazed at your father again, this time for sure of your intentions. “Do I need to elaborate on this or do you also have more memories of Carrillo?”

“So you are no longer in the title phase, this seems to be progress.” The teasing way he mentioned it, not even amused by your provocation, made you clench your teeth in anger. Fucking bitch. “But how about Peña and Murphy? Good partners.”

“Why do I get the impression that you already have the answer to your questions?”

“I do, but I need to understand if you can still get a good shot at your targets knowing that a minute's delay could cost you your life.”

Again, you didn't give him the pleasure of sharing any reactions, focusing solely on driving the car, but the strained air gave away what he really meant by that.

Juan Marcos taking the knife. The pain of that cabinet breaking apart in your back. His weight beneath you as it made him pass out with a force created by the desperation of survival. Carrillo's face, the blood running down your forehead… It was the kind of thing you tried to forget, that you clearly didn't tell.

You couldn't deduce whether he had the right to be offended by it.

“We're not going to talk about it.” You decided.

“It’s because of this kind of behavior that bad things happen.”

“Well, you being here seems to be proof of that.”

“If that means you'll stop playing lone heroine around here, I'm glad I'm not welcome.”

“Maybe the problem is you're always more than content to be alone all the time, dad.” This abrupt harsh comment made him shut up. You sighed again, closing your eyes for a few seconds to compose yourself. “... As I said, we’re not gonna talk about it. It's always like that with you and... And we don't have time for that. Yes, I'm alive, yes, it was my mistake. And believe me when I say that my consideration kept you from worrying enough for me, so let’s prevent the drama.”

There was something else about your father that could have ambivalent meanings: his silence. He would be quiet to think, to anticipate a sharp response, to be surprised, or even to show offense. You could never tell which was which until the next reaction came.

When that didn't happen and the two of you made your way to the hotel in a new vacuum of utter nothingness, he just said he'd see you the next day as if nothing had happened. The frustration, however, was the same - he still hadn't learned to listen to what you had to say.

-------------------------------

The tension was palpable, but no one dared to put a finger on it for the sake of that mission. Carrillo would look at you, then to your father, feeling a particular helplessness, as if being there was like watching a bomb about to explode without being able to do anything about it.

Javier had told him about the relationship, at least what he knew, which went almost unnoticed by Carrillo since at the time he didn't like him and there was no justification for it; not that what had been going on between you should mean anything, but a protective instinct surged through him at the memory.

“We met at that party, you know. Everyone could see that she didn’t want to be there or whatever,” Peña mentioned. “Maybe they don't talk to each other after what happened here.”

And Horacio knew that was a subtle cue to speculate on his motives for not liking your father, but the silence that followed was enough for no one to bring it up again. It took a while for the walls of rejection to come down - a little longer for him to understand that there was a cliff of difference between you and that brusque, hostile father figure.

You had a fire like him, but Carrillo would never be on guard with you for the same reasons he would be with your father.

It wasn't much, at the time he'd seen plenty of other guys like him walking around Colombia and taking up space as their own, wasting time and money on hookers and alcohol before going back to the grueling job of ripping a person's fingernails off in interrogation.

When he first met him, he was still a low-ranking soldier, limited to orders, with words of obedience on the tip of his tongue. The primal nature of always being ahead, of being number one, of... being the best, was something that pleased your father immediately, and the two spent more time in a closer relationship - which was not a friendship. There was a story about family; Carrillo had just gotten married. Your father laughed, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and said that he would soon find out that this would be a stupid decision.

When he found out that you and your mother were in the States, uncertain about the whereabouts of the man who was supposed to protect you two, there was a sense of morality in him, and in that aspect he was pretty strict about keeping his distance. When he saw your father bragging about the women he'd been paying at the brothel, Carrillo saw his respect for the guy completely drained from his body. When the training ended with one of his partners in the hospital almost dead, the decision to make him an enemy was already right.

It was strange to think about it at that moment, because since then he's been thinking about you. The woman who was there, in front of him, smoking a cigarette with the worst of expressions as she listened to the man without any dignity of his own talking about something with such propriety. Horacio wondered if you had feelings for the man, at least one that was good. If the two of you fought a lot, if you found out what was happening in Bogotá, if there was any connection of affection.

He suddenly felt bad for being hard on you at first, even though there was a part of him telling him that he wasn't the worst man you'd ever faced in your life.

“So basically the three of us are going to be playing with dolls while you guys do the work?” Your voice was so full of rancor that everyone was surprised, except your father, who just sighed with his hands on his hips.

“That was the deal.”

“The 'deal' was collaborative work. I know it may seem like a difficult term for you to understand, but no one here has been scratching their own ass all the time. You are here for what we achieved.”

There was a unique silence in space; everyone agreed with you, that was a fact, and the dissatisfaction was shared enough that no one tried to appease it.

You took more of the cigarette and looked him straight in the face, not hesitating for a microsecond with your defiant gaze. Tough girl, that was Carrillo’s thought while watching the scene - he needed to resist the urge to smile at it, to say you’re doing just fine right then and there, wearing the pants and giving your father shit.

“We don't have to go into that merit.”

“Oh, I think we do,” Your answer was sharp and fast. “What do you think we’re doing here, basically?”

“I can't risk putting agents unprepared for an operation of this size,” He crossed his arms over his chest, just as tough as you. “Considering the recent episodes of how your so-called great job led you all, I’m more than sure that this discussion isn’t necessary.”

There was a second silence, much stronger and more intense than the first time, because everyone understood what it meant and it was a subject no one wanted to discuss. It was his plan, after all, and he sure as hell used it as a weapon to disarm your aggressive behavior.

It sounded unfair. Carrillo couldn't be the only one to think that, mainly because everyone was involved and there were still the marks of the attack on your body. How could someone who wasn't there, who didn't know what you were doing with some competence, act like that? How could a father limit himself to calling his own daughter incompetent when she almost died?

“What happened with Juan Marcos was…” Javier tried to speak but you interrupted him right away.

“Say what you mean.”

“You know what I mean.”

“So let's be clear, maybe no one here has seen how cowardly you are to use this against all of us.”

“It's not a question of cowardice, it's a question of safety to make sure you don't get all lit up to do grown-up work and risk all the work trying to play heroin,” The tone your father used was bitter, full of anger and loud enough for everyone to listen. Carrillo clenched his fists at it; Javier and Steve looked between you and the man in silence. “So no, you are not going to make part of this and be thankful to have the right to be sitting here right now.”

Yes, there was a third silence, and even though there wasn't a hint of tears on your face, it was obvious that you were hurt by it. You held a disappointed expression, fingers fiddling with the still-lit cigarette between them, jaw clenched - it was like a bucket of cold water right in the middle of your face. Who was he to talk about incompetence? Who was he to treat you like that in front of everyone?

Carrillo once again resisted the urge to go to you when he saw you sigh, put out your cigarette in the ashtray on the table, and brush the ashes off your pants.

“... Peña and Murphy have experience in this type of operation. Technical knowledge doesn't trump field experience, at least not here, so consider the possibility for the sake of your team. If that's what you want.”

The colonel's mind and tongue worked before he could stop it.

“No.”

Everyone looked at him in confusion, including you, but since word was out, he stared at the table for a while before facing your father specifically.

“This won't work if we don't come to a consensus.”

“Colonel, the situation is more delicate than it appears.”

“I was there wiping the blood off your daughter’s face when they tried to kill her, and despite our differences I assure you that my trust is in every person in this room.” The decision in his voice made your father squint. “We're here to strategize, so be it, but with all due respect I'd rather have someone I know watching my back than a bunch of southern men who've only seen Colombia on postcards.”

To say that there was one more moment of silence was a bit obvious, but Carrillo could see the same feeling of anger emanating from his father as the time he had challenged him years ago, when his body was leaner and his confidence more precocious.

That time nobody said anything because it was an unusual attitude; not the retaliation, but the fact that he was defending you from an awkward situation and using as an argument the fact that he trusted not only you, someone he had reservations about, but Steve, who was hardly in his favor even afterward so long. Maybe that surprised your father too, maybe he knew the two of you didn't get along in plain sight, but that logic made the work dynamic in the name of the mission.

That didn't include the fact that you were sharing a bed with him at times. This was a secret justification that only surfaced in the exchange of glances you had as Carrillo watched everyone for a brief moment and saw you with a dumbstruck expression.

“By land and by air. We're going to need communication all the time,” He nodded at the map on the table nonchalantly, leaning against it to refocus on the plane and ignore the amount of stares directed at him.

If you squeezed his forearm gently and smiled discreetly after that, probably as a way of showing some sort of good reaction to what he said, Carrillo tried not to feel satisfied with his own self.

-----------------------------

“How does it work?”

Horacio looked up in time to see your father with both hands in his pants pockets, looking at him with a curious expression. It was already night, a little late to have so many employees in the Search Bloc building, so he looked between the man standing in front of him and the door, ready to ask why he was there.

“This thing between you and her. What kind of strategy is there between you to make everything so smooth?” He talked about you as if you were a stranger, which made Carrillo particularly angry.

“My strategies are limited to my work. I do what has to be done.” The answer came politely, even as the colonel continued to stare at the revised plan on his desk.

“I know her well enough to know that she is not easy.”

“Me neither.” You neither, he thought.

“But she's not what you were when we first met,” This caught Carrillo's attention, and he raised his head again with a frown. “I brought her up to the strict function of doing a fucking decent job. Nothing out of the ordinary. What happens is that there is a difference between learning and putting learning into practice.”

“She handled the situation pretty well on her own, she's been doing it since she got here.”

“Being attacked by a narco three times her size isn't handling the situation pretty well, Colonel. You know this more than I do, we come from the same place.”

Once again, Horacio held his tongue so as not to say anything else he regretted; instead, he abandoned the focus of the documentation on the desk and leaned back in his chair, staring at your father as if the man's words were an insult - because they were.

“When your daughter arrived here, I almost committed the indiscretion of writing a complaint to the Embassy. I thought like you. I figured she would be a spoiled brat who came from the right place to the wrong fight and particularly that lasted longer than ideal.”

He paused just to remember you two on his bed sharing a cigarette, then your face while negotiating with the Montoya boy.

“I've seen too many men die to understand the weight of what these motherfucker narcos are putting on my country, agent, and I've come to recognize what I really value in a team that has the same ideals as I do.”

Dissatisfied and unconvinced by the answer given by Carrillo, your father moved with some discomfort and scoffed.

“And what ideals would those be?”

“Among other things, being ready to not pull the trigger.”

Which sounded very unusual to both of them. Not pulling the trigger? Did they really believe in this philosophy in the midst of the hell created by Escobar? Well, there you were, right? Talking to a boy sold into the drug trade, asking about a man you barely knew as you nearly died at the hands of Juan Marcos, giving up work with your father if it meant seeing your partners get recognition.

This was the kind of sense of morality that put both of them to the test of their convictions. Vocalizing it made Carrillo realize that he loved it about you - and that your father hated it.

“Balance then.”

“Yes. Balance.” Horacio nodded, already going back to his papers. “I would rest if I were you, by the way. None of us are in the physique of those years ago, we better be fine for tomorrow.”

With no direct response to the brief provocation, Carrillo smirked when he heard the office door close after a brief 'good night' and thought that, at least that way, your father had received a dose of humility he so deserved.

---------------------------------

The idea was not for Horacio to show up at your apartment so late, or to show up there anyway. It wasn't part of the plan. But Javier and Steve weren't there in the building and he wanted to know how you were, which took you by surprise when you saw him standing there in the doorway.

“I thought you were going to stay in the office all night to check the details.” You said with a frown of yours, closing the door and standing considerably close to him in the small space of your corridor.

“Changed my mind.”

“... Why?”

“You know why.”

It was a thought that lasted half a second and you only had this delay because the whole situation with your father was stressful, like there wasn't a single obvious possibility for what you two could do alone in that apartment. God knew how great it would be to have a good distraction from all that shit.

Without further questions or doubts, he pulled you by the hem of your sleep shorts and grabbed your neck for a hot kiss. The first contact of your body with his made you sigh, considering he was still chilled by the night air and you had slipped out from under the covers. It wasn't so uncertain; Carrillo has come to know your body well enough to have an idea of where to start.

A hand on your neck, the other grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek without a single reservation. That would be the style of it: messy, intense, necessary.

“No panties?” He whispered against your mouth after biting your bottom lip, pupils dilating with desire as he used the same hand to massage your buttock.

“As if you liked me that much with it.”

“Remembering the important things... Really sexy, you know?”

You had to lead him to your room, so you took him by the hand to lead him to the more discreet and simple bed that adorned the small space. He'd already shed his shirts and boots by the time you climbed into bed, and the sight of his bare torso had you biting your lip before pulling him by his belt closer.

With a bite to his left breast, he growled; when repeating the process on the right side, he grabbed your hair by the back of your neck and pushed you away, which made you smile before having your mouth attacked by another kiss, this time more intense. You were two angry people, frustrated with the day, impatient with the lack of contact recent events had created, wanting more than what appeared to be just a glimpse of what you could do with the other.

This time you didn't let him rip any of your clothes off and he chuckled at your haste to get rid of the tank top you were wearing. When your hand stopped his motion to lean towards the bed, he lost some of that humor to confusion, but before he could ask, you wrapped your arms around his neck and draped your torso over his. The contact made him hiss, just to moan lowly at the way your nipples brushed on his, creating a delicious friction.

All that was left for him was to grab your waist and let you enjoy it as much as he did, while you watched every inch of the man's reactions with a smirk. It was your turn to pull him by the hair at the back of his neck, taking his attention from your breasts so he could kiss you.

The rest was improvised, he didn't even take all his pants off and you only pulled out one side of the shorts as soon as you both lay on the mattress; the garment was hanging from your leg as he put your knees on his shoulders and entered you in one fell swoop. That poor bed, miserable and cheap compared to his, creaked more than anything with the movements of his hips, the simple headboard hitting the wall with such force of the thrusts.

You were left to surrender to the moment, eyes closed to focus on the sensation of that moment and your mind lost in the pleasure he was providing you. He literally started to pound inside of you, making your voice weak in moans and whimpers, surrendered by that intercourse that took you to a strong and magnificent orgasm.

“... Where?” Was all Carrillo managed to say as he panted above you, pulling his face from your neck to look into your eyes as he asked.

