#donald pierce x you

[strawberrysunsets]

The Empty World (Ch. 10)

Donald Pierce x fReader

Status: Ongoing

Summary: Pierce and the Reavers are sent to capture a mutant with mysterious abilities. This chapter: The mutant sets out on their first assignment for Transigen, amid mounting tension with the Reavers.

Warnings: Swearing, injuries, mention of cannon death, mention of cannon torture, mention of cannon suicide, manipulation.

Angst, slow burn, enemies to lovers

Author's Note: Hiiiii yes tis I another six months later lol hope you enjoy💓

It was late when you woke the next day. The alarm clock by your bed flashed red digits– 3:00pm – and you only had a moment to float in the thoughtless peace of waking before a knot of anxiety settled in your stomach.  

While last night’s encounter with Pierce was still fresh in your mind – a little thrill of revulsion dancing through you at the thought – it wasn’t the cause for your nerves. Nor was it the constant worry over whether Laura and the other mutants were safe. No; the adrenaline mounting in your system as you stumbled to the bathroom to brush your teeth was solely a result of the fact that after a week of waiting, and briefing, and training your injured shoulder back into shape, the day of your assignment had finally arrived. 

You washed your face, drying it with a hand towel before dressing in the uniform you’d laid out the day before. 

You hadn’t lasted long in high school before taking to the road, but you remembered the feeling of walking into a room to take a test you knew you weren’t prepared for. This was something like that. Except you were surrounded by literal enemies, here – not just the disapproving gazes of teachers – and the stakes of this test were life and death. If you failed this assignment, would Transigen even bother keeping to your deal? Or would they decide you were of more use to them chained to a table in a lab than out in the field?

…and if you succeeded? You’d tried not to think about it. But how many lives might suffer the consequences of Zenith Lab’s scientist falling into Transigen’s hands?

You found yourself gripping the edge of the table by your window, your knuckles turning white as you stared emptily out at the view before you. The empty lot, where last night, you'd confronted Pierce. You turned away, massaging your temples. It was an exercise in futility, trying to predict the possible outcomes of your actions. For now, only one thing was certain: as long as you worked for Transigen, Laura and the others were safe. Or as safe as you could make them. And they'd been through enough. You squeezed your eyes shut against the barrage of horrible images your mind threatened to dredge up from Gabriela's video. You had to focus. 

Your mission was simple. 

The target was Zenith Lab’s complex, a skyscraper in the downtown core of Mexico City with a security system designed specifically to keep intruders like Transigen’s agents out. So, for the Reavers to gain entry to the building, that security system had to be disabled. There was only one issue: the security hub lay on the high rise’s twenty-seventh floor, and no aircraft could deploy an air team to reach it without being detected by the lab’s scanners. Something smaller, though–say, a winged mutant–wouldn’t trip those sensors. There was a reason Clark, the security coordinator, had had you memorizing floor plans for a week. 

It would be up to you to take out the security mainframe, allowing the Reavers access to the building.  

Seeing as I’m carrying this whole damn plan on my shoulders, you thought, sifting through the equipment you’d acquired from the recon manager– you’d think this job would at least come with dental. But no; just the slim promise of freedom for Laura and the other mutants, and an even slimmer paycheck. 

You pulled on the bullet proof vest and slotted the taser into its holster at your hip–silently glad they’d only given you nonlethal means of disarming the guards–then examined the final item in your kit. It was an armpiece, meant to be worn like a cuff around your bicep. Upon turning it over, the only identifying information you could find were a barcode and manufacturer’s label, and you scrutinized it for a moment before putting it on. 

A tracker? To make sure you stayed on course? It seemed superfluous, since you weren’t going anywhere with Transigen’s threat looming over Laura and the others. And since Clark had said you’d be out of radio contact until you’d disabled the mainframe to avoid detection, it couldn’t be a transmitter of any sort. What, then? 

You mulled over the question as you made your way through the lab’s stark hallways, even as you mentally reviewed the stages of tonight’s plan. Fly to Zenith Labs. Break in through the roof door, which would be locked but unguarded, then take out whatever skeleton staff were on the nightshift at the security hub. Finally, meet Pierce and his Reavers as they executed the rest of the plan, and get the hell out of dodge. 

Simple, if not exactly easy. 

The rest of the late day passed in the same gray blur as all your days at Transigen, different only because of your mounting anxiety. 

Nightfall found you in the lobby as a Reaver named ‘Kills’ dispersed earpieces to Reavers who waited impatiently by the door or cracked jokes in groups along the walls. There were less than a dozen in total; all the same rough, macho-sadist types who seemed drawn to the Reaver corps like moths to a flame. You stood out amongst them like a sore thumb, even as you tried to make yourself invisible. It would've been hard enough to keep a low profile as the only non leather-wearing, gun-toting one among them, let alone the only woman, mutant, and goddamn avian. As it was, you tried to look as cold and disinterested as possible in order to repulse their attention. Pierce hadn’t yet appeared, and it was with a mixture of dread and anticipation that you thought of running into him tonight.

Finally the Reavers began moving towards the lab’s doors, and you followed them out, the night air quickly snapping everything into hyperfocus. 

It was a warm, humid night, and the sounds of the city felt alien to you after days in the quiet sterility of the lab. It felt like ages since you’d last walked a city’s streets, and been a part of that noise. Some part of you wondered if you ever would again. 

Three black trucks were parked in a line down the lab’s drive, and the Reavers were moving around them and climbing inside. Someone directed you towards one, and you climbed inside, pulling your wings in tight to avoid brushing the doors. 

There were five Reavers already inside the truck, and all glanced up as you entered, save the man typing away on a laptop. Their faces were cold and dispassionate, but beneath that mask, you recognized a plethora of emotions. Disgust. Hatred. Malicious interest. Once again, your instincts told you to run –that this was a tiger’s cage, and you were a fool for stepping into it. 

But these assholes aren’t hunting me anymore, you thought to yourself, forcefully. They already won. I’m here by choice.  

The truck’s door slid shut behind you, and you set your jaw. Go figures the actual mission would be the least of your problems tonight. These men seemed primed for a fight, and you could feel their sights quickly settling on you. 

“You can sit down here, doll,” a man with a thick bullet-proof vest and an abundance of side holsters said, grinning as he nodded to his lap. “C’mon over.”

You glared at him, and lowered yourself into the nearest empty seat. “I’d rather not catch whatever brain-eating disease you have,” you snapped back, “thanks.” 

“Damned if we gotta work with a fucking mutey,” one of the other men muttered, clicking his gun into its holster emphatically.  

“Hey, she’s on our side, now!” Another laughed. He had stubbled cheeks and a purple bandana tied around his neck. “Gonna help us take out her own kind, just like that albino traitor,” he taunted lazily. “Ain’t that right, girl?”

A hot flush of anger overtook you, along with a sudden sense of claustrophobia at the van’s tight quarters. They don’t get to fucking mention Caliban. For a moment there was a loud buzzing in your ears, and a tide of memories and pain threatened to overwhelm you. Then you shoved the thoughts of Caliban back behind their wall , and turned on the Reavers. 

“We’re not hunting mutants tonight, piss-brain,” you shot back at the man with the bandana. “Did you miss the briefing? I know reading comprehension is above your paygrade, but it’s a fucking scientist you’re after.” 

It felt good to see the man’s gaze darken. “Guess that depends if we find any,” he replied, lip curling in a humorless smile. “Who knows what they’re hiding up there?” He leaned towards you conspiratorially, revealing the line of tattoos that stretched down his neck below the bandana. “Me, I'm hope there’s a few mutts,” his smile grew colder, and his eyes raked over your face in search of a reaction. “It’d be nice to have a little target practice.” 

Heat prickled down your spine, and you didn’t break his gaze. You weren’t going to be baited by this asshole. 

One of the other men–the bald one–was smiling, too; the same lazy malice written on his face as he watched you. “It has been a while since we got some hunting in,” he agreed. “Heard those kids gave quite the chase. But I’m sure ol’ Wolvey took the cake.” 

Your skin flushed hotter before you could get a handle on yourself. 

“How many shots did he take before he went down?” The bald man continued, turning to the other quizzically as bandana-man pursed his lips in thought. “Fuck, gotta be two-dozen?” He smiled, turning his gaze back to you as he let out a low whistle. 

The tension in the truck was thick as tar, and finally even the man on the laptop looked up, glancing between you and the Reavers. 

The buzzing in your mind felt like it was growing louder, like a freight train overtaking you; and all at once, the hot, prickling sensation on your skin resolved itself into something familiar. Something like crackling energy, and an awful golden light lurking just beyond your fingertips. 

The blood drained from your face. 

“You know ‘bout that, feathers?” The first man was asking, leaning forward as if in earnest. “Naw, she wasn’t there,” the other Reaver replied. “Missed the whole thing! Gotta tell her about it.”

What would happen if your powers returned, here and now? If your Ether flared inside this truck?

You had no idea, but you doubted there’d be any survivors. 

And would that be so bad? Some dark part of you whispered, lulling you towards the crackling energy. To end this awful game, and go out with a fucking bang? To take some of these assholes with you? 

Some distant, reasonable part of you was shouting for your attention, but far nearer was the forgefire of everything you’d shoved behind a wall in your mind. It was rage, and fear, and months of unprocessed grief–and that dam wasn’t going to hold forever. 

Somewhere outside the truck, there were voices, and engines revving–but they seemed far away compared to the dark, taunting eyes of the men before you. One little slip, one burst of energy–and they’d be gone, and you’d be gone from this place. 

The stillness of the truck was shattered as the front passenger door swung open, and a familiar figure climbed inside, blond hair tousled from the wind. The man with the bandana leaned back in his seat, breaking eye contact, and the bald man smiled sardonically as he shifted away, too. 

“Boys,” Pierce greeted, his gaze roving over the Reavers before settling on you. “Playin’ nicely?” 

The heat was high in your cheeks, and the buzzing in your mind still grappled for your attention as you tried to regain control. Now’s not the time to lose it, you told yourself, trying to shove the energy back behind its wall. Not with so much on the line. You couldn’t be so selfish. 

You could feel Pierce’s gaze on you, and from the corner of your eye you saw when the man on the computer glanced up, briefly locking eyes with Pierce as they seemed to exchange some sort of information. Pierce sat back in his seat, sighed once through his nose, then swung back out of the truck. You barely registered it when he appeared at your side door, sliding it open and taking hold of your arm as he pulled you back out into the night. 

Too surprised to resist, you landed on the sidewalk, and he shoved the door shut behind you, suddenly cutting you off from the scene within. 

“What are you doing?” You asked dumbly, slowly returning to yourself as he shepherded you down the walkway. Pierce only snorted, directing you towards one of the other trucks. “C’mon, baby,” he drawled, opening its door and herding you inside. “We're gonna ride recon.” 

***

The inside of the recon truck was quiet as it rumbled through the city streets, lights and the occasional bright storefront flashing past outside. The radio played a late-night mexican station and the transceiver crackled with brief messages and replies from the convoy, while the man in the passenger seat watched what appeared to be a live feed from outside Zenith Labs. 

They were headed to a drop point, from which you’d get airborn and make your way to the building while the Reavers followed from the ground. 

Pierce was listening to the transceiver's chatter, judging by the tilt of his head, and idly adjusting one of the components of his mechanical arm as the driver wove the truck through the midnight streets. The Reaver Commander wore his usual fatigues, black t-shirt, and leather jacket; but now with the addition of a kevlar vest, and holsters on either side of his hips. He was ready for a fight; but then again, he always looked ready for a fight. 

Finally, Pierce sighed.  

“I spent plenty of time around soldiers,” he said conversationally, shifting back against the truck's netted wall. “After a while, you learn the look of someone who’s about to break.” He met your gaze briefly, knowingly, as he twisted the metal dial that was his forearm in a series of smooth clicks.

You looked away, trying not to think about what had happened with the Reavers in the other truck. How you’d almost lost control. So easily, so quickly–and still, how the energy behind your mind’s wall seemed agitated, like a pot of water on too high heat. 

“Seen it happen,” Pierce continued. “Watched ‘em puke up their guts, or run for home…usually at the first fight, or first kill. First time facing bad odds,” he smiled drily. “And I wouldn’t care a whit about you going haywire on us,” he sighed, “except I seen what you can do when you break.” 

That day on the overpass. A car wreck, and an explosion of swirling golden Ether. 

You winced, and you could feel your usual composure eluding you. You knew that bits of your feelings were getting through; the shame. The anger. Fear. There was no stopping them. You swallowed, taking a deep breath. The least you could do was try to settle your stomach. There was a chance you might lose control and vaporize someone tonight, but you were not going to puke. 

Pierce was unfazed, staring at you as he leaned back. “Thing is, baby-" His mouth curved in an unfeeling smile. “-there’s a whole lot of people riding on tonight’s little operation. So I'll thank you not to blow the whole thing sky-high before we even get started.” 

“I’m not going to jeopardize your precious little kidnapping mission,” you snapped back. “I’m not going to break.” 

There was a beat of silence, and you returned your gaze to the window as you ignored the hollowness of your own words. 

In truth, you were relieved beyond measure that he’d pulled you away from the Reavers in that moment. You didn’t know what might have happened if you’d stayed, and didn’t want to consider it. Stupid, perceptive bastard. As it was, you still felt like your control was balancing on a knife’s edge–and the mission which that afternoon had felt impossible now felt like a death sentence. If you wanted to get through this, you couldn’t delve into your feelings. You had to do –not think. Not feel. 

“I’m not going to break,” you breathed, repeating it more to yourself than anyone else. Pierce sighed through his nose, not bothering to argue the point, then leaned forward and tugged at one of the straps of your vest, unfastening it.

“Hey–” you jerked away in surprise. His lips twitched, and he rolled his eyes. “Let me help you, sugar. You done it up all wrong.” 

Your breathing grew shallow as he leaned forward, his hands working deftly to pull the strap from its loop.

This close, his stature was even more intimidating than usual; your entire world taken up by his tall frame and thick arms. As if sensing your thoughts, Pierce smirked. His face was shadowed in the darkened car, but you could feel it. Asshole. 

"Easy, baby. Can't have your gear on wrong, now, can we?" 

His arms encircled you as he crossed the straps behind your back, and for a moment the warmth of his biceps pressed into your shoulders, and you could smell the musky, cheap scent of his aftershave. You turned your eyes skyward, ignoring the proximity of his neck and jaw, and tried to keep your thoughts from straying inevitably towards last night. Futilely. Your cheeks reddened. 

Then he was before you once more, fastening the straps tightly; his face shadowed, though the flash of the streetlamps illuminated the skull and crossbones inked across his neck. You made a mental note to mention to him how tacky the tattoo was, as soon as you'd regained your focus. Right now, you were too distracted; torn somewhere between the vile, magnetic pull of him, and the unnervingness of his physicality. Even without his robotic arm, he was frighteningly strong-and exactly the wrong kind of person to wield that power.

Still, his proximity calmed a small part of you by some infinitesimal amount. For even after witnessing your near loss of control, Donald Pierce didn’t seem scared of you. And in some way, that helped you feel less scared of yourself. Even if his character tended to counteract that effect. 

He finished with the vest, and you took a breath, nerves zinging as he leaned away. 

“There you go, sweetheart. All good,” he said, half mocking.

You thought his assessment over, but then his gaze fell to your arm. You’d almost forgotten the armband, but Pierce reached forward to grip your bicep, turning it into his view. His hands were firm; clinical in their assessment, but still the smirk remained. 

“No one told you how to put the damn thing on?” He asked, fiddling with something on the armband so that it clicked more firmly into place. 

“I didn’t exactly get workplace training,” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady and unbothered by your racing heart.

The truck was beginning to slow, finally, and you examined the sharp lines of his face in the halflight. “What is that thing, anyway?”

Pierce sat back, finally widening the space between you as he took his radio from the wall, slotting it into his belt. 

“Technical,” he replied. “Keeps your gear from emitting frequencies scanners might pick up while you’re on the way in.” 

You processed this information, idly straightening your shirt as the van rolled to a stop. Sometimes it was easy to forget that beyond the gun-obsessed, vaping, muscle-shirt wearing exterior, Pierce was smart. You'd worked as a mechanic, and were a dab hand at fixing basic wiring and the like-but Pierce was on another level. He'd designed his own mechanical arm out of advanced robotics, along with the enhancements on other Reavers-and seemed to have a disturbingly good understanding of things like energy signatures and transmissions. Power, in the worst possible hands. 

You heard other engines cutting off outside, and Pierce leaned forwards, pulling open the truck's side door as the night wind rushed in. You climbed unsteadily out, wings flaring for balance as you found your footing on the rocky ground. 

The place where the trucks had stopped appeared to be a dusty, dead-end road, slightly elevated from the rest of the city by a small hill. It was bordered on one side by a chainlink fence, and on the other by a grassy expanse which led down towards the roofs of some houses. 

“Now, you do what you gotta do to hold up your end of the bargain tonight, sugar,” Pierce said, swinging out of the truck after you. “No room for anything else. We’re gonna be right behind you.” He grinned. “In spirit, if not in the flesh.” 

The truck stopped across from you was the one from before, and as you watched, the Reavers from within climbed out to lean against the doors or hang from the windows. Purple bandana leaned against its side, while the bald man watched from the open door. His gaze was gloating, but you ignored it. Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that they were all watching you-sizing you up; as if waiting for something.

Pierce leaned against the recon truck, his tall frame impossible to ignore at your back; and you realized what they were all waiting for. 

You. Of course they were going to watch you take off; for you were a freak, and they had front row seats to the show.