“Inside,” You said with a mewl, legs still shaking from your high. “I want you inside.”

Perhaps on other occasions he would say something quite indecent, but hearing you say that seemed enough for him to spill his cum all over your pussy, groaning loudly at the sensation of filling you so good just like that.

It was like getting rid of a giant weight.

You and him, surprised as if the sex between you hadn't felt so good already, as if the weight of his body on top of yours was new. There was no other thought in that moment, just the certainty that that protective instinct could be a reality and he was making sure he would use his words and his body to make sure you were okay.

Dammit, you thought. It only took a man like that to appear in your life that you could already feel that idea in your fingertips, between the breath of post-sex and your mind coming back to reality.

That's what I was looking for.

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Glossary

ELN: The National Liberation Army of Colombia (Ejército de Liberación Nacional) is a Colombian guerrilla organization,[1] of communist inspiration and political-military character, created in Simacota on July 4, 1964, by Fabio Vasquez Castaño, inspired by the successful experience of the Cuban Revolution.

---------------------------------

No pressure tags

@cheesybadgers

@padbrookcottage

#horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo #colonel carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo fic #narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #maurice compte

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thedavesnews · 5 months

Text

Didneyland Debut

Disney Resort #3 in the books. Still funny to me California came after Paris. Then again, had Covid not shut the world down it still world have been 3rd as I was training to run the Castle to Chateau (a half-marathon in both Paris and one of the US Disney parks in a calendar year). I guess I was just destined to visit Paris 1st.

Both Paris and Anaheim versions of the Disney Resort have 2 parks built in walking proximity from each other and a central shopping/hotel area. It's a great design if you are staying on property. The transportation within Anaheim on a regular business day was very manageable. Our hotel provided a heads up on the bus system which we didn't use the 1st day opting to walk to the nearest Disney parking lot (Toy Story) and taking that shuttle as many other local non-Disney hotel guests were doing.

The rides themselves for the most part were better in Disneyland except for Big Thunder Mountain and Jungle Cruise. California's Jungle Cruise was short. This doesn't make it bad per say but it makes it not the best version although our skipper was funnier than some I've had in other parks. I was pleasantly surprised for the most part regarding the resort itself. For all the heads up I got that Disneyland was small and both days were half days I really don't know what you're doing in the parks. We missed things and we spent FULL days in both with Genie+ getting us expedited access to rides.

Here's the other part of that...the lines in DL were SHORTER than anything we see in WDW these days. 30 minutes seemed to be the average longest time I saw. Obviously there were outliers but those notwithstanding lines were reasonable, IMO. Had we more time Genie would have been an after thought likewise to WDW where we have AP and can do a single ride here and there as we want.

For all the goods DL has over WDW their app and physical security are just awful, truly and abysmally awful. The scanners at the entrances are most likely from the original opening. Do the parks not share technology updates? I'm legitimately asking. This caused so many issues on run day (that update coming in a different post) and having to take things out of pockets, including my medal, was kind of embarrassing since I know there are better ways.

Also, the app. Why is the app so bad. You can't add friends/family without having to know their ticket numbers which is an incredibly cumbersome way to link your party together. That and you have to scan barcodes instead of tapping the turnstile. DL does at least use Magicbands so that's a plus over Paris. I'm assuming for the app it's a privacy law thing? I can't explain why it's so bad other than it's not allowed to have the connections allowed in other states. Even the race announcers talked about it on the stage. I love the mouse but I'm also fair in pointing out the flaws.

Obviously there we positives from the visit as noted above but let's see what else we enjoyed! The Incredicoaster was so amazing. Perfect theming and the queue video talking about the retheme was 4th wall breaking but also really funny. Violet seemed miffed and Edna was just taking it stride which kind of seems against her don't look back mantra. Honestly, the entire Pixar Pier was gorgeous. I got to see it at night and lit up my words will not do it proper justice but you can find photos online of it I'm sure.

Characters just roam around in DL and that was something that we're not used to seeing. At WDW those handlers are extremely tethered keeping everyone back until the character reaches the proper location for the official line to get their moment. I liked the random encounters we had and the characters just took it in stride. Maybe it's the culture at DL. Maybe it's just a different clientele? I never saw any issues with it in DL like I've seen in WDW. Then again, Photo pass was few and far between in DL as well. Most cast members took personal photos with your own phone/camera for free. Refreshing but also odd. It's not like Disney to miss out on a way to monetize guests. They sure as hell don't miss that in WDW.

Anaheim doesn't allow fireworks during the week. If Orlando tried to enforce we'd riot. DL was dumb enough to have a mug that said "It's all about fireworks" when they don't even have them. So dumb. If they won't do fireworks they should consider going the route of Paris and have drone shows. Honestly, the drone shows in Paris were killer. It was innovative and fit a culture that isn't obsessed with blowing shit up.

All the said I want to see if I can compare the parks I've been to thus far and update once park 4 happens. Which park would be #4? Shanghai is the currently leader. All because of Zootopia. If you didn't know that and you're reading this...you either don't know me or haven't read enough of my entries :P

Best of from my current experiences at 3 Disney Resorts

Big Thunder - Paris Pirates - DL Space Mountain - Paris (did not get to ride Land's version) Security - WDW Shopping - WDW Nighttime Show - WDW (Happily Ever After) Hotel - WDW (Polynesian cause Moana...) Castle - Paris Haunted Mansion - DL with Nightmare overlay Philharmagic - WDW Soarin - WDW (over the world) This is just one person's opinion but I'd like to think it's valid since I've done 3 parks and have seen the various cultures that go with them. In either event I'm going to do a post on the return of RunDisney to Disneyland. Make sure to come back and give it a read!

-Dave

Adventure awaited

#disney #disneyland #california #review

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blackolivejazz · 2 years

Text

EYE ON MANHATTAN 2022

March 23, 2022

My return to New York is realized. After 25 years at Stanford, I am finally able to downsize, teaching occasional workshops and online coaching.

A nature fanatic, it is time to observe HUMAN nature, in all stages.

There is so much to see…for free. Walking miles every day, enamored by the architecture, the parks, the museums…amused by tiny snippets of conversation in all sorts of languages. As I sat alone last night in a French restaurant, the men next to me spoke in heavy accents on weighty topics, cosmic and tragic. I was 2 feet away. They did not censor.

Most are kind, some are nasty, some dangerous, desperate, lonely, lame, begging, rushing, dragging, strutting. I love the ages, the outfits, the strides, the attitudes. The lamp repairman teases me, the wine merchant sulks, the dog pulls on the leash, the child pulls at his mother, the gentleman with the cane holds his head high, the waiter serves or ignores, the bus driver scowls, or says, “you’re welcome”. The woman in the village sees me staring at two ornate ceiling medallions abandoned on the street and stops to discuss. We are both too small and weak to haul them home. We surrender and say farewell to the found treasure and to each other.

I joyously glide across the avenues, then stop abruptly to see a struggling soul, full of pain, barely surviving. What is to be done? Why am I so full of life, and this being hardly living?

I am so grateful. And as I age, every moment seems even more precious, the music, the art, humanity. The world has always been in turmoil…perhaps at this time, more than usual…yet life goes on here in this overcrowded, filthy, gorgeous, starving, delicious, vibrant world called “Manhattan”.

Eye on Manhattan

April 2, 2022

I am not purely romantic about New York. I know the dangers. The screamers of the underground and above ground. The guy who leers at me in the desolate late subway tunnel …clearly disturbed. I clutch my alarm, quicken my pace, desert him, vow to take a taxi next time. He looks slightly disappointed. The hustlers on the corners who try to draw me into their scams. I am frequently troubled by what I see on the street…a man howling incoherently, waving his arms about, threatening those near him. A panhandler who follows me cursing when I pass without contributing. A bunch of teens, violently taunting each other, too close to me on the sidewalk. I cross. The dog walkers, who let their dogs pee right in the center of the sidewalk, streaming urine in my path.

To counter these aggressions, I marvel at the kindness of so many.

The woman in Target on Broadway where I am shopping for moisturizer—she advises me against harmful ingredients in the bottle I hold. She tells me about a body scrub—have I seen it? have I heard of it? She got in Israel…dead sea salts…all natural…I must find it …I must try it...she extolls the glories of its benefits. She insists for a full five minutes. I finally break away, with a smile on my face. A dear, lonely creature, trying to save my skin.

At the post office. A woman in line…She was born in Manhattan, went to Florida for a wedding. Didn’t like it. Couldn’t WAIT to get back home. I finally get to the counter. An exhausted cranky worker behind the counter finally smiles when I address her as “Ma’am”.

“Chuck” who lives in my building, tries to pick up a large delivery for me. It is too heavy. He sincerely apologizes for his ineptitude. He gets the Super, who carries it up. He will NOT accept a tip. “Chuck” explains I can call him “Charles” or “Charlie”. He will answer to any.

Young woman across the hall introduces herself as “Mary Francis”. She is gorgeous. Has a big noisy party later that night. I don’t mind. It is comforting to me to hear young people having fun. I doze off to the sounds of flirting and laughter.

The movers, Josh and Ishmael, who carry up the dining set I got for free on “next door”. The way they care for it, unwrapping each piece delicately, reassembling it as I watch. I bring them back to put together more furniture—an array of shapes in pieces delivered in boxes with impossible instructions. They arrive early Sunday morning, smiling, speaking softly to each other, solving the wood puzzle. I have a day bed and a desk in 30 minutes.

My paper grocery bag breaks in a sudden squall…rolling oranges everywhere…people run and retrieve, gently handing them to me.

A man shouts out “Watch out Miss!” when I don’t see a motor bike coming out of nowhere in the wrong direction of the lane.

At the train station, a man with a suitcase bound in rope, asks me sweetly, timidly, do I know which train goes to the airport”? He has never been back there since he arrived.

A man sings soul music acapella, loudly on the subway in the seat across from me. He’s good. I’m the only one listening.

My favorite. The young man who befriends me and my girlfriend at the bar. This is the second time we’ve met. I sit at the other end of the bar and he motions us over to join him. I buy him a Miller High Life, his chosen cocktail (“The Champagne of Bottled Beer”). He strikes up a friendly conversation. We laugh raucously at each other’s observations of the other patrons. He lives around the corner, and this is his hang. A gentle, soft-spoken, smiling soul. He makes his self-professed prosperous living in real estate. Quietly, confidentially, he confesses his true artistry to me--he does comics about history. We chuckle at my naivety about the cannabis sellers in Washington Square Park. This cracks him up no end.

He is smitten with the friendly, gorgeous bartender, Pearl. He doesn’t laugh at her. He gazes at her, lovingly. I can’t help but stare at her myself. She wears a simple black halter and jeans with no belt. Her figure is pure Renaissance. Her black hair in a topknot. No makeup. Quintessential youth and beauty. He gives me his number “if you ever need anything”, saying “I am not hitting on you”. This sends me into peals of laughter. He is clearly 27. I say I will be his “drama mamma”.

Why are people so kind in the midst of anonymity and deliberate cruelty? There are so many, nobody knows each other, seemingly, nobody cares about each other…but then, they do. My challenges are simple, ridiculous…minute compared with the rest of the world. However, it reminds me of people in world crisis. How people pull together in support. My eyes moisten in wonder of it all.

Frank and Tina:

Met these two lovely people at the Lexington coffee shop, Tina and Frank. She squeezed into the booth next to me and apologized. They got eggs. I got a fresh turkey on rye. It wasn’t cheap. But I loved it. Then they immediately struck up a friendly conversation. He was a retired judge, she a surgical assistant. They met in high school. She was visiting from Long Island. He lives a block away. They asked all about me. The meal went on and on. Longest turkey sandwich of my life. On my way home a guy screamed at me and called me a child abuser. I got caught in a downpour and my hair reacted as Greek hair does in the rain. I had just had it done. It wasn’t cheap. But I loved it. Just another day in New York.

#nycnights #new york city #new york #kay kostopoulos #manhattan

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tsukishumai · 3 years

Text

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader wc; 2.2k tags; fluff, coworkers to lovers? a/n: quick fic for my bby lol happy birthday tsukki <33

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tsukishima Kei was tired.

Stepping out into the cold, autumn evening, he rubs his hands together in an attempt to warm his frozen fingers. He thinks the blister he feels forming on his pinky toe was a sign for him to get a new pair of shoes, and this fact was solidified by the ache in his arch with each step he took towards the bus stop.

The day had been longer than most. Maybe if he hadn’t let his brother drag him to the gym and play pick-up games last night, then perhaps his body wouldn’t have felt so sore this morning. And if his body hadn’t been so sore in the morning, then he might have had the energy to grab coffee before work, possibly even pack himself a quick lunch. His mood would have presumably been at least mildly better throughout the day, and he had no doubt that he would have been able to continue on with his work swiftly, and efficiently.

But Tsukishima had learned at a young age that things don’t always work out for him the way he wants them to.

He wasn’t trying to be rude when you came to ask him about his tour schedule, but did you have to burst through his office door so loudly? He felt bad for 2.3 seconds as he watched your smile slowly melt into a frown, but he was way too irked when you rolled your eyes at him when he asked you to knock.

And it wasn’t his fault that he bought the last tuna onigiri from the food stand outside the museum. He forgot to pack lunch, and he was hungry, too. He probably shouldn’t have unwrapped and eaten it right in front of your face, but he doesn’t appreciate getting dirty looks for ordering a meal.

You’re newer to the museum, he knows that. As someone with seniority, he should be a little more helpful, and he could probably work on improving his sociability just a tiny bit, but his patience could only run so thin. It’s not like you ever listened to him anyway.

Should he have told you to figure out the volunteer’s schedule on your own because ‘even a monkey with a banana could do it on their own’? Okay, maybe not.

But did you have to snap at him to ‘keep the stick up his own ass and leave yours alone’ when he warned your tours took too long, and you’d end up leaving late? No, and that’s the last time Tsukishima will ever try to offer advice to a newbie.

Tsukishima sighed. He was tired.

His stomach growled out loud as he pressed the button for the crosswalk, slowly moving to rub his palm along his belly. He’s wondering if he has anything he could make at his apartment. When an image of a rotting bunch of scallions and moldy tomatoes dying in his refrigerator drawer comes to mind, he thinks he’s probably better off grabbing a bento from the convenience store down the street.