A pang of anxiety shot through you at the thought. You'd always known how much the Reavers hated you; hated all mutants-but it was a different beast to feel it. This was truly what you were to them. An aberration; some strange, depraved mistake that nature made, and on which they had the chance to profit. You didn't feel confidant under their scrutiny, but you sure as hell weren't going to show them how much it rattled you.

Might as well make it worth their while, you thought, jaw clenching. You took a few anticipatory breaths, and bounced on the balls of your feet as you worked up your courage.

Just do. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Take the damn sociopath's advice, and do what you have to do to get through the night. 

“Catch you on the other side,” Pierce grinned, wolflike in the darkness. 

Without waiting to reply, you took a running start towards the grassy slope. The air was cool on your hot cheeks as you sprinted, leaving all thought behind. The chainlink fence and red roofs of the houses at the bottom of the slope grew nearer, and then your feet left the ground, and the sudden sensation of weightlessness hit you like a wall as your wings fanned out on either side. 

They’d chosen a good take-off point. The natural updraft of the hill caught you almost immediately, carrying you effortlessly up and away from the shrinking roofs. 

Your newly-healed muscles ached at the exertion, but the ache was dull, dampened by the sudden thrill of flight. It felt like leaving it all behind; like escaping the tethers of your mind, and throwing fear to the wind. 

How long had it been, since you really flew ? But you couldn’t think about that now; only the task ahead. 

Far below, truck doors slammed as Reavers climbed back inside and the black vans pulled away from the drop point. And high above, you wheeled towards the city; focus honed to a single point of intent as you worked to pick out the dark shape of one specific skyscraper among the rest.

Taglist:

@humongousgalaxycoffee @drowningnikki @mischiefmanaged71 @lostcause514 @capvengrs @forever-nerd @pancakesandlolliepops @kingredking @gremlinfuck @marvel-at-my-obsession @padawansubscription @rebeccaofrivia @toobsock @darkengene

#fanfic #donald pierce #donald pierce x reader #boyd holbrook #donald pierce x you

[mlmxreader]

Rodeo Rider | Donald Pierce x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: “I wish I knew how to quit you.” “Don’t quote Brokeback Mountain at me” for Donald Pierce x gn reader

summary: Donald takes a shine to someone that really doesn’t seem his type, but he likes them an awful lot. 

tws: swearing, choking, rough kissing, possessive talk, smoking

word count: 1020

A worn dull grey cowboy hat sat on your head, paired with a blue denim shirt and blue denim jeans, a brown leather belt and a golden belt buckle, and as you looked over at Donald, you grinned; behind you, the beat up and dirty black pickup truck felt hot to the touch, in the direct line of the afternoon sun. Your boots looked a lot like that truck as you crossed your ankles and lit up a cigarette, leaning against the cool wall in the shade. 

“Did you have to drag me along here?” You asked, raising a brow. 

Donald shrugged, angling his hand in the sunlight so that when the light bounced off of it, it hit you directly in the eye, making you laugh as you looked away. “I like having you around, sue me.” 

“I haven’t got the money for that,” you scoffed. “You ought to know, I mean, I still been able to pay you back for that lift you gave me the other month.” 

He looked you up and down for a moment, daring to laugh as he tilted his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest, the softest of hums coming from the back of his throat; when you first met, you were little more than a mutant with a gift for talking to animals, working at rodeos as a rider and occasionally helping out with rattlesnake problems, moving them back to where they belonged, in their natural habitat. When you first met, Donald took a shine to you more than anyone else before; he liked that you made him laugh, and that you got along well. He liked you a lot, and even now that you were occasionally being dragged along when he needed someone slightly less violent than him during business meetings, he still liked you just as much. 

Scratching the back of his neck, Donald cleared his throat as he stole another glance at you, that damn smug smile not leaving him for even a second. “I wish I knew how to quit you.” 

“Don’t quote Brokeback Mountain at me,” you grumbled, shaking your head.

But you soon shut up when he walked over, and by the time that you dropped your cigarette, he had his hands on the collar of your denim shirt as he pushed you back against the wall firmly, using his left hand to knock the hat from your head before he planted both hands on your neck. Keeping you still as he kissed you roughly, harshly, making you cling onto his jacket as you prayed that he would stay so close. You really wanted him to stay close as he kissed you so harshly, taking the breath from your lungs as he pinned you against the wall. You had never been kissed like that before, with such brutality that you worried your lips were going to bruise, but you didn’t want it to end; not even when your body started begging for air, you didn’t want it to end. But then Donald pulled back, smiling and humming softly as he gripped your chin with his metal forefinger and thumb, forcing you to keep your eyes on him as he tilted his head and swiped his tongue along his bottom lip; you tasted better than anything he had had before. You tasted like a strong whisky on a winter’s evening, making him want to savour it, to remember the taste on the tip of his tongue for the rest of his years. 

“Kiss me again,” you breathed out, eyes a little wider than usual as you swallowed thickly and tugged at his jacket, begging him to get closer. “Please. Donald… kiss me again.” 

He looked at your lips for a moment, able to feel how your harsh breath hit his skin so heavily, panting, and slowly, he moved his hand around to the base of your throat, nearly laughing when you whimpered so softly; almost like reciting a prayer for him. Just for him. “You want me to choke you while I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you whispered, and when Donald squeezed your throat as he kissed you harshly once more, you couldn’t stop yourself from damn near melting against the scalding metal against your skin. Just a rodeo rider, that’s all you were, just a rodeo rider and yet Donald had taken such a bright shine to you that he couldn’t keep his damn hands off of you anymore. Just a rodeo rider. 

“Mine,” Donald growled upon pulling away, nipping at your bottom lip as he chuckled lowly, the sound of it harsh and thunderous against your lips. “All mine, and don’t you dare forget it, cowboy. Or else.” 

You smiled, daring to let go of his jacket so that you could put your hands on his shoulders. “Or else what?”

“Or else I’m gonna have to remind you,” he leaned in real close, his lips against your ear, his voice dropping so quiet and so low that it would have been hard to hear him anywhere else. “I’m gonna have to make everyone see exactly who you belong to - all your little rodeo friends, all my men. Every-goddamn-last one of ‘em… can’t have you runnin’ off with someone else, can I?”

“Don’t you think this is a little fast?” You asked teasingly, licking your lips as you did your best not to laugh ever so softly. 

“Fast or slow,” he growled. “I just like the direction we’re going - don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do,” you breathed out, nodding as you went to grab the lapels of his jacket again. “Now, are you gonna kiss me again, or are you gonna make me wait for it?”

“I think I might make you wait,” Donald mused. “I’ve never heard a rodeo rider beg before - I wanna know how it sounds.” 

“You’ll be waiting a long time,” you told him gently. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I don’t think I will,” he chuckled. “C’mon, we better get to this meeting - I made sure there ain’t enough chairs, just so you can sit on my lap.” 

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

#mlem writes #Donald Pierce x yn #donald pierce x y/n #donald pierce x you #donald pierce x reader #donald pierce imagine #donald pierce #logan fanfiction #logan fanfic #logan fic #logan oneshot #logan one shot #logan imagine #logan x reader #logan x you #logan x y/n #logan x yn #logan 2017 #logan #boyd holbrook x reader #boyd holbrook x you #boyd holbrook imagine

[abusivelittlebunny]

I love your blog so much!! …and I was just wondering if you’d seen these lovely pictures of Boyd Holbrook yet? 😌😏

I've seen most of these but not the top right and the very last one omg my babyyyyy!!!! Obsessed with this man ngl

The vibes I'm getting from these are:

1. Dream Corinthian after getting used and abused by perverted mortals finally resting, his hole and throat sore and he's so sleepy and tired now in his little fairy dress. He tried to put on one of his dreamers' pants for modesty, his poor hole was so loose and leaking so much cum, but he was too exhausted to pull it up all the way and fell into a deep slumber to rest and recover. Morpheus watches on thinking maybe he spoiled mankind with his masterpiece.

2. Teen Donald watching his hot dilfy neighbor Logan building his daughter a play house in the front yard and offering to help him after school, hoping to get invited in for some lemonade and get dicked down

3. Punkrock clubrat Donald who offers a blowjob to Logan for a cigarette at the concert Logan is working at as a bodyguard.

4. Corinthian in a younger body out dilf hunting in the 80s trying to score some top cock to suck on and soulful eyes to pop

5. This is giving me some fifties wannabe leather rider pretty boy Donald, still young and hopeful and latching onto Logan who's the kind of biker daddy war veteran he's been dying to ride.

#submission #boyd holbrook #donald pierce #logan #the corinthian #the sandman #logan x donald #thank you for the enrichment sprinkled into my enclosure!!!

[makeyoumine69]

My Lovely Detective I

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Detective!OC

— CO-WRITER: @iron-flavored-lipgloss

— SUMMARY: Being a detective in New York was pretty hard, and being a woman detective was even harder, but not for Andrea Moore. Despite the fact that she lived the life of an average American without any luxury or wealth, she loved her job, her life and her boyfriend, who always supported her. One day, her boss — Detective Kimball — assigned her to a case regarding the disappearance of a very rich man from Wall Street named Paul Allen, and her first task became to interrogate the man who was suspected to be connected to it. From that moment on, Andrea would have to reveal what secrets were hidden behind the perfect facade of Patrick Bateman...

— CONTAINS: Swearing, misogyny, mind manipulation, mild seduction.

— WORDS: 2.4k

— A/N: Me and my dear friend @iron-flavored-lipgloss have been working on this writing project for quite a while and now it's finally here! Feel free to share your opinion, we hope you like it!

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [AO3}.

Pierce & Pierce

The first impression I got when I stepped into the glass box called P&P office was the unprecedented atmosphere of wealth and elitism I'd never experienced before. It only confirmed Donald Kimball's statements about Wall Street and its special aura that consumes you from the moment you enter the space where arrogant yuppies rush past you without paying attention, even if they push you painfully on your shoulder.

Today, I had to interrogate one of the vice presidents of Pierce & Pierce, his name was Patrick Bateman and Detective Kimball - my boss - had a very strange opinion about this guy and he made me aware to be careful and attentive to the things he would say. And I didn't know why my heart was beating so fast when it was such a common thing for me to interrogate someone, but once I got to the right floor and went into Bateman's office I saw a beautiful blonde woman who was supposed to be his assistant. Her name was Jean and she asked me to wait a bit before she sneaked into Patrick's office to ask him if he was not super busy.

One minute, two minutes...

I was getting more and more nervous the longer I waited, but luckily for me, Jean appeared almost as I was about to start digging my nails into my skin; she politely asked me to come in.

With deliberate movements, I entered the fashionable office to see a handsome man sitting at the wooden desk, his brown hair with a golden hue slicked back, and the moment he raised his eyes to me, I felt a tight knot form in my stomach.

"This is Detective Andrea Moore," Jean introduced me with a friendly smile. "Can I get you some coffee?" She asked immediately, but her question wasn't addressed to me as I noticed her devoted gaze on the brown-haired man who still hadn't said a word.

For Patrick Bateman, there was little to distinguish one workday from the other. Everything went in pleasantly bland and repetitive cycles: arriving at the office (impeccably styled from head to toe like any self-respecting yuppie, but still a little sleeker than everyone else, he reassured himself), the new release by whatever popular band was blaring in his headphones. With world economic news on the TV and a crossword puzzle to complete, he told Jean to cancel unnecessary meetings every morning.

But not today. 

There was a moment of irritation when Jean declared that there was an unexpected visitor waiting outside his office. A detective, she said, but this time it wasn't Kimball, and this additional information was what really started to bother Patrick. 

He had to make an effort to manipulate Kimball, sure that the man would finally believe in his integrity and drop the 'Paul Allen' case.‘Maybe I need to get my lawyer involved, maybe money needs to be paid to solve this.' The door opened again, this time Jean led the detective in, and in an instant a wave of relief washed over Patrick. He dismissed Jean with a smile that was almost natural to him by now. He let her go and then turned his eyes back to the woman in front of him. ‘A female detective... If they exchanged Kimball with her, for whatever reason, my situation can't be that bad.’ Patrick let his eyes glide over her body, his confidence returning with every second. Aside from her sex, this person truly presented a different image than Kimball. Illuminated by the morning sun, her suit shimmered in a way that only cheap polyester could. ‘What a feeble attempt to demand respect,’ Patrick thinks with mild disgust. Despite its loose cut, the suit did little to hide her voluptuous figure. 'Nice tits. Could be an hourglass figure if it weren't for the fat around her waist.' 

Disinterested, he focused again on her face, framed by brown and unruly curls - another flaw in his book. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss ...?" Patrick asked in a tone of false pleasantness, but with a face that didn't betray much happiness. He didn't remember her name very well either, even though Jean had said it just a few seconds ago.

"Miss Moore," she replied briefly, taking a seat across from his desk. At first the woman reached out to shake his hand, but then she pulled back. "Detective Donald Kimball has decided to let me continue his investigation into Paul Allen's disappearance," Andrea paused to retrieve the notebook and pen from her bag. "We have another missing persons case."

Though her voice sounded confident and stern, there was a turmoil of emotions raging within her, but the woman managed to regain her composure. God, why was reality so cruel to her? When Kimball had given her this case, he had never mentioned what Bateman looked like, and that had made Andrea think that Patrick was a typical middle-aged banker, but she had been so fucking wrong that now she felt embarrassed and nervous, and her hands were shaking slightly. 

"According to my information, you were seeing a woman named Bethany not too long ago," the detective looked at Patrick while he made some notes. "You were studying at Harvard together. Is that correct?"

‘She has an exotic look to her, despite the last name. A "first generation raised outside East Harlem" kind of vibe, ' Patrick thought dismissively.  ‘Girls like her have a lot to prove, and they always bring that insecurity into the conversation. They cover it up by acting all masculine and bossy.’ 

It wasn't lost on him how her fingers trembled as she reached for the notebook, and that was the only reason the mention of Bethany's name didn't worry him for the moment. Perhaps Paul was having an affair with her? New York's elite is a small world. 

Right now, this interview was nothing more than an inconvenience for him. "That's true. But really, our relationship ended after graduation. I also can't help but wonder how any of this relates to Paul Allen. At least that was the topic of conversation with Detective Kimball."

'What a smug son of a bitch.' The detective didn't flinch, her face devoid of emotion despite the storm brewing inside. "You see, sometimes we work with the police to help find missing persons," she explained, unbuttoning her jacket to reveal a simple blue blouse underneath. "A few weeks ago it was reported that a woman named Bethany Simmons had disappeared under strange circumstances, but before that she had dined with you. Her hairdresser confirmed it."

A sudden power shift in the conversation made Andrea feel a little more confident as she detected a slight tension in the way Bateman frowned.

"What happened after dinner, Mr. Bateman?" The woman asked insistently, pen in hand, ready to catch every word the man was about to give her. "Maybe you can tell us where Bethany is now?"

Patrick couldn't help but feel his body stiffen at Detective Moore's words before he forced himself to lean back in his chair - just keeping up the pretense of casualness. 

"We met for a late dinner, nothing more. After that we parted ways, I would have assumed she went home. But this is really disturbing to hear."

Mimicking a sad expression, Patrick studied the woman across from him intensely. Maybe he needed to be careful. Kimball had a different attitude, one that Patrick already began to miss because of its familiarity. 

‘Why so aggressive with this lack of hard evidence? A hairdresser... Believe a hairdresser over the testimony of a vice president of a leading Wall Street firm! I bet she just hates men.’

And yet his eyes lingered on her now exposed blouse.

The detective was about to check the time, but when she noticed the gold Rolex on Bateman's wrist, she somehow changed her mind, not wanting to reveal her cheap watch.

"Okay," she smiled suddenly and put her notebook on her lap. "May I ask about your relationship with Bethany? Maybe she shared some concerns with you during that dinner? Did she think she was in danger? Maybe someone was threatening her?" Andrea asked with undisguised interest in the case she was investigating. "I know that Mr. Kimball had a conversation with Bethany's fiancé..."

The sudden pause hung in the air like a suffocating rope around Patrick's neck.

'He's lying, I can feel it.' The woman grinned wider and made some notes. "I really hope you'll give me some information so I don't have to deal with your lawyer. People in your circle always like to do that." Andrea fixed her curly locks that tried to block her vision. "But I understand how busy you are."

Hidden under the desk from the detective's watchful eyes, Patrick's fingers began to dig into his thigh. Oh, how he wished it was her neck instead. 

How much information could Bethany's fiancé really have? No, this seemed more like a strategy to make him panic, and yet it was starting to work in a way. 

"Oh, I don't see any need to get a lawyer involved. These questions are only reasonable," Patrick fought to maintain the image of an innocent man and gave the most sympathetic smile his tense muscles could muster. "She didn't mention anything specific, but you know. She had a tendency to meet up casually with different men, so who knows where she went after our dinner. I'm not sure how informed her boyfriend is about that either. As for me and her - we were just catching up for old times' sake.”

At this point, Patrick started to seriously think about what had happened to Bethany's body.

Andrea did her best to catch up with Bateman's comments, writing them down with calculated precision. Then she massaged her temples shortly - a clear sign of her tired state. "You said Bethany was seeing other men...do you think she might be unfaithful to her fiancé?" The detective asked suddenly, arching her eyebrow in a thoughtful manner as cogs began to turn in her head. "Also, do you know her boyfriend? Could he be dangerous to Bethany?"

The woman didn't even notice her foot tapping on the floor, the adrenaline from the current conversation coursing through her veins, and that was the strongest drug for her.