The light switches from red to green, and just before Tsukishima steps down from the curb, he feels an arm delicately wrap around his own.

“Hey, babe,” a familiar, annoyingly cheery voice greets him, and he has to stop himself from grimacing when he looks down and his eyes meet yours.

Tsukishima doesn’t think you’ve ever touched him once — not in the last six months since you’ve become his coworker. He had bowed when you were first introduced, and Tsukishima had never been one to hand out hugs or high fives.

He attributes the deep blush that spread across his cheeks to this fact, and not to the feeling of your chest pressed tightly against his side.

“What the —“

“You almost left without me,” you pouted, and Tsukishima nearly tripped over his feet when you swing your body around to switch positions with him, “You’re so silly!”

“Uh,” Tsukishima stammers at the situation at hand, but he stills when he feels your grip tighten painfully around his bicep, and your eyes narrow and widen.

From behind your shoulder, Tsukishima sees it.

The streets were not too crowded, but they weren’t empty. From both sides of the sidewalk, Tsukishima watched as people silently walked past each other in a valiant effort to get home.

This was why Tsukishima almost didn’t notice the man standing beside the lamp post just fifteen feet back, his face half covered by a mask, hoodie pulled all the way over his head with the bill of a black hat just peeking out.

Tsukishima’s blood ran cold when he realized the man is watching you clutch onto him, and Tsukishima does not react when he can feel your nails dig through the material of his sweater.

A look of panic briefly flashes in your eyes when Tsukishima places his hand on top of yours and gently pulls your grip off his sleeve.

“You’re going to ruin my sweater,” Tsukishima mumbles as he drags his hand down the length of your arm and intertwines his fingers with yours. Your mouth drops open in shock when he gives your hand a tight squeeze, “Sweetie.”

He doesn’t wait for you to regain your composure before he drags you across the street. As soon as Tsukishima’s foot lands on the other curb, he glances back at the direction from which you came.

The capped-man was now slowly walking forward, reaching the crosswalk just as the light turned red once more.

Tsukishima quickened his pace down the silent sidewalk, globes of orange light shining down each lamp post you walked past. You said nothing of the sweat that accumulated between both of your nervous palms, still gripping onto Tsukishima’s hand tightly. The size of it nearly engulfs your own, and your hold on him was the only thing allowing you to somewhat keep up with the pace of his strides.

“My bus stop is right over there,” you mumble quietly, and Tsukishima silently thanked the gods you were going the same direction.

He could feel your fingers trembling against his, and Tsukishima gives you a light squeeze.

He wasn’t sure what to do. He was never one to comfort another, and he had never really been in a situation before. But something akin to an ember of rage had been stoked within him as soon as he saw some strange man’s greedy little eyes stuck on you.

The bus arrived just five minutes later, and Tsukishima stayed close behind as you climbed inside. You were lucky enough to find two vacant seats, and you slid into the one beside the window. Tsukishima occupies the aisle seat, stretching his legs out slightly as he watches the stream of people entering and leaving the bus.

It was after an old woman carrying groceries clambered into a seat behind the bus driver did Tsukishima notice him.

He sat by the very front while the two of you occupied seats in the back. A pair of sunglasses now completely masked all of his features, but Tsukishima didn’t need to see his eyes to know who they were trained on.

When you look up at him, dazed and slightly terrified, he gives you a tight-lipped smile. He lets go of your hand, and his heart breaks a little when he sees your eyes dart around in panic. Wordlessly, he reaches over and wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you close into his side.

You had always been so hot-headed — loud, and passionate, and animated about everything that you do. Tsukishima had known you were trouble from the moment you rearranged one of his displays without even thinking about consulting him, and you had honestly been a headache ever since. You challenged him at every turn, corrected him when he didn’t ask for it, and it was obvious to Tsukishima that you were much too big for him to handle.

But at the moment, feeling so small as you trembled tucked beneath his arm, Tsukishima could only think that he never wanted to see you like this ever again.

His heart crumbles a little when you rest your head against his shoulder.

“So,” Tsukishima’s voice vibrated against your cheek, “The tours ran a bit too long today, didn’t they?”

Tsukishima bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing when you turn your head to face him, an incredulous expression decorating your features.

“Is now really an appropriate time for an ‘I told you so’,” You hissed, “You never miss a chance, do you?”

Now, a smug smile has fully settled onto his lips, “Never have, never will.”

You land a punch on Tsukishima’s wide open ribs, and he flinches to the side with a slight ‘oof’. But he tightens his arm around you even more. Swirls of pine and citrus began to calm your nerves, and it took you too long to realize you were inhaling Tsukishima’s cologne. He smelled as clean as he looked, and even after a full day of work, not a single hair of his was out of place.

Your stop was four after Tsukishima’s. He carried your bag from your shoulders as you climbed out of your seat. He stepped aside to allow you to lead the way, but Tsukishima’s chest was nearly pressed against your back with how closely he followed behind.

You hadn’t expected Tsukishima to follow you this far, and as you walked a few steps towards the direction of your apartment, you turned to thank Tsukishima for his aid.

You whip your head side to side when you find that he was no longer walking behind you, curious to see that he was waiting two feet away from the bus’ exit.

You briefly wondered what he was waiting for, and your heart shattered down to the ground when you see the familiar stranger that had been following you since you exited your office building slowly step out.

You didn’t even notice him climb onto the bus. Had he really been there the entire time? Oh god, was he planning to follow you all the way home? Your head begins to spin at the dangerous possibilities that could have unfolded.

“Are you lost?” Tsukishima’s voice was cold and stern, and you could hear it clearly from where you stood.

You watched as the hooded man jolted, clearly shocked at the question directed to him. His face still remained perfectly hidden, but you could tell from his body language that he was not expecting to be addressed.

Tsukishima towered over him, but his six foot five stature had towered nearly everyone. The eyes behind his dark-rimmed glasses were narrowed in a glare, and Tsukishima stayed planted in front of your intruder.

“Oh — uh, i— no, just —“

“It’s that way,” Tsukishima didn’t wait for the man to finish his stammering, pointing a long finger towards the opposite direction of your home.

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He twirled on his heels, looking over his shoulders only to see Tsukishima watch as he walked away into the night.

You were frozen, mouth hung so wide open, you were pretty sure bugs had flown in. Tsukishima makes his way back to you, stopping to wrap his arms around your shoulders once again. He tilts his head down at you, looking softly as he asks, “Which way?”

You were at a loss for words, choosing instead to simply lead the way. Tsukishima remained draped over you, like a blanket of protection warding off all evil.

The silence that engulfed the two of you felt comfortable, and on any other day, you might have been appalled to be in such close contact with Tsukishima Kei.

But today, you felt safe. You felt comfort, and relief, and you relax against him, perfectly protected under Tsukishima’s wing.

You sneak a glance up at him, biting your lip as you turn the words you want to say over in your head.

“Tsukishima,” you start, chewing on your lips, “Thank yo—“

“My last tour is usually at 4:45,” he interrupts you, squeezing his hand on your shoulder, “I try to catch up on some paperwork before leaving but…”

He trails off, and you stay silent in fear of ruining what he’s trying to tell you.

He shifts his head away from you as he says, “If you wait for me, I could walk you home.”

You stop in your tracks, looking up at him with a smile. Tsukishima pointedly avoids your gaze, but it’s difficult when he’s keeping you pinned beside him.

“I’d like that,” you mumble before pointing back at the apartment building he hadn’t noticed, “This is my place.”

Tsukishima finally deigns to let you go, stepping back and brushing his fingers through his hair.

“Shorten your tours,” he grumbles out, turning his body back the direction from where he came, “And don’t forget to itemize each piece that comes in for the Date Masumane exhibit tomorrow.”

You stare at him dumbfounded before bursting out in giggles, bringing your hand up in a mock salute.

“I owe you one,” you call out, watching him retreat back from where he came.

He waves you off.

“I like black coffee,” he calls back over his shoulder, “Do what you will with that information.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

rbs v appreciated <33

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima kei x you #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei x y/n #tsukishima kei drabbles #tsukishima kei fluff #tsukishima kei scenarios #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima kei imagines #tsukishima imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! x reader

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jingerhead · 3 years

Note

Hi!! So for prompt ideas I’ve always wanted to know more about Neil’s time on the run, and how some habits might have translated to his daily life with the Foxes. You can’t tell me he doesn’t just do weird shit sometimes based on the conditioning his mom drilled into him for years. Oh and also the Foxes general reaction to these things. Thanks!!!

Ooooooo I really like this one! So my brain goes straight to some basics, like sleeping habits we know he has with an arm under the pillow and stuff. Maybe he hoards food, it takes him a long time to get more things than he can carry, checks for exits and keeps his body angled so he can get to them instead of being backed into a corner or something.

But listen imagine the possibilities of Neil knowing how to do parkour.

He can run and climb buildings and get to any exit he needs to, so he's super good at scaling walls and has a good eye for spotting unlocked doors and windows. He's flexible, can flip and roll at just the right moments, and he does it so effortlessly. And this is something I've been thinking of forever:

Wymack was furiously talking on the phone, but it sounded like it was more to himself than anyone on the other end. The rest of the foxes were talking quietly to each other, all with different levels of worry. Kevin seemed to have the most, probably because the keys to the bus were locked in an office. Andrew would offer to help, but he'd much rather not have to go to the game that night, so instead he stuck near his people and played with a cigarette box.

"Stop it," Kevin finally hissed. "This is serious."

Andrew only rattled the box more in response, which finally got Kevin to walk away from him. He decided to look at Neil to pass the time, who was staring up at the office building with an intense look. He didn't seem worried, more like he was glaring angrily at the second story window that might be the place the keys to the bus were.

"Well, this is great," Wymack said with a fake grin as he turned towards the team, clapping his hands once. "Nobody can get here until ten."

"Four hours?" Dan and Kevin asked, sounding equally appalled.

"Yup! Someone decided to take a surprise vacation."

If they couldn't get the keys until ten, then they wouldn't be able to get to the game on time. Oh, the horror, Andrew thought, glancing back at Neil, who finally turned back around. "The second story window is unlocked," he seemed to report.

Wymack raised one eyebrow. "And?"

"I can climb up the gutter," Neil said, pointing, "and get to the window."

Everyone was quiet as they listened. Andrew wanted to watch Neil do it, because even if he fell flat on his ass it would be entertaining. Wymack clearly debated for a moment before finally asking, "Without breaking anything?"

"Yes."

"Then do it."

Neil didn't hesitate: he turned and ran towards the building with long strides, hands gripping the gutter to pull himself up until his feet found something to stand on - by his toes Andrew was pretty sure - and then Neil swiftly opened the window and rolled inside. Andrew hated his memory most of the time, but not now, when he could replay Neil scaling a wall like it was nothing over and over again.

A moment later, the front door opened. Neil nodded inside, and Wymack followed him in. Everyone seemed stunned to silence, only asking questions that went unanswered after the two came back out of the building. Next thing Andrew knew, they were on the bus to the game. "Haven't you ever heard of not reminding the teacher there's homework due, Neil?" he asked as the bus pulled away from campus. Neil just rolled his eyes and didn't bother arguing. Andrew held his head up with one hand and stared back at Neil from his seat. "Where'd you learn to do that, Rabbit?"

"Had to learn a lot of things," Neil said back vaguely.

"Hm," Andrew hummed, letting the matter go for now.

Tell me a prompt or something you wish I'd write :)

#aftg #aftg wip #aftg fanfic #jinger's works #andreil #andreil wip #andreil fanfic #tfc #tfc fanfic #tfc wip #all for the game #all for the game wip #all for the game fanfic

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oreoambitions · 3 years

Text

Previous Draft // Ao3

The courthouse doors open with a bang, and the sound of conversation tumbles out of the atrium and onto the courthouse steps. Security flanks Lena on either side, two uniformed bodies ahead to break the crowd, two behind to keep it from closing in around her. Lena keeps her head up, confident in the knowledge that she will appear to take this all in stride. In truth, she crosses the atrium in a sort of daze.

There are moments in a person’s life when time sticks and stutters, moments that linger beyond their natural boundaries, that creep and haunt and niggle at the mind. As she steps out through the courthouse doors, she understands that this is one of them. Time hesitates for her even as she passes into the chaos of lights and cameras outside, towards the waiting crowd of journalists shouting over one another in a fashion not conducive to anyone’s questions ever actually getting answered.

For an instant she’s back on the witness stand: the defense is demanding Supergirl’s name, and the judge is not intervening; the words I plead the fifth are heavy on her lips. That moment has passed, and it hasn’t. There will be ripples. All Lena can do about it now is try to keep those ripples to a minimum, for Kara’s sake; she must say nothing to anyone until they’ve had a chance to talk alone.

“Ms. Luthor.”

The officer at her side encourages her forward, not quite touching her back with one hovering hand. Lena realizes with a start that she’s paused halfway down the courthouse steps. At the bottom, Supergirl drops out of the sky in a dramatic, press pleasing fashion. That soft warm smile is another echo of the courtroom, and Lena is reminded that Kara intentionally slipped out of the courthouse another way and circled back for the cameras. Lena has, rather uncharacteristically, committed a critical error in a critical moment, and now Kara is covering for her with theatrics.

It’s working. The cameras turn on Kara as Lena makes it down the last few steps and into her waiting embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she begins, half stumbling as Kara pulls her close, closer than usual, one hand hot at the back of her neck.

Kara turns her shoulder to shield Lena from the bulk of the cameras. “Not here,” she murmurs, so low that Lena is almost not certain she’s heard it. And then Kara pulls back, not quite far enough, and Lena is acutely and self-consciously aware of the sound of camera shutters snapping all around them, the closeness of Kara’s body, the gut wrenching feeling that the eyes of the nation are on them and the stage lights are all lit up and she doesn’t know her lines.

The judge should have intervened. Her mind keeps catching on that point, on the heavy pause in the courtroom, Kara’s expressionless face, the pounding of her own heart, the irrelevance of the question. It feels as though if she stays in that moment long enough, pictures it clearly enough, the judge will step in and this story will play out another way.

Time, of course, does not work like that. It stutters and sticks only in her mind, while in the real world the press clamors and Kara’s cape flutters in the quickening wind.

“I’m so proud of you,” Kara is saying, her voice pitched so that the waiting journalists might catch words that, God willing, sound hollow to Lena’s ears only. “You were amazing in there.”

Lena is thinking about what the headlines are going to say tomorrow. Luthor and Super: Partners in More Than Crimefighting. Or perhaps, Luthor Makes False Marriage Claim on Witness Stand, Investigation to Follow.

Kara cups Lena’s face with one hand, and she snaps back to reality. She has about half a breath to catch up with what’s happening before Kara is closing the distance between them, and she hates to be a walking cliche, but oh. This is not how she has imagined their first kiss might go - not that she’s ready to admit to anyone except maybe Sam that she’s imagined their first kiss at all - and for a sickening second she feels nothing but regret. But then Kara’s lips are on hers, softer than her imagination has ever accounted for, and Lena is melting into her, kissing her back just at the edge of what might be considered chaste.

It’s an act, of course. If Lena’s heart flutters where she knows perfectly well Kara can hear it, can feel it, that’s just the nerves of the whole situation. Kara is, after all, kissing her on the mouth right there in front of God and everybody, shutters clicking all around them, reporters laughing and cheering in the background. It’s not unreasonable to feel a little something; her secret is still safe.

When Kara breaks the kiss, Lena chases after her mouth, and not for show. There’s that soft smile again, lipstick a little smudged, and perhaps she’s imagining things but Kara’s eyes seem warmer than they did before.

Kara drops a second kiss onto Lena’s forehead. “Can I take you home?” she asks, her voice still pitched for the journalists on the steps.

“Please,” Lena replies.

She tucks herself back into Kara’s chest as strong arms close around her. If anyone asks, it’s for the cameras. There’s a car waiting for her, and a driver who will have to be well compensated for the waste of his time, but it’s better if the press sees that she and Supergirl are leaving together, isn’t it? And nothing could be more memorable, more pressworthy, than flight.

And, Lena thinks, it’s better because, selfishly, she wants to prolong this moment of closeness. She wants to soak it all in: Kara’s smell, the brush of her hair across Lena’s cheek, the preparatory breath before takeoff. This is the moment Lena wishes would slow down for her, just this last moment when she can imagine to herself that what happened in the courtroom was a bad dream of little consequence, and that nothing between her and Kara will ever have to change.

///

Kara does not take Lena home. They fly instead over the wide arc of National City’s suburbs and into the foothills, and from there a little further still until they’ve reached the mountains above the city. Kara deposits them in a valley on the leeward side of a low peak dotted half with shrubbery and half with scraggled conifers, the names of which Lena has to admit she does not know. She rubs feeling and warmth back into her arms and resists the urge to ask where they are while Kara paces, the agitation and anxiety in the lines of her body a clear departure from the soft warmth on display outside the courthouse. When she rounds on Lena, it feels like the inevitable fruition of Lena’s mistakes.

“You told them we were married? Lena!”

“Technically I didn’t use those words.”

“Oh okay, so between my wife and my priest, which role did you think the court was going to assume you were alluding to?”

“What was I supposed to say? They had me backed into a corner.”

“It wasn’t relevant to the case! This was about Lilian. It had nothing to do-”

“It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t relevant, because the judge wasn’t intervening. I just- I panicked. I had to say something. I wasn’t going to lie under oath, and even if I were willing, what could I have said? Should I have thrown out some other name, thrown someone else under the bus? And what then, when it became obvious to the nation that I’d lied-”

“Oh, and you thought this was better? What are you going to say when they want proof? There’s no documentation. There was no wedding to document. Supergirl doesn’t exist as a legal entity, you can’t just-”

“Kara, I-”

“It’s just not like you not to think things through.”

They stand there staring at one another, Kara’s jaw clenched, Lena’s arms crossed tight across her chest. The sun is going to go down soon; Lena is already shivering a little in the shadow of the mountain. This is a mess, and it’s a mess of her own making, and she doesn’t know how to unmake it out here in the gathering dark.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I could have - I should have refused to answer. But then they’d have held me in contempt and thrown me in prison. And I’m willing to go to prison for you, Kara, believe me, but then you’d have broken me out because you’re a beautiful idiot, and where would that leave us?”

Kara’s mouth twitches up a little at the corners, and then she laughs outright. “I would have,” she admits. “What a mess that would be.”

“I know I messed up,” Lena offers.

“You were trying to protect me.” Kara scuffs one boot in the dirt. “They’ll try to hit you with perjury charges; you know they will. You might wind up in prison at the end of this anyway.”

Lena nods. She does know this. Some part of her knew it the moment the words I plead the fifth left her mouth, and yet, everything she’s protested to Kara is true. Those words were the only road open to her so long as that judge remained silent.

“Well,” Lena says, “You don’t grow up in the Luthor household without learning a thing or two about the loopholes of the legal system. Burden of proof lies with the prosecution; it would be very difficult to prove that a wedding didn’t happen.”

Kara tsks and turns on her heel to stare out over the valley. “Supergirl isn’t a legal entity. They could challenge you on the grounds that you can’t be legally married to someone who doesn’t legally exist. And if they found a judge more sympathetic to Lex than to you….”

“Not a difficult thing to find,” Lena admits. She stands in the fear and the evening chill for a long moment “I meant what I said, Kara. If I go to prison over this, so be it. Anything to protect you.” Anything for the woman I love, she wants to say, but Kara isn’t ready for that. Might never be ready for that. And neither, truthfully, is Lena.

Kara’s fingers have found the edge of her cape, and now she’s worrying at it in the fading light. She doesn’t look back at Lena for what feels like a long time, and when she does her expression is guarded. “I want you to promise me you’re going to hear me out before you say anything.”

“Okay….” Lena says. She tries to wrestle down her questions, her curiosities, her reservations. Anything for Kara, after all.

Kara takes a deep breath, looking for all the world like she’s readying herself to make a national address. “I have a terrible idea.”

#fake marriage au #redraft!#oreo writes

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pr0dbeomgyu · 3 years

Text

"yeonjun drabble fluff stuck in the rain 🥺"

requested by @beomjundiaries

a/n: heyy thank you for requesting! omg i rlly hope you like this one <3

you let out a sigh, tilting your head upwards towards the dark sky as you felt heavy droplets fell onto your face.

out of all other time, it really had to rain when you're walking home from class. great.

not wanting to get drenched in rain, you took quick long strides to the bus stop nearby, sitting on the metal seat beside a boy. you saw him almost getting up, but sat back down seconds after. his action was indeed questionable, but you just dismissed as him shifting in his seat.

getting bored with scrolling through your twitter feed, you tilted your head a bit, trying to steal a glance at the boy beside you.

shit, he's already staring at you.

feeling a bit uncomfortable, you cleared your throat.

"oh my god, im so sorry. im just trying to figure out why do you look so familiar," he rambled, looking very flustered.

"um, we're literally in the same economics class, yeonjun," you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

"you even know my name?" his eyes widened the moment you said his name, his lips forming a little smile.

"of course i know you, you're THE choi yeonjun. everyone in the faculty knows you," you almost scoffed.

"ah, i see,"

you were never really a fan of popular guys, believing that the stereotype of them are cocky and rude.

and that's why you were surprised when he handed you one of his earbuds.

"i figured you forgot yours or something. wanna share?" he offered a smile, his eyes turning into little crescents.

"um yeah, sure," you took it from his hand. come to think of it, he's really beautiful. his face features are very well defined, his plump red lips looks very inviting.

hell, what are you even thinking? you snickered at your own thoughts as you stopped staring before he could catch your eyes.

it was less boring now, peaceful even. with the music on and the sound of rain in the background, you just realised how much your academic life had taken a toll on you. you havent had a proper rest for almost a week actually, except for the quick naps and 3-hour sleep every night.

swinging your legs, you pushed your head backwards to look at the sky again, this time admiring the beauty of it.

"you holding up okay?" yeonjun searched for your eyes, breaking the silence.

you were caught off guard, it had been a while since someone ever asked you how you're doing. sure, you had friends, but you were too busy to catch up with them.

"im surviving, so i guess i am," you forced a smile.

"you know, sometimes you gotta let things happen. not everything is worth worrying for," he said, keeping his tone as soft as possible, as if if he didnt, you would break. maybe you would, but he didnt need to know that.

what ever he said hits too close to home. you had been worrying over your grades too much, never feeling enough even when you had been studying your ass off.

"yeah, well, you're not wrong," your gaze dropped to your shoes.

without you realising, while you were talking, the rain had gradually came to a halt.

looking at your watch, you finally got up, making your way to stand in front of the boy.

"thanks for this," you handed his earbud.

"also for your words earlier,"

"anytime, y/n,"

he pulled the zipper of his bag, placing the earbuds in it, while getting up. being the clumsy boy he is, the bag which was on his lap fell upside down, most of his things dropped onto the floor.

"damn it," he cursed.

you decided to help him, but of course only after making fun of him. your actions came into a halt when you saw a red umbrella.

picking it up, you asked,

"you had an umbrella all along?"

"uhm, yeah," he answered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"why didnt you use it then?" your eye brows knitted, genuinely confused.

does he like hanging out at weird places like the bus stop?

"i mean, other than being stuck in the rain with you, for what other reason will i get to spend time with you?" he finally replied, after giving it a long thought.

"i-" you were speechless, not really knowing what to say.

"exactly," he sighed in defeat, his eyes finding the ground very interesting.

an uncomfortable silence took over, making you feel like suffocating, so you tried wrecking your brain to say something, anything.

"maybe you can ask me on a date like a normal person would do?" you squeaked.

yeonjun's head snapped up towards you, giving you a boyish smile so beautiful you almost melted right there and then.

"really?"

"really,"

"hm okay, let me walk you home then, y/n," the thrill in his voice very obvious.

"okay," you nodded, leading the way.

"oh, so just now you were staring not because my face was familiar, huh?" you teased, playfully shoving his shoulder with yours.

"yeah, fine, but it's not my fault! i've been having a crush on you since first year y/n," he whined.

#submission #txt #yeonjun #choi yeonjun #yeonjun drabbles #yeonjun fluff #txt fluff #txt drabbles #txt imagines #yeonjun imagines #tomorrow x together

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piecksz · 3 years

Text

starstruck | (m)

pairings: rockstar!eren yeager x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, penetrative sex, fingering, creampie, roughness, drug use, explicit language

words: 4.4k+

summary: you and your friend decide to sneak backstage at your band’s favorite concert and the vip treatment you recieve is more than you bargained for.

inspired by

a/n: you know the drill :p obey (with YUNGBLUD) by bring me the horizon it’s literally not a sexy song so don’t go in listening to it expectin to get horny LMAOO it’s just the kind of sound i imagined eren’s band to have, but it was sexy to me bc the image of rockstar eren tormented me the entire time i wrote this

“I can’t believe I agreed to this. This is fucking crazy.” Your friend’s voice was a fidgety whisper behind you. Her face’s close proximity to the back of your neck had her heavy expiration fanning over your nape every time she opened her mouth to reprimand herself for allowing you to beguile her into illegal trespassing.

“You’re fucking crazy,” she whispered again, tugging the leather sleeve of your jacket with a pesky grip.

You shrugged her touch off of your arm and took a brief glimpse over your shoulder to offer her a sour look. “Can you be quiet? You freaking out is making us look suspicious.” You whisked your head back around, peering around the corner of the vacant merch tent.

“No, us creeping around to sneak onto a fucking tour bus is making us look suspicious,” she retorted.

The corner of your mouth tightened at your friend’s concern and you lifted your hand to give her a dismissive wave. You were astounded when she had originally agreed to your brazen proposal, although it took minutes of incessant pleading for her to actually give in. Her veiled reluctance surfaced the minute you two had separated from the concert’s crowd at the end of the show and snuck around the stage to the back of the venue. What began as her unease and quiet suggestions that maybe your idea wasn’t so smart, intensified into irritating nagging. You gave her the option to turn around and wait for you back at the car, but as your companion, she sighed and remarked that something so stupid couldn’t be done alone.

“I see it,” you said eagerly and with a proud grin. The vehicle was stationed a decent distance from where the two of you had been standing, but you measured the stretch with your eyes and figured that if you walked quickly enough, you’d be able to make it on without being caught.

“How do we even know they’re on it?” Your friend craned her head past yours to get a better view of what you saw.

“We don’t. I’m just guessing.”

“Oh great, that’s exactly the answer I wanted.” She released a tense and quiet laugh before retreating back behind the screen of the tent.

You surveyed the security guards as they patrolled back and forth along the premises, waiting until the coast was clear. Once you noticed an opening, you forcefully grabbed your friend’s wrist, ignoring her silent grunt of protest, and pulled her along. She stumbled into your stride and peered over at you, doing her best to follow your quick feet while mirroring your nonchalant guise.

Closer and closer, the two of you neared the tour bus until it had to have been only yards away. You tried to remain composed through your excitement, making sure you didn’t break your character. No fucking way your plan had actually gone off without a hitch, it almost seemed too easy.

“Hey!”

You kept walking. Maybe the exclamation wasn’t for you, but once the holler was thrown again, your body went rigid, and the tempo of your steps slowed until you stopped in your tracks. The adrenaline that commanded your legs had been substituted for lead and it kept your feet pinned to the ground. You couldn’t even run.

“Hey, you two aren’t supposed to be back here.”

You blinked once, long and hard, before pivoting on your heel. You watched, mortified, as a burly security guard started in your direction and got closer until he loomed over you both with a threatening advantage in height.

He looked even angrier now that you could see the way his thick eyebrows creased together and created a ripple of lines above them that disappeared into a bald head. His hefty arms were crossed against his chest while he glowered down at you two, waiting to hear a story. You could tell your excuse wouldn’t matter though, it was obvious he wasn’t in the mood for jocular conversation.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, we were looking for the bathroom,” you explained, clasping your hands together and feigning an apologetic smile. You turned your head from side to side, looking around innocently to sell your lie, and then looked back up at the guard with a nervous laugh. “And I guess it’s not here.”

Your friend shook her head and said nothing, but you were certain she was drawing up a creative speech in her head, wondering how she would tell you that she “told you so” this time.

“Nice try.” The guard curled his lip angrily. “Come on.” He reached out a thick hand and wrapped it around your bicep while grabbing the back of your friend’s shirt with a crude yank. Your eyes went wide at his hostile grip and you jerked your arm, trying to free yourself of his hold.