"Have you been having an affair with Bethany behind his back? That can be a motive for him to commit a crime, you know what I mean?" She murmured in a suddenly low voice, her throat was dry from tension, but she didn't dare ask for water. A muffled rustling of city life could be heard in the moment of silence and the woman hoped that Patrick couldn't hear her fast heartbeat.

Maybe it was the way she looked at him (tired? dismissive? annoyed?), but something inside him shifted. Suddenly, Patrick found himself dangerously overwhelmed by irritation at her audacity and bold questioning, more than anything else.

"It was her who invited me, and during our time together she was clearly trying to make a move. Well, she didn't get what she wanted out of that dinner. I'm engaged myself, you know."

‘She thinks she's so smart, but if we had met under different circumstances, in a club for example, she would be throwing herself at me right now.’

"You said it yourself, I have a very busy lifestyle," and with a playful glance at his Rolex, Patrick continued. "But I'm making time for you, willing to prove good intentions. And all I can say is that I knew Bethany better when we were together. I'm unfamiliar with her exact current situation and fiancé."

Beyond the carefully curated faux friendliness, he leaned forward and looked deeply into Detective Moore's dark eyes. 

"But if a woman in a committed relationship looks at other men the way she looked at me that night - her boyfriend can't be good. Wouldn't that be the logical conclusion?"

His unexpectedly brazen remark made Andrea's jaw clench in anger. "Maybe after we find Bethany, you can ask her that question."

The woman tried to hide her annoyance as his words found some resonance within her - Bateman was an utterly handsome man, it was foolish and stupid to try to argue with that fact, though that didn't mean the detective had to admit it either.

"Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Bateman," the woman muttered and tucked her things back into her bag. " I will take some time researching information and discussing it with Mr. Kimball. I think we can meet here in a week or...maybe at a café?" The woman's expression didn't change even when she realized what she had just said. "I don't want to bother Jean and the people in here," Andrea tried to shake off her nervousness. "But this is all up to you."

Patrick raised his eyebrows, taking her sudden desire to leave as a success on his part. "Why do you say you bother Jean? This is her job. But if there is any way I can help you with your research, please do."

He held one of his business cards out to her, his attitude now almost charming.

‘Of course she wants to meet me for dinner. Like all the women I've met, huh?’

 "Call this number and Jean will discuss a convenient time and date with you. I will get us a good reservation at a restaurant, for whatever topic you want to discuss with me. You see, I just don't like unannounced interruptions."

The woman took the business card and, without looking at it, quickly put it in her notebook. "See you soon, have a good day, Mr. Bateman."

With that Andrea picked up her things and got up to leave the office as soon as possible, she didn't say anything to Jean. When she was finally outside, she took a moment to breathe deeply, as if she was suffocating from lack of oxygen all the time. The pedestrians passed her like ghosts, her heartbeat pulsed in her ears and Andrea couldn't really remember being so... shocked and puzzled by any man before. 

Even in the subway all she could think about was Bateman and his pathetic attempts to deceive her and mislead her investigation. Now she had more questions than answers, and she desperately needed to talk to Mr. Kimball. ‘I'm gonna make you talk, Bateman, I'm gonna do more than that.’

#american psycho #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x oc #patrick bateman x fem!oc #slasher x oc

[writing-my-time]

Meet Me in the Bathroom

Donald Pierce X F!Reader This is the first time I've ever posted anything I've written to Tumblr! This is written for @toxicanonymity's Boyd-a-thon, which was almost perfect timing considering he's become my new blorbo. Word Count: 1.7k Warnings: 18+, Smut with minimal plot, alcohol, semi-public sex, fingering, light spanking, over-use of pet names, unprotected sex. Summary: Not even five minutes into your drink, Donald invites you to 'catch-up' in the bathroom. You agree.

Tap tap tap. Tap. The sound is aggravating, the sight even more so.

Donald Pierce slides next to you, practically peacocking his chest out as his robotic digits thrum against the bar table. Each tap of his fingers on the wood makes your eye twitch. Apparently, there’s no escaping the Reaver’s ringleader, not even in a bar right on the outskirts of Laguna Vista. You’ve only been nursing your drink for about five minutes, before he’s made his way over to you. Not even enough time to feel a buzz. He’s got that stupid grin on his face. The one where his gold tooth glints, contrasting his otherwise pearly whites. As the man leans forward, pulling down his red shades to reveal his steely blue eyes, you can’t help but roll your own. Your wordless exchange is one you’ve shared before, though it’s far too early for the two of you to make your way back to wherever he’s staying.

“Oh, c’mon, angel.” He clicks his tongue before sipping his whiskey. “Ain’t like you to refuse a piece.”

You almost choke on your drink, not wanting to stroke the man’s ego with a laugh. Watching as he folds his glasses and tucks them into his jacket pocket, you can’t help but rest your eyes on his chain necklace — Donald notices, chuckling to himself as he leans a little further forward. The chain you’d been admiring now dangles gently off his skin, glimmering slightly as the dim lights of the bar catch it swaying. Soon enough, his whiskied breath hits the shell of your ear, breaking you from your trance.

“I ain’t asking for you to stay the night, princess. Just hoping you’d meet me in the bathroom in a minute or two.” He’s almost pouting, the dirtbag. “Like old times?”

“The fucking bathroom, Don? That’s disgusting” You growl through a whisper.

“Didn’t stop you in New Mexico. Or Lake Charles, or-” “Christ, fine. I’ll be there in a minute.”

God damn it. You chew down on your lip, shutting your eyes to avoid the cocky eyebrow wriggle he’s most likely doing. Why did that work on you? Why does he work on you? Goosebumps pimple your skin as he pulls away. Like you expected, he’s wiggling his eyebrows. Without another word, he shifts off of his seat, swaggering away to the bathrooms, looking back at you with a smirk, he slips an ‘out-of-order’ sign onto the door of the disableds. You swing back your drink with haste.

---

It takes about two minutes for you to convince yourself to actually follow him. Quickly, you make your way across the room in an effort to stay unnoticed by the bar’s other patrons - though, they all seem too wrapped up in their own business to notice two people entering the same bathroom. As you push open the creaky door, you’re met almost instantly with the strong frame of Donald Pierce. Both flesh and cybernetic hands make their way down your sides, and his predatory grip tightens around your waist. Pulling you into the bathroom entirely, Don kicks the door closed with his foot before pressing you up against the cold wood. You still have enough time to look around the bathroom before his lips latch onto your neck. Like you suspected, it wasn’t exactly clean. 

The walls have some kind of mold growing up the side, and in truth, the floor is no better. God knows what the actual amenities look like. There’s a faint droning of the harsh fluorescent light above you, but that holds nothing in comparison to the sound of Don’s throaty chuckle as his hands begin to guide you over the sink.

“You’re not bending me over that thing.” You try to dig in your heels, but you know he’s far too strong to be stopped. That, and you don’t really want him to. “Don, it’s filthy.”

“Stop whining.”

“Don, you’re not fucking me-”

“-I said stop whining.” He cuts your protests off short, turning and forcing you to grip the sides of the decrepit sink as he pushes you against it. “Now, be a good girl and look in the mirror.”

Hearing his order makes your cheeks burn, and you lift your head to catch his image in the mirror. You watch the reflection with shaky breath as Don hikes your skirt up and drags your panties halfway down your thighs. With your eyes focusing on Don, you catch him throwing his head back, growling in frustration to himself before he unbuckles his belt. He drags his tongue over his teeth, flitting his eyes between the sight of your warmth, slick and wanting, and your blushing face in the mirror.

“Wish I could take my time with you.” He admits with a growl, lazily pushing the waistband of his pants under his balls, pumping his cock a few times in preparation. “Shit, I’d worship your pussy if you let me, angel. But we don’t got time.”

You’re about to quip back to him that it was his choice to fuck in the bathroom, but the air is forced out of your lungs as he delves two freezing cold metal fingers into your pink slit. Already, you know he’s not planning on keeping his cybernetic digits there for long; simply working your wetness enough to make room for his thickness. When a moan threatens to escape your lips, you have to remove your gaze from the mirror entirely. Don clicks his tongue, hastily pulling his hand away from your core. “Thought I told you to look, pretty girl.” The southern man reaches forward and grips your jaw, steering your head back to the direction of the mirror. 

Once again, you’re met with your own reflection. You watch through half-lidded eyes as Don grips his length in his hand, coating it in the slick he had gathered from your core. It’s mesmerizing, the way his tip is already red and weeping in his tight grasp. He knows you’re looking, and rewards your focus with a gentle love tap of his cock against your folds. If you weren’t so worked up, you’d bark at him to get a condom, but that’s more time you don’t want to lose. After a heated exhale from Don, he pushes forward. 

While this isn’t the first time his girth has invaded your walls, the pure thickness of him forces a choked gasp from deep within your chest. The man has yet to move, instead he dips his head down, clearly in his own bubble of ecstasy while your wetness envelops him with ease. Don’s hands grip your hips with enough strength to leave bruises, and without warning the Reaver pulls himself completely out, only to ram himself back in. His pace is vicious; the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the dingy bathroom. All you can do is bite down on your lip in a desperate attempt to stay quiet, watching through glassy eyes as Donald’s reflection fucks into you with a snarl. 

“Fuck, angel,” He rasps, catching your eyes in the mirror. “Don't you look so pretty takin’ my cock like this?”

You nod, earning a harsh slap to your ass with his flesh hand.

“Words, baby. You know I like that pretty lil’ voice of yours.”

“I look pretty.” You manage to squeak out through high-pitched whimpers.

“Good girl.” 

His praise is accentuated by his cybernetic hand snaking around your waist and slipping between your soaked folds. Finding your clit, he circles it with an equally brutal pace as his thrusts. There's a knot in your stomach, and already you’re feeling it begin to snap. It's as if he knows, digging his free hand in your hip for better leverage to fuck you even harder; now hitting deep enough inside you to make you need to scream. Instead, you clamp your teeth down around your hand, moaning into the bitten skin. You're so close it hurts.

“Does my pretty girl wanna cum?”

Again, you nod. This time you don't get spanked. When you focus on the mirror, you see Don's face begin to twist into pure bliss. He's close too. In his one moment of being a gentleman, he clearly wants you to cum first, or at least at the same time. Throwing his head back, Don lets out a low growl.

“Cum for me, pretty girl. Let me feel it.”

On command, your body spasms, a quick and powerful release clamping down around him while you whine into your hand. You can't help but squint your eyes shut, feeling the final staggered thrusts from Don before he pulls out with barely enough time to spare. All you can hear is his throaty grunts, right before thick ropes of his release coat your ass. He slumps over your body for a moment, syncing with your own heavy breaths before finally pulling back and admiring his work. The reaver gives your left cheek a gentle smack before pulling your skirt back down over it. He's pocketed your panties. Jerk. As you pull back with shaky legs, you aren't surprised to see he's already tucked himself back in, zipping up his fly as your eyes meet his. Can't exactly have pillow talk in a disabled bathroom, can you? The look he gives you isn't one you've seen before, but you can guess what it means.

“Gotta go?” You assume, finally exhaling a stable breath.

“You know it, angel. Nature of the job.” He shoots you the same shit eating grin as before, making sure to add in a wink this time for good measure.

With that, Donald exits the bathroom without so much as a goodbye. You rest your arms back against the sink, shaking your head as you laugh at your own expense. A minute later, you follow suit, creaking open the toilet door and removing the out-of-order sign. The man is nowhere to be seen, leaving an empty feeling you’d much prefer to drink away than acknowledge. When you head back to your original seat at the bar, the tender sets down a pretty pink cocktail with a note.

See you later, pretty girl. - D. x ---

Thank you for reading! Feedback, thoughts, and other ideas welcome. Maybe more Holbrook boy fics in the future :) Big thank you to @justeverythingprettymuch for hyping me up to post this <3

#boyd a thon #boyd holbrook #donald pierce #donald pierce x reader #logan 2017 #donald pierce smu #goose writing

[nnight-dances]

HOW TO FALL BACK IN LOVE WITH YEONJUN

pairings: yeonjun x f!reader

tropes: one-sided enemies to lovers >:-)

plotline: yeonjun loves you. you've loved him before but now you're convinced he deserves nothing but your ironic smiles. well, you're wrong. these three acts of your life uncover the truth behind your resentment and the depth of yeonjun's love. plus, an epilogue where we collectively hate on short stories because only poetry can truly capture a writer's horniness!

what to expect: a lot of rambling in parentheses but i promise it's essential to the storyline, (i have many thoughts about how i've used this feature in this story which i can share if anyone's interested.) mbti talk, some tiktok slang.

song recommendations: sweet by cigarettes after sex, moonlight by dhruv, lay all your love on me by abba

—

THE FIRST ACT: 2 THINGS YOU (MIGHT) HATE ABOUT YEONJUN

it’s not a secret that yeonjun does everything with his everything. he’s only invested in his select few interests but just the little things take up all the space in his heart. you could argue for or against his way of living, he’s more than aware it’s not the healthiest to be like this but he’s not ready to change, not while he’s still young. for now, he’s a summation of fixations and obsessions in his world. and it just so happens that one of his obsessions is you.

“what’s this? y/n’s got a new piercing?” he leans back on his heels dramatically, mouth forming an o at the sight of the newly-added butterfly stud on the helix of your ear. “and it’s only tuesday. week not going very well for you.”

you narrow your eyes at him in your typical resting-bitch-face fashion, instantly taking on an aloof demeanor, “i’m extremely uncomfortable with the fact that you’re keeping up with the number of piercings i have. can’t say i’m flattered.”

“ha! at this point, i don’t even have to try to keep count. you get a new one every other day.”

“oh, leave her alone, jun,” calls out taehyun from behind you, “she’s doing it for inspiration for her portfolio that’s due in three days.”

two ring-adorned middle fingers stick up in front of taehyun’s face, your hoarse voice following suit, “you’re a terrible friend, kang taehyun.”

“two days? and you’re not done? sorry, love, but as an ESTP, i physically cannot forgive you. i have to shame you in public.”

yeonjun laughs a little too hard for your liking at that, about to chime in with his own patronizing comment but you cut in, “oh, well, you know who else is an ESTP? donald j. trump!”

yeonjun laughs again at that, enjoying the banter between you and taehyun a lot. he joins in, “i’m an ENFP. that’s the same as katniss everdeen’s, so i’d say that explains why i’m so hot.”

you frown, “you mean you would choose peeta over gale? yeah, i can see why you have such bad taste in everything.”

taehyun howls in laughter at that and yeonjun shakes his head, “oh, ho ho ho,” he shuffles closer to you, “you don’t understand, y/n, how badly you’ve just insulted yourself.”

before you can fully comprehend the meaning of his statement, he’s gone, grabbing (stealing) a can of beer from hueningkai who’s busy forcing beomgyu to arm-wrestle him.

“whatever that means,” you huff out, massaging your temples. taehyun sighs, concealing a knowing smile, “yeah. i’ve no idea what he means.”

you rest your head against the sofa he’s sat on, stretching out your legs, “i actually hate you for betraying me like that.”

“oh god, maybe i’ll stop the day you stop talking like we’re still in the second grade and i’ve lent my eraser to the wrong person.”

“you might as well have!” you complain, not in the least petty because, “choi yeonjun did not need to know i’m behind on my portfolio. god knows what he’s gonna do with that information.”

taehyun snorts, “ah, yes, he’s probably going to plan a full-fledged assassination involving your family and kids simply based on the knowledge that you’re a helpless procrastinator.”

“you know what?” you sit up with a groan, “i think you’re the one i should be worried about sharing my secrets with. you’re the real threat here.”

your ‘friend’ simply chuckles under his breath as he watches you depart his side and hopes yeonjun’s somewhere in the crowd of the party to keep your nerves… unnerved.

yeonjun is present in the crowd, sat on the less than reassuring metal stairs of beomgyu and hueningkai’s shared apartment. his hand fidget with his phone, struggling to stop himself from going on tinder only to be disappointed because he’s just looking for another y/n and that near impossible, unless you break your oath to rely on “real life encounters and experiences” (your very own words) to find love.

he finds you then, in a group of people hanging around the balcony, cigarettes in hand. you stand a little far apart from the others, looking undoubtedly spaced-out as you swing on your heels back and forth. you’re pretty, even though yeonjun can only see one-fourth of your face, what with all the darkness and your hair in the way.

but you hate him. even if your disgusted grimaces and cold glares are all but a joke, you did seem harbor some kind of resentment toward yeonjun. he’d no idea what it was and trust him when he says he’s been putting his neck on the line just to figure out why.

so far the reasons that have him most convinced include,

one: you hate all men in general and he just happens to be a particularly irksome male presence in your life.

this is a pretty likely explanation, he thinks as he approaches you, because even as an outsider to the group you’re in, he can see that you reserve your expletives for certain men.

“…and that’s why i think everything is soup,” yuta finishes saying when yeonjun joins you. for a second there’s silence and even mark who usually can’t control his laughter maintains a poker face. then, you groan, “yuta, if i had a pencil right now, i genuinely would have stabbed you with it.”

now, this makes everyone crack up while you regard them in disbelief with a look that screams you guys know i’m serious right? because you’re dead serious.

so yeah, it’s a good bet to say that men aren’t your favorite kind of people. but still, yeonjun couldn’t shake off the feeling that your dislike for him is more personal. wishful thinking, perhaps? but then, you turn and notice yeonjun standing beside you.

your half-smile tightens into a frown, “when did you get here?”

there it was. that specific tone you use with, that was missing when you’d threatened lucas just moments ago. the grit in your teeth, the intensity of your eye-contact, even the way you say you changes. which brings him to the next and last potential reason that yeonjun has spent days, if not years, pondering.

two: yeonjun had done you wrong without knowing and ever since then, you’ve grown to absolutely despise him.

now, yeonjun knew for a fact that you’re expert at holding grudges, clear from how quick you’ve always been to bring up embarrassing things people around you, specifically taehyun, had done. and to be honest, you’re just good at remembering unusual amount of detail which you use to your advantage.

which is why yeonjun knows you’ll know he’s lying when he says, “i’ve been here for a good ten minutes, y/n. i’m so hurt you haven’t noticed.”