“Hey, whoa!” His grip only tightened. “We can walk ourselves!”

The guard forced you two forward, prompting you to walk so he could escort you off the grounds.

“What’s going on?”

You looked up and your writhing ceased. Instead, heat flushed your cheeks and you stood dazed. It didn’t take long before you recognized the owner of the voice because, naturally, you would have been able to recognize him from a mile away, but luckily you didn’t have to. He was right in front of you.

It was Eren, the lead singer and guitarist of the band you had been screaming your heart out to not even an hour ago. He was your favorite member, meaning you’d watched countless interviews and had several pictures of him saved on your phone, but nothing could have prepared you for what he looked like up close. His long brown hair looked like it was still damp with sweat, a sign of his showmanship on stage, and it framed his face in careless wisps and fell loosely past his shoulders. His torso was unclad, showing the dark inkings that adorned his biceps and stretched all the way up his shoulders until they met at the detailed design of wings in the middle of his chest. Dark ripped jeans sat loosely, just below his hips, and teased a peek at deep v-lines that ran underneath the top of his waistband.

You fought off the urge to drop to your knees and pray for how sinfully hot he looked.

Trailing behind him were his bandmates, Armin and Jean, the band’s other guitarists, and Connie, the band’s drummer. You had never seen such an attractive circle of friends where you would have been satisfied taking any of them, and although you avowed to your friend that Connie was hers since she favored him, you absolutely would’ve allowed him to do whatever he wanted to you.

“Caught these two trying to sneak onto the tour bus.” The security guard thrusted you two ahead with an unsatisfied huff, and you shot him a glare.

Eren’s attention dropped from the security guard’s face and drifted over to your friend first before settling on you, eyes sweeping over your face and falling at half-mast. He arched an eyebrow then averted his gaze from your chest.

“It’s cool, let them go.”

“Are you sure?” The security guard’s grip on you loosened, and you pulled out of his hold the minute you felt him unhand you.

Eren shrugged. “Yeah. They can hang.” He quickly dismissed the security guard and casually sauntered past you before disappearing onto their bus.

You glanced over at your friend who looked like she was still in the process of trying to grasp the situation evolving in front of her.

“What kind of assholes turn away fans?” Jean teased, giving you a warm smile before he lifted his half-empty water bottle to his lips.

Connie switched his drum sticks to one hand and slipped them behind his back into his pocket. “You guys are fans, right? You’re not trying to steal a couple of used water bottles to sell online are you?”

You took a lengthy pause and waited for your friend to answer, giving her an opportunity to converse with him, but she said nothing. She just rocked back and forth on her feet, staring at the ground timidly to avoid looking Connie in the eye.

“No,” you answered for her. “I mean yes, we’re fans. Big fans. No to trying to sell your DNA.”

Your response earned a chuckle from Armin and a hearty laugh from Connie while he nodded in approval. “Alright.” He tilted his head in the direction of the bus as though encouraging you two on.

You watched as the rest of the members filed inside, and then your friend seized your hand frantically.

“Holy shit. Y/N, holy shit!” She squealed, and you snorted at her sudden ability to talk once again. “You saw him right? You saw him.” It didn’t take much detail for you to gather that she was gushing about Connie.

“Did you even see him? Your head was down the whole time, you didn’t say a single word to him.”

Your friend’s animated face slackened into a placid expression. “I didn’t trust myself. If I opened my mouth I would have asked him to put me in a headlock.” She exhaled. “Jesus Christ, those arms.” Your goading smile stretched into an amused grin, and you shook your head at your friend’s hysterical behavior.

The inside of the tour bus was much larger than you would have deduced from its seemingly modest exterior. Its floors were dark and polished wood that matched the ceiling, both surfaces lined with subdued yellow light. Aside from the sizable kitchen to your right, large leather couches sat on either side of the lounge area, and stretching to the bus’ rear were dimly lit bunk beds that were half-obscured by a dark curtain.

“Holy shit, this is a house on wheels,” your friend breathed, mouth agape.

“Well we’re on the road most of the time, so it might as well be,” Armin answered, throwing himself into one of the sofas with a labored sigh. He threw his head back in exhaustion and brought his arms up to rest against the top of the couch. “We never caught your names by the way.”

Both you and your friend introduced yourselves, forgoing a proper introduction from the band’s members. You evidently already knew who they were.

Armin smiled. “Nice to meet you guys.”

Jean shuffled through, handing you and your friend a water bottle, which you accepted with much appreciation. You hadn’t taken heed of how thirsty you’d been, and you hadn’t had anything to drink since the concert had started. Even while you swooned in the crowd between sweaty bodies, dehydration threatening to ruin your fun, you’d refused to pay $4 for a beverage.

“Make yourselves at home.” He threw another bottle to Armin.

“Oh no, we’re not planning on staying that long.” Your friend laughed, clutching onto her drink so tightly that the plastic squeaked in her grip.

You nudged her in the ribs with an assertive elbow and said her name quietly through clenched teeth, barely audible enough for the two of you to hear. She looked at you with uncertainty, and you gave her a forced grin.

“Don’t be rude. They said we should make ourselves at home.” You obliged to Jean’s invite, taking a seat in one of the leather cushions.

The situation you were in was a rare opportunity, the type of opportunity you’d only heard from other people, the type of opportunity you’d read fanfiction about in your early adolescence. If anyone told you that you’d be living such an opportunity, you weren’t sure if you’d really believe them, but had you declined to appease your friend’s irrational concern, you knew you’d regret it for years.

“Did you guys enjoy the show?” Connie leaned against the wall of the bus and wedged a rolled stick of paper between his pursed lips. He brought a hand-held lighter to the end of the stick, sparking it a few times with his thumb before a small flame engulfed the thin paper and thick smoke billowed from its tip. It only took a moment before the pungent, herbal stench of marijuana invaded the inside of the tour bus.

“Of course, you guys are amazing.” You nodded, perching yourself up in your seat and clapping your hands together excitedly. “We’ve been trying to see you guys in concert for a long time now.”

Eren fell into the seat beside you, and your body tensed up almost instantly. You’d managed to feign calmness from your first encounter because it had been easy to masquerade your nervousness from a distance, but now that he was even closer, surely he could have heard your heart palpitating against your ribcage. Its beating grew even quicker once Eren sat back and slid his arm behind you to lay it atop the backrest.

“Yeah?” His voice was languid. “What’s your favorite song?”

“That’s a hard question,” you chuckled, suddenly becoming very interested in the sleeves of your jacket. “I seriously don’t know if I can pick just one.” It hadn’t been a hard question at all, but you simply couldn’t think through the smell of his faded cologne and the feeling of his naked chest up against the side of your arm.

“That’s cool,” Eren smiled, but responded plainly. “You smoke?”

Your eyes drifted up to see Eren offering you a partially-burnt joint in between two fingers. He inhaled deeply from his hit and exhaled, a thick white cloud rolling past his lips.

You hadn’t smoked before, and you weren’t an avid consumer of weed. One edible at a party had you manic until your friends had to calm you down in a separate room and reassure you that you weren’t dying, but you still accepted it hesitantly. You brought it to your lips and took a deep draw before erupting into a fit of coughs.

“Easy,” Eren laughed, and his warm hand rubbed the nape of your neck soothingly. He took the joint from your hands and held it towards Armin.

Your chest and throat heaved with the searing sensation of a foreign substance, and your body racked with an incessant wheeze until it was sure it had expelled all of the stuff. Eren beside you thought it was the funniest thing.

“So you guys in college?” Connie asked, this time directing his question to your friend since you clearly couldn’t respond.

She nodded quickly, still avoiding making eye contact with him. He must have noticed and thought it was endearing because the corner of his mouth quirked upward into a knowing smirk.

“Sick,” Eren remarked. “I dropped out of college, but you guys should stay in school, seriously.”

“Don’t worry I have no plans to drop out and become a musician,” you rasped once your coughing subsided.

He paused for a moment and then looked at you. “What about a boyfriend?” His eyes drank you in from bottom to top until he met your clueless stare.

“Do I have a boyfriend?” You blinked, and then the tip of your ears went up in an uncomfortable heat that spread over the side of your face until your skin was aflame with realization. “No.”

“That’s good.” Eren studied you from behind heavy lids and he lingered on your lips, his own spreading into a suggestive grin. “So it’s cool if I do this?”

He leaned in and affixed his lips at the curve of where your jaw met your ear. His mouth was hot and the kiss was wet against your feverish skin. He planted another one lower, against the hollow dip where your neck curved, and then he bent the arm resting behind your head, using his hand to turn your face toward him so that when he tilted himself forward again, he could kiss you without interference. His lips were soft and slow as they commanded your mouth to follow his rhythm, and you withheld a desperate and excited whimper once Eren slipped a seductive tongue past your teeth.

He relaxed another hand on your leg, rubbing slow circles into the top of your thigh while edging closer and closer to the top of your waistband. Once his leisure fingers skimmed over your pants’ button, he skillfully undid the first hole before moving on to your zipper. You made a small sound of protest and pulled back in embarrassment.

“In front of your bandmates?” you questioned in a breathy whisper.

Eren shrugged, looking unfazed. “They don’t care. Nothing they haven’t seen before.”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. He was a goddamn celebrity for crying out loud, had you really thought you were the first girl he brought onto the bus to fuck? And he’d done it in front of his bandmates? You shifted uncomfortably, looking to Armin, Jean, and Connie who were now occupied with showing your friend pictures they’d been sent from professional photographers after past shows.

“I don’t know,” you admitted timidly.

Eren rolled his head to the side, visibly bothered by your response. He glanced over to his bandmates and swept through his locks with a lazy hand. “Hey, why don’t you guys go show her the stage set before they pack up?”

Your friend looked away from the laptop they were gathered around and over her shoulder. “But—.”

Eren’s fingers trailed up and down the side of your neck, clearly eager to resume your previous matters. Were you really about to pass up this chance?

You gave your friend a reassuring thumbs up alongside Eren’s suggestion. “I’ll come find you later.”

It almost seemed like Eren sent his bandmates an unspoken cue, because Connie quickly chimed in before your friend had another turn to object. “Yeah. It’s okay, we’ll take care of you.” He wrapped a tattooed arm around your friend’s shoulder and gave her a friendly shake.

You could almost see the rise and fall of her chest cease, and you actually grew worried for her. It looked like she had nearly died and came back to life, but her stunned face melted into a flustered smile and she laughed sheepishly. “Okay.”

Connie nodded and gave Eren a two finger salute before escorting your friend off the bus with Jean and Armin following closely behind.

Once the door to the bus closed Eren shifted his attention back to you.

“There. Problem solved.” His green eyes had darkened and clouded over with desire again. “You feel better?”

“I guess,” you murmured.

You didn’t get a second chance to speak because Eren’s lips coupled to yours once more, and his hands continued against your zipper before he slipped his fingers into your underwear. He brought two fingers to your slit, skimming lightly over the delicate skin before sliding his middle finger between your folds to part them.

You released a sharp gasp against Eren’s mouth as you felt the cold metal of his rings against your cunt, but he made no efforts to pull away. The earthy taste of marijuana on his tongue caused your head to swim and you began to feel the drug’s intoxicant effects yourself. Your limbs grew heavier as you lay slack against Eren’s body while the sensation of his soft strokes against your tender clit had you whimpering against his lips.

He dipped his finger down to your body’s orifice, sliding it into your hole to glaze the digit with your arousal.

“God, you’re so tight.” Eren’s voice was deep as he pulled away from your mouth and both of you looked down to watch the way he worked you. “I want you around my cock.”

Your hips jerked involuntarily against his hand with the mention of his desire, and he brought his touch back up to your clit, using your essence as lubrication. The bus was quiet except for the symphony of Eren’s husky pants and your lewd whines as he slowly quickened the pace when he felt your body begin to tremble against his.

“Fuck, Eren—,” you mewled. You hadn’t even given thought to how unusual his name sounded coming out of your mouth. Eren, the singer and lead guitarist of your favorite band had his fingers inside of your pants, and here you were moaning his name. “Oh fuck—.”

Your orgasm intensified quickly after its onset, you hadn’t even realized you were climaxing until your body was convulsing and your fingers were digging into Eren’s biceps.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Eren—,” you cried.

“That’s it,” Eren cooed. “Atta girl.”

His fingers continued working against your clit until you wrapped a sweaty hand around his wrist, a silent plea for him to stop before he sent you into overstimulation.

He hummed in amusement and heeded your request before pulling his hands out of your underwear. Now he worked his hands against his own belt, unfastening the buckle before pushing his jeans down with his briefs in one swift and eager motion. His cock was half-hard and continued growing rigid after he took himself in his hand and began pumping his throbbing length.

You watched in wonderment as his palm worked painfully slow against his thick shaft, and pearls of precum gathered at his tip before dribbling down his swollen head. Your own dirty fantasies where you’d tried to envision how big Eren was hardly did him justice.

You rose to your feet, kicking off your shoes with haste, and stepped out of your pants. You shrugged off your jacket as well, realizing how uncomfortably sticky your sweaty arms felt against the leather material.

“Come here,” Eren hummed, and released his cock. He held his hands out for you to take, and he pulled you onto his lap. He supported your waist until your knees were mounted on either side of his thighs, and you pulled your underwear to the side, allowing his pulsating tip to prod your entrance.

“You gonna show me how well you ride?” he asked, thumbs rubbing circles into your hips.

You nodded, resting your hands on his shoulders and undulating your wet folds against his cock. You released a desperate whimper every time he nudged your clit.

“Yeah? Show me.”

Eren watched as you slipped him in, and what started as a whine deepened into an obscene cry while you felt him stretch your walls out. You eased down until you sat at the base of his cock and he’d filled you to the hilt.

You dug your teeth into your lower lip, waiting to adjust to his girth before you slowly started moving up and down. Eren’s shallow breathing encouraged you while you lifted yourself up and then back down, each time releasing an agonizing sob.

“Good girl.” Eren’s large hands traveled up from your waist and rested on your chest. “Just like that.” He loosely cupped his hands over your clothed chest, adoring the way your quickening pace caused your breasts began to jounce underneath your shirt, but your ache to feel his touch everywhere along your skin became uncontrollable.

Your fingers curled around the hem of your top and you quickly slipped the material off, tossing it onto the couch beside you. You did the same with your bra, too impatient to fumble around with the pesky hooks.

Eren grinned lazily, before resting his palms against your breasts and giving them a small jiggle. He leaned forward, lolling his tongue out, and flicked its tip against the hardening bead of your nipple. He looked up at you with half-lidded eyes and smiled at the way you murmured his name before rolling his thumb over the wet skin.

“So fucking hot,” Eren praised. He gave your other breast a brisk slap, watching it shake with the impact, and then he took you in his mouth. He sucked hungrily before taking your nipple between his teeth and tugged on it.

You continued bouncing on Eren’s cock before he released a guttural groan and threw his head back. “Fuck, don’t stop.” The tattoos along his sweaty chest expanded with each uneven breath. “I’m gonna cum.”

Eren’s hands traveled down to your ass, and black-painted nails dug into your skin while he directed you up and down. You rolled your hips against him until you felt his cock jerk inside you, and then he was filling you up.

Eren unloaded himself into you and your walls fluttered around his quivering length. His balls spasmed, making sure he’d jettisoned every drop of thick, white cum. He pulled his cock out before your knees gave way and you collapsed next to him. Your pussy clenched around nothing, still adjusting to Eren’s absence, and you felt his release leak out of your hole.

You heaved, eyes strung tightly, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You had to have been dreaming. You kept your eyes closed, fearing that you’d wake, but they fluttered open instinctively when you felt Eren’s weight lift from beside you.

“Where are you going?” You watched as he tugged his pants up and fastened his buckle before shuffling around the bus looking for something. Jesus Christ, just how much stamina did this guy have?

“Your friend’s probably wondering what’s taking you so long,” Eren replied, disappearing behind the curtain leading to the bedroom in the back of the bus.

Your hand flew to your forehead and you sat up, feeling guilty that you had completely forgotten your friend. Knowing her, she was probably worrying herself sick wondering what Eren had possibly done to you. You started retrieving your clothes and getting dressed, but you paused momentarily, calling out to wherever Eren had been on the bus.

“I should give you my number.” You stuck a leg into your pants. “You know, just to keep in touch.” You stuck your other leg in and hopped around, pulling your pants up.

Eren reappeared from behind the curtain, tugging on a fitted black t-shirt. “Don’t worry about that.”

You popped your head out from under your shirt and reached for your jacket. You laughed lightly and gave him a confused look.

“Safety and shit. We can’t give our personal information out to just anyone.” He gave you a pitiful smile, but you could tell it was more for you than for him.

“Oh,” you responded quietly.

Eren seemed unconcerned with the guidelines he was given, as though he didn’t care much about whether he even remembered your name once they were on the road again.

“Don’t look so sad babe. You’re lucky.” He tilted his head toward you and raised his eyebrows. “Not everyone gets to fuck a rockstar.”

#eren smut #eren yeager smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #eren yeager x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #aot au #eren yaeger smut #attack on titan au #eren yeager au

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

Text

arrière-pensée

— When you start a new job, you never thought you would come face with Most Wanted Ground Zero who decides that you’re going to help him make a point.

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pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, robbery kink, consented noncon, public sex, exhibitionism, degradation, spanking, slight gunplay, sadist bakugou, machoist reader, blow job, character death, murder, blood, gun violence, knife violence

word count: 8,550

a/n: literally fuck me. I super fucking liked this prompt had clearly had too much fun because this was not supposed to be a long fic. anyways, I hope you like the idea of big bad evil bakugou fucking you to make a point. also, just trust me on the details on y/n I make, please. make sure to comment on all fics you enjoy, all authors love them! carefully read the warnings!!!!

kinktober day 4 main kink: robbery kink

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“As for our latest news, the city of Chiba has decided to close the current twelve-month reigning search for the missing victim of the Chiba Bank robberies. However, known criminal known only by his alias Ground Zero who has been on our countries most wanted list on account of robberies, murder, and rape is still on the ru—”

Click.

You frowned as you threw the TV remote onto the bed, unease sitting on your stomach.

Pre-work jitters were a normal thing, right?

You looked at the full-length mirror in front of you, your finger pressed against a black pencil skirt, trailing up to brush against the white silk shirt you wore. Today is a special day, you reminded yourself as you lined closer to the mirror. Your hand grabbing the dark red lipstick you owned and as smoothly as you could, smoothed the cream over your lips.

The first day working at the esteemed Yaoyorozu Banking Inc., the world's most influential and wealthiest bank. Getting an interview at the prestigious bank had been a once in a lifetime opportunity, your incredible resume and references without a doubt getting your foot in the door to simply be a bank teller.

Yes, to simply be a bank teller, you had to know at least three languages (you knew English, Japanese, Mandarin, and Spanish), had to know someone with affiliations to either the Yaoyorozu family or the hiring team (your number one reference was none other than the CEO and Founders daughter), and have a certain intellect (there was an admittance test to even qualify to fill out a job application). It had been a rather challenging admittance for you, especially as they had only been one job opening. Frankly, you think your only reason for winning the spot was due to Yaoyorozu Momo’s hand.

Still, it mattered not in the end because you had the job—no use of trying to figure out just what made you stand out so much.

Pushing away from the mirror, you studied yourself over one last time.

Your outfit was exactly as they required it to be, your pink hair styled appropriately out of your face, and the slight gleam of your pantyhose made you heave a heavy sigh.

You were as ready as you could ever be.

With one final look into the mirror, you tilted your head at the gold-colored contacts you wore, a symbol of the job you held at Yaoyorozu Bankings and thought it made you look like a whole other person. No time to dwell on that, you decided, slipping on your watch and red-bottomed high heels and left your apartment.

It was time to work.

The commute to work was dull if you ignored the way your stomach twisted and turned in the thought of arriving at work. What would the security be like, at the bank, you couldn’t help but wonder? Would there be bulletproof glass? Ten security guards?

All the banks you’ve ever had the pleasure of entering had always been handled with a small waiting room for clients and a five-inch thick bulletproof glass wall. But that had been at smaller, local banks, not anything like where you were about to begin working. Yaoyorozu Banking had several different buildings designated for the different types of jobs located within their name. You did, however, know that the smallest only two-story building was for their in-person bank tellings. That is where you would be working. Two floors for an essential part of their business, and you had no idea what it looked like as you had no account with them, and your interview had taken place at their headquarters.

By the time the bus had pulled up to the stop, you would need to get off of, you could feel the nerves of the upcoming day begin to sit heavily on your bladder. You could feel the eyes of everyone else on the bus staring at you as you exited the vehicle. Everyone knew what this stop was for and had undoubtedly seen the gold contacts when you passed by them.

Each step of your heel against the sidewalk's paved concrete seemed to echo distinctly in your ear. It was rather odd, you noted as you walked toward the bank's building, that despite a large number of employees and patron’s the bank had, it seemed almost deserted. Looking down at the watch on your wrist, you knew immediately that you weren’t running late. As a matter of fact, you would be running precisely on time, showing up to your on-call site fifteen minutes before you were due.

Regardless, you took each stride in your step as powerfully and as in control as you could. Your gaze narrowed, focused, intense as you stared at the revolving crystal clean glass doors. With one last supporting thought about how you were absolutely going to make sure that you would end this day in success, you pushed through.

White marble floors, glossy white walls with black and gold accents met your gaze immediately. Despite the apparent shock of seeing the indoors of this lavish, distinctly rich bank, you continued moving as if unaffected. The clicking of your heels against the floor was the only thing letting you know that you were, in fact, moving.

Twelve men lined the lobby hallway, each tall, bulky with sunglasses and earpieces on. Although you couldn’t see their eyes, you had without a doubt that they were looking at you as you passed them to a set of large oak and gold accented doors.

There, a smiling woman greeted you. Her smile is warm and gentle as her own silver-colored eyes welcome you, and your spine stiffens at the appearance of information that passes through your vision.

Name: Fuwa Mawata Position: Greeter & Inspector.

“Ah, welcome Uzume-chan!” she cheered in greeting, her mascara painted eyes closing in greetings. You said your hello’s, your voice breathy with the shock of this bank's high technological advantages. “I see that this is your first day here, and luckily for you, no one is around, so I may quickly inform you of entrance clearance!”

“T-That sounds perfect!” you admit, your smile feeling just the littlest bit too tight, but your hands held your bag tighter in your grip.

“Wonderful! Well, here at Yaoyorozu’s Banking Inc., we have a strict business protocol for both our clients and our employees! First, as you may or may not know, all of the building's operations take place on the floor above, and due to the clients we have, it's a bit… unorthodox in our approach. We are the only bank with no bulletproof glass between you, the bank tellers, and our customers!”

What now?

“Our clients are so finicky about being treated with such distrust that they’d rather have this approach!” Fuwa laughed as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with such statements. “So, to approach the bank, you must pass by me! But do not worry! We have never, ever within our nearly century-long reign, have ever been robbed or seized before. Our twelve men out there are true experts, and I have the only button to inform the police right here! Everyone, so both clients and employees, must leave their personal belongings here, and I will search you for any potential weapons!”

“I’m not allowed my phone up?” you asked, a bit confused by this rather outlandish set of rules.

“I’m afraid not! You’ll be so busy working the entire time you won’t be needing it. You are allowed to come and retrieve while on lunch since the break room and lunchrooms are down here on the first floor!” Fuwa confirmed, her head nodding in confirmation. “I understand that it can be a bit different, I myself am not yet used to it, but these rules are in place so that every one of our clients and employees can remain safe!”

You fight off the frown that dangerously tries to grow on your face by nodding, handing over your purse to Fuwa, “That makes sense.”

“Glad to know that it isn’t an issue for you, Uzume-chan! Now, if you’ll step past me, I’ll be checking for any concealed weapons, and you will be met with your supervisor as soon as you enter the second floor!”

It takes exactly two seconds for Fuwa to complete her scan of your body. She explained with a wink that her contacts allowed her to find any potentially dangerous weapon on a person's body. “No matter where it might be,” she added with a tilting head and a bright grin. “By the way, I love the watch! It’s so beautiful, it must’ve been expensive!”

“Oh,” you feel your face warm as you gently touch the watch, your finger tapping the watch’s face twelve times while your smile is unparalleled as you think of the man who had gifted you the object. “Thank you, it was a gift.”

With that, you climbed up the stairs as sophisticatedly, brushing a few strands of curly pink hair out of your face as you enter the main floor, and you realize immediately that the quiet of the first floor and outdoors does not reach this floor.

The second floor is loud.

People with their names and occupations flashing within your view walking from table to table, stacks of paper in their arms, arguing, or talking with those around them. It was a sight to behold, indeed. But a voice interrupted your thoughts, and before you could honestly assess the situation at hand, you were whisked away, a detailed explanation of your job and expectations were.

Unexpectedly, Fuwa had been right.

This job had no downtime.

You sat on a leather seat at a desk to handle the clients. Much like old banks out west, your desks were much higher than those you were servicing; most often, you had to look down at them like a mother to a child as you worked.

Your supervisor, who went by the name Togeike Chikuchi, was over your shoulder for about an hour, detailing and correcting your every action until you cleared ten clients entirely on your own. At this moment, she sat at the desk to your left, chatting with her client with a bright sunny smile that you had thought for a moment she was incapable of.

It was 14:23 when you were with a client who was currently wondering if sending her ‘poor niece who lived with her amazing female roommate’ ¥500,000 was enough for a week worth of groceries. Of course, it took everything in you to bite your tongue and ask her if she had ever bought her own groceries before.

“Well, if you’re asking me, I think that’s a perfect amount!” you smile pleasantly, watching as who you’re pretty sure to be a CEO of a rice tycoon company. “If anything, you can always question her if that was enough the next time you speak. Everyone is always so different when it comes to groceries.”

“Ah, I suppose so!” she laughs good naturally, her arms rising to press a slip of paper with her account information on it on your desk. “I always spend almost—”

She cut off, and for the first time, you didn’t have to wonder why.

There was an echoing, distant sound of four straight bangs.

It seemed to have been heard collectively by the entire second floor because, for a moment, there was a silence that wrapped the whole floor.

Mumbles and murmurs soon flooded the floor, and a frown pressed against your lips as you stared at the staircase. What happened?

“Oh, I bet you that dumb janitor downstairs dropped his vacuum again!” your client huffed, her eyes rolling while you transferred the amount she requested from her account over into her nieces. “He did that the last time I was here too! Except it only caused two loud bangs like that! How immaturely irresponsible of him! Unable to do his job correctly and as a janitor at that? How much lower could he possibly get?”

You, once again, bite your tongue, choosing instead to laugh in faux humor over her rant. The agreeing lie on your tongue moments from being let out when a new sort of movement at the corner of your eye stopped you.

Climbing up from the staircase was a man who took heavy, powerful steps. You were getting used to the way these clients carried themselves. They all tended to stride authoritatively, commandeering all attention to them. Despite their dominative pace, they were almost light on their feet, their steps relatively silent as they walked from corner to corner. But this man who made his way up the stairs was heavy, barbaric, and fierce with every echoing footstep he took.

It was as if the world slowed down as the entire room went to stare at him, and an ice-cold shiver crept down your spine as you took him in.

Ash blond, spiky unruly hair. Splattered red blood covering his exposed arms and neck. A black get-up looked akin to a secret black op team with the black army vest, black tank underneath, black army pants, black combat boots, and strap around his right thigh that seemed to carry two guns and knives. As a matter of fact, his vest also showcased the copious amount of ammunition he had.

It was Ground Zero.

Fear plunged through you as he rose a single hand to the ceiling, a sickening smirk spreading on his face as the world seemed to slow down. Many clients chose to turn to look the second his finger pulled on the trigger.

BANG.

Shrieks erupted through the floor, and you watched as everyone, including yourself, hit the deck. Your body trembled with nervous fear as the gun firing stopped.

“Everybody get the fuck up.”

It was a low voice, gravely, and course with evident past strain. You looked across the way to Togeike, who looked just about as fearful and terrified as you felt.

You didn’t dare to move, and by the looks of it, none of your coworkers did either. There was no panic button on this floor, and the only way to the switch was at Fuwa’s desk. A desk that couldn’t be reached unless passing by the man with black paint smeared across most of his face in a strategic way that rendered him anonymous by all photographic and video evidence.