“stop that,” you shoot back instantly, raising a singular but intimidating index finger, “i know what you’re doing.”

yeonjun raises his eyebrow in amusement, “stop what? what am i doing?” he slightly leans in to dramatically tuck in a few stray strands of hair, “please, enlighten me.”

the low, husky voice he uses is not lost on you. despite your flaming cheeks, you scoff, “that! you’re flirting with me!” you reach up and promptly untuck the hair from behind your hair, “these are my slut strands. you’re not allowed to touch them without permission.”

“your—” yeonjun pauses, “slut... strands? right.” he swallows a chuckle, smirking instead, all while internally he’s having a breakdown over how insane you are. like in a good way. in the way that everything you say is fucking crazy but it’s so native to your logic that it drives him crazy and holy cheese, yeonjun is scaring himself right now.

he looks away momentarily to see the rest of the group’s conversation floating elsewhere. he turns back to you, “so you noticed?”

you cock up a brow, “that you’re flirting with me? no shit, yeonjun, you know i may not look street-smart but i have to live with taehyun and his witty ass so trust me, i’m not oblivious.”

“oh, i beg to differ,” he settles closer to you, leaning against the same pillar as you, shoulder flush against yours, “i didn’t think for a second that you were oblivious.”

“that’s why you ran away after telling me i was insulting myself by insulting your taste?”

yeonjun flushes, taken aback by your straightforwardness, coughing to cover up his lack of excuses at that. you breathe out a laugh at his flustered state, “hmm, so goes down the all-mighty choi yeonjun.”

“at least i wasn’t defeated by my inability to complete my creative writing portfolio due in three…” yeonjun looks down at his watch, “actually, now, two days.”

this time, you’re left without a comeback, “that’s a low blow, man.”

he laughs, “come on, isn’t this like your first time being this late?”

“once again, i remain creeped out at you knowing things like that but,” you relax noticeably next to him, “i guess i ran out of ideas this time. not sure what’s wrong.”

“and this had never happened before?”

“i thought you already knew this.” yeonjun rolls his eyes, a complete contradiction to the grin on his face. ”hm, maybe you’ve run out because you’re trying to do it the same way you’ve always done it?”

“i mean, of course i’m doing it the same way,” you mutter, “that’s like the point of having a regular writing practice. it needs to become natural.”

“yeah, but you need spice things up a little sometimes!”

“gross,” you scrunch up your nose, “you sound like you’re prescribing me a threesome right now.”

he shrugs playfully, “if that’s what rocks your boat.” you push him away at that and he laughs out, “okay, okay, but i’m serious. try something new.” you quieten down at that, probably thinking.

“what about…” you look up at him expectantly and he almost fumbles over his words, “um, what about walking around the city?”

—

THE SECOND ACT: LOVE BEGINS BEHIND CLOSED PARENTHESES

full disclosure here: yeonjun’s second reason is right. the first one isn’t completely wrong, but it’s more so the second one that finds you in the gropes of overthinking that night.

you know how at a certain point in the past, you really (really, really, really) like someone but then things don’t work because that person isn’t into you (but more because you’re too caught up in your own self-perception to do anything) so slowly that lots (and lots and lots) of like turns into a lump of resentment? yeah, that pretty much describes your relationship with yeonjun. more or less, you hate him for not liking you (”in the past!! i don’t care about him anymore!” you hastily add from behind kang taehyun who had been narrating this whole paragraph. taehyun poorly covers up an incredulous snort.)

“so now you’re going on a date with him?” taehyun asks a little too loudly, “how does that happen?”

“it doesn’t happen because nothing is happening because i’m not going on a date with him!” you half-scream, hitting the brunette on his head to try and shove some sense into it, “and please, stop being so loud or i’m going to cry.”

“y/n, we live alone. and i think you’re going to cry nevertheless, but okay. if it’s not a date, what is it?”

“it’s just a walk,” you say and when taehyun looks at you blankly, “a walk around the city, in his exact words.” more blankness. more silence. “i was going to go alone but yeonjun said he knows an obscure part of town that would help me become, you know, curious.”

“uh-huh, right, of course…” taehyun purses his lips, intrigued to see how far you’d go with your denial.

“stop looking at me like you’re so much better than me! and no—” you cut him off knowingly, “don’t say that you are better than me. you’re not. what you are is an asshole and i hate you.”

you fall into your sheets with a frustrated wail and taehyun laughs at your state for a few seconds before returning to his role as your therapist slash best friend.

“okay, y/n, i know you don’t like to think about, let alone admit it, but you’re into yeonjun. and since i can’t let what happened a year ago happen again, i’m telling you that i’m almost completely sure that he’s into you, too. so please, don’t be hostile tomorrow on your date— sorry, your ‘walk’ with him. use the opportunity or i’m sleeping over at kai’s.”

—

“i don’t know why i let you talk me into this,” you scoff as you fall into step next to yeonjun. “we’re literally at a stupid park.”

he gasps like the theatre kid he should be, “first of all, this is a huge park and you’ve no idea how much people-watching you can from here. and secondly, i bought you coffee so all you’re being right now is ungrateful.”

you stay silent, eyes scanning a group of middle-aged ladies that passes you. you hear a whiff of their conversation, something about one of them wanting to take a break by the water fountain.

“see? you’re already in the zone and i didn’t even have to shut up.”

you look back at him, awed look morphing into a scowl, “no, i think it’s just really easy for me to forget you’re here.” yeah, it’s safe to say you haven’t taken a word taehyun said to the heart.

but no matter what you say, half an hour later finds you perched on a bench, crouched over your notebook, fingers scratching quick bullet points into the paper. you look up every ten minutes or so, head moving up and then rotating slowly, and then back to writing.

it’s only when yeonjun brings you your second cup of coffee that you notice the stiffness in your shoulders. he smiles at you, brightly. brightly? no, it’s the sun that’s bright, not yeonjun. he’s… moronic.

“wanna take a break?” he asks. you stand up in answer, taking the cup he holds out for you, the words thank you leaving your lips a little too quickly. he doesn’t overreact like you expect him to, his attention on some kids a few ways away from where the two of you are.

“you wanna play frisbee?” you mean to mock, not offer, but yeonjun’s ear perk up and he’s pulling you after him before another word can be said.

“hey, kids!” he greets the children who look like they’re maybe in middle school, “could we join y’all for a bit?”

it’s a a girl in pigtails who answers excitedly, probably encouraged by yeonjun’s looks (hey, yeonjun is objectively good-looking. just because you’re stating facts about his appearance doesn’t mean you’re in love with him. because you’re not in love with him.)

“sorry, this one is a little zoned out most of the time, so just don’t aim at her face,” you hear yeonjun say as you finish convincing yourself of your lack of feelings for him. you resist the itch to flip him off and flash a polite smile to the blonde boy next to you.

he responds with an enthusiastic wave, “hello! i’m ren!” you raise your eyebrows, not expecting him to introduce himself but return with a, “hey ren, i’m y/n. nice to meet—”

you’re cut off by yeonjun’s yell as the yellow frisbee flies your way. your hands come up to shield your face but ultimately it’s yeonjun’s body crashing into yours that saves you. does it, really? you wonder as you groan from under him. the grass is damp and you’re in it and yeonjun’s on top of you. you’re not sure what makes you more annoyed.

“i fucking hate you,” you whisper as yeonjun props himself up. he’s still close enough though so he grins, looking objectively good-looking despite the twig that’s found its way into his hair. “smile, babe, i just saved your life.”

you don’t know how to respond to his outrageous use of the endearment so you’re grateful when ren exclaims, “he just called y/n noona baby!!!! ewww, they’re dating!!”

on second thought, you’re not grateful because apparently, this is enough to wreak havoc among the group of children. weren’t they already at least ten? isn’t that old enough to not be annoying? you don’t find out because next thing, yeonjun’s hand is wrapped around your wist as he helps you up.

you shoot him a glare and the loud boy next to yeonjun screams, “they’re holding hands!!!”

“gosh darn, kids, your parents never touch each other or what?”

“my mother said my father’s breath smells like beer and that’s why she won’t give him kissies like she gives me them!” the girl in pigtails answers, proud for some reason. despite everything, you crack a smile at that, leaning into yeonjun’s side who’s struggling to stifle his laughter.

“i think we’ve had enough of a break, no?” he says to you and you nod, “please, let’s go before i’m forced to write about the bad parenting in my portfolio.”

about five minutes pass in you trying to break free from the group who insist on another round. another round takes two minutes before ren takes a hit to his knee and you both take the chance to leave, with you almost sprinting back to the peace of your bench in the shade.

you fall against the tree next to the bench, yeonjun close behind. “that was…” you take a moment to catch your breath, “not bad?”

yeonjun claps his hands together, “that’s exactly what i’ve been trying to tell you! this park! those kids! me? not bad!”

and well, because you guess you can allow that the whole affair isn’t half bad, it’s already evening when you’re too tired to write anymore. you look away from your almost illegible handwriting to find yeonjun gazing at you. weirdly (longingly).

he clears his throat, “you think you have enough?”

feeling weird (love-struck), you also clear your throat, “um, i should. i hope so, my fingers feel like they’re going to fall off.”

“that’s a good sign you’ve worked hard,” he pats your head. you don’t flinch away somehow. he continues, “it’s also a good sign that we should get some food.” when you narrow your eyes at him, he rushes to add, “you know, to relax your fingers.”

the excuse is ridiculous. the premise of this entire day is ridiculous. hell, yeonjun’s entire being is ridiculous. but you’re spent, your walls aren’t as rigid in the soft light of the sunset, and yeonjun’s eyes have an unreal glow when he’s silent.

and so, ridiculously enough, you answer yeonjun, “we should get sushi.”

—

that night, you return to your place to a tipsy party (?) of taehyun, soobin, and beomgyu with hueningkai glued to his phone-screen in concentration, filming everything. “you’re back!” kai announces when he opens the door, phone still recording, and you flip the camera off, not without a careless smile.

taehyun stands up at the sight of you, “i take it you had a fruitful date?” soobin laughs, so very loudly. “lmao,” (yes, soobin has the ability to say text slang out loud irl, next question please), “get it? fruit-ful? date? dates are fruits? am i drunk already?”

you shake your head at them and simply hug taehyun, feeling unbelievably affectionate today. “oh? what’s this? y/n initiating physical contact? choi yeonjun must be a god.”

you pull away, “this has nothing to do with him,” you say, sounding unconvincing even to your own ears, “i’m just tired. good night. if you make too much noise, i will take kai hostage and—”

“oh, do that anyway!! please, i’ll pay you!!!!” beomgyu shouts enthusiastically and you leave the living room before you have to witness any more of their drunken behavior.

but even in bed, you find yourself unable to sleep, mind occupied with… thoughts (is hanging out with so many men making you slightly dull? maybe. is it making emotionally constipated? absolutely. you make a mental note to schedule a lunch date with yeji later).

to be more specific, the image of yeonjun sat across from you holding out a piece of spicy tuna roll in your direction is too stubborn to leave your head. you think about yeonjun, among other things, that night.

yeonjun is no different, his mind still reeling from the realization that he’s spent an entire day with you. a day. a date? maybe, but whatever it was, you definitely couldn’t hate him too much if you could stand to spend that much time with him. you even shared a meal with him, laughed when he pretended his chopsticks were an airplane transporting food to your mouth. you humored him. you laughed with him. was that real?

—

if you think there’s nothing worse than waking up, walking out of your room— and right into yeonjun, then you’re wrong. because the disorientation you feel comes nowhere close to compare to yeonjun’s condition when he runs into you on his way to the common bathroom. he’s not sure what he else expected but it doesn’t surprise him to see that you sleep in a ginormous graphic tee (with mona lisa’s face on it?) and shorts.

“what are you doing here?”

the sense of deja vu overwhelms yeonjun for a moment before he smiles a little because your tone is not hostile, only confused. could he take this as progress? (or are you just half-asleep?)

“i’m… i’m here for brunch?” he’s a bit out of it by the time you raise your arms to stretch, heaving a half-groan, half-sigh. and listen, yeonjun’s not a pervert but he is considerably in love with you so seeing you with your slightly droopy eyes and slumped shoulders in your perfectly in-character pajamas sets off his imagination. to all kinds of destinations. (you as a domestic cat? you as a tired soul resting in his bed after a long night? god, he’s not doing this right now.)

“i don’t? i don’t remember agreeing to brunch?” you mumble confusedly, almost petulantly.

“you know,” announces soobin, suddenly revealing himself from the shadows (he’s literally been standing beside the two of you for two minutes, waiting for you to notice him. all he gets is the heat of the sexual tension between you and yeonjun. he could cook eggs on that shit.) “yeonjun was our friend before he knew you, y/n. actually, taehyun was our friend before he was your soulmate, so a brunch is a pretty normal occasion for us.”

yeonjun nods and you simply nod your head, probably too sleepy to make any witty comments at that. he shrugs, “but you’re more than welcome to join us if you want. for brunch? i’m guessing you haven’t eaten anything since our— since last night.” why’s yeonjun flustered? he’s only invited to brunch with four other people.

“i’m—” you’re cut off by yeonjun making his way to the bathroom. when he shuts the door behind him with a less than dramatic thud, you look at soobin in confusion. “so many things are happening too early in the morning.”

but brunch becomes a thing. and you join brunch, helping yourself to taehyun’s nearly perfect breakfast spread, your plate filled with bacon, eggs, and waffles.

“i say it’s nearly perfect because all we have in this house is fucking peanut butter!” you cry out, making taehyun give you a glare because he’s heard this many times before, “i don’t know how many times i’ll have to tell you this, but jam! jam is meant to be eaten with bread, it’s the only right way, it’s the way god intended things. do i look like a gym bro to you?”

“lol no,” says soobin, high-fiving you (you’re not sure if he does that because he agrees with your point about the jam, or if he’s also not a gym bro?) “y/n has a point. there’s so much more options with jam, think of all the berries you could be eating! peanut butter is the same old, same old.”

“god, i hate it when these two are in the same room.” you don’t have time to respond to beomgyu’s exasperated comment because yeonjun shifts closer to you on the sofa, coffee kettle in hand.

“want some? i’ll pour it out for you,” he offers, eyebrows raised. you pause for a second, mouth almost hanging open at how motherly he seems, but nod in a daze and watch as he stands up, takes out a black mug (that coincidentally happens to be your self-proclaimed mug) and pours coffee into it. you’re unaware of the little smile on your face when he brings it back to you, placing the hot mug next to your plate.

you’re about to think out loud about his motherliness when beomgyu follows up on his previous comment, even more boisterous, “oh, but these two in the same room are even worse.”

you look up at that to see the other three staring at you. you make a disgusted face, “why are y’all staring at me? please stop, i feel unsafe.”

“in that case, yeonjun must be feeling really fucking unsafe from how closely you’ve been staring at him,” laughs soobin, words slightly muffled from the food in his mouth. he’s lucky he’s your favorite friend (honestly, it’s just because he looks adorable with his cheeks full but eh, his personality wasn’t that bad you suppose).

“i’ve? not? been staring?” you ignore beomgyu’s snickering, picking up the coffee, “you guys need to get lives so that you stop searching so desperately for crumbs of drama here. i’m not here to serve as a source of entertainment for yo—” you promptly, contradict your statement by spilling the top half of your drink right into your lap.

while you sit there with scalding on your bare legs, it’s only yeonjun who seems concerned (overtly so, you’d observe if you’d care to admit it) with the others laughing their hearts out, satisfied at the comedic timing of your accident.

yeonjun, meanwhile, rushes to you with a handful of tissues, lips in a pout, “what the fuck, are you stupid? how do you spill that? have you never had coffee before?” you sit there trying to get the tissues from his hand, but he swats your attempts away, swiping the coffee from your thighs.

he’s much more careful that you would’ve been, making sure none of it soaks through your grey night shorts and a hand on your knee, probably to steady himself (spoiler: his hand on your knee doesn’t steady either of you, especially not him). but he manages himself well, his worrying outweighing all else as he looks up at you, “are you okay?”

you realize you haven’t said a word, eyes raising to taehyun’s who’s now looking away but watching slyly from his peripheral vision. beomgyu and soobin are in similar positions, pretending to be decent people when really, they’re over the moon.

“yeah, i’m okay, i didn’t really feel any of that,” you mumble, patting at your thighs, “but, um, sorry i wasted so much of your coffee.” yeonjun takes one of your hands, “no, don’t worry about it, i can always make more. you can’t make more of these legs.”

“okay! that’ll do it! i can’t take it any more!” beomgyu stands up with a melodramatic groan, “you two are gross, dude! like, not even in an elementary school way, you’re just objectively gross. i hate this.”

“what was that you said about not being our source of entertainment?” jokes soobin, elbow poking yours, pointing at you and then yeonjun who’s still crouching in front of you, one hand on you, “i very much feel like i’m in a k-drama right now, so i’ve no clue what you mean.”

you can sense from the tilt of taehyun’s grin that he’s about to follow suit with an equally, if not more, obnoxious comment, so you stand up, declaring, “i’m going to my room. i have a portfolio to finish in two days!”

you retire to your room after that, deciding concentrating on your work will do you some good now that you’ve… socialized? could you even call it that? you leave it at that, plopping down on your study desk where you would’ve usually conceptualized your rough drafts like you’d done yesterday in your notebook. it doesn’t compare to the park yeonjun took you to, but there is a window to your right from where you can see the slow street in front of your apartment. people-watching through that window has given you some pretty cool ideas for your pieces. you suppose it was like a pocket-sized version of your experience at the park.

you work the afternoon away, surprised to see it getting dark outside when there’s a knock at your door. you twist in your chair and call out, “come in!”

a light-brown head of hair pokes through and squinting in the darkness of your room, you can tell that’s not taehyun. “yeonjun?”

“woah, haven’t you got electricity in here?” he asks, stepping in and you see he’s put on a cream-colored cardigan on the blue shirt from brunch.

“nah, taehyun uses the money i give him for the electricity bill and gambles it all away,” you joke, sighing with feigned sorrow.

“ah, right, i forget taehyun has a gambling addiction. i’m sorry, miss, can’t imagine what it’s like to be married to someone like that.”

you laugh at that, yeonjun joining in. he leans in against the wall across from you, finding the switch to the lights in your room and turns them on. you’re both quiet for a moment.

you, because you’re reveling in the new-ness of your relationship with yeonjun. you feel like you’ve moved on in some way, no longer feeling caught up in the bitterness that had been coloring your interactions with him so far. he’s close to you, this yeonjun right now, who really, truly looks at you. you don’t even remember the yeonjun who broke your heart. (was it him who broke your heart? you begin to wonder, or just your imagination?)

for yeonjun, he doesn’t think he could’ve said anything even if he wanted to. you look so otherworldly in the dim glow of the evening, your eyes meeting his eyes, unapologetically and most importantly, without resentment. you’re beautiful, here silently in front of him, and he thinks he might have a chance with you after all.

“um,” he’s the one to break the silence, “have you eaten since brunch?”

you shake your head, “have you?”

“nope, beomgyu roped me into watching netflix with him when i tried to study,” he admits with a shy giggle, “next thing i knew the sun was setting.”

—

THE THIRD ACT: WINE FLIES WHEN YOU'RE HAVING FUN

conversations with yeonjun always lead the most unexpected places, and this one ends up with you driving with him to the supermarket. one day, you’re taking walks and playing frisbee with yeonjun, the next you’re grocery shopping with him because he’s had a whim to cook dinner for everyone. oh, how fast the night changes.. or however that one direction song goes.

“do you like spaghetti?” he asks, approaching the shelves stacked with different types of pasta.

“think before you ask me if i like pasta again, yeonjun,” you shoot back, inspecting the packets with your hands clasped behind your back. “wow, it’s been so long since i’ve been grocery shopping. taehyun never trusts me to get stuff and that’s how we end up with only peanut butter.”

yeonjun chuckles as he scans the shelves for the kind he likes and you shuffle around a lot, making little noises at all the cute shapes in the different packings. “they have heart-shaped pasta?!” you hold up the pink package excitedly at yeonjun who closes in on you with a fond smile.

“hmm, i think i get why taehyun never lets you come grocery shopping,” he starts, “it says here this a kids’ pasta.”

you regard him with your hands on your hips, unimpressed scowl on face, “you’re saying i have to be a kid to eat heart-shaped pasta? i don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

yeonjun is in a fit of laughter but he reaches out for your wrist as you pretend to walk away anyway with a hurried, “no, no, i think we should get the heart-shaped pasta.”

the rest of your trip is you roaming around being pulled off by the obscure brands and unusual types of foods while yeonjun grabs the ingredients you’ll actually need for dinner. about fifteen minutes later, when he’s done checking off everything on his list, he finds you typing away on your phone.

he catches a glimpse of the notes app on your phone and smiles as he comes to stand in front of you, “what’s up?”

“ohh, are you done?” you look away, “i got some ideas. i’ll use them for future pieces.”

“you’re done with your portfolio?” he asks. and you nod, eyes twinkling as the two of you head to the counter, “yep, i guess your plan with the park wasn’t completely a fail. it was not bad, really not bad.”

yeonjun laughs, piling the items for the worker to bill them. you gasp at the sight of a dark purple container, “you got blueberry jam?”

(fuck, his heart skips a beat. cheesy but valid. you look like you have hearts in your eyes.) “yeah, i saw it and thought you’d like it.”

you crack a delighted smile and even though both of you are paying for the groceries, you feel like you’ve been gifted the world. “i think i love you.” (you’re only joking. …right?)

—

“taehyun!!! beomgyu!!! soobin!!!!” you holler into the house, setting up five wine glasses around the table, “dinner’s ready!”

beomgyu is the first to come out, summoned by the smell of food, gaping at the fancy set-up of the two casseroles on the table, one bigger for the spaghetti and a small dedicated to your heart pasta. “woah, this looks insane,” he comments and calls out for the other two.

yeonjun emerges from the kitchen, the bottle of red wine you’d picked out with your hands. you hadn’t been the most helpful in the conquest of the pasta ingredients but you knew a thing or two about wine. this one was one the cheaper side so you didn’t have the greatest expectations for it, but it’ll have to do.

taehyun and soobin make it to the table five minutes later, shocked at seeing a table full of homemade meal. “is this, like, you and yeonjun announcing that you’re officially a couple?” soobin asks. (he’s not joking. the way the two of you stare down at the dinner you’ve put together proudly truly has him convinced that you’re finally over the pining.)

clearly this is not the case but the sight of both of you turning as red as the spaghetti for dinner is enough to elicit a few chortles from all of them. “honestly… shut up, soobin,” yeonjun scolds and you take a seat at the table wordlessly.

the dinner is an experience. it’s been a while since any of you have had good home-cooked food like this, the past few weeks having been cluttered with take-out meals and the extent of cooking you’ve done involves frozen food.

“this is so good,” you hold up a heart pasta, waving it in the air at everyone, and then at yeonjun, “i told you this would be good. it’s so good.”

“judging from the way you’re acting like a child, i’m guessing you’re done with your portfolio?”

you glare at taehyun but nod anyway, shooting him a thumbs up, “done and dusted, sir. i even managed to proof-read it before submitting it this time.”

yeonjun has been sitting beside you, eyes round with adoration at everything you say. you can’t blame him, you’d changed into a white dress with puff-sleeves before dinner which doesn’t only fit the mood but single-handedly creates it, and it’s a rare thing to see you in a dress so casually.

taehyun smiles, “i’m proud of you. even though you’re doing the bare minimum by completing your work on time.”

you roll your eyes at his twisted way of affection, the words on the tip of your tongue dying out when yeonjun leans into you suddenly, arm reaching out for the bottle of wine beside you. he shoots you a half-smile when he meets your gaze, pouring some out for you. as he returns to his position, he says under his breath, “try not to spill this on yourself, babe.”

you hold in the giddy breath that almost escapes your throat at his words, but you can’t stop the mellow feeling that blooms in your chest, eyes following him as he pours some wine for the others, too. was it the wine that was mellow or yeonjun’s voice? (hint: it was the moment of his love for you that was mellow.)

you make it through dinner, occasionally asserting the supremity of your heart-shaped pasta for kids here and there, but overall, overwhelmed by the man by your side. when everyone’s finished eating and lazing around the sofa, beers in hand (”wine is for sissies,” beomgyu aims at you because he knows you hate it when he says that, “let’s get beer guys.”), you take to the balcony with a glass full of wine to yourself.

the night air is pleasant after the warm atmosphere inside the house and you breathe through your mouth a few times, to calm your nerves. you can feel yeonjun’s eyes on you from the living room but choose to stay still, welcoming the feeling of spacing out in solitude.

“you alright?” his voice greets your ears not two moments later. (is he really close to you right now? or is the balcony just too small for two people?)

you hum affirmatively. then, you look at him, a light laugh leaving your chest. you’re leaning into his side now, you enjoy his warmth. “i’m good.”

“didn’t know wine could make you drunk,” he breathes, heart in his throat.

you shake your head at him, “i’m not drunk.” you hesitate and then, “at best, i’m tipsy.”

“i was talking about myself. i feel drunk. ‘s never happened before.”

you frown, throwing a careless glance over your shoulder, “beer and wine? yeah, that’ll make you drunk.”

“i didn’t have any beer,” he reveals. when you narrow your eyes, he continues, “i’m not lying. i don’t like to mix the two. i’ve read it gives you headaches.”

you stay silent, holding your breath for no special reason. (…)

“besides, once i start something, i like committing to it.” if his words themselves aren’t meaningful enough, the soft look on his face is full of unmistakable love.

“you’re not just talking about wine,” at first, it’s a statement you speak, your gaze fixed. then, memories of your past hurt rush in and you finish with an uncertain, “are you?”

“i’m not,” his voice is hushed and you feel there isn’t a moment lost between when he says his words and when you hear them. you’re so close to him, in all meanings of the word. “do you still hate me?”

you’re a little stunned by the jarring question. “i didn’t hate you. really, it was… something internal. like a dilemma. a phase, almost? i don’t think i could hate you if i wanted to.”

“you think?” you can feel his words inside of yourself now, even though you doubt either of you have moved any closer to each other.

yeonjun’s heart is on fire, destructive but determined. his hand brushes back your hair. “you’re so pretty when you wear your hair down.”

you hide your face in your shoulder, away from him, flustered that his words have such an effect on you. you’ve been complimented before. with much more zest, with more elaboration. but this is different. you feel like yeonjun is holding you.

he chuckles, “are you okay?”

you pull yourself away, swallowing, but not making eye-contact with him yet. “that’s the first time you’ve called me pretty.”

“that’s the first time you’ve heard me calling you pretty,” he corrects you. his fingers are in your hair again, this time to make you look at him. “you should listen to my thoughts sometime.”

you laugh and he’s moving closer, both his hands coming to your face. your hands move from where they’ve been clasping the balcony railing for dear life and find yeonjun’s waist, silently beckoning him nearer.

when your noses touch, yeonjun hums, “i’m crazy for you, y/n.”

you want to chuckle at his silly phrasing but instead, you’re saying it back, “fuck, i’m the crazy one, yeonjun. i’ve—” you stop your words, suddenly hesitant.

but yeonjun is firm, his lips hovering over yours and his question will you kiss me? unanswered because you’re already kissing him when he asks you.

(this kiss is. . . not bad.)

—

EPILOGUE: A SELF-AWARE SLANDER OF SHORT STORIES

“so…” your voice struggles to stay stable as you prop yourself on your elbows, yeonjun’s arms never letting loose of your sides. “when you say you’re crazy, is it that you’re crazy for me or crazy because of me?”

yeonjun stops in the middle of the tantrum he’s throwing with his buried in your neck. he blows out air through his mouth and you giggle, your hands pulling him up by the hair. “answer me!”

he sighs, “i don’t know, babe. both? neither? either.”

“come on, there’s a fundamental difference between the two,” you whine, “am i a symptom of your craziness or the cause of it?” he stays motionless, lips pressing against your cheek. you add, “just so you know, there’s no right answer. i’m honored to be either.”

“god, i can’t believe you’re using your boyfriend as material that’s going to be read by your entire class. a class of pretentious, sleep-deprived kids. they’ll hate me, y/n.”

you groan, kissing yeonjun’s ear lightly, “not true! you’re a very cute boyfriend.”

“so you are using me for your creative writing class?”

you pause and yeonjun flops onto the bad, pouting and feigning a cold shoulder. “the audacity of women these days!”

“hey!” you pull him back into you, “i’ll have you know that my love language is turning people into literature.”

yeonjun’s pout is already fading when taehyun’s voice breaks into your room (you should probably re-inforce the rule about knocking now that there’s a half-naked man in your room more often than not). “that’s true. she’s already written a story about me.”

your boyfriend’s interest is piqued at this, his eyes jumping between taehyun and you. “what? really?? and you haven’t written about me?”

“i’m trying to! you’re not making it easy.”

“did you ask him all these questions when you wrote a whole story about him?” taehyun cackles in glee at yeonjun’s returning pout.

you roll your eyes, “yeonjunie, it was a short story— the most unromantic form of literature. i’m basically saying i would rather write a bunch of boring description than even think about having sex with him.”

“hmm, it seemed like a pretty enthusiastic piece to me,” taehyun supplies unhelpfully. you glare at him. if you weren’t in just your bra, you would’ve gotten up to shut the door in his face.

“babe, i’m having serious doubts—”

you quickly shut down yeonjun’s whining, “i want to write a poem about you, my love. that’s why i’m asking you so much. it takes a little more to be properly romantic! i want to be truthful.”

he hesitates and you kiss his nose to seal the deal. taehyun groans in defeat, “gross. i just came here to get your asses to brunch. hyuka’s brought mint chocolate snacks from home so we need someone to handle him, so please hurry,” he starts to close the door as he leaves, but stops when the two of you make no move to wake up, “and you’d better not start fucking now! nobody needs to hear that this early in the morning, especially not poor hyuka.”

you laugh into yeonjun’s chest as he shouts back comforting words to taehyun. his lips attach to your shoulder. “i love you, y/n. you’re the explanation for my craziness.”

you shift to look back at him, smile widening, “hm, that’s interesting. can i quickly write that down-? okay, okay, sorry, i was kidding, love, come back here!!”

—

#yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x y/n #tomorrow x together #choi yeonjun x you #choi yeonjun tomorrow x together #txt #txt imagines #txt fics #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun fic #txt fluff #txt angst #kpop fic #yeonjun angst #yeonjun fluff #txt headcanons #txt smut #yeonjun smut #txt x you #txt x reader #moa #txt moa #kang taehyun

[toxicanonymity]

Cross-fandom: my fics by interest

Works from: The Last of Us, Scream, Narcos, The Skeleton Twins, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Bear, Road House (2024), Logan, The Free World, Little Accidents

Masterlists: Main (incl. Slashers) | Pedro | Boyd

NOTES: You can look for a theme or fic you like and see what else is grouped with it from other fandoms. Still adding. There will be repeats of a fic falls on more than 1 category. Chronological by fic date unless otherwise noted. Heed warnings. An anon mentioned liking my slashers despite not knowing the movies. So I made this bc of my break (also check out @toxicrecs). I rly appreciate your patience and kind words. x f!reader unless otherwise noted.

*the exact link is on the list more than once

Captivity, dubcon/noncon, dark fluff/caretaking

Raider Joel (Miller from The Last of Us)

* Stay awake (vampire Joel, very docile)

* The Raid (Javi and Steve from Narcos)

Captive POV (Donald Pierce from Logan) - the capture & brief touching so far, no fluff.

The Spread (Thomas Hewitt from TX Chainsaw)

Sneaking around & possessiveness

*Good Behavior (Corey Cunningham, Halloween)

Stepdad Joel

Comforting a beefy man after he's mistreated

Corey from the Yard

Mo Lundy (The Free World / Boyd Holbrook)

Power struggle, degradation, noncon both ways

*Every Inch (Ghostface) & pts 2, 3 (see fic)

Slasher Joel

Sex Work (or adjacent)

Virgin sex worker reader (Joel)

Jailbird (Joel x sex worker inmate/parolee)

Motel (Amos from Little Accidents)

Hybristophilia (attraction to criminals)

Obsessive reader (Michael)

File room boss - (Steve x boss f!reader)

*Good Behavior (Corey)

Dirty talk in the same style (night walks style)

Night Walks (Joel)

*Every Inch (NW coded Ghostface)

*Thighs out (Joel)

Unwanted or noncon somnophilia

Rock bottom pt. 3 (Corey)

What you're missing (Joel)

Ghostface POV drabble

Takes you forcefully bc you want him to

Michael (Myers) knows

Beef broth (Joel)

Same as above but you're asleep

Sleeping Beauty (Joel)

Late Night Company (Corey)

Killer/Slasher POV

Skin Alley (Michael)

* Every Inch 3 (Ghostface)

Midnight Snack (Slasher Joel)

Ghostface POV drabble

Vampires

* Stay Awake (Joel)

Michael's Castle

Sexual tension or pining between men

In order of mild to extreme (still f!reader)

* Beach Walks, Beach Walks Lore (Joel & Billy)

* The Raid (Javi & Steve) - pt. 2 (more to come)

Rock Bottom ch. 1 (Corey/Michael)

* Good Behavior (Corey)

Unwanted breeding drabbles

Secret breeder (Joel)

Breeder Michael

Shared by brothers

The Ghost (Berzatto Bros) - implied/adjacent

Brotherly Sharing Masterlist (Miller Bros)

He fucks you in front of someone who might die

Michael makes them watch

Raider - Failed Rescue (Joel)

Crossover between fandoms or movies and there's sexual tension with both of them and/or each other

Michael in Ambrose (Halloween / House of Wax)

Beach Walks - Prequel, Fic pt 1* (Night walks Joel / Billy from The Skeleton Twins)

Road House (2024) - Scream AU (kinda)

Gas Stations

Get out of the way (Michael Myers)

All dressed up (Night Walks Joel)

Leopard Print (Joel & special guest)

Man calls himself daddy

*Sky's Out Thighs Out (Joel)

Every Inch 2 & Every inch 3* (Ghostface)

--------

Feel free to suggest categories/fics

#dark fic #some darker than others #hybristophilia fic #stockholm syndrome fic

[e-dubbc11]

Happy 2024 My Lovelies!!