“I don’t think I fucking stuttered,” Ground Zero sneered, a light, fickle chuckle erupting low and deep in his chest as the sound of scared whimpers and silent sobbing began to pick up around the room. You didn’t need to know who was making those noises; after all, you knew what everyone was already thinking: will I be killed next? There was a loud bang a bit too near to your body, and you couldn’t help but scream in tandem with everyone else on the floor and the distinctive, irreplicable sound of someone choking on their blood. “I said, everyone, get the fuck up.”

Flight or fight were always two instincts you were taught about in school. Two altering, opposite reactions to being placed in stressful situations, but right now, you were in that third, lesser-known option: freezing.

“It’s like you elite bastards are begging to fucking die!” he laughed joyously, and you felt tears push to your eyes as another resounding bang shake through your body, your ears ringing with the noise. The now becoming familiar sound of a body hitting the floor dead and bleeding sending a sickening bubble through your throat.

But you pulled yourself up, your body trembling like a leaf as you stared at the infamous criminal who was merely smirking at the two dead bodies of clients who continued to bleed out on the floor as those around them cried.

“So, even with all the money in the goddamn world, you damn elitist are still damn fucking cry babies!” he cried with unrestrained, unleveled glee and anger. “Oh, this was the perfect place to choose as my final exit from the world.”

Your breath stops when he turns on you, his blood-red eyes locking on yours, and you can feel the hairs on your arm rising in unsettling knowing.

“Aren’t you a pretty looking whore,” he smirked, his hands putting his gun back into its holster, his heavy feet booming as loud as his gunshots as he makes his way towards you. The rest of the clients, especially the one located by your desk, shriek, cowering as he moves. “Tell me, whore, who does a guy gotta fucking talk to to get the money into my account?”

Your throat seamlessly tightened up in your deep fear as he directly addressed you, and you made a choking noise in your horror.

But, it seemed that Ground Zero was not in the mood for your timidness. Because you could see the vein in his temple throb, the sound of him sucking in his teeth, and the cold, humorous chuckle that rumbled in his chest as he grabbed his gun back out of its holster and pressed it centimeters away from between your eyes.

Typically, the clients couldn’t reach you from where they stood, but it was clearly apparent as he neared you that Ground Zero was not typical. He was big, huge, tall, and he quickly reached you.

The heat of the previously fired bullets from the muzzle of the gun radiating off it clearly, licking the skin on your forehead as finally, words tumbled out.

“I just started today, Togeike-san is my supervisor!”

Ground Zero lazily smirked as he followed your thrust out finger at your coworker and supervisor.

A loud choking sound spluttered from Togeike as Ground Zero turned his attention onto her and stalked over in three steps easily. His eyes were sharp, deadly, and cold as he stared at your supervisor, and he reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out a black USB.

“Put all the bank's assets onto the account on this drive.”

“W-What if I don’t?” Togeike stammered, her body quivering just the same as yours. But the false sense of confidence only resulted in the gun being placed back between her eyes, only this time, he pressed the hot muzzle against her skin, and she shrieked at her burning skin.

“Try that again, you fucking extra,” Ground Zero hissed, and Togeike sobbed, grabbing the USB with a nod.

“I’ll do it! I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”

The sound of Togeike sobbing is almost as bad as the intruding smells of iron rusting blood from the dead bodies and the sick smell of the burning flesh on her forehead.

It seems to take forever, you standing there silently, perfectly still as Togeike hooks the hard drive to her computer. You can see that she begins the monetary transfer from the bank's large accounts and reserves onto the account enabled on the hard drive, and you feel numb. Should you be relieved that he would most likely take this once it was done and leave? Scared that he was here on your first day at that? What shit luck…

You concentrated on your hands as time seemed to drag by slowly, your knees still feeling weak, your breathing shallow as the crude smell of drying blood makes your head spin.

But unlike you, you hadn’t raised a single gaze in Ground Zero’s way, a rising sound of voices began to resonate from the floor and opposite side of the room. You blinked rapidly as you looked up.

Four men stood up, their brows furrowed, suits abandoned, and expressions steady and fierce.

“The fuck you think you’re doing standing up, fucking wimps?” Ground Zero gruffed, his body language telling a whole other story from his voice. He was relaxed, unaffected by their challenging forms and fierce glares. “What? Don’t tell me? You think you four in front of me can take me? Don’t fucking flatter yourself. Even with the three behind me who’s easily apart of your fucking idiotic plan, I’ll kill ya all before you can pray to not to be sent to hell!”

“Flatter ourselves?” a man scoffed after getting over the initial shock of their once thought to be secretive plan being exposed without so much as a spec of interest from Ground Zero. “Don’t you get so fucking cocky! We’ll beat your ass and hand you over to the fucking police, you damn bastard!”

Screams erupt throughout the entire room as the seven in cahoots men lunge forward at the dangerous criminal who has set himself back center stage of the second floor.

It’s over before you can blink.

You scream with the masses as five excruciatingly loud bangs go off, and you can barely return your gaze on the fighting men to see the outcome you already know.

There are six bodies on the floor, bleeding out fleetingly as Ground Zero holds the seventh by the neck. Your jaw drops as more blood splatters against Ground Zero’s chest, and you’re none the wiser of the knife buried deep within his throat until the body is falling over, dead, lifeless.

“All the fucking money in the world and none of you were taught fucking manners of a properly functioning brain, hah?” he roared, his lips pulled into a threatening, angry snarl as sobs erupt through the crowds again, and a rolling tingle shoots through your body. “I guess killing everyone just isn’t fucking enough for you all, is it?”

You were unsure of how to even answer that. Your eyes falling over onto Togeike, who was silently crying, her eyes screwed tightly as the meter on the money transfer hits 47%.

“Let me set an example for anyone else who wants to try more bullshit in front of me,” Ground Zero snaps, and you shriek when his bloodied hand tangles into your pink hair and yanks you over the desk.

Crashing onto the floor as ungracefully as one could, your eyes widen and jaw drop in an excruciating, soundless scream as pain shoots through your body. But, it’s not near over yet.

Your hands weakly grab Ground Zero’s wrist, trying to ease the pulsing pain in your body and scalp as he drags you front and center of the second floor. You can’t even understand yourself at this point, sniffling, pathetic pleas to let you go, tears streaming down your face as he throws you, your body hitting the marble floor as you sob for forgiveness.

“Now,” Ground Zero speaks from above you, and your arms have never felt weaker as you press up from the cold, ice floor. You freeze, your body feeling like a tundra as a now all too familiar click of a loaded gun resonates centimeters from your head. You silently sob when a warm muzzle pressed against the back of your head. “The next person to look away from what I’m about to do to my new cum whore, the next person who even fucking thinks of trying some really unfunny shit… her life is on your head.”

The sobs stop with that threat, or did they grow more at the easily implied actions of the corrupt man before you? You couldn’t really tell anymore. Yet slowly, the clients who are sitting in dead men’s blood shakily turn their gaze to you, and you can feel the weight of all their eyes on you. You feel weightless, almost empty.

“Pink hair is for whores, didn’t you know that? That’s why I picked you.” Ground Zero informs you from behind you. The barrel of the gun digs harder, pushing roughly against your head. “Whores are meant to be fucked by fat fucking cocks, so turn around, whore, and suck me off.”

Your breathing returns in spastic, shallow breathes, and you suppress the rising sob in your throat as you turn around on your hands and knees.

Ground Zero stares down at you with expectant eyes, cruel and dark with their crooked want and lust. Your breathing picks up when he unbuckles his belt and removes his pants and underwear with only one hand, the other one with the gun never once leaving your head.

“Make sure you all watch her, I’ve never had to kill a bitch while sucking me off, and I wouldn’t want to make this the first time!” Ground Zero laughed, his crimson red eyes glaring at the shamefully gazed clients as he holds his growing cock in his hands. Despite all logic, you stare at his hardening cock with an ever-increasing lust, the tears in your eyes never stopping, but your cunt unwilling to ignore the fact that his cock would feel so good in anyone of your holes. You knew that, and it horrified you. “The fuck you waiting for?” Ground Zero growled, shifting the barrel of the gun to your temple, his eyebrow raised in a taunt. “Suck my fucking cock.”

And despite the growing hiccuping cries in your chest, you can’t stop the way your mouth waters as you shamefully grab onto his cock and press your mouth down on him.

His cock was large, undoubtedly longer than your face, and thicker than what your hand could encompass. Messy dark blond pubes sat motions away from your nose, and veins that ran all over his length rubbed against your tongue. The taste of his slightly sweaty cock made you gag, but the fear of what he would do caused you to snuff it out.

Tears poured limitlessly down your face, your throat and jaw stretching as far as it could as you took him in further and further.

Even with the tears on your cheeks, you did your best to appease him, horrified by the outcome should you not. Your tongue swirled against his girth, trailing the plenty of veins that you could get to. His cock pressed further into your mouth, shoving until it hit the back of your throat, continuing to dive in deeper until the ends of his pubes tickled your nose, and you could feel the head of his cock stretching out your throat. And horrifically, even with the strangled, choked sobs that still continued to pour from your mouth, you were enjoying the way he was fucking your mouth.

You enjoyed the way the cooling barrel on your temple made you quiver with dreadful apprehension. You enjoyed the way his hips rocked into your mouth, most often hitting your gaping jaw. You enjoyed the way the noises of your unwilling audience made you feel dirty, whorish, and shameful. But as his fingers managed to slip into your hollowing cheeks, drool and saliva dripping down your chin in your slobbering heat and shame, you could feel your essence slicking onto your panties.

“Look at how shameless you are!” Ground Zero laughed, his hand that once guided his cock into your mouth, gripping onto your hair and fisting into it. You yelped at the pain, your teeth painfully close to biting his cock. “All these people around watching you suck off the big, bad Ground Zero’s cock, and you aren’t even embarrassed!?”

You made a disagreeing noise, your brows furrowing, your gaze doing everything in its power to avoid your clients and coworkers gaze as Ground Zero began to rock his hips even more powerfully into your mouth. He chuckled, clearly pleased with what was occurring, and he threw the gun back into its holster. With the free hand, he placed it around your throat, squeezing your airway as you choked pathetically against his length and girth.

“I bet you came into work wanting to be fucked today. Wanting to get pressed to the floor and let everyone see your slutty fucking cunt and throat be used.” Ground Zero growled his grip on your throat, tightening even more. “Is that why you came here to work? Hoped I’d show up one day and fuck you to submission in front of everyone?!”

You gagged, the pounding of his cock further and further down your choked throat overwhelming you as the tears of shame quickly became those of fear as the lack of oxygen burned your throat and nose. You tried to breathe, but Ground Zero knew what he was doing and how he was doing it, not allowing you to breathe despite the way your fingers created crescent scars on the back of his thighs.

Too much, too much, too much!

His balls slapped under your chin, and the musk of his skin tainted your tongue, but Ground Zero was only getting started, it seemed. With his hands now grabbing the sides of your head, he began to fuck your throat savagely.

The wet sloppy noises of his driving cock into your throat seemed to echo off the shiny walls and marble floors. Your saliva and drool ruining your silk top and mixing with the blood on the floor.

Your eyes were crossing with the extreme force, your body feeling weightless with your inability to breathe, yet despite all logic, you finally let out a sweet, grateful moan as your nose pressed to his hips.

But that was enough for Ground Zero.

It was a noise that would finish the last nail in your coffin as he held you there to his hips, his cock entire within your throat that tightened and fluttered against his length as you struggled to pull away.

“No use in fighting it now, you fucking whore,” Ground Zero grinned, the expression on his face akin to that of a predator stalking his prey. His voice, ever so naturally loud, filled the room, letting everyone know just what was going on. “They all heard you moan like a slut while getting fucking raped by me. So do me a little favor and get on all fours, I need a place to dump my fucking cum.”

With that, Ground Zero shoved you off his cock and onto your back, and you began to cough and choke desperately. The sour, raunchy scent of the sweat, blood, and gunpowder burning your nostrils as you attempted to steady yourself. You began to cry again at the filthy thought of how you were enjoying the way his cock had been in you, and the way your body craved for more of it.

You didn’t want to admit that you wanted him to fuck you, especially in front of everyone.

But as you were consumed with your at war thoughts, Ground Zero was already impatient.

His feet trapped you between him, and he leaned down to grab your silk shirt.

“W-Wait—!” you shriek as he rips open the shirt, the sound of scattering buttons flying everywhere as your bra is revealed to everyone in the room who is watching.

Silent tears poured down your cheeks as with the destruction of the white silk shirt, a sheer and lacy red bra was exposed to the mass. Today had been a means of celebration, and you had intended on fucking your boyfriend the moment you got home… but that had been something you had kept a secret. Something to be held from the world until it was you and him in a bed. But it was now an object to be seen by everyone, and you bit onto your lower, trembling lip, eyes screwed shut as you tried to look away from the heated territorial look on Ground Zero’s face.

“Oh, look at what we have here?” Ground Zero almost whispered, but his voice still managed to reach every corner of the floor. “You are a little fucking whore, are you not? Came to work actually wearing lingerie! I thought I was just fucking teasing you before, but no! No! Not at all! You do want to be fucked in front of everyone!”

Your sniffling wouldn’t stop as his large, hot, bloodied dried hands grabbed at your bra-clad breasts. He was leaning down over you, you could feel the amused breathing flushing against your collarbone, and you mangled a choke when he kneeled down, trapping you.

“Such an ugly pair of tits,” Ground Zero mocked, his large hands pressing the sides of your breasts together, enhancing your cleavage and fullness of your breasts as you lay on the floor. “I’ll let you in on a secret… all those missing sluts I’ve fucked in previous jobs? Well, I can always tell how good a fuck they’d be just through this part.”

Hissing, you glared at Ground Zero as he slipped his fingers under the fabric, teasing and pulling at your pebbled nipples. His red glare meeting yours, mocking and somehow both hot and cold.

But a shameful, pitch moaned fell from you, your back against all logic arching up into Ground Zero. Soft whines, shaking arms, thrashing legs.

“Would you look at that,” Ground Zero’s sneering tone was back, and you found yourself opening your eyes (somehow missing when you closed them), to see Ground Zero glaring at someone in the crowd. “Looks like you could make a professional slut, whore! That man over there has a fucking boner over watching me rape you and your slutty mouth and feeling up your tits!”