I’ve successfully navigated (I hope) my second full year on this hellsite and I wanted to start this year with a winter themed sleepover! ❄️ ❄️❄️❄️❄️

But before I get to the rules and regulations, I’d like to wish all of my lovely friends and followers a Happy New Year. I hope whatever you set out to do this year, you kick it in the tail and if you don’t have anything in mind yet to accomplish this coming year, then that’s ok too. 🥂

Thank you to everyone who follows me, reads my fics, tags me in games, chats with me in private conversations, or throws a ♥️ in my direction every once in awhile. I see you and kiss you all on the forehead.

Rules will be under the cut…

I love doing this kind of thing for you all but I do need your help so please like and reblog this. (Also, please send something in! I don’t bite, I promise!)

Send in as many asks as you’d like

This isn’t limited to my followers, although I’d love it if you did

My muses are my love Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Brock Rumlow, a little Donald Pierce. (I could be persuaded to try and write for Quinn McKenna and Dean Winchester…maybe 😆)

My offers for the sleepover are as follows…

Winter Activity Moodboards 🥶❄️☃️🏂🎿🛷 limited to mutuals only OR if you have commented/reblogged any of my fics. Send me a character and a winter activity and I’ll create a moodboard for you.

FMK or FMK Alternatives which can be found HERE I’ll do characters from MCU, Supernatural, Netflix Series (DD, Punisher, Defenders), Boyd Holbrook characters, Ben Barnes characters, and any others you can think of that I may be into.

Top 5 / Top 10 Anything

This or That?

Would You Rather?

Fics I should read or blogs I should follow

Send me thoughts, thots, and/or musings for characters I write for

Send me a character and a GIF, can be fluffy or smexy and I’ll try and write something based off of it.

Send me a scene from one of my fics and I’ll write it from the other persons POV

I also have two fics that I could be persuaded to write sequels for…Unforgiven (Matt Murdock x F! Reader) and Irreplaceable (Billy Russo x F! Reader)

Prompt Lists/Winter activity prompts/dialogue

I’ll leave some prompt/dialogue lists below and if something strikes your fancy, send it on over with one of my muses and I’ll see what I can do with it. Or if you have one in mind not on these lists, that’s absolutely fine also.

Winter is coming prompts

Fluffy Winter Holiday Prompts

Jealousy Prompts

More Jealousy Prompts

Protective Prompts

More Protective Prompts

I’ll Keep You Safe Prompts

An Assortment of Dialogue Prompts

And even though it’s not my wheelhouse, some smut prompts….

More Smut Prompts

I’ll keep this open until January 11, 2024 CLOSED

Again, Happy New Year my lovely friends. I hope 2024 is good to you all!

Tagging some of my friends/cheerleaders. I love you all and hope you’ll send some things in! ♥️💙

@munsonownsmyass @ilovewhiteroses @ruflirtingwithme @kayhi808 @k-marzolf @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @itwasthereaminuteago @music-indie-tv @qu1etwolf @wheresthesunshinesblog @danzer8705 @jvanilly @snowkestrel @fictional-hooman @fluffyprettykitty @mattmurdocksscars @matt-erialgirl @theradioactivespidergwen @skvatnavle @vaguekayla @wint3r-h3art @gijos @nutmeg17 @ittybxttykxttytxtty @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

#billy russo #matt murdock #daredevil #charlie cox #ben barnes #donald pierce #boyd holbrook #dean winchester #supernatural #winter theme sleepover

[wysteria-clad]

Masterlist

Updated: March 1, 2023

🔥 smut, minors dni

🌻 fluff

⛈️ angst

🌹 suggestive

Note:

I do not give permission to repost or copy my writing here or other platforms in any form.

©️ @wysteria-clad

900 followers celebration masterlist

Bridgerton

*no longer writing for peaky blinders

Anthony Bridgerton

⋆ Viscountess' orders 🔥

Benedict Bridgerton

⋆ That's my wife! 🌻

⋆ Strawberry kisses 🌻

Bridgerton sister

⋆ Sickness and Siblings 🌻

⋆ Being the youngest Bridgerton sister would include 🌻

⋆ Our Spring flower 🌻

Moon knight

Welcome to wystie-verse! x, x

⋆ I love you florally 🌻

⋆ Our little thing 🌻

⋆ Cucumber face mask and Fist of Vengeance 🌻

⋆ Keepsake 🌻

⋆ The Hair Problem 🌻

⋆ Amarre 🔥

⋆ Calling them by their name prank 🌻

⋆ Paper butterflies 🌻

⋆ Not saying 'I love you' back prank 🌻

⋆ The Phases of the moon ⛈️🔥🌻

⋆ Moon boys' reaction to see you casually naked for the first time 🌻

⋆ You're gonna be the death of me 🌻

⋆ How do you wake up Lady Gaga? 🌻

⋆ Pinky Promise 🌻

⋆ 'Mwah' is a real word! 🌻

⋆ Moon boys dating a desi girl would include 🌻

⋆ Writing their names wrongly on purpose prank 🌻

⋆ Moon boys getting turned on when you speak angrily and swear in Tamil

⋆ To kiss or not to kiss? 🌻

⋆ Letter to the void ⛈️🌻

⋆ Safest place in the whole world 🌻

⋆ The unicorn sticker 🌻

⋆ Chapter #57 in a book called 'Things you do when you love' ⛈️

⋆ I accept in cash & kisses 🌻

⋆ Jake losing his virginity to you 🔥

⋆ That's my good girl 🔥

⋆ When they decided you are 'The one' 🌻

⋆ To build a home ⛈️🌻

⋆ The Eight legged vile beast 🌻🌹

⋆ Anodyne 🌻

⋆ You look so pretty begging for me 🔥

⋆ Wintery kisses 🌻

⋆ Hugs & other things like Love 🌻

⋆ Kissing it better 🌻

⋆ Hola bitches! 🌻

⋆ Have your boyfriend cover what ruins your face challenge

⋆ The Space between us 🌻

⋆ In Other World ⛈️

Blue Jones

⋆ The eyeliner 🌹

⋆ Dating Blue Jones headcanons 🔥

Werewolf by night

⋆ Once upon a time 🌻

⋆ Tuesdays with you 🌻

⋆ The Wolfman 🌻

The Corinthian

⋆ His heart 🌻

⋆ Imagine being the only human Corinthian tolerates 🌻

Namor

⋆ It's just a game! 🌻

⋆ You are perfect to me 🌻

Donald Pierce

⋆ 'Wiping off the kiss' prank with Donnie 🌻

Matt Murdock

⋆ I'm not pouting! 🌻

Triple Frontier boys

⋆ The Man in a Red suit 🌻

⋆ 'Call your man by his first name and see his reaction' trend 🌻

William 'Ironhead' Miller

⋆ Finding Dory 🌻

⋆ Dating Will Miller would include

⋆ Texting Will when he is away 🌻

Benny Miller

⋆ Dating Benny Miller would include

⋆ The Kiss stays on 💋🌻

Peaky Blinders

*no longer writing for peaky blinders

⋆ The Uncrowned Princess

#marc spector x reader #marc spector imagine #steven grant x reader #steven grant imagine #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton imagine #moon knight x reader #moon knight imagine #bridgerton x reader #masterlist #jack russell imagine #jack russell x reader #the corinthian x reader #the corinthian imagine #the corinthian #namor #namor x reader #k'uk'ulkan #donald pierce x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #benny miller #frankie morales #santiago garcia

[toxicbrothel]

POV

f!reader x Donald Pierce (Logan 2017 villain)

I8+ Dark fic, captivity, noncon touching

A pit forms in your stomach when the nurse calls your name. It’s the same nurse you’ve observed stuffing rolls of cash into her purse, thinking no one could see her do it. Dirty money for sure, and you have a feeling you’re about to find out how she gets it. Someone is here to pick you up, supposedly to transfer you to another hospital to confirm your non-mutant status. The shady nurse takes you gently by the arm and walks you to a room with folded chairs and photography equipment scattered around. You've been through that whole process already, and being back in the room makes you uneasy. It doesn't help that the handsome man reclining in that chair doesn’t look like hospital transport at all. He’s wearing two big rings, smoking a cigarette, and has a tattoo on the front of his throat.  

“Mr. Pierce,” the nurse admonishes him. “Can you please put that out?”

He pinches out the lit end of the cigarette with his thumb and forefinger, flicks it to the floor, then raises his hands in defense. That's when you see his bionic arm. He uncrosses his legs, and the clap of his massive boot on the floor makes you jump. Now he’s manspreading with his large hands clasped in his lap.

The nurse thanks him and walks toward the exit.

“Pleasure doin’ business,” he mutters under his breath as he shamelessly checks you out. The deep, smooth voice has caught you off guard. A gold tooth sparkles from the front of his mouth. He claps his hands down on his knees and asks, “What do we got here?” as he stands up. He’s massive, towering over you. He’s wearing a black tactical vest under his long, dark leather jacket. He is sturdy, and your body reacts in a way you wish it wouldn't.

You stand in the middle of the room, helpless in a hospital gown. He clasps his hands behind his back and slowly paces in a half circle around you, his eyes eating you up like a piece of meat. “Not every day I pick up a woman,” he murmurs. “Normally, people know before adolescence if they’re a mutant. . .” 

“And I’m not,” you mumble futilely. You’re not even sure how you got on the list.

“Well, we’re gonna prove it,” he tells you. For a moment, you’re unsure if it’s a threat or reassurance, but your gut tells you it’s not a good thing. The air around him radiates violence. “C’mon, baby. Let’s go.” He extends his hand for you. When you not only don’t reach out, but also shake your head no, he loses patience and mutters, “Alright, c’mere. Damn.”

He lunges toward you, bends his knees, and uses his bionic arm to hoist you over his shoulder with much less effort than it would take with flesh and muscle. It gives you butterflies between the legs the way he does things with such ease.

“Ow,” you whimper with the crook of his metal elbow pinching your side as he carries you. 

“You’re alriiight,” he sing-songs, then reaches his non-bionic hand under your gown and stabilizes the weight with a hand on your ass, cool rings pressing into your flesh. He walks slowly toward a huge, armored vehicle. Its double back doors are already open. He nudges his thumb into your panties while he's at it, and you gasp at the feeling of him prodding your wet little hole. “Mmm,” he hums. 

“Don’t,” you whisper. He removes his thumb from your panties and hoists you off his shoulder and into the truck. There’s lab equipment, medical supplies, and a cage. Your eyes fixate on the enclosure, and your heart races. You try to back up out of the truck, but his bionic arm lets him wrangle you back with ease. You struggle as he forces you into the cage. 

Once he has you sitting still, his bionic hand around your jaw makes you look at him, only a few inches away. His gold tooth sparkles menacingly and his stare is ice cold as he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head forward. He lowers his voice. “You need to be good,” he warns.

-----

-----

tysm for reading! and a big ty to @clawdee for the options. 💕

Most of my fics are on main, @toxicanonymity

#brothel sleepover 💕 #POV #POV: Suspected Mutant #Donald Pierce #Donald Pierce x reader #Donald Pierce x f!reader #toxicbrothel ☠️ #toxicbrothel #hiding some spoilery tags by putting this long tag in front of them #cw kidnapping #cw manhandling #female reader #size difference #cw unwanted touching #cw size kink #700 words #boyd holbrook #marvel fic #boyd bungalow ☠️

[strawberrysunsets]

The Empty World (Ch. 9)

Donald Pierce x fReader

Status: Ongoing

Summary: Pierce and the Reavers are sent to capture a mutant with mysterious abilities. This chapter: The mutant discovers what happened to Laura at Transigen's labs, and has a run-in with the Reaver Commander.

Warnings: Swearing, injuries, mention of cannon death, mention of cannon torture, mention of cannon suicide, manipulation.

Angst, slow burn, enemies to lovers

Author's Note: six months later, another chapter! Hurrah!

Chapter 9: Revelation

Strips of motion-activated fluorescent lighting flickered on one after another as the man before you strode through the cold, stark basement, glancing back for you to follow. 

It had been a few days since your admittedly ill-advised first aid soiree with Pierce, and your pager had notified you this morning that you were due to be fitted for gear for your upcoming assignment. While you’d been hiding in your rooms since, hoping to avoid what was sure to be an awkward encounter the next time you saw Pierce, mission outfitting had sounded non-optional. So here you were, hoping against hope that you wouldn't run into the Reaver Commander in Transigen's basement gear storage unit. 

The Recon Manager arrived at a side door, and swiped his pass to open it. Inside, racks of Kevlar and carbon fibre swished on either side of you, and you brushed a hand along the garments as you passed. 

Going into Pierce’s rooms had been fun, in a perverse sort of way. Like watching a crime documentary. It was a behind-the-scenes glimpse into the life of a sociopath. And, yes, he was a sociopath with soft hair and a smooth southern accent – but he was only attractive in the way that any lethal weapon was. Like a blade honed to an edge, or a corrosive substance just whispering at you to touch it, his presence beckoned towards the heady rush of danger. 

A masochist’s dream, you sighed internally. But at least you knew your own weaknesses. And something you’d gleaned from Pierce the other night, whether or not mashing your face to his had been a mistake (which was pretty inarguable), was that there were different facets to him. There was an off-duty version of him, for example, who seemed a hell of a lot more open to chatting about things that verged on the personal than the business-hours Reaver Commander did. 

And that was something that might be useful, seeing as you were still in the dark about almost everything that went on at Transigen. Like why were they so invested in - and 'responsible for' - the mutant kids. Or what the hell kind of information they were so desperate to get back from Zenith Labs. Or how the fuck they’d made evil-buzzcut-logan, X-24.

So yes, you were toying with the idea of fucking Donald Pierce. If it got you any information, it didn’t sound like the worst possible way to pass your time at Transigen. If that failed, you could always go play in the radiation lab.

“Don’t touch anything,” the Recon Manager snapped, glancing back at you as he pulled open a storage locker. You raised your hands from the garment rack in surrender, but continued to stare around the room, casually itemizing what you could see for future reference. It might be handy to know what kinds of gear were down here, in case you ever had to make a short-notice departure from Transigen. Not that you wanted to do that, seeing as the fate of Laura and the others depended on your contract with Ansley. But still, it felt nice to know a few of their secrets. 

When the Manager had collected an assortment of garments and pieces of equipment, he handed them to you with a cold expression, crossing his arms as he waited for you to pull on a Kevlar vest to check its size.  He wasn’t a Reaver, judging by his lack of military apparel and macho attitude, but he was clearly anti-mutant. A Purifier? A follower of the Church of Human Potential? Who knew. It barely mattered, since there were too many varieties of hatred out there to count. And Logan had always said that they were all the same, in the end.

“These aren’t yours,” the Recon Manager said gruffly, when you nodded in assent at the size of the vest. “They’re equipment on loan from the facility. What comes back damaged comes out of your pay. If you get paid, that is.”

With that, he strode towards the door, and stood waiting for you to exit the room before he shut it behind you. 

Just another day at the office, you sighed internally. And I’m sure this isn’t even the most toxic workplace out there.

Then again, you were considering starting a workplace situationship with your sadistic mercenary supervisor, so there was still plenty of room for things to go downhill from here.

~~~

As you lay in bed that night, you stared at the screen of the phone in your hands, reading the message you’d received that morning over and over again. 

We are safe. Across the border. 

The unknown number from which it had come was undoubtedly Laura, using the burner phone you’d given her. And they were safe. You didn’t know what that meant – if they’d found a true hiding place, or even other mutants, or had just escaped the tails Transigen had on them – but your heart ached with relief. For now, they were safe. And they would continue to be, as long as your deal with Transigen remained. 

You flipped away from the messages app, and scrolled through the phone’s home screen, trying to get used to its controls. It was the phone Laura had given you, previously belonging to someone named Gabriela. Who that was, and what her story was, you had no idea - but she assumedly had no use for it, anymore. Maybe she'd been Laura’s family, or maybe just some unlucky bystander who’d helped the mutant kids and gotten themselves in the Reaver’s crosshairs, but she was clearly gone, just like every other person who'd ever stood between Transigen and their goals. 

Your finger brushed the camera app in the phone's corner and it opened involuntarily, causing the ‘recent videos’ icon to catch your eye. Because there was a video there. You sat up in interest and tapped on it, and shaky footage immediately grew to fill the phone's screen. 

“My name is Gabriela Lopes,” a woman said, sitting back in a chair in a warmly lit room. “I am a nurse, and for ten years I have worked at Transigen research in Mexico City.” The footage flashed, changing to a video of the exterior of Transigen’s gates.

Your eyes widened, and you sat up further, gripping the phone tightly.  

The next clip was of Gabriela in a storage closet somewhere inside the lab, breathing hard and obviously filming in secret.

“Transigen is owned by an American company,” she continued. “What I am about to show you is illegal in the US, and Canada.”

The camera panned around to the hallway, and you watched in growing horror as a line of children – a few of whom you recognized from North Dakota – filed past. 

“They told us we were part of a pharmaceutical study,” Gabriela continued breathlessly. “But that was a lie. These children were born in Transigen. They were born here, and never left. They have never seen the sun, or the ocean. Rain, or snow, or any of god’s creatures. They have no birth certificates, no names besides the ones we have given them.” 

Then Laura appeared on the screen in your hands, asleep in a narrow bed, and you made an inarticulate sound of horror as you covered your mouth. 

You’d heard Laura imply that she and her friends had been at Transigen's lab together, but you’d thought that it was because they’d been kidnapped and brought there. That Transigen had wanted to study them, because they were the first mutants born in 25 years. Not that they were from the lab. 

“They were raised in the bellies of Mexican girls,” Gabriela's voice continued, careless of your mounting horror as the video panned over a few bloody hospital beds. “Girls no one can find anymore. Their fathers are semillas geneticas; special seeds in bottles.”  

Then Pierce appeared on screen, and you inhaled sharply, watching as he dismantled the domestic scene of one of the kids’ birthdays. The video continued, flashing past scenes of the children being injected with large syringes full of fluid, and then a boy using his powers wildly, attacking the personnel around him. And then Laura was back – only this time on a bloody surgery bed, with half a dozen tubes sticking from her arms. A team of doctors worked on her, and familiar metallic claws protruded from her knuckles. 

You choked out sob, and tried to steady the phone in your shaking hand. 

Laura, slashing her own forearm with the Adamantium blades.

Men running up a flight of stairs, in time to see a young boy throw himself from the roof.

A computer screen open to a file titled ‘X-24’, followed by a series of disembodied limbs, floating in blue tanks. 

Then, men - Reavers - were grabbing the children, and pulling them out of their rooms. Pierce appeared, zapping a child with a metal rod before dragging their unconscious body into a lab room. 

“We are going to save as many children as we can," Gabriela continued, voice choked with emotion. "I read about a place up North. A place for mutants. They call it Eden.” 

Then the video changed, and the kids were running down the halls, accompanied by Gabriela and a few of the other nurses. Escaping. 

“If you’re watching this,” Gabriela said, now addressing the camera from what looked to be a motel room, “it means that I am dead.” Her dark, soulful eyes filled with tears, matching the tears now streaming down your own cheeks. “I am not sure if any other children survived. We were separated.” 

You were breathing hard, and you lowered the phone shakily to your bed as the recording neared its end. 

“Please,” Gabriela’s voice finished. The voice of a dead woman. “Take her to safety.”

Then the video shut off, returning you to the phone's black camera screen, and leaving your room in darkness. 

Your chest rose and fell erratically as if you’d just sprinted a mile, and it felt like there was a vice gripping your stomach, making it hard to breathe. You rose from the bed and walked desperately to the window, then back to your bed, pacing.

“Fuck.” The images from the video flashed through your mind. “Fuck. Fuck!” 

You crossed to your door and threw it open, not knowing where your feet were taking you – only that you needed air. This building felt different, now that you’d seen what had gone on here. The pain. The fucking torture, and all the other things you could barely comprehend. Your bare feet slapped the cold floor - you'd not bothered with shoes in your rush - and you took the stairs at the end of the hall two at a time, ignoring the strain on your still-healing shoulder and legs. 

You burst out onto the lab's roof as your vision blurred with tears, and gasped for breath. The night was warm outside, and the sounds of the city - dogs barking, distant music playing, and far-off sirens - rushed in around you, replacing the eerie silence of the compound.The sharp gravel of the rooftop bit into your bare feet, but you barely felt it. You put a hand to your stomach, fighting off a wave of nausea as you leaned against the cement wall to your left.  

You’d known Transigen were evil. But – that? That was fucking insane. 

You leaned your head back against the wall and took a few steadying breaths, trying to process it all.

Far below you, a car door slammed, and loud laughter echoed through the lab's concrete yard. You walked slowly to the edge of the roof and looked down, wiping the tears from your cheeks as you spotted a group of men exiting a dark truck stationed in front of Transigen’s main entrance. A blond head swung from the truck’s cab, and your stomach tightened as you recognized Pierce's tall form. He handed off a black case to another man who carried it inside, and turned to grab something else from the truck. 

The image of him dragging an unconscious child across the floor of one of the labs flashed before your eyes, and before you knew what you were doing, you’d stepped off the edge of the roof, curving your wings in sharply for a quick descent. The rush of air pulled at your sore shoulder, but you ignored it, landing soundlessly on the pavement before the vehicle. Your chest heaved as you stared at the men encircling the truck. Then men who’d tortured Laura. Who’d tried to put the mutant kids to death as soon as they no longer served a purpose to the lab. 

Pierce was turned away from you, but his head cocked slightly to the side when your bare feet landed on the pavement, as if he’d heard some minute noise behind him. That was the only warning you had before he’d pulled his gun from its holster and swung it around to aim it at your head, almost quicker than you could blink. 

Then his eyes found your face, and wings, and a grin spread across his face. 

“Well hey there, sweetheart!” He said, returning his gun to its holster and leaning back against the SUV. He wore a sleeveless black shirt above his fatigues, suited to the warm night, and it showed off his muscle-corded arms and the skull tattoo on his neck. The men nearby turned to see what was going on, and quickly caught sight of you standing in the darkness down the walkway. Some stared at you coldly, while others jostled each other, chuckling at unheard jokes.

“Finally come to join your pals?” Pierce asked, a glint in his eye. “Get a little team bonding in?” 

But you weren’t in the mood for banter, tonight.

“Transigen made the mutant kids?” You spat, staring at him as your skin prickled with hatred. “This fucking place made them, locked them up, and tortured them, until you decided to kill them?” 

The men behind Pierce quieted, and some lab worker who’d been on his way in through the automatic doors paused to glance your way, eyes wide. 

Pierce showed no signs of surprise at your outburst, but his eyes grew cold as he tilted his head slowly to one side, examining you. He took in your messy hair, bare feet, and the dark shorts and t-shirt you slept in, before his gaze rose back to your face. “Who you been talking to?” He asked, deceptively casual.

You choked out a harsh laugh. “As if I’d fucking tell you.” 

He raised a brow, and snorted incredulously. “For the sake of your little friends, baby, I’d suggest you do,” he drawled. “Otherwise–” he opened a hand helplessly, “who can say what’ll happen to ‘em.” His grin faded, and his eyes glinted with predatory delight beneath a veil of mock regret. “As you know, we really got no issue killing what needs to die.” 

Your skin prickled as you held his gaze. Because just like that, you were reminded of the violence simmering beneath the surface of this place. And how easily they could take everything away from you, while you remained a prisoner here in all but name. You ground your jaw, wishing that you’d restrained yourself from hopping down here and confronting Pierce with what you’d learned so quickly, because now, of course, he was suspicious about how you you’d figured it out. 

“Laura mentioned being at a lab, but I didn’t put the pieces together till now,” you replied, crossing your arms before you and glancing away as you fabricated an excuse. You couldn't let Pierce find out about Gabriela’s phone, or they’d find the messages between you and Laura. And then you’d lose the only mode of contact you had with her and the others.   “I thought she’d just been kidnapped and brought to the lab,” you continued, staring rigidly away at the fence surrounding Transigen. “But if she had Logan’s DNA, then it must’ve meant that someone engineered her. And tested the Adamantium on her. And if you did that to her…” you finished, motioning with a hand to express that you’d extrapolated the rest. 

Pierce scrutinized you for a moment, then his mouth curved in a slight smile. “Hm,” he grunted. You couldn’t tell if he believed you or not, but he leaned back against the SUV, and waved at the Reavers who’d gathered to watch the little scene play out, motioning for them to continue on their way. Some chuckled as they turned away, shooting you cold smiles before walking off towards the parking lot or turning to grab things from the truck’s trunk. 

“Well, great powers of deduction, darlin'," Pierce said, raising something to his lips – a vape – and taking a pull. “But you always knew what you were signing up for. Ain’t no use getting cold feet now.” 

Your breathing had gradually slowed, but rage and disgust were still warring with disbelief inside you. But below that, yes; there was also a grim lack of surprise. Of course you knew what Alkali-Transigen was capable of. They’d been hunting mutants to either kill or experiment on for the past 25 years – and if they’d found a way to make mutants of their own, of course they’d be lab rats. But you just couldn’t reconcile that idea with Laura and her friends. 

Laura, lying on the surgery table, amidst all that blood. 

“Sure, Pierce,” you replied sardonically, your nausea slowly giving way to fatigue. “Of fucking course I shouldn’t be surprised that you like killing kids. I’ve truly never hoped hell exists quite this much,” you added, pitching your voice to reach the receding Reavers. “Cause you fucking monsters will have reserved seating.” 

One of them turned to shoot you a smile, waggling his fingers mockingly as he disappeared around the corner, and Pierce sighed, pushing up from where he leaned against the SUV. 

“C’mon now, honey,” he said, walking towards you. “Ain’t no such thing as monsters. Just people willing to get things done, and people who ain’t.” 

You stared at him in disgust as he approached, while the Reavers’ truck pulled away behind him, leaving the sidewalk outside the lab’s main entrance empty.

“That’s a great line of bullshit you got going there,” you replied tiredly. “Write a fucking book.”

He came to a halt beside where you stood, and gazed skyward, taking another pull from his vape. “I know you don’t get it, sweetheart,” he replied. “You’re soft. Thing is, if we hadn’t done those experiments, someone else would have. And then they’d be getting the big bucks when all of this pays off.” He glanced down at you, unfazed. “See? It’s all just choices.” And as always, his smooth drawl was like warm water on your skin, working to soothe you into believing that he was right. That this was what the world was, and there was no way around it. “You either choose to win,” he finished, “or you’re alright with losin’.”

You rolled his words over in your head, and snorted derisively. But one phrase stuck in your mind, catching your attention through your fatigue. When all of this pays off. So there was a master plan behind the experimentation. Some kind of goal Transigen had, that they knew would pay off big time. 

“You’re a fucking sadist,” you replied, too tired to come up with a better insult. It was simply the truth. The revelations of the night had left you drained, and your rage and horror were quickly fizzling into numb disgust. 

“Mm,” Pierce hummed in agreement, nonplussed. “Tellin’ me that ain’t what you're into?” He narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion. “Cause the other night, it seemed to me like –” 

“Shut–” you said, turning sharply as you cut him off, “–the fuck up. I was dizzy and fucking injured.” And you were currently in no mood to discuss the other night. You may have decided this afternoon that fucking Pierce for info was a good idea, but that was before seeing taser a fucking child. Though on the one hand, you now wanted to know Transigen’s dirt even more badly. Cause there was clearly a lot of it. 

Pierce chuckled at your evasion. “Guess that means I’ll have to kick things off this time,” he shrugged, sighing. Before you'd registered his intent, he was moving towards you, forcing you back against the compound’s cement wall. You glanced up at him in shock, but he only smirked as he snaked an arm around your waist. Then his lips were pressing hotly against yours. 

What the fuck, you thought, hands rising to press against his chest, uncertain of whether to push him off. But all thought fled from your mind as he kissed you hard, hungrily, and when you gasped in surprise, you felt him smile against you. And you were breathing in his scent – fucking vape smoke, and sweat, and cologne – and it was disgusting, and intoxicating. 

You couldn’t decide if you wanted this, but he pressed you back into the wall, forcing your hands out from between the two of you. You steadied yourself against the wall with one hand, and when you wrapped the other around his waist, he pulled you against him, wrapping his cold cybernetic hand around the back of your neck.  Stick to the plan? You thought frantically. Seduce him and see what he lets slip? Or go back to my room and process what the fuck I found out today like a sane person?

Pierce’s hot weight against you made it hard to concentrate on any thoughts, though, and he grew bolder, his human hand sliding under your shirt and up your back, sending shivers racing through you. Finally, you leaned your head back against the wall as his hand slid down to grasp your hip, and gave in to the sensations. 

Ah, fuck it. 

Pierce felt the tension leave you, and bent his head to trail his tongue up your exposed neck, exhaling in satisfaction. You shivered at the tingling sensation of his breath on your neck, and pulled him closer, winding your fingers through his hair. Then he took your chin in his cold metal hand, and forced your mouth back to his. His tongue parted your lips, and quested deeper.   

Dizziness washed over you, and you inhaled deeply, trying to catch your breath. His breath hot against your cheek, and smelled of beer and minty vape smoke. “Mm,” he hummed, pulling away slightly to gaze down at you. “Now this is better, ain’t it?” 

You met his gaze, breathing hard. “Better than trying to hold a conversation with you,” you shot back with mock sweetness. Pierce grinned, and returned his metal hand to the back of your neck, grip tightening. Then his mouth was back on yours, stealing the breath from you. 

Admittedly, it had been a while since you’d been with anyone, but this felt fucking intense in a way you weren’t used to. Probably the constant threat of imprisonment and death, you reasoned. One hell of a kink. 

Your skin buzzed in the warm night air, and all focus was lost to the inebriating press of his body against yours. His hips pressed into yours, and he slid a knee upward, parting your legs. You inhaled sharply, and he moved his hands down to the backs of your thighs, preparing to hoist your legs up around him. 

But then the doors to the lab whooshed open a few yards to your left, and someone made a startled noise. Whoever they were immediately hurried away towards the parking lot, accompanied by the blip of a pager. But their reaction pulled you back to reality. 

And it turned out that while you wanted to be a no-fucks-to-give secret agent who slept with the enemy and stole their secrets in the process, fucking a murderer less than an hour after watching him torture children, and learning that the company he – and now you – worked for had created and experimented on them, felt a bit too icky. 

Alright, you sighed internally, so it's gonna to be a 'go back to my room and process what the fuck I found out today like a sane person' kind of night. Bummer. But the murderer in question would undoubtedly still be here tomorrow, and more than willing to continue carrying out your plan. 

“Alright cowboy,” you said, pushing up from the wall and forcing your way to the side, extricating yourself from his grasp. “That’s enough for tonight.” 

Pierce scoffed, turning his shoulder to lean against the wall as he watched you go. “Really? You ain’t sticking around?” He called, then snorted in laughter. “I don’t know what the fuck kind of game you’re playin’, baby."

You flipped him off as you walked away, disappearing past the sliding doors and back into the cold air of the lab.  But yeah, you thought, your exhaustion returning in a wave as the hot adrenaline began fading from your limbs. That makes two of us. 

Taglist:

@humongousgalaxycoffee @drowningnikki @mischiefmanaged71 @lostcause514 @capvengrs @forever-nerd @pancakesandlolliepops @kingredking @gremlinfuck @marvel-at-my-obsession @padawansubscription @rebeccaofrivia @toobsock

#fanfic #donald pierce #donald pierce x reader #boyd holbrook #donald pierce x you #enemies to lovers

[mlmxreader]

Private Matters | Donald Pierce x m!reader

@areyouwaiting asked: good evening sir 😌

May I request a Donald Pierce x male!reader with the prompt “Can you not walk in while I'm in the shower?” "What? I wanted to talk to you" ?

Thank you tee hee

summary: Donald imposes on you at a very private time.

tws: non-ssxual nudity, swearing

The harsh cold water was beating against your back as you hung your head and closed your eyes, the smell of shampoo thick in the air as you sighed and tried to push him from your thoughts, thankful that your close friend Quentin had let you stay with him while your roommate Sam was out of town; the sound of the water clashing against the bottom of the shower was all you could hear. You just wanted to get rid of every single thought of Donald. You clenched your jaw. Hopefully Quentin would be home soon, and he could take your mind off of Donald by watching some truly fucking awful horror films throughout the night; maybe that would work, and maybe spending time with friends could cure what you were going through. Maybe.

You didn't even hear the bathroom door open, nor did you hear someone clear their throat as they sat with their back against the door and their forearms on their knees as they looked around; you weren't even aware someone was in there with you.

But Donald didn't think much of it, either, he had seen you naked plenty of times and he didn't exactly care anyway; more than anything, he just wanted to talk to you about something that was more than pressing. But he wasn't going to say anything, he wanted to surprise you when you turned around; leaning his head back so that it was against the white wooden door as he closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a soft grumble.

"Fucking bastard!" You yelped, hand on your chest as you breathed heavily and glared at him. "Donald, what the fuck?!"

"I have to talk to you," he said calmly, as if he wasn't barging in at a private time.

You ran a hand down your face, shaking your head. "Can you not walk in while I'm in the shower?"

"What? I wanted to talk to you," he pressed, but he waited. Nothing but the sound of the shower as you finished, switching the water off and stepping out; you wrapped a towel around your waist.

"Fine. Talk."

Donald cleared his throat, licking his lips as he looked you up and down, every inch of you was magnificent; every little scar and spot was more than brilliant, but he sighed. "I can't stop thinking about you, I haven't since we kissed at Zemo's party."

Zemo. He would kick your ass if he found out that you had let Donald barge into you while you were in the shower, even if he didn't care if Sam or Quentin did the same; Zemo got along well with them, but Donald... he didn't trust Donald as far as he could throw him, and he was always warning you against getting too close to him. But if the truth were told, you couldn't stay away; you couldn't stop thinking about Donald, either, and even worse, you didn't want him to leave you alone, even if your friends demanded he do otherwise.