“N-No I don’t!” the man exclaimed as you couldn’t help but meet the accused eyes that were filled with shame, a red blush tainting his cheeks. “Just thinking about when this’ll be fucking over!”

“Oh?”

Ground Zero’s grip grabbed you by the throat, and you panicked as he ripped you up onto your feet and began walking over to where the man was. You stumbled to keep up, unable to find your balance the entire time you walked with him, in awe that this unlawful man could walk determinedly when his pants around his thighs, hard, leaking cock pressing to his vest-clad stomach. But before you could find your balance, Ground Zero threw you back onto the floor, landing centimeters from the client's feet, and you began to cry as your exposed stomach touched the floor.

Ground Zero wasted no time on your noises, straddling your ass, scooping his hands beneath your breasts, and pulling you up.

The client's face went beet red, his bulge in his pants evident as you could only keep your gaze there, unable to raise or turn your head as Ground Zero squeezed your breasts in his hands.

You moaned at the sensation, your mind giving in to the feelings to not cry anymore.

“Tell the whore how much you like her tits,” Ground Zero commanded, his hands kneading and pulling at your mounds of flesh. “Tell her your little microcock wants to fuck her.”

The client had the decency to look offended as he spluttered, “I’M NOT GOING TO TELL HER THAT!”

With his words, silence took over the room, and you trembled in your fear.

“Damn extra?” Ground Zero shouts to Togeike.

“Y-Yes?”

“How much fucking longer?”

“I-It’s at 63%!”

“Wonderful.”

One of Ground Zero’s hands abandoned his manipulation of your breasts, but he still managed to keep you in place with only one hand. He pulled a breast out of the bra, and you whimpered as the client gwuaffed at the sight of your breast, but immediately cut himself off when a cold, heavy metal barrel pressed against your temple.

“Let’s try again,” Ground Zero said with faux cheer. “Tell the whore how much you like her tits, and how your microcock wants to fuck her, or else I’ll kill her right in front of you.” There’s a heavily, curling silence that overwhelms the room before he decides to add one last thing for good measure. “I’ve never fucked a dead body before, and I wouldn’t want to start that now.”

“I-I like her tits,” the man stammered.

“How much?”

“T-They’re… they’re so hot,” the man begins to cry, his body shaking in front of you. “I wish I could b-be fucking her instead!”

“Too bad for that microcock you have, huh?” Ground Zero taunted, pulling the gun from your temple and pointing it straight at the man's crotch. “Show her.”

“W-What?!”

“Show her your cock.”

It seemed to happen so slowly. The man unbuckling his belt with shaky hands, clumsily undoing his pants, and shifting it down his legs, white boxer briefs stained slightly with pre-cum. You looked away when he revealed a cock that looked pathetic to the one you had just sucked, so small, so thin, so discolored.

“You got one fucking ugly ass cock,” Ground Zero laughed.

Then the world picked back up.

The first thing you heard and felt was the tearing of your skirt, and you panicked as Ground Zero dropped your chest onto the cold floor. You whipped your head around to see your work skirt split all the way down the middle, only held together by a few remaining strands by the waistline. And the sheer pantyhose you wore, twisted between his fingers, and completely ripped as his gaze met yours.

“Cute fucking thong.”

You choked at the feeling of cold, soured air hitting your inner thighs that were still wet with your slick, and instinctively, you tried to scramble onto your knees. But it seemed that this was what Ground Zero wanted from you, for the moment you were on your knees, he pressed his hand to the curve of your back and kept you there.

Ass up, back curved, chest down.

“Until the transfer is at 100%, your wet little cunt is mine!” Ground Zero reveled in the information as he couldn’t even bother to pull down your panties before plunging his fingers into your sopping heat.

The shameful pleasure of feeling his fingers deep within your cunt sent you screaming, your back arching even further as his fingers continued to thrust in you. They curled and spread, sending your mind into a spiraling lust as he managed to find all of your sweet spots without so much as breaking a sweat.

“You’re so easy,” Ground Zero groaned, his cock rutting between the curves of your ass as he continued to finger fuck you. “So fucking wet too. I just knew a fucking whore like you couldn’t be getting fucked right at home, that’s why you hoped you’d get fucked by me today!”

Your teeth bit into your forearm, the overwhelming pleasure of his fingers stroking your inner walls, tweaking and moving against your clit, making your thighs tremble with the already forming pressure in your womb.

“Don’t be embarrassed, you little whore,” Ground Zero whispered into your ear, laughing when you shuddered at the feeling of his tongue licking the shell of your ear. “Everyone wants to hear you moan, scream, and cry for the big bad Ground Zero’s cock. Don’t mute yourself, let them hear just how well I’ll fuck you into a puddle of tears and cum.”

You didn’t want them to hear you begging for more. You didn’t want the entire room to know that your cunt was spasming and clenching around his fingers because you liked this. You didn’t want them to know.

“I bet fuckface in front of you really wants to hear it!” Ground Zero laughed, his finger doing light, quick circles against your clit as his other hand brought your attention to the man before you. Sure enough, his cock was throbbing, precum leaking down his length as he shamefully looked at you. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind you fucking yourself as I fuck this stupid cunt.”

But with the building pressure in your stomach. Your toes curling as the soft thumps of his fingers dive in and out of your sopping wet cunt, your body begins to tense up.

“Already ready to cum,” Ground Zero smirked, and you felt your body go rigid when his fingers left your cunt, and was immediately replaced with his large, thick cock.

Having not expected such action, your arms shot out, eyes rolling back as a guilty, wanton scream tore through your throat. He was so big, so thick, so full, stretching you out completely, sending your tight walls into a frenzy as they stretched and tightened around his cock.

Fuck, fuck, “fuck!”

“Oh, she speaks!” Ground Zero laughs, almost a bit deranged as he grabs onto your waist and begins to plow into you. “I wonder to what lengths I can get you to speak! I want to hear you screaming for me, whore.”

It was then that he slammed his hand against your ass cheek, causing you to shriek while your skin throbbed in his wake. It was heavy-handed, the power he held in his hand while never doubted, didn’t make you think it was ever this much. The pleasure curled pain made your knees buckle, a hot pressure bursting in your core, and another loud slap repeated on the same throbbing cheek.

Fisting in your hair, you keened loudly when Ground Zero yanked your head back. The arch in your back was dramatized by this action; your back ached as another heavy slap echoed against your swelling skin. His dense, almost wild breathing hits the shell of your ear, and chills shoot down your spine when he snarls.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight, is whoever this getup for fuck you shitty too? Don’t tell me this fucking extra is the man you fuck in your bed?” he laughs, his foot stamping to the outside of your leg. The new position increases the range and the power of his thrusts, sending your body forward with every squelch bringing thrust. “I bet you’d like it if your stupid cock piece was here to watch how a real fucking man fucks, huh? You fucking would—” his hand comes down to wrap around your waist, pinching and tugging at your clit that’s thrumming with impending orgasm. Ignoring your growing pleads for more— “You like being an example to everyone in this fucking shit room of how to be fucked correctly! I bet you’re actually liking the way they’re judging you and your tight, wet cunt.”

The next powerful thrust that has his balls smacking your skin nearly sends you tumbling over at the strength and power behind it. Your arms buckle under you, the weight and struggle to keep yourself upright was a challenge as Ground Zero abused your clit and cunt.

“Answer me, fucking whore.”

There was no stopping Ground Zero’s heavy hand against your pert ass, and you could not think of anything but how your cunt throbbed for the man behind you. Your sobs of pain had long ago become those of pleasure, and you could feel the raised prints of his hands on your sore cheeks. It was true; it delighted you.

“Y-Yes, I like being fucked by you!” you finally break crying, your body trembling in your excitement and need for more. “I like them watching as you fuck me! You fuck me so good!”

“Glad you could finally admit it because your cunt is so fucking wet right now I’m sure everyone else already knew,” he sneers while he rubs circles against your heated skin. “You’re trembling with excitement as you try telling me you don’t want me to fuck you. I can see you choking back your cries of pleasure, the fuck you take me for? Do you want me to leave you without an orgasm?”

“N-No!” you sob pathetically, arms pathetically stretching behind you to keep him thrusting faster into you. “D-Don’t leave me until I-I cum!”

Your words were loud, letting everyone know just how much you wanted this, just enough for the man before you to groan as he came, and you thanked Ground Zero as you trembled like a leaf before him. His upper lip pulled back into a smirk as he let go of your hair, letting your head drop back onto the floor, and his fingers go and pinch your nether lips, and you cried loudly.

“I know you can fucking scream louder than that. I want the entire fucking world to know who’s fucking you right now.”

The words were honey to your ear, and you shifted in an attempt to ease the growing lust between your legs.

Slap.

“Fuck me! Fuck me harder! Please, Ground Zero, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” you babble, your tongue falling from your mouths as you pant like a bitch in heat, your body convulsing and shaking with need and heightening lust.

Your mind reeled as Ground Zero continued his conquest against your cunt. You could barely count the number of times he drilled his cock straight into your heat, the tip of his cock pressing into your cervix over and over. The added sensation of his fingers manipulating your clit, and shoving into your mouth to tug on your tongue as you began to grow too loud made you dizzy. Your ass and thighs were undoubtedly bright red and in the air, back arched further than you had ever gone, and saliva and tears seeping onto the marble floor.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he cheers as he repositions the angle in which he’s driving into you, and your ragged moans fill the area at the need of more. He continued fucking you, and while feeling finally returned to your abused ass, your hips finally began to buck against his commanding hips, trying to get the echoing slaps to grew even louder. “Such a greedy little slut.”

Gritting your teeth, you continued pushing against him, craving more heat, power, and pain.

“Is this not good enough for you?” Ground Zero chuckles, but there’s no light humor to his laughter. “Good.”

At that phrase, Ground Zero slams into you with the power and force you had yet to experience. Causing you to howl in your throbbing lust, your mind more a second snapping back out of its haze as you feel his cock twitch within you. Your breathing is harsh as you try to look at Ground Zero, finally trying to take a glance at how he looked. You wondered if he was as unhinged as you felt, as savage as you imagined with his lustful red eyes.

“Where is it at?” Ground Zero barked over at Togeike.

“I-It’s at 97%!” she stammered, shame dripping from her voice, and you had half a mind to wonder if they were all turned on too.

Maybe they were jealous of the fat cock claiming you, and you mewl in the thought, your back bristling as you slammed back onto his drilling cock. You wanted more from him, craved more from him. The coil in your belly still yet to be undone, but you were not going to let it snap anytime soon.

“Gotta fucking make this little slut cum soon then, huh?” Ground Zero grinned, and you felt his teeth bare into the back of your neck in a flash of throbbing, burning pain.

You cried.

The angle and power behind these growing sloppy thrusts were different than what you were used to. It was deranged almost, your body shifting with each thrust, nearly toppling over as Ground Zero claimed you with his teeth and his cock. With each hypnotizing slam of his hips, ringing moans of pleasures ripped from your throat, and you brought your arms as best you could to his waist to keep him there.

Sweat dripped down Ground Zero’s neck, his hands gripping your bruised and battered ass like some type of life support, and the squelching noises of your slamming sex were making your body weak.

“Please — fuck — do that! Do that again, please!” you screamed when a vein in his cock dragged against your pulsating, puffy walls, at the same time he pushed against your cervix.

“Such—” thrust— “A—” thrust— “Fucking—” thrust— “Whore!” thrust! “Who do you fucking belong to?!”

“Y-You, Ground Zero!” you scream, your hips buck against his slamming hips. It was so raw, so rough, and you were enjoying every passing second. “I belong to you! I’m your fucking whore, please fill me with your cum! Cum in me, please cum in me!”

Ground Zero preens at your praise, all while he continues to fuck you roughly. He was in his zone, his concentration like steel as he pounded into you again and again. Your inner walls clenched and spasmed against his penetrating cock, and the heated pressure now spilling over.

His cock twitched within you. It knocked the breath out of you; his fingers twisted into your hair.

“Fucking cum with me,” he demands, jerking your head back towards him again, and you sob as your legs tremble against his increasing power.

You feel your eyes cross, screaming out his name as your walls clamp down fiercely against his length, and you orgasm roughly, your body shaking and spasming uncontrollably as you scream his name. Ground Zero curses loudly, slamming into you one last time with the power and tenacity of an army as he lets out a string of curses, and you moan, knowing that he came in you.

“Such a good slut,” Ground Zero grins as you can feel your eyes fluttering shut, physical and mental exhaustion now catching up with you. “Sleep now, I’m not done with you.”

You couldn’t gather the energy to speak back, your world blacking out with the sounds of sobs, screams, and more gunshots.

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You wake up in a car.

The warm, gentle wind caressing your face as the world is quiet. It's calm, pleasant, pleasing. Your pink wig is on your knees, slightly ruined with blood, sweat, tears, and drool.

You sigh, your body throbbing with different pain as you look to your right at who’s driving.

It’s Ground Zero, or as you know him: Bakugou Katsuki.

His arms are covered now, the old black op outfit changed for a pair of black slacks and a red button-down shirt. You would have no idea he was the man who stormed into Yaoyorozu Bankings earlier that day.

“Good morning,” you sigh, reaching against the seat to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Bakugou looks at you with a smirk, reaching towards you for a real kiss as he continues to drive. You can tell you’re in comfortable clothes, ointment on any potentially worrisome wounds he had inflicted on you while wrapped up in your twisted fantasy of yours.

“Nice to see you up,” he gruffs, his voice rough from his overuse in the bank.

“Did we get it?” you ask, head pressing to his shoulder, and with a chuckle, he raised the black USB.

“Damn fucking right we did, y/n.”

“Perfect.”

It goes without saying that despite the sheer brilliance of Bakugou’s work as Ground Zero, he would have never pulled off such crimes without you. His pretty, small girlfriend, who always played a victim of his lust at his operations just for good measure. It was a fun life both of you lived.

You looked at the expensive Cartier watch on your wrist, a beautiful gift he had gotten you after your first successive robbery. It had also been programmed for you to communicate with Bakugou on how many guards there were on the floor.

“I love you.”

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arrière-pensée: a concealed thought or intention; an ulterior motive.

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tags in comments, theres too many of you.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #bbs kinktober 2020 #bakugou katsuki x reader

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