"C'mon, you can't deny that it was fun," Donald continued, "or did I hear wrong when you told me you wanted more?"

You swallowed thickly, shaking your head as you started to dry yourself off. "I mean... yeah, I did want more, but it was just one little kiss, it's not like you asked me to be your husband."

He grumbled, passing you your jogging bottoms. "So, what? You want me to fuck off? Baby... you're the only man for me."

"But that's the thing," you pointed out. "I'm not, am I? I mean, you're going out every fucking night, not giving a shit about anybody - how do I know you're not fucking snogging over blokes?"

"Because," Donald stood up, putting his hands on your arms as he flashed a smile, tilting his head to the side. "I don't fuck around. I want you, (y/n)."

"But what about my friends?" You asked, tugging on your shirt and leaning against the sink as you frowned, brows furrowed and daring to fold your arms across your chest. "You know most of 'em don't like you enough as it is."

But he smiled, shaking his head as he planted the sweetest of kisses to the side of your neck, humming quietly as he pulled you a little closer and buried his face against the soft flesh. "Oh, baby, you think I care?"

"No, but-"

"Tell you what," his voice was sending shivers down your spine from how low he kept it, how he almost growled against you. "I'm gonna go get something to eat, I'll make you something as well, and then I'm gonna show you exactly what you mean to me - that sound good?"

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

#mlem writes #donald pierce x y/n #donald pierce imagine #donald pierce x you #donald pierce x reader #donald pierce #boyd holbrook x reader #boyd holbrook

[abusivelittlebunny]

I'd like to know more about Oliver (the youngest omega of the first litter I think). I want to know how neglected he is by his father. I need that sweet sweet angst.

So I think it's time I give an official fancast for the first litter so drumroll please...

James. First born, alpha.

Rather strict and serious with his younger siblings, he's trying to copy Logan the most with his gruff behavior but he's much more bossy and he doesn't appreciate the competition. He wants to be the main alpha of the pack after their father gets too old so bad it tends to alienate him from the others, they view him more like a self-made general than their loving brother.

Jacob. Second born, alpha.

He's in close competition with his older brother for the title of alpha of the family after Logan; but unlike him, he's much more caring for his younger siblings. He's still strict and most often cold, but he watches over the younger ones protectively and he's not easily angered (but annoyed definitely) like Logan. He's more cool and calm and someone safe for any of his siblings to talk to, he's been dubbed the "shepherd" or the "mother hen" of the litters often.

Matt. Third born, alpha.

While strong and eager to compete whenever with his brothers, he's much more chill and laid back about it. Being leader of the pack sounds like too much responsibility for him so he lets the older two fight over the title while he has more fun just wrestling and doing team work and goofing about; sometimes his jokes are more mean than funny though and he got that from his mother.

Travis. Fourth born, omega.

The notorious clone of their mother (at least in personality); he's a witty cruel diva that loves to tease and sleep around and he gets knocked up pretty early on by an older alpha he seduces but not unlike Donald, he has no shame about it. He's strong and capable, a true gem to have on your team in a fight, he's more than worthy to stand beside his alpha brothers but he tends to fight dirty too. He's the not so secret favorite of Logan's from this litter if not from all and despite Travis' constant mischief and overstepping of rules (bringing home different alphas and birthing litters from them left and right) you'll not find him mocked easily.

Theo. Fifth born, alpha.

The always smiling Labrador of the litter, he brings a constant good energy and non-threatening aura which is handy when his brothers try to tear each other apart for dominance. He loves to wrestle and play fight, don't get him wrong he's strong as fuck, but he's more of a let's work together and all get along guys :)) kind of person. He's happy to be Robin's cuddly bear when Robin's in one of his infamous states even though Robin's usually seeks out Logan or the two eldest of his brothers who are much more similar to their father; Matt doesn't mind, he's just happy to help anyone in need.

Robin. Sixth born, omega.

I'm gonna get into him more because the ask was actually about him lol

Dubbed the "crybaby" of the family by Travis, and with good reason as well; Robin gets frustrated just as easily as Logan but instead of wrecking everything around him and screaming he just breaks down into tears, unable to hold in his emotions. Travis nags him for being such a little baby and he's often left out of his brothers' training because he hates to lose and losing for him comes with tears. Robin desperately longs back for the time when his father would pick him up the moment he got tears in his eyes and tell him softly it's all alright baby no one's gonna hurt you, good boy, daddy loves you so much-, but Logan is too busy now training his growing litters and he doesn't have time to kiss him better. Robin also has an ongoing feud over Logan's love with Travis, having how even though Travis breaks the rules constantly and acts like a slut Logan still forgives him everything, meanwhile Robin has been nothing but perfectly proper and modest as they were growing up, never sneaking off in the night and meeting with strange alphas and coming back home with an unexpected pregnancy. No, Robin's been the virgin delight good boy in the litter but something happened that finally flipped his switch and sent him stumbling over the edge.

The Pierce-Howlett family located themselves deep in the woods at a remote area of North-Dakota; it became clear quite early on that raising a family of feral mini Wolverine mutants was not going to be easy in a typical town or suburb so they isolated their family for their own safety, Logan and Donald occasionally heading into the nearest small town for food or supplies or work and only taking a few of their kids with themselves on these trips; those that could behave and there wouldn't be any incidents. This is how Robin met Rahul, who worked at the bakery in town; Rahul would always give him free pastries when Robin was doing errands buying bread for the family while mommy daddy and the others all spread out buying other things and o course Robin got smitten extremely fast with the handsome gentle older alpha; he never really talked to any other alpha outside from his family, Logan keeping a tight leash over them, especially the omegas, with how Travis behaved.

Anyway, Rahul was kind, sweet, and when Robin was in his teens he even asked him out to bookshop or Cafe dates, gently courting him in secret, but Robin only ever got to the point where they kissed before he ran away, afraid what his father might say. He didn't go back to town for weeks and in that time Rahul packed up and left for doing an MA in a prestigious university, and that broke little Robin's heart. For a long time he was more shut in, crying his eyes out daily, and Travis mocked him so much for whining over an alpha he didn't even fuck, that Robin jumped on him, starting to beat Travis up in a very unlikely manner of his, screaming and scratching like a feral kitten until Logan pulled them apart and gave a very firm "I'm disappointed in you," to Robin, who broke down from that rejection and ran off that night. He only came back months later, first setting out to find Rahul but then being overwhelmed by disappointing their father and Travis' mean words he ended up in the wrong crowd, attracting toxic alphas who were all too eager to take advantage of his vulnerable state. Robin, like Travis before, returned home pregnant from an unknown alpha, but he was sad and broken, and nothing felt better than Logan's attention at that moment. Robin was in an edgy, sad state for the better part of two years before Rahul returned to the town and saw Robin with his babies. Robin was terrified of what he might think of him now, so he acted like he didn't care for Rahul anymore, but Rahul felt responsible for Robin's sadness and still loved him dearly. Cut to Rahul doing his best to court Robin again, gladly taking responsibility for Robin's first fatherless litter, and while it takes time, Robin learns to trust him again and they soon get mated and married with more litters to come :)

#i love a rollercoaster character ark - epic highs and lows but you know imma make it end on a good fluffy note :))) #and here they are the complete first litter! congrats to logan and donald :) #robin pierce-howlett #travis pierce-howlett #ask rambles #logan x donald #pierce-howlett litter

[gay-dorito-dust]

HI!!! Can I make a request for headcanons for a the Corinthian x reader but the reader is sort of like an exorcist/warlock like Johanna Constantine?? :)))

Yeah! Absolutely you can! Also I felt so stupid not knowing that this motherfucker was also the dude who placed Donald Pierce in Logan 🦦

Nightmares has long since became your only company thanks in due to your line of work as an demon exorcising Warlock, sending them back to the depths of hell of which they came from but not without losing some innocent bystanders who believed that they could be of aid to you in the process.

Sure the pay was rewarding but what wasn’t as rewarding was the amount of scars each exorcism left upon your mind, body and soul, causing your sleeping patterns to be out of wack and extremely concerning with the little amount of sleep you’d accumulate when sleep did decide to take pity on you. However upon your first encounter with the man, well…nightmare, who would later become your boyfriend was an unfortunate case of wrong place wrong time as you crossed paths just as he was getting off the high of his latest kill.

Wiping away the blood off of his blade, Corinthian felt as though he wasn’t alone, like he was being gawked at; wanting to see if that was the case, he peered over his shoulder and down the entrance to the alleyway he had taken his victim for more privacy before he took their life -and their eyes- there you stood, eyes darting from the blade in his hand to the dead body on the dirty floor then back up at him. Unfortunately for him, instead of screaming and running away like he expected you to, you merely looked unfazed, de-sensitised to the blood and death presented before you as though you’ve seen it all before in a thousand lifetimes of your lineage. Like you’ve witnessed much worse things to ever be done to a human.

“Ain’t it past your bedtime little one?” He taunts to gauge a reaction, seeing as your expression reminded him too much of a certain dream lords unbothered face a little too much for his linking the longer he looked. “Ain’t it past yours grandpa?” You replied snidely, having heard through certain crowds and news outlets of a ‘Corinthian.’ A murderer who specialises in the taking of his victims eyes and had always managed evaded capture through some mysterious means to kill another day. You didn’t need it spelling out to you that he wasn’t human, considering how dated some of his most notorious kills were compared to this day and age; Sure he had taken the form closest to that of a human being but beneath the pearly white smile and charismatic silver tongue of his, there was a sinister side to him that humanity wasn’t ready for.

Needless to say on that very night you had peaked Corinthian’s interest, which never ended well for anyone who had caught his interest temporarily, while you were determined to avoid future interactions with the nightmare; rightfully suspecting nothing good would come of it. Though it seemed that fate had intentionally placed most of their favour into Corinthian, who was already in the process of preordaining your future encounters ahead of time, confident that his influence had already rooted itself deeply into society into offering up everything he could ever want in exchange for a few choice words of his silver tongue.

So for several weeks and countless encounters later you and Corinthian were past the awkward acquaintance stage and headfirst into the ‘friends who are borderline dating but refuses to make it official because commitment issues’ stage. You playfully flirted through every way possible. Standing closer to the other, shoulders and hands brushing against one another teasingly, longing stares, shared smiles and hushed whispers that ended in bouts of hearty laughter filling the room, leaving others within proximity a little confused as to what your relation to one another was exactly.

Corinthian found himself taking a more protective approach towards you during this period of your friendship, viewing anything and everything as a possibly threat while also making certain that you were as far as one could be from his business with Dream/Morpheus because to the ruler of the Dreaming, you were his ticket to his rouge nightmare and Corinthian didn’t want that for a multitude of reasons; the main one however being the fact that he would be taken from you before he could formally ask you out on a long overdue date you both kept joking about. He also feared that once Morpheus tells you the truth of his origin you would see him how everyone else does and leave him…the only person who didn’t fear him and treated him as an equal.

It was hard on you both to place trust in one another, it was a hefty process to get through but you both managed to emerge from it, grasping onto each other’s hand as if it was your life line and gaining newfound respect for one another. The nightmares that once plagued your mind seemed to dissipate temporarily whenever Corinthian was near so when one night the nightmares gotten to their very worst, you instinctively ran to Corinthian and buried yourself into his chest, grasping onto him tightly with eyes clenched shut. “Woah, hey what’s wrong sugarplum? Is it the nightmares again?” He asked, keeping you against him as he could only hope his presence brings you a sense of comfort. “Not nightmares…memories from my failings as an exorcist.” Your heartbroken words moved the nightmare in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. He hated the fact that you were plagued by the past and the added fact that he couldn’t kill it for you as your source of conflict didn’t have a physical form for him to stab to his hearts content.

“What you want me to do, kill em?” The sound of your broken laughter brought Corinthian peace as he felt you loosen your grip but his only tightened out of instinct that you’d fade from his grasp like sand. “Can I stay here, just for the night Cori?” You asked, somewhat embarrassed at your behaviour, “you make them go away, even if it is for a little while, a little while is all I need because I’m just so damn tiered.” You practically rasped the last part out, burying your tear stricken face back into Corinthian’s chest to muffle your sobs as he hushed you softly before picking you up into his arms and carrying you back to his room; vowing to chase away every nightmare, every bad memory from ever entering you pretty little head.

Pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he tucked the both of you in tightly, taking off his shades but manoeuvring his head so you couldn’t see the empty sockets of where his eyes should be, haven’t yet found the strength within him to show you his most inhumane feature out of insecurity and worry that it would be the driving force in you fearing him as much as you did your inner demons. “Don’t worry darlin’,” he whispered when he noticed that you had fallen fast asleep against his chest on the way up to his room, clinging onto him like a cute koala. “I’ll protect you, those memories can’t touch you while I’m here.” These weren’t words he says on a whim to just anyone, these were a vow, a contract binding himself to you as your protector and if there’s one thing Corinthian is best at, it was committing to a part.

When the day came where Corinthian finally did show you what laid beyond his shades, steeling himself for the worst of reactions he’s ever received, only for you to hold his face in your hands as you stared at the teeth lined sockets with a softness of which he has never been privy to from anyone since his creation. “I’m honoured that you trust me enough to show me this Cori, it must’ve been really hard on your behalf making that decision; but know that this doesn’t change how I feel about you in the slightest, your still my cocky little shithead of a nightmare.” If Corinthian could cry in that moment, waterfalls of tears would’ve streamed his cheeks, pooling within the palm of your hands. For once in his life he didn’t regret placing this amount of trust in you, he felt relived and a little stupefied at your calm, reassuring response.

“You mean, you aren’t…scared of me? Of them?” He asked, gauging your every reaction right down to the movement in your muscles. “I don’t believe it is in my right to judge your appearance when all you’ve been done in return is accept me at my worst; sometimes encouraging it but Cori…all I see is you.” You responded, running your thumbs just under the sockets gingerly. Corinthian smiled widely as he leaned against your touch, moving his head to kiss your palm, holding it tightly with his own in a means of preventing you from pulling away from him, from everything you’ve experienced together.

“I love you, you know that sweetheart?” He confessed so casually, his body filled with a comforting warmth at your acceptance of all of him that the words just came out of him without a filler. “You do?” Your eyes brightened and your smile widened, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Of course you do, after all how could you not, I’m quite the catch.” You joked, not having experienced many people expressing their romantic interest in you before. “Quite the catch indeed.” Corinthian echoed before pulling you into a gentle kiss.

Your relationship after that was filled with PDA, gentle goodnight kisses despite sleeping in the same bed, rough kisses after particularly hard days or petty arguments where neither of you would verbalise your apologise but instead says so through action instead; tight yet comforting hugs when all seemed lost and the only thing you knew was the safe haven that was your lovers arms. It was a healing balm to your fractured souls, it was a dream came true to finally have someone who didn’t fear the demon within, the unfavourable side of one’s being. However long your relationship may last, you and Corinthian were in no rush in actively spending every ounce of it that you could with one another; as quite frankly it has seemed that fate has blessed this odd coupling of a nightmare and an exorcist to an enteral dream state of a life together.

#the sandman headcanons #the sandman fluff #the sandman fic #the sandman fanfic #the sandman x you #the sandman imagine #the sandman imagines #the sandman x reader #the corinthian x reader #the Corinthian imagines #the Corinthian imagine #the Corinthian x you #the Corinthian fic #the corinthian headcanons #the Corinthian fanfic #corinthian x reader #Corinthian headcannons #Corinthian x you #Corinthian imagines #Corinthian imagine #Corinthian fanfic #Corinthian fic

[writing-my-time]

COMING SOON

Original GIFs by @boydholbrook-fan // minimally edited by me ~ will be working on quality next!

I have three pieces currently in the works, in no particular order and with no schedule in mind, they are as follows:

SMOKE BREAK (Part one posted)

Pairing: Steve Murphy X F!Reader Word Count: 1.75 Warnings: Angst, swearing, allusions to cheating, nicotine withdrawal. Summary: It’s been a week since Steve’s quit smoking cold turkey, and his withdrawals are making him worse by the day. Everything comes to a head when he offers to drop you home late at night

DADDY AIN’T HOME

Pairing: Clement Mansell X F!Reader Word Count: TBA Warnings: 18+, Smut with minor plot, age gap (Reader is in her early 20’s, Clement in his 30’s), morally dubious actions, still consensual! MORE TO BE ADDED Summary: When your dad’s so-called ‘friend’ needs to stay at your family home for a few days, using the excuse of “in-between” places, you find his incredibly forward nature hard to resist. Your temptation only worsens when your dad goes to work.

MEET ME AT THE HOTEL ROOM

Pairing: Donald Pierce X F!Reader Word Count: 1k+ Warnings: 18+, Smut with minor plot, dirty talk, Oral (M/F receiving), fingering, P in V sex, unprotected sex, creampies, MORE TO BE ADDED Summary: A month after your most recent rendezvous in Laguna Vista, you find yourself back in the company of Donald Pierce. This time, you’re making sure you get the full pussy worship Don promised back in that bathroom.

#boyd holbrook #steve murphy #donald pierce #clement mansell #narcos #logan #justified city primeval

[lustaffairs]

Masterlist (across my blog multiverse)

dark!Steve x boss!reader

Cal (Bikeriders) x reader - DEAD DOVE

steady as she goes - Clement Mansell

Amos Jenkins x sex worker

Amos Jenkins x married reader

Donald Pierce x captive reader

Kaden, flight delay

Mo Lundy

Tynan (Beckett) blurb

Series / Parts of Series

The Raid: dark!Steve x reader x dark!Javi

Beach Walks: surf instructor!Billy

Raider Joel: Carter

Boydo Character Requests (closed rn) ✏️

Current characters

Billy (Skeleton Twins)

Clement (Justified: City Primeval)

Donald Pierce (Logan)

John McBride (the Cursed)

Kaden (2/1)

Mo Lundy (The Free World)

Steve Murphy (Narcos)

Ty Shaw (Vengeance)

Will write:

100-1k smutty ficlets. I wanna dip my feet here.

You can prompt w/ pic, gif, or basic scenario.

x f!reader, canon pairings, can try x gn

Will not currently do:

Plot (lmao sorry)

Domestic fluff

Anal

Non-sexual bodily functions

Kinks with rules to follow, like bdsm.

Videos

narcos - steve/connie nsfw vid

#boyd holbrook #clement mansell #steve murphy #amos jenkins #donald pierce #ty shaw #boyd holbrook characters #billy boyd #john mcbride #boyd holbrook fic #boyd bungalow ☠️ #cap hatfield x reader #boyd holbrook x reader #donald pierce x reader #steve murphy x reader #clement mansell x reader #amos jenkins x reader #ty shaw x reader